#tumbly chums and pocket friends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mo-nighean-rouge · 5 years

Photo

Claire of Broch Mordha

AO3

Three vignettes into the life of orphan Claire Beauchamp as she grows up.

I'm so excited to bring this one-shot to life, as it's been bouncing around in my head for quite awhile! As you might be able to guess, it's a loving tribute to the Anne of Green Gables series by L.M. Montgomery.

Many thanks to betas @phoenixflames12 and @isitgintimeyet.

*Cragaidh = "Rocky Place" in Gaelic, Claire's home beautifully named by Phoenix.

12-year-old Claire Beauchamp bounded up the steps of the schoolhouse, the weekend’s revelations still fresh in her mind and putting a spring in her step.

After some deliberation, Murtagh and Glenna had decided that they wanted to keep her.

Though Murtagh had been dour and unresponsive on the wagon ride from the stagecoach, unsure what to do with Claire and her glowing observations about every tree, cloud, and rabbit seen along the way, she had carried on as if they were old chums.

He had even less to say when he had presented Claire to his sister as the “lad” they had requested from the orphanage.

“Claire Beecham,” she had pronounced proudly to Glenna when she was asked for her name. “Not Bow-champ.”

“What difference does it possibly make?” Glenna turned back toward her brother, muttering about what she could with a grubby child that had holes in her stockings.

But Glenna had eventually come to tolerate her in the past few weeks, while Claire shared some quiet moments with Murtagh watching the sunset in the evening. Finally, they had shared the good news with her.

For the first time she could remember, plain old Claire Beauchamp had a home at Cragaidh. After countless foster families where the parents couldn’t care for their own ill children, let alone a scrawny English orphan, Claire was where she belonged. It was a wonderful fact she was reminded of every day as she gazed upon the beautiful blue vase on Glenna’s breakfast table.

Claire waved to Jenny MacKenzie across the schoolroom as she shrugged off her coat and placed her dinner basket on the shelf above. Amid a few mishaps, she and Jenny had gotten along beautifully since Claire’s arrival. All her life, she’d longed for a bosom friend, and she had a good feeling that Jenny might just be it.

As her classmates settled in, Claire noticed that her usual chair was occupied. Sat beside Jenny was a boy she’d never seen before, with cinnamon colored hair and a deep tan.

Claire raced to the desks, eager to ask the boy to trade seats with her. She tapped him on his shoulder, but he didn't seem to notice her, continuing instead to chat with the other lads in Gaelic, as if she wasn’t even there.

Impatient at his refusal to acknowledge her, she began tapping her foot, the rhythm picking up as the moments passed.

“Aye, just a minute,” he drawled, turning to face her for the first time. He froze as his eyes swept over her. “S—sorry, lass. I didna see ye there.”

Claire rolled her eyes theatrically. Of course he’d seen her. He’d just bloody ignored her.

“Dinna mind him Claire, that’s just my clot-heided wee cousin,” Jenny cut in encouragingly, glaring at the boy. “Back from a trip to visit his uncle in Paris.”

“James Fraser.” The boy’s voice deepened infinitesimally as he extended his hand toward her.

Claire arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. She opened her mouth to beg for a trade just as Mr. Bain cleared his throat to begin class.

She harrumphed.

Best not get on his bad side again.

She took the nearest desk available, directly in front of Jamie so that she could still be close to Jenny.

Claire tried to pay attention as her schoolmaster droned on. She was anxious for their worktime to begin so that she could study quietly and let her imagination run free.

She felt something brush her arm. It tickled, but the sensation disappeared just as quickly. Then the unmistakable feeling of a finger tapping her shoulder followed. She rotated her arm to dislodge it.

“Lass… Claire…” Jamie whispered behind her.

“Leave me alone,” she answered through gritted teeth, turning her head to the side. She heard the scrape of the boy’s chair as he startled at the sound of her accent. Great.

“Miss Beauchamp, is there a problem?”

“No, sir,” she responded meekly.

As she tried to carry on with puzzling out the arithmetic exercises before her, she felt a tug on one of her loose curls but tried to ignore it. A sharper one followed, along with a hissed whisper.

“Sassenach!”

No. Not bloody that. Anything but that word that had been spat at her by countless asylum directors and murmured knowingly by overly-friendly orphanage patrons.

Claire stood calmly, chalk in hand. With a speed and force that surprised her, she pivoted and smacked her slate over Jamie’s tangled mop of curls. It made a satisfying thwack as it broke into two pieces against his apparently hard head, chalk dust settling over his freckles.

He looked up at her, stricken still.

“Claire Beauchamp, to the platform. Now.”

*********************

Claire exited the schoolhouse swiftly, Jenny close behind.

After three hours of standing with her nose in the corner, followed by missing the meal break to scrawl a half-hearted apology over the chalkboard repeatedly, she was fuming. She was mortified.

Just then, a figure stumbled out ahead of them, shaking his red hair out of his eyes. “Look, I really am sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I didna mean to get ye in trouble.”

Claire turned her nose up in reply.

“Perhaps we could start anew? Like I said before, my name is Jamie.” Before she could react, he took her right hand in both of his.

Claire regarded him for a moment, then wrinkled her nose. “My name is Claire Beauchamp, and I don’t like you very much.” With that, Claire turned away briskly, accepted Jenny’s arm, and they marched back toward Jenny’s house, heads held high.

________________________________________

17-year-old Claire followed the pathway from the village toward home, still in awe. All that worrying, and the problem was taken care of. She reflected that she should have relied on God and her prayers more steadfastly, after all.

The apprenticeship with Dr. Gowan in Broch Mordha was hers. The other candidate had given up his own assignment for family matters, they’d told her.

Claire wouldn’t have to leave Glenna behind as her eyesight worsened, nor Murtagh in the aftermath of his mild heart attack and the stoop that seemed to increase by the day.

She'd been told repeatedly that the position she'd almost accepted was a fine opportunity, and that there was hardly a better learning experience for a woman to be offered. But it was all the way in Inverness, while Claire still longed for Broch Mordha.

Lost in her thoughts, Claire looked up again as she came into contact with a solid form rounding the corner of the shady, pebbled path. Lifting her chin, she met Jamie Fraser’s eye.

For once, the sight of him didn’t stir anger in her belly. She couldn’t help but smile as his palms settled on her shoulders to keep her upright.

For years they had competed at everything. The top marks. The best speeches. The most prestigious scholarships.

But Claire was now headed in the direction she’d always hoped. She could learn a bit more about medicine before heading to university in a couple of years, then study to become the doctor she’d always dreamed to be. And she’d heard that Jamie was well on his way, too. Perhaps it was time to put the rivalry to rest.

“Good evening, Jamie Fraser.”

Jamie’s eyes seemed to widen, then his posture relaxed as she greeted him, recovering his manners just enough to nod. “C-Claire. Ye seem to be in good spirits.” His hands fell to his sides, then tucked into his pockets just as quickly.

“Well, actually, I’ve just had the most wonderful news.” Claire rocked forward on her toes. “I’ll be able to stay in the village this autumn.”

The corners of Jamie’s mouth rose into a small smile. “That’s great to hear, lass. Congratulations to ye.”

“Thank you. I suppose I’ll be seeing you around, then?” Claire realized that might not be such a bad thing, after all.

“Och, a bit,” Jamie scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll be spending a good deal of time in Inverness, but I’ll be ‘round to see Mam and Da on the weekends, when I can.”

“Inverness?” Claire’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What’ll you do there?”

“I’ve taken the schoolmaster position up there.” He hesitated.

“But Jenny said you’d be here…”

“My plans changed.” Jamie shifted awkwardly.

Claire gasped in understanding. “Jamie, was it you that gave up the apprenticeship with Dr. Gowan?”

Jamie swallowed. “Aye… I thought it’d be better for ye, to be around for Murtagh as he recovers.” He looked at the ground again. “And I’m no’ sure doctoring’s for me, after all.”

Claire raised her hand to his shoulder. “Thank you, Jamie. Truly.”

Jamie met her eye, cheeks red. “Aye, it’s nothin’.”

She shook her head, unable to stop the grin forming on her lips. “Well, best of luck, Jamie.”

“Claire, wait,” he called before she could get very far. “Do ye think… could we ever be friends, you and I?”

She turned back to face him, feeling her cheeks flush. “I’d like that, actually.”

Jamie’s chest rose and fell triumphantly as he grinned back at her. “Do you mind if I walk ye home, then? I feel we’ve a bit of catchin’ up to do.”

Claire nodded, and they chatted all the way back to the gate at Cragaidh, walking side by side. It was easier than she ever thought it’d be.

Neither noticed Glenna peer out the kitchen window at them curiously as Claire shut the gate and Jamie gazed toward the doorway even after she had entered the house. Glenna shook her head fondly at the memory that flashed through her mind, ever hopeful for her Claire.

________________________________________

23-year-old Claire looked out over Broch Mordha from the heather clad hill they had frequented as children. She sat cross-legged, plucking at the clover below her feet, mind racing.

It might be too late, she reasoned. Even if he recovered, what could she possibly say to him now?

Jamie had suffered a head injury playing recreational shinty with his university friends, a wound that was immeasurably worse than any damage her broken slate could have sustained, years ago. He had been sent home before the term’s end to convalesce, but what concerned the town doctor more than anything was the infection set in from the deep laceration at the back of his skull.

“Jamie Fraser is dying,” Glenna’s adopted boy, Fergus, had announced with little ceremony when Claire had arrived home for the summer.

It was all Claire could think about. Jamie lay at home, dying, and they hadn’t spoken in months.

She had been utterly unprepared for a marriage proposal from one of her oldest, dearest friends. She’d never seen him as anything but Jamie, her school chum. She hadn’t known if she could risk one of her most cherished attachments for a fleeting romance that might not last.

Claire had only seen him once more after that dreadful and teary day. Jamie had been resplendent in his traditional tartan and kilt, standing a head above all the others. He had walked her down the aisle at Jenny’s wedding to Ian, a sweet, if quiet, young man from Broch Mordha. While standing next to him had felt as natural as ever in their long companionship, neither had been able to cut through the tension between them to exchange more than a few pleasantries.

At the time, she’d heard things were becoming very serious between Jamie and Geneva Dunsany, another Englishwoman attending the University of Edinburgh with them. She was from the Lake District, and of means. Claire wondered if she would even see much more of him once the union became official.

Claire, meanwhile, had been seeing a charming history student, Frank Randall. He had entertained her with anecdotes about this uprising and that revolution, and had a promising career ahead of him.

She’d thought she would be ready to accept Frank’s proposal as graduation drew closer. But when it came, she had panicked at the last moment.

As she reflected upon her decision in the awkward days afterward, she realized she’d more appreciated the idea of Frank, as he was similar to what she remembered of her father.

Upon arriving home after graduation, Claire realized that every corner of Broch Mordha that she visited reminded her of Jamie.

The only place she hadn’t dared to go was Jamie’s home at Lallybroch. She wasn’t sure in what condition she would find him. Nevertheless, she had to decide what she wished to tell him. Would she just wish him well, then part ways again, leaving them each with only distant memories of each other? Or could there still be some hope for them? She would start small, if she had to. If they could only even be friends again…

The shuffle of footsteps behind startled Claire from her thoughts. Likely Fergus had come to fetch her – Glenna probably needed help in the kitchen, or Murtagh wanted her to fetch something from the village.

Turning, she saw a figure about two feet taller than Fergus; squinting upwards, she saw the familiar glint of auburn curls catching the sun's rays. With her heart suddenly sounding impossibly loud as it thundered in her ears, she scrambled to her knees. “Ja – you’re awake! You’re up!” With wide eyes, she looked behind him at the uneven path he’d just traversed to climb the hill.

Jamie squatted awkwardly to sit down across from her.

“Christ! Be careful!” Claire reached out to steady him by instinct, terrified that he’d lose his balance and it’d be too late before she could find someone to help move him.

She finally got a good look at his face as he settled. His skin was much paler than she’d like, and there were dark circles under his eyes that betrayed how much the climb had cost him. But the small smile he gave her revealed him to be in the same spirits as always.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hullo,” she answered softly.

Claire realized she’d just said more words to him than she had in two years.

Jamie studied her face, then met her eye. “How were yer travels home?”

“Just fine,” Claire nodded, feeling her cheeks grow pink. The relief of seeing him alright, combined with his mere presence, was making it hard for her to concentrate. “A train ride like any other.”

“And graduation? I suppose it was bonny. I’m that sorry I missed it.”

“Oh, but don’t worry about that, you’ll have plenty of time to make up your work and finish your degree in the autumn.”

He looked down at the view below them, then turned back with his gaze piercing into hers. “I canna say I’m verra concerned about that, just now.” He scooted closer to her. “Even after everything, I have no’ been able to stop thinkin’ of ye, lass.” His chin trembled.

Claire held her breath, not sure if she could believe her ears.

Jamie lifted her right hand and held it to his heart. “Claire, if ye still feel the same, ye must tell me, and I’ll no’ bother you again…”

She reached out and placed her shaking left palm to Jamie’s warm cheek. He leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut.

“Claire, would you reconsider becoming my wife?”

With a small sob, Claire leapt toward him, knocking him to the ground in his weakened state.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Their lips met at last, gently at first, but suddenly fiercer with reunion and possession. Still sweeter than Claire could have ever imagined.

She ran her hand through his hair, fingers finding the place where the shorn curls were growing back after his injury. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “About before.”

He shook his head, just barely. “Think nothing of it, lass. We both still had some growing up to do, aye?”

Claire tightened her grip on his hand. He was right, but she regretted that it had probably been more on her part.

Jamie must have seen the question in her eyes. “Gillian Edgars from uni wrote to me, said ye’d broken up with Randall, and no’ to give up on ye just yet,” the side of his mouth twisted upward. “Dr. Gowan found my recovery thereafter near miraculous.”

They stayed until sunset, basking in the privilege of touching, kissing, and dreaming together at last.

He ran his thumb over her left knuckle, where his class ring now rested. “We both still have a bit of studying left to do,” he reasoned at last. “Ye with medical school and I to grasp the running of things at Lallybroch.” Sitting up, he pulled her close, so that her head rested against his shoulder.

She buried her face there, where she could feel the vibration of his next words.

“Will ye wait for us, Claire?” The words were a thick swallow that she almost missed. “Even when the time comes, I’m no’ likely to be able to adorn you with pearls and such fine things.”

Unable to stop smiling, Claire shifted so that her forehead pressed against his. “I just want you.”

Fin.

#Claire Beauchamp #Jamie Fraser #Jenny Fraser #outlander fanfic #My fic #Anne of Green Gables #L.M. Montgomery #au #Claire of Broch Mordha

141 notes · View notes

amuseoffyre · 5 years

Text

Crossing Paths - 1868 - 1941 - The Estrangement

Welp, this was kind of inevitable. I kept seeing the Crowley-slept-through-the-19th-century thing and decided to roll with it ;) This is also the biggest chapter for this story, unsurprisingly. (Feel free to poke me with any queries re. history mentioned herein)

1868 – St. James’s Park, London

The fob watch was cold and heavy.

Aziraphale glanced anxiously at it again, then looked around the park. There was no sign of Crowley anywhere. Even the ducks were peering at the angel suspiciously, as if wondering why someone would be trying conspire alone.

It was dreadfully rare for Crowley to miss a meeting at their appointed rendezvous. The demon was occasionally late, which he claimed was a default state for him and his kind. That or obsessively punctual with no middle-ground. But this was the third time in as many years.

Aziraphale pocketed his watch, then resumed feeding handfuls of seed to the ducks, but it felt automatic, rather than a pleasure today.

He could remember the last words they had exchanged and now, thinking back on them, he wondered if he – they had both been too harsh. He had panicked. What else had Crowley expected of him, asking such a ridiculous thing?

Such a demand could only have one end and Crowley was not a demon to kill, which meant there was only one use he might have for the… the requested substance. He had not seemed suicidal, but sometimes with Crowley, it was very difficult to tell what he was thinking or planning.

No. No! He couldn’t let his mind wander down those roads again. Crowley was alive. He would have known if anything had happened to him. He would have. So it followed that Crowley was either very late or simply ignoring him.

I don’t need you.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together. Strange how much words could hurt as much as a blow.

Rain started pattering down and he groped for the watch again. Almost an hour late now.

There was no point lingering in the rain. He dusted the seed off his gloves, then turned and made his way along the winding path by the pond towards the gates by Horseguards.

“Oh, I do hope he’s all right,” he murmured.

1868 – Whitechapel, London

A sliver of daylight broke in between the curtains, cutting across the vast four-poster bed. It was the only item of furniture in the bare room apart from a small table, upon which there was a small pile of unopened letters, each one sealed with gold wax and stamped with an A. The floor was littered with bottles, some empty, some full, and the walls bare and blank except for a single drawing of an enigmatically-smiling woman.

“Gnah,” someone muttered from beneath a pile of blankets on the bed. A pale hand poke out and snapped its fingers. The curtains shifted and the daylight vanished.

A few seconds later, the pile of blankets resumed snoring.

1871 – Holborn, London

The solitary man painted a forlorn portrait near the bar. The chair on the opposite side of the table had remained empty for much of the evening and by degrees, the man’s expression drifted from amiable to melancholic.

Theodore tapped his own glass against his lip. This was not a bar that gentlemen came to in order to sit alone. He smiled slightly, then made his way between the tables and chairs to sit down opposite the fair-haired man.

The man’s face lit up. “Crow–” He broke off, his expression giving way to misery once more. “Oh, I beg your pardon.”

“I could not help but notice you seemed terribly mournful,” Theodore said with his best and most winsome smile. “Can I be the one to cheer you?”

The man stared at him blankly for a moment. He was a charming-looking fellow, pleasantly plump with round cherubic cheeks and unruly blond curls in a halo about his head. “I– I’m afraid I’m waiting for someone.”

Theodore leaned forward. “You seem to have been waiting for a devilish long time.”

The man dropped his eyes to the cup between his hands, looking even more forlorn than before. “Yes,” he agreed unhappily. “Devilish long.”

Theodore leaned back in his chair, raising a hand to catch the barkeeper’s eye. “Then I shall keep you company until your friend arrives.” He adjusted his smile to a softer one that the more sentimental and discerning gentleman usually appreciated. “I’m sure he shan’t be long.”

The man’s expression brightened a little. “That’s awfully kind of you…” He hesitated. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

That, Theodore thought triumphantly, was always a promising sign. “Theodore Lockhart,” he said, extending his hand across the table to the man.

“Az… Um… Alexander Fell.” He reached out and politely shook Theodore’s hand. “Thank you.”

Theodore laughed warmly as the barkeeper approached with a bottle of Theodore’s favourite wine. “Oh, it’s purely self-indulgence, Alexander,” he said, surprised when the man didn’t protest the use of his Christian name. “You see, I was rather lonely too.”

“Oh?” The man gave Theodore his full attention for the first time and for a moment, Theodore felt his usual manners falter. Alexander’s eyes were intense and clear as if they could see right through him. Oh, he was lovely.

Perhaps it was terribly hasty, but he reached over and covered Alexander’s hand with one of his own. “Perhaps… we can be friends?”

Alexander’s gaze dropped to their hands. His own was motionless under Theodore’s and for a moment, Theodore wondered if he had made a terrible misjudgement. Then those remarkable eyes returned to his face. “Perhaps. For now, company will be enough.”

1871 – Whitechapel, London

The room was still dark. The frame of the painting was a little dustier. So were the blankets on the bed. A single foot poked out from beneath the covers, scalier and darker than a foot had any right to be.

1876 – Oxford

“I knew it would impress you!”

Aziraphale smiled indulgently at his human companion. He had had several of them in the past few years, though inevitably they all drifted away. Each of them seemed to expect something of him – some ineffable thing they dared not speak of – which he lacked to means to understand or to give.

If he was to be entirely honest with himself, some small part of him was relieved.

They were sweet-natured young men, charming and enthusiastic, but they lacked something, and if they chose to withdraw from him, then he didn’t have to worry about it. It was far worse to be left behind by someone you believed had cared.

I have plenty of other people to fraternise with.

As much as he hated to admit it, he still missed the damned demon, no matter how many lovely young men he crossed paths with.

Still, Crowley was the one who had stopped responding to his messages, so eventually, Aziraphale had reached out to find every letter he had sent since that awful day in the park and turned them to ash where they lay. If Crowley was going to ignore him, then he would… just do the same thing.

So far, he had managed to go almost five years without sending any messages. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t written them. There was an embarrassingly large stack that he tried to ignore every time he sat down at his desk. But they hadn’t been sent. That was the important thing.

“The architecture has always been quite splendid,” he said as Nicodemus slipped his arm through Aziraphale’s.

Nicodemus – son of an upstanding merchant – had bumped into him when the angel had given a reading in the British Museum. It been a peculiar whim after one too many nights alone in his shop, an empty glass sitting on the table.

And so, he had done a reading of Mediaeval literature and his latest companion had attended.

He was a student at the university, in town to visit the museum, and had been appalled to hear that Aziraphale had not visited Oxford for at least twenty years. It was really closer to one-hundred and fifty, but the young man didn’t need to know that. Another peculiar whim.

Call it what it is, angel, he chided himself. A distraction.

“That’s not all I brought you here for,” Nicodemus confided, his dark eyes shining. “I have someone who is dying to meet you.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale tried to maintain his smile. More often than not, his companions’ friends had proved less than stimulating company. “And who might that be?”

For once, it was someone who proved entirely worth meeting.

The long-limbed young man unfolded from his couch as Aziraphale and Nicodemus entered. He was tall, with compelling features that were not quite handsome. His hair dark hair was tumbling about his shoulders, his clothes exquisite and far more extravagant than the average human’s.

“Oscar,” Nicodemus sounded beside himself with giddiness. “This is my… friend, Mr. Fell. Mr. Fell, this is my good chum, Oscar Wilde.”

Aziraphale offered his hand to the young man, fascinated. One could always spot an artist. They had a particular energy about them and this one… oh, he positively glowed. “A delight to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wilde.”

A flash of a smile crossed the young man’s face. “My friends,” he said, his mellifluous voice rich as honey, “call me Oscar.”

1876 – Whitechapel, London

A spider scuttled across the pillow, scrambling over a motionless hand.

There was a quiet grumble from the depths of the bedding, then the hand moved, twitching the spider away. The same hand reached down, leaving the covers as little as possible, groping around on the floor.

It made two journeys.

One for one of the few full bottles that remained and the other for the chamber pot.

Twenty minutes later, the pile of blankets started snoring again.

1882 – Portland Place, London

“If you’re absolutely sure I won’t be imposing?”

Lord Arthur Somerset grinned at the man sitting opposite him in the carriage. “Entering at my side? You’ll be welcomed like a Prince, Master Fell.”

The fair-haired man smiled bashfully. “Well, there’s no need for that.”

Somerset regarded him with fond amusement. The man was not a gentleman by the commonly accepted standards, but they had crossed paths at one salon or another and had fallen in together quite nicely. Fell was a little older than Somerset himself, well-spoken, eloquent and well-educated. Not the type that usually caught his eye at all.

However, he had a particular naïve charm which had fascinated the aristocrat far more than it ought to have and which vexed him even more when Fell seemed utterly oblivious to his more pressing advances.

“Ah!” Somerset declared as the carriage drew up outside the building. “Here we are.” He gave Fell a wicked smile. “You still can change your mind. I’m not here to tempt you, after all.”

Fell smiled back at him, although for a moment, it almost looked forced. “Well, I’m here now and I would quite like to see what all the fuss is about.”

Somerset stepped down from the carriage first, then offered Fell his hand to assist him down. Most other men would have recoiled or puffed up in indignation, but Fell only took his hand, smiled that charming smile of his and said “thank you” as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Somerset darted a tongue along his lower lip.

Once the man saw the inside of the club, surely he would grasp Arthur’s intentions towards him. After all, the Hundred Guineas Club had a particular kind of reputation and even someone as refreshingly innocent as Fell couldn’t fail to notice that.

He offered Fell his arm. “Will you join me, then?”

Fell’s smile creased lines into the softness of his face. “I would be delighted.”

1882 – Whitechapel, London

One of the pillows had ended up on the floor. A foot was resting on the other. The owner of the foot was buried back under the wine-stained blankets. His head hadn’t emerged for almost six months.

1900 – Paris

“Oh, my dear…”

Oscar forced his eyes open, though it took what little strength he had left. The door had not opened, nor had he heard the ascent of anyone upon the creaking staircase, but a man was seated by him on the very lip of the bed, his ageless face stricken with grief.

“Mr. Fell,” he breathed, every word a throbbing blade through his skull. “A pleasure.”

The man leaned closer, gathering up Oscar’s hand to his breast as if to keep him from slipping from the mortal coil. “I ought to have come sooner,” he said, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It has all been so dreadful and then I heard you were ill…”

Oscar closed his eyes, drawing a slow and aching breath. “Nonsense,” he murmured. “I could not ask that of you.”

Fell laid his hand, light as featherdown, on Oscar’s chest and for a moment, the pain in his head receded like a wave ebbing from the shore. “All the same,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

It was if the chill of the damp little room had been swept away. There was comfort and warmth of a sort that Oscar had only ever written, thrumming through his weary body down to his bones, brushing aside all shame and bitterness and anger.

He opened his eyes to look at Fell.

Even though the room was dark, the windows shuttered against the winter’s bitter cold, Fell shone as bright as a sun.

“Who are you?” Oscar breathed, unable to tear his eyes away. “What are you?”

Fell – if that was even his name – smiled his heart-breakingly beautiful smile. “I’m your friend,” he whispered.

And behind him, wings of purest divine light unfurled and, for the last moments of his life, Oscar could swear he looked upon the face of Heaven.

1900 – Whitechapel, London

Someone had decided that the property must be empty after so many years. Made sense. No one had come or gone in almost half a century. Who wouldn’t try and break into a place like that and see if they couldn’t steal a bit more space for themselves and their family.

The bold – and stupid – intruder went in bravely enough.

When he came out, he was grey-faced, his hair turned white as snow, and for seventh months, he didn’t say a word.

And when he finally spoke, he only had two words.

“Stay away.”

1916 – Verdun-sur-Meuse

It would have been a lovely summer’s afternoon, if not for the bombardment.

Aziraphale had always hated battlefields, but with every leap forward in the weapons of war, they became more bloody and terrible. The best he could do was offer flickers of hope and once in a while, a whisper of a miracle. They were becoming fewer and further between as hope faltered and the mud churned up, scarlet and black and rotting.

He had broken his promise to himself.

He had tried his utmost to be resolved, to show Crowley that he was neither needed nor wanted, but Lord, he was so very tired.

He had written. Once in 1914, when he felt the tremors through Europe of the coming war, then again after Ypres. And then, every battle, he had sat among the soldiers on either side, scratching letters, sending them with a prayer that they would reach him.

A dozen letters, maybe more, and not a single response.

He had hoped that Crowley would remember all the battlefields they had walked before. There had been so many. It felt strange to face a battle without the demon there, picking at him, teasing him and making faces at him from the opposite side.

Aziraphale turned his face towards the sun, where it was peeping over the edge of the trench.

Was it too much to hope that their friendship counted for something? He was so sure it had. Surely… surely, such a little argument couldn’t undo all those centuries and millennia? Yes, Crowley could be stubborn, but surely not that stubborn.

He rubbed at his eyes, sunspots dancing behind his lids, then sighed and miracled up another piece of paper.

It’s lovely here today. It reminds me of Noricum in the summer. Do you remember that siege? Those damned boars? Less Celts, although it smells about the same. If you have a little time–

He gazed down at the paper, then crushed it in his hand.

So many letters and no response. Why expect one now?

Further down the trench, there was a shout and the soldiers started mobilising. Aziraphale got back to his feet, aching with fatigue. It was going to be a long year.

1917 – Whitechapel

The blankets had disintegrated and been replaced with newer, bigger ones. There were more crates of wine on the floor. Possibly miracled. He wasn’t sure. Didn’t really care, as long as the world stayed nice and fuzzy and quiet and with no stupid thoughts about any stupid angels and their stupid stupid moral high grounds.

Crowley shoved his head deeper under the pillows.

He didn’t hear the whisper of the neglected, dusty pile of letters slipping over on the table and spilling onto the floor.

1941 – Soho, London

Aziraphale straightened his tie and smoothed the lines of his coat.

As much as he hated to admitted, there was something invigorating about playing against type.

It was – he was absolutely certain – nothing to do with almost a millennia of performing both temptations and blessings. No. Certainly not. But who wouldn’t like to outwit the latest evil to rise from the mind of humanity?

It was a gloomy night, the moon a thin crescent. The perfect night for villainy and mischief.

He smiled as he picked up the bundle of books. Or for thwarting it.

1941 – Whitechapel

Two years was a hell of a long time to try and shake a hangover.

‘Parently, there was in fact a threshold for the amount of booze a single demon could imbibe without being physically capable of willing himself sober. That had been a long bugger of a lesson to live through.

Still, it’d given him a bit of time to catch up on things he’d missed while he was having a nap.

There’d been a few wars. One bloody big one from the sound of it. ‘Great’. Humans always did like to use weird words to describe awful things. Not that he felt guilty about leaving the angel in the deep end. Nope. Not at all. Wasn’t like they’d done a mess of wars together.

Weren’t even any messages from the bastard. Not one.

Okay, yeah, there were some suspiciously papery-looking piles of ash on his table and his floor, but Az– the angel would never destroy the written word. S’like an allergic reaction. He’d probably come out in hives over it.

Crowley rubbed at his eyes again. They felt like they’d been replaced with two dusty snooker balls, grating against the inside of his eyelids.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” He focussed all his wobbly power inwards, around the still thumping headache, and almost cried – in a very cool and manly way – when he felt the alcohol finally seeping out of his system. The pain in his head vanished and the world stopped spinning just enough for him to sag with relief. “Thank G– er… me.”

It took another couple of hours before his brain felt like it wasn’t about to dribble out of his ear.

It was another three before – just out of morbid curiosity – he let his awareness stretch out. Not because he wanted to check on him or anything, but just to see where the stupid angel was.

Huh.

In the city. North bank of the Thames. In a bloody church of all places.

Crowley paused, frowning.

Carefully, he let his power do a rerun through his sodden corporation, because he couldn’t be sensing what his still-kind-of-pickled brain was telling him was there. Then he focussed on the church and the other people inside it. Their souls had a very, very familiar flavour and he risked a taste of their intentions.

“Oh holy fuck!”

1941 – Soho, London

Aziraphale had been quiet for the whole drive back to his shop.

Crowley wasn’t sure what he could say.

The minute he saw his bloody stupid angel standing in the church – even though he was surrounded by Nazis and had a gun pointed at him – all the anger he’d been trying to drown out with far, far, far too much alcohol evaporated like it had never been there.

Even if Aziraphale had seemed annoyed to see him, even if he’d been forced to dance about like an idiot to avoid getting his feet burned, even if they’d parted on bad terms, all he could think about was the fact that Aziraphale would be all right.

And his books, of course. He would have been useless if he’d lost his books. Probably even done something as stupid as get infinitely drunk and unconscious for a few decades.

Still, eighty years was a long time. They hadn’t been apart for that long, not for millennia, and finding the words to fill in the gap seemed impossible.

“Here we are then,” he finally broke the silence as he pulled up outside the shop. He’d even driven a bit slower than usual, but that was mostly because of bombs. Almost mostly. Partly.

Aziraphale didn’t immediately move to get out. “Crowley,” he said quietly, looking down at his hands, which were wrapped around the handle of the stolen Nazi case which he had on his lap.

“Yeah?”

“Where… where were you?”

Crowley fiddled with the steering wheel of the Bentley. “Um.”

Aziraphale took a small, quiet breath. “It– I was worried.”

“Ohhhh…” Crowley winced, trying his best to sound casual. “You know me. I keep out of trouble.”

“Yes.” He heard the rustle of fabric and turned his head to find Aziraphale gazing at him. God, he’d missed that stupid bloody angel. “I remember.” Aziraphale looked like he was trying not to cry, a weak smile crossing his lips. “Did you have a good time?”

Enough alcohol to resink the Titanic. Miserably hiding away from everything and everyone. Avoiding the only person who had ever given a shit about him.

For once, he didn’t want to bluff and act like everything was fine. “No.” He tried to force a smile. “It was rubbish.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked back down at the case. “Would– I have a bottle of Chateau-neuf–”

The thought of any more drinks made Crowley’s stomach twist. “No.”

The angel’s face fell. “Oh.”

God, he hated seeing him like that, especially when they were finally finding their way back to some kind of truce.

“I had a rough couple of… decades…” He winced again. “No wine, yeah? Maybe – and I can’t believe I’m saying this – a cup of tea?”

It was as if he’d switched a light on behind Aziraphale’s eyes. “Oh, that would be lovely. I may even have some biscuits.”

Crowley couldn’t help laughing at that. “Of course you do.” He pushed his door open. “C’mon then, angel.”

When Aziraphale beamed at him, he couldn’t keep from smiling in response.

#fic: crossing paths #good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale #crowley

41 notes · View notes

katedrakeohd · 5 years

Text

The Royal Honor 👑

Chapter Four

A repost for @ritachacha 😊

A ‘The Royal Heir’ Fanfiction

________________________

All According to Plan

Kate leaned against the closed bedroom door, her eyes burning and sore from wiping at her tears. On the other side of the door she hears Drake mumble something and then the slam of the door as he leaves. In the silence that followed she could hear the echoes of their argument going through her head. She felt a mixture of anger and remorse for all the hurtful things she had said to him. He had bared an intimate and secret part of his life to her and she had tarnished it by throwing it back in his face.

Sliding down the door she crumples to the floor. What the hell just happened? How could Drake do this to me? We just talked last night about having a baby, and it all felt perfect and wonderful. He knew damn well that Nicholas was going to come here and ask us for his heir. He knew all of this was going to happen and he didn't bother to warn me. Because it was all part of their stupid plan.

“That Son of a Bitch. How could he do this to me? To us?” she cried out loud to the empty room.

Grabbing handfuls of her hair she rests her forehead on her knees. I need a way out of this situation. I need to convince Drake this is a bad idea. But wait he's already jumped into the shark tank with his pockets full of chum. What an idiot I've been not to see this coming. His whole life he's sacrificed his own happiness for Nicholas. Why would I expect things to change after we got married? Even at Valtoria we're still under his thumb. Any semblance of a normal life or freedom is all an illusion.

Kate can feel the grit of sand in her hair, it collects under her fingernails as she scratches her scalp. After a week on this damn island there was no escaping the sand. Thank God this was the last night here. Sitting up she wipes the tears off her neck and chest, feels the gritty sand in her bikini top. With a sigh she gets up off the floor and takes off her clothes. Walking over to the full length mirror she looks for more sand. Pulling her hair off to the side she inspects her naked body.

Smoothing her hand over her breast she lifts it and brushes away the grains that had been trapped underneath. She looks down at her smooth, flat belly. Biting her lip she fights back more tears. Smoothing both hands across from hip to hip, she tries to imagine her belly swollen with a baby inside of it. She might already be pregnant. Her last period had been the week before the wedding, nearly a month ago. With Drake's sexual appetite it was quite probable that something has already taken root. She should be happy at the idea that the product of their love could already be blossoming. But the thought of Nicholas announcing to the world that their child would be his successor made her feel ill. She was seriously regretting ever coming to Cordonia in the first place.

As she tried to brush off the sandy grit from her skin she became increasingly frustrated. She wanted to rid herself of this cursed place for good. This island, Cordonia, stupid Two-faced Nicholas, god damned lying Drake, everything. As she swipes at the grit under her armpit, the stones of her wedding ring scrape at the underside of her arm, leaving a red mark. Ahh! Motherfuck that hurt.

She tugs at her rings angrily trying to get them off, but only one will move. Drake's engagement ring. Holding it in her shaking palm, she considers throwing it across the room but she can't. Clenching the ring in her fist she sucks in a deep breath and screams, long and loud, until her throat and lungs burn from the effort. With tears streaming down her face, her body shaking, Kate walks over to the bedside table and slams the ring down under her palm. Feeling jagged and torn on the inside from Drake's betrayal, she looks around the bedroom suite.

This was supposed to be our honeymoon damn it. Up until today it had been perfect.

Her skin felt raw and sore as she wiped at the tears on her cheeks. The salt and the sand, she needed to wash all of it away and pull herself back together. Leaving her engagement ring on the nightstand she goes to the bathroom to take a shower.

The hot sun beats down on Drake's shoulders and back as he walks along the beach. His footprints in the cool wet sand are rinsed and then flushed away by the bubbling surf. He and Kate had walked many kilometers of this beach during their week together. They had laughed and played in the shallows, filled their pockets with pretty pebbles or seashells, and swam naked in the waves. Drake had been truly happy, and so had Kate. He loved her so much it hurt sometimes. The beauty of her smile made him want to cry.

Seeing her so angry at him today had been heartbreaking. He knew he was wrong to go behind her back and make this deal with Nicholas. He had been torn between helping his friend and the commitment he had just made to his wife. They pledged to be honest about everything, no matter how much the truth might hurt. But he also knew if he had brought up this royal heir business before the honeymoon, her answer would still have been a resounding no. So he was fucked either way.

Turning back in the direction of the villa, he stops walking as a clump of seaweed washes up against his foot. When he angrily kicks it away, his toe catches on something rough in the sand. Sidestepping and hopping out of the surf he lifts up his foot to check for damage. There aren't any marks on his skin, but the waves tumble the object up onto the beach. It’s half of an oyster shell. Picking it up, he intends to throw it back in the ocean but then hesitates and puts it into his pocket instead. He remembers how Kate liked to pick up shells during their walks. The oyster shells were her favorite. At first he couldn't understand why. To him they were rough and ugly, and sharp. He had stepped on many of them when he'd been distracted by Kate.

Her smile, her laugh, the way she looks at me, means I'm almost always distracted by Kate

He thought back to the second day of their trip. They had been walking along the beach and Kate had picked up an oyster shell.

They remind me of you, she'd said.

They're ugly and rough Kate, hardly a compliment.

That just made her laugh, Oysters are rough around the edges, almost like they have a stony armor. But if you can crack one open there can be treasure inside.

You mean like pearls?, he'd said.

Something tasty, or something precious. But always something special.

Drake had blushed at her comparison, mostly at him being something tasty.

When she had turned the shells over and shown him the beautiful sheen of the mother of pearl on the inside, he had understood how every oyster held something special.

She had seen something special in him despite the walls of stone he'd tried to throw up around his heart. To her he was like an oyster forming pearly layers around a grain of sand and making something beautiful to give to her.

On every beach walk after that day, he had tried to find her the prettiest shells, still not convinced that ugly oysters should be her favorite. She would just smile and shake her head, so he had given up on shells and started collecting rocks instead. When the tide went out they'd sit on the cool, damp sand and see how far they could toss them, counting the waves as a scale. Drake always won, but Kate didn't mind. She spent the time comparing the oyster shells she’d found for the one she liked best. But she never kept them, preferring to let the ocean have its treasures back.

Walking back to the villa, Drake pulls the shell out of his pocket. It's still sandy, so he bends down to rinse it in the water. It was their last full day on the island and he wanted Kate to have one shell to bring back home with her. A souvenir, and a peace offering. To prove that the trip had had some moments that were special, before their fight had tarnished things.

Kate steps out of the steamy bathroom after her shower. Her skin was pink from the hot water and from the scrubbing effort to remove every last grain of sand. She didn't want to use the fluffy towels that Nicholas had provided, and instead walked over to the window to air dry. Opening it and the curtains wide, she enjoyed how the warm sunshine bathed her skin all over again, and how the fresh air rinsed her clean. Off in the far distance she can see a lone figure walking along the beach. She recognizes Drake right away by his bright blue shorts. He had chosen them because they reminded him of Captain America. She had smiled because it reminded her how much he was still just a little kid at heart, even if he was almost 30. Running her hand over her bare belly again, she thought about what a great Dad Drake would be. She wanted to start a family with him so badly, but not in the public way that their first child being heir to the throne would constantly overshadow things. She, Drake and Nicholas had to talk this over again. Without the interruption they'd had this morning.

But for now she was alone, and she intended to enjoy it. Closing her eyes she basked in the warm sunshine as her hands roamed her body. The risk of being so exposed, coupled with the sensation of her smooth hands on her fresh clean skin just added to the erotic thrill. The fresh air teased at her skin as her body started to dry. Her wet hair dripping onto her chest accentuated the cooling effect.

Her areolas puckered as her nipples hardened. Pinching and pulling one nipple roughly between her fingers she feels the spark set off fireworks down below. Biting her lip, she reaches down between her legs where she knows she's still warm and damp from her shower.

It had been a while since she'd had intimate time like this to herself. During the social season her mornings had been interrupted by Maxwell. But her evenings had been all about her thoughts of Drake while she'd laid alone in her bed. Back then her thoughts had all been fantasies. But now she knew how wonderful it felt for him to touch her intimately with his hands and his mouth. Kate gasps as the thrill of remembering enhanced her desire, and the movement of her fingers stimulated her clit. She couldn't do this standing up anymore as the need to spread her legs became more urgent.

The crazy thought of placing her foot up on the windowsill crosses her mind, but then she pushes it away because standing on one foot would make her unstable and apt to fall over. With giddy excitement she runs over to the bed. Throwing off the blanket she leaves just the crisp white top sheet behind. Smoothing her hands over the cool surface, she relishes the rare moment to have such a big bed to herself. She slinks her naked body across the mattress like a cat, arching her back, and then sliding along on her belly. Giggling, she rolls over and lays spread eagle in the middle of the bed. Her hair falls over her face, and she combs it out across the pillow with her fingers. The breeze from the open window finds her again, stimulating her already aroused nerve endings as it tickled her skin.

Glancing toward the door she wondered how much time she would have before Drake returned. As exciting as it would be to get caught, she wasn't interested in giving him a free show and making him horny. This was her private naked time, not his. Bringing her knees up she slid her hand back down between her legs.

Drake was hot, sandy and thirsty by the time he returned to the villa to change for dinner. He had entertained the thought of stripping down and taking a dip in the ocean to cool off, but then remembered how the paparazzi had found them all on the beach this morning. For all he knew they were watching him right now. Raking his hands back through his windblown hair in an attempt to tame it, he takes one last look around before turning the doorknob and entering the villa. He's immediately struck by the refreshing cool air conditioning and he sighs with relief. After brushing his feet off on the doormat, he closes the door. The house felt empty in the silence. As he walked across the cool floor to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, he wondered if Kate had gone out. After opening his water and taking a drink, he looked around the space again. Kate's sandals were still by the couch where she had left them, and her phone was still on the coffee table. Turning his head he looks down the hall to the bedroom and sees that the door was closed. Was she still in there? Taking a nap? Was she still mad at him? After drinking down the rest of his bottled water, he decides to investigate. He needed to shower and change his clothes anyway. Tiptoeing to the bedroom he listens at the door. He couldn't hear anything. He knocks quietly and then opens the door to peek inside.

Kate is naked in the bed, half covered by the sheet. She's laying on her side facing away from him, seemingly asleep. Drake can't help but stare at her as he quietly steps into the room. She looked all tousled and spent as if she'd just been ravaged by an invisible lover. The white sheet was twisted around her, and one of her beautiful tanned legs was exposed. He wanted so badly to touch her, to pull back the sheet some more and drink in the sight of her nakedness. He had the sudden desire to hold her in his arms.

Drake wanted to mold himself to her in the way he knew her soft body fit so perfectly with his. But her spiteful words and the hurt in her eyes suddenly came back to him, and he knew it was too soon. His ardor cooled further as he noticed the glint of gold on the nightstand. Was she still mad at him? Was this a message?

Walking over to the bed he pulls the shell out of his pocket. He swaps the ring for the seashell on the nightstand. Looking down at her still form for a moment he decides to leave her alone. She had said that she wasn't interested in going to dinner with him and Nicholas, and he was hungry and missed his friends. Still holding her ring in his hand he goes to his suitcase to pick out something to wear. He slips the ring into one of the small pockets on the outside of his suitcase. He'd give it back to her later. If she still wanted it.

Taking off his shorts and underwear he tosses them over with her discarded clothes. I guess that's the only thing of mine that's going to be touching anything of hers tonight.

As Drake showered and then dressed, Kate laid quietly in the bed with her eyes closed. She wondered whether Drake would say something or try to wake her, or if he'd kiss her goodbye before he left. When she heard the bedroom door close, and then the muffled sound of the villa's door closing, she stopped wondering and started to cry.

Drake's feet floundered and swam across the sand as he walked toward the rendezvous point. He was wearing sandals and he hated them. The hot sand just flicked off the flat soles like he was trying to paddle a canoe. Taking a hard left, he headed for the ocean and the wet packed sand along the shoreline. The sandals had been Kate's idea to add some more tourist chic to his new honeymoon wardrobe. She had taken one look at his scuffed up brown shoes and then dragged him into the shoe store. He had grumbled that nobody other than her needed to see his bare toes or feet, and besides they were going to a private island.

You can't go barefoot over the entire island Drake, and I'd hate to smell the state of your feet if you chose to plod along in your old shoes in the hot sand for a week.

You sound like Olivia when you nitpick me like that.

Good, I'm glad some of her taste for harsh criticism has rubbed off on me. You're a grown man Drake, and I'm not going to sugarcoat the truth when you really need to hear it.

Drake had been at a loss to refute her logic, but at least she had let him pick out his own sandals, as much as he'd hated the concept of wearing open toed shoes in a sandy environment in the first place. He had chosen the most rugged and sporty looking pair he could find. She had chosen a flimsy cute pair of flipper things that he couldn't believe could possibly be comfortable. She had just shrugged and told him to appreciate his ‘mandals' because her footwear would totally show off how cute her toes were, and how nice her nail polish looked. He thought of pointing out that after a week in the abrasive sand that there wouldn't be much point in nail polish, but had held his tongue because she had no doubt paid someone for a pedicure and lacquer.

As he made his way around the edge of the cove he spotted his friends standing on an outdoor wooden deck shaded by a pergola. A long rustic table was set for dinner, and beyond it a small comfortable seating area was clustered around a stone firepit. The whole area looked warm and welcoming with sparkling string lighting and hanging baskets of tropical flowers. Drake felt a pang of sadness that Kate would be missing out on this evening of fellowship, considering their friends had come so far to spend the day with them. Hana and Maxwell wave and smile at him as he approaches.

“Hey! There's the delightful Duke we all adore. Where's Kate?” Maxwell says, as he waits for Drake to bang the sand out of his sandals before stepping up onto the deck.

Drake gratefully accepts the cold beer that Nicholas offers him out of the ice chest packed with refreshments.

“She..uh. Kate's had a little too much sun today and decided to take a nap. She sends her apologies.” Drake says, with a shuffle of his feet as he busies himself with opening up his beer to hide his lie.

Hana frowns with disappointment, “That's too bad. I hope she's able to join us later. It would be a shame to spend the rest of the evening without her.”

Drake nods, taking a drink of his beer. He catches Nicholas’ look of concern but then quickly looks away. “So Maxwell, tell me all about your zipline adventure today.”

Maxwell bubbles with excitement at the opportunity to recount their story, “Oh My Gosh Drake it was totally awesome, you should have been there!”

He proceeds to act out the whole afternoon including impersonations of Hana and Nicholas as they screamed and flew along the cable from point to point. Hana couldn't help but laugh at his spot on reenactment of the harrowing and crazy experience.

“At the end of it we all joined hands and jumped off the last cliff into the ocean.” Maxwell says, finally out of breath from acting out and experiencing the whole thing over again. He goes to the ice chest to get himself a beer to calm himself down.

“I must say after such an intense day I'm starving. Come on Max let's go check out the appetizer buffet.” Hana says, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away.

Nicholas sidles up to Drake, seeing how tense and distracted he looked.

“Is everything okay Drake? It's not like you and Kate to be apart like this.”

Avoiding eye contact, Drake looks out toward the sinking sun over the ocean. “Yes Nicholas, everything's fine.”

Nicholas turns to look out over the ocean as well. He leans against a post and folds his arms across his chest. “You know Drake after all these years you can't hide from me. I know when you're lying.”

Turning his head briefly to look at the profile of his longtime friend and then turning back to watch the sunset, Drake shrugs and finishes his beer. “So, what's it to you?”

Nicholas frowns, “What's it to me? It's everything to me if you and Kate aren't getting along Drake. I've put my future in your hands.”

Drake looks at him, his frown deepening to a scowl. “Your future? You mean Cordonia’s future right? Well what about mine and Kate's future huh? You've put a lot of pressure on our shoulders with this heir request of yours. Kate's pissed.”

Nicholas looks down, “I'm sorry Drake. But I love you both so much and there's nobody else I can trust with this responsibility.”

Drake scoffs at his response. “Oh come on Nicholas. You're a man. You can sire your own goddamn heir for Christ's sake. You're the fucking King of Cordonia. Leave the stuffy traditions and precedents behind and be the King you want to be.”

Nicholas sighs, “If only it were that easy Drake. I may be at the top of the food chain but I need the support of everyone below me in order to be a successful ruler. My Father's reign of tyranny may be over, but I'm still the product of it. I want this cursed family line to end with me, and even if it takes the next twenty years to erase the mark Constantine has left on this country I will leave it a better place for everyone.”

“Ok now you're making sense. You need to explain this to Kate, because when I tried to she didn't want to believe me.”

“I believed you Drake, but I just needed to hear it from him to really understand.” Kate answers quietly, causing them both to look over to her with surprise.

“Kate? Holy shit, how long have you been standing there? I mean..”

Drake walks over to her and pulls her in for a kiss on the cheek, “I'm so glad you could make it.”

Nicholas offers Kate a small smile, but then looks down at his feet when she doesn't immediately return it.

Kate looks from Drake to Nicholas, “If we're going to make this three way partnership work, because that's how I see this arrangement between us, we need clarity, trust and a commitment that I and my child are going to be safe and protected.”

Nicholas nods, “You have my word.”

“We need to sit down and discuss this further, informally and formally with legal counsel present.” Kate folds her arms and looks at them both sternly.

“Are we clear?”

Drake nods, swallowing hard. “Crystal clear.”

Nicholas nods again, his expression serious.

Kate sighs with relief, dispelling the heavy atmosphere with a smile and slipping her hand into Drake's “Ok good, now let's eat because this future Momma is starving.”

#drakewalker #choices #long post

9 notes · View notes

created-by-teen-fury · 5 years

Text

Firecracker

Here it is! Sorry it’s up so late, but @cookiecatspace had to read it first because its for her. It’s a Jason Todd x OC. That OC would be Jackie, who is currently my profile picture as of now. Is Jason really out of character? Maybe! But it doesn’t matter cause it was made for my best friend and she enjoyed it so I hope y’all will too! And without further ado, here is Firecracker!

WC: 2630

----------------------------------------

30 minutes have passed since the mission went wrong. 30 minutes since they lost connection from the rest. 30 minutes of being stuck a large gapping ice hole in the ground with the seemingly most annoying person on the planet.

At this point, Jason had stopped trying to climb out the pit he found himself in. Jackie on the other hand was attempting to clamber up the side of the ice-covered rocks. A thump signaled her 11th attempt, but who’s counting? (Jason was. He most certainly was). Pressing on, Jackie brushed off from her shame and once again latched her hand on an uneven bit of the rock. She settled her snow-covered boot onto the ice and sprung upwards, aiming to anchor herself onto the next stone. Her hand briefly grasped the rock above her. She let out a cry of victory, though it was short lived seeing as the ice around her fingertips caused her to slip. Falling 5 feet, her back collided with the stone-cold floor once again.

“You know, if you’re so powerful why don’t you just use your pretty magic to fly you out of here?” Jason’s words rang through the cave, freezing Jackie’s next attempt to scale to frozen tower.

She swirled around to face him. He sat against the wall across from her. Crossing over to him she pointed a finger to his forehead, which he immediately slapped away, “First of all ya funker! My powers aren’t “magic”! It’s stone hard science! Real! Rooted in re-al-i-ty. NOT FICTION!” Jackie huffed out a puff of cold breath, “And secondly! If you must know all this frosty air is great for talking snowman, but not for a wild Jackie! Think of it like a power outage. You know the ones in the winter where the power lines snap because-”

“Because they freeze. I got it.” He was quick to cut her off her science lecture, “So what I’m hearing is that your useless? Great.” He pulled out a communicator from his inside jacket pocket. After clicking a few buttons, he let out a growl before hitting it several times before trying again. Throwing it to the ground beside him, he let out a grunt and leaned his head against the stones behind him.

Jackie let out gasp, “I am OFFENDED! I am still plenty useful! I almost got out just by climbing!”

“No. No you didn’t. The closest you got was being 6 feet in the air before ultimately crashing and burning.”

Pouting, Jackie sat against the other side of the cave, wrapping her arms around herself, “Well at least I made an attempt…” A tingle ran up Jackie’s spine. She hugged herself closer trying to conserve the rest of her body heat.

It grew quiet for a bit, before Jackie let out an annoyed grunt, “This is so boring!” Taking a bundle of snow into her hands, she flung it at the man across from it. A loud splat rang across the cave.

His eyes narrowed has his hands brushed off the slush, “Keep your boredom on your side of the cave.”

She let out a huff of air, her bottom lip jutting out, “you’re no fun…” When she didn’t hear a reply, she made a move to grab another clump of snow.

“Don’t even think about it.”

She let out a long groan, rising to her feet, using the wall as a crutch, “Fineeee. If you insist.”

Jason watched her pace back and forth, clutching her hands tightly to her chest. Her steps began motivated, but quickly turned into a sloppy misstep. Occasionally she would trip over her own feet before retaining her balance. Finally, her knees buckled underneath her, causing to tumble back to the ice-covered ground. Before Jason could make a move to help her sit up, Jackie head shot up from its place on the ground, her arms flailing in front of her., “Well would you look at that! Must’ve slipped on that ice over there!”

“Maybe you should sit down for a bit. You seem a little pale…”

“Nope! I’m great! Just great!”

The pair fell into a silence, not sure what else to say. It wasn’t until 5 minutes later when he noticed the first red flag. Jackie was shaking violently. Her hands ran up and down her arm trying to create enough friction to stay warm. Her teeth chattered against each other as she took slow breaths, each escaping her mouth like smoke.

“Hey… Are you like... Okay?”

Waving a dismissive hand in his direction, Jackie let out a faint chuckle, “Of c-course!” Her speech was slurred, while at the same time shaking with the rest of her body, “Just a little cold! I’m sure I’ll be fine!”

Jason didn’t seem convinced. Scooching closer to Jackie, he placed his index and middle finger against her pulse point checking her weak pulse. Almost immediately he pulled away. “Holy shit. You’re literally freezing!” He started to shrug off his jacket, but two shaky hands stopped him.

“Nope! You... You keep your jacket. I’m fine really. In fact,” Leaning against the wall behind her, she began to stand up, “I’m ready to make another attempt to climb out of here!” Before she could take another step, Jackie collapsed, falling forward.

Jason was quick to catch her shoulders, gently placing her on the ground again, “Yeah. I don’t think so Firecracker.” Once again Jason made a move to remove his leather jacket. This time no one stopped him. Wrapping it around her shoulders he hastily zipped it all the way up. “Now don’t move. I’m going to try the communicator again.”

The next 15 minutes were slow, matching Jackie’s new sluggish attitude. Frost covered her finger tips, despite her efforts to keep them from the cold. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but the longer time dragged on, the faster Jackie’s spirits fell.

Jason focused on his communicator trying everything he could to warm up the software. He let out snarl, stuffing the electronic into his pocket. Turning his attention back to Jackie he let out a panicked breath, “Shit!” His hands gripped her shoulder, squeezing slightly, “No no no. You gotta stay awake Firecracker. Don’t close your eyes on me!”

Her head rolled to her shoulder as her eyelids parted slightly, “Hey… What’s the big idea...” Her words were lethargic, “What’s a lady gotta do to get some beauty sleep around here.”

“Beauty sleep can wait bub. I’m sure your friends would rather have you alive than dead.” He looked towards the only exit, in hopes of seeing someone above them. With no one in sight, he let out a growl reaching for his gun.

Seeing this, Jackie gripped Jason’s arm as tight as she cold, albeit it was still rather weak. Jason didn’t bother to move so she kept her fingers wrapped around his forearm, “What are you doing…”

“If I shoot, there’s a chance the others might hear us. You can’t spend any more time down here.”

Jackie shook her head and grabbed at the gun, “noooo. Avalanches.” Her arms collapsed back at her side. Her head falling back against the wall.

Jason sighed before holstering his gun, opting instead for wrapping an arm around the girl. “Well, you got any better suggestions?”

Jackie’s head bobbed up and down before flopping onto Jason’s shoulder, “Mmhm. You should let me-”

“I’m not letting you climb that wall Jackie.”

“Why not ya funker?”

Jason’s head shook at her antics, “You are a piece of work.”

“Yeah. A piece of artwork…” Her voice began to fade off.

Jason shook her lightly, “Stay awake Jackie. We’ll get out of here at some point.” With his free arm Jason wrapped his hands around Jackie’s shaking ones.

Letting out a groan, Jackie curled up closer to Jason, “This isn’t fair. Why aren’t you cold?”

“Oh, I am cold. I just guess you can’t handle it.”

She let out a cry of outrage, which ended up turning into more of a whimper, “I can so handle it buster!”

“Whatever you say Firecracker.”

Before the cave could fall into another awkward silence, giggles slowly tumbled out of Jackie’s mouth. “Hey Jason… Jay... The Red Hood, buckaroo, pal, buddy, chum, comrade-”

“What now?” His head flopped against the cave walls, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling

Her ice-covered fingers prodded at Jason’s neck, causing his head to jerk away, “Did you know… that,” She paused taking another breath watching it drift away. Her hands jumped above her trying to catch the fleeting cloud before it could get away. The clearing of a throat brought her back to reality for second, “Oh yeah! I was saying something…” She went silent, looking off into empty space, her lips moving, but nothing coming out, “Oh I know… You! You my stunning compadre,” she poked him in the chest, before her arm slumped back to her side, “you’re the reason I’m in this mess…”

His eyebrow raised and she stared at her pointedly, “Oh yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Cause you’re really really cute.” Giggles bubbled from her throat as she placed his hands on his cheek and began to pull at them, “Did you know that? Cause I know that. You’re like… insanely attractive, like just the hottest-”

Red crept up Jason’s neck, shaking his head, he placed a land over the babbling girl’s mouth. “Easy there Firecracker. You don’t want to spill all your secrets.”

She was quick to brush him off, and continued to speak nonsense into the universe despite the gloved hand over her mouth. The vigilante sighed, “Fine, suite yourself,” and he released his gentle grip.

“-And like they tooold me not to go, but! Get this! You loooked so fine! And I just like… I had to go.” She continued on like she was never stopped in the first place, “I like heard about you before ya know. But I didn’t think you’d look this good. Is that even legal??? Oh! Guess what!”

Tried to keep all his amusement to himself, but alas, he could not help but let a small chuckle ring out, “What?”

Her lips twisted up into a dorky grin, “When we’re gonna have like 8 dogs when we get married! And I’ve already thought of names like Bub-”

“Married? You’ve already thought of this far ahead? Hate to break it to you doll, but we just met.”

“Sooooooo? That one movie someone proposed to someone they just met! What was it called? Frosty? Snowy? Wait I got it! Frozen! How fitting…”

“If I remember correctly, that didn’t turn out so well…”

Her head flopped against his chest. Sticking her tongue out at him Jackie exclaimed, “Well I guess we’ll just have to make it work Buddy…” She let out a tiny squeak of a yawn and nestled closer to Jason, “I’m getting really really sleepy…”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, “I know Jackie, but you gotta stay awake a little bit longer okay?”

She let out a long groan, eyes struggling to stay open, “But I don’t wanna…”

Mimicking her tone, Jason droned, “But you have too!”

Jackie huffed, her cheeks puffing up, “fine…” Jason pulled her closer, trying to lessen the shakes she was emitting.

Minutes later, the crunching of snow was heard above them. Jason’s head immediately perked up, looking towards the source. Soon several other footsteps came into range along with soft familiar voices.

“Hey!” Jason’s voice boomed across the cave, causing the commotion to come to a halt. “We’re down here!”

Almost immediately a rope was thrown down to them, followed by a voice from above, “Climb up!” It was Dick.

“Small problem with that plan!” Jason’s reply was curt, accompanied by an eye roll. His gaze shifted towards Jackie, who once again, was almost asleep.

There was a slight smack heard followed by a cry of surprise, “Idiot.” Soon after, Bella emerged from the shadows and kneeled in front of the pair, “How is she? How long has it been?”

“At least 45 minutes, maybe more. She keeps trying to fall asleep.”

She nodded before calling out to the people above, “She can’t move. We’ll need help.”

Using the rope, Conner slid down into the abyss, “Here, I can jump high enough to get her out.”

Jason nodded. Gently picking Jackie up he placed her into Conner’s arms. “She needs emergency care immediately.”

Nodding, Conner made sure she was secure before leaping out of the pit. Bella followed his lead by once again dissipating into the shadows. Letting out a sigh Jason started to ascend the rope.

By the time he reached the surface, Jackie had already been taken into the bioship. Amari sat her sister’s side with her hand stretched over her, speeding up time around Jackie to melt the ice off her body.

After making sure she was okay, Jason collapsed into a chair and loudly exclaimed, “I am never going on a mission with you bastards again.”

Bonus!

The diner doors flew open, revealing Jason Todd. He took a look around the establishment that was full to the brim with local citizens. He’s gaze fell upon just the person he was looking for. At the counter there was a girl smothered by three blankets, covered head to toe in fuzzy clothing, and hunched over a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

His boots thudded against the tile floor as he crossed over to her, and lightly tapped the top of her head. The stool turned around and Jason was soon faced with the sight of a shivery Jackie. She smiled once she laid eyes on the vigilante who was now sporting civilian clothes, “Well look who took the journey to see little ole’ me!” She voice was scratchy and quieter than normal.

“Wow… You look like shit.”

Her grin broadened as she poked him in the chest, “You sure know how to flatter a girl dontcha!” She grabbed her mug before taking a swig of its contents, “So what did you need buckaroo? Or did you just come her to see my awful good looks?”

A smile pulled at his lips as he shook his head, “I’m just here for my Jacket Jackie.”

She started laughing which soon turned into a coughing fit. She took another drink from her cup after calming down, “Jacket and Jackie sound the same! Can you believe it?!” She cleared her throat before hopping off the counter stool, “Wait here! Imma go grab that for ya pal.” She pat his shoulder before hauling herself and her three blankets into the back of the diner kitchen.

Jason stood there, his fingers drumming against the counter, waiting for her return. Soon enough Jackie emerged from the back holding his brown leather jacket in her arms, “You’re trusty clothing article has arrived!”

He took his jacket from her before tugging it on, “Thanks for keeping it in shape. Well I should probably go. I’ve got somethings to take care of tonight.” He turned to leave, but before he could get far, he redirected his attention back to Jackie, “Oh and just so you know, when we get married, we are NOT naming our dog Bub.”

Jason watched amused as Jackie’s mouth opened and closed trying to get the right words out. Her eyes were wider than saucers, and her face turned completely red. She took a big gulp before yelling, “You heard that?! I thought that was in my head! ARE YOU A MIND READER???”

“I also heard how incredibly attractive you seem to think I am.” His smirk grew as he watched Jackie stumble over her words. Patting her head, he headed towards the door, but not before yelling, “Til next time Firecracker!”.

-------------------------------------------

So there it is! If you’d like to read more about my OCs check out my masterlist! I hope you enjoy my little story

#young justice oc #young justice x reader #dc comics oc #jason todd x oc #jason todd x reader #dc comics #Jason Todd #fan fiction #creative writing #dick grayson #red hood

39 notes · View notes