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adoredconnor · 3 years

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Hunter, Profiled

Chapter 3 - Again

A killer is targeting women on a small college campus and the BAU investigates. Sam knows that Azazel is dead but this feels almost like Jess’s death all over again. Spencer takes notice during the investigation and they have a talk. Emily and Sam have a talk. Takes place during the events of Criminal Minds 03x01

Word Count: 5.8k

CW: Canon-typical violence, vulgar language

The BAU was always prepared for a case, even when it was meant to be their night off. The agents never seemed to get some time for themselves, but the job never stopped, so their outside lives always had to.

Spencer watched Agent Jareau talk to the lead agent on the case, Jim Griffith, as she descended the jet’s stairs. “Hi. Jennifer Jareau. Thanks for meeting us here,” JJ said, shaking Griffith’s hand.

“Thanks for taking us on so quickly,” Griffith replied.

“Yeah. The faster we get here, the faster we can help stave off panic.”

“I hear that.”

“What can you tell us about the university?” Spencer interjected, already tired of the small talk.

“It’s small, tight-knit. Dorms are still single-sex. Draws from all over the country, but students are mostly the arty type.” Griffith responded.

“Have you increased uniform presence on campus?” Morgan questions, only a step behind Spencer.

“Yeah, doubled it.”

“Any other measures?” Prentiss joined in on the questioning, keeping pace with Morgan. Hotch and Gideon were right on her and Morgan’s heels.

“I’ve got security shuttles running 24/7 and as of tonight, I’ve imposed a ten o’clock curfew.”

Hotch finally engaged in the conversation, oddly quiet beforehand, and told the detective, “We need a corner of your precinct so we can set up shop.”

“You got it. You need to get to the hotel first?”

“No,” Gideon answered, “Spree killings in a confined area are a race. He’s racing to kill as many as he can. We’re racing to stop him.”

The BAU walked toward the SUVs waiting for them on the airstrip, but the detective called out to them, “By the way, I’ve got another set of detectives on the scene.”

Hotch turned, “Who?”

“Some brothers, I think. Said their names were Sam and Dean Winchester from, uh, what was it?”

“Smith Detective Services?” Spencer asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“We’ve run into them before.” Spencer smiled to himself and slid into the backseat of the SUV.

The lights were bright on the crime scene, turning the already bright caution tape to a startling neon, highly contrasting the paleness of the victim lying on the ground. The lights from the BAU’s SUVs helped bring more light to the scene. Gideon was the first out, hurriedly walking towards the victim. JJ, Morgan, and Prentiss all slid under the bright tape wrapping around the scene. Spencer attempted to go under but dropped his bag. He groaned and reached down for it, only pausing when he heard a familiar voice.

“Need some help?”

Spencer turned, working to keep his facial expression as calm and collected. It was one of the harder things he’d had to do in a while. Spencer gathered up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and turned to find Sam Winchester smiling down at him. Spencer noted that now he’d have to look up at Sam, even though only a few months back he’d been the one looking down. Spencer ran a hand through his hair, slightly unruly, and nodded. Sam held up the tape and Spencer ducked underneath. The shorter brunet smiled at his friend (crush?) that he hadn’t seen in a while. He didn’t realize how much he missed Sam’s company in the few months since their week together.

“Want to catch me up to speed?” Spencer asked, gesturing towards the victim on the ground. Sam nudged Spencer’s shoulder and they walked towards the body.

“From what I’ve gathered, and have been told by the detective leading the case, is that there’s men covering every exit point on campus right now. Her mace was out, but she didn’t use it, and it’s well lit here, and not just from all the vehicles.”

“He’s not afraid of being seen,” Spencer concluded. Sam and Spencer reached where JJ, Gideon, and Morgan were, who were already asking more questions.

“How often do the shuttles run?” Morgan questioned the same detective from earlier.

“Every ten minutes,” Detective Griffith answered.

“Were all the victims posed like this with their arms crossed?” JJ joined in.

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s a classic sign of remorse,” Morgan responded, “The unsub kills the victim, then immediately feels bad about it, so he poses them like this so they’ll rest in peace.” He looked down towards the body and Dean, who had been crouched over her, stood up and sent a nod of acknowledgement towards Morgan. Dean stepped away, shaking his head slightly, and gave a look to Sam that Spencer noticed, but couldn’t decipher.

“You can tell that just by the arms?” Griffith inquired.

“That’s why you called us here, to build a psychological profile of your killer,” Morgan looked slightly agitated by the constant questions from Detective Griffith.

Gideon, being the wonderful profiler that he was, noticed immediately and drew the detective’s attention towards himself. “How long will it take your men to clear the scene?”

“A few hours.” The detective replied and excused himself to talk to his men on the scene.

Sam and Dean both went to talk, but JJ beat them to it. “You’re lucky there’s a curfew,” she said, “otherwise there’d be a mob scene.”

Dean smiled, but not before checking her out, “She’s right, from what Sam told me of his time in college, people would be out all night and would’ve been hounding all of us.”

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath before nodding, something else that Spencer noticed and filed away for a later conversation.

Gideon interrupted Sam’s moment, “Have Hotch set up at the precinct. We’ll run everything through him.”

The rest of the night came and went uneventfully, only to lead to a despairing morning on the college campus. Spencer sat on a table in the lobby of the victim’s dorm building, with JJ and Sam flanking him on both sides. JJ watched as girls filled the lobby, hugging and crying after learning about the girl who had been murdered the night before. Spencer turned to Sam, only to see him looking as miserable as he felt. The rest of the girls in the dormitory filed into the room for a briefing, one that everyone knew would haunt them.

“I spoke to Amy’s parents,” JJ began, “Funeral services will be held on Sunday in Chicago. They’re arriving later today to bring her home.” Her voice cracked as she struggled to rein in her emotions, “They asked me to let you know that they will be staying downtown at the Mainline Hotel. If any of you would like to visit or pay your respects, they’d like you to feel free to do so.”

“How did you all let this happen?” one of the girls asked.

Spencer tossed JJ a concerned look and noticed as Sam stood up straighter, a colder look on his face than before. The dorm monitor turned to glare at the girl.

“What? Everybody is thinking it. You are the FBI. The campus is crawling with police, and she gets murdered waiting for the security shuttle.”

Spencer sat up slightly, a sad look crossing his face. JJ had turned away, shame in her eyes.

“That’s not helpful, Katie,” the monitor said with a pointed look.

Spencer took a moment before talking, “Actually, it is. The fact that your friend was killed in such a well-lit area with a police presence indicates that the killer is most likely a part of this campus.” Spencer stopped for a moment when he felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder, encouraging him. Sam ignored the quick, analyzing look from JJ. “He’s not an outsider. He’s someone who wouldn’t raise alarm with the police or potential victims.” Spencer adjusted his beige sweater and pulled at his dark tie, which almost perfectly matched with the olive green stripes on his shirt.

JJ continued the conversation, “You should also be aware that the three victims were brunette.”

“What?” Another student cried, muffled slightly by the tissue in her hand.

JJ averted her eyes once more, “At this point, we do consider it an intentional pattern.”

Sam took a deep, shuddering breath, ignoring Spencer as he looked over in concern. “Excuse me,” Sam nearly whispered, quickly walking out of the building. JJ turned to look at Spencer, who was already sliding off of the table he sat so uncomfortably on. He shook his head and exited the building as well, looking for Sam as the doors behind him shut. Spencer saw a flash of Sam’s chestnut hair as he sped around a corner and followed, finding Sam sitting on a bench.

Sam refused to look up at the sound of approaching footsteps, he knew it would be Spencer. Sam’s face was in his hands and his body was shaking with the force of the sobs he was letting out.

“Sam?” Spencer called out, now directly in front of him. Sam only shook his head, his body still trembling. “Can I touch you?” Spencer asked. Sam nodded slightly and Spencer crouched in front of him, setting his bag on the ground. Spencer reached out and took a hold of Sam’s hands, pulling them away from the other man’s face. Sam looked up, tears streaming down his face. Spencer held onto Sam’s hands and squeezed them gently. “Talk to me. I’m here for you. I want you to know that.”

Sam took a shuddering breath and began, “It’s this case. It’s hitting a little too close to home.” Sam let out a humorless laugh.

“Is it because of your mom?”

“No. That’s a whole other set of trauma I really don’t feel like diving into right now.”

“I understand. Believe me, I do. If you don’t want to talk about it, then I completely understand.”

“No, I-I think I need to get this off of my chest. About two years ago my girlfriend was murdered and my apartment was burned to the ground.” Spencer listened and his eyes opened in horror. “I was out with Dean that night. It was the first time I’d seen him in years, after I’d walked out on him and our dad because I wanted a life of my own away from our family business and dramatics.” Sam’s voice was slowly becoming steadier. Spencer felt a few tears slip down his own face, but ignored them. “Dean and I had just come back from our trip together and I heard the shower running, so I laid on my bed and waited for Jess. I closed my eyes because it had been a long day, but I felt something drip on me. I thought maybe we had a leak in the apartment.” Sam paused and took a deep breath. “I-It was her blood, Spencer. The man who killed her put her body on the ceiling for me to find. Her stomach was ripped open and the apartment was on fire. Dean came in and pulled me away, if he hadn’t, I don’t know if I would be here right now.”

“The man who killed her? Did you find him?”

“That son of a bitch came after me. He wanted me to know how much he enjoyed killing her and my mom. He died, and I can’t say I’m sad he’s gone. I hope he’s burning in hell.”

Sam blinked a few times, letting the last of his tears fall. Spencer stood, his hands still intertwined with Sam’s, and pulled Sam up and into his arms. Sam wrapped his arms tightly around Spencer’s neck and rested his head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry that I dumped this on you and distracted you from the case.”

Spencer sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. He pulled back from Sam and set his hands firmly on Sam’s shoulders. “Sam. You never have to apologize for something like this, ever. The case can wait for a few minutes. It’s okay to break down, and I will always, always be here to build you back up. I care about you Sam, and I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Sam broke their eye contact and his lips quirked up in a small smile. “I’m alright now, I think. We can go back inside.”

Sam pulled Spencer in for another hug. Sam squeezed Spencer gently. The pair were so wrapped up in their moment that they didn’t hear JJ coming towards them.

“Hey guys, I just-” JJ paused and watched them pull apart quickly. She cleared her throat, “I just finished talking with the girls inside. We should be good to meet up with the others.” She turned and walked away, giving them privacy.

The duo nodded and followed her, brushing hands occasionally as they walked.

Dean walked with Morgan, Gideon, Griffith, and the dean of the school. The Dean had been arguing with the agents about closing down the school for the last half hour.

“So tell me, how am I supposed to keep these women safe?” She asked.

“I have security cameras being installed in virtually every corner of the campus, and that’s coming out of the city’s budget. It’s not the school’s,” Griffith replied.

“I want to shut down the school.”

“That’s a viable choice,” Morgan jumped in.

“But?” Griffith encouraged him to go on.

“If the killer is part of the campus, he may simply leave once the school shuts down.”

Dean took a moment and chimed in, “So when classes restart, there’s a good chance he’ll kill again.”

Morgan gave Dean an approving nod. Dean, bless him, let it go straight to his ego, inflating even more than it usually was. Dean waited for Morgan to look away before texting Sam.

Dean: I don’t think this case has anything supernatural to it. Let’s get out of here.

Sammy: No. I’m staying.

Dean: Sam.

Sammy: Don’t. I’m not leaving more innocent girls to die. You know me better than that.

Dean rolled his eyes and slid his phone away, jumping back into the conversation. The Dean had decided to shut down the school.

JJ, Sam, and Spencer had reentered the dorm, mentally steeling themselves for another harsh comment. “I’m sorry about before,” Katie said, guilt written all over her features.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” JJ replied, sitting down in the chair next to Katie and her friend.

“Uh,” Spencer started, “Your R.A. told us that you guys were at the library last night. Did you see Amy there?”

“We didn’t go with her, but we saw her there,” Katie’s friend told Spencer, “I thought she left before us.”

“Her bag wasn’t in her cubicle, or else we would have waited,” Katie chimed in, sitting tensely.

“Did you notice anyone she might have been talking to earlier?” Sam asked, finally calm enough to do his ‘job’. When both girls shook their heads, he continued, “Was it like her to be walking alone, even in a dangerous situation like this?”

“She wasn’t the victim type,” Katie snarkily said.

“Ah. It’s almost impossible to pinpoint who’s the most vulnerable. That’s why we’re trying to teach you how to best protect yourselves,” Spencer chimed in. He ignored the warning look JJ shot him.

“I just mean that she was strong, and she was smart. I don’t know why she didn’t at least mace him.”

“Are a lot of the girls carrying mace?”

“Pepper spray, mace, switchblades. If you can buy it online or find it at the Army-Navy store, we’ve all bought it.”

JJ, Spencer, and Sam looked at one another, sharing one common thought. If all these girls have protection, why aren’t they using it?

Dean joined Hotch, Gideon, Emily, and Morgan at the precinct as they gave the profile. At the end of the profile however, Gideon asked Griffith for a list of campus security employees.

“What is it?” Emily asked as she printed out a photo of the marks on the victims.

“These markings could have easily come from a taser,” Gideon told her, reaching for the photo she had just printed. Griffith handed Gideon the list, a look of confusion still on his face. “The unsub chose a closed community on purpose. He’d want to inject himself into the investigation. Can you check your records, find out if any of these security guards responded to every crime scene?”

Dean stared up at Gideon and Emily from his seat in the room, only slightly moving when Gideon told Emily to call Garcia.

“Talk to me, girlfriend,” Penelope said, her voice loud and clear through Emily’s speaker. Dean made an offended gasp, sending Penelope reeling. “That’s not my chocolate thunder. And that’s definitely not Spencer. Who are you, mysterious man?”

Dean smiled, “Just a helper, gorgeous. What’s with all the beautiful women on this team?”

Penelope smirked before catching herself, “I only flirt with Derek Morgan.” She cleared her throat, “Now what can I do for you?”

Emily, grateful that they were back on track, told her what they needed, a list of the security guards on campus.

“I got nothing.”

“Nothing?

“Nada. Security guards are all clean, squeaky. No criminal records.”

“What about a recent rejection? Something set him off.”

Dean chuckled humorlessly, “Nothing makes you want to murder someone like a good rejection.”

Emily and Penelope ignored him.

“Any of these guys get fired recently, or did their wife leave?” Emily continued.

“I’m sorry, Em. That is far too general, even for my powers of snooping.”

Emily turned to Dean, “Uh… you’re a security guard.”

Dean raised a brow, “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”

Again, she ignored him, “You probably had higher ambitions.”

“I probably tried getting into the police or military when I was younger.”

Emily smiled and quickly turned her attention back to Garcia, “Could you cross-check these guys against police and military records? See if any of them got kicked out or rejected.”

Emily and Dean heard the quick taps on Garcia’s keyboard before she replied, “I got one, but it’s not recent.”

“Give it to us anyways,” Emily told her.

“Nathan Tubbs, rejected from the police academy, 2003. Failed his psych eval.”

Dean joined as Prentiss, Gideon, and Morgan raided Tubbs’ apartment and found his shift schedule. His shift had already started for the night, so they were out of the apartment as soon as possible to find him.

Dean was boiling with rage, but he worked hard to keep his composure. He couldn’t lose his cool in front of the other agents. They finally spotted Tubbs’ patrol car and pulled him over, Morgan yanking him out of the car immediately. Dean kept his pistol trained on Tubbs as Morgan threw him down on the ground to cuff him. Figures, Dean thought, a white dude with greasy hair and relationship problems tries to kill a bunch of college kids. The thought repulsed him, knowing how young Sam was and that he was a college kid not too long ago.

Dean glanced over to where Prentiss was taking care of the victim. Guiltily, he thought of how attractive Agent Prentiss was, and then focused on Morgan and Gideon still wrestling Tubbs into the cuffs.

While Hotch and Gideon interrogated Tubbs, the rest of the BAU, minus Spencer and Sam, talked about the case. The pair walked in to Derek talking, hearing him say mid-sentence, “I wouldn’t mind some actual physical evidence.”

“Do we have anything?” JJ asked, a coffee in her hand. Her jacket from earlier was nowhere in sight, and Sam wondered where exactly she had put it. He stood behind Spencer, who had stopped a decent distance away from both Morgan and JJ. Dean gestured with his head for Sam to come talk to him, and they left the room for some privacy. Spencer watched the brothers leave and turned back to his coworkers.

Derek continued, “The knife Tubbs had on him is inconclusive. The taser didn’t have any prints on it. Which I guarantee means that we’re not gonna get a DNA match either.”

“I’ll stop by the security offices,” Spencer interjected, “If Tubbs kept any trophies linking himself to the crimes, he might have kept ‘em in his locker.” He had already started walking towards the door.

“I’ll go with you,” Prentiss tiredly said.

Morgan shut it down immediately, “Let Reid do it. Go to the hotel. Check in. They’re not gonna hold our rooms forever. We’ll go in shifts.”

“I’ll sleep when he confesses,” Prentiss stated, almost challenging Morgan.

“We all will,” JJ agreed.

Reid left the room, passing by Sam and Dean, who turned to look at him. Sam looked angry, but his eyes softened when they fell on Spencer. “Want to come with me?” Spencer offered. Sam shook his head, “I’ll stay here, why don’t you take Dean with you?” Dean’s eyes widened before he shrugged, following Spencer as he walked quickly to the security offices.

A few minutes in, Dean broke the awkward silence between them, “So, you and Sam.”

Spencer nearly choked, “Hmm?”

“I noticed you two were getting close. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Sam has a friend, but what do you two possibly have in common?”

Spencer was fuming, why couldn’t Dean be civil? Was it that hard for him to be a good person? He chose his next words carefully, he wanted them to hurt, “A deadbeat dad for starters.” He felt a small surge of guilty enjoyment when Dean flinched.

“Hey, I’m trying to protect you here. No need to be a dick and take it out on me.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Sam- he-” Spencer broke off when he felt Dean shove him. “What is wrong with you?” Spencer was past fuming, he was furious.

“Don’t ever tell me I wouldn’t understand something about Sam. I’m his older brother, I will always understand him better than you. You’re the one who doesn’t know anything.”

“Go back to the precinct.”

“I’m not an FBI agent, you can’t tell me what to do, Agent Reid.”

“It’s Dr. Reid, actually. Touch me one more time and you’ll be arrested for assaulting a federal agent.”

Dean shoved past Spencer in the direction they came in. Spencer rolled his eyes and fixed his disheveled hair. While Spencer went through Tubbs’ locker, Emily and Sam began to have a nice conversation, much nicer than Spencer and Sam’s.

Emily was talking things through with Sam, thinking about different things they could try to pin on him. Their ideas were starting to run out though, so she turned to a different topic of conversation. “So,” she began, “It seems our resident genius has taken a liking to you.” She watched Sam carefully, both pleased and surprised when he only nodded. “How long have you two known each other?”

“I met Sam two years ago on a case at a college. Not this one, but there was an arsonist on campus. I think there was a different agent there? What’s her name… Greenaway.”

“Oh, it seemed like you two had known each other for most of your lives.”

“It sure seems that way at times.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just- ugh. Sometimes I feel like Spen- Reid is a completely open book and then other times he’s completely closed off.”

“Well, he went through some… events last year that I can’t really talk about.”

“I know what happened. He told me. But it’s not just that.”

“He told you? He wouldn’t tell us anything.”

“Oh.”

“Well, I’m glad Spencer has someone like you to care for him. I was worried he would never find anyone.”

“Wait, Spencer and I aren’t… together.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

Sam was saved by JJ asking him and Emily to walk around the campus with her and Spencer, who had just returned. Spencer had calmed down a bit, but was still frustrated, and it was evident by the look on his face. Emily turned to Sam, using her eyes to communicate that Spencer needed Sam. He nodded.

JJ and Emily walked together around the campus, as close as Sam and Spencer were usually. At the moment, they were as far apart as they could be on the sidewalk as they could be without one of them standing in the road. Sam had tried to make some small talk with Spencer to no avail. Spencer seemed bent on being silent for the night. Sam stared at Spencer, watching the way the street lights illuminated his face in the dark.

“Everyone is so much younger than I remember being,” JJ said, watching all the students walk past her.

“It’s a weird age. You want to be treated like an adult, but you’re still used to someone else solving your problems for you,” Emily agreed.

“All I remember is trying to figure out who I was,” JJ said, turning to Emily with a small smile on her face that didn’t go unnoticed by Spencer and Sam. Emily gave JJ a shy smile, so unlike her usually playful grins. Oh, Sam thought, that’s how she knew.

Spencer finally broke his silence, “Hey JJ.”

She turned to look at him and he gestured with his head to a rapidly approaching Katie.

“Hey, there’s a rumor going around that you caught that guy,” Katie said. The two pairs turned to look at each other with a small look of nervousness and possibly anxiety over how to respond. “Is it-- is it true?”

“We have someone in custody,” JJ replied uneasily, her words were short.

Katie’s friend ran up and hugged JJ, muttering a small thank you into her hair.

The girl let go and walked away with Katie, a small smile on her face. JJ and Emily split off and went back to the precinct. Sam pulled Spencer by the wrist behind a large tree.

“Get your hands off of me,” Spencer hissed, “Do either of you know how to keep your hands to yourselves?”

“‘Either of you?’ Spencer, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Like you don’t know. I’m surprised your brother didn’t come running back to you to tell you what I said to him.”

“What you said? I’m lost.”

“You know how much I hate people touching me. Dean decided to shove me because I told him he wouldn’t understand why we were friends.”

Sam put his head in his hands, “He did? Fuck. I’m sorry. He did that because I told him off when he was asking about the time I spent with you, being more pushy than he normally is. I’m sorry, Spencer.”

Spencer sighed and pried Sam’s hands off of his face, “It’s fine, Sam. Really. It’s not the first time I’ve been shoved around. It’s just frustrating.”

“It’s not fine. This shit he does has to stop. I know what he gave up for me but he can’t keep hanging it over me or anyone else I care about.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he shook his head, “Come on, we should go to the hotel.” Sam nodded and followed him. The men settled in their respective rooms for a restless night plagued with thoughts about Dean, the case, and each other.

They were woken up by a call, one from Hotch to Spencer, and one from Spencer to Sam. Spencer quickly explained what Hotch had told him, that Katie’s friend had been stabbed to death. Sam dressed in a hurry and met Spencer down the hall, quickly making their way to the crime scene. Spencer had sunglasses on top of his head, pushing his hair back and making him, quite frankly, look amazing. Sam admired the way Spencer looked before playfully pushing the sunglasses down onto Spencer’s nose. Spencer shot him a look of only slight disdain as they ducked beneath the yellow tape separating the rest of the student body from the corpse on the ground. Griffith was debating with Gideon about releasing Tubbs and Emily was examining the body. Dean was already there, a cup of coffee and a gleam in his eye when he saw Spencer and Sam walk in together.

Emily mentioned something about how this victim suffered blunt force trauma to the head instead of being tasered, and Spencer immediately perked up and joined the conversation, “These stab wounds are shallow. They’re hesitation marks. Whoever killed her either wasn’t sure they wanted to be killing, or they never tried it before.”

Another detective stopped by and handed a letter in an evidence bag to Griffith that read “He’s innocent. I’m still out here.” Griffith, again, took it as a sign that they had the wrong Unsub and should release Tubbs, “Now do you believe we have the wrong guy?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised incredulously, “The first Unsub showed remorse. He wouldn’t brag about or flaunt his latest kill.”

Sam cocked his head, thinking for a moment and then said, “This body wasn’t posed. The papers never included details about the bodies.”

Spencer jumped back in, almost as if he could read Sam’s thoughts, “He could only do it the way he assumed the first killer did.”

The BAU, including Sam and Dean, headed back to the conference room where the evidence was set up, preparing to discuss a possible copy-cat killer.

They brewed a pot of coffee and split it amongst the members. Everyone besides Hotch was in the room, so the pot was gone as soon as it was done brewing.

“Could Tubbs have a partner?” Emily suggested.

Morgan scoffed at the idea of Tubbs having a partner, “Look at Tubbs. He’s a loner. He’s antisocial. He’s not the partner type.”

“Could be more like a groupie,” Spencer added, “After Kenneth Bianchi was arrested, he actually convinced a woman he hardly knew to attempt a murder so the police would think the Hillside Strangler was still at large.” Sam watched Spencer connect the dots, a corner of his lip perking up as he did so. Dean hadn’t noticed, surprisingly, because his attention was on Emily, particularly her very low-cut shirt.

“But Tubbs subdues his victims first. He’s not powerful,” Emily said, “Not to mention the stabbing most likely means he’s impotent.”

“Groupie doesn’t have to know that,” Gideon interjected. “Whoever wrote this definitely needs something from Nathan Tubbs.”

They made the decision to release Tubbs from custody, as they had no solid evidence linking him to the murders, but also to allow whoever the second Unsub was to play right into their hands. All of the members, especially JJ and Spencer and Sam, watched with disgust as Tubbs left the station. JJ’s phone rang with an unknown number, and she answered it to the sound of Katie’s voice on the other side.

The three of them went to Katie’s dorm and waited in the lobby until she joined them. “I didn’t know who else to call,” Katie said.

JJ couldn’t help the notes of disgust and anger that slipped into her voice when she asked, “What is it?”

Sam was confused until Spencer whispered to him, “Katie spat on JJ after finding out her friend died.” Spencer couldn’t help the “o” that his mouth formed as he listened.

Katie explained why she had called and walked, expecting the trio to follow her. They did and she continued talking, “Every girl I know is bleaching their hair or buying a wig, and she goes and dyes her hair dark?” She was referencing another girl that lived in the same dorm as her, Anna Begley.

“It’s weird,” JJ agreed, “But I don’t think it’s anything to be overly alarmed about. Is there something else?”

“I think I saw stories about the murders taped to her wall, and there was, like, blood or something all over them.”

“What can you tell us about Anna’s usual mental state?” Spencer asked.

“I don’t know. No one really knows her very well. She doesn’t play well with others, you know.”

“Sounds like my brother,” Sam muttered to Spencer, who had to cover his laugh with a cough.

“Anything?” JJ prompted.

“I know she cuts herself,” Katie paused when she saw JJ’s alarmed look and Spencer’s raised eyebrows. Sam frowned. “She covers it up, but people know.” Spencer and Sam’s playful mood had withered quickly.

“Has she ever been violent towards others?” Spencer inquired. Katie shook her head. “Does she ever talk about suicide?” Katie sat down in the chair next to her.

JJ, as concerned as ever, sat across from her. “Talk to us.”

“She talks about it all the time,” Katie sighed, “But everyone makes fun of her, like she thinks she’s some goth chick Sylvia Plath.” Her head turned at the sound of buttons being pressed.

Spencer turned away as his call went through, “Hey, Gideon, it’s Reid. Are Morgan and Prentiss still following Tubbs? I think I know who we’re looking for.”

Gideon informed Spencer that Morgan and Prentiss were, in fact, still following Tubbs and had them keep a closer look. All Spencer, JJ, and Sam could do was wait there with Katie in the lobby of her dorm while the events played out.

Hotch texted Spencer to tell him that Anna was with Tubbs in a courtyard, but he didn’t give Spencer any more than that until the events unfolded.

Spencer closed his phone with a sad sigh, shaking his head at JJ who turned to Katie. He then looked to Sam who gave him a solemn nod and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulder. Spencer wrapped one around his waist and gave it a squeeze, knowing that Sam was thinking about Jess. Sam took a deep breath.

Spencer and Sam had yet another restless night in the hotel. Sam was plagued with thoughts about Jess and the case, and Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about Sam’s broken expression as he had flipped his phone shut.

The morning felt just as grim as the day before, but Sam made Dean drive them to the airfield where the BAU would be jetting off from. Spencer and Emily had been walking together, but split off when they heard the unmistakable sound of the Impala’s wheels on the tarmac. Spencer smiled slightly and turned to see Sam popping out of the car and heading his way.

“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” Sam asked, somewhat playfully.

“Well, I know how much you like to sleep when you’re not on a case. I figured it wouldn’t be too big of a deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal, I never know when I’ll get to see you next. Mr. FBI Agent.”

“That’s Dr. FBI Agent actually.”

“I hate you,” Sam said with a smile and reached out to Spencer for a hug, allowing him to say no if he wanted to.

“You could never,” Spencer replied and stepped into Sam’s embrace for what felt like forever, but was only a few moments. Dean smirked at them through the windshield, his shit-eating grin only growing when Sam spotted him.

Sam and Spencer split apart and headed their separate ways. It would only be a matter of time before a case brought them together again, as fate would have it.

#spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #supernatural #sam winchester #spn fanfic series #cm fanfic #criminal minds #mlm #sam winchester x reader angst #crackship #gay #spencer reid angst #angst #fluff #hurt #comfort

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forsakenoathkeeper · 3 years

Text

I Am Alive (chapter 19/?)

Chapter 19: The Missing Android

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

The Detroit Police Department had yet to make any substantial progress on the murder that occurred at AlphaBio a few weeks back, before another murder case hit their desks.

Connor stepped past the holographic caution tape into the building where their crime scene was located, immediately noticing the smell of blood was heavy in the air. In response, he turned his scent receptors down from standard to low. A body was sprawled out on the floor, cheek pressed into the pool of blood puddled beneath them.

"Nolin Greene," Officer Wilson stated when he saw Connor walk in. "M.E. estimated dead less than six hours."

Connor nodded at him before scanning Greene's body with his optical unit. He was 52 years old, had never been married, and was previously employed at Cyberlife as one of their esteemed programmers.

Even without scanning the man's corpse, it was obvious he had died from multiple gunshot wounds. One prominent bullet hole left a gaping wound in the back of his head, likely just to ensure he was dead, considering he had a few on his torso in addition.

Hank rounded the corner with a sigh. "All the security cameras were offline. Haven't been since pre-rev," he explained, approaching Connor.

He waited until Officer Wilson stepped away to lean into Connor with his arms crossed. "What did they make here?" Hank asked quietly.

"They used to generate code for androids operating systems and protocols," Connor explained smoothly, matching Hank's hushed tone. "All android manufacturing has been put to a halt. He had no reason to be here."

"Good point," Hank said lowly. "Would they have kept anything here?"

"Considering the audits Cyberlife financers are going through, I would imagine this place was-... scrubbed clean, so to speak," Connor replied, briefly glancing around the office space. Judging by the dust pileup and the damage to one of the windows, this place had likely sat abandoned for months.

"You think it's related to AlphaBio?" Hank asked the android. "Chips were stolen from that plant. This facility creates code. That's a dangerous combination," he observed.

Connor gave Hank an agreeing look before eyeing the room again. Officers had brought in crime scene lights to cast out the darkness, and a flashlight was on the floor, labeled as evidence. It was next to Greene's body and had his fingerprints on it, powered off likely due to dead batteries. It didn't require any detective skills to see the power was cut off completely to the building.

"Greene was likely here to meet someone," Connor observed. "Who made the 911 call?"

Officer Wilson walked back in, careful not to step in any of the evidence. "An android apparently," he answered. "The call is saved in the case file."

"I'll pull it up now," Connor stated, using his HUD to pull up the case files remotely. "Would you like to listen, Hank?" he offered, eyes staring blindly ahead as his focus was elsewhere.

"Go for it," Hank said gruffly.

Connor's lips didn't move, but the sounds came from his mouth. Hank had seen him use his vocal processor like a speaker before; but, he never quite got used to it, and still found it very bizarre to see Connor look dead in the face while making noises that weren't his voice.

"911. What's your emergency?" the dispatcher asked.

Officer Wilson, who had never seen Connor do that before, stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the android in shock.

"My friend has been shot. I'm at-" a feminine voice followed. Seeing as she was an android, making the call with her internal processor, no outside noises could be heard, and there was no way to identify what made her suddenly stop talking.

The recorded 911 call continued in silence for a few more seconds before the android disconnected, giving dispatchers just enough time to locate the GPS coordinates from the call.

Connor stopped the recording and turned to Hank, his expressionless face returning to normal. He ignored Officer Wilson's concerned look.

"The android didn't block her GPS coordinates; so, she definitely wanted to be found," he explained to the lieutenant.

"She could have been the killer? Guy used to work at Cyberlife," Hank suggested thoughtfully. "Pissed off android?"

"Possibility," Connor acknowledged, nodding at the older detective. "However, she did identify him as her friend..."

The android trailed off, using his HUD to run a background check on Nolin Greene. "He belongs to no clubs, publicly, anyway, and has been unemployed since Cyberlife closed down. His former boss still has a primary residence in Detroit."

"Think he's worth a visit?" Hank offered more so than asked. "Let's go."

"I can drive," Connor offered, following the older detective as he headed for the exit.

"Fuck no," Hank immediately declared.

"Are you sure you can afford another speeding ticket?" the android challenged, some tease in his tone.

"I'm not gonna get another speeding ticket," Hank retorted fiercely, climbing into the driver's seat. He eyed Connor as the android shimmied into the passenger seat.

"Keep it up and your ass is walking," he threatened in a tone that Connor had grown rather accustomed to. It sounded sincere, but the android could tell the difference.

"Whatever you say, detective," Connor uttered, knowing full well his relaxed tone and stoic expression would irritate the older detective further.

Hank only grumbled in response.

...

Arthur Torres lived in a nice house in the posh, suburban side of town. He didn't seem at all surprised to find detectives at his door; however, he couldn't seem to bring himself to stop staring at Connor with blatant distrust and fear.

"You were a head programmer at Cyberlife for years," Hank stated, reciting information Connor had filled him in during their ride over. They had decided to let Hank lead with the likelihood that the man would be untrusting of Connor.

That seemed to be a very accurate assumption.

"Yes," Torres acknowledged Hank's statement.

"One of your former subordinates, Colin Greene, was murdered last night."

Torres was a skittish looking individual, and completely failed to maintain composure at the news. His hands were digging into his lap and he was struggling to keep still, fidgeting in his seat. Both the detectives doubted it was concern over Greene's livelihood, or lack of.

"Was it an android?" he asked, confirming their suspicions of his intentions.

Hank decided to ignore that question. "Greene's body was found at one of Cyberlife's office spaces, where programmers worked on their operating systems," the older detective explained. "We were hoping you could tell us why he would be there."

Connor decided to wear a cold look while he stood there, next to the couch where Hank had parked himself. The android was standing with perfect posture, arms crossed elegantly behind his back. It was clear that Torres was afraid of him. If he was being honest, he was taking advantage of that.

"Must have been the office where we worked," Torres offered quietly, trying to avoid Connor's piercing gaze. "I can't imagine why. The place was cleared out months ago. Did you ask Maria?"

Hank's brow lowered slightly. "Who?"

"Maria. She was a KL900 placed at our office. Nolin had reconfigured her so that she could test our codes. After the-" Torres' eyes flickered to Connor with uncertainty. "-revolution, he took her in - let her live with him."

Before Hank could utter another word, Torres continued, suddenly eager to run his mouth. "She had a lot of our incomplete code saved. I warned him it was dangerous to keep her."

The older detective looked down at his cellphone, that had vibrated quietly while Torres yapped. It was a text from Connor, reading, "the voice on the 911 call matches that model."

Hank tucked his phone back into his coat pocket. "What was their relationship like?"

"Well-" Torres began. "I suppose-... She was unique. He had modded her greatly - well beyond her manufactured purpose. I think he saw her as his own creation, in a way."

Again, before Hank could inquire further, Torres started up again. "She's missing, isn't she?"

Connor spoke up this time. "Are you suggesting she is somehow responsible?" His tone was calm, collected, almost polite, even; however, that was likely even more frightening than if he spoke with anger.

"I-" Torres stammered, eyes briefly flickering up to meet Connor's before immediately shifting back to the older detective. It was bizarre to think that this spineless man was once a lead programmer for Cyberlife.

"You can't think of any reason Greene would turn up dead in your old office?" Hank asked, maintaining the good cop persona he had taken up during this discussion.

"I can't think of why he would be there at all," Torres insisted.

"I would advise you offer something substantial," Connor warned, his tone cold and unyielding. "As of right now, you are our number one suspect."

"W-what?" Torres stammered, his panicked eyes falling on the android. "I haven't spoken to him since we were shut down. What motive could I possibly have?"

Connor's brown eyes remained unreadable, cold and robotic. That seemed to make Torres more uncomfortable than expressing valid emotion. "You said it yourself: he had access to incomplete code. Perhaps he knew something you didn't want getting out. So, you shut him up."

Torres' eyes landed on Hank, his gaze silently pleading, as if he expected Hank to stop Connor. Instead, the older detective wore a faint smirk. "He's got a point."

"No! I would never!" Torres defended himself loudly. "Y-you need to leave. I'm calling my lawyer."

...

"God, I love when those rich assholes lawyer up," Hank groaned as he climbed into his car. "It's like crying to mommy and daddy."

Connor slid into the passenger seat, a sour look on his face. "I pushed too hard. We probably could have gotten more out of him," he said apologetically.

"Nah," Hank retorted gruffly, silencing Connor's regrets. "We got the only useful thing out of him."

Hank pulled out of the street with a little more force than was necessary, mainly because he wanted to cause a fuss in the posh neighborhood. He could see the neighbors poking their heads out, rich and bored with nothing better to do than gossip. Hank's vintage car screamed detective or organized crime, and no in between.

"Let's check Greene's place. Maybe you can find something to help you locate this android," Hank suggested.

Greene's neighborhood wasn't as posh as Torres'; but, it was still nice, a little noisier with families out and about enjoying the weather. The warrant request had already been received and an electronic key had been sent over to Connor. He used the interface on his hand to let them inside.

The detectives walked around carefully, taking turns examining rooms for clues. The place was nicely furnished and impeccably clean. An android definitely lived here. If there was anything Connor could stereotype androids for, it was cleanliness.

There were a few photos hung up on the wall in the living room. The KL900 in the photos was likely Maria. She was an ordinary looking KL900, everything factory issued. Most of the photos were likely her at the Cyberlife programming facility.

There was one photo of just her and Nolin Greene together. She was wearing civilian clothes and her LED was removed. Their smiles suggested the relationship was a good one.

One of the bedrooms could easily be identified as Maria's room. There was no bed, but a desk with a charging station and a computer with an android interfacing tool in place of a mouse and keyboard. A quick scan of the room showed almost no fingerprints, except for a few on the door handle and door frame, which Connor immediately scanned as Nolin Greene's.

Hank was looking over a study that was likely Nolin's. The dark, stained wood desk was enough of a giveaway without all the golf memorabilia decorating the wall behind it. There was a laptop plugged into the charger. He figured CSI would pick it up later.

"Still waiting on that warrant for phone records!?" Hank called out.

Connor called back, "affirmative!"

"Damn," he grumbled to himself. "What's the holdup?"

The two detectives rendezvoused in the kitchen, exchanging disgruntled looks.

"No signs of a struggle," Hank observed.

"It wasn't a robbery. There aren't any fingerprints in the house not belonging to Greene," Connor explained. "The perpetrator left Greene's wallet and keys on his body... It's almost as if Greene was just... in the way."

The android looked away for a moment, staring off blindly as he searched Greene's employee folder again from Cyberlife's records. There was nothing in there about Maria, unsurprisingly. There were thousands of KL900's in circulation; so, there was no point in searching registered android records.

"Ya' thinking Greene wasn't the target?" Hank suggested.

"Assuming Torres wasn't giving us the runaround," Connor added on, setting a pondering gaze on the lieutenant, "Maria could have been the target; but... who would know that an ordinary looking KL900 has Cyberlife codes?"

"Someone who used to work for Cyberlife," Hank answered.

"It leads us back to Torres," Connor said sourly.

"He wasn't the only one that got bit in the ass," the older detective corrected him. "Lot's'a people out'a work. Lot's'a people facing lawsuits... and lot's'a people losing money. Oldest reason in the book."

"We need those phone records," Connor stated fiercely.

"I'm gonna call CSI. Get them on these damn computers," Hank stated, pulling out his cell phone.

"I could-"

"No."

...

After a long day of field work, Hank, Officer Wilson, Officer Miller, and Detective Collins gathered around a food truck a few blocks from the police station. It was already dark out and the street lights were illuminating the cityscape.

Connor decided to join them.

"You wouldn't fucking believe-" Officer Miller explained, an excited look in his eyes. "I thought this son of a bitch was gonna clock me. Connor came jumping over the roadblock and slam-dunked that motherfucker to the ground like this was WWE."

Detective Collins nearly chocked on his drink, doubling over with laughter. Hank was grinning, having witnessed that, and plenty of other amazing feats from the android, firsthand.

Officer Wilson nudged the android's shoulder. "Damn. Where the fuck were you when that crackhead tried to hit me with a baseball bat?" he teased, shoulders trembling with laughter and a wild, bright smile on his face.

Connor looked bashful, a crooked smile forming on his face.

"That's how you fucked up your hand," Hank added on.

"Small price to pay," Connor replied sincerely.

"Wait - was that how you met your lady friend? That nurse?" Officer Wilson asked, eyeing Connor suspiciously. He shifted his eyes to Miller with a grin. "Maybe I should save your dumbass next time and land me a hot nurse."

"You just need to get hurt," Miller replied with a grin, popping his knuckles dramatically. "I can help."

"I'd like to see you try," Wilson retorted. "You get knocked out by little old grandmas."

"That was Lewis," Detective Collins corrected. "But, it was pretty fucking funny."

"She put up quite a fight," Hank jumped in. "Earned that 'resisting arrest' with honors."

The conversation continued for a while, the men talking in-between eating their meals. Connor was mostly quiet, observing, occasionally jumping in when the moment seemed right. He worked with these guys almost every day and had grown to know them well; still, he found himself struggling to adjust to this - to fitting in.

When it was nearing eight o'clock, the android decided to dismiss himself.

"I'm gonna call it a night," he proclaimed, removing his elbows from the table. He had taken to using more common phrases around his coworkers, and this in particular was one of his favorites.

"Already? You don't sleep," Miller protested casually.

"He needs to get home so he can rearrange his girlfriend's guts," Wilson teased.

Miller and Collins broke out in laughter and Hank rolled his eyes, despite his faint smirk.

Connor stood there staring at them blankly, sincerely confused for a moment. Surely, that sort of thing would kill you. At the very least, it would cause severe damage that would require a surgeon. Why would he want to do such a thing?

A quick internet search, however, showed him that it was slang for rough sex.

He couldn't quite tell, but Connor was certain a faint blush had appeared on his cheeks. He spent 1.61 seconds internally debating if he should deny it or tease back.

At one point in the past, he might have taken this behavior as negative; however, he had grown to recognize banter as common between humans. The impersonality of it was how bonds were formed. Besides, he could easily recognize their teasing was unharmful. If anything, they were treating him like just another human, and that was more preferable.

"Maybe," he said lowly, the corner of his lip curling up slightly.

Connor's eyes reflected a mischievous glance at them briefly before he retreated. As he walked away, he heard the officers hollering obnoxiously at him, an echoing "ooohhh" as if he had declared something profound.

Before he was out of earshot, he could hear Hank grumpily, albeit fondly, telling them to "shut the fuck up".

#connor x reader #deviant connor x reader #dbh fanfic #rk800 x reader #rk800 smut #connor smut

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frostedfaves · 3 years

Text

Haunt (7)

Masterlist

Pairing: civilian!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Three women on a bridge, two pairs of feet on the ledge, and one problem that’s easier to solve than you think.

Warnings: angst (but maybe fluff later? 👀), ghosts/demons, slightly graphic blood mentions, attempted bridge jumps/suicide, funeral/car crash/death/grief mentions

A/N: I won’t say that this is the last chapter because I do have an idea for an epilogue...it’s just a matter of whether or not I can execute it properly. anyway, can’t wait to hear your thoughts on what I hope is not a shitty (almost) conclusion!

Previous part

“Hey, I thought you were at Wanda’s tonight?” Mia asked, greeting you with a smile as you passed her on the way to your room.

“I am. I just have to grab something.”

You closed the door behind yourself and opened your closet door, using an old storage bin to climb up and reach the tallest shelf. Once the locked box was safely in your hands, you stepped down and grabbed the key taped to the back of your dresser on your way to the bed. The journal and newspaper tumbled out as soon as you unlocked the top, and you took a deep breath to distract yourself from the sudden wave of nausea.

“There.”

You looked up to see a shadowy finger pointing at the picture in the article, and seeing the wreckage again in your conscious state seemed to knock the air out of your lungs.

“That’s home.”

“That’s not home,” you snapped as you met her eyes. “That’s nothing but a grim reminder of what used to be.”

“It’s home, and you’re going there.” When you blinked, you saw a flash of Wanda bleeding out in the same spot you left her, and you gasped as your eyes opened again. “Glad to see I have your attention. Let’s go.”

You quickly made your way out of the apartment again, leaving the light on in your room because you were afraid of what you would see in the dark corners. Once you were in your car, you began your drive down to the place you hadn’t seen since the accident, parking a few feet away from the stop sign with an upset stomach and a heavy heart. As you got out of the car again, you noticed the pole you’d crashed into had been replaced and all the glass and debris were long gone.

“Why am I here?” you questioned, keeping your voice low to match the atmosphere of the nearly silent neighborhood.

“You’re supposed to be on the bridge.”

“The crash didn’t happen there,” you recalled, but you found your feet moving toward the metal staircase anyway.

Your heartbeat seemed to line up with your echoing steps as you made your way up to the bridge, and a sinking feeling told you that this may be the last setting sun you see. Your eyes watered in the orange light as you faced the crash scene again, managing to keep your eyes on it as you climbed onto the ledge and took a seat.

“Why are you sitting?”

“Because I don’t want to do this,” you exhaled as you began to cry again. “I know why you brought me here but I don’t want to do it.”

“Well, I didn’t want to die because you don’t know how to look both ways in an intersection, but here we are.”

“I looked both ways, but the other driver was speeding! How is that my fault?”

“I told you--begged you--not to leave me behind and you did.”

“For fucks sake!” you yelled as you turned your head toward her. “I had to call for help so you wouldn’t die in the car!”

“Instead, you let me die alone in a hospital room. Huge improvement.”

You dropped your head to watch your fingers run along the concrete, listening for any kind of noise from the surrounding area and sighing when there wasn’t a single sound to be heard. Part of you was certain that the being beside you had something to do with that, but you couldn’t be bothered to ask anything else when you knew it might just start a fight. You hated the way it made you feel, taking you back to that very night when you were walking on eggshells around your extremely intoxicated best friend.

“Get up,” the voice suddenly snapped, and you groaned once you recovered from the shock.

“I told you I’m not ready!”

“It’s either you or her.”

The sound of car doors closing came from your left, and you seemed to move on autopilot as you stood up on the ledge, keeping your eyes on the pair as you did so. The wave of nausea grew taller and lasted longer, and you felt the familiar trails down your cheeks headed for your chin.

“Don’t come any closer,” you finally managed to say, feeling a bit of relief when they stopped.

“Baby, please come down,” Wanda choked out, and oh how you wish she hadn’t spoken. Just hearing a second of her soothing voice made you want to run into her arms and never look back, but you knew who would pay the price if you did that.

“I can’t...I have to do this,” you sobbed as you heard the voice from the other side encouraging you to hurry in an angry tone. “It’s the only way to stop her.”

“Y/N, I know it seems that you’ve made up your mind…” You watched Mia pull something from her pocket and hold it up in the air. “...but if you give me a chance, I think I may be able to change it.”

You squinted a bit to try and figure out what she was holding without allowing her to come closer. Every bone in your body yearned to gravitate toward the pair, knowing that you’d feel safer and comforted once you were surrounded by their warmth, but the furious protests stopped you from doing so.

“I’ve had too many chances,” you fought back, frowning when you noticed Wanda locked eyes with Mia for a second before facing you again.

“If you’re going to jump, then I’m coming with you,” she told you calmly as she climbed onto the ledge a short distance away, and you instantly panicked.

“No, you can’t do that!”

“Why not?” she challenged you.

“Because I love you, and I don’t want you to die, especially not like this. You deserve so much better.”

“So do you!” she cried out as she dared to take a step toward you. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“No, Wan, I have to die,” you insisted as you took a step back. “I’ve loved every second of being with you and you’re nothing short of perfect, but I should’ve died a long time ago with my friend. She didn’t deserve to go alone.”

“If she was really your friend, she wouldn’t want this for you.” She took another step, and you found yourself falling into her comforting gaze. “She’d want you to live the life she couldn’t.”

“I hear her everyday, and I don’t think she agrees with you.”

“Okay, so I’m not a therapist obviously,” Mia cut in as the two of you faced her from the ledge. “But are you sure you aren’t just hearing the voice of your own guilt?”

“What?” was all you were able to get out as the raging voice behind you seemed to quiet down.

“You told me that she kissed you and confessed her feelings for you before you left the party. No matter how angry or emotional she was in that moment of you turning her down, she wouldn’t be haunting you like this if she really loved you. Whether it was friendly love or more.”

“Don’t listen to her. She wasn’t there.”

You turned to the other side to glance at your ‘friend’, who seemed to look a lot less like her now. Bitterness and rage became evident in her expression, which really seemed to help Mia’s point. You almost never saw her direct those emotions toward you, even when you’d done something wrong. Still, you had to be sure.

“What were you going to show me?” you asked as you turned to look at Mia again.

“It’s the obituary from the funeral,” she explained as she began unfolding it. “I know you didn’t go, so I thought maybe you’d like to hear what your best friend really thought of you. Her parents included a page from an old journal they found.”

You listened with tears in your eyes as you heard the girl who was once the first and last person you spoke to everyday describe you with words you’d never even considered for yourself. With each sentence, it was more and more obvious that she’d been in love with you far longer than you realized, and the thought comforted you more than it hurt, to your surprise. As the dam broke and breathing became a bit harder, you turned to the entity one more time and a look of understanding seemed to pass between the two of you. You understood that you weren’t in the company of a friend, and she understood that you could no longer be fooled.

“I’m sorry,” you addressed Wanda as you carefully approached her on the ledge, grabbing her hands as they stretched toward you. “I know I’ve put you through hell in the last few months, but I promise to only make you feel as loved as you’ve made me feel, even at my lowest.”

“You already do, detka.”

You couldn’t help but grin as she wiped away any lingering tears with her thumbs before stepping off the ledge and pulling you down into a bone-crushing hug. A breathless laugh escaped you as Mia crashed into you from behind, and you sat there in a comforting silence for another few minutes. You tossed your keys to Mia once you pulled apart after she offered to take your car home, catching a glimpse of the daunting presence as you looked out onto the street below. She was staring at you from beside the pole that replaced the one you crashed into with blood pouring down her side, and just when you felt yourself getting a bit worked up again, Wanda’s warm fingers squeezed yours and reminded you of the safe haven you’d been gifted.

“Thank you for making it in time,” you told Wanda once you were sitting in the car. “You always know the right thing to say or do and when, and I thought maybe it was a side effect of teaching small children for years. Really, it’s just a side effect of being a perfect angel.”

She let out a surprised giggle at your words and leaned over to kiss you for the first time in hours. She didn’t let it go far, simply pulling away and lacing her fingers through yours again as she drove off the bridge and began heading home.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m really glad I ran out of paprika.”

Tags: @littlegasps @peggycarter-steverogers @imnotasuperhero @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @cristin-rjd @slut-for-nat @honeyvenable @nazyalenskysbabe @stickystudentlightmug @choni-trimberly @thedragonzland @dylxn-lee @cordeliaswhore @ravvakin96 @leximills2004 @smolgayhooman @ajlawinters @sanctuaryofgods777 @midnightreme @moonlightxmadness

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x fem!reader #avengers imagine #avengers #the avengers #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11]

Also on AO3

Chapter 12: Martin Prime

As soon as he heard the bedroom door shut behind Tim, Martin turned towards Jon. He didn’t even get his mouth all the way open to say anything before Jon’s hands were on his face, and then Jon was kissing him.

It was their first kiss in far too long, since Martin had kissed Jon goodbye and promised to see him on the other side, and thank God it still felt the way it had before. A part of Martin had worried that things would be different—now that they were in the past, now that their plan was on its way, now that Martin was blind. This went a long way to reassuring him that they weren’t, though. Nothing had changed between them.

He gripped Jon’s elbows to hold him still. Jon’s hands dropped from Martin’s face and slid around his neck, seeming to try and pull him closer, although honestly if they got any closer Jon would be inside Martin’s rib cage. He also somehow managed to deepen the kiss, which Martin wouldn’t have thought possible a second previously. He closed his eyes and gave himself completely over to the moment.

The need for air was the only reason they separated, even a little bit. Martin rested his forehead against Jon’s and reveled in the simple fact that they were together again. It had probably been a good thing that they’d had these two weeks apart—it had given Martin a chance to prove to himself, and hopefully to Jon, that he could manage on his own—but he wasn’t going to deny that he’d missed him, and that he wanted him there as much as possible.

Something wet hit his chin, and it took Martin a second to realize what it was. Jon was crying.

“Jon?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. He reached up hesitantly to cup Jon’s cheek and rub his thumb across it, catching the tear tracks coursing down it.

“I was afraid I’d lost you,” Jon whispered. Martin could feel his sweater bunching up into his hands. “I was so damned—sure of myself. I told myself, when I let you follow the Keeper into that door, I told myself it would be okay, that whatever was hiding you from the Eye, from Jonah, I-I was sure it wouldn’t keep you from me, that I’d be able to find you, that I could Know you wherever you were, and then I couldn’t and I—I kept telling myself you were fine, you had to be fine, that I’d see you when I got to the Archives and you’d fuss at me for trying to get in your head and then we’d laugh about it, and then I got to the Institute and I saw all that chaos a-and I couldn’t find you, you weren’t there—”

“Jon. Jon, it’s okay, I’m okay,” Martin soothed. He pulled Jon’s head down to his shoulder, then began rubbing his back in slow, gentle circles with his free hand. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“It’s n—” Jon’s voice started rising, but he checked himself and hissed, “It’s not okay. I promised you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and then everything almost happened to you. You were in the middle of Jane Prentiss’s attack, again, but this time you were alone and blind and helpless—”

“I’m not helpless,” Martin interrupted. He was rather proud of the fact that he managed not to say that in an angry or petulant tone, but quietly and firmly. All right, yes, he was a little pissed at Jon for thinking of him that way, but he did get where Jon was coming from. Still, he’d done perfectly well for himself on his own. He honestly didn’t know if he would have been able to do as well as he’d done if he hadn’t spent time with Melanie before…everything, but he’d done it. He could still handle himself.

All the tension and fight went out of Jon in one long exhale, and he sagged against Martin. “No,” he agreed quietly. “You’re not.”

They held each other for a long moment of silence. Martin could feel Jon trembling, and he guessed it wasn’t all nerves. “Come on,” he said at last. “Let’s at least lie down. When’s the last time you slept?”

“Ah—yesterday? Day before, technically?” Jon stepped back a little, but didn’t let go of Martin. “The—the bed’s over here.”

Since Martin was completely unfamiliar with Tim’s bedroom—he’d only even been to his house once—he let Jon lead him. Getting ready for bed was easy enough, as was crawling into it, the movements more than half-mechanical. Jon pulled the covers up over both of them and immediately curled into Martin’s chest. They both sighed in near unison.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Martin murmured, running a hand through Jon’s hair. He tried to be gentle about working through the knots he encountered. “How long have you been…here?”

“In the past? About a week. Six days, more like.” Jon sighed and tucked his head into the crook of Martin’s neck. He fit there like he was a part of Martin’s body. “I just got to London earlier this evening, though. How—you said you’d been here two weeks. Where did you…come through?”

“The Archives. I think I was in one of the back corners.” Martin bit his lip. “Wasn’t sure where I was at first, until I heard Tim’s voice. What about you?”

“The safe house. I should have expected that, really, but it still hurt knowing you weren’t there. And…walking out the door was harder than I expected it to be.”

“At least the sky wasn’t blinking at you.”

“It took me a bit to convince myself that it wouldn’t before I could open the door.”

Martin wanted to laugh, but he knew Jon was in earnest. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d been there to help you.”

“And I wish I’d been in the Archives to help you. I—I know you don’t need it. I know you’re…I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

“Do what? Stop Jane Prentiss?” Martin frowned. “You did the first time—”

“You may recall that I didn’t do all that much, except make statements and slow everybody down,” Jon interrupted. “It was mostly you and Tim. Some Sasha, and…but that’s not really what I meant.” He reached up and brushed a trembling hand over Martin’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have been able to handle being alone and blind. I’d have been completely lost without you.”

“Well…I mean, I was, too. I even told the others that just before you showed up,” Martin admitted. “It’s just…I’m used to being alone, I guess? There was…I never had anyone to take care of me, other than myself, so I learned how from a pretty early age. Worrying about me was something that happened when I didn’t have anyone else’s needs to worry about, and that almost never happened. I’m always lost.”

“You’re not now,” Jon said fiercely. He pulled Martin’s head down for a kiss. “But that’s my point, Martin. If our positions had been switched, I wouldn’t have lasted two weeks on my own. I’d have broken completely. You’re…so much stronger than I am.”

Martin snorted. “I’m stubborn. There’s a difference.”

“You’re both,” Jon said. Martin didn’t need to see him to know he was smiling—it was obvious in the affection in his voice. “Almost everyone we’ve encountered has mentioned that. It doesn’t change the fact that I couldn’t have done half of what you did. Let alone without getting everyone else hurt, if not killed. You did that.”

“Luck.” Martin hesitated. “I…I couldn’t really…Jon, the others, are they really okay?”

“They’re fine,” Jon assured him. “Except for…well, you. I’m sorry. It—it looks like their Martin took the brunt of the worms. But I didn’t even see so much as a hole on anyone else.”

Martin sighed in relief. “I can live with that.”

They fell silent for a while. Martin concentrated on the weight of Jon’s head against his shoulder, the thud of his heartbeat against his side, the warmth and softness of his skin under his hands. For as little time as they’d had together, or at least how little time they’d had before the world had ended and their clinging had been more desperate than loving, this was still so familiar, so comforting. Martin knew exactly where was safe to touch and where wasn’t, where Jon was overly sensitive and where he had no feeling at all. He literally didn’t need to see a thing.

“You know what’s bothering me the most?” he said at last.

“You don’t know what Sasha looks like?” Jon guessed.

“I don’t—are you reading my mind?” Martin felt his lips quirk upwards in a smile. Just a few months ago (or…whatever the actual span of time since the end of the world had been, he was guessing here), the very idea would have made him indignant, but now it was almost delightful.

“Is it wrong to say ‘I wish’?” Jon chuckled slightly, then sighed. “No. I—even right here with you, I can’t…it was the same with Melanie. Your eyes don’t work, so the Eye can’t use them. I just…know you. Lowercase know. And honestly, I wouldn’t have realized that was her if I hadn’t recognized her voice from the old tapes.”

Martin kissed the top of Jon’s head lightly. It was the closest thing to an apology he would be able to give for something Jon would fuss at him if he tried to actually apologize for. “So? What does she look like?”

Jon hummed. “Well, she’s tall. Not quite as tall as Tim, but taller than me, at least, which must have irritated me at some point. Slender, but…curvy, I guess? Not as waifish as the Not-Sasha was. Long dark hair, brown eyes. Glasses, too—the cat’s-eye type, you know what I mean?”

Martin frowned, trying to remember. “Are they…purple?”

“Yes. Wait. How do you know that? Could you see them?”

Jon sounded so hopeful, Martin hated to break his heart, probably as much as Jon had hated to admit he couldn’t actually read Martin’s mind. “I found a pair like that in the Archives once. While you were off on your world tour, I think. Tim made some snide remark about them being possessed or infused with evil energy or something like that, since they pretty obviously weren’t reading glasses.”

“Oh.” Sure enough, Jon deflated against Martin. “I hated that I didn’t recognize her. We were arguably friends for years and I—I didn’t recognize her.”

“That’s…kind of a good thing, though?” Martin didn’t exactly mean to make it a question, but he was uncertain. He hadn’t known Sasha as long as Jon had, even though he’d been with the Institute longer than the entire rest of the Archives staff put together. “I mean, if you did recognize her…it would have meant that she got taken by…”

“The Stranger. I know. I—God, I’m going to have to tell her tomorrow I looked into her head. You know I’m trying not to do that, but—I had to know if she was all right. When I realized the Institute had been attacked…”

“I think she’ll forgive you. I mean, it’s not like you did it for fun.”

“Still.” Jon suddenly tensed. “The table—has it been—?”

“Not yet,” Martin assured him. “Or if it has, someone else signed for the delivery. But I told…my counterpart to let me know if it did happen.” He paused. “Jon, what are we actually going to do with that table?”

“I don’t know. The—the Other was bound by it, not to it, so I’m reluctant to destroy it and risk unleashing it on the Institute. At the same time…”

“Someone’s bound to study it eventually,” Martin completed. “What about sending up a copy of the statement talking about it? I mean, they’ve got the calliope locked up. Maybe if they know how dangerous it is, they’ll let it be.”

“Maybe.” Jon didn’t sound sure. “I—I don’t know enough about the people in Artifact Storage to know how they’d react. We can ask Sasha. She wasn’t there long, but she might know more than, well, the rest of us.” He sighed. “I’m just glad she’s all right. I—I wasn’t sure if we’d even know if she got taken. If we’d get muddled and forget that the voice wasn’t the same.”

Thinking about it gave Martin a headache. “Thankfully, she wasn’t. And your counterpart didn’t get hurt. Or Tim.”

“I worried about that, too. I don’t know how much of…the way he was at the end there was because of the Stranger and how much was because of the worms and how much was just…the general atmosphere of the Institute, and the Archives specifically, but I’m sure him turning into a sieve didn’t help.” Jon pressed a kiss to Martin’s collarbone. “And you didn’t get bitten?”

“Not even once,” Martin assured him.

“Good. That’s good.” Jon paused. “Why did you trust Michael?”

“Honestly? I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.” Martin thought about how to phrase it. Because Jon was absolutely right—the Distortion was incredibly dangerous and untrustworthy, whether Michael or Helen. “He showed up in the tunnels…I don’t remember him doing that when Jane Prentiss attacked us, but maybe it was just because it was in the middle of the day. Or maybe I just wasn’t worth tormenting. But he did this time, and it was, well, it was me or them. Tim and Sasha needed to make it out of the tunnels because Past Me needed to know they were okay. I didn’t want them lost in those corridors for days or weeks on end. And I guess maybe I was hoping it would be less disorientating because I couldn’t see.”

“Was it?”

“Actually, yeah. Or maybe he just made it more…direct.”

Jon snorted. “I can’t see him being so…helpful. Especially not to someone tied to the Archives.”

“Well, I’m not exactly tied to them anymore,” Martin said slowly. “Especially not now. And like he said, I’ve been marked by the Spiral myself, that time Tim and I wound up in his corridors. Mostly, though, I think he was helpful because I told him I’d come back to help save the world.”

“Michael or Helen, I really don’t think the Distortion would care that the world ended.”

“I…might have left out a few key details,” Martin said. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “I told him that the Beholding was the one that had eventually succeeded in its ritual, and that he had been completely and utterly destroyed. He didn’t seem too sure until I described exactly what his hallways looked like, and who he used to be. Then I told him that if he wanted to have any chance not to have those things happen, he’d best let me through safely.”

“God, I love you. Have I told you that lately?”

“Not since you walked in the door, no.”

Martin meant it as a joke, but from the way Jon suddenly went stiff, he realized it hadn’t quite landed. “Good Lord. I—I really haven’t, have I?”

“Well, to be fair, neither have I,” Martin pointed out. “We did have other things to worry about. And, I mean, there’s the whole ‘we’re not going to tell our past selves that we’re in a relationship because we don’t want to rush them’ thing we agreed on. Honestly, Jon, you really think you have to say the words for me to know?”

“No. No, o-of course not. Still…” Jon cupped Martin’s jaw with one hand and kissed him—a soft, tender kiss that spoke volumes, even before he said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Again they fell into a silence, one less heavy than before but still weighted. Martin was tired—not as tired as the others had to be, but still tired—but he was reluctant to sleep just yet. He was perfectly content to lie there with Jon, enjoying the nearly-forgotten sensation of not being in imminent danger for once. The last time they’d been able to rest like this had been…well, all right, Salesa’s house, which didn’t really count with Annabelle Cane creeping about and Jon growing steadily weaker the longer he was cut off from the Eye. They hadn’t been able to relax this much, really, since before the world ended. And there was no telling how long they’d be able to relax now, so Martin was determined to enjoy it for however long it lasted.

He almost thought Jon had fallen asleep until he spoke again. “How much have you told them?”

It took Martin a second to realize what Jon was asking. “Not a lot. They only got here a few minutes before you did, really, and that was the first time I met Past You when he knew I wasn’t, well, Past Me. All I’ve told him so far, that you weren’t here for anyway, was that I was from the future and that we were here to save the world, and that the statements on the tapes were real. And, well, you heard how much Tim and Sasha knew. I told Past Me a bit more, but not much. Just that the Fears exist and that one of them runs the Institute.” He paused. “Actually, he—put things together pretty quickly, but I didn’t go into details. I suppose he’s figured it out, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I told him about the Fears…he asked if one of them had something to do with spiders, and when I said yes, he asked if that was why you hated them so much. I didn’t put it together until I heard your tape about that damned Leitner.”

Jon made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “When did you listen to that tape? I—well, I’m not upset, obviously, and I would have…but I don’t remember actually giving it to you.”

Martin bit his lip. “It was…it was while you were in your coma, actually. I listened to all of them. Every tape I could find. I told myself I was trying to fill in the missing pieces, to find out the things you’d known so I could keep the Archives running for you, because I had to believe you’d be back, but…really I just needed to hear your voice.”

“I know how that goes,” Jon said softly. “Honestly, it’s why I listened to all those tapes you were leaving for me as soon as I did. And the ones you did while I was…gone before.” He paused. “Wait…did you listen to the official tapes or the ones I recorded for myself?”

“Both. I didn’t know they were the same cases at first, but…well, the first time I realized I was listening to something I’d already heard, I went ahead and listened all the way to the end.” Martin tightened his arms around Jon without really thinking about it. “God, I felt awful about them. You were going through so much and I didn’t even notice…”

“Martin, no, it—you did notice. I honestly don’t know that I would have survived those months if you hadn’t been looking out for me. Even when I all but accused you of murder, you still looked out for me.” Jon hugged Martin tighter, too. “No one could have done more for me than you did. What happened wasn’t your fault. It’s never been your fault.”

Martin wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he also wasn’t going to argue, not right now. They’d have plenty of time to argue later, he supposed. And really, if that was the worst thing they had to fight about, he could live with that. “Still. I wish there’d been something else I could have done.”

“Just as I wish I could have done more for you when you were working with Peter Lukas. We did what we could with what we had.” Jon sighed. “It will have to be enough. We can’t change it now—not for ourselves, anyway. And hopefully we can keep our past selves from ever having to face that.”

Martin hummed in agreement. “Jon…do you think we can? That we can actually keep Past You from being…marked by any more powers before we can take out…you know?” He left out the question that had been haunting him during the nights he lurked in the Archives: Could they even take out Jonah Magnus? He’d thwarted their efforts once before, after all, and even though they were in the past now, it wouldn’t be easy. “I know you can’t Know the future or hypotheticals or anything like that. I’m asking for your opinion. What do you think?”

For a long moment, Jon didn’t answer. Finally, he said quietly, “I don’t think we can keep him completely free of marks. Michael…wants his revenge. Despite your warning, I think he’ll go after Past Me at some point regardless.” He pondered for a moment. “Before the Unknowing. We’ve got to take him out before then.”

Martin didn’t question which him Jon was talking about. “Tim’s not going to be happy about us taking away his shot at revenge.”

“If there was a safe way of disrupting it, I’d be all for it, but I don’t think there is.”

“Jon, the whole point is that the rituals can’t succeed,” Martin pointed out. “It’s going to collapse under its own weight anyway, right? Why does he have to disrupt it right at the height of the ritual? Why not just…plant the stuff and let him press the button from a safe distance?”

Jon paused. “That…God, why didn’t I think of that? Of course, you’re absolutely right. As long as they’re all there, it…it doesn’t matter how far along it is.”

Martin could hear the exhaustion in Jon’s voice. He was about to ask if Jon was sure he’d slept within the last week when it hit him all of a sudden. Quietly, he asked, “When’s the last time you took a statement?”

The split-second pause before Jon answered told Martin everything he needed to know. “I’m fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

Jon sighed heavily. “I’ve done a couple small ones for myself since I came back, and, well, I was in the room when they gave their statements. It…took the edge off, at least.”

“Yeah, but it’s not enough. You’re starving, Jon.”

“What do you want me to do, start…pouncing people on the streets? You stopped me from doing that once before, and you were right, but—”

“I can give you one,” Martin said. He pressed a finger to Jon’s lips, forestalling his immediate refusal. “No, listen to me. You need a statement. And you’ve been without one so long, it’s got to be…fresh. Besides, I know you want to know what my trip back here was like. That’s…definitely a statement.” And it’ll probably keep you going for a while, he didn’t say. What he’d experienced, in a place he hadn’t expected to feel much fear, had nearly undone him, would have undone him if the Keeper hadn’t intervened at probably the last possible moment. But if there was anyone he wanted to have it, it was Jon.

“I don’t want you to keep destroying yourself to help me,” Jon whispered.

“Gotowe zdrowie, kto chorobie powie.” Martin quoted one of the old Polish proverbs his grandfather had taught him when he was little. He didn’t bother translating. One of Jon’s “gifts” from the Beholding was the ability to understand languages spoken at him, at least sometimes. He couldn’t speak them necessarily, but he could understand them, when the Eye felt it was important. He also knew that Jon didn’t always realize he was doing it. “Let me do something for you, Jon. Please.”

There was a long silence before Jon said, “Tomorrow. Not tonight. Just…I didn’t start seeing Melanie again after she—quit, but just in case it—one more night without nightmares.”

“Okay,” Martin agreed. “Tomorrow it is. After we’ve answered some questions, how’s that?”

“That’s…honestly better than I expected. I thought you’d try to make me do it first thing in the morning.” Jon sounded relieved.

“I’m trying to meet you halfway here.” They were both stubborn as hell—Martin probably worse than Jon, if he was being honest—but they were learning to make concessions to one another. As badly as Martin wanted to force Jon to just take the damn statement already, he also knew that the need for statements was the one part of the Archivist package Jon still hated. More so after what Jonah Magnus had done to him, done through him. And Jon was right about there being a chance taking his statement would mean both of them had to experience it in their nightmares. It was a chance they’d have to take, though.

“So am I.” Jon exhaled. “I…I don’t know how I’m going to do this. How to find the balance between keeping them safe and not keeping them in the dark. And how to do it without…manipulating them. Without forgetting that they’re people, not pieces on a game board.”

“That’s what I’m here for. To help you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Martin twirled a strand of Jon’s hair around his finger idly. “I don’t want to ever have to find out.”

Jon snuggled against Martin’s chest, and he felt the butterfly kiss of his eyelashes fluttering shut. “Neither do I.”

Translation of the proverb: “Ready the health, who shares the disease.” English equivalent: “A problem shared is a problem halved.”

#ollie writes fanfic #the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#blind!martin #time travel fix it au

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lineffability · 5 years

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// and the angel said unto them, do not be afraid // Luke 2:10

Aziraphale was in a good mood. Which was sort of his State Of Being, what with him being an angel and goodness incarnate and generally Holier Than Thou.

That was the way he liked to think of himself, anyways. He didn’t like to look past that thin, fragile layer into the burning depths out of which he had been forged. His goodness was the crust of the earth, the protective layer that made life possible on the surface.

What lay beneath was both life-giving and deeply destructive. Like God herself, in that way. Shaped in Her image.

Hellfire was not the most cataclysmic force around.

Like most angels, it was a part of him he kept under lock and had mostly forgotten (denied). Aziraphale had worked hard to shape himself into who he wanted himself to be. Who he had consciously chosen to be.

He was a being of love, at the end of it all.

And the things he loved and surrounded himself with were like the homemade, cross-stitched fabric of his soul: food and books and warm colours; softness and fondness and contentment; and Crowley.

(Woe betide the fool who might try and rip a hole into this fabric, to snatch a thread and force it to unravel--to reveal what lay neatly tucked away underneath.)

Currently, Aziraphale was in particularly high spirits, because he had struck a most pleasing book deal, and was on his way back to his shop with a pack of chocolates under his arm, and was also very much looking forward to Crowley returning tonight from his little trip over to Wales where he was wreaking some Moderate Inconvenience for old time’s sake.

He entered his shop with a smile on his face: a smile that died when he saw the tall, broad man clad in a perfectly-fitting grey suit standing right there in the centre of the room, waiting for him on the carpet that he knew hid a rather occult chalk sketch.

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale fixed his bowtie, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This is a... surprise?”

Behind the angel, Aziraphale could see the answering machine blinking at him from under a pile of books--an ugly device, really, but Crowley had pestered him to get one set up so much he had to give in at some point, that wily old serpent--and his thoughts involuntarily wandered off to the demon. Not exactly an appropriate moment.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel smiled his business smile, play-punching Aziraphale on his shoulder as he came up to him. The angels had kept their distance ever since The Hellfire Incident; this was the first time Aziraphale had seen the Archangel since that day, a few months ago now. “Old boy! Just dropped by to update you on some stuff; keep in touch, right? Well, anyways, about the demon Crowley--”

Aziraphale straightened, lips parting slightly.

“--well, about him, you’ll have to manage without him for a bit, nothing serious. No harm done, right? Well, no permanent harm, anyways.” He laughed, as if he’d made a little joke. He had, only Aziraphale was not in on it yet.

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded weak to his own ears.

“Oh, come on! You know we’re big on vengeance!” Gabriel beamed. “Of course, we honour our agreements, but a well-placed little discorporation has never hurt anyone, now, has it? Actually, scratch that, it hurts a little. Anyways, we acquired some fine murderers--aren’t humans just great? Murder by purchase, hilarious! They should be on their way to eliminate his earthly shell as we speak, just wanted to let you know.”

Aziraphale was barely listening anymore. The red light of the answering machine glowered at him from the depths of his consciousness like beastly eyes in the dark, its happy promise turned to bone-deep, spine-chilling dread.

Crowley, discorporated? His knees felt weak.

"Oh don’t look so upset, now. He’ll be back in no time, the paperwork only takes a few years down there. Anyways, I gotta run, duty calls, and--”

He stopped dead when he caught the look in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale had never looked at him like that. Perhaps Aziraphale had never looked at anyone like that. Gone was the pudgy little man with eyes so blue they must’ve been taken right from the perfect sky of a picture book. He looked like rainclouds, like a cold desert, like a stormy sea about to come crashing down to drown the entire world. He looked like The Fury Of God, and Gabriel took a step backwards, involuntarily.

But just as suddenly as it had come on, the wave subsided (but oh, the dark sea remained). “It has not happened yet, you say?” His voice sounded strained.

“Oh, no,” Gabriel started, but Aziraphale, staring at the floor, merely snapped his fingers, and the Archangel disappeared as the carpet below him incinerated and the chalk beneath glowed white.

Another snap, and the answering machine started playing by itself.

“Aziraphale!” A chipper voice piped up, and the angel suddenly felt so scared he wanted to sink down onto the floor. “So, I was wondering, since I can’t quite recall--was Wales one of yours or ours? I mean,” and here he laughed, “I do know who’s responsible for Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch--still proud of that one. Anyways, come over to my place tonight at 7, I’ve brought you some bara brith and a bottle blanc de blancs.”

The rest of the tape ran empty. “Dammit, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to convince himself that he was not about to cry. He rushed to the phone, and picked up the receiver. The right number started dialing by itself.

The clock showed 6.

“Angel? I know you miss me, but--”

“Crowley! Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale closed his eyes, the relief was so big.

“--really, gotta be patient only a little while longer.” Crowley’s voice was mischievous, a sentiment that currently went right over the angel’s head. “I still got some business to attend to in Hackney.”

“Wait, are you back in London?!”

“Oh yeah, just about to meet up with some shady people, y’know, my favourite kind, they wanted to strike some sorta deal and--oh, gotta go!”

“Crowley, wait!”

“Toodeloo!”

The line went dead, and Aziraphale, aggravated, threw the receiver down. It fell to the ground, so he picked it back up and put it on the holder, angrily. He felt like swearing.

He had to get to Crowley. Before they did.

Crowley was expecting nothing. If they really were trained assassins, and if they acted fast enough, there was a real chance his demon was in serious trouble.

It took half an hour to get from Soho to Hackney by cab or public transport. For a human.

Aziraphale had been out of shape for six thousand years, but right now he didn’t have time to acknowledge that fact. Reality would just have to deal with it. So he ran. He ran as if the devil was on his heels, even though it was in fact quite the opposite. After a few steps he was barely touching the ground anymore, while an Old power deep inside him reared its tired head. Nobody took notice of him, nor of the flash of white feathers that flickered in and out of existence around him as he moved, ever faster, dragging his body along for the ride.

Ten minutes later he stood in a dark alley, gasping for breath as he tried to put himself back together: literally; rearranging his atoms and reattaching the patches of Soul that had spilled over like water out of an overflowing cup, like cotton out of a crude and frayed doll.

He was close enough now, to feel him. Could sense the demonic aura.

(That was good, right? That meant he still had an aura.)

It didn’t take long to track him down.

Through a broken fence and along a wall full of horrendous graffiti and towards the entrance of an abandoned warehouse. It was a truly sinister place; no person in their right mind would meet up with strangers here. Except Crowley was no person (and quite possibly never in his right mind.)

(I don’t have a right mind, angel, Aziraphale could almost hear him say, I have a wrong mind. And I’m very much in it. Duh.)

The doors crumbled before him, evaporated into thin air that he could feel against his wings. He hadn’t bothered putting them away.

“Crowley?” he called.

And Crowley turned around, surprise on his face, and as if they had been waiting for this moment the two people he was now facing away from drew their guns.

Two shots echoed through the empty hall.

They never reached their target. Aziraphale lifted his hand, and for a moment everything stopped. The wave of his righteous fury came crashing down all over again, and this time there was no stopping it. When reality resumed, the bullets had found new targets.

With twin screams, the two henchpeople went down and writhed on the ground, their kneecaps shattered. When they looked up, they wished they hadn’t.

All they saw was bright white blinding fury, a vast nothingness so incomprehensible to the human mind that it burned their eyes and their souls, and inside that nothingness a million eyes staring right through them. There were whispers, in that place, echoes and ghosts and memories of worlds, and as the angel spread its wings they started screaming.

They stopped, abruptly, when the demon Crowley let them fall into merciful unconsciousness.

“Angel, that’s enough.”

The sound of Crowley’s voice reached him through a haze, and Aziraphale faltered. He turned towards the demon, and saw shock and worry on his face.

Crowley saw something else entirely: He saw Both. There was Aziraphale, tired and dishevelled and unbearably horrified and so very Human; and there was Aziraphale, blinding and manifold and unbearably Holy, and not human at all.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured, “it’s enough, now. It’s okay.”

And Aziraphale closed his eyes, and stood there as the light receded, and when he opened his eyes he was One again. And he looked terrified.

“Oh, Crowley,” he said, and his voice almost broke, it sounded so feeble. “You’re, you’re alright.”

Crowley, on the other hand--now that he had his angel back, he knew it, saw it--looked at him... almost a little smitten. He stepped closer, steadying the angel before he could ask. Though he tried to look Casual, he still scanned the angel’s face intently, until Aziraphale looked away.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he finally said, and after another moment: “Should I thank you?”

“Better not,” Aziraphale answered with a weak smile. “I could get into all sorts of trouble...”

Crowley smiled: faintly, softly. (Almost, very almost, he touched a hand to the angel’s cheek.)

“So, care to tell me what this is all about?” he asked instead, carefully circling around Aziraphale, his touch never quite leaving him.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a fine line. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Silence settled around them, and both their gazes landed on the poor unconscious souls lying in a heap on the ground.

“Well uhhh, alright, then,” Crowley spoke up, “So... Let’s get you home? I still have that sparkling wine in my Bentley, y’know the one.”

“Wait.” Aziraphale sighed, taking a few exhausted steps towards the two murderers acquired by Gabriel. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured as he took to healing their knees, “ When you wake up, you migth want to re-evaluate your choice of profession. And try not to believe what you saw.”

(Forgetting, he knew, was impossible. They would have to carry this burden for life. As did he.)

Crowley stood waiting, and then wordlessly walked by his side (his arm brushing against Aziraphale’s now and again, close enough to offer comfort with his presence, but keeping to himself.) He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this situation, wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew Aziraphale well enough to give him time.

He’d always needed time.

As they stepped outside, someone was waiting for them.

He was Gabriel--but not quite. A few inches smaller, a little lop-sided, with less of his perfect hair on his head. He looked like he’d been run through a pastry machine. And he looked pissed.

“You’ve really done it now, Aziraphale,” he snapped. “Discorporating an Archangel! Look at the fucking body they gave me!”

“You what?!” Crowley wheezed, incredulous and, not to his credit, looking absolutely delighted.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders, and suddenly looked like his old self. Like his softness was his armour.

“I thought, despite everything, that you were still one of us... but I must have been wrong.” Cold anger sat deep in Gabriel’s eyes, and behind that, hidden, something like disappointment.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, instinctively, ready to go No, no, of course I still am, but then he glanced sideways at Crowley. And that was that. He knew.

They were still His Side... but right now, though he would never say the words out loud despite it all, there was only one thought burning inside him and it was:

Fuck My Side.

“No, I don’t suppose I am.” He said it as if he was realizing it only as he spoke, and a part of him did. Another part had known it for a long, long time. He looked Gabriel right in the eyes, holding his furious gaze with his own.

Beside him, he saw (felt) Crowley’s head snap around, just impercetibly, a motion so small that Gabriel would never notice, but Aziraphale did. Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes had gone wide.

So this was it. The moment he had been so very scared of for so very long, but now that it was happening he suddenly was not scared anymore at all. Determined, he took a step forward, positioning himself slightly closer and slightly in front of Crowley. He thought he saw the demon smile softly, for just a second, a little unsure twitch in his cheek.

“I would appreciate it if you never did that again,” Aziraphale said, and somehow it sounded both like a polite request and a Threat.

And Gabriel, The Trial still present in his mind--the image of Azirapahle standing in Hellfire and basking in it--thought he saw that same Aziraphale again now. The Archangel smiled, a short and humourless smile that was mere acknowledgement, and then he snapped his fingers and was gone.

Crowley waved after him, a little wiggle of his fingers that he very much enjoyed.

Aziraphale felt all his strength leave him, yet at the same time he’d never felt stronger in his life. He exhaled, trying to wrap his mind around all that had happened. He had truly chosen his allegiance once and for all, and he knew it was the only decision he ever could have made.

The power that had so forcefully reminded him of its existence, never quite forgotten, still tingled beneath his skin, but it was only a soft stream now, and Aziraphale gently led it back down. The fabric of Himself was still intact. With a little smile, and an even littler glance to the demon by his side, he clasped his hands contentedly in front of his stomach.

Aziraphale knew who he had to thank for that. Wily old serpent, always meddling in his affairs. He’d better never stop.

“He’s a real jerk, that one, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale gasped, looking scandalized, and completely missed the irony of that. Then he grinned, and laughed, and looked at the ground and then back up into Crowley’s face, a little unsure.

“I guess you might, on occasion, have a point,” he conceded.

He smiled broadly, warmly, one of his best smiles, and Crowley, a little stricken, reciprocated. Suddenly nervous, he took off his sunglasses and tried to clean them with the hem of his shirt, before giving up and slipping them into his pocket, as had been his (very secret) intention all along.

They locked eyes, in the twilight, and almost seemed like bashful teenagers, ready to come of age but feeling very shy about it.

“What’s this horrible feeling all around here?” the demon asked suddenly, looking around. “It’s making my stomach all upset.”

“That would be love, my dear.” Unadulterated.

“Oh.” Crowley said nothing more.

But his hand brushed against the back of Aziraphale’s, just lightly grazing it, and the angel, as if by serendipity, turned his hand to face his--not quite taking it, but letting their fingers touch, and not pulling away.

_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_

tagging the people in the OP who sounded like they would want to be tagged:

@idinink @aangelphale @ohblessit @armoredavengers @e3105eb @ineffable-bisexual @cake-cow @snake-in-the-bookshop @crowleysscaredplants @the-best-pilot-in-the-resistance @crowleys--angel @qfantasydragon @aduckwithears @jesuisfabulous @azirafuck @snakecrowleyy @foolish-principalitee @crowleyraejepsen @azfellandco @on-our-own-side @imlowercasemad

#good omens #ineffable husbands #a/c #aziraphale x crowley #my omens #my writing #inefficable #why do i hurt the ones i love #the one in which aziraphale has had Enough

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mamapeach7 · 4 years

Text

Daeul

Preview / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / bonus

Chapter 16

Hyuk smiled warmly at Daeul before patting his head and taking a seat next to him at the dining table. “Sleep well, Daeul?”

“The host came by early and dropped this off.”, he said as he gently placed a bag of peaches on the table, flashing Hanji a smile.

She grabbed the bag and took the contents out to wash them, trying to distract herself from Hyuk’s warm gazes.

“Alright, I have some work to finish up today so...You two okay with being alone?”, Hyuk asked with a brow raised.

Hanji looked toward Daeul and didn’t miss the look of disappointment on his face upon hearing what his dad had said. To reassure him she spoke, “We’ll be fine -- I think he said he wanted to go for a swim so I-I’ll take him.”

She pointed lightly to the backyard of their temporary home, directing to the small pool outside.

Hyuk nodded softly before patting Daeul’s head once more and pecking his cheek lightly.

“Alright, I’ll see you later then.”, he said with a small smile toward Hanji before leaving, making her hold her chest when he wasn’t looking.

Their three days had been spent either walking by the beach, eating or just lazing around the house waiting for Hyuk to return so they could actually do something productive.

The doorbell rang when Daeul and Hanji sat by the pool, making them turn to each other in confusion.

Hanji wrapped the boy around with a towel before grabbing her black silk robe designed with roses, to cover herself up. Afterall, she wouldn’t appreciate a stranger eyeing her down even in a white one-piece.

When she opened the door, there was no one there rather a small envelope on the doormat.

She allowed Daeul to wait behind her as she picked it up and pulled out the contents of it, which was a small note with writing all too familiar to her.

Meet me at The Leo by seven o’clock.

Jerico will come by to pick up Daeul at six.

Hyuk.

Who the hell is Jerico?, she furrowed her brows and turned to Daeul who jutted his bottom lip as he waited to get changed out of his wet clothes.

Well apparently Jerico was an employee from the nearby villas who ran the daycare for families. He certainly came by at six o’clock sharp to pick Daeul up who cried loudly upon being sent away.

Not being able to bear seeing him so upset, Hanji herself volunteered to come along with them to drop him off and she would find her own way to the restaurant which Hyuk had informed her about.

She felt a slight tinge inside her with the remembrance of the incident they had been through months before -- their hands tied together with tape and rope and guns pointed at their heads.

But then Jerico let her know that they had the boy’s father’s full consent and that he would be safe under any circumstances, and she certainly trusted Hyuk at this point.

They were generous enough to bring her to The Leo, dropping her off at the front.

She walked through the open doors in her long white dress, another white cardigan placed on her shoulders as she wore her hair down. She made sure to wear a long-lasting perfume and lotioned her arms thoroughly.

“Miss Oh.”, she heard a voice say.

“This way please.”, the voice belonged to an usher of sorts who led her past the chattering customers and toward the back of the restaurant.

When he opened the door, she hesitantly took a step in and instantly her eyes laid upon Kwon Hyuk himself who sat at a small table for two, swirling the ice in his water.

He lifted his head and met her eyes, smiling instantly upon seeing her. Standing up quickly, he pulled a chair out for her which she was shy to take at first but eventually did thanks to the warm smile on his face.

“You made it.”, he said once he sat down in his own seat, making her smile tightly as a shy blush crept upon her cheeks.

Leaning his elbows on the table, Hyuk lowered his head. “I uh...I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with work -- I-I didn’t bring the two of you here all to leave you alone.”

“No, no! I-I get it, and it’s not like you’re not trying at all. And D-Daeul knows how to have fun, anyway.”, she giggled.

Just then the same usher, now a waiter it seemed, delivered them a bottle of red wine and poured a small amount into their glasses. Two other waiters brought what Hanji guessed their appetizers were -- Polynesian chicken wings, which made her smile at Hyuk’s simplicity.

“I hope he hasn’t been giving you too much of a hard time.”

“N-No, not at all!”, Hanji said as they shyly picked up a piece of their meal. “Y-You know, he looks so much like you. I-It’s almost as if you gave birth to him yourself.”

She laughed in between her words, making Hyuk laugh loudly himself. He threw his head back making noises which made Hanji widen her eyes.

Is he choking? Oh my gosh, he’s choking!

“I...Haven’t...Heard that one before.”, he said laughing throughout his sentence. Okay, you’re okay.

“Yea he uh, well I’ve been told he looks and acts a lot like me but in a way...he’s like his mom too.”

This made Hanji freeze in her spot, awkwardly holding a small chicken wing between her fingers. “H-His mom.”

He seemed comfortable talking about her -- continuing to break apart a chicken wing as he spoke. “Yea, but we haven’t spoken since he was born.”

“C-Can you tell me about her?”

He comfortably explained to her that Daeul’s birth mom had held a relationship with Hyuk since his early twenties, and that when he was twenty-seven she had gotten pregnant with his son.

“At that time she was applying for a job in Australia and I wanted her to stay here for the sake of the baby and of course...I-I thought we would become a family.”

Two months after Daeul was born and after having lived with Hyuk and his family in the grand home of his parents, she had gotten the job in Sydney. However, she promised that she would return one day for Hyuk and their child and they would continue their life together.

“That was almost three years ago.”

Hanji looked longingly at him, her eyes beginning to show pity which was possibly the last thing he needed.

Sighing heavily, he said, “She’s married now, though.”

Hanji closed her eyes momentarily in both shock and disappointment, not knowing exactly how to comfort him.

“I...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I got to keep Daeul.”, Hyuk smiled warmly.

“D-Do you still think about her?”, Hanji asked hesitantly, fiddling with her thumbs under the table.

Jutting his bottom lip, Hyuk nodded softly making the woman in front of him lower her head with a certain clench in her heart. You’ve no right to feel jealous, Oh Hanji.

“Every now and then. But don’t worry...There’s been someone else on my mind as of late.”

Hyuk tilted his head and waited for Hanji to raise her head and once she did, he locked eyes with her. A small smirk on his face let her know that whatever she was thinking in that moment, she was correct. That maybe, just maybe she was that person occupying his thoughts lately.

Just then they heard the soft sound of cellos and what Hanji could only make out, a violin. She smiled tightly, looking over to the balcony right on her left side and saw a small quartet on the floor below them.

Then she caught a glimpse of the setting sun right before her, the orange and yellows merging together with the turquoise water, making her wonder where the sea ended and the sky began.

“Do you want to dance?”

Ripping her eyes away from the view, she saw Hyuk’s hand to her right and they travelled to meet his gaze, now standing right next to her.

I’ve never danced.

He gently grabbed a hold of her hand which made her stand up on instinct before he wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her close. She felt awkward. His face which she had admired from afar now just mere centimeters away from hers and his eyes piercing into hers.

She gently wrapped her arms around his shoulders lowering her head to avoid his gaze.

“I haven’t done this in a while.”, he softly said to her.

I haven’t done this ever.

“Are you feeling alright?”, he asked with slight worry in his voice.

Hanji still kept her gaze away from his. “I-Is this alright? I uh, I don’t know how people will react to a caretaker dancing with her employ--”

“Are you afraid of what people will say?”, he questioned and she knew the way his brows looked without even glancing at him.

She nodded slowly, feeling slightly embarrassed of her pride. “Are you afraid because you don’t feel the same way?”

If it wasn’t the tension that made her finally look at him, it was definitely his question. They stopped swaying as she stared into his eyes longingly, her mouth slightly agape.

“W-What do--”

“I know you still think about what I’ve said -- about know-knowing your place…”

“...But now...I-I want you out of that place.”

He tightened his grip around her, pulling her even closer to his chest. “C-Can we try something?”. Hanji quickly glanced at his lips before nodding softly.

“I-In this moment, right now. L-Look at me as me. Not as your employer, Oh Hanji…”

And with that, he closed the mere distance between them by softly attaching their lips to each other. To say Hanji melted would be an understatement -- she could feel her body pushing itself into Hyuk’s as her eyes finally closed to enjoy their moment.

The instrumental of John Legend’s Ordinary People complimented their shared kiss -- soft moans exchanged every now and then as they entangled their lips with open-mouthed kisses.

Somewhere in the middle, Hyuk slightly raised Hanji from the ground by her waist, her chest still pressed against him, twirling her around making them break apart from their kiss as she giggled quietly into his ear.

When he placed her down, he kissed her once more before pulling her into a tight hug with his nose nuzzled into the smooth skin of her neck.

Fun Story Fact #16:

Hanji’s silk robe is inspired by one the writer owns.

#dean #deantrbl #deanfluenza #kwon hyuk #story

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eirian-houpe · 4 years

Text

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - Chapter 8

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: Bookshop On the Corner, slightly AU, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut

Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Read on AO3

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]

Chapter 8 - A fly in the Ointment

After an evening spent celebrating that things were finally coming together for her, Belle decided that she would make a start on cleaning up in the library the very next day. The sooner she had the place clean, the sooner she could open, and the sooner she could begin serving the people of Storybrooke and finding her place in the little town she had - though she wasn’t quite ready to admit it - already fallen in love with.

A hearty breakfast, followed by a trip to the local hardware store for buckets and cleaning supplies soon had her more than ready for a day of cleaning and dusting, and she unlocked the library and stepped inside with a spring in her step; for the first time in a long time, she found herself humming a little tune. She began by uncovering the windows, at least the ones that were only covered with newspaper. She might need help removing the boards from the outside of the other windows, and made a mental note to speak with Leroy, to ask for his help one more time.

With a little natural light coming in through the front windows now, to soften the artificial light from overhead, she turned to survey all the work she had ahead of her, and try to decide where to begin. She decided that dusting the desk, and then sweeping and mopping the floors would be the place to start, and without wasting any more time she lost herself in the task.

She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t hear the door open, announcing the arrival of a visitor, and so jumped when the woman’s voice sounded behind her, almost causing her to hit her head on the lip of the circulation desk which she had been scrubbing clean.

“Well, isn’t this a hive of industry.”

Belle made a small sound of surprise and then spun around, scrubbing brush still in hand to see Mayor Mills standing with her arms folded, looking somehow offended.

“Madam Mayor,” Belle greeted her, offering an apologetic smile for not extending her hand for a handshake, as covered in grime as she already was. “I’m afraid it will be a few days, perhaps a week before I can open the library again. A while at least.”

“On that we are in agreement,” the mayor said, her voice frosty, and Belle did not miss the fact.

“I’m sorry, I--”

“I would have thought that you’d do me the courtesy of calling into my office before you began what may very well turn out to be a pointless gesture.” Mayor Mills said. “Do you think the town of Storybrooke would allow just anyone to work in a municipal position without going through the proper hiring procedures?”

“Mayor Mills, I--”

“You may hold the lease on the building,” the mayor said, her voice clipped as she added darkly and pointedly, “for now... but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I find you qualified for the position of librarian. Until I’m convinced - however much it seems the people of this town want a library - I’m afraid I won’t be able to release any municipal funding for the running of the building. No utilities, no operating budget, and certainly no salary.”

“But--” Belle stammered, trying to get a word in edgewise, but Mayor Mills was on a roll, and Belle could tell that - for whatever reason it was that she appeared to hate her - that she was revelling in this little dressing down that she was giving.

“Not to mention there’s paperwork to be completed, which, if you’d checked in at my office before running off half cocked and thinking you could sidestep the regulations in your haste to get your own way, in spite of my having already turned down your proposition in the first place.”

She paused then, leaving Belle breathless and all but gaping at the vitriol with which the mayor was addressing her, and not knowing at all what to say.

“Well?” Mills went on, a touch of impatience in her voice now. “Nothing to say, Miss Marchland?”

Belle took a breath, and finally found the where-with-all to speak. “Madam Mayor,” she began, “As you recall, when I first approached you with my proposal concerning the opening of the library, I gave you all my credentials, and a written application that I had been given by your office.”

“I recall,” Mayor Mills sniffed with added irritation, “However there were two important pieces of your paperwork missing Miss Marchland, and without them, we can’t move forwards.”

“And they are?” Belle asked then, her own irritation rising in place of her startled intimidation as she recognised all too clearly the red tape with which the mayor was attempting to bind her. She had spent or allocated almost all of her severance pay to reimburse Leroy for what he’d already paid, and ensure the next sixth month’s rent on the property. The last thing she needed was some jumped up, full of herself, self proclaimed mistress of the town turning her dreams to ash.

“I shall need a sealed copy of your college transcript,” Mills informed her loftily, and then as if casually, added, “Oh, and of course a copy of the discharge papers from the hospital in Boston.”

“You--”

“Ah, ah, Miss Marchland,” Mills cut her off, “We don’t want to go throwing unpleasant names at each other now do we.” She smiled icily, “I may well be a bitch, as no doubt you were about to say, but around here, I’m the bitch, so… it’s your choice: the paperwork, or no library.”

“You’ll have your paperwork,” Belle snapped, her tone part way between petulance and fury.

“Excellent,” Mayor Mills said with a smile, but her smile did not reach her eyes. “Then we’ll not have a problem, will we.” Then as if she just remembered, she added, “Oh, and I’ll need that within the next forty-eight hours. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“What!” Belle cried out, actually taking a step toward the mayor and brandishing her scrubbing brush as though it were a sword. “You know damn well that’s practically impossible.”

“Well, if you’d come to me in the first place, as you should have, I could have told you all of this in advance,” the Mayor said, her icy smile still on her lips. “But, well… I’m sure you’re a resourceful young woman, certainly manipulative, if nothing else.”

“Manipulative?” Belle frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Miss Marchland,” Mayor Mills said, “I think we both know exactly what I mean. So… forty-eight hours. I look forward to receiving your paperwork - or not.”

Belle watched, both confused and agape as the mayor turned on her heels and headed for the door, where she turned back and with a great deal of spite in her tone said, “Excellent work on cleaning the place up, by the way. If the Library doesn’t work out, I’m sure someone will take you on as a fine domestic servant… little maid. ”

Then she was gone, the library door swinging closed behind her and in frustration Belle threw the scrubbing brush into the bucket, splashing suds and water over the floor, and allowing herself just a few moments of panic as something in the way the mayor had said the word maid sent a strange shiver down her spine.

#rumbelle #fic #bookshop on the corner #angst #eventual smut

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babemazzello · 5 years

Text

Joe Mazzello x Reader - NYE Party

Description: You and Joe have been together for a couple months now and you want to spend New Year’s Eve together.

Warnings: None, just a bunch of fluff.

You and Joe were at someone’s house. They were a good friend of Joe’s, but you didn’t really know them very well. You knew they worked with Joe and they were in the movie business, but it didn’t really matter to you. All you knew was that you were in a big house with a bunch of people you didn’t know and your boyfriend.

Joe was very protective of you the entire party. He knew you weren’t much of a partier, so wherever he went, you came along. He never left you along to experience an awkward situation with someone you didn’t know. He also had his hand in your back pocket the entire night. His hand gently placed in your pocket, making it clear to everyone that you were his. You liked this protective side of him. It was something that only really came out at parties. He was always afraid that some guy would come over and steal you away. You both knew that wouldn’t happen, but he liked keeping his hands on you just in case.

As the night went on, both of you drank. Small drinks here and there. Nothing to get you drunk, but enough to have both of you feeling tipsy by 11. The house had many rooms and there were enough decorations to fill up a convention center. Streamers, lights, confetti, hats, whistles, beads, everything. Whoever’s house this was really loved the holiday. This was the first time you had a boyfriend on New Year’s Eve and you had been looking forward to the kiss for a couple days now. You had it all planned out in your head.

You were going to be positioned perfectly outside with everyone around you screaming the countdown. Party hats and beads donning your head and neck. The clock would strike midnight and you and Joe would passionately kiss, undeterred by the mass of people around you and the fireworks blasting off in the background. It would be perfect and exactly like a scene out of a movie.

As the night went on and the minutes passed, you realized that this perfect start to the new year probably wouldn’t happen. You were both pretty tipsy and it was too cold for anyone to be standing outside for longer than a minute. Joe had been mingling with friends all night, and even though you had been attached to his side the entire time, you never really got a moment alone. This made you a bit sad. It was still early in your relationship and you were convinced that he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you the whole night, but you were sadly mistaken. It was a bit of a selfish wish, but it was still something you wanted.

“Do you want another drink, Y/N?” Joe asked, taking his hand out of your pocket for the first time tonight.

“Sure, but nothing too strong,” you answer. He leaves you for a split second and comes back with two beers. You each start sipping them while his hand finds its way back into your back pocket. After a little while, Joe talks again.

“Where do you want to watch the countdown?” He asked, scanning the room for possible spots.

“I don’t know,” You replied, also scanning the room. “There’s just so many people here. It’s a little crazy. Joe watched your face. It showed hints of sadness, worry, and anxiety. Emotions you tried to hide behind an optimistic facade.

“Hold on. Stay here.” He put his hand on your shoulder as he walked away. He made his way through the mass of people, disappearing from sight. You looked around the room. It was mostly drunk people dancing and smiling. Enjoying the night around you. You liked the holiday, but some people lived for it. And it seemed like all those people were here. Joe came back soon after and outstretched his hand for you to grab. “Come on,” He said. You grabbed his warm hand in yours and he pulled you through the crowd. People dancing and bumping into you as you walked. Eventually, you were through the crowd and Joe led you to a door in the closest hallway. It was marked off, but Joe lifted up the tape. I gave him an inquisitive look and took a single step back.

“I don’t think we’re allowed back there.” I joked, pointing at the tape.

“It’s okay, I asked my friend if we could go back here. He said it was okay. He knows we won’t break or steal anything.” He laughed. He pulled me underneath the tape and once we were past, he squeezed my hand to comfort me. He reached his hand out for the first door he saw and slowly turned the knob. Behind the door was a beautiful bedroom that looked fit for a king. It was themed with a brilliant red. There were high bed posts and the covers had traces of gold thread that made the entire room look regal.

There was a red couch on the other side of the room. It looked like when you sat in it, you would never be able to get up. This made you want to sit on it even more. Joe let go of your hand and laid down on the couch. His head resting on the armrest. He slipped his shoes off and rested his feet on the couch. You just stood there watching him.

“Are you going to stand there forever or are you going to join me?” He joked and laughed. You slipped your high heeled shoes off and walked over to the couch. You laid on top of him being very careful not to hurt him. Your head resting ever so gently on his chest as his arm came around your shoulders to play with your hair. You reached your arm around to hug his torso as you both laid there, never planning to get up. You could hear and feel his heartbeat through his chest. The sound of his breathing calming you down the longer you listened. The muffled sound of the other party-goers faded away as the two of you laid there. “You know,” You moved your head to look up at him. His eyes sparkling in the dim yellow light illuminating the room. When he smiled, you could feel yourself melting into him even more. You were putty in his hands. “Being here with you is more than anything I could have ever asked for.”

“I feel the same way,” You reply.

“I got lucky this year,” He whispered into your hair before he kissed your forehead. “You’re just so beautiful.” He paused for a second. “I know that you don’t really like parties, but it means a lot to me that you came with me. I just want the last seconds of this year to be spent alone...with you. I couldn’t think of a better way to end the year.”

“Me neither,” you whispered. You nuzzled your face back into his chest. His chest rising and falling underneath your head. You could hear through the wall that people were gathering from all around the house. The muffled voice turned into a dull roar as everyone gathered, preparing themselves for the countdown. Neither of you moved from your spot. “Countdown,” you commented. “It must be starting soon.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. Then you began to hear them start counting down in the other room.

8. You looked up at Joe to see that he was already staring down at you, taking in as much of your face and hair as he could.

5. You moved your hand from his side to his chest, ready to push yourself up toward him for the kiss.

2. You pushed up slightly until your faces were even. Joe’s eyes never left yours. The intensity between you was palpable.

1. Your lips locked in a passionate but lazy kiss. The alcohol in your systems hindering your kissing abilities. You didn’t care, and neither did he. You got to kiss the man you were in love with on New Year’s. His nose pressed into your cheek as you kissed with closed eyes. His hand moved to the back of your head to press himself harder into the kiss. You both tasted slightly of alcohol and it was wonderful.

When you pulled away, you began to realize how tired you really were. Your eyes dropping and ready to rest right away. You gave him one more quick peck as the party behind the walls roared. You tried to scoot back down to lie on his chest again, but he stopped you. When you look back at him, his face was serious with a hint of scared. You brought your hand up to cup his cheek. You stroked your thumb back and forth hoping to coax him out of whatever trance he was in and back to his happy, loving self. he put his hand on yours and locked eyes with you once again.

“I want to start this year off right.” He said. He paused as he seemed to collect his thoughts. He breathed out and talked. “I love you.” You readjusted yourself in your seat. This was the first time he said those words to you. Words you had been wanting to hear since your first date. Words that now had so much meaning and weight behind them that made your alcohol filled body want to break down and start crying.

“Really?” you asked, suddenly awake. You were smiling wide and couldn’t contain your excitement. Joe nodded with a wide smile as he held on tighter to your shoulder. “I love you too.” You said with the excitement of a child. You plunged your lips into his once more. The passion was thrilling and you tried to be as close to him as possible. The moment was vulnerable and intimate and you loved every second of it. You melted into his kiss, finally happy to get those words out of your system and into the open. A weight had been lifted off you. You and Joe sat there kissing in the New Year, undeterred by the people through the wall partying and drinking.

It may not have been the movie ending you wanted, but in many ways, this was better than you could have imagined.

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #john deacon #queen #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #borhapboys #roger taylor #brian may #freddie mercury #ben hardy #gwilym lee #rami malek

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mangled-dreams · 6 years

Text

Sins of the Mother: 7

Chapter 7: Grieving

Previous: Collection, Agreement, Terms, Truths, Accidents, Goodbye

Standing stone face you look into Trinity's room. You'd tidied up her bed room, fixed her bed, and cleaned up the dirty clothing from the floor but it doesn't distract you from reality. Trinity is gone and you're putting off the simple fact you'll have to clear away her things eventually.

Looking around her room you take note of all the things Trinity treasured. You don't remember moving but find yourself in front of the vanity looking at photos taped to the glass. Spotting a photo of Trinity and Helen you quickly tear it down immediately.

Staring at the photo a fit of rage boils to the surface. Your thoughts jumble from questioning why Helen survived and Trinity dying, to Helen should have died too, to you shouldn't have let Trinity out that day. Within seconds your anger turns inward as you begin to blame yourself for not being able to protect her.

You should have tracked her down hours before the accident. You should have demanded Trinity come home after she hadn't checked in the first time. Your minds over and over again about everything you should have done.

Anger fades to sorrow the longer your gaze stays on Trinity. She looks so happy, so carefree, and bright in the photos. She was going to be a wonderful veterinarian and well rounded young woman. She was going to do so much good.

Blinking rapidly you fight against the tears placing back the photo. You want so desperately to put all your blame on Helen, but you can't. You know you have every right to blame her, but you don't--not completely.

Because of Helen, Trinity was so badly injured and put on life support. Helen decided to use God knows what and drive, but Trinity could have stayed away. Your emotional and rational sides begin to war with one another the more your mind goes over the day. The longer you sit thinking the less you understand just what Trinity was thinking.

Sweeping your hand under your dripping eyes you get angry again, You know it's because you haven't come to terms that your emotions are all over the place. There is just one prolem with coming to terms with Trinity's death: How did it come to pass?

Part of you wants so much to ask-no, demand Dark tell you what happened, what events lead up to the accident, but you don't ask. You're afraid he'll want something in return. He is a demon, even if he doesn't look like it or act like any you've ever read of or seen on TV.

"Sis?" Fern's voice pulls you from your thoughts. Twisting just slightly at the waist you look at Fern standing awkwardly in the door way. She's been afraid to enter the room since Trinity was truly swept away by Death. The more you look at Fern the more you see Trinity in her features. Her hair is up in pig tails with ribbons and bows for Spirit Week at school and for a moment you see Trinity at Fern's age with the same ribbons and bows in her hair. "What are you doing?"

Sniffling you clear your throat saying, "I was just remembering, Fer." It's a partial lie. "Is there something you need?" You ask mindful of your tone. Fern has been just as traumatized as you, if not more due to her age.

Fern hesitates, her eyes traveling to Trinity's bed then back to you. You coo her name, urging her to speak her mind. There is something she obviously wants to ask.

"I... I wanted to take Mr. Blue." Fern finally voices looking at the fairly well loved blue dog similar to your own.

Walking over to Trinity's bed you pick up the blue dog smiling down at Mr. Blue you call Fern over to you. She hesitates again, her eyes shifting around the room almost in fear before rushing over to your side. It hurts that a room she once adored to come into she now fears.

Pushing the pain of Fern's reactions you continue forward. "Trin let you sleep with him, huh?" Fern nods quietly at the question. Brushing a hand over Mr. Blue's head you look at Fern. "I'm sure Trinity would want you to keep Blue. Take good care of him, okay?"

Nodding her head eagerly Fern takes Blue clutching him close to her chest. "I promise I will Y/n." She whispers kissing blue.

Dark stand to your left. He's been spending more time watching over you personally since Trinity's passing. He can see how turbulent your thoughts have been recently thorugh your actions and words. It worries him where you are mentally when you are alone.

"Are you just going to stand there?"

Dark doesn’t move or say anything immediately after your question. He simple stands near you, watching you fold the laundry. Your hands carefully fold each and every article of clothing before setting them in piles for each respective house member.

He notes they way you linger on pieces that belong to Trinity. Every times you eventually set down a clean article of clothing you look close to breaking down. He knows you’re slowly removing items of Trinity’s in to boxes as the week’s progress. Some things are marked for storage; others are marked to charities and shelters.

Trinity would want it that way.

Stepping forward Dark rounds the couch, his hand nearly blanketing yours halting your current action, and kneels before you. He can’t allow you to continue this way for much longer. He can see the way you are slowly killing yourself.

“Y/n.”

Blankly you stare at his hand, not quite sure at to his reasoning for touching you. Over the weeks, well, rather months Dark has never initiated contact. You’d always been the on to reach out and request contact from him. So, you ask yourself, what does he want?

“That is enough.” His tone commands your compliance but no through fear or even intimidation. He almost sounds concerned for your health both physical and mental. “You cannot continue on like this.”

Slowly you lift your eyes tears already lining your lower lashes. Even if his intention was to be caring you take it a different way. “You don’t get to say that to me.” You respond sternly. “She was like my child more than my sister. You don’t get to tells me when my grieving is over.”

Dark doesn’t respond, instead he shakes his head expressionless. “You are mistake.” He corrects quietly. “I am not telling you to stop grieving. I am telling you to stop neglecting yourself. Punishing yourself will not bring your sister back, nor will it bring you any amount of closure.” Dark explains squeezing your hand momentarily.

“Nothing I do will bring her back.” You respond hollowly. Dark nods in understanding and agreement.

“You are correct, however you can carry on her memory—her spirit, so to speak. You must understand she was of age to make her own decisions and understand to a point the repercussion of her choices.” He knows it is not what you would like to hear, but he also knows this is not news to you. You both know Trinity was groomed to be a self thinker, to understand that there will never be a simple solution to every problem.

Looking at Dark with a far away gaze your mind is blank as the question that’s been eating you up since Trinity’s death slips from your lips. You don’t have a chance to take them back or even pretend you didn’t ask. “Can you show me her last day?”

Sighing, Dark drops his gaze to your hands, he’d guessed this would come up and as much as he would instantly assist you with the request he understands you have no desire to feel in his debt. Looking into your lifeless eyes he tells you, “You can see for yourself. Within your veins you hold the power of your ancestors. You are a witch and capable of wielding great magic.” He sees a small spark of hope, or promise flash in your irises at his words.

He won’t tell you, but has a feeling you’ll understand his ulterior motives for getting you to use your magic. This is a grand opportunity to see you in action, to see the potential he knows you have flare into life.

Getting to his feet Dark extends his hand out to you. You take his hand hesitantly, accepting his assistance to your feet. Retaining his hold on you Dark escorts you to your room. He instructs you to pause in the doorway before walking into the center of your room looks around and snaps his fingers.

Before your eyes the bed and a desk closet to him is shoved away by an invisible force There’s not even a breath of wind or feeling of vibrations at the action but this doesn’t stop you from jumping back a little in fright. Dark chuckles at your reaction briefly clapping his hands together once.

As he pulls his hands away a large, thick ancient looking book wrapped in cracked leather appears. "This is your ancestor's Book of Shadows. With this you can look into the past, among other things." From his spot in the center of your room he holds the book out to you.

Feeling a large amount of trepidation you push yourself forward, accepting the heavy looking book. When you first feel the weight of the book it doesn't feel as heavy as it appears, however that changes when you take a firm grasp on the covers. As soon as you take possession of the book you nearly topple to the ground.

Shrieking momentarily you manage to catch yourself before you could fall face first into the flooring. "How did you make this look so light?" You grumble heaving the book over to your vanity and slam it down without meaning too.

"It contains all the knowledge of those that came before you and all the knowledge you do not know yet. As you learn and master the spell and knowledge hidden within the covers the book will lighten." Dark promises smirks. It's a very good sign to see you struggle to hold the book, it means you are worthy of all it's knowledge.

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itsaudreyhornebitch · 6 years

Text

Kastle College Professors AU Part 4

(A/N: So I lied earlier. One more part after this. Sorry if you’re not a fan of the slow burn, but whatcha gonna do? I’m only, like...75% happy with this chapter? So let me know what you think!)

READ ON AO3 HERE

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

Despite the fact that the university operated a dry campus, Frank always kept a bottle of scotch in the bottom right drawer of his desk. The good stuff—Lagavulin—and it was for special occasions only. He had purchased it 7 years ago—on his first day teaching at the university—and it had remained in his desk for years afterward, collecting dust. It turned out that Frank wasn’t all that great at celebrating. Didn’t often see many reasons he considered important enough to break out the good stuff. The day his first article had been published, he’d bought himself a Twix bar at lunch as a special treat; after his promotion to Associate Professor, he’d gone with David and Curtis for a pint and crawled into bed early; when he was awarded the Alfred P. Sloan Research Fellowship, he’d taken the kids to Coney Island and bought them so much junk food that Frankie Jr. threw up on the way home.

But never once did he break out the scotch. Not that those weren’t momentous life occasions for Frank—they were. But he had never really been one for ostentatious celebration; never the guy to throw a party in his own honor. He was, he told himself, waiting for a moment truly worthy of ceremony for the Lagavulin.

Since meeting Karen, however, he’d broken out the bottle on three separate occasions. The first time had occurred about a month and a half into their working relationship, when Karen realized, mid-rant about her latest run-in with Danny Rand, that it was her three year anniversary of earning her PhD. She’d jumped up from her desk so suddenly, stopping mid-sentence, that she nearly gave Frank a heart attack. He’d watched, half-confused and half-charmed, as she’d run out to the coffee shop to buy herself a cupcake. (She was, and always would be, a firm believer in celebrating the little things). She had looked so excited, rummaging around in her desk drawer, searching for a candle to blow out, that Frank had figured “why the hell not,” and offered her a congratulatory drink.

The second time had followed about a month later, when mid-term student evaluations had come out. They’d both sat on the floor, getting slightly tipsy, and read theirs out loud to each other. Karen had laughed until she’d toppled over when one of Frank’s students wrote, “Dr. Castle is kind of like a sexy shark—like he looks really good, but I’m super scared of getting too close to him, because he might bite my head off.” For a solid week, every time Frank approached Karen’s desk, she’d hummed the Jaws theme song under her breath.

The third time had taken place only three days ago, when Frank finally removed the duct tape boundary from across the office. At some point in the nearly 4 months since Karen had moved in, the clearly-delineated separation between “his” side of the office and “her” side of the office had completely broken down. Karen’s little potted succulents—which needed direct sunlight—had ended up on the windowsill behind Frank’s desk (she assured him that they didn’t need to be watered every day, but he kept an eye on them just in case). When one of Frank’s bookshelves collapsed, he’d moved a great deal of his heavy, forbidding Physics books to Karen’s side (her Maggie Nelsons and Searles were beginning to look quite cozy pressed up against his Capassos and Sobels). And the former no-man’s-land between their desks had become what Karen affectionately called “the family room,” which she had filled with floor cushions “thrifted” from Foggy’s apartment, all carefully placed around a low coffee table. It was where they sat to eat their take-out dinners, and where Karen did her grading when her desk became too restricting. After much prodding from Karen, Frank had finally admitted the duct tape line was a farce, and pulled it up with great ceremony. She had clapped, he had bowed, and they’d toasted with a glass of Scotch.

It turned out that Frank found a lot more worth celebrating with Karen around.

So when David Leiberman knocked on Frank’s office door at 7PM on Friday evening, he figured it was cause enough to break out the good stuff one more time. After the obligatory hugs, and the thinly-veiled references to how much they’d missed each other, Frank set about pouring a generous glass for his friend.

“So how long you in town for?” Frank asked over his shoulder to David, who was somewhere behind Karen’s desk, probably snooping. He looked down at the glass in his hand, then tipped in just a little more of the amber liquor. It was a Friday after all—no work in the morning.

“Just until Sunday night. I’m speaking at a conference at the Kimpton,” David looked up from his current task of closely examining every inch of Karen’s bookshelf. He ran a finger along her collection of titles, smiling when he noticed a copy of The Fundamentals of Photonics wedged between Witness and Memory: The Discourse of Trauma and Speech Acts.

“You should have called ahead—I would have planned something. Maria has the kids this weekend,” Frank walked over to David, who had pulled out one of Karen’s books and was thumbing through it. (It was, he noted with interest, filled with the most bizarre and incomprehensible shorthand he’d ever seen). He put it back in its place and accepted the glass from Frank.

“Well, you know,” David shrugged, taking a sip and humming in approval. “I wanted to surprise you. See the look on your face and all that.”

“Didn’t take you as the kind of guy who went in for dramatics,” Frank leaned back against Karen’s desk, observing his friend with a keen eye.

David dragged a hand through unruly curls, looking sheepish.

“Also I just kind of forgot.”

“Ah, there it is,” Frank lifted his glass in a mock-toast. “That sounds more like you.”

“Wouldn’t have made much of a difference at any rate, I’m afraid,” David continued his perusal of Karen’s little library. “They’ve got me booked at the conference all weekend. Wouldn’t have a spare minute anyway.”

“I could’ve at least planned for you to see the kids. Frankie Jr’s starting to talk about building his own computer. I figured that was a conversation for Uncle David,” Frank ran a knuckle against the polished wood of Karen’s desk, wondering idly if she was planning on returning to the office sometime soon.

“Ah, well that just gives me an excuse to come back again,” David gave one last, lingering look at the bookshelf before turning to inspect the rest of the office. “Maybe bring the kids with me next time. Make a trip out of it.”

Frank watched David wander about the space, and noticed the way his eyes caught on all of Karen’s little touches—the lingering imprints of her scattered about. Her succulents on the window sill, her pink Himalayan salt lamp, the gauzy blue curtains she’d hung in the window (she liked to close them in the afternoon to watch the way they played peek-a-boo with the sunlight). He paused to inspect the sticky-notes Karen had stuck to the wall by the door—little memos she left for herself about errands to run or sources to look up. (The one that read, “Yell at Frank about leaving the window open overnight!” in large, bold letters had him biting the inside of his cheek to keep an amused chuckle down).

“The, uh—the place looks different, Frankie,” David tried for casual as he turned to Frank, hands in his pockets. Tried to look as though he hadn’t been impatiently biding his time until he could loop the topic of conversation around to Karen. “More…lively,” he rocked back and forth on his heels slightly, grinning.

During the far-too-infrequent Skype conversations they had managed to catch over the past few months, David had begun to notice an increase in the amount of times Frank made mention of his office mate. It had started off-handedly, with Frank dropping in a small detail about her every once in a while—“and then Karen walked in and almost spilled her coffee all over my radiometer, so I had to deal with that shit.” Just carelessly bringing her up in passing, almost like an afterthought. Then, after a while, it became Frank relaying long, complicated stories about his latest adventure involving Karen—“so she fuckin’ signed me up for this interview with a freshman, David. I was ready to strangle her.”

More and more, Karen began to leak into every conversation David and Frank had. It was a progression so natural that it took David a month or so to catch on.

Until finally, he noticed Frank using that oh-so-special word when talking about Karen: we.

“So we decided to order take-out and do some grading”, or “we were tired of the radiator always going on the fritz, so we brought in a mini-heater”, or “we left the window open the other day and a pigeon fuckin’ flew into the office and shit on my desk overnight.” Frank didn’t even have to mention Karen by name—every time he said “we,” David could safely assume he was including Karen. He didn’t think Frank realized he was doing it—but at some point, every story he told was about Dr. Karen Page. Him and Karen. Karen and him. Always together. And David was incredibly eager to figure out what that was all about.

“Now it actually looks like a human spends time in this room, instead of a robot,” David ran a finger across one of Karen’s sticky notes for emphasis.

“Yeah. That’s all Karen,” Frank swirled the Scotch in his glass, grinning to himself. David doubted Frank knew how dopey that grin looked, or he would have worked harder to cover it up.

“Hmm,” David continued his leisurely walk about the office. “Lots of very un-Frank things going on here,” David gestured vaguely to the floor cushions. “Can’t really imaging you sitting on one of those.”

“Eh,” Frank shrugged, “it’s not so bad. More comfortable than my desk chair. And Karen likes ‘em.”

“Seems like Karen’s changed a lot around here, huh?” David wandered over to the loveseat that had been wedged between the two desks. As he sat, he noticed the soft-looking throw draped over the arm—Karen again. “I would have thought you’d have a harder time with someone coming in and invading your space. But it seems like you’ve handled it quite well.”

“Yeah, well. Turns out I don’t mind it so much.”

“If it’s the right person, huh?” David said with a knowing little smile.

And it was that smile that had Frank instantly suspicious of where David was leading their seemingly-innocuous little chat. His friend had a habit of talking in circles, leading you around and around the topic of conversation he really wanted to discuss, until it drove you crazy. Frank hated it—had no patience for the whole thing. He stared at David with narrowed eyes, fingers tapping against Karen’s desk as he took a sip from his drink.

“I mean,” David continued, nonchalantly, “it just seems like anyone else, and you’d be dying to get rid of them. Get your space back. But with Karen, you don’t mind one bit. Just interesting.”

“Interesting, huh?” Frank spoke slowly.

“Yep,” David took a sip of his scotch. “Just interesting.”

There was a beat of silence, during which David sat coolly under Frank’s assessing gaze.

“If you want to say something, just say something, man,” Frank sounded slightly annoyed. “Hate it when you beat around the bush.”

“Not saying anything, Frankie,” David held his hands up defensively, but the quirk of his lips gave him away. “Just making some casual observations.”

“Yeah, I know you too well to believe that any observation you make is casual,” Frank set his glass on the desk and crossed his arms. David had to stop himself from laughing at how stereotypically-Frank the move was. “So why don’t you try that one again, buddy.”

“Well, I guess I’m just wondering,” David paused, crossing one leg over the other and throwing his arm over the back of the loveseat, “you know, very casually,” he emphasized the word with a raised eyebrow, “when you’re going to get around to admitting that you’re in love with Karen Page.”

David had never seen Frank go so still before. It was a little alarming, watching his muscles freeze up rigidly, his eyes unblinking, mouth pressed in a hard line—David was half worried that he wasn’t even breathing. For a full fifteen seconds, Frank stood there, unnaturally still, while David sat patiently, waiting for an answer.

It was the loud sip David took from his glass that seemed to shake Frank out of it.

“I—” Frank coughed, clearing his throat, then tried again. “No idea what you’re talking about.” But his voice lacked certainty—sounded a little edgy.

“Yeah,” David nodded, as though Frank’s response were exactly what he expected, “see, your words say ‘no idea what you’re talking about,’ but that incredibly strained pause you just took, plus,” he gestured to Frank’s face, “that terrified look you’re wearing say otherwise.”

Frank felt that familiar little throbbing begin between his eyebrows—the one that only David seemed able to incite. Suddenly, he forgot why he was so happy to see his friend only moments earlier.

“I’m not in love with Karen,” Frank tried to summon up a little conviction, but missed the mark by miles. Instead, he sounded like a petulant child who refused to admit he’d taken the last cookie while his hand was still in the jar. “We’re just friends.” The words felt wrong in his mouth, heavy and unwieldy. Tasted like vinegar on his tongue—the way lies always do when you’re body decides to reject them.

“Hmm,” David hummed a little disbelieving sound, and brought a hand up to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “Now normally I would take you at your word, you being my closest friend and all, but I’m afraid you have a particularly bad case of chronic emotional constipation, Frank. It’s just one of your many quirks.” He shook his head sadly.

Frank sputtered indignantly, before remembering that arguing with David was pointless. Always had been—the man was like a dog with a bone when he was trying to press his point. And suddenly, Frank didn’t have the energy to fight it.

“You’re a smart guy, don’t get me wrong,” David waved a hand in the general direction of Frank’s many framed degrees. “But you’re unbelievably shit at understanding your own emotions.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re here to enlighten me?” Frank’s voice had a sardonic edge. He moved from Karen’s desk, grabbing her swivel chair to drag it in front of David. He sat down with a heavy thud.

“Only if you’ll allow me,” David sounded way too amused—too pleased with himself. The throbbing in Frank’s forehead ticked up. “I only enlighten the willing.”

Frank leaned forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, eyes narrowed and searching David’s face. The other man, for his part, tried to maintain a look of blasé innocence.

“Talk,” was all that Frank said. He hated to admit it, but he was actually curious as to what David had to say. Because, as painful as it was, David did have a point, and Frank knew it—he had never been the best at sorting through his own confused jumble of emotions. And—yeah—he’d been having some complicated feelings about Karen for a while. Some complicated, white-knuckled feelings that sometimes left him a little breathless and gutted when he looked at her. So as much as it hurt him to admit, he’d take David’s insight if he was offering it.

“Well,” David made a big show of stroking his hand across his jaw thoughtfully, “you’re a hard guy to read, I’ll give you that. But over the years I’d like to think I’ve become well-versed at recognizing the various mating rituals of the elusive Frank Castle. I’d say I’m somewhat of an expert. Maybe the only one in the world.” David was clearly enjoying himself, if the shit-eating grin on his face was anything to go by. It wasn’t often that Frank let the conversation veer into emotional territory, and David planned to savor the moment. Frank, for his part, was not amused.

“If you’re gonna be a little shit about it—,” he made as though to get up from his chair, and David lurched forward to stay him with a hand on his arm.

“Now, now, Frank,” David shook his head. “Don’t be so hasty.” Frank’s jaw ticked in that dangerous way—the way that said he was running out of patience. But David noticed, with some measure of satisfaction, that in spite of his annoyance, Frank settled back into his seat with little resistance. “I’m just having some fun.”

“I’d appreciate it if your fun wasn’t at my expense,” Frank grunted. Having to turn to David for guidance was painful enough—but adding unnecessary teasing on top of it was a bridge too far.

“Well, one of us should be having fun. From the look on your face, you’d think you were having a fucking root canal, instead of a conversation with a dear and valued friend,” David tried not to sound bitter about it. He did not succeed.

“Yeah, sometimes talking to you feels like a fuckin’ root canal, buddy.”

“Do you want my help or not?” David held his hands out in a take-it-or-leave-it gesture.

“No,” Frank managed to speak through painfully-gritted teeth.

“But you need it.” It wasn’t a question—it was a statement.

A beat of silence, then:

“Yes.”

David had never heard the word so grudgingly muttered. He let the quiet stretch out between them, as though checking to see that Frank was truly done with his complaining. When he was satisfied, David continued.

“So let’s look at this from my perspective, huh?” He leaned back on the loveseat once more, looking vaguely philosophical. “I’ve known you for a long time, Frank. A long time,” he repeated for emphasis. “And you’re not exactly an easy guy to get along with. I mean, let’s be brutally honest: you’re a bit of a misanthrope. You’re inflexible, you’re unapproachable—you’re stubborn as hell. You can’t handle criticism. It’s practically impossible to pull any sort of real, meaningful, emotional conversation out of you. I mean, you’ve got your walls built up a thousand feet high. And I’m saying this as someone who loves you, man.”

Frank would have been offended, but he was far too self-aware to even pretend David’s assessment was inaccurate. Insulting, sure, but not inaccurate. Instead, he settled for grumbling in acknowledgement.

“I mean, it took you years to even learn how to tolerate me,” David pressed a hand to his chest. “Some days I’m still not sure you really do.”

Frank snorted, which David took as confirmation.

“So what am I supposed to think when this Karen comes into your life, and all of the sudden…you’re none of those things? Not with her.” David leaned forward to make sure he had Frank’s attention. His voice, suddenly, sounded much more serious. Almost pleading. “I mean, come on, man. Look around you.” David gestured to the office, which was filled with little pieces of Karen everywhere he turned. “You’ve allowed this woman to come into your life and just—just turn it into something else. And not in a bad way,” David quickly amended, holding up a hand when he saw Frank frown. “Actually, in a really great way. I mean, this room feels like it’s alive, man. Like it’s a home. It’s a fucking office in a university building; that’s as impersonal as it gets. But it feels like a home. Do you get how crazy that is? How weird it is for me to see all this, and know that you had a part in creating it?”

Frank wasn’t looking at David. He was focused instead on that throw blanket of Karen’s just over the other man’s shoulder. It was soft and plush—with a pattern of roses stitched around the edges. It was so not Frank. But dammit if he didn’t love that fucking throw blanket. Because it was Karen’s throw blanket. Because she’d bought it the day after she’d walked in on Frank taking a nap on the couch, and thought “I bet he’d sleep better with something warm.” Because it was more than just a blanket.

“And it’s not just the office, Frank. It’s you.” David swept his hand up and down in Frank’s direction. “You’re different, man. You talk about Karen all the fucking time. I mean, all the time. I wish you could hear yourself. You’re voice gets all…all tender and shit. It weirded me out at first, gotta be honest.”

Frank scoffed.

“It’s true,” David shook his head. “You talk about her like she’s some kind of magical being that you can’t believe wandered into your life. With, like, this reverence I can’t wrap my mind around. It’s like you’re thinking about her all the time or something.”

And Frank jerked back at that. Because David had hit it right on the mark.

It was true. He thought about Karen constantly—what she was doing, who she was with, if she was having a five-cups-of-coffee kind of day or a just-tea-for-me kind of day. Sometimes, when he was alone, he stopped and thought about the fact that Karen was out there, wherever—talking to other people, making them laugh, telling them crazy stories, caring for them in that quiet, graceful way of hers—and he started to feel jealous. Jealous of the fact that she was somewhere else, saying beautiful things, having soft little moments, making weird little jokes, and he wasn’t there to see them.

Shit. Frank’s fingers started doing that fidgety thing they did when he got overwhelmed.

“I just—I don’t know, Frank,” David scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve gotta be honest with you, because from the outside, it looks like you’re head over fucking heels with this woman. I mean, there’s no other explanation.” David smiled, but this time it was sincere—no trace of mocking or mischief. “All I can say is that the Frank I knew about four months ago isn’t the Frank I know now. You just—you seem happy. You seem content. Like you’re, I don’t know, the sunshiney version of yourself. The version of yourself that doesn’t kind of also hate yourself.”

Fuck.

David was right. David was so, scarily right. Karen made him feel like he wasn’t so much of an asshole. Made him feel like a functioning, living, breathing real boy. Frank knew he could be difficult. Gruff, unfriendly, demanding, exacting. But the moment he crossed that threshold and saw Karen at her desk, making faces as she read through her students’ essays, all of that just dissolved. He became someone who was gentle. Who could be content and unburdened and relaxed. Someone with hands made to hold.

“I mean, just answer me this, Frank,” David waited until he had Frank’s eyes on his own to speak, his voice solemn. “Does it ever scare you sometimes, what you’d be willing to do if she asked you?”

Frank’s answer was a strangled kind of noise—something a little animal. David, being particularly knowledgeable in the numerous nuances of Frank’s grunts, could tell that it was an affirmation.

“Good,” David nodded, running a hand through his messy hair. “Good.”

There was a pause, in which David could almost see Frank’s mind at work. The idiot, he thought, he really didn’t know he was in love.

The two men sat for a moment, silent. The office felt saturated in something strong—something that felt like inevitability.

After a minute, David spoke again.

“And, I mean…obviously you’re attracted to her.” Frank recognized the tone of David’s voice—it was the way he spoke when he was trying to lighten the mood after a serious conversation. “I mean,” he shifted in his seat, “I saw pictures of her online. Now, I’m a married man,” David pressed an adamant hand to his chest, “but come on.” He raised an impressed brow at Frank.

Frank chuckled, and the tension in the room broke.

“Yeah, I know. Don’t know how I get any work done.” Frank dragged a hand over his face. “Fuck.” The curse didn’t have any power behind it, only a kind of delighted, terrified resignation.

“Yep, buddy,” David leaned forward and patted Frank’s shoulder. “You’re in love. Scary, huh?”

Frank let out a huff, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”

“You know, I find it kind of weird that you needed me to explain that to you,” David picked up his scotch, which he’d abandoned on the arm of the loveseat sometime during the conversation. “I mean, you’ve been in love before. You were married, you moron.”

“Wasn’t the same,” Frank was staring at his hands—his fidgety, restless hands.

“What do you mean, it wasn’t the same?” David furrowed his brow. “Isn’t love just…love?” He wouldn’t know, he’d only been in love once. It had only ever been Sarah for him.

“No, it—it’s just different,” Frank couldn’t find the words to explain what he meant, and that was an uncomfortable sensation. “Just—just more, this time. More of everything.”

Falling in love with Maria had felt like jumping off of a cliff. It had happened so fast—too fast for Frank to even think. One moment he was just Frank, and then the next, he was in love, and married, and a father. Like he’d tipped over the edge, and fallen into this new life. And maybe that’s why their marriage hadn’t lasted—you can only free fall for so long before you hit the ground.

Falling love with Karen had felt like falling asleep in the bathtub—letting go one muscle at a time and sinking into something warm and safe. Like waking up slowly on a Saturday morning and knowing that nothing in the world could touch you so long as you stayed in bed. Like going home. And that, somehow, was just so much more. He had built something with Karen—he hadn’t just fallen into her—he’d created something with her.

That’s probably why he hadn’t recognized the feeling earlier; he’d never felt it before. Never felt it like this.

“Jesus Christ,” Frank muttered, “I need another fuckin’ drink.”

Karen Page, you are such a fucking coward. As Karen stepped into the cool night, leaving the warm, whiskey air of the bar behind, the thought entered her mind unbidden. A spineless coward.

Hitching her bag further up her shoulder and shoving her hands ruthlessly into her pockets, Karen shook her head at the thought, as though she could make it go away. She’d just spent the past two hours sitting at the bar with Trish, trying to go over some changes to the other woman’s dissertation proposal. Trying being the operative word. Because the entire time, all Trish wanted to talk about was why Karen hadn’t admitted her feelings to Frank yet. Every time Karen had asked a question about a source for the lit review, or about how the dissertation panel selection was coming along, Trish had countered with a question about Karen’s cowardly refusal to just make a confession already. An embarrassing amount of time had passed, uneventfully, since the afternoon of the pit bull video, and Karen was still carrying around her feelings for Frank like her own private burden.

Avoiding a puddle of what looked disturbingly like vomit, Karen continued her trek back to campus, and wondered (not for the first time), why she’d bothered to tell Trish about her situation. The woman was so nosy—as all natural-born reporters were. It was just that—god—it was so nice to have female friends to confide in, and Karen had never been any good at keeping her feelings bottled up inside. They always needed to find an outlet—and Trish had been Karen’s outlet. Karen’s nosey, over-involved outlet.

It’s not that she didn’t want to tell Frank about her feelings. She did—or at least she thought she did. Of course she had some apprehensions about the whole thing: What if he didn’t feel the same way about her? What if it made things awkward between them? What if their entire friendship fell apart because of it?

But she also had a lot of hope—hope that he would be understanding. Hope that he would maybe—just maybe—return her feelings. Hope that, even if he didn’t, their friendship would be strong enough to overcome the awkwardness that would inevitably ensue.

And Karen was brave, damnit. It was part of her identity—something she felt defined her. Unafraid of new experiences, unafraid of failure, unafraid of getting hurt. Which was why it was so annoying that she had such a mental block about telling Frank how she felt. But it just seemed so…so fucking important. Massive. Life-altering.

Karen smiled and waved at one of her students, who was frantically running to the bus stop, as she reached the outer edge of campus. She wondered if Frank would be in the office when she arrived—he didn’t have the kids this weekend, and he liked to use the Fridays they were with Maria to spend some guy-time with Curtis. If he was there, Karen resolved, tonight would be the night she would tell him. She was sure of it.

But then again, she’d made the same resolution a million times over the past few weeks. She was going to tell him over Chinese food last week, but had ended up distracted by his explanation of how quarks had been discovered. Then she had planned on telling him a few days later, as they sat in the car on the way to a party at Foggy’s (at which she had avoided Matt like the plague)…but she’d lost her nerve when Frank started singing along to Earth, Wind, and Fire’s “Shining Star” under his breath, and she’d fallen in love with him all over again. And, more recently, when Frank had come over to her house to watch the premier of that ridiculous fantasy show she liked to watch on HBO, but she’d decided she didn’t want to tell Frank she loved him with an incestuous sex scene playing in the background.

So maybe Karen wasn’t that great at keeping this particular resolution. She huffed out a sigh, watching her breath become mist in the chilly air, and tilted her head back to look up at the stars. She supposed, in the grand scheme of things, that this wasn’t so terrible a dilemma. She was lucky, she told herself, if the most pressing issue in her life was how to tell a man she loved him. What a beautiful problem to have. To be capable of love—to be filled with the stuff—to the point of overflowing. As she walked forward, breathing deeply of the winter-sweet air, Karen felt a brief and startling rush of euphoria—felt, for a mere moment, how unbelievably magnificent it was to be alive. To be breathing and heaving along; to be on the brink of something huge. And as quickly as the feeling had rushed upon her, it faded away, leaving Karen with a mystified feeling.

As she neared the Physics building, she looked up toward the window of the office. Noticing the light was still on, her breath caught in her throat. He was there—she would tell him tonight. Surrounded by the little home they’d made together, out of books and ungraded papers and takeout cartons, she would tell him that she loved him.

She paused a moment, to watch the play of shadows as they danced before the window. She saw what was clearly Frank’s shadow move across the back wall of the office—then her heart sank as she saw another shadow follow close behind.

Shit. Frank had company.

Karen scuffed the toe of her boot along the sidewalk, and contemplated turning around and just going home. She didn’t want to interrupt whatever he had going on—probably Curtis stopping by before they left for “boy’s night.” But then she remembered that she’d left her laptop on her desk, charging. And she couldn’t go the entire weekend without her laptop. With a sigh, because her big confession would have to wait, she made her way into the building.

“No, no, no, that’s not what happened.” David’s voice, he knew, was beginning to slide ever-closer into “drunk slurring” territory, but he wasn’t too bothered. That’s the thing about being tipsy—you’re never bothered by anything when you’re tipsy. “Listen, listen,” David reached out in an attempt to grab Frank by the shoulder, but leaned forward a little too far and almost slid right off of the floor cushion he was sitting on. Catching himself quickly, he continued adamantly. “You were the one who gave Lisa the baseball bat, Frank, not me. So technically it was your fault.”

“But you were the one that gave her the ball, David.” Frank, while beginning to show his own signs of inebriation (glassy, unfocused eyes; diminished coordination), was slightly less tipsy than David. He, at least, was able to maintain an upright position on top of his own floor cushion. “If I’m gonna take the blame for giving her the bat, then you gotta take the blame for the ball.”

“But—”

“Nuh uh,” Frank pointed sharply at David, cutting him off. His arm barely avoided knocking over the almost-empty bottle of scotch that sat between them on the coffee table. “You were also the one that bet her she couldn’t hit a ball over the roof. Like an idiot.”

“I—hey—,” David held his hands up defensively. “How was I supposed to know she’d actually try to do it? I’m not a—a—,” David searched for the right word; couldn’t find it. “A person who knows the future.” Close enough.

“You—but,” Frank sputtered, disbelieving. “Have you met my kid, Lieberman? How could you not know she’d try?”

“Yeah but, I mean, how was I supposed to know she’d break three windows?” David was grasping at straws. “I thought she’d, y’know, have better aim!”

“She was eight,” Frank exclaimed, exasperated.

“Yeah, but—I mean,” David made some vague gesture with his hands—Frank wasn’t sure what it was supposed to signify, “she was a very mature eight.”

“Sarah agreed with me that it was your fault,” Frank shook his head.

“Yeah, but Sarah—,” David stopped suddenly, his eyes unfocusing on Frank and refocusing on something else (with great effort). Frank watched, puzzled, as David’s facial expression changed almost instantly into something he could only describe as manic glee. “Well hello there!”

Frank turned around, following the direction of David’s gaze, and saw Karen standing in the doorway of the office, a dumbfounded look on her face. She looked like all of his fantasies come to life.

“Karen.”

David may have been slightly-sloshed, but even in his altered state, he noticed the way that Frank said her name—in that soft, thoughtful little way. Like even just speaking it out loud was a privilege he couldn’t believe he had. It was still a little disconcerting for David to hear.

“Well now I know how it feels to be the only one who wasn’t invited to the party,” Karen leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, and a smile fighting its way to her face.

“That was my entire life story in high school,” David muttered. Karen snorted, tilting her head in David’s direction with curiosity. Suddenly, he seemed to remember that it was generally considered polite to introduce yourself to people you hadn’t yet met. “Oh, I—,” he attempted to jump up from his cross-legged position on the cushion, but snagged his foot on the leg of the coffee table in the process, tumbling to the ground instead.

Karen jerked forward, arms out, as though in attempt to catch him. Frank, whose reactions were slowed by the scotch, reached out to help a solid three seconds too late, and let his arms drop limply to his sides.

“Well shit,” David didn’t even make an attempt to get up. He just laid on the floor, sprawled out, staring up at Karen. “I’m David. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I, uh—I actually know who you are,” Karen managed to stifle her laughter long enough to approach David and offer him a hand. “I’ve seen your picture before. I’m Karen.”

David took her hand, and she leaned back, using her weight to hoist him into a sitting position. Instead of releasing her hand once he was upright, David shook it (with a little too much zeal).

“Back atcha, Karen,” David’s grin was downright ridiculous. “About seeing your picture, I mean.”

Frank, who had been watching the exchange with trepidation, decided to cut in. He wasn’t entirely sure David could be trusted to talk to Karen while drunk—the man had never been particularly fantastic about keeping secrets while sober, and he tended to get extra chatty when he was buzzed.

“Uh, sorry about taking over the office, Kare. We can be out of your hair if you need the space,” Frank watched Karen release David’s hand and turn toward him with a smile. For a moment, Frank felt his heart squeeze roughly in his chest at that look. He’d had a similar reaction to her smile before, but now he had a name for it. Now he knew why it hit him with such inescapable force.

“Don’t be ridiculous Frank,” Karen dismissed him with a wave of her hand, “I wouldn’t ruin your fun. Just came to grab my laptop.” She pointed over her shoulder to her desk.

“Oh, you should stay!” David clapped his hands together. “We were just reminiscing about the time Frank let his daughter hit a baseball through my front window!”

“That is not what happened,” Frank glared pointedly at David, “and I’m sure Karen has more important things to do.”

“Uh,” Karen looked back at her laptop, which was waiting for her with a half-finished syllabus, “I actually don’t really have anything else going on.”

“See!” David threw his hands up. “It’s cosmic, uh,” he cast about to find the right word, “It’s—kismet! The lady has no place to go on a Friday night, and we’re having a party. Meant to be.”

Frank gritted his teeth. If Karen stayed the evening, the chances of David saying something terrible and embarrassing shot way up. But he also didn’t like the idea of Karen going home alone to an empty apartment when she could be here, with him.

“You sure you don’t have something you need to do?” Frank looked at Karen, who was grinning at David, obviously entertained by his befuddled state. “You don’t have to humor us or anything.”

“Nope,” Karen shook her head, sending her curls flying back and forth. In his tipsy state, Frank thought they looked even more like spun gold than normal.

“Oh, ignore him,” David scoffed at Frank. “He’s just worried I’ll say something embarrassing to you. Like tell you about the time he gave blood without eating beforehand, and when I went to pick him up and take him to lunch, he passed out in the Chipotle.”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank put his head in his hands. He was going to regret this entire night, he could already tell.

David laughed, patting the floor cushion next to his own in an invitation for Karen to sit. She cast a quick glance in Frank’s direction, silently asking his permission—she really didn’t want to intrude on their time, as she knew that Frank didn’t get to see David all that often. When he shrugged resignedly, she took her seat next to David (who noticed, with utter delight, that Karen reached out to subtly squeeze Frank’s forearm in ‘hello’ as she sat).

“That story sounds amazing.” Karen unbuttoned her coat, tossing it in the general direction of the coat rack. “Do go on.”

“Actually, uh,” David looked confused for a moment. “I think that was the whole story.”

Karen almost choked on an unexpected laugh.

“But,” David was quick to add, “I have a lot more where that one came from.”

“Careful, buddy,” Frank raised a warning brow at his friend, “you’re not the only one with ammo here.”

“Yes, but all the stories you have about me are charming,” David planted an elbow on the coffee table and cupped his chin in his hand, grinning widely. “I’m a charming man.”

“Not nearly so much as you think you are,” Frank rolled his eyes with a smile.

Karen watched the interaction with great interest. It was so fascinating to see Frank converse with David—to see him so at ease with someone who wasn’t her. There was an affection behind Frank’s eyes that warmed Karen right down to her toes.

“Alright, alright,” David sighed, “I’ll only tell the stories that make you look good. Though I don’t have as many of those.”

Frank grabbed a pen from on top of the coffee table and flung it at David’s head. David’s reactions were too slow to be of much help, but luckily Frank’s aim was equally as impaired, so the pen missed by inches.

Karen shook her head, lips quirking. “I feel bad that I don’t have someone here threatening to tell all of my embarrassing stories.”

“Well, you’ll just have to tell them yourself,” David reached behind himself to find the discarded pen. He flung it back at Frank, who didn’t even attempt to dodge it, it was so off-course.

“I’m afraid Frank already knows most of my embarrassing stories,” Karen sent Frank a look that David could only call ‘lovesick.’ Jesus, these two, he thought with an internal sigh.

“Well I don’t,” David pinned Karen with an eager look. “And that hardly seems fair.”

And that was how Frank ended up sitting on the floor of the office listening to Karen recount the story about how she had been absent on the day they taught sex-ed in 6th grade, and had been so scared there’d be a quiz over it when she got back, that she locked herself in the hallway closet with the encyclopedia and read the entry on “sex.”

(Just as it had the first time, the story had him laughing and groaning in equal parts).

This had been followed up by an anecdote from David—about the time he’d tried to scare his kids on Halloween by turning the house into a haunted mansion while they were at school, only to succeed so tremendously that Zach literally shit his pants. That, somehow, turned into David talking about how much his kids loved their Uncle Frank. Frank had a sneaking suspicion that David had willfully steered the conversation in that direction in order to talk him up to Karen. Play wingman.

It worked, because as Karen sat there, engrossed in David’s story about the time Frank taught Leo to play “Smoke on the Water” on the guitar, she felt those soft parts of her heart devoted solely to Frank thump wildly.

Frank was content to watch his best friend and the woman he recently realized he was in love with bond. Occasionally, he did interject a correction when he felt that David was telling a story inaccurately (which was often, because David was prone to exaggeration). But for the most part, he sat and listened as Karen charmed the pants off of a slowly-sobering David (as he knew she would), while David did a little charming of his own. There was an entire stretch of conversation that left Frank baffled, as David and Karen realized they were both super fans of the Discworld series. This led to a long and winding conversation about how amazing Terry Pratchett was (Karen went off on her little rant, one Frank had heard many times before, about how Pratchett was the world’s most severely-underrated fantasy author). It was nice, seeing everything just click. Karen made sense here—with him. In his life.

It wasn’t until two in the morning that David finally decided to call it quits. Frank was surprised that his friend had lasted that long, as he wasn’t exactly a night owl these days.

“Alright kids,” David had managed to speak around a yawn, “I’d love to do the whole all-nighter thing with you, but I’m shit out of energy.” He stretched with his arms above his head, and his back made a rather disturbing popping noise. God, he was getting old.

“You need a ride to the hotel?” Frank began patting at his pockets, looking for his keys.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” David pulled out his phone. “Uber’s easier. I’m trying to get my 4.8 passenger rating up to a 5 anyway. Don’t know why the fuck I got docked .2 points.”

“I’m surprised your rating is that high, honestly,” Frank muttered, shaking his head.

“Hey—I’m a great passenger. Very polite. And extremely not-murdery. Which, y’know, is important.” David began gathering up his coat and his scarf, bundling up to protect against the chilly, early morning air.

Karen stood up to say her goodbyes.

“It was great meeting you, David,” her voice was muffled by the big bear hug he pulled her into, with her face smashed against his scratchy scarf.

“You have no idea how great it was,” David gave her a squeeze before releasing her. Frank shrugged when Karen shot him a quick, amused look.

“Am I gonna see you again before you leave?” Frank asked.

“Well Sarah wants me to stop by Maria’s on Sunday to pick up a casserole dish we left at her place forever ago. Apparently, it’s a very important casserole dish. So if you stop by, then yeah,” David was looking at his phone, so he didn’t see the way Frank froze up at the mention of Maria.

But Karen did. It was so strange—every time the conversation veered toward mention of his ex-wife, Frank got a little cagey. Like he wasn’t exactly comfortable talking about the other woman with Karen. And she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why; everything else seemed to be fair game with Frank, but only Maria was a topic non grata.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll definitely stop by,” Frank sounded a little guarded—a little uncomfortable. He grabbed his own coat from the rack. “Let me see you off man.”

Karen stayed behind in the office as Frank walked David to the curb to wait for his ride. She wanted to give them some alone time to say goodbye.

Whenever Frank left the office, he seemed to take a majority of the air with him. It felt colder when it was just Karen—lonely.

With a sigh, she sat on one of the floor cushions, then decided that she needed to lay down, grabbing another one to pad her head. Staring up at the ceiling, with its cracked crown molding, she thought about the Maria problem.

Not that Maria herself was a problem. Just that Frank’s unwillingness to even broach the subject of Maria felt a little…off. Usually, when a man didn’t want to talk about his ex, it was for one of two reasons: he was either still bitter about the break-up, or he was still in love. Karen knew that it wasn’t the former with Frank—there was no anger there, not toward his ex-wife. He never seemed tense or irritable after picking up his kids at her place, or spending the afternoon with her at Lisa’s baseball games.

But she also didn’t think it was the latter—or, at least, she hoped it wasn’t. As far as she could tell, Frank actually kind of liked Maria’s new boyfriend. She didn’t think a man still in love with his ex-wife would be so forgiving of a romantic rival.

Which left Karen confused. She couldn’t think of any other reason he would get so damn tense every time Maria was mentioned. (She, of course, did not even consider the most obvious reason of all—that Frank wasn’t sure how to bring up the woman he used to be in love with to the woman he was currently in love with).

After a few minutes, Karen began to drift off, her eyes growing heavy. She was awoken what felt like mere moments later by a gentle hand on her head. She cracked her eyes open to see Frank crouching over her, his thumb rubbing across her temple.

“Time to go home?” His voice was quiet, and he smelled like crisp, outside air. Karen breathed deep.

“No. Not tired,” Karen shook her head. She wanted to talk.

Frank raised a skeptical brow, but the adamant look on Karen’s face brokered no argument. She had that “we need to talk” look. With Karen, that look never terrified him the way it did when other people wore it. Karen’s “we need to talk” was always gentle. With a sigh, he tapped her head lightly. “Up.”

Karen lifted her head, and Frank took its place on the cushion.

They sat, facing each other, nothing between them, close enough that the toe of Karen’s right foot brushed Frank’s knee. The position should have felt strange; a little too intimate. But it didn’t. It felt natural. There was something about the atmosphere at that moment—the way a room always feels after it’s been cleared of good company—like the lingering effects of comradery still hang about. It felt like the kind of space where a man like Frank and a woman like Karen could rest against each other.

There was a moment of silence—relaxing, comfortable silence—then Karen spoke.

“You never talk about Maria.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Said in that way Karen had when she was trying to set the topic of conversation; letting you know that this is what you were going to talk about, regardless of your feelings on the subject.

Frank made a kind of grunting noise. Karen, like David, knew him well enough to recognize it as a confirmation that he was listening.

“I just…” Karen trailed off a little bit, biting her lip. “I just think it’s strange, y’know? You talk about your kids all the time. About David. And even Curtis. But not Maria.”

“Does that bother you?” Frank began to absent-mindedly pick at a loose thread on the seam of his jeans.

“No,” Karen shook her head. “You don’t have to talk about things you don’t want to. That never bothers me. I was just curious.”

“Hmmm,” Frank made a considering noise. After a moment, he nodded to himself. “Do you—” he thought about how to phrase the question. “Are you curious about her?”

Karen brought her hand up, chewing the end of her thumbnail thoughtfully. “Yeah, I kind of am.”

“Why?” His voice was quiet—curious.

“I guess because,” Karen lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Because I feel like I know everything else about your life. Except for the parts that have to do with her.”

“Okay,” Frank nodded again, rolling his shoulders. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Anything.” Karen pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She looked so small that way, Frank felt something delicate twinge in his chest.

“Uhm,” Frank scratched the back of his neck. “She lives in Westchester. She works in the HR department of a pharmaceutical company. She’s on the PTA, but she hates it. She plays tennis with her friends on the weekends. She has one brother, who—”

Karen interrupted him with a chuckle. “I feel like you’re giving me a fast facts sheet about her, Frank. I don’t need to know her social security number.”

“Well you’re the reporter, Page.” Frank cocked his head to the side and smirked. “Ask better questions.”

“Okay, uhm,” Karen scrunched her nose in thought. “How’d you meet?”

“I was getting my Master’s in Material’s Science at MIT. She was working in a little bakery across the street from the library. I had my eye on her for a while before I got up the nerve to ask her out. And the rest is history,” Frank shrugged.

“’The rest is history’?” Karen scoffed. “You can’t just end a story with ‘the rest is history.’ It’s bad storytelling.”

“Oh, well excuse me,” Frank grinned. “Didn’t know I was being graded on my handling of narrative, Dr. Page.”

“Sorry,” Karen didn’t look at all apologetic. “Continue.”

“Uh. We dated for three months before she got pregnant. Asked her to marry me the day she broke the news. We were together for five years.” Frank pinned Karen with a pointed look. “That better?”

“Not much, but it’s something. You are definitely not a natural-born storyteller,” Karen shook her head sadly.

“I’m a scientist, Kare. Not Dr. Seuss,” Frank nudged Karen with his foot.

“Thank God for that,” Karen frowned, “His books always creeped me out as a kid.”

Frank chuckled, shaking his head. Karen was always dropping strange little tidbits about her life into conversation, and then never explaining them. He supposed it was just part of her appeal—she was mystifying.

Karen played with the hem of her shirt as she thought.

“What’s she like? Y’know, as a person?”

Frank didn’t quite know how to answer that. Some days he thought he knew Maria like he knew himself, and other days she felt like a stranger. People were like that, he supposed—full of secrets and contradictions and private little corners. And maybe that was part of the problem with the two of them, he’d never learned how to uncover all the parts of Maria that she kept hidden away.

After a moment of thought, Frank spoke.

“She’s…a great mother. Just a natural at it—compassionate, understanding, but tough. Doesn’t let those kids get away with anything. If they turn out alright, it’ll be because of her,” Frank glanced up at the ceiling.

Karen poked his thigh in a “go on” kind of gesture. “Uh, she’s traditional, I guess. When we were married, she did the whole wife staying home with the kids thing. She grew up Catholic, so--y’know--very concerned with doing things the ‘right way.’ A lot of times we didn’t really agree what the ‘right way’ was. Or if it even existed.” Frank sighed. He looked down at Karen, whose eyes were somewhere far off. When she noticed his pause, she glanced at him.

“More,” she said quietly. “I like hearing you talk like this.”

“She’s—uh, a very passionate person. She loves really hard, and she hates maybe harder. Everything’s black and white to her—no shades of gray. Makes her hell to argue with. Just unable to compromise; unable to see anyone else’s side.”

Frank began to fidget a little bit, picking at a loose thread on the floor cushion. Karen watched the movements of his fingers.

“She’s stubborn as hell, too. Doesn’t know how to walk away from a fight. Doesn’t believe in it.” He paused. “But she’s loyal to a fault, and fearless. And generous—gives a lot of herself to other people.” Frank was a little bit surprised how effortlessly all of this was coming out. It might have been Karen—how easy it was to be honest when she was watching him with those understanding eyes—and it may have been the fact that he’d been holding all of this inside of him for far too long.

“She sounds like an amazing person,” Karen’s smile was far away, as she tried to hold an image of Maria in her mind. Tried to piece her together with Frank’s words.

“Yeah, she is. I think you two would get along.” Frank tapped a knuckled against Karen’s knee gently.

Karen thought for a moment, about how to best ask her next question.

“So why, uh—” Karen squirmed a little, nervously. “Why didn’t it work out with you two?”

Frank had been expecting it, so he wasn’t surprised. Of course she’d want to know about the break-up—wasn’t that always the most dramatic part? Frank might not have been a great storyteller, but people, he knew, liked endings. They liked to have a tidy little bow wrapped around their stories.

“Well,” Frank let out a puff of air, “we only dated for three months before we got married. You know, those three months are exciting; the honeymoon period,” Frank ran a hand over his jaw. “Lots to talk about—your past, your family, your future. It’s like, just getting to know someone else—it takes up all your time.” He dropped his hand to pick at the cushion again. “Then she was pregnant, and we were talking about the kid nonstop. Planning, panicking. And then the wedding—all the arrangements and preparations. Then we actually had the kid, and your life just becomes being a parent. Talking about school and sports and punishments and how to not fuck them up for life.”

Karen was captivated—she always was whenever Frank spoke like this, candidly. He didn’t often talk about himself for more than a moment at a time, but when he did, Karen was mesmerized.

“Being a parent—I mean, that shit consumes your life. You just forget how to be the person you were before. And you forget how to be a couple. Strong couples—they survive. Because they remember what it was like to just be the two of them, as a team,” Frank paused, staring off. “Maria and I…we weren’t together long enough to get to that place before being Mom and Dad. We skipped passed that whole stage.”

“So what happened? You just…woke up one day and realized you…” Karen trailed off, unsure, “you just weren’t in love anymore?”

“Actually, something like that,” Frank tilted his head in a half-nod. “We went out on a date this one night, and we made this rule, right? That we wouldn’t talk about the kids? Not even once—no kid talk. And it was…it was rough. We sat there, for two hours, with nothing to say to each other.”

Karen tried to imagine it—sitting across from Frank without anything to say. Tried to imagine feeling awkward or unsure around him. She found that she couldn’t.

“We just…I guess we didn’t really have anything in common, y’know? Didn’t remember how to talk to each other. We’d never learned.” Frank ran a hand across his jaw. “We’d gone from getting to know each other, to being married with kids so quickly. Never took the time to figure out if we worked together.”

“Hmmm.” Karen chewed her bottom lip, brow furrowed. She’d only been in love once before Frank, and it had ended badly. Like ‘I will call the cops if you show up at my apartment again’ badly. So she couldn’t imagine love ending any other way—ending peacefully, on its own time. “Do you still love her?”

Frank jerked back, surprised. He had not been expecting that question.

“I mean,” Karen was quick to clarify, “like, in the way that one human being loves another human being. Generally.”

“Generally?” Frank frowned, confused.

“You know, in a—” Karen gesticulated vaguely, searching for a way to explain herself. “In a kind of ‘you’re terrific at being a human and I’m glad you exist’ kind of way.”

“You’re asking me if I’m glad my ex-wife exists?” Frank chuckled.

“No—I mean, obviously you’re glad she exists, I mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Frank gave a lopsided grin. “Yeah. Think I always will love her. I’m just not in love with her.”

Karen knew as much, but it was still a relief to hear him say it.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and Frank’s grin slid into something a little softer.

Suddenly, the air in the room seemed to grow thicker; become heavy with something that felt an awful lot like anticipation. Karen became newly aware of just how close she and Frank were sitting. She could even see the tiny laugh lines beginning to form at the outer corners of his eyes; could probably count his lashes if she tried.

She’d forgotten, over the years, that love could be such a physical sensation. That it was more than just the head and heart that got involved, but the body as well. That it could make your spine tingle so deliciously—that it could make your skin feel like it was buzzing. The pull deep in her gut ached pleasantly when she looked at Frank, and Karen smiled. It felt so good to be alive. It felt so good to want this strongly.

Frank noticed his heart begin to thud uncontrollably in his chest, as his eyes flitted over Karen’s face. She was just so fucking beautiful, staring at him like that. With those wide, gentle eyes, and that sleepy little smile. Looking at him like she had all the time in the world—like everything she had was there, in the room, between the two of them.

“I—” Frank spoke, and his voice came out husky. Karen’s fingers twitched with the sudden desire to reach out and drag down his throat, feel the vibrations of that deep, low voice pulse through them. She curled them into her palms instead.

He cleared his voice—tried again. “I learned a lot from Maria. About myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Karen’s voice was equally as wrecked—breathy.

“About what I want.” Frank’s eyes darted down to Karen’s lips, so quickly that she didn’t register the glance. “About what I need.”

“And what would that be?” Karen felt herself swaying slightly, almost imperceptibly, closer to Frank. He noticed, with singular interest, the way her bottom lip was glistening. Fuck.

He was going to do it. He was going to tell her.

He could taste the words on his tongue—sweet and right.

“Karen, I—”

The chorus of Styx’s “Mr. Roboto” cut through the thick undercurrent of breathless tension that permeated the room. Karen jerked back at the sound, startled.

“Motherfucker,” Frank muttered under his breath. David. He wouldn’t answer the phone for anyone else, but if David was calling, it was probably important. He jammed his hand into his back pocket—a little more violently than strictly necessary—and ripped out his phone.

“David?” The man’s name came out like a bad word. And, at that moment, it felt like a bad word

Karen watched while Frank listened to whatever David had to say, observing the play of emotions flit across his face, mostly exasperation and disbelief.

“Are you sure you don’t—.” A pause; a sigh. “Well, did you check—?” Another pause. A heavier sigh. Then resigned acceptance.

“Yeah. I’ll find it. Give me a minute and I’ll be there.” Frank hung up, his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Everything okay?” Karen’s voice vacillated somewhere between concerned and strained.

“David left his wallet here. It’s got his key card in it. And the concierge won’t give him the spare without his ID, which,” Frank groaned as he stood up, “is in his wallet.”

“Oh, well,” Karen bit her lip uncertainly. “I guess I should probably be getting home anyway. It’s late—uh, early.” She corrected, massaging the back of her neck. A small part of her was hoping that Frank would say something else—anything else—to address the moment from earlier. To at least recognize that something had been happening there.

Instead, he just looked at her over his shoulder as he rummaged around for David’s phone, something tight and pulsing in his eyes. Something she couldn’t even begin to name.

“Want me to drive you home?” He found the phone under the loveseat, sliding it into his pocket as he watched Karen shrug into her coat.

“No, that’s okay,” Karen smiled mildly. “I want to walk. The cold air will keep me awake.”

“Okay.” Frank stood a little awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.

“Okay.” Karen nodded to herself. She paused a moment, mulling something over in her head. Then she took three steps across the office toward Frank.

“Thank you,” she spoke quietly, leaning forward with her hand on his arm, brushing a kiss against his cheek. In a moment, all of Frank’s awareness centered in on the feeling of her lips against his skin.

“For what?” He barely breathed it out.

“For everything, Frank,” Karen shrugged lightly, releasing his arm. “For being exactly who you are, I guess.”

By the time Frank was able to respond, Karen had already waved goodbye and walked out the door. He waited until he heard the elevator ding open before letting out a long string of expletives.

He was going to kill David.

#kastle #kastle au #karen page #frank castle #the punisher

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veneataur · 6 years

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Fandom: BBC’s The Musketeers

Day 17 of 24 (parts 1 and 2)

Title: A Heartfelt Gift

A/N: Other than hating the title because it’s lame, I’ve finally managed to finish the rest of day 17. The first part was unedited, so I’m posting the whole thing together. There’s some dealing with flashbacks and panic attacks in here, but nothing in detail.

It’s late in the day, near evening when the Trevilles and the Inseparables sit in the Trevilles’ living room. The fire is going, the sun nearly set, Christmas lights on, and presents opened. Sarah, with Aramis’ help, is putting together some snacks and drinks.

“What’s on your mind, Captain,” Porthos asks. He notices that Treville has been silent for a while, staring at the fire crackling.

“It’s been five years,” Treville says.

“Five years,” d’Artagnan asks. Meg is sitting on his lap playing with a few action figures she got this morning.

“Since I showed up on his doorstep looking for help,” Aramis says, walking in with a plate of snacks in each hand. Sarah is behind him with another plate and a stack of plates.

“That was quite a time,” she says before returning to the kitchen with Aramis for the rest of the evening’s snacks and drinks.

“What happened,” d’Artagnan asks.

“That’s a story for a different time,” Treville says. He waits until Aramis and Sarah are back. The children quickly get up to get food and drinks and Treville steps in to help make sure they don’t spill. Then it’s the adults and when they’re back to sitting down, idly eating, he asks Aramis a question. “Do you remember your first Christmas with us, Aramis?”

“Parts of it,” he says, taking a sip of his pineapple and 7-up drink mix. He knows that he’d been very sick then, with pneumonia on top of his other illnesses. Nothing was under control. He spent much of his time not really there. But he does remember Ben and Athos as bright spots as well as Treville and Sarah.

“I can’t imagine that you would remember it,” Treville says. “Are you okay with me talking about it?”

“Sure.” His quick answer surprises Treville.

“If you don’t want me to, I’ll leave it and we’ll talk about our plans for New Year’s.”

“No, it’s fine. I’d kind of like to know what happened,” Aramis says.

“Tim, you probably remember a lot of this.”

“Some. I remember it was a quiet Christmas,” Tim says. He’s sitting on the love seat next to Aramis.

“You were just getting over pneumonia, Aramis,” Treville says. “Frice was over nearly every day it seems trying to help us help you. At that point, you were hardly speaking and I don’t think you always knew where or when you were. In those first two weeks, unless we forced you to go out to the ER or you just about scurried across the hall to the bathroom, you never left the den.”

Treville remembers standing in the kitchen with Ben and Tim sitting at the breakfast bar eating. It wasn’t their normal Christmas breakfast, but the kids didn’t complain. He and Sarah were on the far side, half pretending to be busy as they talk.

“We can’t leave him in there the whole day,” Sarah says.

“He jumps at everything, Sarah. The slightest noise could set him off. Not to mention he’s afraid of everything, everyone.”

“He’s fine with you and Ben, though.”

“In the den, in his safe place,” Treville says.

“What if we open presents in there then?”

“That might make it worse.”

“He’s not spending Christmas alone.” Sarah is adamant. “Even if it’s you and Ben in there and me and Tim out here. He’s not going to be alone.”

“He may not even know that it’s Christmas.”

“Jean, I can’t believe you said that.” She smacks his arm. “I don’t care if he doesn’t know. I know, we know. He needs to be around people, not isolated in there.”

“I’m sorry.” Treville sighs. “You’re right. I just don’t want to ruin today for the kids or set him off.”

“They need to get used to him and he needs to start to be around us. If he’s going to stay here until he’s back on his feet, then he needs to be a part of our family even though it’s going to be difficult for him.”

“I know. I’ll go take him his breakfast.” Treville takes the tea, small bowl of oatmeal, cut-up fruit, and hard-boiled egg into the den. It’s a small breakfast and designed to be eaten easily. It’s also light. The combination of pneumonia and lack of a proper meal for weeks means that Aramis’ stomach is sensitive to food. They give him bland food in several small meals scattered throughout the day.

When he enters, Aramis is in the middle of a coughing fit. He sets the food down and picks up an inhaler that Frice prescribed for Aramis to help with his breathing. He hands it off to Aramis, watching as the man does his best to use it.

Once Aramis has his breathing under better control, the coughing mostly finished, he takes the inhaler and sets the tray on the end table next to Aramis. He leaves Aramis to eat, going back to the kitchen to sit down with the boy and eat some of his own breakfast. Sarah is there, too.

When they’re done, Treville goes back to the den to get Aramis’ plate. It’s half eaten and is better than it has been.

“Do you know that today’s Christmas,” Treville asks, holding the tray as he stands near the door.

Aramis looks up at him from the armchair and shakes his head.

“We’d like you to join us.”

Aramis’ eyes go wide as he freezes at the thought.

“We thought about bringing the gifts in here and unwrapping them,” Treville says. Aramis hasn’t moved or changed positions. Instead, he watches and listens. “Do you think you’ll be okay with that?”

Aramis shrugs his shoulders.

“Aramis,” Treville begins, taking a few steps closer, keeping his voice calm, “I need you to tell me if you’re okay with it. If not, then it’ll just be me and Ben in here.”

Aramis is quiet for a long moment. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, voice rough.

“You sure?”

Aramis nods his head.

“Okay. I’ll get the boys to start bringing things in. They’ll put things on the coffee table.”

Aramis watches the moving process intently. Treville notices that he doesn’t once take his eyes off the growing pile or them and he hopes that this isn’t too much after all. Once the process is done, they file into the room feeling slightly awkward, except for Ben. He easily takes a seat on the far end of the couch, close to Aramis. Sarah takes the seat next to him and then Tim next. The older boy is still hesitant around Aramis. Treville sits on the floor near the coffee table.

“Jean, why don’t you find a few presents for the boys to unwrap,” Sarah says. “And boys, please don’t just rip the paper off. I don’t want to be chasing shreds of paper around for months like I was last year.”

“Yes, mom,” they both answer as Treville hands each a present. They both start off slowly, worried about making too much noise but a few presents in and their hesitation is forgotten.

“I need to find one in here,” Ben says, hopping off the couch and starting to search through the pile.

“What’re you looking for, Ben,” Treville asks.

“There’s a present in here that I need to find.”

“We’ll get to it. Just sit back down and I’ll hand you another.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for Aramis. He can’t sit there watching while we open things. I got him something. I just have to find it.”

Treville looks to Sarah.

“A few days ago while you were at work. Ben insisted on getting him something so we went online,” she explains.

“Here it is.” Ben holds the medium sized box up as best he can in triumph. Treville can see that Ben himself wrapped it, but even with the holes, there’s no hint about the contents as the box is brown.

“This is yours, Aramis.” Ben holds the box out to Aramis. He stands a couple feet away from Aramis. The hands that take box are shaky and slow. Ben stands, waiting for Aramis to open it but the quiet man simply sits there with the box in hand.

“Come back here, Ben, and open another present,” Treville says. When Ben doesn’t move, he adds, “Come help me hand out presents and let Aramis see what you got him without hovering.”

Ben looks at his dad and then at Aramis, who’s still just holding the box. Then he goes to his dad but he still looks at Aramis.

“Here, Ben, why don’t you hand this one to your mom.” Treville hands Ben a small present. Ben takes it, handing it off and taking his eyes off of Aramis for just the length of time it takes to pass the gift off. Aramis still doesn’t make a move. “Here, Ben. Give Tim this one and then I have one for you to unwrap.”

Ben hands a present to Tim and returns to his dad.

“Why won’t he unwrap it, dad,” Ben asks.

“Give him time, Ben. You know how he’s very much still shy. Get busy unwrapping your own and he’ll start unwrapping your gift.” Treville keeps his voice calm and encouraging. He hands Ben a gift to unwrap and pulls out more to help keep the boy distracted. It helps some. As Ben starts into a second present, Treville hears a very slow pulling of tape off of the wrap. He’s seen Aramis unwrap gifts before and never has he been so careful.

By the time Aramis has the one gift unwrapped, the four of them are nearly done. It’s just Treville and Sarah with a couple gifts left. When Aramis opens the box and goes to pull out the contents, Ben jumps up and Treville just catches him in time so he doesn’t get too close again. Still, it’s enough that Aramis freezes, hands dropping the box so that it tumbles to the ground.

“Tim, Ben, could you two go get the recycling bin and bring it in here,” Sarah asks.

“But…” Ben starts.

“Ben, go help your brother with the bin. He can’t carry it in on his own. And try not to make too much noise.”

“Okay.” Ben gets up and follows his brother out. Once they’re gone, Treville moves the box aside and goes to Aramis.

“Hey, ‘Mis, you still with us?” When there’s no answer, he tries again. “Where are you, Aramis?”

“Ch… Chica…go,” Aramis answers, breath hitching slightly.

“More specific than that.”

“Y… your home. Den.” He coughs lightly.

“Good. Do you remember the day?”

“Ch…christmas?”

“Yeah. We’ve been in here unwrapping presents.”

“Ben,” Aramis says suddenly.

“Yes, he has a gift for you. Do you want to finish unwrapping it or would you like me to? You just need to pull it out of the box.”

“I… I can.” Aramis reaches slowly for the box, pulling it upright. He moves to open the flaps again and reach in, but pauses. Treville hears his breathing pick up and he gently pulls the box from Aramis. He then pulls the gift out, a tan colored teddy bear dressed in a blue cape, with a belt and sword at its waist and a flamboyant hat decorated with a single feather on its head.

“Aramis, here. It’s a teddy bear.” Treville holds the stuffed animal out, hoping that Aramis will take it before Ben and Tim return. The young man is hesitant at first but does reach out to grab it, pulling it towards him and leaning back in the armchair.

“You got it,” Ben says, dropping his part of the bin to run in. The bin hits with a loud clank and Aramis drops the toy, breath quickening. Treville sees him go into the flashback and quickly moves to him. Meanwhile, Sarah ushers the children out so Aramis can have space. She picks up a few of their new toys as she goes.

Treville urges Aramis down to sit on the floor where it’s easier to comfort him and sits next to him. He is sure to wedge the man in between him and the armchair, using his presence to try to settle him down. He keeps speaking to Aramis, telling him where he is, when it is, anything to try to bring him back so he might still be able to enjoy some of the holiday. He’d hoped that Aramis might be up to letting Ben keep him company later but as the day wears on and Aramis is in and out of flashbacks and panic attacks, it seems less likely.

When night falls, Aramis goes silent. Treville is exhausted and stiff. He’s barely left Aramis’ side all day.

“C…Captain?” Aramis’ voice is weak and tired.

“Yes, Aramis. I’m right here. You doing better now?”

“I’m tired of this. Why do I have to do this, Captain?”

Treville sighs. “I don’t know, Aramis. But I know you can.”

“I’m tired though. I just want to curl up somewhere and be done with it all.” He coughs, which turns into a few more and Treville can hear the wheezing begin. He hands Aramis his inhaler to use, waiting to speak again until he’s done with it.

“You tried that and you wound up here. Now, why don’t you get some sleep? Let’s get you up on the couch.” Treville pulls Aramis to his feet. Aramis doesn’t fight him, moving blindly behind him as Treville pushes away the scraps of wrapping paper that still litter the ground. They’ll clean up tomorrow when Aramis is in a better mindset. Treville guides Aramis to lie down on the couch. He settles on his side and Treville pulls a few blankets to lay over him.

“Why can’t I just give up?” Aramis’ voice is despondent and wet.

“Is that what you really want?” Treville sits on the edge of the couch, running a hand through Aramis’ short hair. Cutting it had been both all too easy and a nightmare. He doesn’t look right with such short hair.

“I don’t know. I’m tired and it all seems too much to deal with.”

“You’ve had a hard day. After some sleep, you may find it all a little easier.”

“It’s not just today.” Aramis turns his head away, burying it in the pillow.

“Aramis. René, nothing that is worth it happens overnight. Recovering is going to take time.”

“What’s the use? I can’t do anything.”

“You can apply for the Musketeers. You’d be a great fit.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Leave it for now. First, you’re doing this for yourself and no one else because you’re worth it. You are enough reason for you to recover.”

“I…”

“I know what you’re going to say but it’s not true. Right now, get some sleep. I’ll be here.”

“No.”

“Yes. Now go to sleep.”

Before Treville sits back, he picks up the teddy bear that Ben got for Aramis. It had largely been tossed aside during the day, but he thinks that right now it might help Aramis.

“Here, ‘Mis.” He gently sets the teddy bear near Aramis’ chest. For a while, the man is quiet and still, leading Treville to think that he’s fallen asleep. Then he mutters and reaches an arm out to pull the teddy bear tight to his chest.

“Fidget,” he says breathlessly, relaxing considerably as he holds on to the stuffed animal.

“So that’s how it got that name,” Athos asks.

“Why Fidget,” d’Artagnan asks.

“I don’t know.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders. “But I am grateful for that teddy bear. Thank you, Ben. It’s helped me a lot.”

“You’re welcome, ‘Mis,” Ben says.

“Was it really that bad then,” d’Artagnan asks.

“It was,” Aramis says. “And large parts of it are still giant black spots. But I know I have all of you to thank for my recovery. You all stuck with me and kept encouraging me to keep going. It’s been a long, hard five years but I’m glad I didn’t give up.”

“We’re glad you didn’t either,” Treville says. The others add on their similar sentiments.

“Does anyone need more snacks,” Aramis asks, rising in anticipation of requests.

“No, no. We’re good,” Porthos says. “Sit down and let’s get started on this puzzle. Athos, you mind getting the movies going?”

Athos gets the first of the movies started, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, while Porthos opens the puzzle box. He dumps out the pieces on the coffee table. Between them all, they’ll make good progress on it this evening. The size, a standard 1000 piece puzzle, is a bit difficult for Meg, but she’s been practicing a lot this year, working with the others on more challenging puzzles. Just a few months ago when they did a similar jigsaw puzzle, she even put together a handful of pieces herself.

It’s a nice evening. A perfect end to Christmas and a perfect way to celebrate the anniversary of Aramis’ arrival on Treville’s doorstep. They work late into the night. Meg falls asleep on d’Artagnan’s lap and Ben is dozing on Aramis’. Tim himself isn’t far behind. Sarah disappears at one point, beckoning Treville to come with her. The two come back with pillows, blankets and sleeping bags. With the others’ help, they push the coffee table aside and make enough room to create a bed on the floor for all of them.

Before long, the adults, children, and dogs are snuggled on the floor, sharing pillows and blankets. And Aramis drops off, he thinks back to laying on the couch that Christmas five years ago, snuggling Fidget and feeling some real warmth for the first time in months. He feels that same warmth again but it’s far from being a foreign feeling this time around.

#bbc the musketeers #aramis #athos #porthos #d'artagnan #oc #fan fiction #modernAU #advent prompts #windy city musketeers

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rhainontheshelves · 7 years

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In His Sleep

Member: Eunwoo {Astro} Genre: Fluff Word Count: 1402 A/N: Hello I am back unannounced with some Eunwoo fluff I desperately need! I just want cuddles rn istg…This is based off my tags when I found out this: (1) (2). Thank you soooo much to @leedeermin for the gif!! Happy Reading! - Rhin Boy, were you glad to walk in the door of your apartment. Work was just too stressful today, you thought as your purse thumped down on the counter. Your coat landed somewhere on the floor near the recliner. The bun in your hair fell as the tie snapped back on your wrist. Rubbing your eyes, not really caring about smudging your makeup, you entered your bedroom and prepared to hop in the shower. Except there was something in your bed. Someone in your bed, looking up from his phone and smiling a smile that rivaled sunshine. In a different situation, you would’ve screamed and bolted back out of the room. However, this was a normal situation. In normal situations, you would smile back, say hello, give the someone a kiss or two, and go about your business. Which was exactly what you did. “How was work?” The someone asked as he returned your kisses and settled back into the pillows. “It was… work.” you replied, him chuckling. He totally understood. “I would love to talk about it, but I really need a shower right now.” You continued taking off your jewelry and shoes, gathering your pajamas to change into. “How was your day?” “Same old, same old. I dealt with four guys and one dumb maknae and cling wrap [aka saran wrap] taped up in all the doorways this morning, then I went off to do other things. Now we’re on vacation!” “You are? That’s great! Finally we’ll have some time to ourselves!” “Yeah, finally! There’s so much I want to do with you, you have no idea…” the handsome man in your bed yawned widely and ruffled his hair. “Well, mister, what you need to do right now is sleep. Get off your phone and close your eyes and I’ll be with you in a bit.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom.” “I love you, Dongmin!” you called as you closed the bathroom door behind you. “I love you too, (Y/N)!” Fifteen minutes later, you hung up your towel, threw your hair up into a bun again, and crawled in under the comforter next to your conked-out boyfriend. For a while you just admired his face, the thing that made him so sought-after. His slightly puffy eyes from inadequate hours of sleep, his nose that cutely flared with each intake of breath, his lips that just look so kissable. How did I get so lucky? you thought for the millionth time since Dongmin asked you to be his. He had told you the answer a hundred times, but it had crossed your mind way more times than that. You reminded yourself that looks are not everything. You love this man because he is a goofball. A loyal, hardworking, talented goofball that just so happened to fall in love with you and make the feelings mutual. Careful not to wake Dongmin, you made yourself comfortable as the little spoon and tried to lull yourself to sleep. Closing your eyes and listening to the steady breathing behind you didn’t work as it usually did. Too much was on your mind. So, you talked. “A lot of things have happened since I saw you last, Dongminnie. As I’ve already told you, I got that promotion, but with it came responsibilities I was not mentally prepared for. I mean, I knew all the information and what I was expected to do, but I just wasn’t ready for it, you know? Yeah, you probably know since a lot more modelling and advertising gigs have been added to your schedule lately. Drama Mama ([we all have that person in our lives, right? Put her name here]) keeps coming over to me during her break to tell me company gossip I don’t really want to hear. It’s getting annoying but I’m afraid to tell her because she’ll start talking about me and I’ll get demoted. She’s a backstabbing snake, I don’t trust her at all. Well, nobody does anymore, except the boss. Did you notice the time when I got home? I think it was 7:30, I don’t remember. Oh, did you eat supper, Dongmin? A very nice janitor has been bringing me food from the break room when she noticed that I’ve been staying way past closing time to finish up the projects I’ve been given. I usually don’t come home this early anymore.” You didn’t really expect Dongmin to answer those questions, but when you paused to think of more things to get off your mind, he made a small “mm-hm”, which made you pause even more. You mean, you wouldn’t mind if he was actually awake and listening, but if he actually was awake you felt a bit guilty for keeping him up. A soft snore floated out of Dongmin’s mouth, confirming that he was, in fact, asleep. A voice popped up in your head, reminding you that he has a habit of talking and laughing in his sleep. It sounded suspiciously like Bin, probably because it was him that told you this information. Ah, it’s been too long. It had been almost three months since you shared a bed with Dongmin. He was so busy with the Dream Store comeback, modelling, and CF and drama filming that he simply didn’t have time to come visit you. You understood, but it never felt quite right without him occupying the left side of your favorite piece of furniture. “Anyway, the company’s absorbing another small firm soon, so all of that paperwork has been pushed on to me.” Words kept flowing. Pretty soon you found yourself nodding off, which was your goal in the first place. You’d better wrap up, or soon you’d be talking gibberish all night. “One more thing, then I’ll sleep. Someone pulled a prank in the copier room today.” you giggled at the thought. “Someone rigged the printers and copiers to spew papers for five minutes whenever a person entered in a command. Then they’d have to dig around to find what they needed. I think they accused a tech dude from the third floor.” Apparently Dongmin’s subconscious found that funny, so he chuckled. However, he did so in your ear. Everyone who knew about it teased you incessantly with it. They used it against you, surprising you at the randomest of times, which usually led to yelling and chasing. Therefore, you didn’t tell a lot of people that your right ear was sensitive in a weird way. If a person’s voice was just the right pitch and close enough to your ear, it would tickle and send a weird feeling down your spine. Dongmin’s laugh was just that right pitch. Squealing, you squirmed away from your sleeping boyfriend and rubbed your ear in an attempt to ease the weird feeling. You were surprised he didn’t wake up at the movement; he was certainly exhausted. The feeling passed. You were considering staying in this position and giving Dongmin some space, just in case he woke up before you and wanted to get up and make breakfast or something. Once again, his subconscious made his wants known, and a whine emitted from your partner’s throat. His hands blindly searched the sheets until he found your form, then he pulled you back into his arms, snaking them around your waist. It never failed to amaze you how naturally your two bodies fit together. “Okay, okay, Dongmin. Geez, I didn’t know you were that needy,” you joked. There were times in the past (when you first started dating him and when Astro came back with Autumn Story) when he was way needier than that, not even in a sexual sense. In those times he needed physical contact at all times, so he would just attach himself to you and wouldn’t let go until hours later. If you wiggled out of his grip to go do something, he would either follow you or just whine until you came back. Cuddles and/or kisses were needed at least twice every time he saw you. You low-key missed that side of Dongmin. Minutely readjusting and making yourself more comfortable once again, you relaxed, taking in the faint aroma of his day-old cologne. Taking your own advice, you closed your eyes and floated off to dreamland with Captain Ddana, very glad and thankful for the person beside you. “Thanks for listening, Minnie. Whether you knew it or not.”

#heh when i typed the second paragraph in this morning dream in a dream came on #the most calming song in the world #also dont be mad at me bc i used dongmin instead of eunwoo #with all this information i felt the need to use real names and minnies #Kcon LA telling us the good stuff :')#Astro scenario #Eunwoo scenario #Cha Eunwoo scenario #Dongmin scenario

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sugarpunkeyes · 7 years

Note

1-99 😎

ITCHY I HA T E YOU (but im still gonna do it cause. this feels like a challenge)

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?alternate version of behind the sea by panic! at the discofuckmylife666 by against me!like a child hiding behind your tombstone by slothrust brain stew/jaded by green daybaba o'reilly by the whoacross the universe by the beatles

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?unlikely person ,, laura !! jane !! grace !! slightly more likely person(s) ,, @thesmashingpumpkins or @billiejoeshappytrail @xkidiot cause you’re wonderful

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.“…and, of course, Crass, who remain my favorite band to this day.” (from Tranny by Laura!! wild)

4: What do you think about most?music as a general statement probably. whether it’s my own writing/band stuff/practicing instruments

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?“And ya but nvm” from @gathering-up-the-avenues

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?with pajamas !

7: What’s your strangest talent?i can figure out how to set or fix/take apart & rebuild any watch or clock i’ve ever come across

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)??? girls are girls. boys are boys. i’m unwilling to gender stereotype esp in the binary lmao

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?i am not aware of that happening, no

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?i was texting my favo(u)rite british bo(u)y itchy ( @billiejoeshappytrail ) like two hours ago and playing loads of music

11: Do you have any strange phobias?not that i’m.. aware of ?? i get really freaked out by looking straight-on at a pin, like right at the pointy off when it’s facing me but that’s not really a phobia

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?i’m sure i have. i mean fingers are foreign technically so

13: What’s your religion?jewish ;)

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?listening to music in headphones ,, walking ,, zoning out

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?behind ,, but i like having photos of myself and i find it really fun to help out my photographer friends ,, they’re so good i’m lov my artsy humans

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?The Beatles !

17: What was the last lie you told?i told my mom i checked the weather this morning when she asked how cold it was but i actullt just stuck my head out my window and guessed

18: Do you believe in karma?nah, bad stuff and good stuff happens to everyone

19: What does your URL mean?it was from Years Ago ™ when i was equally obsessed with doctor who and star trek. sonic (screwdriver) ; (star) trek

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?uHm i’m really bad about emotions as a whole?? if i’m confronted about how i’m feeling and i am Not In The Mood to talk about how i am then i will 100% say i’m fine no matter whati’m good at music i think ,, i’ve been writing music since i was little and i know 10-ish instruments?

21: Who is your celebrity crush?Laura. Jane. Grace. i’m lov

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?yyep

23: How do you vent your anger?i kick/punch walls (i have a wall in my room w lots of studs, i know where to hit it so nothing will break), write music (nerd), throw tennis balls at my garage door

24: Do you have a collection of anything?i have journals i’ve filled out, presidential/gold dollars, state quarters (every state, every year), an old keychain collection, loads of books, and unofficially lots of band/tour shirts ;)

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?video chatting !

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?i am, but only because i know my two options are to like myself or dislike myself and there’s no way of saying i won’t totally reinvent myself tomorrow. so yes, but just because i believe in constant change and i’m proud of the changes i’ve made

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?i haTe the scratch when you have a metal utensil on a china/porcelain plate ugGgHhh and i love the noise when you lean on someone and they’re happy about it and they go “mhm”

28: What’s your biggest “what if”?what if i can’t do all of the things i love in my life?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?not ghosts, absolutely aliens

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.right arm touched my house/car keys, left arm touched my glasses on my bed

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?hotdogs i think (my family’s having a barbecue)

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?worst place .. like worst city? i don’t like detroit at all

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?EAST COAST succ it @xkidiot @sloanthewench

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?i am. all the genders i literally ,, what ????? uhh i don’t know any agender singers off the top of my head ?? but i’m lov billie joe armstrong and laura jane grace and gerard way has said he doesn’t really identify with male or female so. him too

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?just growing as a human and then helping others grow

36: Define Art.creation that invokes feeling ( @danlitty would know better than me ,, she is The Art ™ )

37: Do you believe in luck?not really but i wear mismatched socks because i think matching socks are bad luck so. uhHh idk

38: What’s the weather like right now?it was raining and like 65 degrees and now it’s just gray and a lil warmer

39: What time is it?3:38 PM

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?yes, i didn’t crash but i hit someone’s car while i was pulling out of a parking spot

41: What was the last book you read?not really a book, but i read a compilation of loads of doom patrol comics

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?to an extent .. like the first min or so is nice

43: Do you have any nicknames?yeah, my real name’s grace but everyone calls me gracie or gee or graice or goot or geebee (thanks shaney) or graciebell or groot or greasy

44: What was the last film you saw?the butterfly effect with the green goons!!

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?i broke my nose twice .. i’m pretty safe overall

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?yep! but v carefully and let it go immediately

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?always ,,,, just band stuff

48: What’s your sexual orientation?i call myself bi but i’m just gay for everyone

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?nope

50: Do you believe in magic?n o

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?depends how bad it was

52: What is your astrological sign?pisces

53: Do you save money or spend it?save

54: What’s the last thing you purchased?i only owned the cassette tape version of 1,039/Smoothed Out Slappy Hours so i bought the iTunes version

55: Love or lust?love

56: In a relationship?yes!!!! @thesmashingpumpkins is my amazing boyfriend i like him a lot :)

57: How many relationships have you had?¯\_(ツ)_/¯

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?yeah !!

59: Where were you yesterday?i just literally worked at home all day.. in the wee hours of the morning i was at midnight run in new york city (delivering clothes/food to the homeless)

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?my sweatshirt !

61: Are you wearing socks right now?yyyyes and one has a banana on it and one has sharks eating people

62: What’s your favourite animal?snow leopards

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?this is a thing ????? i’m just. sarcastic

64: Where is your best friend?my best friend in NY is named abby and she lives 3 blocks away from me, my best irl friend outside NY is from Rhode Island, and shaney who’s my best internet friend ( @xkidiot ) is in CA !! i’m lov all

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.@thesmashingpumpkins@xkidiot@danlitty@billiejoeshappytrail@poisin-youth

66: What is your heritage?i’m ,, white ,, european ,,,, lithuania, russia, hungary, turkey etc

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?texting/watching the movie w the green goons

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name?armstrong. definitely armstrong.

69: Biggest turn ons?this is NOT THE SIN CHAT

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?I think so cause most of my friends are sarcastic and i’m sarcastic

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?gET THE DOG AND CARRY IT TO MY WORKPLACE AND SHOW MY BOSS I WAS BEING A MODEL CITIZEN ™

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?a) lmao yeah, everyone deserves to know ?? people affect other people, that’s the point of life, so if i’ve affected anyone, they deserve to knowb) try to get to see all my favorite people even if i haven’t met them beforec) i mean probably ??

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.love

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?so many ,, yellow submarine and JOS and so many others

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?8903

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?knowing that the other person cares about you and about the world in general or just having it be with @thesmashingpumpkins , the most amazing man. ,

77: How can I win your heart?you can’t, jimmy already has it

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?hell yeah

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?learning guitar

80: What size shoes do you wear?8.5 women’s

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?idk some quote from the giver probably

82: What is your favourite word?mmm calcify

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.that song “heart and soul” that everyone knows on piano

84: What is a saying you say a lot?i’ve noticed i say “you know” a lot ,,

85: What’s the last song you listened to?eight full hours of sleep by against me!

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours?blue ! all shades of blue esp bluey-greens

87: What is your current desktop picture?it’s that picture of young green day ™ in a taxi and they’re flipping off the camera

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?this guy that picks on jimmy his name is christian and he’s first on the kill list

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?variations on “how do you feel”

90: Turn offs?ddont choke me ,, don’t pee on me ,,

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?ccontrolling time ,,

92: where are your parents from? OH and NY

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?lol i went to the hospital once cause i couldn’t sleep for 4-5 days straight and everything about that was wild

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?i’ve said it multiple times before, ill say it again. laura. jane. grace.

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?GO VISIT ITCHY OR SHANEY cause i can’t drive to them but i can drive to jimmy :)

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?nope

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?omg so many times

98: Ever been on a plane?yeah!! also so many times

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?there’s no reason not to try your best

thank u itchy ;)

#long ass post #answers #i spent an entire hour on this

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eris0330 · 7 years

Text

The human weapon | Part one

Pairing: JungkookxReader

AU: Robot!Cyborg, Sci-fi

Genre: Angst - Romance

Word count: 3k

☽M. List☾ ; 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 [END]

A/N: If this is going to a flop, i’m not sure if i will continue it. Or do it for my own entertainment. Let me know~ Also HUGE SPECIAL THANKS to @lets-go-north ♡♡♡♡♡ with her Jungkook au video edit. It gave me inspiration and a story line to work with! Video link here -> Tumblr | IG

In the year of 2045, everything has changed for the worse. Not far from Seoul, a war had broken out. A man named Min Yoongi, which were nothing but a leader of a cult, destroying and get what ‘belongs’ to him. His greed grew bigger, as more people understood and wanted the same. The past 4 years, had been hell around Asia, getting countries in ruins and suffering. The government, had been asking five scientists, to create a weapon, that will be used for when Min Yoongi had planned to attack South Korea.

Kim Namjoon was one of the few scientists, that were elected. He was rarely outside, or in the newspapers. But his high IQ and college degree had the government, to set him as their specialist in technology. He liked to be unknown, creating weapons for the military. He found a purpose in life, helping the ones in need for his brain. As months passed his weapons were soon outdated, as Min Yoongi copied his work. Namjoon needed to find another solution, with a hidden creation, that only he knew about. After years of studying the human body and technology, he has finally created what people would call a “cyborg”. It wasn’t just made of metal, but was partly human. His research on DNA and microorganisms to create human like skin and organs in his lab.

A cyborg, with the given name “JJ97”. Metal, with human skin and microorganisms to give him senses. It was limited, but it was the effects that Namjoon could create. Namjoon dedicated his own blood, to let the human heart in JJ97’s chest, run forever. Chords and the strongest metal, kept a shield around the soft place. JJ97, had no pain tolerance and bled blood which was stored for his skin to be moisturised. It was a side effect, that could cause problems if it wasn’t solved, but even for the robotic skeleton, JJ97 looked like any human on earth. His skin and face, were to perfection but his brain was nothing more, than a computer. Even though, Namjoon was a clever scientist, he didn’t know anything about human emotions, fighting or communications in the society. That’s why, he sent his creation to you.

After going to high school and college together, he knew how smart you were in psychology and how physically strong you were. Seeing you at the MMA, rooting to win a fight, he knew that JJ97, could learn how to fight in your commands and strategy. Namjoon requested, as your best friend and mentor, to let JJ97 in your hands. You were doing nothing, after your latest accident that made you unable to fight against a component again. Your career as an MMA fighter has ended, leaving you as an asocial butterfly in your apartment, to gather courage to find a new spark to pursue.

Everything was the same, every day. The war was in the news most of the time, as you cooked breakfast. Eggs and bread were the same, tasted the same, but you didn’t mind. You were stuck in a loop, without anything to change. Your black shorts and loose top, with the same hairstyle and makeup. Sometimes, you didn’t know why you even got out of bed, to doll up. But you didn’t want to let go of living either, as mornings turned to night. The only accomplishment, was the books in your room, that kept you occupied. The urge to work out as you used to, was picking on your skin. Your sister would sometimes call, to hear how you were doing. She was afraid, you had fallen into a depression, or even got insane. Asking if you would come visit her in Busan, but knew it was always a ‘no’. After the final MMA match against Yoon Si-hyuk, she attacked with swinging your body in the air and against the ground. Your back took the fall, as you weren’t prepared. Your spine took the break for it, getting the doctors to screw bolts in, keeping it steady. You could function like any other person, but there was a high chance your spine would break apart, if you ever began to fight again. Your spirit and career was falling apart in merely hours, getting insurance money to live off at home. The news was devastating, separating you from your friends and trainers in the MMA. Leaving yourself, to find the spirit in a new career. But everything seemed useless, without the feeling of victory. A book by your side, was all you got.

Since a year ago, you had been stuck in this loop. It was, until the day someone knocked on the door. The familiar sound echoing through the apartment, made you knit your brows. No one had been to your place in months, and you couldn’t figure out, why someone would come. Your muscles flexed naturally, after being taught in self defends. Walking with light steps, to look in the peep hole. It was dark, making your conclusion clouded. Without a second thought, you opened the door. A box, taller than yourself and wider, with a mail man beside it.

“Is this Y/F/N?” He questioned, tapping onto his Ipad. You nodded, as he handed the squared pad and a touch pen. “Please sign here” He requested, while pushing the giant box inside your house. You were at loss for words, but signed it anyways. The mailman settled the box in your living room, flashing you a wink before walking past you. With swift movements, he took the Ipad from your hands. A delightful smile, with his eyes squinted made your loss of words, come back.

“Who’s this from? And what is it??” You finally spoke, making him knit his brows. He shrugged his shoulder, as he looked upon the LED screen. “Erhmm… Kim Namjoon sent it. No idea what it is, since it’s restricted to be government grounds” He answered back, making your eyes widen. “Government grounds?? What??” You blurted out, making him smile again.

Everything went upside down in your mind, as you were confused of the situation. The mailman left in a hurry, leaving you in the door way alone. It wasn’t cold, but neither was it warm. August was known to be at the passing from summer to Autumn. With the birds chirping, you looked back inside, to see the box in full cover. It was just a regular cardboard box, it could be anything. Maybe it was the words from the mailman, that gave you an unsettling feeling about it. Why would your best friend, send you a giant box, under the government? Neither have you heard from him, since last month. Everything was a puzzle, while you walked around the box. Nothing indicated, what could be in it. Until, you noticed a small letter attached on the back. It was dirty, with black fingerprints on the cover. You chuckled, realising he might have been working, as he wrote the letter. Namjoon was usually rushing himself, forgetting to clean his fingers before touching anything. You missed talking to him, but right now, finding out what was in the box, was more important. Peeling off the red seal, you opened the letter.

Your eyes were scanning the paper, repeatedly. Nothing made sense, while his words were playing in your head. Did he really create a cyborg? Looking at the big box, you grew curious if it was true. Part of you hoped it was a prank, but what cause would that make for Namjoon? Reading over the information about his weapons, you were certain that this thing, was dangerous. You had no clue, how much this cyborg knew already and neither did you know. The only thing you could teach him, was martial arts. You sighed to put the piece of paper in your back pocket, knowing this will be a complete failure. Getting a knife from the kitchen, you cut the tape away. The last cut, showed off a human boy. He was taller, muscular and in a police uniform. His closed eyes made him look innocent, as if he was sleeping. The veins on his skin looked real, just like the rest of him. No one, could ever tell that this was made out of metal. His brown locks were smooth, while his cherry plumped lips showed off his front teeth. Looking at him intensely, you noticed how he reminded you of a bunny. It made you smile, while an aroma struck your nose. It was sweet but manly, and it made you dizzy. Did Namjoon go all in on this?

“Erhm… Hello?” You hesitantly called out. There was no answer, than complete silence. It was creepy, seeing this handsome sleeping boy in the box. Unsure if he was awake, you poked his cheek. His skin was cold, but felt like your own. It made you back away, to have your heart raise. Racing against horses, you picked out your phone to text Namjoon.

A groan escaped your lips, as you threw your phone into the couch. The sound of your heart beating at a normal rate, made you gulp at the boy. You, were going to kiss him. But this wasn’t just an ordinary kiss, it was your FIRST kiss. Doing high school and college, you were too occupied with training and never got around to date. It wasn’t a priority, doing the MMA’s. The thought of kissing an inhumane object, made you chuckle of the situation. Stepping closer to see his features, of perfect smooth skin and his pink lips. Thinking about it, made you flustered.

“Come on Y/N! No one is going to find out anyways…” You encouraged yourself, to purse your lips. But backing out, of embarrassment. It was probably just a cyborg, but it was still weird. Your hand clutched to your head, as you shook it like a dog. Everything, was too surreal that it was hilarious. You did rethink, if you had gone insane like your sister had predicted. You kneeled, taking in deep breath. Scanning the boy once more, you sighed heavily.

“It’s just metal” You whispered, lowering your sight onto his crotch. The thought of Namjoon’s words, made you blush slightly. Heavy red cheeks, felt like burning. You went back to the kitchen, to grab a glass of cold water. The liquid erased your dry throat, as you walked back to the living room. The boy, has still not moved. Your foot tapped onto the wooden floor, before you set the glass aside. Going back to your bedroom, you snatched the lip balm from your bed side table.

“I wonder if he knows about lips balms?” You questioned, putting the strawberry cream onto your lips. Feeling them get moisturised, as you walked back. Stepping closer, to stand only an inch away, you felt your heart beat slower. Reaching out a hand, to touch his light brown locks in between your fingers. It was soft and it smelled nice, but it softer than his skin. Your finger ran down his jaw line, feeling every sharp curve. Mustering up the courage, you tip toed to brush your lips against his. Even though you have never kissed anyone, his lips were like any others. Time froze, as you heard the sound of clicking and air hitting the side of your cheek. The feel of pressure against your body, and a pair of arms snaked around your waist. His lips started moving, and so did yours. The sensation was too much, that you closed your eyes. A warm source build in your core, as your cheeks heated. Instinctively running your hands back into his hair, made you get swayed away. The kiss continued, while his tongue brushed against your bottom lip. Letting him in, he got a taste of you. A taste, that was indescribable, making you break the kiss and back away. Panting and heart racing faster than a horse, you looked him in the eyes for the first time.

They were chocolate brown, and were to die for. It was probably the kiss, that made your knees weak. His arms kept you above the ground, as you tried to get a hold of yourself. Shaking your head, you pushed his arms away from your body. Your motion made him confused, as he stepped out of the box. It was scary, but intriguing.

“Who are you…?” You questioned with a whisper, while your heart got a steady beat again. He looked from side to side, before his eyes got locked with yours. “I’m JJ97, you are Y/N” His voice was angelic and deep, making you gulp in the process. They were firm and easy to understand, like a script.

“How do you know my name?” You asked again, making him come closer. His hand took a strand of your hair, to let it slide against his palm. “I know, almost everything about you.” He answered, walking to sit on the couch. You were speechless, of what to tell him. The fact that Namjoon created this beauty, was more than imaginable.

“Do you know, who created you?” You spoke, seating yourself beside him. His aura of being relaxed, made you sit close by. His features were magnificent and his skin looked beautiful in the sunlight, while his chocolate eyes turned almond. “Master Kim Namjoon, created me” He spoke firmly.

His answer made you laugh, while hitting your thigh. The fact that Namjoon had installed JJ97 to call him master, was hilarious to you. Wondering, what else he got in store. “You’re going to be my mentor?” It was the first question, he ever shot your way. Without a second thought, you nodded in response. His posture got stiff, when you moved your head. As if, he was scared. Your eyebrows furrowed of his action, making him gulp. “It says, that you are a scary person, if you are mad at someone” He whispered, making you giggle of his innocence.

“Is that what Namjoon has installed in your memory?” You asked, making him nod. “I’m going to kill him” You spoke again, with a smile plastered on your face. Making horror, flash on JJ97’s. You looked at him with widened eyes, before you waved a hand at him. “Not like that, it’s just a thing you say in between friends, for people who needs to be lightly punished, for their doings. I’m not actually going to kill him, just hit him lightly.” You chuckled, making his shoulders fall. There was a bit of silence, making you stare at him. The atmosphere wasn’t weird, neither was it pleasant. His shoulders were tight, as you stared him down. Realising, this is what Namjoon meant with human communication. JJ97, does not understand what to do, unless given orders or questions.

“How much do you know about human interaction?” You asked curiously, to be sure not to teach him something he already knows. He bit onto his bottom lip, before he answered “Basics. I have the whole dictionary installed, and I know how to answer questions. But human emotions and physical touch, separating normality from danger is lacking in my system.”

His voice was making you swoon, as he stared you in the eyes. You bit on the inside of your cheek, before standing off the couch. His eyes following, making him purse his lips together. “I also know, the thing we did, was a kiss.” He added, making you blush of his words. The heat rise in your cheeks, making you remember the scene that just took place, minutes ago. “It was my first kiss” He bluntly stated, making your eyes soften at him. You walked back to kneel in front of him, as you looked him in the eyes.

“It was my first kiss too” You blurted out, making him smile back. JJ97 didn’t want to be someone, that has never tried anything before. Learning there was people like you, who made him comfortable in his surroundings. “You know, you’re going to live here for a while, right?” You asked, making him nod in response. His little head bopping, made you smile.

“We got a lot of things to catch up on, but firstly. ‘JJ97’ sounds too generated, let’s give you a real name. That way you can seem more human, than robotic” You suggested, making him nod again with an excited smile. He was like a kid, but too big for a little kid.

“JJ… hmmm… J-Jung, Jungkook? How does that sound? Is there a last name in your dictionary that you like?” You questioned, making him ponder on the word. His eyes seemed distant and darker, indicating he was searching in his database. “I like Jungkook… Jeon is one of Master Namjoon’s friends.” He explained, making you clap your hands together.

“Jeon Jungkook!” You spoke fondly, making him giggle. This was the first time, she showed off his whole smile, with his nose scrunched. The giggle was top of the ice cream, wanting to squish his cheeks. He was adorable, and handsome. How were you going to live with this angelic cyborg, for seven months?

“Is Namjoon my dad?” He bluntly asked, making you chuckle but wonder. Namjoon did create Jungkook, so basically, he was kind of his dad. “He is, kind of. He created you. Though, it’s without the sexual stuff.” You explained as you walked away to the kitchen, having him to follow you.

“Sexual stuff?” He asked, making you widen your eyes. Were you hearing wrong, or did Namjoon not install the way people make babies? The decision was on you, if you were the one to burst his bubble. His uniform, was practically giving you unusual thoughts. He never noticed what he wore, but quickly found the baton, that were clicked to his belt. Swinging it around, you noticed his skills were already on point, but it needed a little help.

“Let’s… talk about that another time. First, we need to find proper clothing.” Staring at his dark blue uniform, with black pants. His eyes followed yours, staring at his outfit. If he needed to go out in public, the uniform was too eye catching. You, were going to transform this cyborg to become human and yet, a deadly weapon.

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