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simpleserendipity · 3 years

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Wish you were here | Calum Hood

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader (established relationship) Warning: angst, swearing, death, blood (very minor) Word count: 2,218 words

This was inspired by the song Wish you were here by Neck Deep

Saying that Calum Thomas Hood is your boyfriend is an understatement. He is your lover, your confidant, your teacher, your best friend, and your soulmate. Every day you’re left wondering how you could have found someone like him among all the people in the world. How someone so caring, smart, funny, handsome, and kind fell for you. It’s like he was made to be yours and you were made to be him, there was no one else for you two but each other. Your relationship rivaled only those of a fairytale.

You two had nothing but hopes and dreams for your lives together until the day it all changed. The day that you lost him. You were right beside him when the accident happened. You took months to recover but he was touch and go from the moment he was pulled from the wreck and didn’t even make it through the night. You didn’t even get to say goodbye because you were still under surgery, a life-saving surgery you needed to survive. Not that you would call this living because without him it’s surviving, not living. Realistically there wasn’t like there was much you could have done but you keep thinking maybe if we hadn’t argued 3 days earlier, maybe if you hadn’t insisted on going to the party, or maybe if you hadn’t been singing so loud. You just keep thinking maybe there was one thing you could have done. You know that it wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t Calum’s either so you didn’t understand why the world was so cruel. You knew it was the fault of the ice on the road and the driver who was speeding and spun out into your car. You couldn’t tell if it was guilt that you survived and he didn’t or if it was just the pain of losing him. You knew that if either of you should’ve survived you know it should’ve been him, you always knew that Calum was the light in a lot of people’s lives, especially yours.

You knew this day would come, where you had to pack up Calum’s house. It took you months to gather the courage to set a time with everyone to pack up the house because the idea of setting foot in this house without the possibility of seeing him, makes you sick. After the accident, you took care of Duke but you still couldn’t go into the house, Luke having to bring Duke to your apartment. Now Duke is one of the only pieces of Calum you would have left. You haven’t slept this entire week in anticipation of this day. but you thought it would be under such different circumstances. You always pictured packing the house to move to your home. You always assumed this house would be packed up so you two could start your lives together in a shared space, not because he was gone. Now all you’re left with is pictures of his smile, videos of him laughing with you, memories of nights you spent together tangled in the sheets, talking and laughing. You have all of his things but nothing would matter if he wasn’t around to use them.

Now you had Calum’s best friends and his family here, helping you pack up the house. The worst part was having to explain that while they left the house to you and it would be one hell of an upgrade from your shoebox apartment, you couldn’t stay here. This big empty house was only a home because of who you shared it with, it would never be a home without him. You assigned each person to a room, you took his bedroom for yourself, wanting to savor each memory the room would bring up. You moved to the nightstand, picking up the framed photo of you two that he had put up. You remember being so surprised when you saw he framed a picture of you two for his bedside, he said he wanted to wake up to your face even if you weren’t with him.

“______?” A voice startled you and you dropped the picture frame, the corner hitting the floor. The frame broke and the glass shattered upon hitting the wood floor. You broke it, one of the sweetest memories you had of him.

“Shit,” You knelt to clean it up before looking back to see Ashton coming over to you, “What’s up?” You asked hurriedly, trying to clean the glass from the floor.

“Hey hey hey,” Ashton urges, kneeling beside you, “Wait a minute you’re gonna cut yourself on the glass.”

“It’s fine,” You reassure, your tone shaking and tears pricking your eyes, “Did you need something?” You sped up your motions.

“I just came to see how you’re doing.” Ashton places a hand on your shoulder.

You scoffed, “I’m fine. How are you?” You continued to scoop the glass up.

“______,” Ashton places a hand on yours, trying to get you to not worry about the glass anymore, “I’m serious. I know this must be hard for you.”

“Ashton, I’m fine.” You huffed, shaking his hand off yours, focusing on cleaning the glass again. You couldn’t help but feel guilty because everyone was walking on eggshells around you as if they didn’t lose their brother/son/best friend, “How are you? I know this is hard for you too.”

“It is hard,” Ashton agrees, “But I know it’s gotta be hardest for you.”

“And why would it be hardest for me? I mean his parents lost their son, Mali lost her brother, you guys lost your best friend and your fans lost their idol. Everyone lost a lot-”

Ashton cuts you off, “You lost your soulmate.”

Your breath hitches at the words and your hand slips, slicing your finger on the glass, “Shit.” You looked down at your finger which was bleeding.

“______, I told you to be careful,” Ashton shakes his head, “Go clean up and I’ll finish boxing up the room.”

You just nod. It doesn’t take you a second thought before you’re on your feel headed to the large bathroom. The bathroom was all dark tile which should be more intimidating but all you could think about is the mornings you spent, showering together, the nights in the bathtub, or getting ready to go somewhere together. You stop at the sink and rinse the blood away. The blood is an awful reminder of the worst night of your life. You keep rising until it’s all gone, letting out a shaky breath. You slowly crouch down to look in the cabinet where Calum kept the first aid kit. You had to shuffle through the random products under the sink, “Where the hell is it Calum?” You muttered to yourself, feeling your heart sink a little more when his name left your lips. You rummaged a little more until the white plastic first aid kit was found, you moved to shut the cabinet but a little black box tucked into the far corner catches your eye. You move to shut the cabinet, not wanting to snoop in his things before realizing that he couldn’t yell at you about snooping anymore. You huffed to yourself, “What were you hiding Hood?” You grasped the box. It was black crushed velvet, a jewelry box. You carefully flip it open like someone would walk in and catch you. It revealed a ring, a diamond ring in the center, and two colored stones, one on each side, his birthstone and yours. “This can’t be,” The tears you had been holding back all day finally came streaming, “Calum you’re a dick,” You said in hysterics, looking up to the sky, “You really did it. You listened to my idea for an engagement ring and fucking made it.” You couldn’t quite discern what you were feeling at this moment because while you thought you ought to be in tears, you couldn’t help but laugh instead. “You made my dream engagement ring, then I assume you were gonna propose then you went and fucking left me?” You were in full hysterics now, silent tears streaming while your mind was racing. You decided to pull it out and slip it on. The ring fits like a glove hurting you more than ever, “And it fits perfectly. Of course, it does.” You sit down with your back slumped against the bathtub, still in shock of the find.

You wanted nothing more than to walk out of this room, down the hall to his studio, and see him sitting at his computer. You wanted to slap the back of his head and chew him out for hiding this in such an easy-to-find spot but you couldn’t. You instead slipped the ring off and back into the box, just staring at it. Ashton’s knock at the door startles you, “You alright?” He asks as he slowly opens the door.

You shut the box and look at Ashton, “Did you know?”

He glances between your eyes and the box, “______…” He trails off, which in itself tells you that he knew.

“Did you know when?” You asked, the tears finally drying up, all feeling sucked out of you. You couldn’t even muster up enough emotion at this moment to continue crying, you were drained.

“Your birthday.”

“Birthday? Interesting.” You chuckled to yourself, letting your mind wander to what it would have been like. Your eyes stay latched on the box in your hands.

“He loved you so much ______,” Ashton kneels to be eye level with you, “He always said you were the only one for him. How he wanted a life with you.”

You looked up at his words, never knowing that Calum spoke of you in such a way, “I didn’t know he told you those things…” You trailed off.

“I heard it all the time,” Ashton reaches up and brushes the single stray tear away, “How a life with you was all that he looked forward to, how he had such big plans for you two.”

“I would have given anything for that life with him.” You whisper.

“I know,” Ashton sighs, “Maybe you should call it a day.” He stands up. You take a moment to gain a little more composure, not wanting to break down again completely in front of everyone. There was enough of that at the hospital and the funeral. You didn’t think it would be very helpful to anyone if you broke down and caused others to break down.

“Can I take this?” You ask Ashton as you stand up. You guys stand facing each other.

“I think you should.” Ashton nods, “He wanted to give it to you but either way you should have it.”

You don’t know what comes over you but the next thing you know, you throw yourself into Ashton’s arms, “Thank you.” You two stand pressed together for a moment before you pull back.

“Of course,” He flashes a sad grin, “Maybe you should call it a day, you can come help again tomorrow. I can tell everyone you left.”

You open your mouth to protest but instead you agree, “You’re right. I bet Duke misses me at home so I should probably go.” You smiled softly.

“Of course,” Ashton’s grin seems more genuine than any smile you've seen from him recently, “Give him an extra treat from me.”

You nod before moving past him, tucking the ring box into your sweatshirt pocket. You see the picture from the frame resting on the bed and also tuck it into your pocket. You went down the hall, looking carefully at all the pictures on the wall. Your pictures from Europe, the one of him that you took and he framed because he said it was the best photo of him ever taken, that no photographer could ever compare. You smiled at the pictures of you two together on the walls, the pictures you took of Calum and Duke, and all the pictures of the guys, goofing off. You sighed before heading down the stairs thinking of the mornings you spent chasing Calum through the house or late nights coming up the stairs to see him. You luckily didn't pass anyone as you slipped out the front door. You went running down the driveway so eager to get to your car. You’ve never wanted to leave Calum’s home more than you did right now. You hop into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind you. Instead of pulling your keys from your pocket, you pull out the jewelry box and picture.

You open the jewelry box slowly, “You always knew exactly what I wanted,” You whispered as you slipped the ring onto your finger, “You always knew me so well.” You turned to the picture, stroking the curve of his face tenderly.

Now you were still grasping at the fact that you had nothing but the pictures and the memories to remember him. Your fairytale ending wasn’t what you expected. You didn't get your prince charming sweeping you off your feet and running away with you. You couldn't help but think not all fairytales can have a happy ending, so maybe this wasn’t one of those happy fairytale moments. Calum would always be your prince charming though, even without the happily ever after.

#calum #calum hood #calum 5sos #calum hood imagine #calum hood fic #calum hood blurb #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum imagine #5sos imagine #5sos fic #ashton irwin #luke hemmings #michael clifford #5 seconds of summer

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froggy-beans · 4 years

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See You (Not Too) Soon

by me! (cold_nights_summer_days) for @gracefulpanda12

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker and Tony Stark, May Parker and Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Happy Hogan and Pepper Potts and Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, Original Female Character

What if he wasn’t quick enough and – they’re in critical condition – and they were gone before he got there? Before he got to say goodbye?

Don’t think like that. Everything is going to be fine. They’re at the hospital. Accidents happen all the time. Tony thought to himself. Then, another voice in his head said, Yeah. And people die from accidents all the time, too.

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Written for the third Friendly Neighborhood Exchange! Prompt: Tony is Peter's Emergency Contact

Link to story on ao3

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Tony got the call around midnight. As midnight calls go, this was definitely not one of the pleasant ones. He’d been sitting in the living room, catching up on paperwork for the company, when his phone rang next to him. Tony had actually almost missed the call, having set his phone to silent while he worked to avoid being distracted.

“You should answer the phone,” Friday said vaguely.

“Who is it?” Tony asked, finally looking up from his work. He glanced briefly over at the clock, shocked that it was nearly midnight.

“Mount Sinai Hospital, sir.”

Without any more questions, Tony picked up his phone from the coffee table and pressed answer. He was already freaking out but tried to reassure himself. May works there. Maybe she’s just calling me from the hospital number—

“Hello? Is this Tony Stark?” said a tentative voice on the other end of the call. Tony cleared his throat before speaking.

“Yes, it is. Has something happened?” He asked. He already knows something has, because the voice on the other side is definitely not May Parker, and it doesn’t sound positive.

“Yes. You’re listed as an emergency contact for Peter Parker, and he’s just been in an accident. If you could come down to the hospital—”

“Did you call his aunt? May Parker?”

“No, sir. She was in the same accident. They’re both in critical condition.”

It was like Tony’s brain couldn’t comprehend the words, so he just sat there holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello? Sir? Are you there?”

“Y—yes,” Tony said. There were a million thoughts running through his head. May—Peter—in an accident. Critical condition. He needed to get to the hospital.

“Are you coming?”

“Of course, um, Mount Sinai, right? I know that’s what you said but now I’m freaking out a little bit and I don’t want to show up to the wrong place and—”

“Yes, that’s right. Someone will be waiting for you at the front desk.”

“Thanks,” He said roughly before hanging up the call and running to the hall closet. If he was going to leave the house he obviously needed shoes, but he hated every minute of trying to put them on. It was like now that he needed to be fast, he was doing everything slowly. Even getting to the elevator and pressing the button for the first floor seemed to take minutes.

It briefly occurred to Tony that he should call Happy because he wasn’t in a state to drive, but Happy was asleep. He wouldn’t be at the tower any sooner than thirty minutes, and that was just too long. What if he wasn’t quick enough and – they’re in critical condition – and they were gone before he got there? Before he got to say goodbye?

“Get it together,” He whispered to himself, twisting his keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and not for the first time, Tony was so glad every car he owned was built for speed. If Pepper were there she’d be worried that he’d also get into a wreck. To be fair, that was a very valid fear.

Suffice to say, the trip to the hospital was much shorter than the average GPS would have you believe. So much shorter, in fact, that the nurse who’d been sent to wait for him was shocked to see him so soon. Part of it was probably the fact that yes, he was actually Tony Stark.

“Can I see them?” Was the first thing Tony asked the nurse upon meeting her. The nurse shook her had sadly.

“Why don’t you come with me for a moment? I think it would be better to talk in private, especially because there are other matters that need discussed now,” She suggested. Tony nodded and followed her to an empty room. The bed looked freshly made, and Tony briefly wondered who’d just vacated it. Did they get to go home?

The nurse, who’s name Tony learned to be Alyssa, encouraged him to sit down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He listened, and she took a seat in the other one.

“They’re both in critical condition still. From what I heard last, it’s uncertain whether May Parker will make it out of surgery. She sustained major head trauma, so even if she makes it out of surgery, it’s possible that she won’t wake up.”

“Won’t wake up?”

“She might be in a coma due to brain trauma. It’s not certain right now, but you need to know that that’s a possibility. If that does happen, the hospital will need to contact her attorney and acquire her living will. I don’t know if you know what’s written in hers, but we’ll have to do what it says. Whether her family – you – agree with it or not.”

“Okay,” Tony said slowly, trying to understand what the nurse was telling him. It made sense on a surface level, but part of his brain still couldn’t move past they’ve been in an accident.

“Do you need me to repeat anything, or would you like me to continue?” Alyssa asked politely. She seemed to anticipate his questions; this was definitely not the first time she’d had to deliver news like this.

“You can—what about Peter? Is he going to be okay?” That was the question Tony had been dying to ask since he picked up the phone. The one he wanted answered, but also the one that he was terrified to hear the answer to. Because while he loved them both, Peter was the one he spent hours with. Spent hours watching movies, talking about things, teaching him things. They were both family to him, but Peter was the one he saw as—no, don’t say it – his son.

“He’s still critical as well, but he’s in better condition than his aunt. She tried to protect him during the accident, which is why she ultimately sustained more injuries than he did. He suffered a bit of head trauma as well as a few broken bones,” Alyssa continued explaining.

“Can I see him?” Tony interrupted. He didn’t want to be rude, but she seemed used to this kind of thing. Worried parents.

“Not yet. I’m sorry,” She responded. “He’ll be out of surgery soon, but he’ll have to remain under strict surveillance until his condition improves. Until then, you can wait in the lobby, or I can arrange to let you wait here. It might be easier.”

“Easier than having everyone staring at me and trying to figure out why I’m here so they can sell the story to a tabloid? Thank you,” Tony tried to make the last bit sound sincere, but he just sounded empty. His voice held no trace of the worry and anxiety and panic and fear that he felt so acutely in his head. Years of media training, perhaps. Don’t let the audience know how you really feel because they’ll twist it and use it against you.

Alyssa left the room, locking the door behind her. Alone with just his thoughts, Tony glanced around the room. It was meticulously clean and smelled of antiseptic. There wasn’t much else to do besides sit, pace, or mess around on a phone. Tony supposed he could turn on the TV if he really wanted to, but he doubted anything playing on it could hold his attention.

Tony finally settled on pacing and calling Pepper to tell her what happened. She was in Japan for a business deal and insisted on flying back once she’d heard what happened. Her and May were really close, after all, and she didn’t want to miss anything. Like her death.

Luckily, they didn’t have to wait to book a ticket because Pepper had just taken the private jet. The soonest she could be back was around six that evening. Tony was relieved that Pepper would be coming home early. He wasn’t entirely sure he could keep it together on his own. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure he could keep it together if he wasn’t alone.

Next, he called Happy. Since it was now nearing one in the morning, Happy didn’t answer, so Tony left a voicemail asking him to call back as soon as he woke up. Despite what many would think, Happy was closer to Peter than he let on. He even tagged along for his Acadec competitions. Tony put calling Ned and MJ on a list of things to do once it was later in the morning. He planned to call them and let them know that Happy would (unbeknownst to him) be able to pick them up if they wanted to see Peter once he was out of surgery.

Until there was more news, there wasn’t much else Tony could do besides the one thing he hated doing; waiting.

Tony felt himself start to nod off in the plastic chair around three. He fought it as best as he could, but he was exhausted. He’d barely slept the night before because . . .well to be truthful, he just didn’t go to bed. He didn’t want to fight with himself over trying to fall asleep. It just wasn’t worth it.

Before he could truly fall asleep, though, a sharp knock on the door shocked him awake. He jumped up, body ready for a fight, before he remembered he was in a hospital and it was probably the nurse again. Tony unlocked the door and sure enough, standing on the other side, was Alyssa. She looked more tired now.

“Peter is out of surgery now,” She said, straight to the point. Tony was grateful. He sighed in relief.

“Can I see him?” He asked, afraid that she would still say no. He didn’t want to spend any more time in that room. His phone was close to dying, and there was only so much staring at a wall that one person could take. More importantly though, he wanted to see Peter. He wanted to make sure with his own two eyes that he was still alive.

Alyssa nodded. “You can come see him, but he isn’t awake yet. And I have to warn you, it isn’t pretty. There’s still quite a lot of bruising at this stage, as well as various cuts. It’s okay if you need a minute before going in. That’s actually pretty common.”

Tony followed her quietly through the halls until they reached the room Peter was currently staying in. Tony knew he couldn’t go back once he opened the door. He would no longer have the option to pretend this wasn’t happening. Alyssa offered to let him go in first, to give him a moment alone before she came back to check on them. Tony graciously took her up on the offer. He didn’t want anyone to see him fall apart, and he felt so dangerously close.

With a deep breath, Tony pushed the door open and walked in. He was careful to shut it back behind him before he really, truly, looked at Peter. It was . . . awful, for lack of a better word. Peter’s skin was marred with deep blue, purple, and black bruises. His face had several cuts, some deep enough to warrant the use of butterfly bandages. On top of that, his wrist is in a blue cast. At least they picked his favorite color.

Tony can’t help the tears that start to fall. Not that none of this hadn’t felt real before, but now, seeing his kid looking so small and battered in a hospital bed? It was very, very real. And very, very scary. Tony didn’t want to admit it to anyone else, but he was fucking terrified. What happened if the nurse is right and May doesn’t wake up? What happens to her nephew, who has had to live his whole life losing family member after family member? What happens to Pepper if she loses her best friend? What happens to Tony if he loses one of the few people he considers family? What happens to her friends? What happens to all the people that she’s built her life around?

Sitting down in one of the chairs across from Peter’s bed, Tony tries to take deep breaths. I need to calm down. May could just as well wake up and then everything will be fine. Peter won’t lose another parent. They’re both going to be fine.

For Tony, this mantra is what one might consider an empty reassurance. It was like a parent telling a child that everything was going to o alright, not to worry, even though the child knew the parent was lying. Even if – not if, when – they did both wake up, there were long term repercussions to this sort of thing. Tony could take care of most of them (like buying a new car, the hospital bills, insurance, etcetera), but there would be some things he just couldn’t fix. New nightmares, for example. Or lasting trauma.

Eventually, Alyssa came back with a doctor to go over Peter’s condition in greater detail. Tony tried to listen, and mostly he did, but he couldn’t stop looking at Peter. Even in sleep his face was pained, and Tony knew they weren’t giving him enough pain medication for his metabolism. He also knew that the thin hospital blanket wasn’t enough for him because Peter always, always slept with at least two blankets even in the summer. He knew these things because Peter was such a big part of his life and – don’t think like that – what if that was gone? What would Tony do with the extra blankets he keeps in the closet? Nobody else ever uses them. They would just sit there.

The doctor left and Tony felt like he knew less than he did before. Alyssa assured him that once he was ready, perhaps after sleeping for a bit, she could come back and explain it all again. This is normal, she said, many times parents are too shocked the first time to remember or understand what the doctor says.

Tony nodded numbly, and Alyssa left. He knew that he should take her advice and sleep. He would need it tomorrow, most definitely. But despite almost falling asleep before, sleep was nowhere in sight for him now. All he had was worry. And grief – but that was wrong because nobody had died yet. No, not yet. Not at all.

So with nothing else to do, and nowhere to be, Tony had nothing left to do but think and play the role of watchman. When he could no longer sit in the uncomfortable chair – either because his back was aching or because his mind couldn’t take it – he wandered down to the hospital gift shop. He was surprised to find it open at such an early hour, but glad, nonetheless. He milled about in the aisles, looking at little trinkets and get-well cards. Eventually, Tony picked out a small throw blanket to bring back up to Peter.

The cashier didn’t even spare Tony a second glance while he checked out. He was thankful. Once he had finished and made it back upstairs, he quickly unfolded the blanket and laid it out over Peter’s still sleeping form. There wasn’t much else Tony could do for him at the moment, but this small thing made him feel less useless.

Tony stayed in Peter’s room the rest of the night (morning). He drifted off every once in a while, but then nightmares of Peter and May dying shook him awake. Peter never once stirred. Tony wondered if his body was keeping him asleep so his super-healing could work. There didn’t seem to be much change in the color or size of his bruising, and none of his cuts looked remotely healed. If his super-healing was working at all, it must have been focusing more on the internal injuries.

Tony called Ned and MJ at seven. He was surprised to find them awake so early on a Saturday, but they weren’t exactly the type to sleep in anyway. Ned promised to be there as soon as he could manage, and MJ said she would be on her way once she could get away from family breakfast. Tony offered to have Happy pick both of them up, but they seemed okay with finding their own way here. It was possible that Ned’s parents would come with him, too. Peter was almost as close with them as Ned was.

Happy called him back sometime after seven-thirty, groggy but awake enough to function. Even still, Tony had to repeat the part about the accident. Happy was briefly silent on the other end of the line, and then said that he would come to the hospital as soon as he got dressed. He also asked Tony if there was anything else he needed him to bring.

“Um, yeah actually. Do you know where they keep the spare key to the apartment?” Tony asked him. He doubted that the other man didn’t know, but it was still better to ask.

“Above the door frame, right? They should really move it.”

“Yeah. Can you stop by there and pick up a few of Peter’s blankets? The ones they have here suck, and I’m sure he’d feel better if had a few from home.” And I’d feel better if he felt better.

“Of course. I’ll grab a few things for May, too.”

“Thank you so much, Happy. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Tony said sincerely. He sighed and dragged a hand through his already messy hair.

“Not very much, I’m sure. I’ll be there soon.”

Happy hung up, and Tony was left alone with his thoughts once more. I’m going to have to tell the hospital about Peter’s . . . condition. Otherwise they can’t treat him properly. Or maybe I should have them transferred to the Tower. That might be better.

Following that train of thought, Tony sought out the advice of Alyssa and the doctor. When he inquired about possibly having them moved, the doctor shook his head solemnly.

“May Parker isn’t stable enough to move right now,” He said. “If you’d like to have some of your own medical staff brought in, I’m sure we could arrange it, but I don’t think she should be moved.”

Tony nodded. He briefly considered having Peter moved anyway, but he knew that wasn’t what was best. They would want to be in the same place as the other. In case . . . In case one of them died and there wasn’t time to say goodbye.

He tried to ask them more about May’s condition, but some of the words just flew over his head. But there was that sentence again: She might not wake up.The doctor said it like he didn’t believe, not even a little bit, that she would. It made Tony angry. May Parker had to wake up. There was no way she’d let go of her life that easily. Tony knew she’d fight God if that’s what it took to stay alive. If not for herself, then for Peter.

That was something they had in common. They both had other reasons to live, of course, their lives didn’t revolve around a certain spider-kid, but he was the biggest. They wanted to see their kid grow up. Graduate high school, fall in love, go to college. They wanted to be there for that.

Come on, May. I know you can do it.

May’s lawyer showed up while Ned and MJ were visiting Peter. MJ brought flowers to put on the nightstand. Ned brought a card. They both promised that they were capable of keeping Peter company while Tony dealt with some of the more legal matters. Peter wasn’t even awake anyway, but Tony still didn’t want to leave.

“My name is Mr. Tyler,” The lawyer said, sticking his hand out for a handshake. Tony shook it quickly, slightly embarrassed at how clammy he was sure his hands felt. Mr. Tyler made no indication that he noticed, which he was grateful for.

“I’m sure you know my name,” Tony replied, trying to lighten the mood and utterly failing. His voice came out more bitter than sarcastic. Oops.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Stark. Now, I’ve taken the time to read through May Parker’s living will before speaking with you. She didn’t appoint anyone as her medical proxy, but she does specify that in the event of a coma, she would not like to remain on life support. Since her condition has not been explicitly named a coma, and she has not been declared brain dead, that doesn’t mean anything yet,” Mr. Tyler explained. Tony felt worse knowing that she wouldn’t want to be kept on life support. It was not a surprising decision coming from her.

On the slightly less dark side (for it certainly was not bright) it removed the pressure of the decision from his and Peter’s shoulders. This way would feel more like being a bystander than the one pulling the trigger. Because if it came down to him to decide whether to pull the plug or not, Tony wouldn’t be able to do it. He didn’t want—or need – May Parker’s death on his conscience.

“So, what does it mean?” Tony asked. He wished he’d called one of his own lawyers to help explain the more tricky bits. He might be a genius, but right now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to solve a simple addition problem if he were asked.

“It means that until either of those things happens—”

“Unless,” Tony cuts in. The lawyer looks at him for a minute, and then amends his sentence once he realized how insensitive it must have come across.

“—unless either of those things happens, she will remain on full life support. If she is declared legally dead, I’m under instruction to discuss her final will with you and Pepper Potts. Her nephew, Peter Parker, is only supposed to be present once his guardianship has been discussed.”

It’s not as if the thought hasn’t briefly crossed his mind, but the word guardianship felt like a smack across the face. If May died, Peter wouldn’t have anywhere to go. Of course he has somewhere to go. He has me, Tony thought. But that little voice, the one that’s always contradicted him, came back with a vengeance.

And why would he want that? It questioned. It’s not like you had a very good role model. Who says you’re going to be any better than he was?

I’m not Howard, Tony thought back angrily. I’m not him.

You’re right. You’re not Howard. But that doesn’t mean that you’ll be better than he was.

I’m already better than he was.

Says who? Chirped the little voice. Says who?

The rest of the day passed slowly. Ned and MJ leave. Peter slept. Happy arrived not long after the meeting with the lawyer. He came in holding an entire bag worth of stuff, and Tony asked if he was the new Santa Claus.

“No,” Happy sniffed. “I’m just prepared. I brought what you asked for, but I also brought you a phone charger and something to eat. Don’t lie – I know you, and I know you haven’t eaten since dinner yesterday. I also brought coffee for you.”

“Oh my god, you’re a life saver,” Tony said.

“I’m not done yet. I also brought you a change of clothes because in case you haven’t noticed, yesterday’s suit really isn’t that fashionable.”

Tony laughed sarcastically and took everything Happy offered to him. He changed quickly in the adjoining bathroom before coming back out to eat the food Happy brought him. Happy had taken to sitting in the other plastic chair and watching Peter.

“He’s in really bad shape,” He commented idly. Tony sighed.

“Yeah. May is worse, but they won’t even let me in to see her yet. I’ve been asking since I got here.”

“Did you call Pepper and let her know what’s happening?”

“Yeah,” Tony said in between bites. “She’s on the jet home right now. She’ll probably be here around six or seven. Knowing her, she might not even stop at home first and come straight here.”

“Probably . . . You know, Tony, I can stay here for a little while if you need a break. You can go home for a bit and rest. I doubt you’ve slept at all sitting in this chair,” Happy gave Tony a knowing look that said You need it.

“I’m fine,” Tony assured him. “You know I wouldn’t be able to really rest, anyway.”

“I know, but if you decide you do, I’ll stay here and call if there are any updates with him and May.”

“Thanks, Happy. I appreciate it.”

Happy and Tony sit in relative silence broken only by the beeping of the monitor. Peter was hooked up to so many machines and tubes that it hurt Tony to even think about how bad he must be. He wanted nothing more than for Peter to wake up and make some stupid joke to try and lighten the situation. He wanted to see Peter’s big brown eyes open and search for someone in the room with him. He wanted to hear Peter ask where he was, what stupid thing has landed him in a hospital bed this time.

But there was nothing but the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. That was better than it being silent, because it might mean that Peter wasn’t alive at all.

Pepper arrived at the hospital at six thirty on the dot, dressed in sweatpants and one of Tony’s old sweatshirts. It was an odd sight for the public who’d never seen her in anything less than business formal, but it helped her blend in with the nightly hospital crowd. A polite nurse showed her the way to Peter’s room while catching her up on the situation. A third chair was dragged in from some other empty room, and the phrase “three’s a crowd” came to Tony’s mind. Technically there were four people, but could the cliché still apply if one of them were unconscious? Yes, Tony ultimately decided, it did.

Thirty minutes later, Alyssa came in to find the three of them talking about anything and nothing to keep the silence from being too loud. Tony was the first to notice her presence. He was so desperate for information on either of them. He just hoped that Alyssa wasn’t coming to tell them May had been declared legally dead. She would not like to remain on life support.

Tony’s heart started to race in anticipation and his hands shook. Pepper placed a calming hand on his shoulder, but he knew it was as much for her as it was for him. She loved May and Peter dearly, too. Peter’s heart monitor beeped steadily in the background.

“May is finally stable enough to perform brain scans. The doctors are going to take her back in a few minutes, but if you guys would like a moment with her before they take her back, I’ll take you over,” Alyssa said. For a moment, all of Tony’s worry melted away. Stable. You can see her.

This relief was short lived, however, because when Pepper asked if that meant May was awake, Alyssa shook her head. They still wanted to see her, anyways, and Alyssa took them to May’s room. It was bare, and Tony felt guilty. There were no flowers, no extra blankets, no cards for her. As if Pepper could read his mind (let’s be honest, she definitely could), she whispered, “Nobody was allowed to see her before now. It’s not your fault.”

May had more bruises and cuts than Peter did, and they were more severe. She looked more peaceful than Peter did. Even with the bandages and even a cast on her right arm (yellow, this time), Tony could convince himself that she would recover, and they could go back to life as usual. The voice deep inside his head thought differently.

She won’t make it, and you’ll be left to take care of Peter. Did I say take care of? I meant screw up. You’ll disappoint him just like you disappointed Howard.

Tony shook his head to clear the voice and focused all his attention on May. There was so much he wanted to say to her, even if she couldn’t hear him, but none of the words wanted to leave his mouth. They stayed in his throat, and Tony thought he might choke on them.

Pepper stepped forward first and lightly grasped May’s hand in hers. Tears were in her eyes, ready to overflow, but Pepper wouldn’t let them. She would save her tears for later, when there was nobody there to see them but the moon. She never liked crying in front of anyone; not even her family.

“You better not think this will get you out of brunch with me next weekend,” She joked, voice strained with the effort of it. It was hard to be light when the room felt so weighted. “I’ve already made reservations and I’d hate to call and cancel.”

Tony stepped forward next, but he couldn’t get the words to come out. Later, he would wish that he’d said something, anything. Anything would have been better than nothing. In the end, though, May would know everything he wanted to say, anyway. He was never good at hiding things from her. He’d never been good at hiding things from his family. Not even his father.

Once she was finished, Pepper suggested that she and Tony give Happy a minute alone. He agreed, and they made their way back out to the hallway. Two nurses were standing outside the room, ready to take her for the scans.

“He has a thing for her, you know,” Pepper said, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Yeah. Peter mentioned it once or twice. He said it was weird when Happy would drop him off and him and May would give each other what he calls ‘googly eyes’,” Tony replied. Neither of them had ever said anything to Happy about it, but now Tony was curious. Had they gone out on a date yet? Would they?

Soon enough, Happy joined them in the hallway and the nurses wheeled her away. Tired and worn out, the three of them walked back to Peter’s room to wait. The nurses would know where to find them when the time for news, good or bad, came.

“Isn’t it customary to sign someone’s cast?” Tony asked randomly, staring at the blue cast on Peter’s wrist. Pepper laughs lightly.

“Customary? Really?” She said, glancing at him to figure out if he was serious or not. When she figured out that he was, she asked, “Are you really going to sign his?”

“Why not?”

“Would he actually want that, or are you just trying to pass the time?” Happy chimed in. Tony gave him the side-eye, but Happy knew that he was just joking. That was just how he was with them.

“I’m Iron Man. Who wouldn’t want me to sign their cast?”

“Someone who knows how insufferable you actually are,” Pepper mumbled. Her and Happy both laughed.

“I’m doing it,” Tony said, standing up to go search for a sharpie. Luckily the front desk had one he could borrow, and he came back in the room holding it up like a trophy. Pepper and Happy shook their heads at him as he walked over to Peter and began to sign the cast. In true Tony Stark fashion, his signature took up most of the space.

“You leaving any room for us?”

“Of course, Happy. See that little spot right here?” Tony pointed to a small spot near the edge. “That’s for you.”

“Might need a little bit more room than that.”

“Then you should have signed first! As it is, I signed first, you mocked me, and now you have to live with the consequences.”

Tony sat back down between them and held out the sharpie. Pepper took it next, signing just below Tony’s signature. Happy, sure enough, signed in the little space that was designated for him.

“One day he’ll be able to sell that and pay for college. We just did him a favor.” Tony said once everyone was finished.

“You say that like you haven’t already set aside money for his tuition,” Pepper commented.

“And you, Miss Potts, say that like you didn’t help me do it.”

Alyssa came back a few minutes after nine, and Tony swore he could see tears in her eyes. He already knew what she would say. He knew that she would confirm one of his worst fears. He didn’t share this thought with Pepper or Happy, though he suspected they already knew that, too.

Tony asked if they could have this conversation outside. Peter was asleep, sure, but he didn’t want to have this conversation in front of him whether he could hear it or not. Alyssa didn’t mind. She nodded quietly and led them out to the hallway.

“The scans came back negative,” She said without preamble. “The doctors couldn’t find any brain activity. I’m sorry.”

Pepper was the first to cry. Silent tears ran down her face and she turned to Tony and found him crying too. They held each other, desperate for the comfort the other could provide. Happy, on the other hand, stayed silent. He had no words to express how he felt, except maybe anger. He couldn’t be too sure. For all he knew, he just felt empty.

“How long do we have until – until they take her off life support?” Tony asked. Pepper cried harder into his chest.

“I don’t know,” Alyssa shook her head, “A few hours at most. The doctor still has to talk to her attorney before he can do anything. You’ll have time to say goodbye.”

“And what about Peter? Does he get to say goodbye?”

“If he wakes up, yes. It’s unlikely, though. I wish there was more that I could do . . . but there just isn’t. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I know this is very difficult for you.”

“It’s – thank you, Alyssa,” Tony realized he almost said it’s okay. That couldn’t have been right. Right now, things couldn’t have been any less okay.

“Of course. The end of my shift is coming up, but if you need anything, your new nurse’s name is Clara. She’s a close friend of mine. You’ll be in good hands,” Alyssa assured them. Tony nodded, and without another word, she was gone.

Happy decided to say goodbye first. He walked swiftly down the hallway like he was afraid he would miss her. But he can’t, because she’s already gone. Pepper excused herself to use the restroom, and briefly, Tony was glad to have a moment alone.

Once he was back in Peter’s room with the door shut behind him, he walked over to Peter’s bed and took the kid’s non-broken hand in his.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered, the words struggling to find their way out of his mouth. “I just—that’s it. I’m so, so sorry. I wish there was something we could have done . . . but things don’t always work out the way you want them to. Or need them to, I guess.”

Peter didn’t answer. Tony didn’t know whether he would have felt better or worse if he had. Then, Tony was left with the uncomfortable truth. May would be gone, and the only person Peter would have left was him.

You won’t be enough for him.

Tony stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. The dark circles under his eyes are as deep as they’ve ever been. The little voice hadn’t left him alone since May was taken off life support yesterday. It pestered him at every waking moment, and even the few hours of sleep he managed to get.

He’d left the hospital forty minutes earlier to shower and change before his and Pepper’s meeting with May’s lawyer. They had to go over her final will, and considering what was at stake, Pepper and Tony thought it best to accomplish this sooner rather than later.

Pepper knocked on the bathroom door and asked if Tony was ready to go. He wasn’t ready in any sense of the word; tie askew, mind a complete mess, but he said yes anyway. They were out the door in no time, with one of the company’s many paid interns driving them to the lawyer’s office. The ride was silent except for the sound of traffic outside.

Mr. Tyler’s receptionist greeted Pepper and Tony by apologizing for their loss. For all their business prowess and tact, neither of them knew how to respond. They couldn’t say it was okay. It wasn’t appropriate to say, “Don’t worry about it.” Thank you was the courteous option, but it didn’t feel right. They weren’t thankful for her apologies. They didn’t mean anything.

After an awkward silence, the receptionist led them to a conference room down the hall and explained that Mr. Tyler would be in shortly and if they needed anything to just give her a shout. Pepper nodded, and the receptionist left.

Sure enough, Mr. Tyler joined them in the conference room with a stack of papers and a pen. Tony wished he could fast forward through this part. He still remembered what it was like doing this when his parents died and he was in no hurry to go through it again.

“I’ve taken the liberty of reading through the will before you arrived to make this as quick and painless as possible. There are some things that can be dealt with at a later date, such as division of property, but I’m sure today you’d like to focus on the custody of her nephew,” Mr. Tyler said.

“Yes,” Tony said, but the thought made him want to be sick. He knew May, and he knew what the will would say, and he didn’t want to hear it. It’s not that he didn’t, or wouldn’t, want to take care of Peter. That wasn’t it at all. He was afraid that Peter wouldn’t want him. He didn’t even want to imagine how hurtful it would be if, when faced with aging out of the foster system and staying with Tony, Peter picked the latter.

“Before we officially begin, though, I have letters from May to the both of you. There’s one for her nephew here as well, but I’ll give it to you to pass on once he’s present.”

Mr. Tyler gently slid over two envelopes. Tony shakily grabbed the letter with his name on the front. May was gone. Dead. And the last words she’d ever say to him were in this letter. There was a similar one for Peter, but no matter how much Tony wanted to know what it said, he wouldn’t read it. It wasn’t his business. That was strictly for May and Peter’s eyes only.

With a deep breath, Tony opened the envelope and carefully slid the letter out. It was on a simple piece of lined paper, the kind Peter used for school. Her handwriting was almost as messy as his, too.

Tony,

I’m sorry that you’re reading this. It must mean that I’m gone. But try not to focus on that, okay? I need you to focus on Peter. He’s going to need you now more than ever. Don’t bother trying to locate any other family for him to stay with; there isn’t any. I’m an only child, and the rest of my family is gone.

I want you to take care of him. I know that you don’t really believe in yourself as a parent, and I know why, but it simply isn’t true. I’m sure as you’re sitting here reading this you still don’t believe me. Pepper would agree with me, though. Yeah, that’s right. I’m pulling the Pepper card.

Peter would be so much better off with you than if he goes into the foster system. As amazing as he is, people just don’t adopt teenagers as much anymore. He would stay in the system until he aged out, and that wouldn’t be good for him. He needs someone who knows him. He needs someone who understands him and what he’s going through.

I think that’s you. I know that’s you. And I think you know it’s you, too. My official will says that Peter goes to you if he’s under eighteen, but if you . . . can’t do that, my lawyer is under strict instruction not to tell him that. It would be worse if he knew, I think.

I have faith that you won’t do that to him, though. You don’t like to show a lot of emotion, but it’s hard (even for you) to hide how much you care about him. And let’s face it; he’s yours just as much as he’s mine. So be there for him, Tony Stark, or I might have to haunt you from the grave. Doesn’t matter if you don’t believe in all that stuff. I’ll find a way.

That leaves us with one more thing; goodbye. I’ve never much liked goodbyes. It’s possible that we’ve already had ours, but just in case we didn’t; goodbye, Tony. I know I didn’t much like you in the beginning, but you’ve really grown on me. I’m going to miss you, wherever I am. Just try not to miss me too much, okay?

See you (not too) soon,

May Parker

Pepper was still reading her letter once Tony had finished his. He wondered if May had put something similar in hers. He wasn’t going to ask, though. If Pepper wanted to share, she would.

He didn’t know what to do. Maybe cry some more once they’d left this terrible conference room. But he couldn’t do that yet. He still had to deal with the present.

“Her will says that she would like the two of you to take care of him. I understand this is a big undertaking, possibly unexpected if she’d never discussed it with you beforehand. I have legal guardianship transfer papers here, too, if you decide that you’re ready to sign them before you leave here today.

“If not, that’s okay as well. You may want some time to discuss this, and I understand. I can have one of my assistants bring you the papers when, or if, you feel ready for them. Keep in mind, guardianship is not the same as adoption. If you decided to . . . change your mind and have him placed in foster care, that would still be possible.”

“What about his medical care? Do we need to sign something to keep control over that?” Pepper asked now that she was finished reading. Tony silently thanked her for asking the question so that he didn’t have to.

“Mr. Stark is still listed as Peter’s emergency contact, and still has the right to make medical decisions for him in the meantime. I don’t want to rush you, but I do suggest acting quickly. These things can get sort of messy,” Mr. Tyler answered. Tony stared at the stack of papers in front of him and wondered which ones were the ones he was talking about. It was crazy that such a huge life change could happen because of a slip of paper and a signature.

“I think we should wait. This is about Peter; I think he deserves a say on where he goes from here. I don’t want to force him into anything,” Tony thought that was the right thing to say. The lawyer seemed surprised that he wanted Peter’s input.

“He’s only sixteen and experiencing a major loss in his life. Do you think it’s wise to give him such a big decision?” Mr. Tyler asked. Tony nodded without hesitation.

“Yes. It’s his life, and I trust him to made decisions for himself. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let him be irresponsible. I just want him to feel like he’s still got some control when everything else is slipping away.”

Pepper agreed with Tony, and the issue of Peter’s custody was tabled for further discussion. Next, the pair had to deal with things like May’s college loans, current bills, bank accounts. All the things Obi had dealt with for Tony when his parents died. Twenty years later, and he felt like a kid all over again. He didn’t know what to do, who to talk to, what was going to happen in the future.

I think that’s you. I know that’s you. Those words burned in Tony’s mind while the lawyer talked about debts and bills and what would happen to the apartment. Tony wanted to believe her. May never lied to him, why would she start?

But Peter was . . . amazing and kind and compassionate. He was good. He was everything Tony wanted to be but couldn’t, and Tony didn’t want to screw that up. He wasn’t going to be the one who messed up everything May and Ben and Mary and Richard had done.

On the third night after the accident, Peter woke up. Happy had already gone home for the night, and Pepper was out finding something for them to eat. Tony was left by himself in the plastic chair, reading some news article he didn’t care about to pass the time.

If Tony was being honest, he didn’t even notice that Peter had woken up at first until he heard a strange gagging sound. He looked up to investigate and saw Peter tugging at one of the many tubes he was hooked up to.

“Hey, stop doing that,” Tony said, jumping up and pulling Peter’s hands away from the tube so that he couldn’t yank on it anymore. Peter froze and snapped his gaze to Tony’s face. His eyes went wide, and he tried to speak, but once again gagged on the feeding tube.

Tony let go of one of Peter’s hands with the strict instruction not to touch anything while he pressed the call button. Alyssa, who was thankfully back on duty, came in soon after. She gave Peter a soft smile.

“Sleepy head is finally awake, huh?” She said, checking his vitals real quick before telling him to breathe out so she could pull the tube out more easily. Once it was out, Peter tried to talk again, but it came out as more of a rasp. Alyssa left for a moment and returned with a cup of water, which Peter took gratefully.

“What happened?” He asked, voice still raspy. Reality came back, and the excitement Tony had previously felt at Peter being awake melted away.

“You and May were in a car accident three days ago. It’s Monday night, now,” Tony answered. Peter blinked slowly, like he couldn’t quite process the information.

“Where’s May? Can I see her?”

Alyssa took this as her cue to leave, but not before she gave Tony a reassuring glance. Peter watched her go before turning his attention back to Tony.

“There were some . . . complications. She was declared brain dead two days ago, and the hospital took her off life support,” Tony explained. Tears welled up in Peter’s eyes and he wanted nothing more than to take back what he said, to spare Peter the pain of knowing. But Tony knew that wasn’t possible. So, he continued.

“She leaned in front of you in the car once she knew what was going to happen. She took most of the hit, and there wasn’t anything we could do after that. I’m—I’m really sorry, Peter.”

Peter said nothing. The tears started to come faster, blurring his vison and running hot down his cheeks. Tony did his best to pull him close despite the IV and other various things Peter was hooked up to. Peter welcomed the comfort. There were few places he felt safe, fewer still now that May was gone, but Tony’s arms were one of them.

What might have been minutes or hours later, when Peter’s tears finally ran out, he whispered the question that both of them were afraid to answer.

“What happens to me?” Peter asked softly. His voice was muffled, quiet like a small child’s. Perhaps that was what he felt like in this moment.

You can live with me.

No, he can’t. You’ll screw him up.

No, I won’t.

Yes, you will.

I won’t.

Says who?

Says me.

And then, with all the bravery he’d never felt before, Tony said;

“You’ll come live with me and Pepper, if you’re comfortable with that, at least.”

“Really? You aren’t going to send me away?” Came the same small child’s voice. Tony pulled him closer.

“I could never. I love you too much.”

#the friendly neighborhood exchange #friendly neighborhood exchange #peter parker #tony stark #peter parker and tony stark #iron man #spiderman #spider-man #spider man #irondad #irondad fandom #irondad and spiderson #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel comics #marvel fandom #marvel fanfiction #irondad fanfiction

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metaphorical-love-for-a-car · 4 years

Text

Sunshine After Rain-- Connor (RK800) x Reader (Part 3)

Summary; After the death of your little brother, Cole, your dad hated androids. He blamed them for Cole's death. Hank couldn't stand to be around them. How the hell are you supposed to tell him that your soulmate is an android?

Warnings; swearing (as usual)

Word Count; 2.3k

Notes; There’s two more parts of this left! I’ll get back to writing new fics soon lol

"Connor, I'm growing concerned about your relationship with (y/n)," Amanda said with narrowed eyes. His breath got caught in his throat. His thirium pump started to beat faster. He almost felt... nervous.

"There is nothing to be concerned about, Amanda. They're Hank's child. I thought that if I got on their good side, then Hank would start to trust me more. That would then benefit the mission because he would be more willing to let me help." Amanda hummed, trailing her fingers in the water below. She cut her eyes over to Connor. Her icy glare boring holes into his head.

"Very well, Connor. As long as you understand that you are an android and nothing more. I would hate it if you tried to become a deviant, forcing us to decommission you." A stony expression settled over Connor's face as he nodded.

You sat in the taxi, rapidly tapping your foot on the floorboard. The bag of Chinese takeout in your lap was just begging to be eaten, but you wanted to wait. You figured that since it had been a relatively rough day of work, you'd surprise Hank with dinner. "You have arrived at your destination," the automated voice announced. The taxi door slid open and you hopped out. You dug the spare house keys out of your pocket to unlock the front door. You swung the door open and opened your mouth to announce your entrance, but the sight in front of you made you freeze. One of the chairs in the kitchen was knocked over with a gun resting beside it, and a window was busted in. You quietly crept in and set the bag of food down. Snatching up the revolver, you began to creep through the house. Suddenly, you heard Hank scream. You held up the gun and burst into the bathroom. Connor turned off the shower and turned to face you. You lowered the gun with a scoff. Hank looked between the two of you.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?"

"I just got here to bring you some food. I have no clue why Connor's here," you answered. Connor then announced that a homicide was reported 43 minutes ago. At first Hank refused to go... then Connor mentioned it was at a sex club. You rolled your eyes. Of course, he wouldn't refuse that. You went into his room to put away the gun and got him some clean clothes. When you walked back into the bathroom, he was puking into the toilet. You grimaced and placed the clothes on the counter. "Need someone to hold you hair, dad?" you teased.

"Fuck off," he growled. You snickered and left the bathroom. Connor followed you out, closing the door behind himself. You plopped down on the couch in the living room. Sumo approached you with its tongue lolling. You smiled, petting the large dog's head. You watched Connor walk around, taking in his surroundings. He picked up an old picture and stared at it. Curiosity was nagging at his mind to just scan it and get all the details behind the photo’s history, yet he didn’t. He wanted to talk to you about it. There was something about your voice that made him long to hear it. You came to stand beside him, wanting to see which one he was looking at.

"Was this you?" He pointed to one of the children in the photograph. You nodded.

"Yeah, and that's my little brother, Cole." You pointed to the other kid in the picture. Connor looked over at you.

"You said that the lieutenant was the only family you had left. What happened to your brother?" You looked down at the floor and took a breath. Connor knitted his brows together. "I apologize I upset you." You waved him off.

"No, it's fine. Uh, it was in the middle of the winter. It was dark outside and snowing pretty hard. We were coming back home from a day out with dad, but the car hit a patch of ice on the road. We slid off the road and hit a tree. Cole was ejected from the vehicle, and had to have emergency surgery. He... didn't make it. Mom blamed dad for it since he was the one driving, and she took off. Haven't heard from her since." You stared down at the old photograph. A sad smile crossed your lips. Connor took your hand in his, and you saw the picture in color for the first time.

"I'm sorry for your loss, (y/n)." You looked at him and shrugged.

"It's okay, it was a freak accident. Dad took most of the blame though. That's why he drinks so much," you whispered. You let go of his hand when you heard Hank open the bathroom door. Connor took one last look at the picture before putting it back. Hank picked up his keys from the kitchen counter.

"Alright, lets go." He made his way outside. You marched over to him.

"Oh, hell no. You are not driving." You snatched the keys from him. "I'll be your chauffeur for the evening. Now, get your ass in the backseat and try to sober up a little."

"What? Why do I have to be in the back?"

"Driver picks the rules. Get in or I'm gonna make you walk there." Hank groaned, climbing into the backseat.

You parked the car in front of the Eden Club. You glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Hank sprawled out in the backseat. He groaned and complained of a massive headache. "Lets go," he huffed as he sat up. The three of you climbed out and walked inside the building. "Sexiest androids in town. Now I see why you insisted on coming!" Hank joked. You tried to hide your smile and shook your head.

"Someone just got murdered, remember? That's why we're here."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Another officer greeted the two of you. He warned you that Gavin had arrived as well. "Oh, great! A dead body and an asshole, just what I needed," Hank grumbled.

"The Anderson duo and their plastic pet. The fuck are you guys doing here?"

"It's a deviant case. Did you really expect us not to show up? Come on, even you're smart enough to put that together, Gavin." He narrowed his eyes at you.

"(y/n) is right. We've been assigned all cases involving androids." Gavin make a cocky remark about how you were all wasting your time. On his way out, he made a comment about how it was starting to stink of booze and shoved past Connor. You squared your shoulders and started to say something, but Connor grabbed your arm. "It is probably best if we did not start a fight." You groaned an agreement before shoving your hands into your pockets. Once he was sure you weren't gonna go after Gavin, he let you go and began investigating the corpse. After a few minutes, he came to the conclusion that the man didn't have an accident. He was strangled by one of the androids he rented out. The three of you had the difficult task of finding a deviant among all the androids at the club. You and Hank went to talk to the manager while Connor poked around. Something about the guy creeped you out, and you were relieved when Connor asked for you two to come check something out.

Hank looked disgusted when Connor asked him to rent one of the androids. The RK800 asked the detective to trust him. "Why do I have to do it? (y/n), you rent it." You whipped around and looked at him as if he was insane.

"What? No! I don't want that on my purchase history." Hank rolled his eyes and placed his hand against the sensor.

You and Hank followed around Connor as he probed the memories of various androids. You couldn't help but smirk at the situation. Hank was gonna spend a fortune before the night ended. Good luck getting that reimbursement. Connor finally tracked the deviant down to a storage unit in the back of the building. Hank pulled out his gun and led the way, just like he did at the apartment earlier that day. As you all entered the warehouse, you muttered swears under your breath. There were dozens of androids lined up, only making the task at hand even more difficult.

Connor did his thing and walked around analyzing stuff while you and Hank tried to see if you could find anything useful as well. You walked over to the open door and crossed your arms. "What if the deviant already left?"

"Then we're wasting our time," Hank grumbled. You watched the rain fall. Suddenly, an android attacked Connor. "Don't move!" Hank shouted, aiming his gun. Another deviant leapt out of the shadows. You gasped and charged forward, trying to pull her away from him. The deviant swung her leg out and kicked you square in the chest. You fell backward, hitting your back on a shelf. It teetered for a moment before half of its contents fell on top of you. Boxes of spare parts littered the ground.

"Fuck!" you shouted, cradling your head. The two deviants dashed out the door. Connor looked over to you, concern filling his features. Hank pointed to the door.

"I'll take care of her. Go! They're getting away!" Connor nodded and ran after the other androids. While running, they were holding hands, only letting go of each other to climb over the fence. Sure, Connor is usually able to hold his own, but it was two against one. Then they started hitting him over the head with trashcans. He grabbed Hank's gun off the ground and aimed it at one of the deviants but froze. It was clear that the two androids loved each other. There was a chance that they were even soulmates. As soon as this thought crossed his mind, Connor knew that he couldn't shoot them. One of them kicked the gun away, while the other explained the situation. In that moment, Connor knew he did the right thing, and the familiar warning flashed across his vision.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY.

Hank heard the whole thing. After he helped you to your feet, Connor approached. Hank watched him curiously, stating that what he did was probably better than shooting. Connor looked at you, clearly concerned. You waved him off. "I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll feel it in the morning, but I'm pretty good right now. Adrenaline is the best painkiller."

The car was unusually quiet. Hank wasn't playing any music, and no one was speaking. You were fine with silence, but in this moment, it was almost smothering. You knitted your brows in confusion when Hank pulled into the parking lot for a small park. After parking, Hank walked through the playground and sat on a bench, looking at the city lights dotting the horizon. You quietly sat next to him and bumped his shoulder with yours. When he looked at you, you smiled at him. "I remember coming here all the time. Me and Cole would stay for hours if you let us." Hank smiled and looked around at the jungle-gym and swing-sets nearby. You could tell his hear was heavy with grief, but you didn't know how to help.

You heard the snow crunching behind you and turned to see Connor approaching. You grinned at him before looking out at the lights again. Hank made a comment about the nice view before taking another swig of his beer. Connor crossed his arms. "Why are you so determined to kill yourself?" Hank sighed, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. He started talking about the guilt eating away at him, and how he doesn't have the guts to pull the trigger. Instead, he just decided to kill himself a little every day. Sadness filled your eyes as you put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he muttered, taking a large sip of his beer.

After a few moments of silence, Connor started ranting about deviants. He was having trouble coming up with the link between all of them. They then started discussing the events that took place at the Eden Club. Hank stood in front of Connor and asked him what he really was. "I'm whatever you want me to be, lieutenant. Your partner, a buddy to drink with, or just a machine designed to accomplish a task." Suddenly, Hank started shoving Connor, demanding to know why he didn't shoot the deviants back at the club. You got to your feet, ready to intervene if necessary. "I just decided not to shoot. That's all." Hank pulled out a gun and pointed it at Connor's head.

"Dad, stop." Hank ignored you.

"I could kill you, and you would come back as if nothing happened." You stomped forward and grabbed the arm that was holding the gun. You tried to get him to lower it, but he was fighting against you.

"Dad, this is enough. Stop it!"

"Why do you care if I kill the damn thing? It's just a machine!"

"You're drunk, put down the gun."

"Why do you care? Huh? What is it?"

"Because he's my soulmate!" you snapped. Hank stared at you in shock. You ran a hand through your hair. "Goddamn it, dad! This isn't the way I wanted to tell you." Hank slowly lowered his gun and put it away. He turned away from the two of you and started to walk off, dropping his keys on the bench as he walked past it. "Where are you going?"

"To get drunker. I need to think."

~*~*~

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rose-of-pollux · 4 years

Text

Another Man From U.N.C.L.E. blurb

Written for the “Scar to remember” prompt at @badthingshappenbingo

Title: But Life Still Goes On Summary: [Coda to the Season 2 opener, “Alexander the Greater Affair”] The case is closed at last, but something is still on Napoleon’s mind.

Slash. PG13

Crossposted to AO3

Napoleon was glad to be away from that party—away from the embassy, away from that crowd, away from Tracey, the now-merry widow, and even away from Waverly at this point. After everything he and Illya had been through on that case, compounded with the fact that he had, technically failed in bringing their quarry to justice (it was only sheer, dumb luck that Kavon had betrayed his employer, leading to both of their deaths after Napoleon had failed in capturing them), Napoleon was more than ready to close the case and forget the whole thing. But forgetting it was easier said than done.

He stewed and seethed in his silk pajamas, withdrawn in the chair of the hotel room that he and Illya would be staying in that night before heading back to New York the next day. He wouldn’t be allowed to forget until he wrote the mission report, he realized. And even then—would he be able to forget? Something about this case was gnawing on his mind, making him upset and restless about the whole affair.

It wasn’t being thrown around by that dumb muscled henchman, or even when he’d been tied to that stone slab with the pendulum blade swinging towards him, oh no—getting over that would be simple enough.

Was it because he had, technically, failed the mission? Partly, he realized. But there was something else, too…

The sound of the shower still running the bathroom made him realize what it was. Illya never took long, hot showers, yet he’d been in there just short of an hour now—no doubt trying to rid himself of the chemicals on his skin left over from Kavon’s bizarre mummification experiment.

That was it, Napoleon realized. That was why he was so upset—that he hadn’t arrived sooner—that he hadn’t been able to stop it from happening.

The shower finally stopped, and a few minutes later, Illya emerged, wearing a bathrobe as he toweled his hair dry. His nose, cheeks, and ears were still bright pink from the exposure to the hot water.

“How do you feel?” Napoleon asked.

“Finally clean,” Illya said, relief evident in his voice. “I am still not a fan of hot showers, but I had to make sure my pores were open and free from whatever that concoction was. How do you feel?”

“Me? I’m fine—why wouldn’t I be?”

“From whatever happened to you in that gymnasium, not to mention falling out of an airplane—”

“I had a parachute.”

“Nevertheless…” Illya said. “Something appears to be troubling you.”

Napoleon rested his chin on his hand, sighing quietly. Of course, Illya would be more concerned about him, regardless of whatever he’d been through.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop—”

“You saved me before Kavon could do anything worse to me,” Illya insisted. “Any physical traces of the mummification are now washed away, and I have you, and you alone, to thank for that.”

“And what about the mental traces?” Napoleon asked, getting up from his chair. “You were stripped and wrapped up by that madman. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Illya glanced at him with an even expression.

“I will be,” he promised. “That was the worst that had happened.” He blinked as Napoleon’s scowl deepened. “…I appreciate your righteous fury for the sake of my modesty. But surely you know this is not to be unexpected? THRUSH certainly has no qualms about preserving our dignity—why should any other enemy we face do so?”

“I know, I know,” Napoleon said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be upset about it, right?”

“Naturally. You are upset. And jealous.”

Napoleon went red.

“I am not jealous—”

“You are, because I have felt the same way when similar fates have befallen you,” Illya said, with a wave of his hand. “The scars on your back, for instance—the ones that Shark gave you last year.” The Russian’s expression darkened. “They had stripped you to the waist, humiliated you by holding your head in those men’s legs, and then whipped you, in spite of my efforts to stop it.”

Napoleon blinked; he had almost forgotten about that. He undid his pajama top and removed it, standing with his back to the mirror as Illya went on. He looked over his shoulder, crinkling his nose as he saw the scars. More than once, he had considered plastic surgery in the aftermath of that affair last year, but as the weeks—and then months—moved on, he had pushed it to the back of his mind.

…Illya, clearly, had not, and he continued his piece about it—

“I see your scars more than you do,” he said. “Perhaps it was a reprieve to you that it was only your back that was marred. But I see them, and know that it was because I had failed to stop that madman from giving you both the pain and the indignity.”

He walked over and gently placed his hand over Napoleon’s back, feeling the scars. And Napoleon felt a jolt of electricity go down his spine. Illya’s hand was still wonderfully warm from his hot shower.

“In time, I will put what happened to me today behind me,” Illya assured him. “…But I doubt you fully will, as I fully haven’t put the Shark Affair behind me. That is the price we pay for allowing our hearts to open to others.”

“…I don’t mind,” Napoleon said.

And Illya managed a smile.

“Nor do I.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment; Illya did not move his hand from Napoleon’s back, but he did step closer. Napoleon could smell the water and scented soap on his partner, and his throat tightened.

“Illya…?”

“I thank you for your concern,” he purred. “And for the rescue. Get the light, won’t you?”

Napoleon opened his mouth to say something, but remained silent as Illya crossed to the bed. He soon recovered, flicking the light as he joined him.

Healing, he realized, came in different ways.

#Napoleon Solo #Illya Kuryakin #the man from uncle #napollya #badthingshappenbingo #mfu fic #drabble

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morbid-n-macabre · 4 years

Text

Los Angeles, California in 2003-

Had you seen her while out and about, it would have been impossible not to notice Lana Clarkson. She was a statuesque blonde who stood at 6 foot tall, and drop dead gorgeous. But Lana was so much more than a pretty face; friends remember her as an intelligent woman with a wicked sense of humor. She had been outgoing, caring, friendly, and the life of the party wherever she went.

Though she'd been the leading lady in many B rated movies and played small roles in a handful of well known films, at 40 years of age Lana was still awaiting her big break. Due to this, the actress took on a job as a hostess at the famous House Of Blues nightclub on the Sunset Strip; her job had been to take good care of the VIP guests in a special area called The Foundation Room where LA's biggest celebrities were known frequent. Lana had not been working here too long, but it seemed to be a great fit for her; though she officially made only $9 an hour, celebrities tended to tip pretty well, and Lana had hoped to meet the right people while there.

In the very early hours of Monday, February 3nd of 2003, less than a hour before closing time, a celebrity by the name of Phil Spector walked into the club and attempted to enter the VIP area. Phil was an extremely wealthy music legend in his sixties, but Lana had absolutely no clue who the heck he was so she refused him entry. If that weren't bad enough, she accidentally misgendered Phil - Lana addressed the celebrity as "Ma'am"! Once the actress was informed of who exactly she had been interacting with, she apologized profusely and, as it was her job to cater to each VIP patron's slightest whim, that's exactly what she did. Sadly, as Lana was about to discover, Phil was much like a grenade who's pin had just been pulled - he was very soon to explode.

There's no denying that the musical genius had some serious demons. When he was only 8, Phil's daddy had committed suicide. As a teenager he was in a musical group called The Teddy Bears; Phil wrote a song called To Know Him Is To Love Him, the name of which had actually been taken from the epitaph engraved on his father's tombstone. By the age of 21 Phil was a millionaire; not only was he an accomplished song writer and musician himself, but he invented what is known as The Wall Of Sound. Phil had discovered a way to layer music, which sounded better on the radio than anything which had been discovered thus far. This was a really big deal, and Phil has been called one of the most influential music producers of all time! Since all of the biggest artists wanted to work with him, the producer became very egotistical; the older he grew the more eccentric, erratic, and violent his behavior became. He was well known for constantly packing heat, and he was absolutely not afraid to threaten someone by pointing a firearm at them - sometimes he even fired it! If this weren't bad enough, there have been a long line of women throughout the decades who claim to have been abused in various ways by Phil; several even swear to have been held captive for several days or longer in the music mogul's mansion! His ex has written a book about the hell on Earth she endured while under Phil's control. Of course Lana had no way of knowing any of this, she barely knew who Phil was.

At closing time, an intoxicated Phil needed help getting outside to his vehicle; the man was a good tipper, and the hostess was happy to oblige. Phil's limousine driver, Adriano De Souza, had been waiting outside the club. Phil insisted that Lana come back to his 33 room mansion known as The Pyrenees Castle for a nightcap. Lana declined this offer several times, but finally relented. Adriano later recalled that Lana had been adamant that she would come inside for just a quick drink, then the chauffer would drive her back. Sometime around 3 am on Monday morning Phil and Lana entered The Castle; the chauffer remained outside, awaiting the actress's promise of a prompt return.

Much of what occurred over the course of the next two hours is still up for debate, mostly we know what the driver has told us. At approximately 5 am Phil walked out of his home carrying a gun in his hands and stated, "I think I killed somebody". The chauffer called the police, with whom Phil refused to comply. He would not show his hands; a scuffle ensued, resulting in the suspect being tased and tackled to the ground.

A deceased Lana was found still seated in the white French provincial chair in the foyer, she'd taken a bullet from a .38-caliber Colt Cobra to the mouth; a firearm lay at the floor near her feet. It was obvious that Phil had attempted to clean up before notifying authorities. Blood was found on the staircase and multiple other areas, and in a bathroom near the foyer lay a cloth diaper drenched in the lady's blood.

The music mogul's account of what had transpired changed multiple times. Phil reportedly told police "I didn't mean to shoot her. It was an accident". After he'd sobered up a bit, Phil claimed to be an innocent man. He'd startled the actress as she'd been playing with the gun, and it had accidentally discharged.

Investigators did not believe Phil's story, and the autopsy agreed with them. The bullet had traveled in a slightly upward trajectory which had severed Lana's spine, and the recoil from the firearm sent several of the actress's front teeth flying to the floor. It was not a pretty death, but thankfully Lana did die instantaneously. The actress's tongue had been bruised, which the coroner stated had been from the gun forcibly entering her mouth - blunt force trauma. An acrylic fingernail from Lana's right hand was missing, had likely broken off during some sort of a struggle. There were bruises on her right arm and wrist, two of which have been described as significant. The lady's leopard print purse strap had been over her right shoulder at the time of death, which indicated that she'd soon intended to leave the premises, and the firearm was found on the floor near Lana's left foot though she'd been right handed.

Phil was arrested for second degree murder, but released on a one million dollar bond. While awaiting trial the music producer married a 26 year old deli waitress named Rachelle Short whom he would show off daily throughout the spectacle of a trial. After trying on a string of high profile attorneys, Phil finally settled on Mafia Boss John Gotti's lawyer, Bruce Cutler. The defense's stance was that Lana had discovered the firearm inside the millionaire's home and had committed suicide. The prosecution and the defense argued about both the gunshot residue and the blood spatter, with both calling experts to prove their point. The prosecution claimed that Lana had likely been grabbing for the gun while Phil was forcing it in her mouth, which would explain why there was so much GSR on her hands. Either way, a good washing can remove GSR from the skin, so Phil could not be eliminated as the killer based on that. The prosecution called a few of the women who had been victimized by Phil, some of which swore that the defendant had pulled a gun on them through the years. One witness, a former friend of the defendant named Dianne Ogden-Halder, claimed that Phil had attempted to rape her at gun point back in the 80's. She had been a guest at Phil's mansion when he'd abruptly changes from friendly to "demonic"; at this point Phil pulled out a gun and threatened to "blow her brains out". Dianne claimed that he refused to allow her to leave the home, and pressed said firearm against her forehead and cheek. Dianne claimed that she was shocked by Phil's behavior as it was unnecessary, had he been romantic with her that would've been fine. This is definitely worth mentioning as there had been sexual activity between Lana and Phil on the night of her death. There was DNA (saliva) which proved that Lana had performed fellatio on Phil, and Phil's DNA was discovered on Lana's breast. The defense called a witness to testify that Lana had been very depressed at the time of her death, and this may have been the tipping point. In the end, a couple of the jury members did have their doubts; after 12 days of deliberation a mistrial was declared.

18 months later, on October 29th of 2008, a second trial began. This trial was not the media circus which the first day been, and Phil did not have the same caliber of a defense. This time around the wealthy music mogul was found guilty of second degree murder and sentenced to 19 years to life; he is currently spending his days in the California Health Care Facility in Stockton. His health is rapidly declining, and it's said that he's not been physically capable of speaking since 2014. In 2016, after 10 years of marriage, Phil divorced his young wife. He stated that Rachelle was "bleeding him dry" with her excessive spending. She'd purchased very expensive jewellery, an airplane, a Ferrari and an Aston Martin. Rachelle had more than one plastic surgeries, bought her mama 2 nice houses, and at the time of he filed, she was in the process of getting herself a jet. All of this spending while Phil was supposed to live off the $300 a month that she placed on his books. The musician wants his daughter to control his money.

*While researching opinions, I've found that the belief of Phil's innocence is blamed largely on David Mamet's HBO movie starring Al Pacino, "Phil Spector". This movie paints the musician in a completely innocent light, but it is not a documentary. While it's a decent film, it's just not completely factual.

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bestwishes86 · 4 years

Text

A snippet from "The Audition" leave comments and critiques

Best of Me : Book One – Moon

Chapter One – The Audition

One Thousand is the number of head shots and resumes the thirty two year old director and her best friend and sister Luna had looked through for two days while drinking glasses of wine and smoking countless cigarettes. Together the pair had consumed nine bottles of something French before culling that number down to two hundred. Luna, the natural beauty with skin the color of green tea with too much milk in it had done the real leg work. Her fingers were numb from all the typing and retyping of all the names and seeing who had been used in prior work. Who had made 'experimental films' and who had nudes anywhere on the internet. Over dinner the pair had cackled like hens as they watched the films and decided whose penis was the best and whose was the worst.

Any name they found was instantly rejected and the head shot and resume thrown into the shredder. Valentina longed for the day when these celebrity wannabes wised up enough to know.

“Why give it away for free if someone will pay for it,”

Barring those had swiftly brought the candidates list down. But then she was left with two hundred men who she had to pair with the two leading men of the Lakorn film movement, She looked at Luna, the milk tea goddess was dressed in one of her muscle bound husbands shirts which fit her like a dress two sizes too large. Her long thin legs draped across the arm of the brown leather couch while she was on the phone with the hotel they would use for the venue. The shirt, a white with black stripes button down complimented her skin and long, dyed ruby red hair which fell around her half halo face in waves.

Valentina had born as a boy whose name was Kerrin. Kerrin had once been an actor in her early days in the business. She had been born a male, with a femininity that made her stand out from her all boy's school classmates. It had been this that caused them to tease her and hate her. But there was no denying that as a boy she had been sexy. Large doe eyes, high cheek bones, a small button nose and natural light skin the bravest boys would try and share her time. They would secretly be nice to her. It had confused her then because those same boys had been the ones to spit on her or call her names. Her sister Luna had suggested she try acting, since she could lie to their loving and caring parents about her time in school to the point they believed her. Why not? And she did.

Soon her face as Kerrin was one many knew. The soap opera he starred in took off. Money came easy enough then. But she hated every second of it. Smiling for the camera, seeing that stranger's face where her's should be. It had been her wish back then to die. But instead she did the next best thing. She paid an obscene amount of money to a doctor who cut away any trace of Kerrin. It was painful the numerous surgeries, the days of bed rest, the rehabilitation. But what had hurt the worst was when she had gone to see her parents and they had hit and cursed her. Only Luna had defended her and called the man who at that time was named Perth who kicked in the door and beat her father while she lay on her side. Bleeding from where her father's foot had stomped on her head. This was the 2000's and plastic surgery wasn't what it is now, the damage done had called for another round of surgeries and this time Perth had paid for those. But two years later Valentina was born from the boy who never had been in love.

“Val did you fall sleep with your eyes open again,” Luna's soft concern snapped her out of her revelry.

“No just remembering Kerrin, sorry what were you saying,” Valentina asked looking at the empty bottle of wine and wondering if it was too late in the evening for food. Beauty came at a cost and for her it was the freedom to eat whenever she wanted. Standing at six foot without heels, her body was taut from hours in the gym daily, her breasts small and perky and her ass the shape of a healthy apple. She wanted to keep everything in the right place and the right shape.

“Bond is coming tomorrow is that ok,” Luna asked again and Valentina nodded while internally cringing. Luna went back to the phone conversation while Valentina rose from the couch she had been sitting on and walked to the window like wall of glass that framed the loft apartment on one side. Her simple white dress flowed around her as if she were Sailor Moon which was secretly her spirit animal. Her hip length golden blond hair was styled in a similar manner and her eyes were reshaped to look Japanese instead Thai. She reached to the small end table made of glass and metal by her personal couch and picked up her rose gold Iphone and dialed the long password to the phone. Her work phone lay in her work bag, her personal phone was one that only two people had the numbers for. Luna and Titan. They were her friends and the only people she considered family. She tapped Titan's name long changed from Perth and put the phone to her ear as she watched the rain fall down on the city twenty stories below her.

“Hello Beautiful, how was day drinking.” a deep yet soft voice teased her and she felt her eyebrows come together.

“Terrible without my husband, how was your day? Bed any new costars or is it pop singers this year?” Valentina cooed back. The two had known each other since they were little boys, and he had been the only one besides Luna happy to meet Valentina.

“A Gentlemen doesn't kiss and tell,” Titan said back without skipping a beat.

“I'm sorry I must have the wrong number, I thought I was calling Titan the man who couldn't keep his pants up if they were sewn to his skin. Not a Gentleman, I will let you go then,” Valentina said and was surprised by her own tone of voice. The mere mention of the name Bond did this too her.

“Whoa whoa who has got my wife in this state, I will break his legs,” Titan said with amusement but a serious undertone.

“If only you had when you had the chance,' Valentina said and pressed her forehead to the glass.

“What has Bond done now...?” Titan asked knowing instantly who she was thinking of.

“Nothing yet, But you know Bond. He insists on attending the auditions tomorrow. Probably to scare away your future costar.”Valentina said calmer now that the cool glass was touching her skin. Maybe she had drunk too much on an near empty stomach.

“I will be there.” Titan said and Valentina felt a smile cross her face. When they had been children Perth had always come to her aid. No matter how many boys had her cornered Perth would fight for her. Somethings never changed, even if she had.

“No you won't you have costume fitting at the same time as the auditions,” Valentina reminded him as she moved back from the glass and switched over to speaker phone.

“My measurements haven't changed in ten years. I will be there to keep Bond out of your hair like a good man should. Speaking of, have you been on any dates lately,” Titan asked the open air and Luna snorted sitting up at the sound of that question.

“Excuse me...!?” Valentina asked shocked at the question.

“Well neither of us are getting any younger my love and I worry that you're intentionally warding off men with your moods,” Titan explained and Valentina wanted to drop her phone and step on it. Perth had never cared if Kerrin had liked men or women, and made a point to find every boy in the school who preferred steak to chicken and bring them round. None met what he called Kerrin's standards when in all honesty each time it had hurt. Because all Kerrin had wanted was Perth. Now Valentina was nearing that time in her life where honesty and lies were almost the same thing. And still all she wanted was Titan.

“Twenty years later and I still want to throttle you,” Valentina said through gritted teeth.

“But you love me too much to do it, I know. But maybe you should share that love with someone who deserves it.” Titan said and there was no joking in his tone.

“Is this because my birthday is coming up, the one we aren't celebrating,” Valentina asked feeling a rising sense of fear at the mention of it. Titan had always gone out of his way to make her birthday special. And it unnerved her the level of care and effort he put into them. Each year it gave her hope that he would kiss her and she knew that was a silly fantasy.

“You only turn twenty nine 3 times, we agreed this year you become thirty. How can I not use some of the money I made starring in your shows to shower you with unwanted attention from people you believe hate you,” Titan sing songed and Luna giggled and Valentina shot her a death glare.

“Fine Fine, I become Thirty and you and Luna get to see my youth wither and dry, is thirty too soon for menopause?”Valentina asked and all three laughed openly and all thoughts of Bond were forgotten.

---

Valentina is inspired by the Thai transwoman - Blossum and Titan is inspired by Earth P

#novel writing #gay fic #boylove #thai drama #romance #gay writing #gay author #gaylove #gayfic #gay #gaylife #gay men #earth pirapat #i love earth

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vegetacide · 5 years

Text

Whump●tober - Human Shield

Veg-notables: Ya.. so this happened… sorry in advance.

As always, thanks to @gumnut-logic cause she just rocks and is a great parachute-less cliff diving instructor…

Thunderheads are my peeps. You guys are the best.

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Please don’t hit me, I had no control over where this one went. It’s all the TaG bois fault.. They made me do it….

Characters: Alan, Kayo, Scott and a Vegetable

Whumptober - TaG universe

Previous part HERE

4. Human Shield

Enjoy…

oOo

God, why had he done it? The question circled about in Alan's head endlessly and he was no closer to the answer then he had been when he parked his ass in the hard plastic seat at his brother's bedside.

With a groan of displeasure, he dropped his tired head into his hands. The exhaustion and worry weighed on him heavily and the walls he'd erected around his emotions were beginning to fail under the pressure. This just wasn’t fair.

The last week had been test in endurance, an all too common occurrence lately for International Rescue. The last 24 hours though, a complete nightmare. What had started out as standard operation had turned into a complicated mess of secret agendas, hidden rooms and black market profits or so he had gathered from the little snippets he’d heard from Scott’s conversations.

Alan used ‘conversations’ very loosely though as it had been much more like a verbal assault and evisceration. Scott; when prompted, was truly masterful and scary at assassination by oral expression. Alan was pretty sure that whomever the words had been directed would be licking their wounds for some time to come.

Not that any of that creative expression was going to change their current predicament in any way.

Staring blindly at the floor, Alan rubbed at his aching, tired eyes and the whirlwind of this thoughts started up again, circling back to the beginning for a joyful trip down memory lane.

The snap shots of what his witnessed first hand at that facility made his breath shudder and he clenched his lids to stymie the threatening tears.

‘I will not cry. I will hold it together.’ He repeated it like a mantra in his head, lips moving along though no words came out.

Virgil had only been unconscious for a short time but in that brief measure Alan swore he had lived a life time. The heft of his brother’s frame slumped against his shoulder as he’d half dragged, half carried the pilot from the newly ignited inferno was an experience he never wanted to revisit.

The blood; there had been so much of it, had stained the side of his own uniform. It had seeped into the joints of his chest plating, the seams of his flight suit and had taken hours to get out of the crevasses.

He’d though at the time as he scrubbed away the evidence of the days events, that everything was going to be just fine. Virgil was home and resting in the medbay. Being monitored around the clock and tended by his loved ones.

The idiot had insisted after being patched up for what their family considered a minor laceration - twenty sutures in all - that being home would be more beneficial to his well being and recovery then being cooped up in some GDF medical ward.

Scott being Scott, hadn’t put up much of a fight and had conceded when Virgil had expertly sweetened the pot. Alan could still see the look in brother’s gaze and hear pleading in his voice as he’d all but begged.

‘Scott, you know you won’t be satisfied unless you can mother hen.. I’ll submit to whatever you want without complaint. I just want to go home.’

Scott had sighed. The simple sound speaking of the many years and gray hair that the family had added to his tall frame. With a single nod, a doctor’s sign off and a bucket full of antibiotics and they’d all headed home.

It had been the wrong move and the repercussions of that decision had yet to fully be revealed.

Within hours of them setting foot on their island paradise the fever had started. Minor at first and brushed off easily with a top of on drugs, wound cleaning and a bandage change. They were tired, worn down and stressed so the temperature spike had been attributed to that.

A mainland doctor had been consulted just to be safe and the orders of bed rest had been repeated.

The fever had climbed and the delirium had set in not long after.

They’d had to resort to restraints just to get him to Auckland. Even with him being drugged and out of it, Virgil was a powerhouse. It had taken himself, Scott and Gordon to get him secured and stowed away on Two for the short trip to the mainland. By the time they’d arrived; engines pinging as they cooled from being pushed so hard, Virgil had slipped into a coma.

Why? His tumultuous mind spat out again.

Why had Virgil insisted on coming home?

Why had Scott let him?

Why had his big, stupid brother used own body as a shield? The idiot didn’t have chest plating like he did, so why?

Walls crumbling, Alan cracked wide open. Tears welling and spilling over his cheeks. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening. Virgil was dying and they couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The fleet of Doctors didn’t have a clue as to the cause. They placated and offered their sympathy but they were doing everything they could. Virgil just wasn’t responding to treatment. The wound was clean, surgery had confirmed that there was no debris or shrapnel present. Still, the infection raged on.

More tests were being run. Infectious Diseases had been brought in to assist but still they were doubtful and had said as much to the family.

The news had destroyed their Grandmother. The usually strong battle axe had just lost too much over the years and the down cast eyes and shaking heads of the doctors broke her.

A sedative had been administered and the calming presence of Lady Penelope had steered her to a private waiting room to rest.

The others? Well, Alan suspected they weren’t faring much better than he was but he hadn’t conversed with them to verify. They’d just ghosted in and stay for a while and ghosted back out again, registering much more than that had been beyond Alan.

Regaining some semblance of control over himself, Alan wiped at his face and looked over to the bed and the still figure that laid upon it. Monitors blipped with readings for heart rate, oxygen saturation levels, blood pressure and temperature.

He was well versed in form and function of each machine and in this situation he wished he wasn’t. All they did was emphasis that death was creeping into the sterile room one blip at a time. Turning his gaze away from them almost immediately, he took in the ghost like appearance of his sibling.

Virgil’s hair hung dark and limp over his sweat dampened brow. Dark shadows bruised the hallows of his eyes, lightly tacked shut with surgical tape. An intubation tube snaked down his throat and was feeding his failing lungs oxygen via a mechanical ventilator. He looked waxen and unreal except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Every manner of mechanized assistance was being utilized and even to Alan’s young mind, he knew things were bleak. He’s seen and been witness to just too many things to think otherwise.

Reaching over he took one cold hand in his own and dropped his head to the back of it, mindful of the IV lines and O2 monitor. “Virgil, please.” He begged, his breath hitching as a new wave of tears threatened. “You can’t do this to us…”

The soft hand that landed on his shoulder surprised him and made him squeak in a way that he didn’t care for. Jumping up and turning, he came face to face with the one person that had been missing through all of this.

Tanusha “Kayo” Kyrano, stood pale and for the first time since he had known her, small before him. A twitch of a smile, tweaked the corner of her lip but it didn’t reach her red rimmed eyes.

“Hey.” Her voice was hoarse,

“Kayo..” Alan didn’t know what to say to her. Really what was there that he could say. Instead he opened his arms in invitation. She accepted and stepped into his embrace, strong, slender arms wrapping around him, head falling to his shoulder.

Holding her slim form he whispered in her ear. “I am so so sorry…”

She pulled back from him, eyes flashed with a hint of anger. “This wasn’t your fault, Alan so don’t you dare blame yourself for it.”

Alan swallowed, shocked by the strength of the vehemence behind her words. “Kayo….”

“No!” She cut him off. “The blame lies in someone else’s hands and I will not let this family suffer more for their actions. Do you hear me?”

Alan nodded.

“Good.”

It was then that he noticed Scott standing by the large windowless door. His arms crossed protectively over his chest, shoulders slouched, his dark brown hair in complete disarray as if his hand had carelessly racked through it countless times.

Piercing blue eyes stood out in stark relief and looked directly into his own, his brow arching up in question.

Alan gave a nod in understanding and stepped back from Kayo, hands resting on her arms. “I’m going to go take a walk.. I need some air. Do you want anything?”

Kayo’s weakly shook her head, her pale green eyes now glued to the bed.

Giving her arm a supportive squeeze, he stepped past her and made for the door. Passing through on the tail of Scott into the busy hallways beyond.

As the door started to quietly close, he glanced back and pulled up short.. His hand shooting out to bar the progress of the hinged obstruction that was determined to separate them.

He watched unable to command his body to move as the solitary tear carved a path down Kayo’s finely boned face. Her lips were moving in what he could only guess was silent prayer as her fingers twirled a strand of Buddhist prayer beads. The length sliding through her daft digits over and over again with each silent utterance.

The pain blooming in his chest caused his breath to catch in his throat and Alan grabbed at the door frame to steady himself. This wasn’t fair. Oh God, it wasn’t fair.

And as he stood vigil, bearing witness to the sad, tender moment between his fallen brother and his adoptive sister the soft light of the setting sun peeked through a small fissure in the blinds. Haloed, Kayo lent down over the shell of a once strong man, pressed her brow to his own and wept.

oOo

Next part HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

#whumptober #whumptober2019 #no.4 #human shield #thunderbirds are go #thunderbird 2015 #thunderbird fanfic #thunderbird fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #alan tracy #Scott Tracy #kayo kyrano #virgil/kayo #at death's door #the prompt made me do it #sorry not sorry #prompt fic #going wild #please forgive me

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years

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Goretober (Day 4)

Prompt: Smile

Fandom: Winx Club

Characters: Mirta, Lucy, & Icy

Song Rec: Ween - Mutilated Lips

Summary: Chasing an urban legend, Mirta and Lucy visit a former cosmetic surgery clinic.

She didn’t exactly have the facial structure of a witch. None of her people did. The inhabitants of Dyamond, when it was still teeming with life, had classically fairy faces. Wide eyes and soft noses. Rounded chins and less prominent cheekbones. She supposed that it made sense considering that most of them chose to take up light magic.

Icy was an anomaly in that regard, having an affinity for the dark. She had no use for the cuter, more delicate features that her people were known for.

She has had work done before, an operation to give her nose a slight point. And she planned on doing the same with her chin. By the time she was finished, she would have sharper cheekbones as well. Overall, she was going for a more strikingly wicked look. Something like what Griffin had, but with a more beautiful edge.

She glanced at the time, having another ten minutes before her operation, she scrolled through her texts, none of which were particularly fascinating. The ice witch drummed her fingers upon the armrest.

She watched a few people with rather unfortunate facial structures step up to the counter and request consultation sessions. At least Icy could say that she wasn’t hideous upon her first entry, she was simply seeking out a more edgy sort of beauty.

They called her into the room. “Don’t pay any mind to these.” The surgone motioned to pointed tools that line the tables. She had come to realize that, that was her standard greeting. They hadn’t intimidated her the first time she laid eyes upon them.

Normally, she’d snap with a harsh, “let’s just get to the surgery.” But she thought it unwise to provoke the woman about to work on her face.

Icy laid herself across the operating table, staring up at the dim and familiar lights. She could hear them humming faintly. Annoyingly.

The woman fixed a mask over her face. Icy knew the procedure. Breathe in and count to ten, she thought before the surgeon said it. She inhaled and began the count. She didn’t look forward to waking up with bandages around her face, she supposed that it was a small price to pay in the grander scheme of things though.

Her awakening was much different this time. For one thing, she was still in the operating room. For another, there was a searing pain central to her mouth. She parted it to grumble a, “what the fuck”, but the pain took on a new level of intensity. She almost fell back under.

She heaved herself up.

She saw her surgeon sitting at the opposite corner of the room sporting a grotesque grin. It took Icy a moment to register that the woman’s lips were puffy and stretched almost impossibly. They only stretched further when the woman’s smile widened.

.oOo.

Lucy held up the old newspaper clippings. A chill ran down Mirta’s spine as she read the headline; Plastic Surgeon Murders Coworkers and Mutilates Clients. “I don’t want to read this, Lucy.” She wasn’t sure that she could stomach the details. Lucy, being Lucy, made a point of slowly reading it aloud. A grizzly piece about a surgeon who grew tired of dealing with bitchy clients. She snapped on a fine September day; slitting the throats of her coworkers and botching the surgeries they were in the middle of performing. Mostly, she focused on the mouths, injecting them with obscene amounts of botox or slashing the person a larger smile. To those that she resented the most, she did both.

“Okay, Luce.” Mirta cut in. But Lucy continued, “according to the article, she had one paitent that she hated the most. She saved her for last.”

Mirta watched her skim the article.

“Gave her the injections and the slashing. But apparently she gave the woman an unwanted and botched facelift too.” Lucy burst out laughing which had Mirta cringing more violently.

“How can you laugh at that?”

“Because it’s like five years old, who cares?” Lucy shrugged. “They shut the place down.”

“So?”

“So, it’s been abandoned for years.” When Mirta didn’t respond Lucy added, “don’t you want to know why?”

“Because what happened was gory and unethical and no one would want to be in a building that a massacre took place in?” Mirta guessed.

“Correct! Almost.”

Mirta tilted her head.

“We want to be in there, dumbass.” She gave Mirta a thump on the shoulder.

“Maybe you do.” Mirta shuddered.

“Come on. You are the one who said that you wanted to visit a haunted place.”

It was an activity she was beginning to rethink.

“The nurse mutilated her own lips too.” Lucy declared. “They say that she still haunts the place alongside a few of her victims.”

“Great, that’s nice, Lucy.” Mirta pretended to get herself invested with hex homework. Though she knew that she’d be finishing it in the lobby of a cosmetic surgery facility.

.oOo.

“Come on, before we get caught.” Lucy hissed from the other side of the fence. “Be careful, there are barbs at the top.

She could see thin lines of blood on Lucy’s palm, furthering her own hesitance. Eventually, with a deep breath, she was climbing over the fence, landing gracelessly when her skirt snagged on one of the barbs. She brushed her knees off and followed Lucy into the decaying building.

Only five years into neglect and it was already host to a plethora of ivys and weeds. There was a musty smell clinging to the place, with an uninviting tang of disinfectants. Lucy peeled a few boards from the door and ducked under.

Mirta clicked on her flashlight before making her own entry. The lobby was surprisingly clean, almost ordinary looking save for a single red splotch on the corner of the main counter. Lucy busied herself digging through the draws. She busted out laughing. “Carrie Glenn popped her tit implants and had to come in for new ones.” She slapped the file down. “This happened every other month!” Her voice dropped lower, “legend has it she still returns to this very clinic trying to fix that same boob.”

“Lucy, that’s just stupid.”

“Why are you laughing then?”

“Because it’s so stupid.” Mirta insisted. She jumped at the sound of a metallic clatter. She whipped her head in its direction and then back to Lucy, eyes wide. Her friend only shrugged.

“I think that we should…”

“Go back to the dorms?”

“Check it out.” Lucy corrected. She didn’t leave much room for protest in walking down the dark hall.

“At least turn your flashlight on!” Mirta called. There was no way that she was going to investigate. Not even a teeny chance. Especially if the sound had come from the room that she thought it did.

She tapped her foot nervously on the tiles, she almost hated being alone as much as the idea of getting anywhere near the surgeon's death room. She began to pace. Eventually she had enough of the silence and called for Lucy.

No answer.

She tried again.

No answer.

Her stomach knotted. “Come on, Lucy.” She mumbled to herself. She found herself going rigid and at first she couldn’t place why. The sound was faint, a rustling of papers. She didn’t want to turn around. But she did, hoping that she simply hadn’t noticed Lucy slipping back behind the desk.

Instead, her eyes fell upon a tall woman with long white hair. Her blue eyes were both stunning and piercing. She would have been gorgeous were it not for the unnatural swelling of her lips and the fountain of blood that streamed from them and onto her collar.

Mirta jolted back, scrambling away until her back hit the opposite wall. She didn’t like the sound of the woman’s laugh. Mirta squeezed her eyes shut. Why was it she who was dealing with the crazy surgone, it was Lucy who had sought her out.

She felt cold fingers cupping her chin and tilting her head up. She closed her eyes harder.

“Look at me.” The woman demanded.

Mirta tried to shake her head. The woman didn’t command twice. She didn’t have to, Mirta opened them on her own and when she did she noticed that the skin on the woman’s face seemed to be stretched all too tightly over her skull.

Some of the tension left Mirta’s body, it wasn’t the surgone that she was dealing with after all.

“You should go.”

“But I can’t leave Lucy.”

The woman dropped her and fell back. It was hard for Mirta to keep her eyes from trailing to the woman’s mutilated mouth.

“I take it that you want one of these.” She pointed at her lips. The corner of her mouth tugged upwards as much as the swelling would allow.

Mirta shook her head.

The ghost opened her mouth but a loud clang and a shout fill the silence before she could. She looked towards the dark hall and then back at Mirta. Without another word, she faded. A deeper chill resonated from Mirta’s core.

“Lucy?” She called meekly. “Luce?”

She heard the rustle of fabric. Something shifting in the shadows. Mirta backed towards the door, prepping herself to heed the ghost’s advice. The figure partially emerged and Mirta could see the gleam of a combat boot. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Jesus, Lucy, you scared the shit…”

Lucy held stiff and bloody hands at chin level, not quite touching her face. Her eyes bulged and tears roamed freely down them. But she was smiling. Smiling and gushing blood. A needle embedded in her cheek and another in her brow.

She stumbled forward and reached out.

At best she was a coward, at worst she was a selfish and dreadful friend.

Mirta threw the door open as a pair of skeletal, scalpel wielding hands wrapped around Lucy’s eyes.

#Goretober 2019 #Winx #Winx Club #Winx Icy #Mirta #Lucy #Fanfiction

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flowerfan2 · 5 years

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Bound To Be Together - Ch. 25

This is it - the final chapter in my episode coda series, and the fix-it to 9.25. Hope you all enjoy it!

McDanno, E, A03 (Read from the beginning here)

A continuous story of Season 9 codas exploring the bond between Steve and Danny as they grow even closer.

Chapter 25: 9.25

Danny paces back and forth in the waiting room, feeling like he can barely catch his breath. Steve had been whisked away to surgery hours ago, and Danny still hasn’t been able to talk to him. He still doesn’t know for sure if he’ll ever be able to talk to him again. When Steve was shot he went down so hard, and there was so much blood… Danny doesn’t want there to be a limit to how many times Steve can defy death, but even cats only have nine lives.

“Coffee?” Tani appears in front of him, holding a steaming paper cup. She and Junior showed up at the hospital just a little while ago, both of them looking almost as wrecked as he feels.

Danny isn’t interested in coffee, though. Doesn’t think he could hold the cup without spilling it. Caffeine isn’t going to help Danny now. Nothing is, except Steve waking up and giving him a chance to explain himself.

Danny Williams has fucked up many times in his life. He is sadly familiar with the cold sweats, the wave of shame, the urge to hide under a rock and never come out. But this time he’s outdone himself.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”

Danny blinks, realizing that he’s sitting on the floor, Tani crouching down next to him. She puts a hand on his shoulder, barely flinching at the blood stains on his shirt. Steve’s blood.

“I don’t think it is,” Danny chokes out, hardly able to bear the kind look in Tani’s eyes. He sinks his forehead to his knees and covers his head with his arms.

“Come on, you said it yourself.” Tani gives his shoulder a squeeze. “This is what they do. And they always make it out the other side.”

“You don’t understand.”

“So fill me in. We’ve got time.” Tani shifts, settling herself next to Danny on the floor. “Take a few deep breaths, okay, and then tell me what happened.”

Danny breathes into the space between his knees, feeling his heart continue to pound a broken rhythm against his chest. It reminds him of how he felt when that building collapsed on top of him, years ago. Except that time Steve was with him, holding his hand. Making sure he made it out the other side.

Now he’s in a crowded hospital waiting room, surrounded by all of Five-0 except the person that matters most to him.

“You don’t wanna hear this.”

“Try me.”

Danny sighs. He pretty much feels like he’s going to fall apart anyway, telling Tani can’t possibly make it worse. “Just before Omar Hassan’s wife came in, I told Steve I lied to him about last week. Told him I wasn’t in New Jersey, that I was with Rachel on Kauai instead.”

Danny hears Tani suck in a breath, but before she can launch into him, Lou responds incredulously.

“That’s bullshit. I know you were in Jersey. You’ve been talking nonstop about that Mets game you went to with your sister. Even posted dumb pictures on Facebook.”

“I know,” Danny says.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Jerry says, pulling a chair over with a squeak. “Were you in Jersey or not?”

“I was, of course I was,” Danny says. “Helping my folks move into a smaller place, just like I said. I was just screwing with Steve, like I always do. He does the same – hell, in the car earlier, he was giving me shit about that NSA woman he flirted with a few months ago. And he’s always bringing up Catherine. It’s what we do.”

“You told him you spent a week on Kauai with Rachel, but you were just screwing with him?” Lou asks, still obviously not convinced that Danny hasn’t lost his mind.

“Not my best moment,” Danny confirms. “But we weren’t done talking – we were in the middle of the conversation. I could barely keep a straight face as it was, the joke would have been over in another ten seconds. Azra Hassan interrupted me – if she hadn’t come in, this never would have happened.”

He lifts his head and looks up at his team, who stare back at him with various degrees of disapproval.

“Man, you really stepped in it this time,” Lou finally says, and Danny nods.

“Yeah, I did.”

Another hour goes by. Adam convinces Danny to get up off the floor, and they walk down the hall to the vending machine together. There’s something different about Adam lately, something hopeful, and Danny’s glad for him.

Back in the waiting room, Tani pats a plastic chair next to her and he sits down between her and Lou. He offers Tani some of the candy bar Adam bought him.

“Thanks,” Tani says, holding his hand steady while she takes a bite. “You know,” she says, wiping a crumb off her mouth, “you really are kind of a dumbass.”

Danny huffs out a bitter laugh. “I’ve been told that before.”

“Steve’s gonna be fine,” she says. “And you guys are gonna be fine. What you’ve got together is too good for this to throw it off course.”

Danny stares at her then, and something must show in his face, because Tani gives him a soft smile he’s never seen before.

“Fuck,” Danny says. “Did… did I just out us… Steve… to the entire team?”

“We knew, Danny,” Tani says gently. “We’ve known for a long time.”

“Definitely,” Lou says. “That day taking prom pictures? Come on.”

“My housewarming party,” Adam says, “that’s when I knew for sure.”

Junior shakes his head. “I think it was even earlier. Steve stays over your house all the time, it’s not exactly a secret.”

“I knew something was up last fall.” Tani says. “When Danny was away, and Steve brought in that giant box of coco puffs from Liliha’s, ‘cause he didn’t realize Danny was gone, and then he was so upset when he found out he moped like a middle school kid all week.”

“No, that was before Joe White was killed, wasn’t it? Didn’t seem like you were together then,” Adam says.

“Oh, yeah, it did,” Junior insists. “You weren’t there when Danny showed up, but I was. You should have seen the way-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Danny says, standing up, his face hot with embarrassment. His team’s casual recital of everything he and Steve have been through for the past year isn’t making him feel any better, it’s just pointing out how much he has to lose.

“Excuse me, Five-0?” It’s a little ridiculous how well all the hospital staff know them. “I have an update on Commander McGarrett?”

They all turn, and Danny holds his breath as he waits for the doctor to continue.

“How is he, doc?” Lou asks.

“He’s going to be fine,” the doctor says, and Danny feels a surge of relief so strong it almost knocks him over. “He lost a lot of blood, and we were worried that he hit his head pretty hard on the way down, but the bullet missed all major organs.”

“Can I see him?” Danny pushes forward, but the doctor steps back and holds out a hand.

“We’re moving him to a room, and then one of you can come in.”

Danny nods, but the doctor continues, looking at Danny apologetically. “He asked to see Captain Grover. I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”

“That’s okay, Danny can go-”

“I’m afraid that’s not what I meant,” the doctor says. He waits for Lou to acknowledge this. “Someone will be back to let you know when he’s ready.”

Danny sags against the wall. “He doesn’t want to see me. He’s barely out of surgery, and the first thing he remembers is that I lied to him.”

“But you didn’t,” Tani insists.

“He thinks I did. He almost died, and he thinks I betrayed him.”

*****

Lou only spends a few minutes with Steve before the nurse kicks him out. He fills the team in on Steve’s medical situation (he’s going to be stuck in the hospital for at least a few days, but he’ll make a full recovery) and tells them all to go home.

Lou stays behind, clearly anticipating that Danny wants to know more than he’s told the rest of the team.

“What did he say? Why can’t I see him?”

Lou leans against the back of a chair, looking uncomfortable. “I told him you were here, and that you were worried. But I didn’t plead your case for you. You’re going to have to do that yourself.”

“What the hell?” Danny snaps, anger getting the best of him. “You didn’t tell him anything? That I wasn’t with Rachel?”

“Actually, I tried. Against my better judgment. But he wouldn’t listen, just waved his hand in my face and said he wanted to sleep. And then the nurse kicked me out.”

“This is not fair,” Danny says, looking around for someone else to complain to. “Why – why won’t he listen? Why won’t he let me talk to him?”

“Give him some time, Danny,” Lou says. “He’s had a rough day.”

“A rough day,” Danny says, his throat catching. “Yeah, that about sums it up. Fuck.”

Lou eventually goes home to shower and get some sleep, but Danny stays in the waiting room. Jerry returns to sit with him for a while, and tries to cajole the nurses into letting him see Steve – he promises to put in a good word for Danny - but apparently they want him to have “uninterrupted rest.” Danny has the feeling this is actually at Steve’s request, to avoid having to deal with Danny, but there’s not much he can do about it.

Later Tani and Junior come by, and Junior’s brought him a t-shirt and jeans. His own.

“How’d you get these?”

Junior rubs his face. “I knew you’d ask that.”

“The ‘Danny drawer,’ where else,” Tani says, smirking.

“At Steve’s place?”

“Well, my first thought was to get clothes from your house – we could use the key that Steve keeps in that bowl by the front door? But Junes knew where to find your stuff at Steve’s, so that saved us a stop.”

“How did you know I had clothes there?”

“Junes does Steve’s laundry when he’s feeling particularly dutiful - didn’t Steve tell you?”

Danny sighs. Clearly he’s not the detective he used to be. Junior is a lot more observant than Danny has given him credit for, and Tani, well, Tani’s a force to be reckoned with.

“It’s cool,” Junior says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t mind doing laundry. I like the routine.”

Danny tries not to imagine Junior folding his boxers. “I can’t believe this.”

He does feel better when he’s changed into clean clothes. There’s nothing like wearing a shirt with your partner’s blood on it to bring down your mood. The t-shirt Junior brought is one of his favorite black ones, and it’s soft on his skin. He keeps it at Steve’s on purpose. Steve likes him in it. And out of it.

When Noelani comes to check on Steve (and Danny) later that day, after her shift, Danny gets an idea.

“Can I borrow your jacket?” Sometimes being a relatively small guy comes in handy.

With Noelani’s white coat on and a confident stride, Danny passes for a doctor long enough to sneak into Steve’s room.

Steve is lying on his side, facing away from the door. He turns as Danny enters the room, and Danny’s heart skips a beat. Steve’s got a bandage on his head, and a bruise running down the side of his face. But the worst part is the defeated look in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Steve says, his voice scratchy.

“Steve, for god’s sake, I’ve been dying to see you.” Danny rushes over, reaching for Steve. He completely forgets about anything except getting him in his arms.

But Steve flinches, and Danny freezes, then pulls his hands back to his sides. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Go away, Danny.”

“Steve, you have to let me explain. I wasn’t with her, I was just kidding around, I would never-”

“Nurse! Security! Help!” Steve yells, and Danny is hustled out of the room before he can continue. The bastard, he thinks. He’s just being childish. And he’s managed to get Danny thrown out of the hospital for the remainder of Steve’s stay.

With no other options left, Danny goes home.

A few days later, Steve gets released. He’s not supposed to go back to work yet, but he’s recovered enough to go home. Danny and Junior drive to the hospital in Steve’s truck, Tani following behind.

“You sure you want to do this?” Junior asks.

“I’m sure.”

Junior goes inside and comes back out with Steve a few minutes later, while Danny waits in the car with Tani, slouched down and out of sight. After Junior gets Steve settled into the passenger seat of the truck, he and Danny switch spots.

Steve glares at Danny as Danny starts up the truck. “Fuck off.”

“No.”

And that’s it, for almost the entire drive back to Steve’s place. Danny has spent the past few days swinging back and forth between despair and fury, and right now, Steve’s refusal to talk to him is pushing all his fury buttons. But he knows the mess between them is his fault, and he’s not going to let Steve ruin this. Not if he can help it.

So he sits there next to Steve, and drives his car, and brings him home. Because that’s what partners do. And that’s what <i>partners</i> do, even if they’re mad at each other.

As they approach Steve’s house, Danny bites his lip, takes a breath, and speaks. “I love you, you know.”

Steve doesn’t answer.

When they pull into the driveway, Steve jumps out before they come to a full stop. He’s inside his house with the door slamming shut behind him before Danny turns off the truck. As he watches Steve sprint up the walkway, he can’t help but be impressed – Steve’s physical injuries sure aren’t slowing him down.

Over the next few days, Steve keeps up the silent treatment. He doesn’t return Danny’s calls. Grace informs Danny that Steve is answering her texts, but only if she talks about things other than Danny. Tani tries to get Steve to talk to him, but when it doesn’t result in any progress, she just shrugs. “Boys are dumb,” she announces, taking the last malasada out of the box Danny brought in for the team. “I can only do so much.”

A week after Steve was shot, Danny decides he needs to try another approach. He does a little research, and makes a call.

*****

The cove is beautiful. There are palm trees lining a gentle curve of beach, and one of the smaller Hawaiian islands is off the coast in the distance. Danny fidgets as he waits. He’s dressed the part, he hopes, with a white on white Aloha shirt and khaki slacks. He’s even wearing flip-flops, the kind Steve thinks are dressy, with braided leather straps.

He hears Frank and Steve talking before he sees them. Frank is excited about his new project, and had jumped at the chance to show it off to Steve – and try to help Danny out, too. “Happy to help, sunshine,” Frank had said over the phone, and then explained how Danny could pay him back in beer.

“The arch will go over here, with the chairs behind it, facing out to the ocean,” Frank says, his voice getting louder as they approach. “I’ll build a hut, too, for the reception, all open air. And open bar.”

They come around the bend, Frank still talking, Steve looking around obligingly. When Steve sees Danny, his eyes widen, and he comes to an abrupt stop.

Frank looks at the two of them, pats Steve on the shoulder, and leaves, going back the way they came.

“Danny,” Steve says, staring him down. “What’s going on?”

Danny swallows hard, and walks over to Steve. At least he isn’t running away, Danny thinks. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You couldn’t have done that somewhere else?”

“I wanted to talk to you here,” Danny says. He waves his hand at the clearing, which will someday host happy couples on their special day. “I always imagined we’d end up at a place like this. Eventually. If things worked out.”

Steve lifts his chin, looks away. “Yeah, too bad that’s off the table.”

Steve’s reaction stings, but Danny knows him. It’s not over yet, and Danny has hardly gotten started.

“Steve, please. Stop being so stubborn and just listen to me for a minute.”

Steve frowns, but after a long moment, he turns back to Danny. “I’m listening.”

Here goes, Danny thinks. He rehearsed what he wanted to say a dozen times, but he’s still not sure he’s going to get it all out.

“I’m a changed man,” he starts, and he sees Steve’s eyes flit over his outfit. Not just my clothing, you dope, he wants to say, but refrains. “I’m a changed man, a better man, since I met you. Not just since I met you, but… because you love me. Because I love you.”

Steve’s face softens for a moment, but then his jaw clenches again. Danny can tell he’s about to lose him, and he rushes to get to the point.

“I’ve gotten more positive, even if not everyone sees it. I’ve opened myself up to the possibility of good things in my life. Good things happening with you, in particular. But no matter what I thought before, I realize now, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t change enough.”

This gets Steve’s attention, and his eyes finally meet Danny’s.

“I crossed a line, last week,” Danny continues, his eyes starting to tear up. “I went too far. And I’m sorry.”

Steve steps back, still holding Danny’s gaze. “Danny, you really hurt me.”

“I know, babe.” It slips out, Danny can’t help it, and he moves forward and grabs Steve’s arms, hands squeezing his biceps tight. “I know, I’m so sorry. I screwed up. I’m so sorry.”

“I believed you.” Steve’s voice is small, barely audible over the sound of the breeze in the palms. “I didn’t want to, I knew it didn’t make sense, but for a few seconds there, I believed that you went away with Rachel. That you lied to me, and cheated on me, and…” Steve ducks his head down, but he doesn’t pull away. “It really hurt.”

Danny doesn’t doubt it, he can feel the ache in Steve’s chest just like the one in his own. “I shouldn’t have joked about that,” Danny says, inching closer to Steve and sliding his hands up to his shoulders, pressing his collarbone with his thumbs. “We kid around about almost everything, but I knew how you worried about me and Rachel. I should have known it wouldn’t be a joke to you. I went too far. I’m sorry.”

Steve looks at Danny, and his eyes are wet. “I got shot. And you weren’t there.”

Danny tilts his head, confused. “I was there, I was right there. Lou tackled Azra, Adam grabbed the kid, and I was next to you in seconds. I used the hem of my shirt to put pressure on your wound, I had your head in my lap-” Danny’s voice breaks. He can taste how terrified he was, when Steve didn’t respond. He shudders, remembering all too clearly.

“But you were with Rachel. In my mind. And… that’s what I thought, at the hospital, when I woke up.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t let me come see you?” It’s exactly what Danny feared – that given the drugs and the shock, all Steve would remember would be their last conversation.

“At first. And then,” Steve pauses, his tone shifting to something like embarrassment, “I was just pissed.”

And hurt, Danny fills in. Really fucking hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” Danny says again. He’ll say it as many times as it takes.

Steve sniffles, and then his arms are around Danny, pulling him close. “I don’t like fighting with you.”

“I don’t like fighting with you either,” Danny chokes out, digging his face into Steve’s neck. He rubs his nose against Steve’s sweaty throat, feeling his stubble scratch over his skin. “Please say we won’t fight anymore.”

Steve makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “I don’t think I can make that promise.”

Danny laughs with him, snorting wetly into Steve’s shirt, and clutching him tight. He feels lightheaded, almost giddy. They’re going to be okay. They’re really going to be okay.

“Making me come out here with Frank was a dirty trick, you know,” Steve says, his hand sliding up into Danny’s hair. “The whole time, I kept picturing you and me getting hitched on the beach, Gracie at your side, Mary at mine, Joanie and Charlie with flowers and rings.”

“Really?” The image had of course occurred to Danny too, he’s already admitted it, but he hadn’t begun to hope that Steve was on the same page.

“Really.”

“That’s, um, that’s good. That’s very good.” Freakin’ understatement of the year, it’s so good.

Steve laughs, more relaxed now, and he pulls back to find Danny’s eyes. “Figured you’d think so.” He looks Danny up and down. “Nice outfit. Coincidence?”

“Yeah, this vintage Aloha wedding shirt was just lying there at the top of my clean laundry basket, total luck of the draw.” Danny raises an eyebrow. “Hey, by the way, could you maybe have mentioned that Junior does your laundry?”

Steve squints at him, and then apparently puts two and two together. “Guess that might have given us away?”

“Depends, I suppose, on whether he was fooled into thinking that you had secretly taken to wearing striped dress shirts in my size.”

“And black t-shirts.”

“That’s not completely beyond the realm of possibility,” Danny muses. “You look hot in black.”

“So do you,” Steve says, and then, unexpectedly, blushes. “I like you in white, too.” Steve leans in and kisses Danny, his mouth soft and gentle, and Danny melts against him.

“Oh, babe, thank god,” Danny whispers against Steve’s lips, and Steve hums in agreement before ducking down to kiss him again, another gentle press, and another, until Danny is practically shaking with the force of his tenderness.

“I don’t want to lose you, Danny,” Steve murmurs, kissing Danny’s cheek and down his jaw. “Don’t even tease about it, okay? Anything else is fair game, but not that.”

“Okay, yes, absolutely. Lesson learned. I’m so fucking sorry-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss that is significantly more heated, his tongue darting inside Danny’s mouth, pressing hard enough that their teeth clack together, then stopping for his own apology. “I’m sorry too. I was kind of an ass about it. Should have let you talk.”

Danny laughs against Steve’s lips as Steve takes his mouth again. Steve isn’t letting him talk now either, but he’s got no problem with it. There is one thing he needs to say, though, and even Steve’s blisteringly hot making out skills aren’t going to stop him.

“Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve blinks at Danny, pupils blown and eyes wide. “Yeah?”

“I love you a ridiculous amount, okay? And I’m yours. Just yours. For as long as you want me.”

Steve beams and practically bounces on his toes. “Yeah? How about forever?”

Danny’s heart leaps, and he can feel his own radiant smile stretching his face. “Sounds good. Very good. Forever sounds good to me.”

Steve grins and starts kissing him again, nipping at Danny’s lips and sucking at that spot on his neck that makes Danny moan, one hand firm against Danny’s back and the other tangling in his hair. Danny loses himself in it, gives himself over to Steve, clutching at his shoulders and murmuring encouragement.

Steve’s hand has moved to the front of Danny’s pants and Danny thinks there’s a decent chance he’s about to get his very first beachfront blowjob when they hear Frank clearing his throat, explaining in an amused tone that he needs to get back, but if they want to stay longer, they can probably catch an Uber. Steve and Danny jump apart, Steve looking charmingly disheveled and Danny feeling like a kid almost literally caught with his pants down.

Danny’s first instinct is to pretend that nothing much was going on, but Steve grabs his hand and beams at him. There’s a glint in his eye that Danny is all too familiar with, and before he can say anything Steve drags him tight against him, attacking his mouth in a searingly hot kiss - right in front of Frank, who lets out a delighted laugh. Danny gets the feeling that now that the news is out, this won’t be the first time Steve gets a little possessive in front of their friends. The wonderful thing is, nothing could make Danny happier.

#H50 #Hawaii Five-0 #9x25 #9.25 #fix-it #episode coda #my fic

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ruinedthatfriendship · 5 years

Text

Start Again

A/N: Okayyyyy so I was talked into posting this, and yes I am aware it is the most trashy fanfiction trope I have ever written, and I was mildly disgusted when I found this in my drafts. 2014 me was a dumbass. This was also evidently supposed to have more chapters that were never completed. I’m actually not sorry about abandoning this one, though...

I’m sorry this exists?

It took too long. Everything just took too long. It took an ambulance too long to navigate traffic, too much time to get her out of the wrecked car. Too much time to clean up her battered face before anyone even recognized her, too long before she got a bed in the ER. Too long before one of the doctors finally realized what was really going on, shoving a couple residents out of the way with a burr hole kit.

By the time they got the pressure down in her brain, and sent her up to surgery, she’d already had one seizure from the bleeding inside her skull, and she’d crashed in the elevator, arriving to the surgical suite with a nurse still riding on the gurney doing CPR.

By the time anyone found her emergency contacts, she’d been in surgery for two hours, without any word. By the time they got to the lobby, the driver of the car that hit her had been pronounced dead.

Simon hadn’t even known she’d set his information as an emergency contact. And apparently, it wasn’t just him she hadn’t told. Like every other detail of that horrible day, he would never forget facing Dianna and Eddie in the waiting room and spreading his hands helplessly, letting them shout at him while the only thing he had to offer was that he didn’t even know. And they were wasting time splitting hairs, couldn’t they see that? It didn’t matter anymore who Demi had been spending her time with or if he was too much older or her boss or anything else, not when they didn’t know if she was going to wake up. They didn’t have time to argue in the lobby of the emergency department, he just wanted to be able to see her.

A nurse had been anxiously watching the face off, clearly trying to remain professional even though this was probably the most gossip-worthy day of her career. “Mr. Cowell, sir, uh, Miss Lovato does have an advance directive in place and--”

“She made it after she got out of treatment,” Dianna cut in tearfully. “She said it was just in case,”

The nurse gave her a polite nod to acknowledge her, and then turned back to Simon. “We need to speak with you--”

“No!” Dianna protested, squeezing her husband’s hand. “That’s my daughter, he doesn’t get a say, I’m her mother, you can say whatever you have to say in front of me.”

The nurse--her nametag read ‘Angelica’--looked at Simon, waiting. “Sir?”

“It’s fine,” he said heavily, hardly believing that any of this was real. “And it’s just Simon, please.”

Angelica nodded, glanced down briefly at the chart in her hands. “Miss Lovato named you as her medical proxy, which means that you have the power--”

“I know what a medical proxy is.” Simon interrupted, feeling shock numb his body while his heart rate increased. Demi, baby, what did you do? “It shouldn’t be me. Give it to her parents, I can’t--”

“We don’t have that power.” Angelica said apologetically. “It’s a legal document that Miss Lovato signed willingly. We can take you back to wait, she should be out of surgery soon.”

“I’m coming,” Dianna insisted. Angelica just nodded at her; she was immediate family too, they wouldn’t refuse her.

A tense elevator ride later had them sitting in hard plastic chairs in a waiting area outside of neurosurgery, the sign itself almost giving Simon a heart attack. Brain surgery, because someone crossed the median while she was driving. And she’d gone to the trouble, sometime so long ago, to put her fate into his hands.

If what Dianna had said was true, that she’d written these things just after getting out of treatment, then it would have been before they were ever together. It would have been while the extent of their relationship was annoying one another at the judges’ desk, back at the very beginning. When the most he’d ever done was hug her and pinch her nose and call her a brat, she’d looked at him and imagined a day like this and signed her life into his hands.

“It shouldn’t be me.” he mumbled again, staring at his hands in his lap. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t! I don’t know what you ever thought you were doing with my daughter, she’s my baby and you can’t just take advantage--”

“Dianna,” Eddie murmured, squeezing her hand. His eyes were angry too, he looked ready to strangle Simon, but they were making too much noise in the waiting room.

Demi’s surgery took six endless hours. And when the surgeon finally came out, Simon already knew. The set of his jaw and the look in his eyes wasn’t good news, he could only hope it wasn’t a death sentence.

“Is she alive?” he spat out in a low voice, fists clenched and not sure if he was ready for the answer.

The surgeon nodded shortly, sending a rush of relief through Simon that was quickly tempered by the rest of his words. “She’s still unconscious, and not anywhere close to out of danger. We’re keeping her heavily sedated for now, and you can see her, but I want to warn you, she does have a lot of tubes right now, she won’t...look like you expect.”

“I don’t care.”

“Her vitals are good, but she did sustain severe trauma to her brain. I trust I don’t need to tell you how serious that is, Mr. Cowell. She’s alive and stable, but I can’t make any promises about her recovery until she wakes up.”

“What are you saying?”

“She may have cognitive deficits. We just have to wait and see. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I can take you to see her now.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie asked quietly, holding tightly to his wife’s hand. “What...what can we expect?”

The doctor shot him an apologetic look. “We have no way of knowing, right now. Injuries like Demi’s have had a variety of outcomes, from full cognitive function to brain death. Obviously, given that her responses to stimuli are intact, she’s in as good a place as we can hope for right now. If we were to see any negative effects when she wakes up, it would likely be fairly mild.”

Eddie seemed to relax just infinitesimally at those words, and he was first into the room after the doctor, Dianna on his heels. Simon, exhausted in every possible way, didn’t bother fighting them and followed slowly, trying to brace himself before laying eyes on her.

Nothing could have prepared him, really. She looked peacefully asleep, if not for the washed-out paleness of her skin and the unceremoniously shaved side of her head, a line of stitches crossing her scalp.

Her lips were cracked and parted around a tube in her throat, cuts and bruises and butterfly bandages littering every visible inch of her skin as she lay there, looking tiny and helpless in that hospital bed.

Dianna sobbed and lurched forward, reaching for her daughter’s hand. Demi had a grey plastic clip on one finger, and an IV running into the back of her hand, and hers stayed limp while Dianna held on.

Eddie moved to stand beside her bed as well, one gentle hand tracing her hairline and sweeping the long side of her unplanned undercut off of her forehead.

Simon just swallowed hard, temporarily frozen. Demi belonged on the stage, larger than life with her incredible voice, she belonged laughing and stumbling in high heels and bodily attacking him with the promise of getting him sick. She belonged barefoot in the kitchen with her nose wrinkled up in concentration as she tried to cook, on the floor playing with his dogs, on the couch in a heated debate about Netflix. She belonged with fire in her eyes and love and laughter on her lips, she was not meant to lie here, so fragile and broken.

He found himself moving to the other side of her bed, ignoring the glares of her parents, and tracing the word on her wrist as he reached to grab her hand. “She’s strong,”

The doctor awkwardly returned just then, telling them that Demi was technically only allowed one visitor at a time, and Dianna stayed at her bedside while Simon and Eddie went back out to the hard plastic chairs.

***

It marked the beginning of the worst week of Simon’s life. He cleared his schedule and spent it almost entirely in the hospital, as did Demi’s parents. And if she’d been awake, she’d have scolded all three of them and set the record straight. Without her, and unwilling to alienate her family while she lay unconscious, Simon just endured their anger, pushing back only when they tried to keep him away from her. But he still couldn’t really blame them.

He’d had to give his permission for them to pull her off sedation and remove her machines after the third day. Tonight would be the eighth since the accident, and Demi still hadn’t woken. Her doctors were at a loss, explaining only that sometimes the body needed more time. That she wasn’t quite in a coma, yet. Simon knew what they weren’t saying, though. Her chances of recovery went down with every day she remained in an unconscious state.

For the moment, it was his turn at her bedside, while Eddie had finally convinced Dianna to let him take her home and take a breather. Simon was sitting on the edge of her bed and looking down at her face, which only looked more sleep-like and tranquil as her bruises began to fade. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, swallowing hard. “Come on, Dem,” he murmured. “If you can hear me, baby, I need you to wake up. Please,” he added in a whisper, fear threatening to choke him.

He’d lived over half his life without her, and she’d come in and rearranged everything so completely in such a short time. And now he was facing down the possibility of her leaving as suddenly as she’d come, permanently, and leaving him to live the rest of it without her. It was a bleak existence he didn’t particularly want to contemplate. One that might require some tattoos of his own to get through it. But it wasn’t going to be like that. She was going to make it through this.

Simon leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead gently, wishing he could hold her properly. She was cold and still so fragile and she smelled like the hospital and faintly like the burning metal of her accident, and he wanted nothing more than to take her home and deposit her in a warm bath, wrap her up between his sheets and hold her and never let her leave again.

But for that, she’d have to wake up.

“You’re such a brat,” he whispered, trying for humor. “Making us sit here waiting on you.”

Demi did nothing but breathe, her heart monitor beeping rhythmically in the silent room. Simon sighed, and squeezed her hand again. “Come on, Demi. You can do this. I love you, brat, just open your eyes.”

He collapsed back into the chair at her bedside, still without letting go of her hand, and bent his head over their laced fingers like he was at prayer. And he hadn’t given himself permission to cry--he didn’t cry--but there were tears falling onto her cold fingertips anyway, and when Eddie roused him later with a firm hand on his shoulder, it was with a bleak expression and red eyes.

Her father said nothing, and Simon just sighed and stood, feeling his back pop in retaliation for sleeping in that damn chair. And he was just about to let go of her hand when he felt the clip on her finger shift. It was a fool’s hope, he’d probably just bumped it with his own hand, but it was enough to glance back at her one final time.

And it was weak and uncoordinated, but her fingers moved, tightening around his hand as best they could, in a gesture no one could mistake. Simon’s heart jumped in his chest, and he turned to Eddie without ever letting go of her. “She squeezed my hand,”

And then Eddie was smiling over his shoulder with tears in his eyes, and Simon glanced down again to find her brown eyes looking up at him with such a quintessentially Demi bemused expression that he almost broke down crying again in relief.

“Hey, love,” he said softly. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Demi coughed, making a face, and looked straight past him. “Dad?”

“I’m right here, Demi.” Eddie assured her.

“Dad, my head hurts.” Demi whimpered, scrunching up her face. Simon reached over to press the call button at her bedside, earning a tentatively grateful nod from her father for it.

Demi dropped his hand quite suddenly, reaching toward Eddie, and Simon tried not to feel hurt. She was here, she was alive, she was awake. She was talking and aware, her brain wasn’t damaged, she was here. He’d take what he could get.

“I don’t understand,” she was saying weakly, looking between Eddie and Simon as quickly as she could without moving her head. “What--I…”

Her doctor and a nurse interrupted her, Dianna hot on their heels. “Baby!”

Demi’s face initially brightened, but then crumpled again in confusion. “Not you,” she was murmuring, almost to herself. She’d let go of Eddie’s hand now, too, and stared down at her own fingers, turning them over in examination almost as if she wasn’t quite sure she was real.

“How are you feeling, Demi?” the nurse was asking, an expression on his face that said he was entirely over the number of people crowding his patient.

“I’m...did I overdose?” Demi asked in a small voice, still not looking at anyone.

“No,” Simon rushed to reassure her, wishing he could be closer than where he’d ended up, almost in the doorway. “It was a car accident, darling.”

Instead of relief, Demi’s face only registered further alarm. “A car accident? Why...why was I driving? I’m sorry, Mama!” she burst out, panic in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t know what I did, I--”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dianna reassured her. “You’re okay, baby. The other driver was on the wrong side of the road. Not you.”

“I wasn’t supposed to leave,” Demi whispered, sounding terribly ashamed.

“Baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dianna was almost crying again. “You’re okay, Demi. It’s okay!”

“Demi, is it okay if I ask you some questions now?” her doctor cut in, smiling politely. Demi nodded weakly, and Dianna reluctantly took a step back.

“Okay, can you go ahead and tell me your full name, hun?”

“Demetria Devonne Lovato,” Demi returned, still looking down at her hands like she didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“How are you feeling right now, Demi?”

Demi shrugged. “My head hurts. Everything...kind of hurts.” she tried to play it off, but Simon could see the pain in her eyes. “I guess it makes sense if I was in an accident,” she mumbled.

The doctor nodded swiftly. “We can start you on some painkillers. Something non addictive, don’t worry. Do you remember your accident at all?”

Demi shook her head, looking agitated again.

“Okay, what’s the last thing you do remember?”

She hesitated. “Um, therapy. My session in the morning. I’m guessing it’s not today anymore, though?”

“Demi,” Simon started, ignoring all of the looks suddenly shot his way. “You didn’t have therapy that morning, darling.”

Demi made a familiar irritated face, starting to wave him off in her usual fashion, before she paused, her eyes flicking over his form rapidly. “Wait a second.” she said slowly. “I know you.”

Simon’s entire body went numb at her words. “Demi?” he said hoarsely.

She snapped her fingers impatiently. “You’re...I sang for you, you didn’t stand up. American Idol. You’re the judge guy, the rude one...Sa--Si--Simon. Simon Cowell.” She looked momentarily pleased with herself, and then made a face that would have been comical in any other situation. “Why the hell are you here?”

#i refuse to tag and publicize this #please accept my apologies #I swear I can write better than this #don't worry #better fic will be posted after this

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ateliefloresdaprimavera · 6 years

Text

Our Little Eden

Note :I refuse to accept that awful ending that Ryan Murphy created. So, this is my take on the event after Michael “dies”.

Thank you for all the wonderful authors out there” You guys are my inspiration!

English isn’t my first language, I apologize for my errors.

. . .

The first memory I have of my life are not pictures, but a feeling, so powerful that stood by me for my entire existence.

Loneliness

Not by abandon or negligence; my parents were always kind and caring with me. Our home was usually filled with relatives. They came and went all the time.

And yet, I always felt like I was the odd one out. Like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

And, in time, the other pieces started to make sense to me; not thanks to my doctors my mom insisted on taking me every week, or the daily exams my dad made me do.

“How can she already know how to read?”

“How does she know that, Margot? Chess is a tricky game, even for adults!”

“Where did she learn how to count? She can barely walk”

No. It was from the conversations I picked on when the adults were in the rom. That’s where I heard from the first time words such as “study”, “immaculate” and “conception”.

What did they meant?

It was from during that time strange people start to come to our house.

After they left, I remember sitting on my window’s balcony and look at each face; not a single adult was looking at me, their focus was on my parents. Talking as if I wasn’t present.

“She’s such a delicate little thing.”

But I saw them. Every single one. Inside out.

That was when I realized. I was nothing like them.

. . .

It happened at night. It was pouring and the noise my window was making when the wind crossed it seemed like an howl. Except that wasn’t what woke me.

It was the first time I dreamt of him.

A little boy, same age as me. He was alone, like me, crouching on the floor, next to a bed, playing with water. I wanted nothing more than to go and play with him.

“Hi” Silence.

“I’m YN. Do you wanna pla…” I stood beside him, getting a full view of the scene. It looked like he didn’t hear me.

“You…” my bile went straight up. TI still remember it: It wasn’t a pool of water he had under his hands. It was blood.

There was a dead puppy under the bed, and he was just starring at it, still as a statue.

I shouted and yet, he didn’t notice me.

I woke up kicking and screaming from the top of my lungs. When my mother came to me and I told her about the little boy with bloody hands, she dismissed me, like it was something normal.

“You’re a very special child, YN. There’s a lot going on inside that pretty head of yours.”

Except, this wasn’t my creation. That much I knew. Which is why I couldn’t sleep on that room by myself after. I sat on the ground and, on it’s darkness, I kept staring the night sky from my window.

I don’t know how long I was there, just that I wasn’t moving .My body felt frozen, still my mind seemed to float.

“It’s alright YN”

A voice, that was coming through me. Except, it wasn’t. It wasn’t like any voice I’ve ever heard.

At same very same moment, a flash cut the sky and, if I had looked behind me ,I’d see a shadow of two silhouettes on my back.

. . .

I don’t like people.

No, that’s not true. I do. I’m just not interested on them.

That was much certain to me when things started to change.

To me was like an invisible pull and a whispering, showing me what people wanted me to do.

The first time, I was playing on our backyard while dad worked with the chainsaw. He fell, and when I got close enough, his body was in a weird position.

“Daddy?” That was my first contact with death.

”Help him” It said “You can help him YN”

My hands were drawn to his wounds and, instantly, it closed.

“You did good” the voice said.

But that was not what my daddy told me.

“What did you do girl?”

. . .

People are hungry.

No matter how much they have, still is not enough.

I could help people.

I wanted to help them.

Until, I didn’t anymore.

From terminal illness, wounds, broken limbs, to venereal diseases and paper cuts.

It was never enough for them.

My parents opened our doors 24/7 to strangers. And they just couldn’t stop coming.

“A gift” that’s what they called it “Must be shared”

I was exhausted.

And no one cared about me.

I was three years old.

. . .

If I didn’t have a moment to rest while I was awake, I had when my parents let me sleep. And dreamt with the little blond boy .It was reassuring, seeing him, there was something that brought me calm.

Even knowing that he hurted someone.

Every time I called, screamed for him, always. But he kept getting further and further away from me.

My worst nightmare was to never be able to dream with him. The little boy I wanted so much to call my friend.

Because, otherwise, I would be completely alone.

. . .

To me, it was something natural.

I went to bed as a little girl in my bed, and woke up with my parents screaming.

“WHO ARE YOU?!”

“Good morning daddy.”

“MARGOT,GET IN HERE!”

. . .

I was tall! Enough to reach thing on the top shelf; my legs allowed me to run faster through the backyard. I was even taller than my mamma!

And the voices keep whispering to me.

“What do you want me to do Lucas?” I heard my mom on the phone one day “Money? But we already charged…”

“Excuse me, missy” I got my attention towards the person in front of me. And the line that followed. Each day it got bigger and bigger, and the voices just kept pushing me.

“Be good. Have patience. Help them.”

It was as if I was stuck inside a wheel. Give and give and give.

And my parents charged from others?

I found out when I was speaking to a woman that didn’t want to admit that her husband left her.

“Ma’am, what can I do?” I didn’t understand any of that. How do I fix emotions?

“I paid good money for your results, young lady !You have to fix this!”

What?

. . .

Is that what you want me to do?

I wasn’t allowed to leave my room anymore “Too distracting” my parents said. Every moment there was buzz downstairs. Clothes delivery ,new furniture, desperate people paying a lot of money to talk to me about their “problems”. Futile and shallow.

It was all my parents wanted.

Is this humanity? Personal and immediate interest ?Material rewards?

I figured it out. The more I kept to myself, more I could absorb from others. It wasn’t just about mom and dad and their growing gluttony; it was everyone else. People were desperate about things that didn’t concern them; always blaming others for their faults; waiting for someone else to fix their mistakes.

Yes

I took one of my dad’s cigarettes, the ones he stashed from my mom. At night I could walk freely on the house without anyone disturbing me. They thought they could control me.

“Argh, this is horrible” Why do people use stuff they know is not good for them?

“Are they that dumb?” I stopped in front of their bedroom. Mom and dad looked so peaceful, swallowed by the materialistic opulence of everything they didn’t need ,but want. And me, their golden goose.

“This is not what I want” I whispered as my mom moved .She was still sore, plastic surgery does that to you, she said. And dad was also sore, from screwing his PA.

“You are all so little” How could God allow such people to exist?

“Don’t think about it ,YN. That’s not your job. Be good, help them” The voice spoke .Only, this time, for the first time, I noticed how it hesitated.

Fuck you.

. . .

I never looked back. That’s not where my life was going. I let go .Of everything.

My parents ,that house, people.

And then, my path was clear.

It was as if an arrow guided me to my destination. The little boy, only now he wasn’t so little .He grew ,like me. And he needed help.

Michael.

. . .

It was too late.

He was stretched out on the ground. Blood all over, his body twisted in painful angles. That wasn’t suppose to happen.

“No, no, no” I cradled his hand, leaning towards him. There was no one near .Please, please

“Please, Michael. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” I was sobbing uncontrollably. What was the point of all that violence? “Open your eyes, please”.

I don’t know who or what made it possible, but he opened them and, for a split second, I couldn’t breathe. They were the bluest color I’ve ever seen.

“Who…”He was choking on his own blood, and yet, something in his eyes said that he knew who I was. “I know…you”.

“Yes! You know me, Michael! You’ve always know me” My whole body was shaking, he was coming back! His wounds were closing and the color of his body was coming back.

“I couldn’t hear you. I wanted to. I saw you, but I couldn’t.”He was gripping me with such force, unnatural for someone who went through what he did, but I wasn’t letting go.

“I know ,I tried to reach you. All this time I’ve been so alone” My tears mixed with his. It felt like a weight has been lifted of my soul.

“So did I YN”

When he said this, it was as if the wheel was broken. There was nothing or anyone more important in this planet.

“Now we don’t have to walk alone”

. . .

Mallory’s POV

It was another sunny day, and my sisters and I decided to enjoy. Madison wanted new clothes, and apparently an entourage/audience as well. Reminiscences of her Hollywood days, I guess. It’s not like I didn’t mind to go.

Ever since I came back, I let go of petty things, fights that wouldn’t add up to my life. The world was safe, and all was well.

I never told anyone about it. And that’s fine, because I know that what matters is preserved.

I wasn’t really paying much attention to Madison and Zoe’s daily quarrel, nor Coco and Quennie wanting to go in a different direction, or even how bright and sunny it was.

“Hey, watch it!” I was so absorbed in my mind that I only realized Madison was cursing at pets when they crossed the street.

“It’s just kittens, Madison” A black and white one ran straight to a couple on the other side.

“Yeah, well, contrary to popular belief, not all witches like cats”

They’re an young couple. The man was tall, blond and wore black from head to toe. The woman was tall as well, long hair. She was wearing a blue dress. They walked gazing at each other, which is why I couldn’t see their faces, but from their body language, even a blind man could see they were in love. It seemed that the cats made wave for them.

“I hate those furry things.”

For some reason, I couldn’t stop to stare at them. The street was crowded, and it was not as if they stood out from everyone else. It looked like a simple sight: an young couple walking down the street.

It was their posture. From the way they walked together, I couldn’t see where one started and the other ended.

Something looked awfully familiar.

Shit

. . .

Third Person’s POV

“What’s the matter my love?”The man asked, tightening his hold on his companion’s waist.

“ You know what. The witch is watching us” The woman pouted. He loved when she did that. He loved everything about his love, and the fact she cared so much more about his safety than hers, only made him love her more and more.

“I know, wife .But really, does she even matter to us?”He asked, his her forehead.

From the moment Michael met YN, nothing else mattered. Not his so called family, whom never wanted him; nor his father, who left him at mercy .Not even his “great purpose”, to bring destruction to the world. Nothing.

Only his YN. His friend. His companion. His wife. His soulmate.

She helped him, accepted him as he was and loved him since they were children.

That’s real love .It’s what he always craved for, but never knew, until they found each other.

His true purpose.

Was to be with her.

“No” She sighed, leaning on him. Like always, words weren’t needed for the other to know what they were thinking.

“She doesn’t matter to us”.

#imagines #imagine #tv #ahs #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #michael langdon #langdon #michael langdon reader #michael x reader #michael imagine #michael one shot #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon one shot

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loreweaver-universe · 6 years

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All right, all right, people are started to get annoyed rather than laughing, so let’s cut this short. Here’s the story of how my mom accidentally poisoned me!

So I have asthma. This went undiagnosed until I enlisted in the Air Force in 2007 and subsequently passed out in formation less than a week in. (It went undiagnosed, interestingly, because in the words of the Air Force medic who tested me, I have the lung capacity of a lifelong wind instrument player or long-distance runner--so it all muddled out to slightly worse than average, and we thought I just got winded easily. Nope! I’m a weird mutant whose weird mutation just doesn’t work. Go figure.) People with asthma, it turns out, are quite often allergic to aspirin--something I didn’t take once in my entire runup to my twenties.

The first time I took an aspirin, because I’d run out of ibuprofen (the stuff in Advil) and decided to try something else, I just kinda wheezed a little and didn’t think much of it.

The second time I took aspirin, it was worse, and I realized I was having some kind of weird reaction, so I stopped taking it. Then I found out I was allergic because asthma, went to the store, bought a five hundred pill candybottle of ibuprofen, put it on my shelf, and didn’t have another headache for four months.

The next time I had a headache, the ibuprofen gave me a pretty rough asthma attack. Because! Guess what! There’s a whole class of what’s called Non-Steroidal Anti-Inflammatory Drugs, or NSAIDs, that are perfectly fine for asthmatic people to take...until they trigger their aspirin allergy.

After that, they’re poison.

At this point, I do a bunch of research and discover that nearly every over-the-counter painkiller available to me is ibuprofen-based. The stuff that I’m told is safe for me to take is acetaminophen, the stuff in Tylenol. Half the acetaminophen-based painkillers out there have ibuprofen in them, too. It’s a nightmare finding stuff safe for me to take, and around this time my sinus polyps are really getting going and I’m suffering daily pressure headaches which is a whole other ball of fun let me tell you. So I get in the habit of buying 500-pill candybottles of generic 500mg Tylenol tablets, keep a general eye out for safety’s sake, and otherwise largely leave the whole thing on the shelf.

I make it to my second year of college without another incident.

Spring of 2014, my mother’s in Bangor, picking me up so we can have dinner out, and I complain about headaches when I get in the car. (I had surgery to remove the sinus polyps! They’re growing back by this point.) She hems and haws, because she has a couple Aleve in a plastic baggie that she keeps around for her personal painkilling needs, and she can’t remember whether they’re ibuprofen or not. We look it up--there’s no ibuprofen or aspirin in it, hooray! It’s got something called naproxen sodium instead.

At this point, we aren’t aware that acetaminophen isn’t just safe for me to take, it’s the only safe painkiller for me to take. Naproxen sodium is another NSAID, and I’m in for a rough night, because I pop that sucker in my mouth like it’s the cure for nose cancer and we head off to Chili’s to try them out for dinner.

I’m pretty much okay when we walk in the door. We order appetizers--I get a little dish with soft pretzel sticks in it--and we get to chatting about life. As the conversation goes on, I get a little coughy, and a little snotty, and then I have to excuse myself to the bathroom a few times to blow my nose, because at this point my respiratory system is trying to strangle itself. The pretzel sticks come and I’m starting to wheeze, but I barely care because I tried one of those bastards and they were goddamn incredible. My mother starts to get scared, despite my insistence that this has happened before, and she and I eventually get up to leave because she wants to drive me to the emergency room. While she’s apologizing to the restaurant manager (who insists on turning down her offer to pay for the food we ordered), I dash back to the table and grab the five remaining pretzel sticks, because screw leaving those behind.

So begins the most memorable car ride of my entire life.

Mom’s driving through downtown Bangor, starting to panic, because at this point I am audibly choking on my own throat, but I’m on cloud nine because these god damn pretzel sticks, man, holy shit. I’m snarfing them down, and babbling about how good they are--and anyone who’s spent any amount of time around my mother and I at the same time knows my absolute favorite game is making her laugh--and generally doing my best (somewhat on purpose, even) to distract her from the fact that her son is suffocating in the passenger’s seat. She, meanwhile, is doing her damnedest not to swerve off the road, because she’s alternating between hysterical tears of terror and hysterical tears of laughter. She rolls down the window so I can get some fresh air, and I alternate between gulping down oxygen and suffocating myself with pretzel sticks because why are these so goddamn good.

Mom’s losing her shit laughing when we pull up to the hospital, and I’m red-faced, pretzel-less, and starting to slow down, so she pulls up to the ambulance door and runs inside. After being directed by a very annoyed desk clerk to pull around the side, we go inside, and while I make a few more half-hearted efforts to tell jokes, I spend most of the rest of my wait red-faced and desperately dragging breaths through my closing windpipe. I’m in a bad way, guys. Mom finally gets them to bring me in ahead of some people who aren’t suffocating to death, and they pump me full of some kind of Benadryl cocktail, which makes me loopy and high and sleepy. I spend a few hours drifting in and out of consciousness, high off my ass (and boy howdy do I hate being high) and at one point, because I’m in no state of mind to do social math, I tease Mom about getting me that Dave Strider figurine I wanted. Then i go back to sleep.

Eventually, I’m good to go. I get sent off with some information about my condition, plus the knowledge that this particular allergic reaction gets worse every time it happens. The next time it happens, I may die before I get to the hospital. Mom takes me to a pharmacy, buys me a pair of epi-pens I never wind up needing because I get religious about being careful what I put in my mouth (I still have ‘em, because I’m not throwing away three h u n d r e d dollars of medicine, what the hell is wrong with you) and...well, honestly, the night past that point is a bit of a blur, because I’m loopy from the meds and just had a near-death experience.

A couple weeks later, though, I got a surprise in the mail!

This is Dave Strider! I almost died to get him. Literally!

To this day, Mom and I tease each other about how she spent my entire childhood not murdering my insufferable mug, only to almost kill me by accident once I was out of her hair. I’ve been sending her screenshots of your reblogs and tags and discord messages and she has been laughing her ass off.

So, I’m sorry I strung you all along for that long, but I did say my favorite game was making my mother laugh.

#homestuck #stuckbloggin #bloggin #subloggin #inbetween #loreweaver #momweaver

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sparklyjojos · 5 years

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[THE CHILDISH DARKNESS Recaps, Chapters 3-5]

[tw: self-harm, rape, gore, mentions of underage sex, a dog is killed]

---

THREE

Yurio didn’t want to come to Hashimoto’s funeral, instead opting to watch the procession from the town’s library. Saburou barely managed to keep her from jumping through the window in despair and withstood the kicking and biting that followed.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright,” he chanted both to calm her down and to show forgiveness.

Yurio, now staying in the Natsukawa house, had a tendency to self-harm. Her arms were covered in scars, and she still had a bit of pencil lead stuck in her neck where she had stabbed herself once. Shirou and his girlfriend Atena both had medical training, so they helped with patching up her wounds, and Shirou took it upon himself to get the girl proper therapy. The therapy at first just shifted her behaviour from self-harm to rage against others. Sometimes she’d blame Saburou for not letting her die, sometimes yelled at him to go die already.

One night Saburou awoke to see Yurio standing by his bed with a knife, but after a tense moment she broke down, crawled into the bed and hugged him.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright,” he chanted again, unsure what else to do other than to let her fall asleep next to him.

Yurio disappeared next morning. Saburou found her at the Mouryou Pond, the characteristic round lake in the mountains where they had first met, and finally had a proper conversation about her and Hashimoto.

The two teens had met through an online chat and gravitated towards each other because of their similar alienation from peers, as well as their obsession with UFOs which were said to sometimes appear in Nishi Akatsuki. The teens would sneak out together at night and observe the sky for hours. Even though the only thing they talked about were UFOs, they became an item and even started having sex the previous year (which Saburou was now internally screaming about, because dear God, that’s a 13-year-old with a 16-year-old, and they didn’t even have a connection other than through some fictional nonsense).

Pregnancy happened, but Yurio’s outraged parents quietly got rid of the problem. They didn’t know about Hashimoto and he never learned he could have become a father. The teens continued to meet in secret, sinking further and further into their own world. After the Jawakutora case, Yurio got the idea of using the points of the spiral for a new purpose: creating a letter to the aliens. The image of two people on the plaque made it look almost like she and Hashimoto were the only two people in the entire universe.

Yurio said crying that maybe she’d never actually liked Hashimoto, maybe she’d be fine with anyone else who would stick around her, “I’m sorry, Takeshi, I’m sorry!” Maybe these self-accusations she was repeating to herself were yet another form of self-harm.

Saburou recalled finding Hashimoto’s body. Cut off arms, legs, head and trunk strewn on a table in the storehouse of the Nishi Akatsuki middle school. The message left next to it said: DEATH GOD JAWAKUTORA.

Yurio continued to act violently towards herself and others to the point Atena and Shirou had problems keeping her in check. She ran away repeatedly, she asked Hashimoto for forgiveness one second and badmouthed him the next, she broke Saburou’s nose with a thrown soda can.

After that last event, Saburou stumbled upon his old friend Sarue Kaede on his way back from the doctor.

“You should put that child in a proper hospital,” Kaede insisted. Saburou thought that it’d be probably the right thing to do, but he wanted to let Yurio live in a normal house.

Shirou had kept it secret from others until now, but in the face of the new case he had to voice his suspicions about Jirou being the one responsible for all the Jawakutora attacks, and/or hiding under the name Kawaji Natsurou.

Saburou was skeptical. Kawaji Natsurou didn’t look... wild enough in the photos to be a grown-up Jirou, even if he could have gotten a plastic surgery. However, Kawaji’s personal documents from before he had entered university had all gone missing and nobody knew anything about his family.

Shirou wanted to believe that it meant their formerly violent older brother had turned over a new leaf.

One day Yurio ran away somewhere again and couldn’t be found. Saburou returned home exhausted and went to sleep in his mother’s room, which always helped him relax.

This time he couldn’t sleep. He felt a presence outside the room, heard someone’s footsteps approaching closer and then a child sobbing. It wasn’t Yurio.

A small girl was crying right by his bed, her hair cut in traditional okappa style, her ghostly face completely white. She gave petrified Saburou a look as if she knew him, then turned back and left the bedroom.

Trying to follow her weeping, Saburou went downstairs to the kitchen, opened the trapdoor to the underground food storage, and found Yurio sleeping there.

Later that night, Saburou had a strange dream. Above the Mouryou Pond hovered a big glass box containing Kawaji Natsurou, or maybe Jirou. The man kept calling Saburou ‘Clarice’ and eventually turned into Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter, reciting his lines from the book Hannibal. Saburou answered with the appropriate line of Clarice Starling.

It may look like I’m closed in this glass case, Jirou / Hopkins / Hannibal said, but depending on your viewpoint, the glass case is simultaneously closing in the rest of the world, including you.You can’t tell which side of the glass is “inside” and which one is “outside”.

Then came the last scene from Hannibal -- with Krendler duct-taped to a chair, about to have his brain eaten -- except the person in the chair was another Saburou.

Would you like to say grace before our meal, Mr. Krendler?

When Saburou woke up in the still dark room, somehow he still felt trapped by a glass box without an inside or an outside.

----

FOUR

Maybe it never reached the extent of Jirou’s crimes, but Saburou also did some horrible things in his life.

In the last year of middle school his teacher Ms. Yoshida got married to another teacher, Mr. Kumono. Maybe precisely because of this fact Saburou got interested, planned carefully for some time on how to corner the prey in a vulnerable moment, and smoothly reenacted the plan to initiate sex with her. Then with help of his three friends (Fujita, Kato and Nakayama) Saburou beat up Mr. Kumono, tied him up in the basement and told him in details about the sex with Yoshida, all of which culminated in Saburou raping the woman in front of her husband and wondering why on earth his three friends were sobbing all he while.

It’s like there was some sadistic snake coiling inside him, always ready to hurt other people for no reason. He always intentionally chose to sleep with girlfriends and wives of his friends (including Fujita, Kato and Nakayama).

Was there really a difference between people and animals, considering how much libido could drive them?

The Fujitas had a black dog called Makki that was quite active in terms of attempting procreation. Saburou took this dog into the mountains, killed it with a knife, cut off its genitalia, and buried the body. Why did he feel the need to do that? Maybe he was projecting himself onto the dog, so the one he really wanted to kill was himself, he wasn’t sure.

Could one simultanously love and hate himself? Was it love or hate he felt towards his brothers and parents, his friends and their girlfriends?

Kaede always told him that he was stuck ‘trying out’ this whole relationship thing while not wanting to commit -- maybe because he didn’t believe he was capable of love -- and that he should try to meet a decent single woman, and was his relationship misshaps really that different than what was between his parents?

When he was nine, Saburou would sometimes sleep in one bed with his mother. Sometimes when she seemed sad, she’d embrace him and say: you’re the only one mom loves in this family, not dad or Ichirou or Jirou or Shirou, and you only love mom too, right? He would start falling asleep in the comfortable darkness, and she would say: never go away from me. But she didn’t really say anything when he grew up and left for university.

Kaede was having a streak of unsuccessful relationships and often meeting Saburou for drinks. He told her that she should be looking for a honest, loyal and benevolent man instead of all these idiots. She proposed dating each other, but Saburou just spouted the same advice, and they exchanged friendly drunk banter like usual.

One time in the hospital, Saburou was lying next to his still comatose mother and thinking.

She had been almost lost and brought back to life by doctors 37 times already. Maybe they should let her pass away? But Saburou knew he could never do it. He wanted to hear her voice again. He had crawled into her hospital bed to feel a little of that nostalgic safety.

At this moment he got a call from Yurio, who joked that he shouldn’t try to molest his own mother, and Saburou actually got aroused at the prospect.

A little later Shirou called Saburou to tell him about a new murder (and scolded him for using a cell phone inside a hospital, so Saburou had to leave the building). The case that had started with Hashimoto’s death claimed a few other victims: a man impaled on a stake driven from his mouth to bottom, and two people found in a condition suggesting they were repeatedly thrown to the ground from somewhere high up. The bodies were all found near elementary schools in nearby towns. The same was true about the newest case, with the victim having all his bones broken. Shirou asked Saburou to look into the possibility of the murders being related to old execution methods.

Saburou returned to the hospital room and discovered that his mother had suddenly disappeared. Nobody saw her leave, even if the nurses arrived to the room immediately after the alarm went off. Even a thourough search didn’t help. A true locked room situation.

While Saburou knew he didn’t have anything resembling Shirou’s detective talent, he forced himself to think.

There had been a moment in which he went to buy a newspaper, then returned to his mother’s room for just a brief moment before Shirou yelled at him to please get outside with the phone. In that brief moment, his mother’s face seemed younger than it should. When everybody was frantically searching for her later, Saburou briefly spotted Yurio in the crowd, but it didn’t really register until now.

Yurio and his mother had switched places, allowing the latter to escape.

He found Yurio on the roof, still in white patient clothes. She explained that Mrs. Natsukawa had woken up last night and asked for help in escaping somewhere where no one would find her. They spoke very briefly, but Mrs. Natsukawa said she’s leaving Saburou in Yurio’s hands, and that Saburou was a little strange, but a good child.

-----

FIVE

When the Natsukawa brothers were children, on winter nights they would gather around their mother and ask for stories about her and their father’s younger years. One of the stories felt different than others and went like this.

There was once a girl taking a bath alone. She walked out to the hallway to turn off the light before returning to the bathtub, first putting a hand in to make sure no monster was lurking underneath the surface.

The world outside the window was completely dark and seemingly connected into one being with the darkness inside, enveloping and beckoning her. The girl liked the feeling of calm it brought. It felt like her skin was no longer a barrier of her existence, as if she was a part of the darkness, as if the darkness was her true self. She would hold her breath underwater as long as she could until she could hear the heartbeat pounding in her ears. The sound of her own life.

Around that time, the girl was in love with old jazz the likes of Coleman Hawkins, and liked to listen to Buck Clayton’s trumpet the most. No other music captivated her that much. People around her couldn’t really understand her love. Even her jazz loving boyfriend who seemed to like it didn’t understand it like she did.

One Christmas Eve, the girl and her boyfriend were walking through a dark city when a black high-end car stopped nearby and an unusually tall man was forcibly pushed outside. The man was half-naked, his shivering body covered in countless scars. A woman in the car threw the rest of his clothes on the wet ground, which he picked up only after she disappeared in the distance. The man then left for the nearest phone booth.

Before the girl could realize, she had already walked away from her boyfriend towards this man. She managed to catch his name and address from the phone call. When the boyfriend tried to pull her away, she let go of him again.

Something had changed within her the instant she’d noticed that mysterious man’s scars. It’s not that she suddenly fell in love. She couldn’t quite explain the change to her boyfriend.

That evening, when she was taking a bath again, she discovered she couldn’t become a part of the darkness anymore. Maybe when she had looked at that man’s scars, she was wounded as well, scarred in some unseen part of herself. She found the man later, and the weird change stopped.

The sound of jazz never returned to her; the sound of Buck Clayton’s trumpet had already been broken.

But in reality their mother’s story was much shorter, and talked about how she first saw her future husband on that Christmas Eve, and how she later found him again at a political rally. The children couldn’t really understand everything yet.

It’s a curious thing, she said, how just seeing somebody else’s scars can wound you, how it may change you and make you grow closer with another.

Maybe their father’s scars wounded them and changed them too.

[>>>NEXT>>>]

#sparkly reads tcd #maijo and jdc stuff #I WARNED YOU ABOUT THE NARRATOR

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green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 6 years

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War of Attrition: Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. Natasha, Steve, and Maria reel at the [second] assassination attempt of Nick Fury. Hydra makes moves to cross the Black Widow and Captain America off its lists. Warnings: Swearing (always), death, violence, guns, blood, dismemberment Word Count: ~3,767 A/N: “Quotes and italics” is Russian. Just italics is memories/thoughts.

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“You can tell Handler Pierce you let him get away from you, then.”

He went stiff against your back and you knew that had struck a nerve. “We still have eight hours.”

You frowned. “So it’s on me to find him again.”

There was a pause, then, “No, it’s on us.”

Steve’s POV

Steve watched through the large glass window as a team of nurses and doctors worked to save Nick Fury’s life. He registered the door behind him opening and a second later Natasha was by his side looking absolutely distraught.

“He gonna make it?” she asked, her tone calm even though her eyes were wide and scared.

“I don’t know,” Steve answered honestly. Three slugs to the chest. Straight through the bulletproof jacket. The mystery shooter with the metal arm had done a lot of damage.

“Tell me about the shooter,” Natasha said quietly, as though talking too loudly would somehow jinx Fury’s chances of making it out alive.

“He’s fast. Strong. Had a metal arm.”

Natasha went silent next to him, but he didn’t see the look of horror on her face. “Ballistics,” Natasha said, question implied in the demand.

“Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable,” Agent Hill informed her. Leave it to her to stay serious and calm in this situation.

“Soviet-made,” Natasha said quietly, eyes transfixed on a point Steve couldn’t see.

Agent Hill looked over at her, surprised. “Yeah...”

“Was there a woman with him?” Natasha asked. It was clear her question was directed at Steve.

He couldn’t figure out what emotion that was lacing her voice. Steve frowned, gaze flicking to her then back to Fury. “No. I only saw them man with the metal arm. No other hostiles.”

Movement in the surgery room pulled their attention back. Nurses and doctors were yelling back and forth, but even Steve could tell something had gone wrong. Nick Fury was dying. He watched as they pulled the crash cart over then injected epinephrine into him.

“Don’t do this to me,” Natasha whispered.

Still no pulse.

Steve watched detachedly as they declared a time of death, his focus on the woman beside him. Natasha was reeling from the shock.

Director Nicholas J. Fury was dead.

Your POV - Less Than An Hour Ago

The Soldier jumped off the roof and landed right next to you. He rolled to diffuse the worst of the impact and was on the back of the bike within a second of hitting the pavement. You took off the moment his butt hit the seat. He must have been worried about making a hasty getaway because he was facing forward, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Faster. My pursuer isn’t someone we want to fight if we can avoid it.”

You didn’t dignify the demand with a response and simply sped up instead. The bike was quiet as a ghost in the night. Working in the darkness felt way more comfortable than attacking in broad daylight had.

“Is he dead?” you asked once you were sure you were a safe enough distance away from any potential threats.

“You tell me. Three shots to the chest, most likely. He was very careful not to give me a line of sight for a clear shot, but I was able to extrapolate his position from the way the blond man was talking to him. I know I hit, but I can’t be sure he’s dead unless we go back.”

You shook your head, filing the mention of “the blond man” away for further questioning. “I was too far away to activate backscatter imaging. I’ll have to trust your abilities.”

“It would have been better to have you there,” he said quietly.

You shook your head. “Someone needed to have the bike ready to go. You’re a better shot even when you can’t see through the walls,” you said bluntly. It was true. You were great in short-duration hand-to-hand combat or as a shock trooper (literally), but he was a better shot and lasted longer in extended fights simply because he had greater strength and stamina. “I’m a better driver anyway,” you added as an afterthought. “We need to return to Handler Pierce. Our mission is done.” We’ll be returned to cryofreeze, you thought, but couldn’t bring yourself to say. You hated the cold place- feeling your blood freeze in your veins before you lost consciousness. They’d gotten better at the process over the years but the very idea still sent chills down your spine. It was for the best, though. You and the other Soldier didn’t function properly if they didn’t freeze and wipe you between missions. It was your own fault for being defective.

It was almost as if the other Soldier could read your train of thought. He gave you a gentle squeeze and you hated the way your body relaxed into his arms. You were on mission. Relaxing could kill you.

But it felt good, so you let it happen.

You felt him rest his head on your shoulder and you tutted half-heartedly. “At least help me keep a lookout for danger,” you said quietly.

“As you wish,” came the surprisingly subdued reply. He usually wasn’t this easygoing. You supposed if there was one time to care less about your behavior it would be after you completed a mission and were about to be wiped anyway. He lifted his head and you could tell he was carefully scanning his surroundings for any potential threat, though you both knew you’d spot anything before he did.

You and the Soldier returned to the bank that they’d been keeping you in, but they didn’t wipe you. Brock Rumlow was waiting with a small group of agents, though. You were to take orders from Rumlow if Pierce was absent.

“Change of plans. You’re to wait here on standby until we receive our next orders. Your mission was a success and Secretary Pierce is pleased, but he anticipates resistance as he moves forward with Project Insight,” Rumlow explained.

When you and the other Soldier simply stared at him he sighed and reached into his bag. Both you and the other Soldier tensed, expecting him to draw a weapon, but when he retracted his hand the only things he had were a few plastic-wrapped packages. He threw them at the two of you and you caught them with ease though you eyed them dubiously, obviously expecting a trap.

“They’re food. Eat them.” Without another word he turned and left, leaving you and the other Soldier mostly alone in the bank vault. They didn’t close the door, but you knew there were at least ten men keeping guard just outside.

It was an order, so you and the Soldier obeyed. The packaging on the front revealed them to be protein bars. They weren’t bad, exactly, just too chewy and vaguely fake-tasting. There were three total and you had to practically shove the third one down the other Soldier’s throat. He didn’t want to eat it and insisted you at least split it, but you knew he needed the sustenance more than you did. He was the only one doing hard work today and he always burned calories faster than you anyway.

“Eat it,” you hissed, trying in vain to shove the protein bar at him.

“No, you should have it,” he insisted, stopping your arms with an ease that always infuriated you.

You glowered at him, but he didn’t look cowed at all. “If you don’t eat this then I won’t eat mine at all,” you threatened.

He finally glared down at you and you felt a thrill of victory run through you. “Fine, you stubborn creature.” He snatched it from your hand and ripped the package open, letting the silver and white wrapper flutter to the dirty bank floor. In a nearly feral move he opened his mouth wide and ripped the bar in half with his teeth, glowering malevolently at you as he chewed.

You tilted your head to the side, considering the childish action. It was... cute? The thought made you frown and you bit sullenly into your bar, doing your best to ignore the angry stares the other Soldier kept throwing your way as he unwrapped the second bar and began eating that, too. The two of you skirted around the edge of the room, staying as far away from the chair in the center of the room as possible. The two of you never strayed more than a few feet from one another and eventually settled in an alcove near the door. You switched your eyes to backscatter every few seconds, though the thick vault walls made it hard to see more than a few feet past it in any direction.

“Sleep.”

You looked over at the other Soldier, face nearly free of expression minus the slight upward tilt of an eyebrow.

“I’ll sleep after. We’ll take turns like we’re supposed to on stakeout,” he amended quickly.

You stared at him for a moment longer, relaxing against the wall and trying to fall asleep as quickly as possible. Both of you had the ability to sleep at a moment’s notice, needing rest wherever and whenever you could get it.

You surprised the other Soldier by leaning over slightly, closing the few inch gap between you, and laying your head on his shoulder. The only inclination he gave of having noticed was how still he went the moment your cheek touched the leather of his black jacket.

You fell asleep not one minute later, the sound of his steady, quiet breathing lulling you to sleep.

You weren’t sure exactly how long you’d been asleep when Rumlow came barreling into the room a little later.

“Get up! You!” He pointed to you. You were completely awake and on your feet within a second of him stepping into the vault. The other Soldier was on his feet, too, and he was tracking Rumlow with the calculating eyes of a predator. “You’re coming with me. Just you.” He stared at the other Soldier. “You stay here. If things don’t go as planned I’ll be back for you.”

The other Soldier nodded, though his eyes were burning. The two of you worked better as a team and it was clear to you that he hated the idea of you being separated. You spared him a single glance over your shoulder as you followed Rumlow out of the bank vault, heart skipping a painful beat at the look on his face.

They loaded you onto a quinjet and flew you to New Jersey. Why they wanted you there was beyond you, but you knew better than to ask questions or second-guess orders.

You sat quietly in one of the seats on the jet, ignoring the Hydra agents that wisely gave you a wide berth. The ride was shorter than you’d been expecting and before you knew it they were marching you off the plane, Rumlow barking orders at you as you walked into the bombed out remains of an old military camp.

The surroundings looked familiar, but the base itself was reduced to rubble and you wouldn’t have been able to recognize what it once looked like even if you could access all of your long-buried memories. “Scan the debris in this area. Backscatter. You have that, right?” When you nodded an affirmative he pointed to a large pile of debris that looked to be part of an old building. It was a relatively huge hole in the ground. It would take you a while to search everything, even with your eyes.

“Am I looking for something specific?” you asked, voice raspy and quiet.

Rumlow nodded, a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Bodies. Two. One male, one female.”

You nodded your understanding and walked away from him, gracefully dropping down into the hole, stepping off slabs of cracked concrete and brick as your eyes scanned every inch of the debris you could find.

It was what you spotted with your normal vision, though, that gave you pause.

You looked up, your faintly glowing eyes searching for Rumlow in the gloom. You spotted him immediately and sprang gracefully through the rubble, coming to a sudden halt in front of him that had him flinching and reaching for his gun. “Fuck, what is it?” he asked, eyeing you warily. His hand hovered nervously above his holster.

“Tracks leading out of the debris. Not standard tac boots. Civilian. No tracks leading in.”

Rumlow cursed. “How many? Just the one set?”

You shook your head. “Two pairs to begin with, then one. The smaller pair seemed to be stumbling, then they vanished. No body. Likely the owner of the larger set carried them off site.”

Rumlow swore loudly enough to give the nearby agents pause, his fist connecting loudly with the nearest half-destroyed wall. “Pierce is going to be pissed. He sacrificed Zola trying to kill those damn rats.”

Zola.

The name rang out in your head, bouncing inside your skull until it was a deafening cacophony that blocked out all other thoughts.

You and I vill do great things, Fräulein.

You vill cooperate if you vant your precious man to live.

I haf made you better, Fräulein. You should be thanking me.

I gave you life. You will stomp Hydra’s enemies out of existence.

You head spun as the nasally, slimy voice filled your mind. Rumlow was too caught up in his own problems to notice, but you felt yourself nearly lose your balance before your hand shot out to steady yourself on an upright slab of concrete.

Gone.

You tried to take a deep steady breath, gulping down air greedily.

Gone, your mind insisted again. The source of that voice was gone, though you weren’t sure how you knew that voice belonged to the man Rumlow mentioned. Perhaps it was the same way you knew over a hundred way to kill a man without a weapon but couldn’t remember your name, how old you were, or where you were born.

The thought bolstered you more than you thought possible. You stood up straight, a deep sense of calm overtaking your senses. Up until that moment you hadn’t realized how tightly coiled your muscles were. Hadn’t felt the dark feeling swirling deep in your gut, wrongess permeating your entire being. Your body felt lighter than it ever had and you found yourself smiling almost manically. It was sheer luck that you were facing the wall and none of the Hydra agents noticed. You were sure they’d send you back to the chair if they saw you displaying emotion too openly.

“Asset.”

By the time you turned around to face Brock Rumlow, your face was as impassive as ever.

“You’re to rendezvous with the other Soldier at Secretary Pierce’s estate. Ensure you’re not seen entering the premises. He’ll give you instructions there. Your motorcycle is in the jet you came in. My boys are unloading it now. Dismissed.”

The moment he uttered that last word you were moving, eager to put this place behind you. It gave you chills and stirred that dark place in your mind that you’d long learned to ignore because it only brought more mind wipes and hours of painful torture.

A few hours later, Washington DC

The other Soldier had arrived before you and it was too risky to talk about anything in Pierce’s home, so you said nothing about Zola. You and the Soldier sat amongst the dark shadows in the dining area. Neither of you moved and it was only the faint glow of your eyes in the darkness that alerted Alexander Pierce to your presence. He shut the refrigerator door, eyes flicking between the two of you quickly.

“I’m going to go, Mister Pierce,” the maid said from the hallway. Your and the other Soldier’s eyes flicked to the doorway, though neither of you moved an inch. “You need anything before I leave?” she asked. It was pure luck she hadn’t rounded the corner and seen the two of you sitting there. Your gazes swiveled back to Pierce, looking for any orders about the situation. Neither of you had been spotted coming in, of course. You weren’t the deadliest assassins in history for nothing.

But you’d been ordered to his house and you wouldn’t leave unless Pierce told you to.

Without taking his eyes off the two of you, he spoke loudly enough for the maid to hear. “No, uh. It’s fine, Renata. You can go home.”

“Okay, night night!” she called happily, exhaustion just barely tingeing her voice.

You used your backscatter imaging to watch her throw her purse over her shoulder and walk out the front door. You flicked your vision back to normal, eyes falling on Pierce once again.

“Want some milk?” Pierce asked the two of you, turning his back on you to grab a glass from the cupboards. The two of you barely blinked in response as he sat the glass down on the counter and poured himself a small amount. He shrugged when neither you nor the other Soldier said anything. “The timetable has moved. Our window is limited.”

He took a long sip of milk and walked around the kitchen island, coming to sit across from the other Soldier. You eyed him from your spot atop the raised fireplace hearth.

“Two targets, level six. They already cost me Zola. I want confirmed death in ten hours,” Pierce ordered.

“Oh- uh, Mister Pierce, I...” Renata turned the corner, her gaze first falling on Pierce then to you and the other Soldier. The two of you stared at her, gazes flat and uncaring as she shifted nervously, mind struggling to process what it was seeing.

Pierce turned in his chair to look at her, his gaze not giving anything away.

“I, uh... forgot my phone...” she said nervously.

You glared at her, knowing what came next. She saw the two of you with Handler Pierce. Any second now he’d give the order and-

“Oh, Renata,” Pierce sighed, picking up the pistol on the table. “I wish you would have knocked.”

Before she had a chance to react Pierce fired two shots into her chest, sending her reeling backwards, crashing to the ground in an unsightly heap. She was dead before she hit the carpet.

“Take care of that before you go, would you?” Pierce said as he returned the gun to the table. He stood and walked over to the sink, washing his hands of any gun residue.

When he turned around and the two of you were still sitting as still as statues his gaze turned hard. “You have your orders. Dismissed.”

By the end of the next hour, Renata was in pieces in the bottom of the Potomac, fingers cut off at the ends and teeth pulled for good measure. If she was ever found, they’d never find all of her, much less be able to identify her.

You and the Soldier holed up in a Hydra safe house. You sat in front of a wall of monitors, eyes flicking to each one in turn, taking in all the information you could.

Two targets. Off the grid. Targeting Hydra operations.

Steven Grant Rogers and Natasha Alianovna Romanoff.

Deadly, experienced, driven. A dangerous combination.

“If this were us, what would we do?” you asked, glancing over at the other Soldier, who was watching the screens carefully, too.

The Soldier’s gaze flicked to you, blue eyes bright and thoughtful with the challenge at hand. “Project Insight is their goal. They’ll aim to take the Triskelion. It’s too heavily fortified to attack head on. If I were them I’d look for an in. Someone that can get them past security.”

You nodded and watched the data streams and video feeds flicker across the screens. “Who are they going to go after?”

The other Soldier flicked through the tablet in his hand, likely searching through the database of Hydra agents. “They were on the Lemurian Star. They’ve likely realized Sitwell is Hydra. He has the clearance needed to get them on the base.”

“Sitwell?” you asked, turning to look at him.

“Agent Jasper Sitwell. Level 7 SHIELD Clearance. Working for Hydra since he was 17. He’s been deep undercover in SHIELD for years.”

You looked back to the screen, watching as the facial recognition software searched any and all sources for your targets. “Expendable?”

“Targets are a level 6. Every agent except Handler Pierce is expendable,” the other Soldier said without hesitation. Even you and me. The words hung unspoken between the two of you.

“We’ll continue surveillance in shifts. Track Sitwell closely. I have copies of his timetable and I’ve already entered it in my system. If he makes any unscheduled stops or moves in an unpredictable way, we’ll know he’s been compromised. At that point he’ll lead us directly to our targets.”

The other Soldier nodded in understanding. “And if they don’t try to use Sitwell?”

“They have to go to the Triskelion if they wish to stop Project Insight. If it comes to that, we’ll be there waiting.”

He leaned back against the headboard, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Go to sleep. I’ll take the first shift.”

He shook his head. “No.”

You turned away from the screens to glare at him. “Why not? It’s your turn.”

He tilted his head and regarded you for a moment. “I’ll sleep on one condition.”

You bit back a sigh. “What is it?”

“Come sit with me.”

You froze, staring at him with mild shock. You looked at his seemingly relaxed pose, the way his legs were propped up and open, the space between them inviting. You quickly weighed your options.

“You promise you’ll sleep?”

“Yes.”

You looked at the screens again before you sighed and walked over to the bed, climbing dutifully on top and placing yourself directly between his legs. Your back was to his broad chest so you could watch your work, thankful that your eyes made it possible to see even the tiniest of writing on the screen.

The Soldier sat stiffly for a moment and you had a second to fear that you’d done something wrong, but a second later his arms were wrapping around your waist and his forehead was resting against the back of your neck.

You tried to ignore your pounding heart, choosing instead to focus on the task in front of you. “This is acceptable?”

The only response you got was a quiet content noise followed by deep, even breathing.

Next Chapter

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imjustthemechanic · 6 years

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Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales

The bad guys get their man - or at least, their mummy - and Sir Stephen gets a very nasty shock.

Natasha had seen somebody die by magic before. There’d been the guy on the Scottish island of Flotta whose insides had been liquified by some kind of evil spell. The people who performed his autopsy had liked it to Ebola, but no trace of the virus had been found in his system. This was different – there was no blood, no groans of pain from the victim. Instead, the clothes were simply as empty as if there’d never been anyone in them at all.

Allen stared, his mouth open. He looked at the jacket and mask in his hand, then threw them both on the ground in horror. A puff of pale dust rose up, like ash from a campfire, but that was all.

“What was that?” he demanded of Natasha.

“I don’t know, I didn’t see it!” she said. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he echoed. “He just wasn’t there!”

There was a rustle in the bocage behind them, and a shiny object came flying through the air towards the truck and trailer, with vapor hissing out of it. It bounced off the side of the trailer and landed at Natasha’s feet, where she just barely had time to see that the writing on it was in the Cyrillic or Greek alphabet… then the white mist rose up, and she realized there was nothing more they could do. They had to get out of the affected area before the gas overwhelmed them.

She grabbed Clint and Allen, and the three of them limped into the vegetation, away from where the canister had landed. Behind them, they could hear voices shouting and the truck engine starting, but they could see nothing – Natasha’s eyes welled up and she had to keep them closed to counter the ferocious itching, and they found the stone wall again only when they physically stumbled into it. They climbed over, and sat down on the other side, coughing, wheezing, and scrubbing at their noses and eyes.

That was where the security men found them a few minutes later. One had a bottle of water, which they could use to rinse out their eyes before getting up and staggering back to the train. The fight was over now. Sam had somehow gotten a great big splinter in his hand, and was having Sharon pull it out for him with her nail tweezers. Sir Stephen, meanwhile, was poking at the dead bodies around the half-destroyed cargo car. There were three.

No, Nat realized a moment later, there was only one – the others were just empty clothes with a gray, ashy substance smeared on them, like the dust that had risen when Allen dropped the jacket. Sir Stephen prodded one of these with his foot, and frowned.

The third set of clothes, however, a black windbreaker, blue jeans, and another gas mask, still had a man in it. He was lying face-down beside the tracks, his feet towards her. Nat squatted down to roll him over and took his pulse – it was weak and fluttery, but present. He was still alive.

He wouldn’t be for long, though. One of Clint’s arrows had hit him in the leg, and he’d tried to pull it out himself. All he’d done was break the shaft, leaving the head lodged inside him, and his jeans were stiff with blood. He needed an ambulance, immediately.

Nat took the rag Allen had pressed against her own bleeding scalp and made a rough tourniquet out of it. “Somebody get this guy’s mask off,” she ordered. Restricting the man’s breathing would only cut his life even shorter.

Allen hesitated, then stepped back. Instead, it was Sir Stephen who bent down and pulled the gas mask off, revealing the pale, sweaty face underneath. The man was breathing hard, his eyes barely open, but Nat could see that they were blue. He had short brown hair and a dimpled chin, and when he met Nat’s gaze he seemed to recognize her, too. It was Jim Barnes, the reporter from New York.

That couldn’t be right, though. Barnes had been wearing a blue jacket, and khakis. Nat looked around and spotted them, lying not far away. There was ash on the jacket. So who was this guy? A twin?

“Hey.” She patted the man’s face. “Barnes, or whoever you are. Wake up!”

The man took a long, shuddering breath – and then he simply dissolved. Before Natasha’s very eyes he crumbled away, until all that was left was a smear of ash on the ground where his head had lain. When Nat held up the tourniquet she’d made, it took, was stained with ash, but not a trace of blood.

Sir Stephen dropped to his knees and made the sign of the cross. His own face was nearly as pale as Barnes’ had been. “By our Lady and all the Saints!” he whispered.

“The guy at the truck did the same thing.” Nat looked at Allen, and got a nod.

“No,” said Sir Stephen, “it’s not that, or not only that… do you know who that man was?”

“He said he was a reporter,” Nat replied, “but I don’t think that was the same guy.”

Sir Stephen shook his head. “That was my friend, Buckeye.”

It was not until the next afternoon, after they’d all been interviewed by the Gendarmerie and were now safely at a St. Christopher’s Inn on the Paris Canal, when they were really able to talk about the incident amongst themselves. With the French police looking into the heist, the CAAP’s involvement seemed to be over – whatever the heck had just happened was certainly perilous, but it didn’t seem very archaeological. Even so, they weren’t going home just yet. They all needed a few days to recover, especially Sir Stephen.

The Committee gathered in the hotel bar, a bright, cheerful space with wooden floors, orange benches, and big windows, all very unsuited to the general feeling of melancholy. When Nat came in, Sir Stephen was already sitting morosely at a table, staring at a glass of St. Remy. The bottle was sitting in the middle of the table. Sharon was next to him, her hand on his arm so he wouldn’t feel too alone.

Silently, the rest sat down one by one. Nat recalled Sir Stephen having said he didn’t suffer for drink, and Sam had suggested that his body, enhanced by the Lady of the Lake’s miracle, metabolized alcohol faster than he could consume it. The fact that he seemed to be trying was very worrying indeed.

“How’s your head?” Allen asked Nat anxiously.

“Four stitches,” she replied. She was wearing a knitted hat to hide them. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, good.” Allen nodded.

There was silence for a few long, moments. People around them were laughing, talking, eating and drinking, and there was a French pop song playing, but that all seemed to be happening miles away.

“Of course it cannot have been Buckeye,” Sir Stephen said.

“I guess not,” said Nat, relieved that Sir Stephen wasn’t going to insist on the identification. “Even if he survived the fall you told us about, Buckeye would have died a long time ago.”

“I know.” Sir Stephen downed his St Remy, then poured himself another glass. “Yet there is another part of me that thinks, I am here. I am here, after a thousand years. Why should Buckeye not be as well?”

“You’re here by a one-in-a-billion bit of magic,” said Sharon.

“I know,” he repeated with a sigh. “The resemblance was uncanny, and yet it cannot be but a coincidence.”

“Like all those deaths around the mummy,” Natasha said.

“Indeed,” Sir Stephen said. “The mummy which is now vanished. Perhaps we, too, have fallen victim to its curse.”

“No. We were victims of a robbery,” said Natasha. “The curse has a pattern: people who own the mummy die early and unfortunate deaths. This isn’t the same.”

Sir Stephen reached to pour himself another glass of St Remy, but Sharon intercepted the bottle and passed it to Sam to put at the other end of the table. “Stop that,” she told Sir Stephen.

“It does me no harm,” he protested.

“It doesn’t do you any good, either,” she countered. “And if it’s not doing anything for you one way or the other, there’s no point in drinking it.”

“Did Buckeye have a brother?” asked Nat. Not that it was in any way relevant to the current situation, but she was curious.

“He did not.” Sir Stephen looked at her with a puzzled frown. “He was the only child of his family to grow to adulthood. Why do you ask?”

“Because Dad and I talked to the guy on the train,” said Natasha. “He said his name was Jim Barnes, and he seemed totally genuine at first. I didn’t pick up any of the usual warning signs. But then when the train stopped, he completely changed. He never spoke again, and he never looked at me. It was like he was in a trance. I saw things like that in the USSR,” she added, “when people were under some kind of control.”

“Buckeye’s Christian name was James,” said Sir Stephen.

He’d tried to hide the note of hope in his voice, but Nat heard it anyway and felt bad for inspiring it – and for having to crush it again. “It’s a very common name,” she pointed out. “Thing is, I can’t figure out how Barnes could be the same person as the man we found by the tracks. He was wearing the blue jacket, and we found that a dozen feet away with nobody wearing it. They had to be two different people, unless they just stopped and swapped clothes in the middle of the fight.”

“Twins, maybe,” said Sam. “Or like that Sherlock Holmes movie where Moriarty did plastic surgery to make them look like twins.”

“Maybe,” said Nat. “Maybe something else. I mean, identical guys who just melt away when you kill them… that definitely sounds like some kind of magic to me.” She looked up and met Sharon’s eyes, and both remembered the unfortunate man on Flotta.

“I hope not,” said Sharon with a shiver. “Once in a lifetime was enough!”

There was another silence. Once again, it was Sir Stephen who broke it.

“When I brought Buckeye out of the Red Death’s cavern on the beach, he told me I needn’t have come back for him,” Sir Stephen said. “He told me that the coming battle against William of Normandy was far more important than a few soldiers, and I should have taken the Lady’s gift and gone to do my duty to my king. I told him that I could not fail to come for him, I owed him my life so many times over.”

His shoulders heaved as he sighed. “When I could not walk, Buckeye carried me. When bullies among the children of the farmers called me a bastard and made fun of my weakness, I would try to defend myself – in the state I was in then, I was never able, but I tried nevertheless, and always I would be beaten. Buckeye came to my rescue. And when my mother died and I was made to leave Rogsey Abbey I feared I would end up begging for alms, but Buckeye took me in and gave me honest work.”

Sir Stephen looked at the bottle of St Remy. Sam took it, got up, and went to put it back on the bar.

“I had nothing to give him in return. I was penniless, tiny, and sickly. I could not pay him in money, in truck, or in service – and yet again and again, he helped me. He made enemies of boys larger than himself and yet he fought them. As we grew into men it was a scandal that he spent so much time around the nuns and he cared not. For years of my life I had nothing but Buckeye, and in the end, I failed him.”

“You didn’t fail him,” said Sharon, running a hand up and down Sir Stephen’s arm. “He chose to follow you because he loved you.”

“That is what Lady Margaret said,” Sir Stephen agreed. “That Buckeye chose to die for me, and that rather than blame myself I should celebrate his courage and go on in his name. And so I did, but his terrified face as he fell still haunts me, and now to see it again in such a way…” he shivered.

Sharon leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered. “There was nothing you could do then, and there’s nothing you can do now.”

“I know,” said Sir Stephen quietly. “I know.”

#fanfic #steve rogers #natasha romanov #sam wilson #sharon carter #clint barton #bucky barnes

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