#(our coffee was good but we could barely make a profit on it - people take a big mug and sit in to keep their hands warm)
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We can't have you bored. Or lonely. It will not do! <3
So, since you prompted to ask you stuff, I'd like to know what your least favourite book was, that you read? I remember reading 'catcher in the rye' in english classes in school and I never got the hype about it. There are a few german authors that I despise, but I'd assume you don't know them.
Hope you day (or night?) improved! *muah*
LEAST favorite?? That's a tough one. There are plenty that didn't make it past the first thirty pages (I'm picky as heck). But, I think the one that stands out in my mind is The Grapes of Wrath. However, I do think everyone should still read it - especially the bit at the end of Chapter 25 - as it is relevant (perhaps even moreso) today.
The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit- and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains. And the smell of rot fills the country. Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth.
There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate- died of malnutrition- because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.
Look, this is just my opinion. I don't really do politics a lot, and I barely can run two thoughts together these days without getting winded, so take this with a grain of salt, but... since you asked...
I mean... it's the most beautiful, gut-wrenching, straightforward two paragraphs I've ever seen in my whole life. I'll never be able to write something half as good nor half as important. It's too damn bad it's stuck in the most boring novel known to man that no teenager has read or ever will read (sarcasm, but kinda not). The message is essential! That's what we need to be talking about. It's all right there.
We never lost Eden! We're in it, right now. Oranges do grow on trees. Deer and fish live in our forests and rivers, and for all of the PIlgrims' complaints that they couldn't hunt game on the Royal lands, all they did was come over here and create exclusivity where there was relative freedom.
In no way am I saying that the indigenous peoples of America pre-colonialism lived in relative peace, nor am I suggesting that there was ever a possibility for peaceful colonization; colonization should always be contested and constantly so. But, what I am saying is that we have created a consumer market so profoundly broken that we are now purchasing things that are not, have not, and will never be real.
And I find that to be the last nail in the coffin of humanity, really.
Those "gems" on your cell phone game are nothing. They'll never be anything. You are paying for happiness, which you still did not receive. You received, perhaps, a simulacra of it. Some sort of mannequin where there should have been a real person. But, they have made you want it.
When you are force fed ads of people with Body Type A or Body Type B and yours appears in reality as neither, and theirs ALSO appears in reality as neither because they have altered it before selling it to you, they have now made you want to buy a whole industry's worth of products because they have sold you on a lie. A picture of an orange where there was none to begin with.
When Character A or Superstar A or Popstar A wears Tee Shirt A and its matching handbag, we are meant to want to emulate her because we are SUPPOSED to equate her wealth with resources. Oranges, perhaps. Real oranges. We know that, out of all of us, Taylor Swift can have the most oranges, if she so chose to have them. That is what freedom is. Freedom is not needing to guard or gather resources to survive. Resource guarding perpetuates racism, poverty, violence, and fuels the fire of an economy of non-fungible oranges.
Download my orange app today and get 500 orange gems totally free! Is your time free? No. In fact, in America (almost), we have decided that your time must be paid for (unless you are incarcerated (wrongfully or not!)), no matter what. As an employee at Target, every hour that belongs to you that you give to them is worth $15 (except half of that is the government's for, I guess, allowing you to breathe its air).
So, now, I want you to add up all of the 5 minute adds you've watched on YouTube this year and multiply 30 of those by $15. At any rate, I bet the amount you end up with isn't fucking $0. But, guess who got that time for free!? Every company who decided to take your most valuable resource from you and not once did they pay YOU for it. That money went to someone else. And no transactions were made. And you are still never going to get your five minutes, or the orange you could have bought for it, back.
And so, now, of all times, I think Steinbeck should probably be in everyone's hands. You know that the oranges (or minutes of your time) are being destroyed (or stolen) in order to further fuel a profit in a certain direction, and while there are plenty of things that you (I'm using a general "you" here) could do to stop it, there are very few things that you are willing to do. Are you gonna get a stick? Who do you plan to beat? Do you even know the name of the person who took your minutes from you? They have made damn sure that you don't.
So, yeah. For that reason, I hate The Grapes of Wrath. Way to couch the most important two paragraphs in the history of fucking literature in that boring manifesto, dude. ffs. lol.
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here it is, favorite SoC+CK quotes pt. 2! (pt 1)
(This one’s way too long too and I’m not even done with them)
an obvious winner: “He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When I couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on. “I would come for you,” he said, and when he saw the wary look she shot him, he said it again. “I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”
“Kuwei turned to Jesper. “You should visit me in Ravka. We could learn to use our powers together.” “How about I push you in the canal and we see if you know how to swim?” Wylan said with a very passable imitation of Kaz’s glare.
“I don't like this," said Matthias. Jesper had smiled his reckless gunslinger’s grin. "To be fair, Matthias, you don't like much.”
“I don’t hold a grudge. I cradle it. I coddle it. I feed it fine cuts of meat and send it to the best schools. I nurture my grudges, Rollins.” emo kaz my beloved
“You’re better than waffles, Matthias Helvar.” A small smile curled the Fjerdan's lips. “Let’s not say things we don’t mean, my love.”
“Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or wants to kill us?""So?" said Kaz. "Well, usually it's just half the city.”
“Meeting you was a disaster.”
“They get to know each other intimately.” Matthias’ jaw dropped. “In the cave?”
She would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying.
They all looked at Matthias. “This is where you tell us how awful we are,” she whispered. He shrugged. “They all seem like practical choices.”
“Sugar,” said Kaz. Jesper nudged the sugar bowl down the table to him. Kaz rolled his eyes. “Not for my coffee, you podge.”
There was blood everywhere. Jellen Radmakker had fallen to the stage and was bellowing, “I’ve been shot!" He had not been shot.
Wylan shrugged. “Maybe. Not all poisons have an antidote.” Jesper snorted. “That’s why we call him Wylan Van Sunshine.” i feel like we collectively forget the origin of that nickname this boy is brutal sometimes
He sometimes suspected they could forgo all of Kaz's planning and simply let Jesper and Nina flirt the entirety of Ketterdam into submission.
“Yes,” said Wylan, glancing briefly over his shoulder, his cheeks now red as cherries. “I’d like to make a down payment.”
She’d tricked him. The decent, honest, pious Wraith had outsmarted him. He turned to look back at the long expanse of roof he was going to have to traverse to get back to the boat. “Curse you and all your Saints,” he said to no one at all, then realized he was smiling.
Inej frowned. “I thought you and Nina chose four outbreak sites on the Staves.” Kaz straightened his cuffs. “I also had her stop at the Menagerie.” She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.
“Please, tell me more about Fjerdan girls.” “They speak quietly. They don’t engage in flirtations with every single man they meet.”“I flirt with the women too.”
“I think you’d flirt with a date palm if it would pay you any attention.” “If I flirted with a plant, you can bet it would stand up and take notice. Are you jealous?” “All the time.”
“You’re stupid about a lot of things, Wylan, but you are not stupid. And if I ever hear you call yourself a moron again, I’m going to tell Matthias you tried to kiss Nina. With tongue.” Wylan wiped his nose on his sleeve. “He’ll never believe it.” “Then I’ll tell Nina you tried to kiss Matthias. With tongue.”
“Pick up the pace,” Kaz said, eyeing his watch. “If I spill a single drop of this, it will burn straight through the floor onto my father’s dinner guests.” “Take your time.”
Matthias was dreaming again. Dreaming of her.
“My mother is Ketterdam. She birthed me in the harbor. And my father is profit. I honor him daily.” shakespeare kid kaz rights
Jesper Llewellyn Fahey
He swept the red cloak around Inej's shoulders in a rain of petals and blossoms as she continued to strap on her knives. She looked almost as startled as the flower seller. "What?" he asked as he tossed her a Mister Crimson mask that matched his own. "Those were my mother's favorite flower." "Good to know Van Eck didn't cure you of sentiment." "Nice to be back, Kaz." "Good to have you back, Wraith.”
“We’re nothing alike,” Wylan said indignantly. “He’s not even that good at science! Half his notebooks are full of doodles. Mostly of you. And those aren’t good either.”
Two of the deadliest people the Barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both of them keeling over. But they’d tried. He’d tried. Maybe they could try again.
“Don’t worry, Da. People point guns at each other all the time in Ketterdam. It’s basically a handshake.” “Is that true?” his father asked as the scholar grudgingly moved aside and they shoved the heavy desk in front of the door. “Absolutely,” said Wylan. “Certainly not,” said the scholar.
"Nina," he said, pressing her hand to his heart. "I am already home.”
I have been very patient with all of this, Jesper, but I am at my limit. I want you down here before I count ten or I will tan your hide so you don’t sit for two weeks.” Colm’s head vanished back down the stairs. The silence stretched. Then Nina giggled. “You are in so much trouble.”
"That berth belongs to you too. It will always be there when―if you want to come back." bc we all know he’s not only talking about the berth
Wait,” he said. The burn of his voice was rougher than usual. “Is my tie straight?” Inej laughed, her hood falling back from her hair. “That’s the laugh,” he murmured.
Had she really thought the world didn't change? She was a fool. The world was made of miracles, unexpected earthquakes, storms that came from nowhere and might reshape a continent. The boy beside her. The future before her. Anything was possible.
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Tumblr+ is a bad idea, but i understand why they are pushing for it?
Ok, how many of us have lived through the purges, watched as they nuked from low orbit all the artistic smexiness in a bout of puritanical fervor, while leaving the bots and blatant unfettered to rampage across this lovely hellsite free range and unchecked? Doing nothing while the shitiness of humanity is allowed to harass and threaten people for posting their hot takes (regardless of whether they are right or wrong)?
yeah, some of us have watched all that has transpired.
This is nothing new....
When you view past the staff statements, all the carefully crafted wording and corporate speak, all that remains is greed, pure and simple....
for some of us, this is a safe haven, a refuge from the rest of the clusterfeck that is known as social media. where individuals can post their innermost thoughts, creative ideas, and feelings to the ether. If the stars are aligned in their favor, while the word gods shine favorably upon thee, and the image deities smile in dank approval, we find other like minded souls piloting their own ships within this digital night that meet briefly to share a like, comment. or reblog before moving on to other horizons. In it’s simplicity, tumblr is almost the last bastion of creative thought left in the entirety of the world wide web.
for others, tumblr is just yet another extension of their social media psyche, dragging all their real world baggage into it’s pages, hoping that someone out there may offer a solution to their own personal problems (or at least stroke their egos or biases to orgasmic bit) . Activists abound, and are shouting from the digital rooftops “look at me! See! See the violence inherit in the system, help help, i’m being oppressed!”” While the darkest ugliness in certain parts of humanity responds with vile poison and vitriol to ideas that do not agree or align with their own...committing the oldest of digital sins, in the newest of ways. Sad....but i digress.
Tumblr, to it’s corporate and wall-street taskmasters, is not greatly profitable in it’s current form. Sure, they get a little bit of money here and there from all the boring unremovable ads sprinkled throughout everyone’s feeds...but that’s just it. ad money keeps the lights on and the hamster wheels turning in the server rooms, and maybe a pot of coffee or box of stale doughnuts in the break room to keep the hamsters happy, but in the end it’s just enough to keep the site barely alive, while ensuring the devils get their deep pockets full of due.
The question everyone is asking themselves, but don’t know it yet, is...
To just Whom does tumblr+ benefit the most?
It’s certainly not for the fan-fic artists who create art based on someone else’s works. certainly not for the shit-posters who reblog all the weirdly wonderfully funny and bizarre things the world web has to offer. certainly not for the fanfic writers, who craft the continuing stories of their favorite properties they do not own. definitely not for average joe or jane blogger who basically repost everything that crosses their feeds because they enjoy that stuff immensely, and want to share it all with everyone who follows them. Certainly not for I, who basically just comes here to post fictional stories from pregenerated prompts, whatever pops into my head, and a few reblogs from things that catch my fancy.
So who does that leave? In the Immortal words of Sherlock Holmes, written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, ”When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
For a few original tumblr artists, this may be a boon (but i doubt it). why would you settle for a middleman to get paid for your original art, when you could sell to a direct market off site for prints/merch straight to the customer and making bank? Seems counterintuitive to me to allow a site to step in to earn money off your hard work and creativity. Plus a paywall cuts you off from potential customers who may be interested in your works, but will not pay tumblr just to view your works....kinda shooting yourself in the foot going plus.
Tumblr+ is being built for all the clout chasers that think they will benefit from a blue plus mark (just like on twitter and instagram, go figure) banking on human vanity and obsessive compulsive disorder to bring in the money. (that’s right! buy that blue + mark ya little cash monkeys...spend, spend for that social credit! muahahahaha!)
The other reason is Porn. (don’t laugh...the internet you enjoy today was built on the metaphorical backs of the porn industry. every internet innovation enjoyed in the past 35 years was created, tested, and tried first somewhere to deliver, watch, and enjoy porn. sure it got started on university campuses, but the porn industry made it take off like a rocket to push product) Tumblr can’t beat it...they have consistently shown they are incapable of removing all the raunchy naughty bits from this site. If you can’t beat them, join them. Put all the adult content behind a paywall, set the price, and watch the money roll in as humans just can’t resist watching a good fluff n’ tickle. Set the booby algorithm phasers to “paywall”! Wanna see that statue of Venus de Milo, or the statue of David? gonna have to pay that monthly fee to see. “Oh, but you’re just an artist drawing artistic nudes as a hobby? too bad! behind the paywall you go too. We want our cut of the share regardless how you may feel about it.”
basically Tumblr is trying to change the clientele....facts. They hope to draw in the same demographics that make sites like reddit, twitter, instagram, and others profitable to the corporation, at the expense of the long term users that made this site the unique thing it is today.
but hey, what do i know, i’m just a messed up monkey with an opinion, take it all with a huge grain of salt and live your best life possible....but the cards are not in tumblr+’s favor.
Everyone has got an opinion on this, that’s all well and good. If you agree/disagree that’s fine too....just remember to be kind in all things, show the wisdom and grace of the best of humanity, take a deep breath before responding, and reply with the best of yourself as you can muster...after all, you’re only human....Ook ook.
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𝓔𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 🍇
Inspired by this post 🌼
Pairing: ceo!san x sommelier!reader
Warning: sexual content in the story, read at your own discretion!
Index: Jongho // Hongjoong // Seonghwa // Yunho // Wooyoung // Mingi // Yeosang
･*:༅
"They’re sending in a sommelier from Italy!” The black-haired woman walked beside her boss, her heels clacking loudly on the tiled floor. “They said she’d be arriving today.”
The man stopped in his tracks, his sharp gaze looking back at his assistant. Her beige pencil skirt hugged her lower body perfectly, but today Choi San, head of the most renowned winery of South Korea, wasn’t having any of it. Their plans were simple for this season with the launch of their newest product, Elder Blow Wine, a wine made solely of elderberries and the first fruit wine in their winery.
“They’re sending a woman to degust our wine?” He asked. “Miss Ahn, I am not in the mood for jokes today.”
“Yes. She’s the most famous sommelier in the world!” His assistant spoke glancing around his frame at the approaching figure. “They say she can either ruin ones business or make it strike gold.”
“And what is her name?” San was grumpy and not having any of this today.
They were so close to making so much profit but the Italian branch decided to send in a sommelier who would evaluate their progress. Not only on their new wine, but all the products they had lined up until now. Choi San was a prideful man who considered himself an expert on wines, there was not one person who was better than him at this field (unless you take into consideration his mortal enemy and crush who had been breed solely for the purpose to achieve glory in this business) and he really didn’t need some girl coming in to tell him her unnecessary opinion.
“y/l/n y/n.” The voice struck him by surprise as he turned to face the woman he hasn’t seen for more than 5 years. “Close your mouth Choi, it’s rude to stare a lady down with your tongue hanging out like a dog.”
San’s assistant held back a laugh as she quickly composed herself and went around him to politely bow to you in greeting, which you returned with equal respect.
“Welcome Miss y/l/n.” She smiled. “I’m assistant Ahn, I’ll be helping you with the schedule for the tasting this weekend.”
“Oh please just call me y/n.” You waved your hand, the action moving your suit jacket up a bit revealing some skin around your waist. “I’d like to know your name as well if you don’t mind.”
“Hyejin.” She answered you.
“Well Hyejin, I look forward to this weekend spent with you.” Your eyes moved towards the still shocked man and a smirk graced your dark red lips. “You haven’t changed one bit Choi.”
“And you’ve changed a lot.” Was the only thing he could mutter through his shock.
You stood there in your white suit, a black velvet shirt covering your chest and adding contrast to the outfit. The simple pearl necklace brought his eyes to admire your collar bones while your red lips had him weak in the knees.
Why did you have to show up from all the people on this planet?
“Sir, shall we?” Hyejin asked bringing him out of his trance. “We are due to show the windery to Miss y/n.”
With a curt nod and an amused expression on your side, the three of you made your way to the car which was parked outside waiting for you.
･*:༅
The view from this winery was breathtaking as you sat outside an marvelled at the fields of grapes in front of you. The sun was slowly setting as two glasses of rich red wine were placed on the table in front of you. You glanced up at the man as he took a seat, eyes also tracing the clouds in the distance. You took hold of the wine glass and sniffed it slightly closing your eyes at the rich aroma of grapes. You swirlled the red substance in your glass and took a small sip, letting it barely touch your tongue.
“Interesting, this wine seems to have a strong flavor of alcohol.” You spoke. “Quite a dangerous aspect of you to try.”
“Some of our customers like to have a strong drink here and there.” San shrugged his shoulders, he watched your movements closely and was entranced with your delicate movements. “You’ve been gone for a long time y/n. I’m surprised that you even came back here.”
“I didn’t want to.” You were now facing him. “I enjoy my job of travelling the world and dinning in fine restaurants, enjoying a glass or bottle of their finest wine. But the CEO of the Italian branch insisted I go, I already know the language and have practically spent my childhood here.” You sat back crossing your arms over your chest. “Added I wanted to see you too.”
“You know I was surprised to hear how well you’ve climbed the ladder. Good job making CEO Choi.” You smiled at him mockingly.
“I thought you were going to make CEO too.” He said now with raised eyebrows. “Your family practically started this business. You guys are quite famous.”
“True.” You looked down at your glass in hand. “I was offered the position, but I refused it.” You made a little whirpool in the glass. “I decided to be a sommelier instead. I came to an agreement with my parents that my future husband will take over the business.” You finished the alcohol in your glass bringing your eyes up to meet his. “They already have a colourfull sort lined up for me.”
“Must be rough.” He commented with a tight lip.
“So, have you shagged your assistant yet?” You asked boldly making him choke on his wine.
“For your information, I don’t have to tell you shit.” He stated.
“So you have.” You laughed. “How many times?”
His face dead-panned into a not amused one. You raised your hands in surrender your laugh echoing around him.
“I’m just teasing.” The giggle on your lips had him on edge. “We’re just old frenemies talking, it’s not like you like me or something so I can’t know these things.”
You stood up from the table and stepped away, ready to leave. But his hand caught your arm and you raised your eyebrow at him.
“At least take me to dinner first.” You joked.
“I never said I didn’t like you.” He stood up along with you, bringing his whole body close to yours, breath mixing with yours. “You’ve always annoyed me but in a good way.” He brought his face close to yours. “A way I like.”
“I would have expected this from anybody but you San.” You said with a smirk, fighting off his grip in a way that he was now in yours. “Trying to seduce me so your winery could blossom gold Choi?” The way you twisted his arm had him grunt in surprise and pain. “You’re despicable.”
As you pushed him away anger coated your delicate face and he panicked seeing this reaction.
“I’m not trying to seduce you for that. I’m serious about this!”
“Sure you are!” You yelled back at him. “Try it with your assistant if you haven’t already! I’m not dumb Choi.” The fierce gaze you held with him evolved into something you couldn’t decipher in his. “Jesus, you’re disgusting.”
And with that you left.
San watched in pain as you stormed off and kicked the chair over in frustration. Why did he do that? Of course it would come off as if he’s doing this to get good reviews! Why couldn’t he just keep silent and not move.
He leaned on the table and sighed.
･*:༅
The next day you decided to go down to the caffe which you knew was owned by one of your old friends. It was a cute set up which you would expect from your friend’s imaculate taste in design, with a large sign that read Sugarberry’s up front. You walked inside and noticed it was quite lively and bustling with people. You walked up to the counter and smiled at the young girl working behind itm just as she did to you.
“Hi, welcome to Sugarberry’s.” Her chirpiness reminded you of Mingi. “What can I get you?”
“Hi, is Mingi in?” You asked her.
“The boss?” She questioned as you nodded. “Sure is, he never leaves this place.” She giggled aloud and went back, coming out along with the tall man in tow. “Here he is.”
“Oh my gosh!” He squealed coming over to hug you. “I’ve missed you so much y/n. When did you land? What are you doing here? Do you want something to drink?”
“Easy there Mingles.” The laugh he gave you was contagious. “I’d appreciate a cup of coffee.” He motioned for the girl you talked to to make it. “Let’s have a chat. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
You guys took a seat outside and chatted along catching up with each others life and whatnot. You even told him why you’re here and how long you were staying in between your conversation. Also adding the San incident from last night.
“Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know he liked you.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But, I’d also be lying if I said he didn’t do the occasional hook-up here and there.” He sighed. “I can tell you this one thing though. He’d never try to have sex with you just so he could up his winery.”
“But then why did he come on to me so strong?” You asked confused.
“Maybe he just doesn’t know how to act differently?” The girl who you learned worked here as a waitress spoke up as she brought over some cakes. “Sannie is an interesting character. He always comes off as untouchable and brooding, but I’ve learned his a softie. He always talks about his arch nemesis in a way that brings one to laugh how much in love he is with her.” She giggled. “And now I see why. You’re intimidatingly beautiful.”
“I love the fact he considers me his nemesis.” You sighed with a small pout.
“Maybe you should go over and talk with him. Let him explain and then make your assumptions.” She shrugged her shoulders and left back inside.
“Does your staff always give advice to customers when they have love life troubles?” You looked at Mingi with amusement.
“No.” He answered and looked after the waitress. “But she does.”
“She seems lovely Mingi.”
“Yeah, she does.”
Your friend had the serious case of heart eyes for his waitress.
･*:༅
You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion when Hyejin directed the car towards a high-end appartment complex instead of the winery. You exited the car and walked up to the entrance along with her, but were left alone to enter the elevator and make your way to the penthouse. All the while you stood back and thought about the fact that this was surely one of San’s doings. If you remembered correctly this building is owned by his mother and he did live here.
The elevator dinged and you stepped off, impressed with the view of the city spread out in front of you. You walked up to the glass and sighed. You loved Seoul, but ever since you moved to Italy you enjoyed the fields of Toscana more.
The soft arm around your waist startled you but you calmed sown when you saw San’s reflection above yours.
“What is the meaning of this?” You calmly asked.
“I brought you here to enjoy dinner with me. Along with one of my winery’s best wines.” He said, guiding you by the small of your back towards a table which was set up nicely with food already prepared. “Consider this to be my apology for last night.”
“Well I did say take me out to dinner first.” You sighed as you accepted his gentlemanly manor of pulling out your seat. “So what kind of wine are we drinking today?” You could guess by the meat served before you but you wanted to see to which heights he was ready to go.
“Pinot Noir. If I remember correctly it’s one of your favorites.” He expertly opened the bottle and poured you a glass.
“Impressive.” You nodded your head. “Maybe Mingi was right.”
“What?” He blinked quickly in fear.
“Maybe you really do like me.” You smirked raising your glass to him.
“I will kill him.” He whispered out.
“Hey, maybe you should consider what’s happening right now and here than attacking him.” You snorted. “You’d be surprised just how much he tried to justify your actions.” You looked at him dead in the eye. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him and his waitress friend.”
The night continued on as you two talked more about life, wine making, business and stupid shit you used to do in college. You could say that yes, you were finally enjoying yourself with him.
You both moved now to the living room, finishing the bottle of wine.
“Why do you consider me your arch nemesis?” You suddenly asked out of curiousity.
“Because you’re better than me.” San answered avoiding your gaze. “You got better grades in college than me. You made friends easily, even with the unapproachable me. You were never afraid to say what’s on your mind and you always stayed true to yourself.” He sighed. “I was envious of you.”
“I don’t really see why.” You glanced at him. “I don’t exactly have the best life. My parents brought me up to be their business protege. I never had rights, not even now when I’m at the age of finding a man and marrying him.” You laughed out loud remembering the stack of papers which were potential marriage partners being thrown on your table. “Gosh, I’m more pitiful than envy worthy.”
“I guess we’re both pitiful.” He laughed along with you.
“Did you mean it?”
“Did I mean what?” He finally looked at you.
“That you want me?”
He looked at you in silence for a few minutes. He moved slowly up towards you, wary of any type of reaction you may give him. He was so close to your face that you felt the taste of wine on his lips, but you two haven’t even touched.
“What do you think?” He whispered out softly.
“Oh, just kiss me already.”
He smirked and did so. The kiss deep, rich and flavored. His hand strayed up your thigh and you sighed, electricity coursing through your body.
“Let’s move this to the bedroom.” He whispered out against your lips and pulled you towards him, hooking your legs around him and placing his hands on your ass so he can carry you more easily.
Your feet had lost the heels a long time ago and the bare skin felt the soft carpet of his bedroom. San’s hand slowly ghosted over your back as he started to unzip your dress, leaving a trail of kisses on your bare skin.
“I have a confession to make.” He said, his lips nipping at your jaw. “You looked so good in this dress I felt sorry to rip it.”
“Thank god you didn’t.” You smirked, ripping his shirt open not minding his shock. “It’s designer.”
“So is my shirt.” He argued back as you shrugged your shoulders.
He eyed you up and down, practically drooling at the sight infront of him. A finger slipped underneath the elastic of your panties, pulling it from your skin before letting go as it snapped back to your skin. He was stating that you were wearing too much and he was really not patient. He lost his pants in the process of pushing you on his bed, the top half of his body covering yours, his covered erection pressed against your heat. He kissed you harder and began rocking his hard length against your needy clit which made you moan into his ear.
He was kissing your breasts and freed them from their restraints. Only then did he wrap his warm mouth around one of your now hardened nipples which made you arch your back in pleasure. A moan came out as you felt a finger slowly swirling around your clit, your arms coming to wrap around San’s shoulders. Letting out a short hum and observing your reaction, his finger stopped its movements then slid toward your entrance, slipping in slowly.
San’s mouth sucked and teased one of your breasts, while his hand did wonders with your lower lips. It wasn’t long before you were shaking violently underneath him.
“I think it’s fair if I return the favour.” You snickered at his confused look before positioning him to stand.
You were on your knees, half of his cock in your left hand, the other half in your mouth. Every now and then, you’d come up and suck on his tip for a bit, which made San groan like crazy. His hand was on the back of your head guiding you as he shamelessly used your mouth. The sudden harsh pull to your hair popped his dick out your mouth and he had to use all his strenght to pull you up and kiss you like his life depended on it.
“I see that mouth is good for more than just wine tasting.” He chuckled.
“You’d be surprised.”
He took out a condom from the nightstand and rolled it gently onto himself as he positioned you onto all fours, ass in the air and pussy ready. “Oh fuck.” He rubbed his erection against you. “You’re so wet for me little one, are you ready?”
“Is this a daddy kink I’m hearing?” You teased and were rewarded with a slap to your ass. “Oh boy am I ready, daddy.”
Without warning his huge cock rammed into your core, the porniest moan leaving your mouth and shaking San to the core. If he didn’t have so much control over himself he’d cum then and there on the spot. The skin was slapping against each other, one of San’s hands gripped your hair, arching your head back, your eyes beginning to roll back, your pussy fluttering around his cock.
“San I am so close.” Suddenly his thrusts got faster, his hand going over to your swollen clit, applying preasure to the sensitive nerve bundle.
“Hold on a little while longer little one.” He was chasing his own release, wanting to cum at the same time as you. After three more harsh thrusts he whispered in your ear. “Cum.”
And cum you did, biting into the pillow, screaming into it, this was one of the most powerful orgasms you ever had. You didn’t hear San’s deep moans as he released himself into you, didn’t notice him pulling out, nor throwing away the well filled condom.
He carried you towards the bathroom, desperate for a shower. A supposedly quick shower turned into making out underneath the warm water for thirty minutes and two more rounds of electrifying sex which had you exhausted.
The weekend ahead was going to be pretty eventful.
･*:༅
“A 4.5 rating.” San spoke as he took a seat next to you on your private jet. “Not bad, I was expecting lower so this is quite the surprise for me.”
“The only surprise is the fact that your on my plane, while it’s in the air and heading for Italy.” You said shocked at his appearance.
“Yeah well, my father called me telling me I had business to take care of in Italy, so I figured I’d save some time and money by tagging along.” He took your wine glass, taking a sip out of it. “Something about marrying the y/l/n’s daughter and becoming top boss.”
“News travel fast I see.” You smirked at him.
“Especially when it’s a marriage arranged and practically in the workings.” He smirked back. “I’m just glad I won’t have to use a condom anymore. The lady at the pharmacy gave me weird looks when I went to buy some more the last time.”
“Maybe because we use up a pack of 12 faster than rabbits?” You shrugged your shoulders at him. “Are you really okay with this?”
“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t have told my dad to go forward with the arranging.”
“So I guess we’re going to be husband and wife then.” You smiled at him, your rep lips stained with wine.
“I guess we will little one.” He smiled back, hand interwining with yours.
“But really, did you fuck your assistant?”
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New Amsterdam Chapter 40
“Runaways Unite?” asked Wade as Peter fixed them both coffee. The boy may have had trouble cooking, but no one brewed a better pot of coffee. “What about those nut-jobs?” Wade asked warily as Peter sat next to him on the couch, handing him a cup.
The two of them were in Peter’s apartment (Wade’s was not fit for company by any stretch of the imagination). Wade had caught up with Peter as he was headed home—from an odd direction that was not from the Bugle, Stark Industries, or Oscorp. Peter had begun by telling him about telling off his boss—
{Which is hot.}
[Not the point! He could have gotten fired!]
{…Stark’s paying us an insane amount to make sure Petey accepts his own lab. Why would he fire him just for having a backbone?}
[…My God. You have a point.]
—then his tracking of a couple of Snipers—
[We’ve got to make sure he knows that’s not okay. Those people are dangerous.]
{Maybe we should follow him? Make sure he’s safe anyway?}
—and his meeting with Kingpin.
[Definitely dangerous—but the man is a businessman first.]
{Who hired Peter!}
Peter curled up next to Wade, pressing their sides together. With his eyes heavy like this, curled like this, he reminded Wade of a satisfied cat. “Kingpin says he knows something I can use to take them down,” Peter said with satisfaction.
Wade sat silently, blowing on his coffee to cool it down for a moment. The room was dim, out of deference to Wade’s own preferences, and was only lit by a single small lamp—that was on the other side of the room. The two of them were sitting in shadow.
{Perfect for making out in.}
[Uh—no. We don’t want him feeling our skin and running away at the strange texture.]
“Why do you want to take them down so badly?” asked Wade, curiously.
Peter sighed as he set his cup down on the coffee table in front of them. “Because of the street kids they’re taking,” he said as he curled back up next to Wade and rested his head on the broader man’s shoulder.
Cautiously, ready to pull back if Peter made any move to indicate the touch wasn’t welcome, Wade put an arm around him. “What about them?” he asked, keeping most of his weight to himself, barely resting it on Peter. Sure they were dating. Sure Peter seemed extra cuddly tonight—but that didn’t necessarily mean it would be okay. He had to go slow.
{Coward!}
[Seriously. You drape yourself all over him in public—why are you nervous about putting your arm around him now?]
Because in public he still had a mask to hide behind. Here, behind closed doors, in the comforting shadows where it was just the two of them, he felt as though he were unmasked—which, agreed, was a stupid feeling since he was still covered head to toe in his leather/Kevlar suit.
[It really is stupid.]
“No one knows where they go,” Peter said answering the question. “They’re not put into the system, they don’t get taken back home, Runaways Unite has nothing like an orphanage—so where do they go?” Peter sighed and pressed harder against Wade’s side. “Plus,” he added wearily, “Norman donated almost a million dollars to them.”
“Stark donated a hundred thousand,” Wade felt obligated to point out.
Peter sighed. “Tony Stark,” he said firmly, “has a computer program that donates one hundred thousand dollars to every non-profit in the county.” Peter began lightly drawing on Wade’s suit with his finger. Despite him not pressing hard, Wade could feel every stroke. “I could hack into the program and make it stop donating to Runaways Unite—but that would mean admitting I know about the program and I’m capable.”
[Earth to Idiot. Peter is flirting.]
{Let’s kiss him!}
[Sure. Let’s kiss our super hot boyfriend who likes us enough to confront his boss and let him feel the horrorscape that is our face so he can run away from us. Brilliant idea.]
{What do we do?}
[We make excuses like the cowards we are and run home hoping he still wants to talk to us in the morning.]
Wade did not. He stayed perfectly still. Peter? Flirting? It didn’t seem possible. Wade gently wiggled his shoulder to get Peter’s attention. “Want to watch a movie?” he asked.
[You idiot. You’re going to regret this in the morning.]
Peter gave him a lazy smile. “Sure,” he said amiable before rising from the couch and ambling over to a pile of DVDs on the floor beneath the TV. (Not a great TV; Peter’s apartment could use a few more—touches.)
{Peter could use a few more touches.}
[He does have a cute ass.]
“He does indeed.”
“I do what?” asked Peter absently.
Wade froze. Had he ever told Peter about the boxes? He—he couldn't remember. If he hadn’t—would Peter run? But—but Peter was waiting for an answer, half-turned and watching with those half-lidded eyes. Wade swallowed hard. “The boxes in my head,” he said softly. “They—they think you’re cute.”
Peter stood straight and turned completely to face Wade. “Your boxes think I’m cute?” he asked. He sounded flattered.
“Oh, Baby Boy, you are the cutest thing ever! Hasn’t anyone told you?”
Peter made a habitual movement to push the glasses he wasn’t currently wearing up with his wrist. “No,” he said, his voice an odd mixture of emotions.
Wade set his coffee down and opened his arms. “Come here,” he said. Peter obediently climbed onto Wade’s lap.
{Can we let Little Wade out to play?}
[This is not the time!]
“You listen to me,” Wade said firmly. “You are the most wonderful, adorable, and cute thing that I have ever met.”
Peter snorted. “You’re the only one who would say that,” he said.
{I think we need to find out who made him think so bad of himself and unalive those fuckers.}
[I agree.]
“Then they’re blind,” said Wade firmly. His hand came up. “Boop.” He gently bopped Peter’s nose. Which twitched.
“Wade,” protested Peter. He leaned forward and rested his head against Wade’s chest. The two of them sat there for a moment, just listening to each other’s breathing.
At least until Wade noticed that Peter’s breathing was getting deep and regular. “Peter?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
“Peter, you need to go to bed.”
“Um-hmm.” It was clear that he was too tired to even move his lips to talk. “Hmm um um.”
Wade smiled. How could the younger man not realize he was adorable? “Up you go,” he said as he heaved himself up to his feet and went down the hall to the bedroom.
“Um hmm hmm,” Peter complained.
“I have no idea what you just said,” Wade admitted as he opened the bedroom door and slipped Peter into the bed.
Peter opened two soft, brown eyes blearily. “I love you,” he said sleepily.
Wade’s heart constricted. It felt good and painful at the same time. “I love you too,” he said softly as he pressed a masked kiss to Peter’s cheek.
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love me like you hurt me - p.2
we make mistakes, we leave them by the door
pairing: Rafe Adler x Original Female Character x Samuel Drake
blurb: “But once, I think I loved you.”
word count: 14.9k+
title inspiration: I Run to You - MISSIO
The second (and final) part of the series. I’ve very much loved the process of writing this story and I adore Sabina and her interactions with Rafe and Sam. You can expect to see more of her in the future, since I have spin-off/sequel one-shots planned. I don’t know when they’ll be released, but they’re coming.
This work is cross-posted on Ao3.
01 | 02 ... series masterlist
February 2001
A month ago, Sabina packed her duffle bag and left Scotland on the first flight that she could book. She flew to England, then took a train to France. Swung her way through Switzerland, Italy, and Austria, before finding herself here.
Germany.
Sitting on a bench inside of a tiny museum, Sabina stares at the painting displayed on the wall. Before her is a sea of lavender. Plants are angled towards the right, leaning with an invisible breeze. In the center is a young woman, dressed in a high-collared white dress. And in her lap is a toddler, waving around a bundle of flowers.
From her peripheral vision, she watches as a man joins her on the bench. His hand twitches, and he reaches out for her, tempted to brush his fingers against her own. Instead, he drops his hands into his lap and turns to look at the painting.
“You found me,” Sabina says.
The man remains silent.
“How?”
“It’s not important,” he says.
Finally, she turns her head to look at him, turns to look at Rafe. “You paid someone.”
“Actually,” he shakes his head. “I asked Nate.”
“I didn’t tell him where I was going.”
“No, but he made a startlingly educated guess.”
Sabina hums. “I don’t suppose he came here with you, did he?”
“Nate left,” he sighs.
“Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m pretty sure he hates you.” She reaches for the ring on her finger, fiddling with the sapphire gemstone. “When did he leave?”
“About a week after you did.”
“So,” Sabina says, “there really is nothing at the cathedral, then?”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Rafe responds.
“We’ve spent weeks looking. Weeks digging holes, turning over every single pebble. There’s nothing there,” she says. “No clue. No treasure. No sign that anything associated with Avery has ever existed there.”
“There has to be something there.”
“But there isn’t,” Sabina directs her attention back to the painting. “Maybe it’s time to let it go. Let the treasure disappear into obscurity.”
“Why are you giving up?”
“Why would you care?” Sabina counters. “You’ve got the cathedral, all of the clues. If you find the treasure on your own, you get all of the profit. A hefty sum to add on top of your hefty inheritance.”
Rafe clenches a fist.
“Sam was the Avery expert,” she continues. “Without him and without Nate… I just don’t see the point in continuing. Their knowledge about this is leagues above my own. The truth is that I was probably just tagging along for the ride.”
“I am sorry, you know,” Rafe says, “about Sam. His… it wasn’t part of the plan.”
“It all feels surreal,” Sabina admits. “Like I’m wandering through a terrible dream. I feel like I’m going to wake up, any minute now, and he’ll be there to greet me with a horrible cup of coffee and stale croissants.”
“Were you two…”
“Together?”
Rafe averts his gaze to the tile floor.
“No,” she says. “Not quite. We were… complicated. He was never really good at commitment—neither of us were, really.” Sabina sighs, “Maybe it’s due to our similar upbringings. We both grew up without our parents. Stability is a luxury that we haven’t quite experienced yet.”
“What happened to them? Your parents?”
With a slight tilt of her head, Sabina mulls over her response. “When you spoke to Nate,” she says, “did he specify exactly where I would be in the museum?”
Rafe takes a moment to think. “He did, yeah.”
“The first time I came here, I was with Sam,” she says. “It was raining outside, so we popped in to escape from the cold. And when I saw it,” she nods her head towards the painting, “I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Sam joked that he would steal it for me one day. Though, knowing Sam, he was probably being serious.”
She stands and takes a few steps closer to the painting, her face glowing from the faintest hint of a smile. “Mother and Daughter Pick Flowers, such an original title. Artist: Jean-Jacques Pierre de la Sablonnière, a French painter. It was quite well-known that he hated men. In fact, he refused to paint them. Claimed that they were vile creatures. It is believed that when the Duke, Prince Louis Amilcar François d’Orléans, attempted to commission him for a painting, he laughed his face and danced on his way out of the villa. Of course, the Duke was upset, embarrassed. He stormed into his garden and shouted for his guards. And poor Monsieur de la Sablonnière was found dead, stabbed through the heart, just three days later.”
She turns around to look at Rafe, whom is still sitting on the bench. “I don’t remember my parents,” she says, walking back towards him. “I was a child when they died. Old enough to remember them, sure, but I can’t remember people if they barely had a presence in my life. What I do remember is this painting. A replica was hung in the living room, above a neglected fireplace full of dust. I wanted to be the little girl in the painting, to also have the joy of sitting in a sunny field, picking flowers with my mother. It’s a bit said, you know, that I don’t remember my mother’s face, but I remember my nanny.”
Sabina sits down on the bench, inches away from Rafe. “My parents were murdered,” she says. “After months of being away, they had finally come home. I was so happy. Even though I had grown out of bedtime stories, my father read one to me. And when he was finished, I begged him to read another and another. I think I was afraid that he would never read me one again. We stayed awake, long after my bedtime, but neither of us cared.
“My mother died first. We heard her screams, her pleas for help. Heard her begging the the intruders to stop. My father picked me up, carried me into his study, and hid me in a secret space beneath the floorboards.” Sabina unclasps the gold chain around her neck and places the medallion in Rafe’s hands. “He gave that to me. Told me to keep it safe, hidden. I don’t really remember what happened after that. Sometimes, in my nightmares, I recall the sound of a gunshot. Of papers being pushed, scattered. Cabinets crashing against the floor. I see blood seeping through the cracks in the floor. I feel it dripping down onto my face, onto my hands.”
Sabina exhales, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I don’t know who, specifically, killed them; they were never caught. But since then, I’ve spent an alarming amount of time running away from people who wish to murder me. Whatever my parents found, whatever that medallion is, it’s worth something. The boys and I speculate that it’s related to Avery’s treasure, but we’ve been unsuccessful with our attempts to solve the puzzle.”
“Sabina,” Rafe says, “let’s work together.”
“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”
“Tell me,” Rafe looks down at the medallion, brushing his thumb over the etched symbols. “Do you still want to find Avery’s treasure?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then come with me.”
“I can’t—not without Sam—”
He reaches out towards Sabina and wraps his fingers around her hand. “You don’t need the Drakes, Sabina. You’re more intelligent than you think you are.”
“Why are you looking for this?” She asks. “What could you possibly gain? It can’t be the money, you already have that.”
“Curiosity,” he says. “Boredom, maybe.”
“Treasure hunting: an unusual cure for boredom.”
Rafe chuckles.
“I want to be equals,” Sabina says. “We split the treasure, fifty-fifty.”
“Hey, I’m the one footing the bill for—”
“Fifty-fifty. Take it, or I walk.”
“Deal,” Rafe says.
December 2015
A few years ago, Sabina figured out that life with Rafe is easier if she avoids the topic of Nathan Drake. Though her husband would never admit it, it was clear that feelings of rage, frustration, and jealousy were building up inside of him. He hated what Nate had accomplished on his own, hated what he had accomplished without him. And Nate’s current involvement with Avery’s treasure hasn’t helped. In fact, spending the past few weeks chasing after him had skyrocketed Rafe’s anger, making her husband almost unbearable to be around.
After Scotland, they followed Nate here, to Madagascar.
Drowning beneath the burning sunlight and stifling humidity, Sabina does her best to keep herself calm, composed. So far she has been successful in convincing Rafe and Nadine not to murder Nate at first sight, but as the promise of finding treasure draws closer, their patience is beginning to wan. Currently, the trio are driving in a jeep through one of the cities, providing a much appreciated gust of wind to cool down their sweaty bodies.
Rafe pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. A few moments later, he laughs. “Here I am, I’m calling what I thought was Sullivan’s phone… and look who picks up,” he says. “How you been, Nate?”
Her ears perk up at the name.
“I wish,” Rafe chuckles. “That only would’ve cost me a few shots of rum, right? No, no, I had to pay top dollar to find you guys.”
Sabina frowns. Just how much money has Rafe invested into this not-so-friendly competition? He must be more on edge than she had assumed.
“…you pulled off some clever moves there,” he says. “But in the end, all that matters is who gets to Avery’s treasure first.”
A brief pause.
“Hey, Nate, you know I’m always game,” Rafe responds. “But my partner,” he turns his head slightly, to glance over at Nadine, “well, she prefers to… mitigate unnecessary risks.”
Sabina tenses and her eyes flicker over to Nadine, but she ignores her gaze.
“Look, Nate. I’m gonna make you a one-time offer here,” he continues. “You drop everything. Go home, live your life… and I’m willing to forgive and forget. For old time’s sake.”
Nadine looks over at the man, as he listens to Nate’s response.
“Okay,” Rafe shrugs. “‘Pro Deus quod licentia.’ For God and liberty.” He smiles, “These are nice pictures, Nate. Good composition.”
A feeling of dread punches Sabina in the stomach. She leans forward in her seat and grabs onto her husband’s shoulder.
“You stole my cross!” Rafe says. “Listen, Nate, if you’re half as smart as you think you are, you’ll accept my offer. What’s it going to be?”
“Rafe,” Sabina says, jostling his arm.
He ignores her.
“Well, Nate, one more thing—Nate!”
A pause.
“You… you do realize that your phones are equipped with GPS, right?” He asks. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.” He ends the call, finally turning to look at her. “What?”
“What did you do?” She asks.
“Honey, don’t worry about it.”
“Rafe—”
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“What is wrong with you?” Sabina yells. “This is—this is absolutely crazy!”
“Sabina,” Rafe says. “I need you to calm down.”
“Me?” She laughs. “You need me to calm down? Have you listened to yourself once in the past few weeks? Hell, the past few years? Everything is Drake this! Drake that! God, maybe you should’ve married him, huh? He’s all you ever talk about. Too bad you’re sending people to go fucking murder him!”
“I am not going to do this with you right now.”
“Is this why you hired Shoreline?” Sabina says. “So you could get rid of anyone that stands between you and that treasure?”
Rafe doesn’t respond.
“When this is over, I’m done.”
“Sabina—”
“No, I am sick of this. You aren’t the person I married. You aren’t even the person from five years ago.”
“Sabina—”
“Shut up,” she says. “Just… shut up.”
September 2001
Sabina fiddles with her emerald green satin dress. It was something that would have cost her a small fortune, more than triple the rent of her tiny overpriced apartment, but Rafe had insisted on getting it for her.
This is ridiculous, she had said. It’s just a dress.
Really, it’s nothing. Rafe said, waving away her protests. If you want to blend in, you’re going to need to dress the part.
I can’t ask you to pay for this.
You don’t need to ask, he chuckles. I’m telling you that I’ll pay.
But I’ll only ever wear this dress like once, maybe twice.
That would be a real shame. You look really beautiful in it.
The comment had shut Sabina up, bringing forth a light blush to stain her cheeks.
I know that this doesn’t seem like pocket change to you, Rafe said, but it is. And even if it wasn’t, this dress would be worth the price.
“Sabina,” a voice calls. A hand reaches out for her own, intertwining their fingers between hers. “Relax,” they say, “the more you twitch, the more attention you’ll bring to us.”
She sighs, looking at Rafe. She squeezes Rafe’s hand, as she glances around the room.
The pair were at an exclusive, membership-only bar. A hotspot for filthy rich assholes, those that are usually linked to shady business deals and other questionable methods of income. Sabina felt out of place, standing amongst the elite of wealthy society. While these people sweetened a cup of tea with liquid gold, she was one to ration a bottle of honey.
“Maybe I should go,” she says. “I feel like everyone can tell that I don’t belong here.”
“Nonsense,” Rafe says. “Everyone knows that you’re here with me; they all watched us walk in together.”
“Every time I exhale, someone looks at me like I’m tainting the air.”
“Ignore them.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she huffs. “Nobody is looking at you like you’re trash that someone dragged in from the street.”
Rafe chuckles. “They’re curious about you.”
“I’m pretty sure everyone believes I’m a gold digger that’s playing you.”
“Come on,” he says, tugging at her hand. He begins to lead her out of the bar.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“But the seller—Rafe—he could be here any moment.”
“He can wait five minutes,” he says. “You look like you’re about to suffocate.”
“But—”
“Trust me, Sabina.”
She sighs, but stops her struggle.
Rafe leads her up a short flight of stairs and then outside, onto a balcony. The late night air of Germany chills her arms, triggering a layer of fresh goosebumps. But she ignores the cold when her mind becomes focused on the view in front of her. The balcony overlooks a vast forest of pine trees, illuminated by the silver-blue haze of moonlight.
Sabina takes in a deep inhale of the crisp air.
“What’s bothering you?” Rafe asks.
“What?” She turns to look at him. “Nothing. Nothing, really.”
“Wow,” he takes a step closer to her, placing his hands on the iron railing. “You didn’t even try to sound convincing with that response.”
“I’m fine.”
“The key to a good partnership is communication,” Rafe says. “So, communicate. Talk to me, huh?”
“I feel like I’m wasting your time,” Sabina admits.
“What? Why would you think that?”
“And your money,” she continues.
“What are you talking about?”
“What if I can’t solve the medallion?” Sabina grips onto the railing in front of her. “Can’t solve the puzzle or figure out whatever piece I need in order to even attempt solving it. Or what if it’s broken? What if it was part of something else and that something is long gone? Rafe, I’ve barely contributed anything in the past year.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but Sabina interrupts him.
“We’ve hardly made any progress,” she says. “Maybe I’m holding us back, leading us in the wrong directions. God, I keep turning those fucking rings. As if it’s going to make a difference and one day I’ll magically line it up correctly and everything with click into place. But it hasn’t happened… and I’m not sure if it will.”
“You’re not wrong,” Rafe says. “We’ve been circling the same set of clues for longer than either of us would like to. But that doesn’t mean we should give up altogether.”
“I think we should part ways,” Sabina says.
His eyes widen.
“We started off as business partners, but let’s be honest. We’re hardly fifty-fifty. You’re footing the bill for everything,” she says. “Our trips. Our purchases. Our bribes. You’ve even started paying my bills, covering my living expenses. We can’t be equals if the contributions aren’t equal. You give everything, but I have nothing to give in return.”
“If you think I’m mad about the money, you’re mistaken. I’ve told you before, money isn’t a problem.”
“You keep saying that!” Sabina runs a hand through her hair, ruining the perfect curls. “I appreciate the help, I really do, but I feel like I’ve become far too indebted to you. If we don’t find Avery’s treasure, I’ll never be able to pay you back for everything.”
“You don’t need to pay me back,” he says.
“Rafe—”
“I don’t financially support you because I want you to feel like you’re in my debt,” he says. He reaches out for her hand, but freezes, unsure. “I do it because I believe in you.”
“You’re sucking up to me,” she smiles.
“I do it because I need you,” Rafe gently wraps his fingers around her arm, turning her to face him. “I want you to be in this with me.”
Sabina blinks, confused by the hint of longing in his voice.
“I care for you, Sabina. I’m in love with you,” he says.
She freezes, processing his words.
“You’re not a burden to me. You’re brilliant, one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met. And despite every terrible that that has happened to you, you still manage to show kindness. You are caring, protective of those close to you.” Rafe pauses, taking a breath. “When we were in Columbia, when you almost—”
Died.
The pair had gone to the country just a couple of months prior to investigate a cave with a potential lead. While examining the markings carved into the stone, Sabina had set off a trap, triggering an explosion. Rubble had fallen down near the exit, blocking her inside and separating her from Rafe. Moments later the cave was flooding. Desperate, Rafe and Sabina pushed and pulled at the debris, trying to make a big enough hole for her to slip through. As her lungs began to fill up with the water, she started to lose consciousness. Rafe had managed to pull her through a gap, just before she had blacked out completely.
“I realized how much you mean to me,” Rafe continues. “I want a life with you.”
Without a moment to waste, Sabina grips onto Rafe’s tie and pulls him closer. She presses her lips against his, overwhelmed, but attempting to convey all of her emotions in the act. Sabina moves her hands to rest one against his neck. The other travels to the back of his head, allowing her fingers to clutch onto the short strands of his hair.
He wanted her.
He loved her.
And in this moment, he needed her, with or without the treasure.
Rafe pulls her into his arms, flush against his body. His nails dig into the satin, longing to instead feel the bare flesh beneath the fabric. His kiss is eager, desperate, intense, yet too gentle at the same time. Sabina can sense that he wants to feel more of her and it’s something that she’ll happily give.
December 2015
The sound of splitting wood and crashing debris echoes in the rainforest, originating from Nadine’s last known location. Rafe and a couple of the Shoreline mercenaries were hot on her heels, rushing to get to the Nate before he could slip away again. Trailing behind, Sabina struggles to keep up with the men, but her short legs can only do so much.
“…forget about her! We gotta get out of here before they—”
The man’s voice comes to abrupt stop when Rafe runs out of the ruined buildings of Libertalia and into the open. Rafe raises a gun, pointing it at the men in front of him. The two mercenaries follow suite, also aiming their weapons at the targets.
“Shit. Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the man says, alarmed. “Everybody just… just calm down, okay?”
Nearly gasping for air, Sabina approaches the exit.
“Well, this is interesting,” Rafe says. “Nate. Samuel.”
Sabina halts, frozen by the name. Samuel? Who the hell is—
“Put your guns down!” A new voice yells. “All of you.”
Samuel?
The old sapphire ring on her right hand feels heavy on her finger. For years she hadn’t noticed the jewelry, burying away its significance in her life. Now it was the only thing her buzzing brain could focus on.
“No,” her husband responds.
“Rafe, this guy’s on edge,” Nadine says.
“Oh, don’t worry about him, Nadine.” Rafe takes a small step forward. “These guys don’t kill anyone in cold blood. It’s just not their style.”
“You willing to bet her life on that?” One of the men says.
With shaky steps, Sabina steps into the clearing. Her eyes focused on Shoreline’s targets. There, she sees Nate, looking exhausted and worried. He’s covered in dirt, dust, and droplets of sweat. To his left is Nadine: held hostage, gun to her head. And there, holding the gun, is a familiar, but aged, face. The face of a dead man, of a man that she hasn’t seen in fifteen years. A man that she had shed countless tears for, before she had forced herself to lock away her memories of him, to bury him deep, deep in the back of her mind.
“Sam?” The name is whispered through her lips, ignored by everyone.
“Go ahead then,” Rafe says. “Shoot her.”
“Sam,” Nate warns.
“I die, you both die,” Nadine says.
“So be it,” Sam hisses into her ear. “Not another step!”
“You mean… like this?” Rafe takes another step forward.
“Sam, put the gun down!” Nate says.
“I warned you.”
“Do it!” Rafe taunts.
Nadine shouts, “Rafe!”
Just as Sam’s finger begins to press down on the trigger, Nate rushes towards him. He shoves the gun upwards, away from Nadine.
The sound of a gunshot rings in the air.
And Nadine uses the opportunity to slam her elbow back into Sam’s stomach, allowing her to slip away from his hold.
“Wait!” Sabina screams, running towards the Drakes.
Nate holds the gun up in the air. “It’s done!”
“Hold your fire!” Rafe turns to yell at the mercenaries, holding up his arms. “Don’t shoot!”
Sabina rushes to Sam’s side. He’s hunched over, stunned from Nadine’s blow. “Oh, my god,” she says. “Sam?”
The man lifts his head to look at her. “Bina? What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” She asks. “What are you doing here?”
“Nate, put the gun down,” Rafe says. “Sabina, what are you doing?”
She ignores him.
Nadine picks up the gun. “Don’t worry, Nadine. It’s not their style,” she quotes, walking passed Rafe.
“What can I say?” Rafe replies. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“I don’t understand—I thought—Sam—”
“It’s complicated, but I’m here,” he responds. He lifts his right hand to brush the back of his fingertips against her cheek. “I missed you.”
“Sam—”
“Jesus, will somebody go get her?” Rafe addresses the mercenaries.
The man to Rafe’s right approaches Sabina, gun still trained on Sam. He grabs onto her arm, attempting to pull her away from the older Drake.
“Don’t touch her!” Sam yells. But when the mercenary points the barrel of the gun directly into his face, Sam stops protesting.
Rafe steps forward, approaching the Drakes. “Samuel. You okay?” He reaches forward to brush off some of the dust on the man’s shoulders. “I guess you knew this moment was coming, huh?” Rafe slams his handgun across Sam’s face, knocking him down onto the ground.
“Hey!” Nate says. “C’mon, man. You got us. Take it easy.”
Rafe reaches for Sabina, pulling her away from the mercenary. With a firm grip on her arm, he positions her to stand slightly behind himself.
“C’mon now,” Nate says. “You’re a businessman. Let’s just… work out a deal.”
“Oh, a deal,” Rafe says. “Oh, yeah, I’d love to hear what you have in mind.” He takes a step forward, pulling Sabina with him, and then kicks Sam in the face.
“Rafe!” Sabina snaps.
“Oh, you can go ahead,” Rafe says to Nate. “I’m listening.”
“Alright, just… alright,” Nate leans down to help Sam stand back up. “Look, you wanna find Avery’s treasure? We’ll help you find it.”
“And in exchange, I let you live?”
“Yeah,” Nate hesitates. “That and a small cut.”
Rafe laughs. “The gauchos on this guy.”
“Just enough to get him freedom, okay?”
“His freedom?”
“Nathan—” Sam says.
“Yeah,” Nate interrupts. “He did hard time. Our time. And the guy who broke him out, Hector Alcazar, he owes him a lot of money.”
“Whoa, what the hell are you talking about, Nate?” Rafe says. “Hector Alcazar died in a shootout in Argentina like six months ago. I’m the one that got Samuel out.”
Sabina frowns, confused, and turns her head to look at her husband.
Nate looks over at Sam, before turning his attention back to Rafe. “What?”
“Oh,” a look of realization shines on Rafe’s features. “Wow. What did he tell you? Sam, what kind of story did you cook up? Alcazar? Really? You lied? You lied to your baby brother?”
“We’re wasting time,” Nadine says.
“Just a second,” Rafe responds. “Thing is, Nate, I never stopped looking for Avery’s treasure. I just kept running into these dead ends,” he chuckles, “you know? And then I heard that our dear ol’ Samuel Drake, an authority on Avery—is alive and somewhat well. There was no breakout. I bribed the prison warden and your brother waltzed right out the front gate. He spent the last two years tracking down the second Saint Dismas cross. And you know what? He did it all with me.”
Sabina opens her mouth to speak, “Two years—”
“No,” Nate says.
“Oh, yeah.”
“No, that’s bullshit!”
“Oh, Sam?” Rafe turns his direction towards the man. “Care to refute?”
He sighs. “Nate…”
“Aw, Sam… Ah, Jesus, no, no…”
Sam takes a step closer to his brother. “Listen, Avery’s treasure was ours,” he says. “It was always ours.”
“No!” Nate yells. “I left my life for you!”
“Hey, look, look, Nate,” Rafe says, laughing. “If it’s any consolation, he duped me, too. He pulled a Houdini on me. He brought you and that old man back into the mix. And I cannot lie, Sam, that really pissed me off. But you know… all behind us now.”
“You don’t deserve it,” Sam says.
“You do? Last I checked we’re all a bunch of thieves, digging around where we shouldn’t.”
Nadine approaches the bickering men, “Rafe.”
“What?”
“One way or another, end it,” she says. “Or I will.”
Rafe nods. “Well, you heard the lady,” he says, aiming his gun at Sam.
“Wait,” Sabina says. “Don’t—”
“Hey,” Nate says. “You miss one clue and you can kiss that treasure goodbye. You said it yourself: you keep running into dead ends. Why don’t you face it, Rafe. You need us.”
“Rafe, put the gun down,” Sabina says.
He ignores her, eyes focused on the Drake brothers. “Yeah, you’re right,” Rafe says, lowering the gun. He pauses for a moment, before continuing, “You’re half right. I just need Sam.” Rafe raises the gun again, pointing it at Nate.
Sabina pulls her arm out of Rafe’s grip and rushes forward to stand in front of the Drakes. “Don’t,” she yells.
“Honey,” Rafe sighs. “I need you to step out of the way.”
Sabina shakes her head. She holds her arms out to her sides, as if her small frame could shield the two men. “I can’t do that,” she says.
“Bina,” Sam reaches for her shoulder.
“Don’t even think about touching my wife,” Rafe says, aiming the gun at him.
“Put the gun down!” Sabina says.
“You’re really going to defend them,” her husband scoffs. “You’re picking these two assholes over me, your husband?”
“It’s not about picking sides,” Sabina says. “And why should I side with you anyway? You’ve known Sam has been alive, all of this time? And you didn’t think to tell me? Why? Why would you do that?”
“It’s complicated,” he says.
“Then explain it to me.”
“You talk in your sleep,” Rafe sighs and lowers the gun.
“Okay? So?”
“You say all sorts of things, you know,” Rafe takes a cautious step forward. “You reenact your memories, your nightmares. You relive all of those traumatic moments that you keep buried. You’ve screamed about your parents, screamed about the night of their murder. And you cry about… him,” he says, glancing at Sam. “You regret Panama, regret not pushing harder at looking for an alternative plan. You regret not telling me what he meant to you.”
“I—”
“But one day you stopped,” Rafe says. “I didn’t tell you about Sam because I thought that you had finally finished grieving his death. I didn’t want you to go through that all over again.”
Sabina relaxes her arms. “How dare you make that choice for me,” she says.
“It’s not like he ever bothered to search for you. He didn’t even tell his own brother he was alive,” Rafe says. “What makes you think that he would’ve bothered to see you, Sabina? If he had never betrayed me, we wouldn’t all be here right now. Not like this. You might have gone the rest of your life believing that Sam had died in that prison.”
Sabina swallows a lump in her throat. Her heartbeat is racing, pounding against her chest. She angles her body to look at Sam.
He avoids her gaze, turning his eyes down towards the ground.
An admission of guilt?
Rafe takes another step forward. “I lied to you, I’ll admit that.” He extends a hand in her direction. “But I didn’t do it out of malice. Step away from them, honey. We can find the treasure. We will find the treasure.”
“I don’t care about that,” she says. “You lied to me.”
“I never did it with the intention of hurting you,” Rafe says. “But I promise you that I won’t make that mistake again.”
“How can I trust you?”
"We’re partners, remember? Not just for this treasure, but in life.”
“Please,” Sabina says. “Don’t hurt them.”
“Everything is going to be okay, honey.”
Hesitant, Sabina reaches forward, placing her hand on top of Rafe’s open palm.
“Bina, don’t,” Sam says.
Rafe steps closer to his wife, pulling her into a tight hug. “That’s my girl,” he says, eyes focused on Sam.
Sabina digs her nails into the back of his shirt and buries her face into his chest.
With one arm wrapped around his wife, Rafe aims his gun at Nate. “Back to business then.”
“Wait,” Sabina tries to pull herself out of his hold, but Rafe’s grip is firm. “You promised—”
“Wait now,” Nate says. “You’re making a mistake, you got—”
“Rafe, don’t!” Sam steps forward, partially blocking Nate. “Rafe, don’t, don’t, listen I—”
Ignoring their pleas, Rafe fires the gun. The shot misses Nate, but hits Sam in his left arm. The impact of the bullet sends him stumbling backwards, causing him to bump into Nate. Less than a moment later, Nate disappears, falling off the edge of the cliff.
“Nathan!” Sam yells.
Rafe turns to look at Nadine and the mercenaries. “Take him,” he orders.
February 2002
A morning glow peaks in through the curtains, illuminating the couple tangled beneath the bedsheets. Sabina whines at the touch of light and hides her face beneath the covers. Beside her, Rafe shifts, awoken by the movement. His hand brushes against Sabina’s naked back, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.
“Good morning,” he says.
“No,” Sabina mumbles, “go back to sleep.” She buries her face into his chest.
Rafe chuckles. “You know that I’d love to do that.”
“Don’t argue. Just sleep.”
He places a hand on top of the one Sabina is laying on his chest. Rubs his thumb across the tops of her fingers. “But I have business meetings I can’t postpone any further,” he says.
“Give me the handcuffs,” she says. “I’ll chain you to the bed.”
“Are you sure?” Rafe pushes the cover away from her face. “You seem to enjoy wearing them more than I do.”
“I’m not the one who plans on leaving.”
He cups her cheek and pulls her into a kiss. “If I keep postponing, they’ll walk away completely.”
“Fine,” Sabina pouts.
Rafe recaptures her lips. He grabs onto her hips and coerces her to lay down on her back. When he moves to hover above her, Sabina wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him against her body.
“You know that I love you, right?” Rafe says.
Sabina nods, pulling him in for another kiss.
But he pulls away, choosing instead to look at her flushed cheeks. Rafe smiles and brushes the loose strands of hair away from her face. He rolls off of her and opens the drawer in the beside table.
Sabina sits up in the bed, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
Rafe turns back towards her. “Marry me,” he says, holding up a small black velvet box.
She blinks up at him, processing the words that are swimming around in her discombobulated head. “What did you say?”
As he takes a nervous breath, he pulls back the lid of the box. “Will you marry me?”
Sabina’s eyes focus on the object inside, a ring.
A pear-shaped diamond, set on a sleek white gold band.
“You want… to marry me?”
“I do,” Rafe frowns. He’s hurt, confused by her response. “I love you. There’s no one in the world I would rather be with.”
Sabina reaches for the box, pulling it out of Rafe’s hand. “But the treasure,” she says, “we haven’t found Avery’s treasure yet. What if we never find it? Would you still want to be with me?”
“Yes,” he responds. “I don’t want to marry the treasure. I want to marry you.”
“Okay,” she whispers. Sabina sniffles, overwhelmed by emotion. But there’s a twinkle in her watering eyes and a small smile on her swollen lips. “Yes,” she says. “Yes!” She throws herself onto Rafe, knocking him down onto the bed, and peppers him with feverish, giddy kisses.
December 2015
The moment Sam had revealed where the treasure was, still on Avery’s ship, Rafe gathered together some of the Shoreline men. Using the distraction, Sabina approaches the mercenary that has been assigned to keep an eye on the Drake brother.
“Jonas, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
She tilts her head in Sam’s direction. “If you let me speak with him alone, I’ll wire five thousand dollars into your bank account.”
He pauses, mulling over the offer. “Gotta be honest with ya, I’m not sure if dealing with your husband’s temper is worth that price.”
“Ten thousand.”
“Fifteen.”
“Sure,” Sabina shrugs. “It’s his money anyway.”
“Try to be quick about it, yeah?” Jonas steps out of the way, allowing her to slip inside of the small alcove.
Hearing the approaching footsteps, Sam looks up at his guest. His hands are bound, tied tightly with rope. The gunshot wound in his arm is bandaged, but splotches of blood have seeped through the gauze. He sighs, leaning back against the stone wall. “Bina,” he greets.
“Hey, Sam,” she says. She sits down on the floor, away from his reach. “So… I’m not sure on how to go about this discussion. My kind-of-ex-boyfriend coming back from the dead isn’t a scenario that I was ever prepared for.”
“Listen, I—”
“Were you going to tell me?” She interrupts. “Were you ever going to let me know that you were still alive?”
He sighs. “I thought about you, all the time. But I didn’t think that I was ever gonna get out of there. And then, when I did, well, Rafe was the one pulling those strings. Thirteen years had gone by. I figured that you had already moved on.”
“Well, you weren’t wrong,” Sabina admits. “I did get married—”
Sam laughs, a cynical chuckle. “You sure did, huh? Married Rafe. Could’ve picked anyone in the whole world, but you picked him.”
“I don’t have to justify my actions to you,” she says. “What was I supposed to do? Dwell on you for the rest of my life? Stay single, alone forever? I thought you were dead. How could you have expected me to wait for someone who wasn’t coming back?”
“You didn’t have to pick him,” Sam mutters.
“I didn’t have to, but I did! I wanted him. And I knew that he wanted me.” Sabina pauses, using the moment to calm herself down. “‘After we find the treasure, run away with me.’ That was your pseudo-proposal, word for word.”
“I remember,” he says.
“When Rafe asked me to marry him, there was no caveat,” she says. “He simply wanted me. It wasn’t all or nothing. I wasn’t part of a package deal.”
Sam frowns. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you were.”
“Sam,” Sabina shakes her head. “If you had never gotten trapped in that prison, if you had made it out of Panama with Rafe and Nate, do you really think that we would still be together?”
“I—I don’t know,” he says. “I’d like to think that we would be.”
“I think you would’ve left me,” Sabina says.
“What? Why would you think that?”
“For two decades, all you’ve thought about is that treasure. You didn’t even tell Nate that you were alive. You kept him in the dark, then you lied to him. If tracking down your brother isn’t one of the first things you do once you’ve gained your freedom, then where am I on that list?”
“Things were complicated.”
“Not nearly as complicated as you pretend them to be,” she says. “You’re just a selfish asshole. You don’t care that you’ve hurt people, betrayed them, let them down.” Sabina sits up on her knees and reaches for the back pocket of her pants. She pulls out a pocket knife and flips it open.
“Hey,” Sam says, doing his best to inch away from her. “Bina, I know you’re upset. But you don’t need to do this.”
She wraps her fingers around his bound hands and pulls him towards her. “I’m such an idiot,” she mutters. Sabina saws her knife through the rope, breaking the binds.
“What—”
“I love Rafe, I do,” she says. “But once, I think I loved you. I cared about you, at least. I might be a bit pissed off at you right now, but I won’t stand by while Rafe holds you captive. Just get out of here.”
Sam holds onto her hands and leans towards her. “Come with me,” he says.
“I can’t,” she whispers.
“You know what kind of man he is,” he says. “You deserve better.”
Sabina shakes her head, frowning. “I’m not sure if you’re much better.” She pulls herself away from him. “None of us are who we used to be. Rafe and I have our problems, but when we work, we work. I won’t deny that things have been a bit strained, lately. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t fix our marriage. I won’t throw all of this away for you. Not anymore.”
Sam nods his head, a grimace on his lips.
“Just so you, I’m glad you’re alive,” Sabina says.
“I’m sorry. For everything.”
“I know,” she says. “Okay,” Sabina stands up. “Right. I need you to punch me or something.”
“What?” Sam says, also moving to stand up.
“Well, we need to stage your escape,” she says.
“Can’t I just walk out of here?”
“I paid off the guard. It’ll look suspicious if you disappear after I leave.”
“I’m not going to punch you,” Sam says.
“Just punch me! Then take out the guard.”
“Bina—”
“Sam,” she hisses. “For once in your life, just listen to me. We don’t need to argue about everything.”
“Oh, my god,” he groans. “Why does your plan involve me punching you in the face?”
“What—I never told you to punch my face.”
“Jesus Christ—”
“Is that where you wanted to punch me?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Maybe I should punch you in the fucking face,” Sabina says, taking a step towards him.
“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Sam says, holding his hands up in front of him. “I’m just saying that—”
“Oi,” a voice interrupts.
Sam and Sabina turn to look at the entrance.
Jonas the Mercenary stands there, gun pointed in Sam’s direction. “What’s going on here? You untie him?”
“Jonas,” Sabina says. Her eyes flicker over to Sam, before focusing again on the mercenary. “Thank god you’re here! Samuel was… threatening me. Said that he would kill me if I didn’t cut the rope.”
“That so?” He takes a few steps forward. “Guess we should tie him back up.”
“Right,” she agrees.
“Go stand by the door,” he says. “I’ll bind him.”
Sabina throws one last glance at Sam, before heading towards the exit. Just as she walks passed the mercenary, she slams her foot into the back of his knee, knocking him off-balance. Sam rushes forward and pulls the assault rifle out of Jonas’ hands. Using the grip of the gun, he slams it across the man’s face, leaving him dazed and gasping on the ground. For good measure, Sam hits the mercenary again, breaking his nose.
“Go,” Sabina says.
Sam looks at her, opens his mouth to tell her something.
“Go! Get out of here.”
“Thank you,” he says. Without another moment to spare, Sam sprints out of the alcove.
Sabina gives him a head start. She waits for thirty seconds, before making her move. Clutching a fake bruise on her side, she stumbles out of the alcove, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Help! I need help! Rafe!”
A couple of mercenaries run towards her. “What’s going on?”
“I—I don’t know,” she says, gasping for air. “It all happened so fast—oh, my god, Jonas—Jonas is in there.”
“Sabina?” Rafe says, running towards her. “Honey, what happened?”
“Sam! He—he escaped!”
He directs his gaze to the mercenaries. “Find him,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” Sabina says. “I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t and he—he had a gun. I didn’t know what to do.”
Holding the sides of her face in his hands, Rafe leans down to press a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay, honey. Are you okay? Did he hit you?”
“I got tangled up in the fight,” she says. “But I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. “He’s probably heading for the treasure. We need to go catch up.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“We are so close. We’re practically right there. Just need to beat him to it.” Rafe grabs onto her hand, pulling her along with him.
They rush down the tunnel, heading for where the boats are docked. As they enter the area, Sam is driving away with one of the boats. Rafe drags Sabina towards Nadine, whom is loading up a boat with treasure.
“Sam just stole our goddamn boat,” Rafe says. “He’s headed for Avery’s ship. Come on.”
“Let him,” she says. “We’re done.”
Rafe looks at her, confused. “We’re done?”
“Most of my men are dead, Rafe. And those who aren’t have already left.”
“Can you see that?” Rafe asks, pointing in the direction of Avery’s ship. “The end is literally in sight.”
“That maniac pirate of yours has rigged this entire cave. I’m not setting foot on his ship.”
“Nadine, if you cut and run right now, the loss of all your men—everything that we’ve done—is for nothing.”
Nadine points to the raft on her left. “We have millions in gold, right here. I’d say that, plus our lives, is something.” She steps around Rafe, moving to finish getting the raft ready for departure.
“No wonder so many of your men abandoned you,” Rafe says.
Nadine turns to look at him. “Excuse me?”
Sabina glances at the mercenary standing behind her, alerted by the sound of him adjusting his grip on his gun.
Rafe steps away from her, approaching Nadine. “We’re on the verge of making history here, and you’re willing to just walk off with a pittance, a fraction what Sam’s gonna get from that boat.”
“If he can walk away from that ship alive, he can have it,” Nadine says. “Hell, I’d say he’s earned it. God knows you didn’t.”
A moment of stillness, and then—
Rafe slaps Nadine across her face. “Now look,” he says, following another brief pause. “We can stand here and insult each other all day, or we can finish what it is that we—”
Nadine interrupts him, slamming her fist into his stomach. She shoves Rafe onto the ground and then aims her pistol at him.
“Rafe!” Sabina rushes to his side.
“Oh,” Nadine yells, “we’re finishing it all right—” The sound of a gun being cocked pulls her attention away from the man.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the mercenary says, with his gun aimed at her.
Sabina helps Rafe onto his feet, double checking him for any other injuries.
“Yeah… the thing about mercenaries, Nadine,” he says. “Their loyalty, it’s bought. It’s not earned. Now, come on. Either we finish this thing together, or we can just end it right here.”
Sabina lifts her eyes, meeting her gaze with the other woman. “Just get in the boat, Ms. Ross,” she says. “Please, nobody else needs to die right now.”
Nadine glances down at her weapon, before slowly lowering it. “Let’s go make history,” she says, tucking the gun away.
“Atta girl,” Rafe says, gesturing towards the boat.
When Sabina and Nadine make eye contact once again, Sabina mouths, “I’m so sorry.”
Nadine holds her gaze for a moment, before climbing into the boat.
September 2002
Growing up, she had never imagined what her wedding might look like. She had never pictured her dress, the venue. She had never thought about who would be waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Getting married had always seemed like an event that would be too extravagant and… depressing. She had no one to walk her down the aisle. No family to invite. Her friendships had always been rather brief, dependent on where she was traveling and if they could help her get what she was looking for.
People kept telling her that her wedding would be one of the happiest days of her life.
Yet, she had never felt so isolated from everyone.
Standing on a raised platform, Sabina stares at her reflection in the large trifold mirror. Her head feels heavy, stuffed full with curled extensions that are pulled up into an intricate bun. Her lace cathedral veil is pinned into place, once again. In her nerves, Sabina has already tugged it out of position five times. The strings of her corset are pulled tight, constricting her ability to breathe. She wants to tear them out, wants a breath of fresh unrestrained air, but it’s too late for that now. Fiddling with her diamond ring, Sabina resists the urge to smooth down the organza fabric of her dress.
When she had first put on the ivory off-the-shoulder ball gown, she had felt like a fool, like she was undeserving of the dress. The fabric was covered in thousands of crystals, each of which were carefully positioned by hand. The crystals were arranged in complex floral designs and placed beneath a layer of organza. This dulled their shine, creating the softer, ethereal sparkling effect that Sabina had wanted. But still, she had felt that this dress was too glamorous.
Upon seeing her, Rafe’s mother had surprised her with tears. Telling her that the dress was perfect, made for her. And in that moment, Sabina had also cried. Was this how her own mother would have reacted? Would she be in agreement with Mrs. Adler? Or would she have longed to see Sabina in a different silhouette? Marrying a different man?
“Miss Hewitt,” the wedding planner’s voice captures her attention. “I don’t want to rush you, but we are behind schedule. Your groom is starting to get a bit nervous.”
“Ten more minutes,” Sabina says.
“Miss Hewitt,” she sighs. “Your guests have already been waiting for an hour.”
Sabina shakes her head. Subconsciously, her fingers grasp onto the edge of her veil. “Just give him ten more minutes,” she says. “He’ll be here.” And once again, the material is pulled out of place.
The woman frowns, giving Sabina a pitying look. “I understand that you want him to walk you down the aisle, Miss Hewitt.” She snaps her fingers at the hair stylist, prompting them to get up and work on resecuring the veil. “However, Mr. Drake didn’t show up for the rehearsal yesterday.”
“Maybe he mixed up the times,” Sabina says. “Or… Or he’s stuck in traffic.” She winces when the stylist stabs her scalp with one of the pins.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’s coming.”
The door to the dressing room opens and an older woman steps into the room. With her red lips pulled into the slightest hint of a frown, she asks, “Is something wrong?”
“Mrs. Adler,” the wedding planner greets. “Miss Hewitt has been insisting that we wait for Nathan Drake’s arrival, even though I have told her several times that it is extremely unlikely that he will be in attendance.”
Sabina sighs, closing her eyes. “Just ten more minutes,” she says, before taking a deep breath. “I just want ten more minutes.”
“Miss Hewitt—”
“Give her the ten minutes,” Mrs. Adler says. When her eyes settle on Sabina’s reflection, the sharp contours of her face soften. “I would like a moment of privacy with Sabina.”
Without further instruction, the wedding planner, the hair stylist, and the makeup artist all hurry out of the room. The bridesmaids, dressed in mauve colored chiffon gowns, are quick to follow.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Adler approaches the bride, taking great care to avoid stepping on the much-too-long train of her dress.
Sabina opens her mouth to speak, but the words are caught in her throat. Instead, she rests her hands against her stomach, hoping to appease the stabbing sensations coming from inside.
“A wedding can feel overwhelming,” the woman says. “I was a mess for my own day. In my heart, I knew that I was marrying the right person, but I still had my doubts. I had a bit of a freakout, myself. Locked myself in a bathroom, for half an hour, and debated about the pros and cons of marriage. It’s okay to be nervous, Sabina. Most brides are. But I wonder if there is something else bothering you, something beyond nerves.”
Sabina swallows a lump in her throat.
“Your life has been deprived of a mother figure,” Mrs. Adler continues. “If it’s alright with you, I can be that figure for you. You are family now, my dear. You can talk to me. I will listen.”
“God, there’s just so many people here,” Sabina gasps.
“Rafe was a bit generous with the guest list,” Mrs. Adler agrees. “Is that why you’re upset?”
“To be honest,” Sabina says. “I’ve never put much thought into a wedding. I never imagined that I would be walking into a room full of hundreds of strangers. Everyone is here for Rafe, aren’t they? They’re not here for me. I’m just a show.”
“Tell me why you are here.”
The bride frowns, confused. “To get married.”
“Then you are here for Rafe,” Mrs. Adler says. “Not for your guests. And Rafe, Rafe is here for you. He is waiting at the end of the aisle,” she smiles, “for you. Forget about the people who have come to watch. The truth is that most of them are not really here for Rafe. They are here to keep up appearances, to maintain a good impression. When you reach the end of the aisle, you will forget all about those strangers.”
Sabina turns to look at the woman and gives her a small smile. “Thank you,” she says.
“I have a gift for you,” Mrs. Adler says. She reaches for wrist, unclasping a gold bracelet lined with rubies. “I was planning to give it to you after the ceremony, as a little ‘welcome to the family’ gift, but I think that it would be better for you to have it now.” The woman reaches out for Sabina’s left hand, pulling it towards her, and then secures the jewelry around the wrist.
“It was my mother’s,” Mrs. Adler continues. “She gave it to me on my wedding day. And now I continue that tradition and give it to you.”
“Mrs. Adler—”
“Gemma. Call me Gemma.”
“Thank you, Gemma.”
“I will give you a few minutes to compose yourself,” Gemma says. “Wipe away those tears, yes?”
Sabina nods.
Just moments after Rafe’s mother exits the dressing room, the door reopens.
“Holy shit,” a man says. “Look at you.”
Through the reflection in the mirror, Sabina sees him. She gasps and turns to look at the man, “Sully?”
“Hey, there, kiddo,” he says, approaching her. “You know, I had a feeling you would be a stunning bride, but you’ve exceeded my expectations.”
“It’s the dress,” she replies. “A forty-seven thousand dollar custom made gown.”
“That’s some serious cash,” Sully whistles.
“This is just the ceremony gown. The reception dress is even more.” Sabina shakes her head. “I can’t even believe I’m wearing something so expensive.”
“You are marrying Rafe. Did you expect anything less?”
“I’m glad you’re here, Sully,” Sabina smiles. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. I know that you and Rafe are… far from friends.”
“I wouldn’t miss your wedding, kid,” he says. “But what are you still doing back here? Not that I don’t enjoy the sight, but you’re starting to make Rafe sweat out there.”
“I invited Nate,” she says. “God, I even asked him to walk me down the aisle.”
Sully nods, beginning to figure out the problem. “Nate’s not here, is he?”
“I think I always knew that he wouldn’t show,” the bride sighs. “I just wanted to be wrong. I know that he hates Rafe, but I thought that maybe—just maybe—he would show up for me.”
“He’s still coping,” Sully says. “Won’t even mention… Sam… nowadays.”
Sabina hums. “Me, too,” she admits. “Sully, am I crazy? Just two years ago, I was willing to drop everything and run off with Sam. And now I’m here, getting married to somebody else. What if I’m making a mistake? Maybe that’s why Nate’s not here? Maybe he thinks that I’ve forgotten about Sam or that I’m closing off that part of my life.”
“Hey,” Sully steps forward and holds onto Sabina’s hands. “No one blames you for moving on with your life. There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.”
“I know, but—”
“Do you love Rafe?”
“Yes.”
“And does he make you happy?”
Sabina nods.
Sully gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay to let go of Sam,” he says. “You deserve a life of happiness, especially after everything that you’ve been through.”
Before she can stop herself, the question spills through her lips. “Will you walk me down the aisle?”
“Of course,” Sully says.
“Thank you,” Sabina wraps her arms around the man’s neck, pulling him in for a tight hug.
December 2015
Heat tingles against her skin.
Prickling.
Stinging.
As she breathes, she coughs. Her lungs are stuffed, filled with ashes. When Sabina is finally able to open her eyes, she sees a world of red. She blinks, trying to clear the blurriness of her vision. Sabina groans, rolling onto her back.
She hears a voice yelling for someone… yelling for… Sam?
“Hey, Nate,” a different voice says.
She turns her head to look for the source of the sound. Through the haze, she can see the outline of a man, her husband. In Rafe’s hand is a gun, raised and pointed in front of him.
The first voice replies, “Where is Sam?”
Sabina tilts her head, releases a gasp in pain, and looks at the other man. Nate has his own gunned pointed back at Rafe.
“Oh, he’s right there.” Her husband looks over to his left, where Sam is trapped and unconscious beneath a wooden beam.
“Sam!” Nate calls.
“Relax, he’s alive,” Rafe says. “You know, this idiot nearly got us all killed.”
Oh.
That’s right.
The explosion.
Sam… Sam had caused it, had—
“I’m getting him outta here,” Nate says.
“No, you’re not.”
“Rafe, you can have the treasure, alright? Just let me save my brother.”
Her husband laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “After everything he’s done? How noble of you, but no.”
“We stay here any longer and we’re all dead,” Nate says. “Is that what you want?”
“That’s not what I said. What do you think, Nadine?”
The Shoreline leader steps in through the doorway and descends the short staircase. Her gun is pointed in Nate’s direction.
Sabina pushes her back off of the uneven wooden floor, moving into a sitting position. The back of her head is burning, throbbing. Pressing her fingertips into her hair, she winces when they make contact with an open wound that’s soaked in some sort of liquid. “Fuck,” she whispers. Sabina brings her hand in front of her face, stares at the warm blood coating her finger tips.
“Good to see you up and about,” Rafe says. “Be a dear and relieve Nate there of his gun.”
“Hand it over,” Nadine says, approaching Nate.
“You really think you can trust him? Huh?” Nate says.
“Not your concern.”
Ignoring the trio, Sabina crawls towards the unconscious Drake brother. “Sam,” she calls, shaking his shoulder. She tries to lift up the wooden beam that has him pinned down, but it doesn’t move. “Sam, wake up. Sam?”
“Now, why are you trying to instigate? Nate—” Rafe says, stepping closer to the mercenary. “Nadine and I are partners, I don’t screw over my partners.”
Nadine takes the gun out of Nate’s hand. Slowly, she starts to back away.
“Get over there,” Rafe orders, pointing his gun towards the other end of the room. “You and your brother though… Right from the start, you took advantage of my generosity. You tried to cut me out and it’s high time you learned—”
Nadine presses the barrel of her gun against the back of Rafe’s head.
“What are you doing?” He asks.
“Now you give me your gun,” she says.
“Sam,” Sabina whispers again. “C’mon, wake up.” She shakes him once more, more aggressive, more insistent. “I need your help.”
Sam’s eyelids twitch, but nothing else moves.
Rafe scoffs, “Nadine.”
She interrupts him with the cock of her gun. “I won’t ask you again.”
The man sighs, then surrenders the gun. “You are being profoundly stupid right now,” Rafe says. He steps away from Nadine and rubs the back of his neck.
“Look over there,” she says, indicating to her right.
“Nadine,” Rafe says, stepping closer to her. “Stop screwing around—”
The mercenary angles her gun down towards the floor, shooting a bullet between his feet.
Sabina screams at the noise, startled.
“Jesus!” Rafe yells.
“I said look!”
“Okay,” he says. Rafe glances over. “It’s a couple of skeletons. So what?”
“I don’t know as much about history as you boys,” Nadine says, “but I’ve got a pretty good idea who those two are.”
“Well,” Rafe says, “enlighten us.”
“It’s Avery and Tew,” Nate explains. “They killed each other.”
Rafe glances over at Nate. “Good for them. What’s the point?”
“Everyone obsessed with this treasure gets what they deserve,” Nadine says. She takes a step back, working her way back up the stairs.
“So what,” Nate calls. “You’re just leaving us here to die?”
“Oh, I’m just leaving,” she responds. “Whether you die or not, I don’t really care.”
“Nadine,” Rafe says. “Don’t.”
The mercenary ignores him, turning her gaze to focus on the other woman. “Sabina,” she says. “If you want to get out of here, come with me.”
“What?” Sabina lifts her head to look at Nadine.
“You don’t need to burn alive with all of these dickheads,” she explains.
“Are you kidding me right now?” Rafe chuckles. “You two have been fighting for weeks—”
“Shut up, Rafe,” Nadine says.
“—and now you wanna be best friends?”
Sabina shakes her head, unsure of what to do. “Nadine, I—”
“Make your choice. Now. I’m going to leave, with or without you.”
“I can’t—I can’t just leave them here,” Sabina says.
“You deserve better than this,” Nadine sighs. “Goodbye, Sabina.”
“Nadine,” Rafe says, moving towards her. “Wait—”
“So long, Rafe,” she says, before pulling the door shut and locking it.
“Nadine! Nadine!” He yells. Rafe slams his fists against the wood. “You open this goddamn door right now!”
“Rafe,” Nate shouts. “She’s gone!” He crouches down next to Sabina, eyes focused on the same wooden beam that she has been struggling to lift. “C’mon, give me a hand. We’ll all get out of here.”
“Oh, no,” Rafe says, pacing around in the corner of the room. “No, that won’t work.”
“I’ve been trying to wake him up,” Sabina looks over at Nate. “But he just hasn’t been responsive.”
“It’s okay,” Nate says, placing a comforting hand on Sabina’s forearm. “C’mon,” he calls to Rafe. “Help me with Sam and I’ll help you open the door.”
Together, Sabina and Nate attempt to life the beam, but struggle with the weight.
“No,” Rafe says.
“Rafe,” Sabina lifts her head to look at her husband. “For god’s sake, just help us.”
He reaches for a sword lodged into one of the skeletons and pulls it out. “I’m not going to be able to enjoy one of these coins, knowing that you and your worthless brother are still sucking air.”
Seeing the sword in Rafe’s hand, Nate stands up and starts to back away. “Alright,” he says. “Just… Just calm down. You can practice your fencing when we get outside.”
“Nate, just shut up,” Rafe says.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sabina says, standing up.
“Seriously, Rafe,” Nate says. “This is insane, even for you.”
“You want to hear insane? Nathan Drake raced a madman and his entire army to the steps of Shambhala.” Rafe takes a step forward and swings his sword at Nate.
“Jesus!” Nate curses, dodging the weapon.
“Nathan Drake found a lost city in the middle of the Rub’ al Khali desert.” Rafe swings the sword again. This time the blade slices through Nate’s shirt, breaking the skin of his chest.
Sabina takes a cautious step forward. “Rafe, please. Put the sword down.”
But the man ignores her, opting to attack Nate once again.
Nate leaps back, barely avoiding the blade. “God damn it—come on, we can get out of here together.”
“Nathan Drake discovered the fabled El Dorado.” Rafe lunges at Nate, swiping the blade twice at the man. With the second swing, the edge of the sword slices across Nate’s chest, leaving behind a new, shallow wound. Again, Rafe attempts to cut into the other man’s skin.
“C’mon Rafe, stop,” Nate says.
“Nathan Drake is a legend,” Rafe laughs. “You know, I shot the man who told me that.”
“Look, I get it. You don’t like me very much.”
“You know, for all your ‘greatness,’ Nate, you have nothing. You are nothing. And I warned you to get out of my way.”
“Stop it!” Sabina screams. She charges into Rafe, shoving him away from Nate. “Rafe, babe, I need you to calm down.”
Rafe hardly spares her a glance, instead moving to step around her.
“Please,” Sabina clutches onto his arm, a poor attempt to hold him back. “Don’t do this.”
He pulls his arm out of her grasp and pushes his wife away from him.
Losing her balance, Sabina stumbles and crashes into a pile of debris near Sam’s body. A jagged piece of metal pierces into the skin of her left arm, leaving her with long gashes. Blood spews out of the wounds, sliding down her flesh and onto the floor. She whimpers, pain pulsating throughout her body.
Eyes focused solely on Nate, Rafe is unaware of what he has caused. He swings the blade at Nate, leaving several more cuts on his chest and arms.
Dodging the sword, Nate grabs onto Rafe’s arm and punches him in the face with his free hand. With both hands firmly gripped onto the arm, Nate struggles to maintain control in the fight. He forces Rafe up against a wall, but Rafe slams his forehead into Nate’s, sending him stumbling backwards.
Rafe seizes the opportunity, pushing his opponent down onto the ground. Fighting against Nate’s resistance, Rafe attempts to shove the blade down into the man’s neck. “I have sacrificed everything to find Avery,” Rafe says. “And I’m not gonna let a couple of two-bit thieves, a senile con man, and a washed-up journalist take that away from me!”
“Enough!” Nate pushes back against Rafe, shoving the man off of him. He reaches to the right and wraps his fingers around the handle of another sword.
“You care about that parade of losers so much,” Rafe says, circling Nate. “I’m going to make sure they join you.”
Sabina presses her hand against the fresh wound, unsure of how to slow the bleeding. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters, “shit.” The liquid seeps through her fingers, mingling with the once drying blood of her head injury.
“En garde, dickhead,” Nate says.
“That’s the spirit,” Rafe smiles.
Nate lunges at him, slamming his sword at the man. The two blades clash against each other and Rafe jumps out of Nate’s reach. When Rafe swings his sword at Nate, the Drake brother rams his elbow into Rafe’s nose and then kicks him in the chest. Rafe stumbles back, hitting the wall behind him. Nate swings again, but this time Rafe kicks the man away from him. He takes a step forward, aiming to slice through Nate’s throat, but Nate blocks him just in time.
Starting to get dizzy, Sabina lays down on the floor. She lifts her wounded arm, forcing herself to take a better look at the cuts. Droplets of blood splatter against her cheeks.
Sabina closes her eyes.
Daddy!
She’s a little girl again, running into the outstretched arms of her father.
Daddy, you’re home!
She wraps her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him down into the ground.
Hey, sweetheart, he says. You should be asleep. He secures his arms around Sabina and lifts her up into the air.
No, she shakes her head. No, I missed you.
I missed you, too. He presses a kiss against her cheek. But you know that Daddy has a lot of work to do.
No, no more work.
Sweetheart—
Why do you always leave? I don’t want you to leave anymore.
Her father sighs. My work is important. I’m going to find something amazing, sweetheart. And when I do, I promise that I won’t ever have to leave you again.
Daddy, please—
Richard Hewitt collapses.
Becomes a bleeding corpse, staining the hardwood floors.
And young Sabina hides beneath the planks, her tiny hands covering her mouth. Eyes are wide, staring at the blood leaking through the cracks, the crevices.
It splatters against her cheeks.
Why couldn’t you pick me?
“—Bina!”
Somebody is shaking her.
“Bina, open your eyes.”
When they press a hand against her cheek, Sabina leans into the warmth.
“C’mon, baby, wake up.”
She opens her eyes and smiles at the sight of a familiar face. “Sam?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m right here, but I need you to get up, okay? Nathan and Rafe are about to kill each other and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
“Nate… Rafe?” Sabina blinks at him, unable to fully comprehend the words. “What?”
“Bina—”
She tunes out his voice, focusing her attention to the burning warmth surrounding her. When she turns her head to the left, her eyes grow wide. The muddied thoughts in her head dissipate, cleared by the view in front of her.
Rafe swipes his sword against Nate’s stomach and cuts through the fabric of his shirt. He strikes him in the chest with his foot, knocking him down onto his back. Sword pointed at Nate’s throat, Rafe takes a step forward.
“You know what, Nate? Underneath all the bravado, you’re just a sad little boy with delusions—of grandeur… who, by the way, can’t fence for shit,” he says.
Sabina rolls onto her knees, then stumbles up onto her feet. “Wait—”
Rafe raises his sword, ready to end the fight. “So long, Nathan Drake.”
“Nathan!” Sam yells, attracting the attention of both men. He grabs the handle of the sword laying near him and tosses it in Nate’s direction.
Nate grabs it and strikes the blade across Rafe’s own.
“You don’t know when to give up, do you? That’s good,” Rafe says, between each swing of his sword. “Don’t hand it to me. I’ve had everything handed to me on a goddamn silver platter. Everything except this!”
Nate whips his sword in front of him to block another powerful strike, but Rafe’s blade breaks the metal.
“I earned this,” Rafe says. “All of it.”
September 2012
If you ask Sabina to picture her idea of romantic vacation, this is what she would tell you. A candlelit dinner at a truly exquisite, but probably overpriced, restaurant. Walking through the Paris streets, long after dusk. Sharing bottles of wine between giggling, messy kisses. Falling into a comfortable, happy slumber with the love of her life.
But getting everything that you want is impossible.
And for her tenth wedding anniversary, Sabina spends it without her partner. Drunk in her Parisian hotel room, staring at the blurry lights outside of her windows. Her cheeks are swollen. Eyes are puffy and dirty from smeared mascara and navy blue eyeliner. Brunette hair tangled and pulled up into a lopsided bun.
Rafe was supposed to be here. Was supposed to meet her in Paris over a day ago. But her husband had canceled, saying that an issue at work would require his immediate attention. Saying that he would make it up to her, whisk her away to a private island where no one could bother them.
She almost believes him.
When somebody knocks on the door to the suite, Sabina jumps off of the armchair and stumbles across the room. She throws open the door, and without a moment to pause, wraps her arms around the woman standing there.
Chloe Frazer. A fellow treasure hunter that she had met a couple of years ago. The two had become fast friends, bonding over a discussion about whether the treasure described in The Copper Scroll even existed. And if so, where it could possibly be.
“Oh,” the Australian woman says. “I’m happy to see you, too, love.”
Sabina’s words are slurred. “Chloe, I’m so… so happy you’re here.”
“C’mon, let’s get out of the hallway.” Careful, Chloe urges Sabina back through the door. Glancing around the hotel room, she sees shards of broken glass and puddles of red wine. Several partially consumed bottles lay flat on their sides, a source for many of the wine stains.
Sabina grabs onto one of Chloe’s hands and drags her to the dining table. “You must try this Caber… net Sau… Sauvig… non—Cabernet Sauvignon!” She picks up a bottle of wine and hands the whole thing to Chloe. “I must warn you, it’s very… very heavy on the cherry, but it is so good and… six hundred dollars?” Sabina laughs, “Wine is so expensive.”
Chloe grabs the bottle, notices that it is almost empty, and takes a sip. “Not bad,” she hums. “And how many bottles did you buy?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “A few. Maybe… ten.”
Mid-sip, Chloe chokes.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sabina continues. “It’s all Rafe’s fucking money anyway. He won’t even notice.”
“Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same, if I were you.”
Sabina picks up another bottle of wine and collapses onto the sofa. “I think he’s going to leave me,” she says.
Chloe frowns. “Why would you think that?”
“I think I’ve done something terrible.”
“Alright,” Chloe joins the woman on the couch. “Tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours.”
Sabina unclasps the chain around her neck and hands her medallion over to Chloe. “I solved it,” she says.
Chloe raises an eyebrow. “You… solved this?”
“Yes.”
“The mystery puzzle that you’ve been trying to solve for decades?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” Chloe takes another sip of wine. “I’m not sure how this is bad news, but we can come back to that. First, I wanna know how you solved it.”
“Right,” Sabina nods. She takes back the medallion and stands up.
The two women enter the bathroom, where Sabina tosses the medallion into the sink and then closes the drain. She downs a large gulp of wine, before pouring the rest of the contents into the sink.
After a couple of minutes, a dim light appears, glowing from the object. The wine in the sink moves in gentle waves, the liquid disturbed by something beneath the surface. Once the wine settles, Sabina reaches into the sink, retrieves the medallion, and sets it on the counter.
The object looks distorted, with portions of the gold metal jutting out of place. Many, but not all, of the symbols glow in a faint yellow color. The marking in the center, Avery’s sigil, is popped up and pushed away, revealing an inscription.
The treasure you seek will only bring death.
“How the hell did you figure that out?”
“I don’t… I don’t think it’s a clue,” Sabina says.
Chloe picks up on the woman’s train of thought. “You think it’s a warning.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you told Rafe?”
Sabina leans against the bathroom wall and slides down to sit on the ground. “No,” she says, with a sigh.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Chloe says. She grabs the medallion, before joining Sabina. “Why not?”
“I think he’ll leave me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because I want him to stop looking for it. I want him to let go of Avery’s treasure,” Sabina says. “If the warning is true, then I don’t want him to find it.”
“Have you tried telling him that?”
Sabina chuckles. “How do you tell someone to give up on the one goal that drives them to keep going every day? How do you tell them that you’re selfish and you need them to sacrifice their dream?”
Chloe sighs. “I don’t know,” she says.
“You know, I think I was in love with someone,” Sabina admits. “Before Rafe.”
“Oh?” Chloe turns to look at her.
“It was complicated,” Sabina pauses. She pushes strands of hair away from her face and blinks away the forming tears. “And I never really figured out my feelings.”
“Do you miss them?”
Sabina leans over to rest her head on Chloe’s shoulder. “He was also looking for Avery’s treasure,” she says. She takes the bottle of wine away from Chloe and drinks the remaining liquid. “It killed him. All he wanted wanted to do was find that treasure. Would’ve done anything for it. It’s strange, isn’t it? How all of the men in my life are obsessed with this stupid thing. I don’t think the question is if Rafe will die for this treasure. I think the question is when. When will Rafe join Sam and my father?”
“Tell him how you feel,” Chloe reaches forward, laying a comforting hand on Sabina’s knee. “He can’t read your mind.”
“What if he doesn’t want to listen?”
“Trying to force a man like Rafe to listen is probably impossible,” Chloe admits. “But if he really does love you, he will do so.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Sabina lifts her head to meet Chloe’s gaze. “If doesn’t love me?”
“Then maybe it’s time for you to move on, love.”
December 2015
Sabina slams her body into Rafe’s back. She wraps her arms around him, digging her nails into his chest. “No more,” she says, “let it go.” Rafe tries to pry one of her arms off of him, but Sabina tightens her grip. “I said stop!”
“No,” Rafe says. “I’m ending this. I’m taking what’s mine.”
“If you kill him,” Sabina takes a shallow breath. She still feels the wounds throbbing on her arm. Can still feel the blood oozing from the split skin, staining Rafe’s already dirtied shirt. “I will never forgive you.”
It’s subtle, but Rafe tenses at her words.
“If you kill him for this treasure,” Sabina continues, “then I will leave and you will never see me again.”
“Sabina—”
She buries her face into his back. “All of my life, I have never been enough. My father… Sam… they both picked the treasure. They both chose to leave me, no matter how much I begged them not to. And now you’re doing the same thing. But this time you found the treasure. It’s here—it’s in your grasp—and it’s still not enough for you. No, you can’t just have the treasure, can you? You want it all to yourself. All of the credit, the glory.”
“What are you talking about?” Rafe says. “This is ours. We worked for this."
“No,” Sabina shakes her head. “This is your moment, not ours. It stopped being ours years ago. You can’t have it all, Rafe. You can’t have me and the treasure, not like this. I love you, I do, but I can’t do this. I can’t stand by and watch you be consumed by your hatred and jealousy.”
Slowly, he lowers the blade.
“I want you to pick me,” she says. “For once in my life, I want somebody to choose me. Only me. Please, I don’t want to lose you. Don’t make me lose you. Don’t let me lose somebody else I love.”
Rafe releases his grip on the sword, dropping the blade. He reaches for her injured arm and, gently, pulls it away from his chest. A frown on his face, he examines the wound before turning around to look at her.
Sabina blinks up at him, relieved.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
Slightly dizzy, Sabina leans into his body, pressing her forehead into the croak of his neck. “I know,” she says. “I know.” Too weak to stand any longer, she fully collapses into Rafe.
“Hey,” Rafe says, grabbing onto her. “Hey, honey? Honey, you okay?”
“I—”
Her words are interrupted by an explosion.
And within moments, the burning room is flooded with water.
…
The world is warm, comfortable. A light breeze tickles her nose and cheeks. In the distance, a woman laughs and children giggle. Sabina opens her eyes to the view of sunlight beaming at her through an open window. Her eyes shift, just a sliver, over to the left.
Sam is sitting there, slightly hunched over in his chair. His eyes are focused down towards his hands, down at a ring held between his fingers.
The ring he had given her.
“Hey,” Sabina says. It barely comes out as a whisper.
Sam jerks his head up. “Bina?”
She blinks, beginning the process of waking up. And that’s when she realizes that this environment is unfamiliar to her. She’s surrounded by plain, white walls. And the smell of sanitizer fills her nostrils. “Where… where am I? Where’s Rafe?”
When she tries to sit up in the bed, Sam jumps out of his chair and places his hands on her stomach and shoulder. “You’re in the hospital,” he says. “Rafe had to step out, handle some of your paperwork, but he’ll be back soon.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. Don’t worry.”
“Wait,” Sabina says. “Are you okay? Is Nate okay? The—the explosion—oh, my god—”
“Everyone is fine, Bina. Just lay down.”
“But—”
“Lay down,” Sam says.
Sabina nods and relaxes back into the bed.
After taking a few deep breathes to calm her racing heart, she turns to look at Sam. “My ring,” she points at the object that’s still in his hands. “What…”
Sam sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you would still have it,” he says. He leans forward, placing the ring on the bedside table. “Not after all of these years.”
“It was all I had left of you,” Sabina confesses. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.”
Sam gives her a small smile.
“Besides,” she says, “it looks like you stole my birds."
He squints his eyes, confused. “What?”
The woman lifts her hand off the bed, pointing a finger at the birds tattooed on the left side of Sam’s neck.
“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles. A faint blush sprouts across his cheeks. “Yeah… Got it in prison. I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again—I just—I thought it would be nice to have.”
“Nice to have, huh?”
“Your husband wasn’t too thrilled when he put the dots together.” Sam leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “You know, matching tats and all. Wouldn’t shut up about how he’s married to you.”
“That sounds like Rafe,” Sabina laughs.
“Still can’t believe you’re an Adler now,” Sam says.
“Hewitt-Adler, actually. I hyphenated. Couldn’t quite let go of the family name, I suppose.”
Sam hums. “A lot changed when I was away.”
“Yeah,” Sabina agrees. “Things are different now.”
“Did you mean what you said at Libertalia?” Sam asks. “About us only being together because of Avery’s treasure?”
“Sam,” she whispers.
“Do you really believe that I would’ve just left you if we never found that treasure? Did you think that I didn’t love you?”
“Our relationship was… Everything happened so fast. It really was a bit of whirl-wind romance, wasn’t it?” Sabina says. “One day, I’m following a strange man into the dirtiest hotel room that I have ever seen. And then, with the blink of an eye, I’m having secret rendezvous with him whenever we can find an excuse to ditch his brother. Between chasing clues and traveling the world, where was the time for me to realize your feelings? How could I have known that you loved me? When you never told me those words? When it was clear that your priority would always be the treasure? I couldn’t compete with that, Sam.”
“Bina—”
“The answer,” she interrupts, “it was going to be yes. Yes, I would run away with you.”
Sam reaches out to hold Sabina’s hand. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Bina.”
“Answer me honestly, Sam,” she says. “Back on Avery’s ship, if you had been in Rafe’s place, would you have picked me?”
“Of course,” he responds, without hesitation. “Of course I would choose you.”
Sabina smiles at him, but her eyes are sad.
Longing to know what life would have looked like, had she been able to spend the past fifteen years with Sam.
“You have to let go,” she says. “The girl you love, it’s not the same person that I am now. You care about Sabina from fifteen years ago. The Sabina that… loved a life of adventure, with you. I think, if you had asked, she would have done anything for you. But the person you’re looking at now, she’s already let you go. I don’t know if I could love you again, not the way I used to, not the way you want me to.”
Sam sighs, “I know.”
“Hey,” she squeezes his hand. “We found the treasure, though. At least we accomplished something, even if it took a decade and a half.” Sabina turns her head to look at the beside table, focusing her gaze on the medallion. “I solved it, you know.”
“Really?” Sam raises an eyebrow and picks up the necklace. “When?”
“A few years ago.”
“What did it tell you?”
“Why don’t you keep it,” Sabina says. “Keep it and figure it out for yourself.”
“Are you sure? You parents—”
“Probably never even found it, if we’re being honest. I bet they stole it from someone. We’re all thieves, aren’t we?” She chuckles. “I’ve carried it around for so long, clutching onto terrible memories. I need to move on with my life. I don’t care what you end up doing with it, but please, just take it. I don’t want it, not anymore.”
Sam nods and slips the object into his pocket. “You gonna give me a hint on how to solve it?”
“You’re going to want a lot of red wine."
The door to the room slides open, startling them.
“Get away from her,” a voice growls.
Sam jumps away from Sabina, hands held up in the air. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Jesus, we were just having a conversation.”
“Rafe,” Sabina smiles and attempts to sit up.
“Hey there, honey,” he walks up to the side of her bed and reaches for her hand. Rafe turns his head to look at Sam. “You can go now.”
“Are you kidding me? She just woke up.”
“Yeah,” Rafe says, “and now that she’s awake, we don’t need you here.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Get out,” Rafe snaps.
“Alright,” Sam responds. “I’ll just… go outside for a smoke.”
When Sam exits the room, Rafe directs his attention back to Sabina. “You feeling okay? Does anything hurt?”
“You picked me,” she says, ignoring his questions. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“I told you that I wanted to be with you, didn’t I?” Rafe says. “That hasn’t changed. I realize now that I’ve neglected you, but I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough for me.”
“You’re not entirely to blame. I should’ve just told you how I felt.” Her breath hitches, and she whispers, “Maybe all of this could have been avoided.”
Rafe shakes his head. “I’m not sure if I would have listened to you at any other moment.”
“But in the end, you listened. And right now, that’s all that matters,” Sabina smiles.
Her husband sits down on the edge of the hospital bed. “Where do we go from here?” Rafe asks, pushing strands of hair away from Sabina’s face.
She hums, enjoying his touch. “Do you remember our wedding day? How we hid in the dressing room’s bathroom during the reception?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “You said you were so tired of talking to an endless parade of strangers.”
“They were all so boring,” she says. “And all they did was congratulate us, before trying to impress you with some bullshit story about their life. I remember being so desperate to get out of that dress.”
“God, I remember all the damn buttons on the back.”
“It took you forever to undo them! I thought I was going to be stuck in that thing for the rest of my life,” Sabina laughs. “It was a very pretty dress, though. A mermaid style. Lots of lace. Oh! And the detachable train. I think I liked it more than the dress I wore for the actual ceremony.”
“I was too busy looking at you,” Rafe admits. “I can’t really remember what the dresses look like anymore.”
“Oh, my god. And your mother!” Sabina exclaims, remembering the night. “Do you remember how we were in the bathroom for so long that she ran around trying to track us down?”
Rafe laughs, “And she almost walked in, right as I got the dress off.”
“I had to throw my body against the door to keep it shut. Told her that I just needed a few minutes to myself. And then she asked if I had seen you—”
“—And you told her that I was probably out in the gardens.”
“We escaped through a window, didn’t we?”
“Did we?”
“I think so,” she says. “When your mother left, we walked out of the bathroom. I told you that I wanted to leave, start the honeymoon a little early, so you pulled a robe off of one of the chairs.”
“And then we climbed through the window,” Rafe says, nodding his head. “And we sprinted to the car.”
“I don’t think your mother ever really forgave me for that.”
“I think she was more upset with me, to be honest.”
“We need to work on our marriage,” Sabina says. “No more lying. No more secrets. We need to be open, to communicate, like we used it. We used to have so much fun, didn’t we, babe? I think we can be those people again.”
“I think so, too,” he agrees.
“But first,” Sabina grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him towards her. Brushing her lips against his, she says, “Let’s go back to Copenhagen. Relive those honeymoon memories.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Rafe whispers.
a/n: thank you so much for reading this! if you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging this story. i am a very small fanfic author and every reblog really does help in giving me exposure to potential new readers. however, i do also appreciate any likes or comments you’re willing to give.
again, this is not the end of the road for sabina, rafe, or sam! i have one-shots planned in the future, but currently there is no timeframe for when any of them will be posted. you may want to consider bookmarking the masterlist (linked near the beginning of this post), so you can check back in the future.
Twitter: VostaraFics
Ao3: Vostara
#uncharted#uncharted 4#uncharted 4 a thief's end#uncharted series#game: uncharted#rafe adler#rafe adler x reader#rafe adler fanfic#rafe adler x oc#samuel drake#sam drake#samuel drake fanfic#samuel drake x reader#samuel drake x oc#sam drake fanfic#sam drake x reader#sam drake x oc#uncharted fanfic#uncharted fanfiction#tuserflynn#vostara#v.writings#fic: love me like you hurt me
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where ignorance is bliss - chapter 2: where grass was green
SUMMARY: Obadiah is off to Washington to assist with the war in Vietnam, and Peggy and Maria grow closer, as Maria learns something she wishes she didn't. [AO3 LINK]
CHAPTERS: 1 [2] 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆
November 15, 1959 – Bronx, New York, Obadiah’s Apartment
Struggling to find ways to pass the time after the war, Peggy frequented my apartment. The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division (or, S.H.I.E.L.D., as everyone says to save precious time) has been involved in the fight with Vietnam for a few years now. Obadiah left for Washington right after the Stark Expo to give weapons consult in the war, and I haven’t seen him in almost three months. We would write letters sometimes, and phone even less. I moved into Obie’s apartment to take care of the place while he was away for an indeterminate amount of time, and Peggy crashed in the living more times than she would care to admit.
“Did you love him?” I ask, fixing the two of us another round of Old Fashions. The empty Chinese carryout containers are scattered across the coffee table before us. There’s a good restaurant between the S.H.I.E.LD. Headquarters and the apartment, and Peggy will frequently grab something on the way here.
“I only knew him for a couple months,” Peggy replies, taking the glass. I curl up next to her on the couch, our heads leaning in towards each other. “So it’s hard to say. It could have been. We were both young, thrown together during some of humanity’s darkest days. We were all looking for something to believe in.”
She swirls the glass in her hand, lazily watching the whiskey fall back down the side before continuing.
“What about you and Obadiah? Is this love?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.” The corners of my mouth curl downwards on their own. Peggy notices. Peggy always notices.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“It’s more like paradise when he’s gone rather than when he’s here.”
“Why is he your boyfriend if you don’t even like him?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I take a large gulp of my Old Fashion, the whiskey burning the back of my throat. “He’s my fiancé.”
Peggy sits up, and my head slides off her shoulder to the cushion of the couch.
“Your what?” She takes my left hand into hers and finds my ring finger bare.
“I keep it in my sock drawer. Whether out of safekeeping or embarrassment, I’m not sure.” I sit up.
“When did this happen? And why did you say yes?” She looks at me with a tight expression, concern and worry on her face. Her red lipstick is all but gone, a faint imprint of it left on the rim of her class, and her usually tight curls hang loose around her neck and chin. If she weren’t so upset, I’d reach out to tuck one of them behind her ear.
“The last day of the Expo. He… He’s comfortable. We have our routine. We play chess together, I straighten his ties, I smile at the men he wants to invest in his company. I get some of the profits for my charities, and we make each other look good.” I frown at the empty glass in my hand and contemplate fixing another.
Peggy sets down her unfinished drink and looks at me. She has a way of effortlessly shifting her gaze from disapproving to comforting in a second. I never know if I’m going to be talking to the “unrelenting founder of S.H.I.E.LD.” Peggy or the “let’s go shopping and day-drinking” Peggy.
“I’m sure there’s a man out there that complements you and makes you feel good. You just-”
“-haven’t found him yet,” I finish her sentence. I’ve heard it from everyone – my parents, coworkers, strangers who learn I’m 23 and still unwed. 24, I remind myself; my birthday was on the fifth, less than two weeks ago. I feel the effects of the whiskey settling in, my eyes growing heavy and my weight shifting to my stomach. “You’re lucky to have experienced two great loves.”
“Daniel is far from a true love, hence why I stay with you the majority of the week. I’m also fourteen years older than you and have had more time to find them. I was 24 when I met Steve; there’s still plenty of time.”
“There doesn’t seem to be many men like Steve left.”
-
Peggy was gone without a word the next morning, and I am left alone with a pounding headache. By the time I wake, its well past noon on Saturday, and the mail’s already been delivered under the door.
I rifle through the envelopes once my toast is done, the coffee pot almost full, and the majority of the mail is addressed to Obadiah. Bills and letters of interest from inventors that I’m supposed to forward to him in DC. There’s a letter addressed to me in his precise, meticulous handwriting, but the one that interests me most is from Roxxon Oil Company, a large, thick packet with “CONFIDENTIAL” stamped across it. Naturally, I open it.
Maybe it’s the lingering hangover or the knowledge that Obie would forgive me for anything under the sun, but I rip open the envelope as I sip on my morning coffee, pouring all its contents out on to the table.
Most of the information doesn’t interest me, talking about drill efficiency and rigs and pipelines, until I find the balance sheet and investing information. I did get my master’s in accounting, as Obie tends to forget as he relegates me to a trophy wife. As I drift back into sobriety, the pieces start falling into place. Roxxon isn’t investing in Stane International; Stane is investing in Roxxon, and they were already profiting, working together, inventing together. The copies of the blueprints are of Obie’s design, seeking to create clean energy to replace gasoline down the road. In the last two years, Obadiah has made hundreds of thousands of dollars, with deposits and withdrawals from countless accounts, and reinvesting it, the paper trail deliberately as confusing as possible. I’d call it embezzlement if it weren’t his own company.
I get a scratch piece of paper and start doing the math. It isn’t adding up. Nothing is adding up, the dates and locations, let alone the cash, with several documents addressed from Russia. I sit up, my heart in my throat, pulsing so hard it feels like the world around me was shaking.
Obadiah is not a sneaky man by nature. I knew that he was interested in me before he realized it; I knew when he was going to ask me to go steady with him; I know when he is on the brink of a great new idea. He tries his best to hide things, but every move of his body betrays him. I’ve caught him sticking things in the back of his closet and under his bed more times than I could count, and I’ve never had the opportunity to check with him there. But seeing as he’s away…
Kneeling, I fumble underneath the bed frame until my fingers find purchase on a briefcase, and I slide it out. I wrestle with the knobs until I realize there’s a four-digit code keeping it locked. Before I mess with the dials, I notice the number. 0213.
“Oh, Obie. Do you have to be so predictable?” February 13th was our first date; he chose the day before Valentine’s Day because he believed the holiday of romance should be reserved for people already together, and he made a spectacle on 14th because we were together at that point, by his logic.
The top of the briefcase pops open at my touch, and inside I find numerous telegram slips, copies of both those sent and received. I sift through them quickly, none of them really catching my eye, filled with code words that I didn’t have the motivation to try to decipher. One of them caught my eye, and this is one of the only times Obie’s over-organization paid off because the telegrams were in chronological order.
RECEIVED
September 21, 1957
To: Stane, O.
O., I am glad to hear you secured the trust-fund. Let me know what day you’ll tie the knot, and I’ll tell you where to wire the funds. I might just send you a gift to celebrate.
NEFARIA, G.
SENT
September 28, 1957
To: Nefaria, G.
I’ll be traveling for work extensively the next four months. Please send files to Location 2. She can’t know anything.
STANE, O.
RECEIVED
September 30, 1957
To: Stane, O.
O., safe travels. Remember the end goal – the reactor that threatens our future. It cannot be manufactured by anyone but us, for our sake.
NEFARIA, G.
Prior, my heart had felt like it was running a mile a minute; now, it feels still in my chest. Dead in the water, like a stunned minnow tossed in to attract larger fish. “The trust fund.”
I had been courted before for my parents’ wealth. In college, a boy had pursued me relentlessly. He made me feel beautiful, special, and like the only star in his sky. He had convinced me that love was this roller-coaster rush of emotions, one collision after the other, until his dormmate clued me in on his intentions. That’s why I try to keep Obie in the dark about what I’ll inherit, how big my trust-fund really is. Growing up, I was unaware of how good we had it; all my friends in boarding school were from the same social and financial class, we all vacationed at the same spots and shopped at the same boutiques. It took a lot of eye-opening experiences at university for me to realize life was different for others, and it honed my ability to detect insincere motives. Too little, too late, but I won’t let it happen again.
With shaking hands, I put the papers back in their order, and I snap the briefcase closed, pushing it back under the bed with a force. I return to the kitchen table where I had spread the other documents out, collect them, and place them back as they were. I’m not sure if I need to try to seal it to make it look unopened, or if I should destroy the whole thing. He hadn’t asked me about forwarding this one specifically, so he might not be expecting it. Under the documents, I find the letter addressed to me again. Obie’s handwriting hits me differently now. How well do I actually know the sender?
Mar- (God, I hate it when he calls me Mar.)
I am writing to you with success here in Washington DC. We have made valiant efforts with the war. We expect Vietnam to concede soon. Our troops are vigilant and the best America has to offer, and their farmers pose no threat to us or the hope of victory. I expect to return home to you Friday the 15th of November. I’m sorry, darling, that I missed your birthday, but perhaps I can make it up to you.
See you soon at home,
Your Obie
Friday. Today was Friday.
The living room was a mess. Peggy’s and my drinks and dinner dishes scatter the room, the mail on the table, and I look equally disheveled. I know Obie would be disappointed, as the apartment is always speckless when he’s here.
I am a flurry around the house, collecting garbage in the bin and dishes in the sink. I tie the heaping garbage bag and leave it by the door, and rush to check my appearance in the bathroom. A scarf around my hairline will make the windswept, frenzied style look intention, and I change into a simple blue sundress. Obie didn’t have a dishwasher, so I put an apron on to protect my dress from the dishwater.
As I was setting the last glass out to dry, a knock resounded from the front door. I could feel it reverberate in my chest, and my heartbeat pulsed in every finger in my hand. Shaking, I set the glass down, wiped the water off my hands, preparing myself to smile and wine-and-dine the man I’ve already committed myself to.
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The obstacle course to 'green' Lego blocks
Lego has made a block out of recycled PET for the first time. A new step in the complex search for more sustainable variants of his iconic plastic toys, involving universities and companies such as Avantium[1], Indaver[2] and Ineos[3]. PET (Polyethylene terephthalate) is a type of plastic that is typically used to make soft drink bottles. “Through recycling, we can now make about eight classic Lego blocks from one such discarded bottle,” says Tim Brooks, sustainability director at the Danish company, as he shows a gray prototype. “It is the first time that we use PET as a raw material.”
Founded in 1916, Lego switched from wood to plastic to make toys in 1947. In 1958 it patented its typical building block: round studs at the top and hollow at the bottom. It conquered the world. The formula for success? Nearly indestructible blocks, with dimensions accurate to the hundredth of a millimeter so that all pieces from each set, from the 1970s to the present, click perfectly together and can be taken apart again. Time after time.
The essence
Lego makes 3,500 types of building elements, all of which it sells nearly 100 billion units a year. It uses 20 types of plastic for this, but 80 percent is made from the ultra-strong petroleum derivative ABS[4]. By 2030, Lego wants to switch completely to sustainable materials: recycled plastic or bioplastic. Lego is the largest toy manufacturer in Europe. In 2020, the company posted a turnover of 5.9 billion euros (+13 percent) and a net profit of 1.3 billion euros (+19 percent).
Half a billion
Technically ideal, but in times of growing environmental awareness and the pursuit of CO2 neutrality, this is by no means the way forward. It takes 2 kilograms of petroleum to make 1 kilogram of ABS. Not ideal for the reputation of a company that focuses on future generations. In interviews, CEO Niels Christiansen repeatedly said that he receives letters from young Lego fans who are concerned about the climate. So Lego announced a strategic shift in 2015: by 2030, the company only wants to use 'sustainable' raw materials for its toys. Do not read: no more plastic, but read: greener plastic. “There are two ways to do that,” Brooks says. “Or with more sustainable raw materials. So no plastics based on petroleum derivatives, but based on biological materials, such as plants, algae or even coffee residue. Or by recycling plastic. I estimate that will be the most important part.”
To make the change, Lego set up a Sustainable Materials Center in its Danish home base Billund, which now employs about 150 people. Since 2015, nearly half a billion euros in investments in research and development have been announced. “We do a lot ourselves. For the recycled PET, we ourselves looked for additional ingredients in the process. But of course we also work together with universities and a few dozen companies.”
Antwerp
There is ABSolutely Circular[5], for example, a European research project of chemical company Ineos - an important supplier of Lego anyway - and the Flemish environmental technology company Indaver for recycled ABS. In mid-July 2021 the first 10 kilograms of this were made at Ineos in Cologne. In a next step, there will be a small production in Antwerp, with a Lego block as a pilot product. Another example: Lego, together with the detergent manufacturer Henkel and the beer brewer Carlsberg, joined PEFerence[6], a project led by the Brussels-listed green chemical company Avantium to develop biological plastics. Partnerships are also underway with consumer goods groups Danone, L'Oréal and Bic and tire manufacturer Michelin. This is gradually producing the first results. In 2018, Lego presented a first small collection made of polyethylene based on sugar cane. It was a set of trees, plants and dragon wings. “These are more flexible elements,” explains Brooks, 'because it is a softer material that is not suitable for the hard blocks.'
The sugar cane cubes were an important milestone, but hardly the major turnaround. The material is suitable for barely 2 percent of the supply. But now there is a prototype made from recycled PET, which could possibly be used on a larger scale. Brooks doesn't want to put a number on that. “As much as possible, of course. But we still need to take steps to increase production. We hope to have the material effectively on the market in 18 to 24 months.”
Sweat
“The cover is very complex,” he explains. “Whoever makes children's toys cannot compromise on quality or safety. We go far into that. We test whether our blocks are resistant to sweat or saliva.” Lego simulates in tests the effect of biting with a force of 22.5 kilograms on a block. And whether nothing breaks off the block if it is crushed under a metal disc. "It shouldn't scratch or change shape or color if left in the sun for a long time." The challenge is then that the 'green' blocks have the same color and shine, even make the same sound. And above all: with the perfect coupling. “Our company is literally built on blocks that stick together and at the same time are easy to disassemble. That requires material with extreme precision. We have been perfecting ABS for fifty years. We are not there yet with the alternatives.” All kinds of problems arise in the experiments: the blocks shrink during production.
Source
STEPHANIE DE SMEDT, De Tijd, 23 juni 2021 https://www.tijd.be/de-tijd-vooruit/innovatie/het-hindernissenparcours-naar-groene-lego-blokjes/10315509.html
[1] https://www.brightlands.com/brightlands-chemelot-campus/companies-institutes/companies/company/avantium Avantium is a pioneer in the emerging industry of renewable and sustainable chemistry.
[2] https://www.indaver.com/be-en/home/ Indaver – a European player with facilities and operations in Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany and Ireland – manages and treats industrial and household waste in specialist facilities for businesses, waste collectors and governments. It recovers valuable raw materials from this waste that can replace primary raw materials.
[3] https://www.ineos.com/ INEOS is a global chemical company. Its products touch every aspect of modern day life. It comprises 36 businesses with 194 sites in 29 countries throughout the world.
[4] Acrylonitrile butadiene styrene (ABS) is a common thermoplastic polymer. ABS provides favorable mechanical properties such as impact resistance, toughness, and rigidity when compared with other common polymers.
[5] https://absolutely-circular.com/ The project, called LIFE ABSolutely Circular aims at demonstrating the environmental and economic benefits of using advanced recycling technologies to close the loop of plastic recycling. An initial key objective of the project is to demonstrate for the first time the production of ABS based on recycled feedstock taking advantage of advanced recycling technologies.
[6] https://peference.eu/ PEFerence will establish a unique, industrial scale, cost-effective biorefinery flagship plant producing FDCA (furan dicarboxylic acid), a bio-based building block to produce high value products. Bio-based FDCA can be used to make a wide range of chemicals and polymers such as polyesters, polyamides, coating resins and plasticizers and, crucially, can also be used to make PEF (polyethylene furanoate), a 100 % bio-based polyester used to make bottles, films and fibres.
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The Hitman - In Exodus
Type : Oneshot (Part of The In Exodus Series) // Angst // Fluff // Smut // Cartel!au
Warnings : angst, death, cussing
Author Note : This took me far too long and had my anxieties far too high. I’m finally happy with how it turned out and hope you all enjoy it too !! Please give me some feedback because I’ve worked so hard on this chapter..
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀*⋆.*:*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆**･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ.: ⋆*･ﾟ☾
The smell of freshly baked croissants flood the streets, a sign that the Bakery is about to open and the day beginning. Shutters rise and doors open. The busting workers of Exodus bracing for the day ahead; a day of sales to kids who can barely walk straight with the amount of poison saturating their bloodstream; a day of fighting with the guy from down the road who insists that things were ‘cheaper last week’; a day of overworking for much less of a profit than it’s all worth. Living the dream.
The bakery was different though. Something about it felt like home, and everyone treated it as such. It was the only building for miles that wasn’t painted in graffiti, the only business that was doing well for itself, a little slice of goodness in the middle of all that bad.
That’s what everyone thinks anyway.
Across the street, Jongin is watching through the scope of his rifle. Watching the Baker unlock his doors and flip the closed sign to open. He scoffs. Such a poser.
Saying Jongin enjoyed his job would be pushing it; how much enjoyment can one really get from taking a life without being a psychopath? But he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t looking forward to taking out this one particular man.
He watches the Baker great the first of his customers with a toothy grin, hugging Mrs Jamison when she comes in for her regular morning pastry. If only Mrs Jamison knew all the dirty things that man had been doing with the hand she shakes so willingly.
The town’s beloved Baker wasn’t nearly as squeeky clean as he liked everyone to believe. After hours, he found himself in SUjU territory, hanging out with drug runners, dancing around the subject of Exodus till the haze of alcohol took control, divulging any and all information that might get him another drink.
Pathetic Jongin thinks, noticing how the Baker danced around his customers with such fictitious glee, as if he hadn’t sold them out a hundred times over.
Again, not to say EXO were any better, but surely there should be some sense of town loyalty right? Jongin thinks so; making this particular betrayal all the more infuriating and his death all the more inevitable.
Jongin lines up the crosshairs of his gun against the Baker’s head, having the courtesy to wait for the shop to empty. One. The corner of his lips pull into a smirk, the buildup of adrenaline flooding his veins working as his own personal high. Two. Is it sick to say he can’t wait to kill this guy? Maybe? He deserves it Jongin thinks, afterall, he did try and ruin their business for a few shots of tequila. Thr…
“Hey Joey!”
So close…
“Well this is a surprise! How’re you today darlin’?”
Usually, you would only visit Joey’s bakery at the end of the week, needing some sort of sugary treat to get through the piles of work you had to do; but today your classes were cut short and you were gagging for something with chocolate.
“Our professor had to leave early and a girl needs her goodies!” You joked, leaning against the counter.
Joey had been a staple in Exodus for your entire life, the man was everybody’s uncle, everybody’s friend, you could talk to him about anything and your weekly visits had become a huge part of your routine.
“Good job I’ve got a whole bunch for you to choose from duck,” Joey laughs at how your eyes quickly scan over the trays of baked goods like you were a starving puppy, “Ooo I know what you should pick, I need someone to try out my new brownie recipe!”
Fuck. Joey moved away from Jongin’s line of fire just enough to grab the box of brownies from behind the counter, the perfect shot ruined by a few brownies.
“Well if you made them Joey then I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious!” you coo, giggling at how easily you can make him blush.
Just as you were about to leave and the Baker to return to the firing line, a rush of people came flooding into the small shop, putting a stop to whatever chance Jongin had at completing his mission right now.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Nini groans in frustration, packing up his equipment quickly as to get away unnoticed, “he was right there, I could have had him!” It was frustrating sure, delaying his plans a few more hours before there would be another chance to take out his target; but there would be another chance and Jongin would get the job done. So while the sweet-toothed girl had momentarily saved old Joey’s life, it wouldn’t last much longer.
---
The clock read 11:57pm as you were hunched over on the living room floor, trying to finish this essay that you’d definitely not been putting off for weeks…
“Need ...sugar ...immediately..” you whine, dramatically throwing yourself across the floor to grab the box of brownies Baker Joe had gifted you earlier in the day. Mmnn, indulging yourself in the chocolatey goodness, you decide now is the perfect time for a break, only 6,000 words left to go anyway…
Completely oblivious to the ramifications those few brownies had had on the day for more than one party, you munched away the last of them, licking the crumbs from your fingertips and moaning at the euphoria a simple treat could bring.
‘Breaking news tonight : Beloved Exodus baker found dead. The 56 year old’s body was discovered an hour ago near his home, cause of death is officially named as a GSW through the neck…’
A chill runs up your spine as the news plays quietly from the television. Baker Joe was dead. Someone had killed him! You’re confused and hurt and angry all at once. Why would anyone want to hurt Joey? He was one of the only decent people in this shit-show of a city and now he was gone. Your eyes wander to the now empty box of goodies, the bakery’s logo printed on the front in swirly gold font and you feel the sudden need to cry, so you do.
---
Who did this guy think he was? An MX falcone wandering the streets of Exodus without a care in the world, stealing from the market stalls as he sauntered his way through the crowds. Minhyuk is his name. When Baekhyun had gotten word of their latest visitor, Jongin was immediately sent to take care of it. Honestly what did they think was going to happen? That they could just hang out in Exodus without consequence? That no one would be the least bit suspicious?
“You like the farmers market huh,” Jongin keeps a trained eye on Minhyuk as he moves from stall to stall. There were far too many people around for a direct hit so all he could do was watch and wait for the perfect opportunity.
“Why the fuck are you here?” He mumbled in annoyance, MX were getting far too comfortable for anyone’s liking; it was like the calm before the storm, except the storm was standing right in front of him chatting about produce with Mr Kim.
Suddenly, Minhyuk takes a sharp left, making his way out of the bustling crowd towards the alleys. He’d been made. Fuck. Following as quickly as he could, fighting his way through the sea of people, Jongin tries to keep up.
“Excuse me, I’m trying to get to…”
Minhyuk is fast, but maybe if you weren’t standing in front of him, blocking the way, Jongin would have been able to get him.
He doesn’t immediately recognise you. Your hair is tied differently and you’re wearing a different coat, but once Jongin places you as the girl from the bakery, he’s immediately on guard. Twice now you’ve gotten in the way of a hit. Could it just be a coincidence? Sure Exodus is small, you’re bound to run into the same people more than once. Baker Joe’s was a town staple and the market is always busy, but what are the chances? Jongin tries to side-step passed you, eyes scanning the crowds for Minhyuk, but you move along with him.
Holding out a map in front of him, you try again to ask for directions but Jongin doesn’t have time. He doesn’t have time to entertain the possibility that seeing you again could be anything but a coincidence, not when he’s about to lose yet another target.
“Move!”
You watch in astonishment as he pushes you out of the way before storming off. What an asshole you think; all you needed were directions, a simple no would have sufficed. Then again you’d come to expect nothing more from the people of Exodus. Sighing, you carry on your way alone, soon forgetting about the rude man you had met on the street.
---
8am lectures were the bain of your existence, but Professor Jeong’s class was always worth it.
Armed with a large cup of coffee and a stack of notes to aid you through, you made your way to an empty space near the front of the lecture hall. Biology never came easy to you, but the drive you had to succeed more than made up for it.
“Sorry I’m late guys,” Professor Jeong rushed into the busy hall, his own cup of coffee balancing on a pile of books clutched between his arms, “I got caught up with Professor Lyn, he’s such a ...fungi!”
The room fills with groans and muffled laughs at the attempt of a joke so early in the morning, but the Professor didn’t seem to mind. “Okay I’m sorry, let’s get into today. Can anyone tell me where we left off last week? Y/N?”
From the back of the room Jongin notices you.
“Oh you have to got to be kidding me..”
Once again, you happen to show up right in the middle of a job. There had to be a reason. There was no way this could be a coincidence anymore. Were you following him? Working with MX? Trying to get intel on EXO? Jongin didn’t know, but at this point he didn’t care. You were a problem.
Jeong was another star poser in Exodus. The esteemed environmental science professor, that drew students from across the country just to take his conservational bio class. The hotshot teacher who was already in the running for tenure. The slimy asshole that used his connections in the science world to help EXO’s competitors recreate their patented drug.
This was supposed to be an easy hit, wait till after class and use the pocket knife hidden in his belt to slit the professor’s throat before next period. But now, Jongin had to put those plans on hold so that he could figure out what to do about you.
---
Following you was far easier than Jongin had anticipated, thinking that he’d be kept on his toes trying to avoid getting caught, but you seemed completely oblivious to the fact that someone had been following you, watching your routines and judging them oh so harshly.
He kept his distance at first, observing from afar as you went about your daily activities. But soon enough, Jongin found himself immersed in the story that was your life. On the sidelines, a spectator, keeping mental notes of your behaviours.
Keeping space between you, Jongin follows you down the familiar street. He knows exactly where you’re going, the same place you’ve gone to for lunch every day that week. After your first class of the day you head straight to Lou’s café to grab something to eat and get some studying done. Like clockwork, the only thing to change was your order. Jongin would never admit that he’d grown to enjoy the establishment himself, but it was one of the least tedious moments of the day.
With the sky starting to darken in the cold weather, you fumble around your bag for your wallet amongst the loose scrunchies and old receipts, Jongin scoff in disbelief.
“How have you not been jumped yet?” He mumbled to himself. Before you’ve even walked through the café doors you have your money in hand, out in the open for anyone to take. Jongin had picked up on the blissful ignorance you had in regards to the danger in Exodus, instead, choosing to carry on carefree. Stupid he thinks.
Standing in line a few spots behind you, he watches as you let person after person cut in front and he just doesn’t get it. You only have an hour before the start of your next class and yet you’re willingly letting yourself be pushed back? People were clearly taking advantage of your kindness, but you were either incredibly stupid or didn’t care. When the older woman in front of you is a few dollars short, you don’t hesitate before lending her the difference, even putting back your own drink just so you could afford to help her. How could someone so generous be apart of something so evil? Then again, most of Exodus were playing that game.
Grabbing a coffee of his own, Jongin sits a table over from where you plant yourself, what had become your regular spots. Finding amusement in the way you struggle to fit both of your study books in the small space.
Now, only a short while before you needed to be back in class, you attempt to get as much work done while shoveling food down your throat as you could. Jongin thought it was hilarious, bar the tuna mayo that is. “Tuna? Really? It’s 11am jesus christ!” Maybe it was easy for him to judge you from a distance, but out of all the things he’d learnt, your love of tuna was the worst.
He watches your face scrunch and eyebrows furrow as you try and absorb the information, recognising the same study book you’ve been working on all week, the one for Professor Jeong’s class that you’d been struggling with. The pages covered almost entirely in highlighter with notes and doodles littering the margins. Cute.
You just seem so harmless. No matter how hard he tries Jongin just can’t seem to figure you out. Perhaps MX were blackmailing you? Maybe they had something that forced you to be their spy? It was the only explanation he could think of, because it just didn’t seem plausible that the girl in front of him, furiously editing her notes for the hundredth time that hour, the one with drops of mayonnaise left over on the corner of her lips, could be willingly working with the notorious MX. But you were involved somehow, of that he was sure.
---
The library is quiet, the sound of rustling papers and hushed whispers being the only source of noise. Luckily, it was busier than usual due to the wave of group projects being assigned, it made it easy for Jongin to blend in.
He watches you curiously from behind one of the bookshelves, trying to understand why you haven’t slapped the asshole beside you yet. He’d been cutting you off and putting you down every chance he could.
“I just think if we..”
“Seriously Y/N don’t strain yourself, I think we’ve got it.”
Asshole.
Even Jongin wanted to punch this guy. Being the only girl in the group, the others found it easy to dismiss everything you offered.
“Why doesn’t she say anything?” Jongin wondered, once again you were letting people walk all over you.
It’s not like you particularly enjoyed being treated that way, in fact you were daydreaming about slamming said assholes’ face into the wall at that very moment, but you couldn’t do that. This project defines your grade for the semester and you couldn’t afford that kind of taint on your record. So you bite your tongue. Act none the wiser and count the seconds before you could go home and be done with them all.
Across the library you spot Minho, the cute senior who’d been working as the student librarian for the last month or so. He’s scanning out returns at the desk, eyes glancing up occasionally, you presume to keep an eye on things . God he’s cute. When he spots you staring and then takes a look at the rather heated debate going on between your group, he decides to save you from the disarray, waving you over.
“My hero,” you tease, almost running to where Minho is.
“It was getting too painful to watch! What’s he ranting about this time?” He teases playfully, knowing all too well the constant tension in your study group.
“Ugh I don’t even know, it’s so much easier just to tune him out,”
Jongin’s teeth clench watching the exchange between you and the librarian. The childish giggling, the ‘accidental’ touches, the lingering stares. Disgusting.
“Who even is this guy?” If he didn’t know any better Jongin would think this was jealousy, but he did know better, so all of these unfamiliar feelings had to be from just how pitiful the sight was. This guy was clearly flirting with you, the blush on his cheeks and sweaty palms said as much, but from everything Jongin had learnt, you weren’t going to reciprocate. Tragic.
“Are you kidding me? Why is she twirling her hair like that!? He’s not even her type! He’s... he…” his mumbled ranting cut off by the sound of you laughing across the room. “Well if that is her type then no wonder she’s corrupt.”
He watches the pair of you for a little longer before the need to throw up eventually overtakes his need to stay, deciding he could catch you up later and spare himself the torture of sitting through whatever this was.
---
The open sign light bounces off wet concrete, illuminating your face with such a subtle glow of pink that Jongin could barely make out the streaks of tears running down your cheeks. He almost missed you sitting crouched over on the pavement, the smell of smoke being what made him stop. Why is she crying? He thought to himself, seeing you curled up in a ball, cigarette dangling from your fingertips haphazardly concerned him. Jongin didn’t have to wonder for too long though, the closer he got to you the clearer he could hear your muffled cries.
“Stupid fucking Geord,” you cuss, taking another long drag to calm your anxieties, “takes all my ideas, monopolises the entire presentation and then my contribution isn’t enough!?”
Jongin had come to know the infamous Geord all too well this last week, the pompous ass that had belittled you in the library, the snotty rich kid with mommy issues that just loved being right. Honestly the fact he hadn’t killed him yet was an accomplishment in itself; but still, seeing you clearly so upset gave Jongin a weird feeling.
You were either getting much better with your performance skills, or he was actually getting mad for you…
With each sniffle, each tear drop, Jongin felt his resolve breaking away and being replaced with a type of anger he’d never felt before. Why did he care that you were crying? Why was it affecting him so much? He didn’t know, but it took all his strength not to go find Geord and make him regret whatever he’d done.
As quickly as you put out the cigarette that was now burning short, you’re reaching for the box to light another. You only really smoked when you were feeling particularly stressed, Jongin hated it. Ironically it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen; painting the walls with someone’s brain was nothing compared to the strong stench of nicotine that passed your lips.
For a second Jongin lets his mind entertain the thought of approaching you, but the professional side of him reminds him who you were. This could be a trick...She’s not an idiot. Then he considers calling you out. Drawing his gun and putting an end to MX’s game once and for all, besides, he’d been observing you for a week now and he couldn’t afford for his attention to be diverted any more, he still had the good old Professor to end.
Before he gets the chance to do either however, you stand up. Taking one last drag before stomping out the flame, your hands carelessly wipe at your face in a feeble attempt at clearing the remnants of your breakdown.
“I’ll be fine, let’s just go home,” you whisper, more than familiar with putting yourself back together and wanting nothing more than a hot bath and warm bed.
---
When you first noticed that the new guy on campus was following you, you tried not to think too much of it. In all honesty, you were far too busy trying to keep on top of everything to pay much attention as to why you were being followed. Knowing the people in Exodus, you figured it was just his creepy way of flirting, or at the very worst he was planning on robbing you, not that you had much to take anyway. But as the days went by and the presence of your stalker persisted, you were growing frustrated. It’d been a stressful week and the last thing you needed was some guy watching your every move.
After getting the results back from Professor Jeong for your group presentation, you weren’t exactly in a ‘good mood’ and the looming shadow of the man trying to be inconspicuous as he followed you home, was the last straw.
"How much longer are you planning on following me?” You shout over your shoulder, not having the energy to even face him. When you get no response, you reluctantly decide to turn around to stare him down.
His chocolate coloured hair is pushed back exposing his forehead, eyes golden but harbouring so much animosity that they could have turned black, the jacket adorning his shoulders almost blending him into the dark street behind. He was handsome, strikingly so.
“Look dude it’s been a long day, can’t you just lay off the stalking for one night?”
Jongin stiffens at your words. So you did know he was there? And chose now, while you were both alone in a dark street, to confront him? God she’s stupid.
“Sorry Darling, can’t do that,” he insisted, watching how your shoulders slumped and fingers twitched at the side of your coat.
“Of course,” sighing deeply, too tired to argue, you decide to continue on towards your apartment, stalker be damned.
“Aren’t MX getting bored of this game yet?” Jognin calls. He figures if you already knew he was following you, then now would be the perfect time to put an end to it. You were alone after all.
When he sees you freeze at the sound of MX, he takes a tentative step closer, you’re still turned away from him, just a few steps ahead. “I mean, were you really the best they could do? We expected more.” The smirk on his face when you turn to him, wide eyed and lost for words, only grows at your reaction. Gotcha.
“What are you talki..”
“Come on now Darling, we both know what’s going on here.”
“I promise you we do not.” You’ve heard whispers of MX around town, while you didn’t know much, you did know that if this guy thought you were somehow apart of it, then this was a dangerous misunderstanding.
“You have a choice.” Jongin takes another step closer, “You can leave, now, and make sure MX stay out of Exodus for good,” Reaching under his jacket, he grabs the gun that’s been burning through the back of his shirt since you called out to him, “Or I can send them a message myself. Choose.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about!” You tried to keep calm, swallowing the lump forming at the back of your throat. When you spotted the gun being pulled from his coat, it was like a pin dropped and the reality of the situation finally began to sink in.
Exodus is a dangerous place. Exodus is full of dangerous people. You were standing alone with a strange man that you’d just yelled at, that had been following you for god knows how long, a gun pointed at your face and not a soul in sight that would help you.
He doesn’t flinch when you jump back, his smirk doesn’t falter when you start begging for him to listen. In Jongin’s mind, the fact you’d acknowledged his presence at all was enough to prove you were involved.
“Please, please, just listen to me, t-there’s been a mistake, I d-don’t kno…”
“Oh my god shut up!” He yelled over your desperate cries, “It’s over! Done!”
“I don’t know who you think I am, b-but my name is Y/N I grew up a few towns over with my parents, I-I study Conservation Biology at the university because when I was little I saw a film about sea turtles and now I love them.. I...” you read somewhere that telling a killer personal information about yourself would make them less likely to kill you; so, with your hands held up in surrender, you start begging, pleading, letting slip every boring and mediocre fact about yourself in hopes that the handsome stranger will let you live.
Jongin was taken aback to say the least. Never had a target begged for their life quite like this before, but the more you rambled on and the more tears that fell down your cheeks, he couldn’t help it. He believed you.
This is a mistake... Did I mess up here? Fuck! His mind raced to find a way out of this, but his composure was breaking down with each second you plead your case. How could he have gotten things so wrong? Looking at you now; scared and shaking, there was no way you could be with MX. Jongin’s mind quickly looks back on all the time he’d been watching you, at school, at the library, with friends, home alone... Is it possible he let feelings cloud his judgment? No… Jongin didn’t have feelings.
Bang.
In a split second the air was slashed with bullets, plastering the wall behind you with open wounds. Your body drops to the floor, hands covering your ears like a scared child at a fireworks display, your screams piercing through the air.
Jongin doesn’t even think about it before he’s at your side. He fires back some warning shots, just enough to cover the pair of you so he could pull you out of there, but you were frozen in place.
“C’mon we need to get out of here! I can’t get a clear shot!”
Jongin hoisted your trembling body into his arms, waiting for a gap in the bullet wave before rushing out of the street. Weaving between the crumbling buildings, waiting in the shadows for a free moment to sprint out of there to a nearby underpass. It was sheltered and open, meaning Jongin could keep a solid eye on the surroundings while still keeping you safe while he let himself freak out a little.
As soon as he puts you on the ground you melt into the concrete, hugging your knees to your chest and crying into them silently. It’s all too much. How did this happen? Yesterday you were failing Bio and trying to avoid the creeper puppy boy that’d been following you. Now…. you were pretty sure you were going to die tonight.
“Fuck...fuck..fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Jongin paces back and forth, using the barrel of his gun to scratch away the headache slowly spreading across his temples. How could he have messed up this badly? He’s the best… at least... he was the best.
With every footstep he takes you flinch a little, hyper aware of the gun swinging from his hand, fingertip dancing along the trigger. You still don’t know who he is or why you’re there but you’ve seen enough to know to keep quiet. So you stay sitting on the ground, letting the tears melt into the fabric of your jeans, watching the state of panic escalate in the man in front of you while your own turned into something akin to resentment.
After almost half an hour of silently waiting for some sort of direction, you’ve had enough. Eventually Jongin had stopped pacing, choosing to lean up against the wall with head in hands, instead. In your mind, you have nothing to do with this. There is nothing connecting you to whatever chaos was happening here. You had no reason to wait around to get shot.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” He shouts, annoyance bubbling beneath his skin.
“Home.”
“You can’t!” Pushing himself off the wall, Jongin reaches for your arm in an attempt to keep you still. You try to shake him off but his grip is too strong.
“I DIDN’T ASK FOR ANY OF THIS!” You’re screaming at him now. Tears no longer from fear, but anger. You feel trapped in whatever this was and it wasn’t fair, you just want to go home.
“Yeah well tough shit Darling, because unfortunately you’re my responsibility now and it’s my job to make sure you don’t get yourself killed!”
“I can take care of myself! I’ve been doing it long enough!” He rolls his eyes at your response, growing tired of trying to be the good guy for once. “Let me go! I’ll be just fine! Like always!”
Finally loosening the grip on your arm, Jongin let’s you storm off. Waiting, only out of spite, for you to be out of ear shot before cussing out loud at himself.
---
Somehow you managed to drag yourself to class. The events of last night still burning fresh at the back of your mind, but you were desperate enough for a distraction that even Professor Jeong’s morning class was worth that extra effort.
Barely able to keep your eyes open with the little sleep you were actually able to get, it takes you a moment to recognise the familiar body that plants themselves in the desk next to yours.
Jongin doesn’t look at you. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s nerves, but he keeps his eyes trained on the professor’s desk up front, waiting for his cover to be inevitably blown all for the sake of keeping you safe.
“Good morning class!” The professor’s abrupt entrance pulls your shocked and frustrated gaze from burning holes in the side of Jongin’s neck. His tan skin glowing under the plain white tee he’s wearing, hair falling into his eyes softly, contradicting the hard image he’d worn the night before. Does he have his gun with him? You wonder, letting your eyes wander to the waistband of his jeans, remembering how he’d pulled the weapon from them the night before. Stop! You hope he doesn’t realise you’ve been blankly staring at his crotch, mind racing with questions, you don’t even know his name.
“Today we’re picking up the remaining presentati…” When the admirable Professor meets eyes with Jongin, smirking from his seat beside you knowingly, he loses all train of thought.
It’s a feeling Jongin had missed. When a mark knows they’re done for, that he’s coming for them. When their eyes double in size. When fear pales their skin. When they lose all hope of fucking over EXO and getting away with it.
“T-today..um…” You can see the Professor eyeing your seat partner nervously, stuttering over his words. You’d never seen Jeong like this before, he looked terrified, and after last night it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.
Jongin shifts in his seat, enjoying the effect his presence has on the esteemed scholar. While Jeong tries to regain some semblance of decorum, Jongin wraps one of his arms around your shoulders and squeezes tightly, keeping eye contact with the professor, claiming you.
“What are you doing?” keeping your voice low as to not draw anymore attention to you both, you try to push Jongin’s arm away from you, only for him to put it right back.
“My job. Now be quiet.” He hisses, hiding the harshness of his voice behind a sickly sweet smile.
Professor Jeong spends the entire lecture avoiding your side of the room, refusing to make eye contact, completely ignoring you. You try not to take it personally of course, it’s definitely not because of something you did, that you know for sure; but for once you actually know the answers to some of these questions and want to participate.
“I told you, I can take care of myself!” you grumbled, again trying to physically get Jongin away from you, but he just smirks. Like he was enjoying it. Like this was all just some big game and not the life threatening situation he’d made it out to be the night before.
And you would probably believe that were true, if it wasn’t for his nails digging so sharply into your shoulder.
By the time class finishes you want to run a million miles away. The pressure of Jongin’s arm around your neck you’re sure will leave you aching for days; but as long as he’s far away from you, you can deal with it. You all but sprint out of the lecture hall, forgetting all about your next class and heading straight home; taking a back street you hope he hadn’t seen you use before.
“What the hell is this?” You mumble to yourself, pushing down the fear as far as you can in hopes the empty space will leave room for answers. You’re so caught up in your head, trying to figure out what you did to deserve this, you don’t even realise that Jongin’s been on your tail the whole time, watching you freak out and creep around like the amateur he now knows you are. It’s not until he steps into your building’s elevator with you that you realize he’s there.
“Jesus! Fuck, can’t you leave me alone!” He was exhausting; flattering when you thought it was a puppy crush, less so now you know he wanted to kill you.
“I can’t,” Jongin leans against the side of the elevator, growing tired of the chase.
“Why?! You’re the only one stalking me here!”
“Oh Darling, you have no idea.”
“Then explain! Because I’m tired of this! I have work to do, classes to study for, and I can’t when you’re scaring my teachers and dragging me through shoot outs!!”
Jongin understands why you’re annoyed. He gets it, he messed up and now you’re in danger. But to admit that outloud… to admit that to you… he’d rather not.
He doesn’t give you an answer, finding his reflection in the steel doors far more interesting, chewing the inside of his cheek and fixing his jacket over and over.
When you finally reach your floor, it becomes a race of wills to get to your apartment. Jongin trying to force his way in; you trying to lock him out. You sprint for the door, key in hand; almost managing to slam it shut in his face before Jongin’s hand pushes it back open, forcing himself through the small gap and locking you both inside.
In a second he’s slamming your back against the door with his hand covering your mouth, keeping you in place with the weight of his body, trying to work up the nerve to finally tell you the truth.
“I’m not going to hurt you, but you need to listen to me just for one fucking second… My name is Jongin, okay?” he asks, face dangerously close to your own. You manage a weak nod under his hold, terrified but needing answers.
“I made a mistake. I...I thought you were working with MX,”
Your eyes widen at the second mentioning of the infamous gang, more confused than ever as to why he thought you would ever be involved with them. He didn’t even know you.
“There’s rumours they’re coming for EXO territory..”
He’s with EXO. The realisation floods through your body like a lightning strike, frying your nerves, limbs locked in place while the rest of your body falls limp into his arms. EXO. The kings of this city. The reason shops close early and children aren’t allowed out after 9. The doctors responsible for prescribing the death, the destruction, of a city once so healthy and vibrant. Monsters, as far as you’re concerned.
“They must have seen me tailing you and after last night, I think you’re a target.” Jongin watches as your eyes well up with tears, red and swollen as you choke back the sobs you so obviously want to release. It doesn’t affect him… it doesn’t make him angry… he doesn’t want to wrap you in a hug and take it all back… right?
“So as much as you don’t like it, I’m here. I messed up so I need to fix it, because this isn’t a game and this isn’t a joke. If they think you’re with us they will kill you. Milk carton kids, where are they now, 27 club dead.”
You wish he was a better actor. That he could hide the shame, guilt, pain he feels for putting you in this position better. That the cold exterior he wears so well didn’t have quite as many cracks, because then maybe you could tell yourself that everything was going to be okay. But if Jongin looks scared, then you’re absolutely terrified.
Blinded by the fear, your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Fists pounding into his chest weakly as the sound of your sobs rip into his heart. You’re in hysterics, screaming at him for an answer to questions still lodged at the back of your throat. Jongin doesn’t break down with you, as much as his body tries. Instead he just grabs your wrists, stopping their assault and pinning them into his embrace. His hold the only thing keeping you standing as you finally let the last walls crumble, letting out every tear, every scream, every desperate cry for it all to be some twisted dream.
Jongin doesn’t know how you both ended up on the floor, your head buried between your knees as his hand finds itself brushing through your hair. Somehow you manage to calm yourself down, letting the sobs turn to whimpers and cries to sniffles. Finally numb after the dust settles in your mind, you force yourself to look back up at Jongin. He looks how you feel, just doing a better job at hiding it; you don’t miss the concern that washes over his face and maybe that’s why you decide to let him stay. If he was so determined to fix what he’d done, you weren’t going to stop him. At least not tonight.
“I need to sleep,” you say weakly, standing on shaky legs but brushing off Jongin’s worried hands when he tries to help, “you can stay on the couch.”
---
Tiptoeing across the living room, shoelaces dangling from your teeth while your hands clutch onto your books; you’re desperately trying not to wake a sleeping Jongin. His sprawled out body half falling from the couch, you admit he looks a lot cuter when he’s sleeping.
Before you can stop it, one of your shoes drops from between your teeth, making Jongin jump up at the sound.
“What are you doing?” he mumbled, rubbing the fatigue from his face, stretching back into his familiar hard persona.
“Uhh, going for breakfast?”
“Did you not hear me last night!” It didn’t sound like a question. His voice raising ever so slightly in frustration as he stands to tower over you. Failing miserably at being as intimidating as usual, with his hair a mess and cheeks puffy.
“I heard you,” you say, pushing your feet into the fallen shoes before giving him a chance to stop you, “I’m just not going to hide away like a victim when this is your mess.” He stiffens at your words, ignoring the cut they etch into his heart, instead focusing on your relentless stubbornness in such a risky situation.
“If they catch you out alone they won’t miss another shot!” Jongin clenches his jaw when you roll your eyes at his remark, unsure of what he can do to change your mind.
“Look if you’re so worried, you’re more than welcome to join me,” you offer, determination radiating off of your face in such a way that Jongin finds himself unable to argue.
---
For the next few days Jongin stays by your side, sleeping on your couch, going to breakfasts, your classes, all to make sure you were safe.
He walks the familiar routes around town with you, not from a few paces back this time, but shoulder to shoulder. Sitting beside you in Professor Jeong’s early morning classes, Jongin was having far too much fun watching the colour drain from his face each time he showed up to one of your lectures to kill him just yet.
Everything became a threat to your safety. As far as Jongin was concerned, your life was in danger and MX could strike at any moment…. Even if it had been quiet since the shooting… it was better to be safe. That’s what Jongin told himself everytime he stayed a little longer.
“Hey Y/N!” Minho waved at you from across the library, he was reshelving returns when he spotted you studying at your usual table.
Jongin felt his ears burn red at the sight. Jaw clenching when he sees the boy walk over. Eyes narrow in judgment when you return his warm smile.
“Hey Minho, how are you?” It’d been a few days since you’d last had the chance to talk with Minho, him still as handsome as ever, but your heart not jumping quite so high at the interaction.
“I’m good, are you? I’ve missed seeing you around lately..” Minho let’s his words fade noticing the glare he was getting from the man sat beside you. “Oh I’m sorry, I’m Minho, Y/N’s friend!”
Jongin glances at Minho’s outstretched hand between them, choosing to throw his own over your shoulder rather than shake it.
“I’m Kai, Y/N’s boyfriend.” He smirks at the shocked expression that Minho wears, ignoring your startled one in favour of silently challenging the boy to leave.
“Oh...oh uh… Nice to meet you, I’ll see you guys around..”
Jongin keeps you close till he’s sure Minho has gone, only loosening his grip when he feels you nudge him gently.
“What the fuck was that, Kai?” You’re more amused than angry, but you’d never let him know that, enjoying seeing the varied emotions you can bring out of him now, when he was supposed to be a stone cold killer.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” feigning innocence, Jongin tries to go back to reading the book he’d randomly grabbed from the pile in front of you both.
You scoff at his reaction, or lack thereof, staring at him quizzically till he finally gave in.
“That guy is sketchy! I’m here to protect you right? So I’m protecting you. Good?”
“Minho is not sketchy,” you giggle and Jongin can’t help but smile at the sound, “and who is Kai?”
“It’s what my friends call me!”
---
“Hey!” Jongin had appeared out of nowhere, pulling the cigarette from between your lips and stomping it out. With Geord goading you relentlessly for the last hour of class, you were desperate for a smoke. You would argue that those little white sticks of bliss were the only thing keeping you from ripping his throat out.
“It’s disgusting,” he says, leaning down to your height so he could look you in the eye, “why do you do this?”
With a deep sigh, you stuff the near empty packet of unlit cigarettes back into your coat pocket, storming away in frustration, knowing he’d follow you.
“Wait, I’m serious!”
“I like them!” you shout back, thankful the streets were empty so you could argue in peace.
“They’re bad for you you know!” he teases, laughing when you throw your middle finger up behind you.
“My cigarettes are better for me than you are!” Teasing back, you finally turn to face him, a cheeky smile on your face.
---
“We got him.”
While making dinner for the pair of you, Jongin’s phone buzzes on the counter, a string of messages coming in from someone called Minseok. You tried not to be nosey, sitting on the counter beside him while he cooked, but he didn’t even glance at it.
“Wasn’t MX. Some small town nobody trying to prove himself.”
“Jongin”
“Call me when you get this”
“Boss wants you back asap”
The thought of Jongin leaving had never even crossed your mind till then. It hadn’t been that long at all, but it felt like an eternity since he’d first come into your life. Maybe it was selfish to want him to stay.
Jongin had recently started to open up to you more about his work with EXO. He was their protector, he kept them safe. You didn’t see him as this dangerous monster anymore, he was just Jongin, Kai, the one who took care of things. Just like he’d been taking care of you all this time.
You knew deep down that when he left you’d probably never see him again; if what EXO suspects is true and MX really were making their way into Exodus, then there was a storm coming and Jongin would be right in the middle of it. He wouldn’t risk getting you anymore tangled in EXO’s mess.
“Here, try this,” Jongin held a spoon up to your mouth expectantly; pretending he didn’t see Minseok’s messages, pretending you didn’t see them either, holding on to this reality for just a little longer.
---
“We need you back Jongin,”
After ignoring Minseok’s messages a few days ago, Jongin couldn’t ignore another call from the boss.
“Jun I have to pr..”
“No you don’t! We took care of the shooter, the girl will be fine! EXO needs you, I need you!”
He doesn’t want to leave. Jongin doesn’t know what it is that makes him want to stay near you, keep you safe, go to breakfasts at Lou’s - but the thought of leaving it all behind makes his heart twist and turn in unimaginable ways.
His whole life had been about EXO. They’re his friends, his family, and he would never abandon them. But somehow he’s made a new home with you, in his heart at least. You feel like home. Sitting on your living room floor watching Blue Planet feels like home. Falling asleep on your shoulder in the middle of your lectures feels like home. EXO have been his entire identity for so long, but now there’s this other life, another door, and Jongin was finding hard to resist stepping through.
“Be back today. We have work to do.”
After Junmyeon’s orders, the frustration coursed through Jongin’s body with such force he hadn’t even realised he’d thrown the phone till you were beside him, asking what was wrong.
“I...I have to leave.” He couldn’t look you in the eye. He didn’t want to see the betrayal, the disappointment, the pain reflected in them. “It’s my fault you’re in danger and now I have to leave you…”
He doesn’t know that you know.
“I..I’ll be okay Nini.. I can look after myself remember?” Your voice is weak but you do your best to convince him; as much as you want him to stay you know that’s not an option, and you know he knows it too because he can barely look at you right now.
“Y/N… I don’t want to leave..”
It broke your heart but there was no other choice. You had to let him go. The boy you’d tried so hard to avoid just a few weeks ago, you now didn’t want to see go.
“I know..” You cup the side of his face, forcing him to look at you as you spoke, “but they need you Nini...” It was hard to keep how you were really feeling hidden, especially when he looked like he was about to break, “You’re the best Nini, they deserve the best.”
He knew you were right. He needed to be there for EXO, his family. Things in Exodus were about to get a lot messier and the fallout would be astronomical, if he wasn’t there to do his part there’s no telling what could happen, then you really would be in danger.
Leaning into your touch, Jongin grips onto your hips like it was the first time not the last, pulling you flush against his body. Memorizing the shape of your hips, touch of your skin, smell of your shampoo. Locking you inside his heart. Melding the memory of you into his soul so that this wouldn’t be the last time. He would forever be with you and you would always be there for him, long after he’s gone.
Looking at you would be too much, he might not be able to force himself away if he saw your eyes. Saying goodbye felt too final, like the end of something that never really was. Instead Jongin buried your head into his shaking chest, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, pretending he can’t feel your tears soaking through his shirt, before turning away and walking out of your life forever.
#in exodus#the hitman#in exodus the hitman#exo#exo au#exo imagine#exo fanfic#exo fic#exo reation#exo scenario#kim jongin#jongin scenarios#jongin reaction#jongin imagine#jongin fic#jongin au#exo kai#exo jongin au#exo kai au
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Finally (Jamie Benn Imagine)
Alright folks, I’m back! Well. I’ll be back-back Wednesday, but I managed to get the Internet time to post this.
Rating: T
Pairing: Jamie Benn/Reader
Words: 2276
Warnings: underage drinking mention
Requested: yes/no
Summary: You’ve been best friends with Jamie for a long time, when he invites you to a team event. Oh, and you’re in love with him, too.
It’s not that you’re in love with him… except that you are. And you have been for longer than you’d like to admit. It’s not your fault, really, because he doesn’t have to be so kind and funny and awkwardly charming, or walk around looking like that all the time. Truly it’s unfair, and you’re a victim here, honestly, because those dark brown cow eyes are cheating. At life. Or something. The point of the matter is that he’s stupidly pretty and- even more unfortunately for you- a stupidly great person. And you might maybe be a little bit stupidly in love with him.
You don’t really get why he’s friends with you when he’s a top-tier hockey player and you’re an outreach coordinator at a non-profit who he met by accident during a tour of the locker room he didn’t know was happening. You’re not down on yourself or anything; you know you’re a worthwhile person. You just also know that famous people don’t latch onto random fans. Yet when he spilled coffee all over you; he elected to help you clean up, and then to talk to you for almost an hour. Long enough that he ended up giving you a private tour of the basement since you missed the one you were supposed to be on. Somehow, you piqued his interest during those few hours, and now the two of you are nigh inseparable.
He’s having a team bonding barbecue today, which is where you are currently, talking to Rads’s wife at a table just far enough from the pool to avoid getting splashed. Jamie is by the grill, talking to Tyler and Miro (who’s mostly just nodding along and taking sips from a beer he’s definitely still too young to have). Tyler’s wearing nothing but a pair of swim shorts that go to his mid-thigh, still wet from swimming. Miro and Jamie are both in regular board shorts and t-shirts, sandals on their feet. You can’t help but wish it was Jamie in the short trunks and nothing else, but he’s not huge on showing off his body, unfortunately. He still looks good, like really really good, but there isn’t much skin to be seen. You wonder if he thinks the same looking at you in your short-sleeve cover up. Probably not, but a gal can dream.
Darya is talking about how much trouble she had figuring out what to get Rads for his birthday a couple months back, and all you can think is how easy it was to think of Jamie’s gift, and how you’ve already ordered his Christmas present too. It probably has something to do with being around him all the time and talking constantly, whether by text, call, or face-to-face. Darya doesn’t have that luxury, what with her and Rads’s intense schedules. Jamie has a crazy schedule too, of course, and you have a bit of one in comparison to normal people, but that still gives you guys a bit more time than them. This is beside the point, though you can’t quite remember what the point was. Something about knowing as much about Jamie as Darya does about Alexander, or something. Maybe that you’re getting Jamie something personal and personalized, something a wife would get her husband, like the necklace you got for his birthday that’s glinting in the sun against his t-shirt, because he hasn’t taken it off but to shower since you gave it to him, and you’re not sure what that means. Or something.
Anyway, he’s heading toward you now, like he can sense you’re thinking of him. The sun is starting to set, and the light is golden where it streaks through his dark hair, and the way it combines with his soft smile and even softer gaze has you a bit breathless. Darya realizes you’re not paying attention and turns to see Jamie, turning back to give you a shit-eating grin. She knows about your stupid crush, and urges you to make a move on the regular. Since looking at him makes you feel like you’re going to suffocate all the time, you think you might have to do so before you die.
“Hey guys,” Jamie says as he comes to a stop next to your table, “We’re gonna start wrapping up soon.” The butterflies in your stomach immediately die in a mass extinction. Oh. You’re a little sun-sleepy and your skin tingles with exposure, but you could spend every moment of your life with Jamie and still want more time. You stand and you’re grabbing your bag when Jamie lays a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“Do you want to stay? We could watch a movie,” he asks. The butterflies are resurrected.
“Sure,” you agree, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You take Darya and your plates to throw in the trash on the way to get changed. There are only a few people left anyway, so you’ll probably just gonna ash some dishes and then settle in for the movie. As you walk away, you assure Jamie that you’ll meet him in the kitchen.
The first dozen times you came to his place, you were floored by the opulence. By now, you’ve been friends for so many years that it doesn’t even phase you. You duck into the kitchen to toss the plates before claiming the nearest full bathroom. After a shower, you put on some deodorant and fresh clothes, wishing you’d brought something a little nicer than a t-shirt and jeans. It’s ridiculous to wish that, though, because Jamie has seen you in far worse more than once. I’m ou just want to look nice so that. You don’t know. So that maybe he’ll see you as a potential girlfriend rather than a firm friend. Oh god. You’re friendzoned.
You rub some perfume between your wrists and onto your neck; it’s the kind Jamie said he liked best in you once, which you’ve been wearing ever since. Maybe it’s a bit pathetic, but you can’t help yourself. You didn’t bring any makeup, partially because it was a pool party, and partially because you forgot to throw it in your bag before you left. The shirt you brought is one of Jamie’s, and as much as you love the guys, you kind of hope they’ve all left, because they’ll rag on you so hard if they see you wearing it. It’s an old, worn-soft cotton tee that still smells like him despite being in your care for several months. You wear it to bed regularly, letting his scent lull you to sleep.
Anyway.
When you finally exit the bathroom, you only hear two voices left in the house. One voice is Jamie’s, the other Tyler’s, and they’re talking quickly in hushed tones. They both sound annoyed. They don’t argue often, so it must be something serious. You don’t mean to interrupt, but you’re in the living room before you register the tone. They both quiet immediately, before Tyler plasters on an obviously fake smile.
“Hey Y/N, how was your shower?” he asks, his smile turning genuine and worryingly gleeful, “Is that Jamie’s shirt? Looks good on you.” He turns a smug grin on Jamie. Jamie shoves him half-heartedly, smiling just a bit. At least the argument clearly wasn’t too heated.
“I was just leaving,” Tyler continues, half-turning toward the door, “I’ll see you guys next time, eh?” He claps Jamie on the shoulder and turns to give you a hug at the last second before crossing the threshold and shutting the door firmly behind himself. You and Jamie stare at each other for a silent moment before breaking into laughter. Tyler is so fucking weird. Once you’ve calmed, Jamie says “I’ll see you guys next time, eh?” in a horrible imitation of Tyler’s voice, making the both of you lose it all over again. Finally, after what seems like a small eternity, you straighten up from where you’d leaned forward against his chest and wipe the tears from your eyes.
“Let’s go do some dishes, eh?” you say, and the two of you chuckle your way to the kitchen. The dishes are piled in the sink, so you move them to the counter. Jamie fills one side of the sink with warm, soapy water while you scrape any excess food remnants into the garbage. You sidle up next to him once you’re done, hip-checking him out of the way. He overplays it, making hurt, offended noises and almost falling on his ass.
“That’s what you get for being dramatic,” you say when he barely catches his footing. He just grins and resumes his place beside you, ready to rinse and dry. You scrub and set aside the baking dishes that’ll need to be soaked. Just before rinsing the first plate, he puts his music on shuffle, and you both bop along to whatever the Spotify gods choose. They have pretty good taste in dishwashing music, honestly.
Once the final dish has been scrubbed, you empty the sink and refill it with just enough soapy water to cover the dishes needing soaking, while Jamie rinses and dries the bowl you’d handed him. Just as you’re drying your hands, the song changes and you gasp.
“It’s our song!” you crow delightedly. Jamie smiles softly, tossing his hand towel onto the counter and turning to face you. Mallrat sings lightly about broken hearts and devotion as Jamie takes one of your hands in his own, letting the other rest between your waist and hip. The two of you sway around a three foot radius of the kitchen, drawing closer like galaxies coming together, until your head rests against his chest, his chin ducked down so his nose is buried in your hair.
This being “your song” started as a joke. Jamie had taken you to a team event about a year back, and the second you’d gotten him onto the dance floor, Groceries came on. One of the guys’ girlfriends knew the song and explained it while the two of you danced, resulting in rigorous chirping the instant you got back to the table. At the next event, the same thing happened and it was official: this was Your Song. It fits oddly well, too. But you’re not thinking of that right now, too engulfed in his strength and warmth and scent to care about much else.
This would probably be a great chance to shoot your shot; you’re alone, Your Song is playing, you’re in each other’s arms. You could just tell him. What are you supposed to say? “Hey, I’m in love with you”? That’s a little too unambiguous for your taste. But the song… you could just sing part of the song to him, and that would give you plausible deniability, probably. It’s kind of a cop-out, really, but you’ll most likely never have the guts to do it any other way. If you sing the bridge, that could be appropriate; you are lovesick, so… Yeah. Yeah. That’s what you’ll do.
Except you’re caught up in him, in his slow, deep breaths, in the way you’ve stopped moving in circles, just swaying in place between the island and counter, and you completely miss the bridge when it comes. Cursing your short attention span, you pull back just far enough to look him in the eye. You’re still pressed together save for your heads, still moving side to side, still feeling like a binary star system, inextricably linked. The song is ending soon; if you’re going to make a move, you need to do it now. Fuck it.
I just wanna get groceries
I pray you wanna get close to me
Oh give it some, give it some, give it some time
But I think we’re supposed to be
The eye contact is almost unbearable but you can’t look away, trying so hard to convey what you mean, to make him understand. Searching for a response in his eyes, something, anything.
And if you wanna get groceries
And if you wanna get close to me
Just give me some, give me some, give me some sign
I think that we’re supposed to be
It feels like a plea. Please, please, give me some sign. This could be so good, this could be amazing, we could be amazing, I think that we’re supposed to be. Please. You stop moving when the song switches, just staring into each other’s eyes. Your hand had moved to cup his jaw as you sang, his beard coarse against your skin. You can’t seem to bring yourself to move it, to move at all, time frozen on the event horizon of forever. This is it. This is it.
“I think that we’re supposed to be, too,” Jamie finally says. A second ago he had seemed so unsure, skeptical, but now his expression is resolute, voice sure and unwavering. Holy shit. Holy shit. Jamie Benn is in love with you. You’re in love with him and he loves you back. He wants to be with you. Unless you’re reading too much into it? Maybe you’re reading him wrong? He could be joking. It’s not his joking face or voice- because he can’t keep a poker face for the life of him- but maybe—
“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, and that is his teasing voice, “Or do you wanna stare some more?” You can’t keep yourself from laughing, burying your face in his neck as the both of you giggle helplessly. Your heart is fit to burst with overwhelming affection. He tilts your head up, and smiles into it when he finally, finally kisses you.
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Impressions
Man, I think this’ll be the first time I write something using pronouns of my own accord. I don’t know if anyone’s ever noticed, but I’ve worked actively in most of my writings here (and in TWtaH) to never allude to gender or physical appearance. Forgive me just this once, I really want to indulge.
I didn’t proofread this, I just wanted to fight writer’s block and write something really, really self indulgent. I’m really not strong enough to abstain or to control my own bullshit. It’s like 4k of unorganized thoughts loosely strung together.
——
You came to the Watchpoint one chilly summer night, wearing a proud grin that the heavy pelting rains could not wash off. The upward turn of your lips stood out in sharp contrast to the deep droop of your loose clothes, more vessels for water than for you. Over the sounds of thunder you had boldly declared to everyone who came to see who was so brave and foolish as to come during this weather: “I’ve come to save you from yourselves.”
First impressions are everything, the clan had taught him that. But Overwatch taught him people are more than their first impressions.
Hanzo’s impression of you, the first (tracking mud and rain water on freshly cleaned floors), second (curled in the corner of the kitchenette, asleep and blocking the way to the kettle), and onward (not bothering to change after spilling coffee all over yourself, sleeping just anywhere you please and on anyone you please and at any time you please), was as lousy as the last.
‘Slovenly’ would be a good word to describe you and the way you carry yourself. Everything you did was haphazard and barely put together in the way that Hanzo would've been scolded and beat for as a youth.
Placed side-by-side, it's clear you're exact opposites. Hanzo, while approaching the end of his midlife crisis at a breakneck speed, still maintained some of the decorum that shadowed the immaculate side of himself that he had worn everyday for most of his life. You, on the other hand, looked like you rolled out of bed regardless of occasion without a care in the world or for how anyone might see you. It vexes him that people could call you a 'hero' or find comfort in your existence looking and acting the way you do.
Even McCree and the Junkers have more tact than you who sits in on the meeting in your pajamas and a crumpled parka meant to cover the fact that you were not wearing proper pants. At least they look battle-ready. You look like you're four seconds away from rolling back into bed.
"--we will require everyone's attendance. There will be many dignitaries present,”--Hanzo does not miss the way Winston seems to look at you—“so we ask you please be on your best behavior. The dress code is, of course, white-tie formal, though your tie may be whatever color you wish."
Winston chuckles a bit at his own joke, though it falls flat in the face of everyone else who seems more dismayed than anything at having to attend a formal party doing, arguably, the opposite of their jobs.
Hanzo can't help but glance over at you. Your head rests precariously on your palm, elbow threatening to slip out from beneath the weight. You're barely even trying to pay attention.
The thought sends an exasperated fire through Hanzo's veins and he forces himself to look away. His old habits of correcting people and instilling discipline were coming back to haunt him in spades. If he keeps paying too much attention to your lackadaisical manner, he fears he'll lose all the progress he's made since he's joined Overwatch--he'll relapse and soon have a sword in hand again.
Luckily neither of your paths crossed often. He still has no idea what you do. Your hours are unusual. You do not go on missions with them. You do not participate in combat drills. You do not voice your opinion on anything during meetings and no one mentions your seemingly lack of participation. Instead, you’re usually locked in your own room or get chauffeured around by Lena, disappearing for weeks at a time before returning with things like a golf bag or suitcase meant for vacationing. It's unclear how you're meant to 'save them from themselves' when you do nothing of value in the first place.
It’s good that he barely sees you except for times like these when everyone’s collective presence is required. Neither of you have so much as exchanged more than a sentence, but he’s overheard you jabbering once or twice that didn’t change his mind that you were useless and an irritating existence.
Beneath his skin, the dragons draw a slow, undulating spiral. Restless, but comfortable, drawing his attention away from the reminder that he is still no better of a person than he was before.
Winston explains the expected attendees of the party. All of them are high-profile figures with significant influence over their own spheres of influence. There are specific people he would like them to get on good terms with: the head of the United Nations; leaders of specific human rights movements; leaders of countries with pro-omnic rights. All agents should remain in groups and only designated people should seek conversations with specified individuals.
The most important thing is to project the image that Overwatch is back and united. Gaining support is just a parallel mission.
Everyone is dismissed, the weight of the briefing dragging down their moods. It’s a high stakes mission with a lot of risk. Throwing all of them unsupervised and untrained into this situation is too reckless.
For the sake of Overwatch, he hopes you'll at least wear something appropriate. Watching you leave the meeting with your lazy shuffling, and shoulders slumped to the point your parka is struggling to remain on your person, he has some serious reservations.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Lucio delicately readjust your parka like you’re a child to be looked after. The DJ had mentioned he took care of kids in his neighborhood--a natural big brother figure--so it’s natural for him to notice such things and take it into stride. Even so, there’s a limit to these activities.
You're an adult. He does not know your exact age, but he knows you should be old enough to not require the pampering of others. Snorting to himself, he turns away, determined not to let your existence bother him.
But that proves difficult.
The day of the party looms over everyone’s heads, rapidly drawing near. Tensions are palpable. Agents run to and fro, fretting over what is appropriate to wear and how to act that wouldn’t embarrass or threaten Overwatch’s existence.
While Hanzo isn’t worried about how to act during the party, one thing does weigh on his mind. You.
He hadn’t seen you since that meeting ended, explaining the party, and it’s already the eve of. He was too busy helping the other agents figure out their attires and manners to care, but now that most of that is sorted, he realizes he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of you.
It’s not that he cares. He doesn’t. Not about you anyway.
Winston tells him, “She’ll meet us at the party, not to worry. Her current mission will end just as the party starts."
"Current mission? I was not aware she did any work." If Winston noticed the amount of malice in those words, he didn't say anything about it. Ana, though, laughs into her hand.
"Oh yes, she does a lot for Overwatch. Not that you and everyone else doesn't, of course! Her activities are a little different than ours, so I haven't had a chance to pair her with anyone here so far. But rest assured, everyone is doing their parts to help."
It doesn't answer his question and Hanzo's not sure if Winston is being purposefully evasive. Not that the scientist has a single deceitful bone in his large body.
"And what exactly does she do?"
"Now, now. Let's save that for later." Ana steps in between them both. "We have other things to worry about. Did you study up on your target?"
"Of course."
He's memorized the dossier on the person he is supposed to make contact with at the party. She is the head of a for-profit charity organization. While her operations are small, they receive a considerable amount of support and boast of a large network of benefactors that Overwatch themselves can benefit from. He has no plans to mess this up.
"Very good. You're dismissed then." There's a hardness to her eye that forbids any further backtalk and Hanzo has no choice but to withdraw and ponder on the nature of your job.
In the end, he has to believe that you wouldn't be an embarrassment to Overwatch, especially not during their first public debut. No matter how unkempt you are normally, he knows you take your job seriously. Winston said as much and Hanzo has never once actually heard anyone complain about you. It's the only reason his irritation hasn't gotten the better of him.
—
The party itself is rather impressive, on par with the ones that he attended when he was still considered the scion of the Shimada clan. The hall is large and well decorated with arched ceilings and a live orchestra filling every crevice with music.
Paparazzi are ready for them, swarming immediately as soon as they step out of their rented hoverlimo. It takes the combined efforts of himself, McCree, Fareeha, Zarya, Roadhog, and Soldier: 76 to part the crowd and get into the venue.
Many of the guests are distinguished. Hanzo recognizes many of them as leaders of countries, a few as CEOs of national companies, A-list celebrities and holovideo personalities. Overwhelmingly political, though.
Dr. Zhou seems uncomfortable with the attention, shying away from conversation and making herself as small as possible. Winston is right beside her, equally awkward despite the gungho attitude he had about it in the beginning. At least they have Zarya and Fareeha with them to detract from any unwanted conversation.
Surprisingly, Reinhardt and Soldier: 76 blend right into the crowd, making pleasantries like it’s second nature. Even Ana is taking a large brunt of conversations relating to Overwatch, stepping in gracefully when needed, standing down and merely watching with an unapproachable aura when she wasn’t.
There are others who seem to disappear in the crowd. Satya, Genji, and McCree all seem to have made themselves scarce. Not that he has any room to talk--he’s made himself a home behind one of the many pillars in the back of the hall where he has a great view of most of the venue.
Everyone else is prim and proper and their suits and dresses as though it didn’t take them all about six hours to get ready.
In the back of his mind, he thinks it would be better if you couldn’t make it.
Not even an hour into the party, some commotion by the door catches his attention. Paparazzi, likely sensing the presence of a scoop, all swarm toward the arching entryway, excited murmurs buzzing throughout the hall. What could possibly get the attention of all these vultures?
He's half-curious, but he suddenly has his hands full running after Junkrat who decides he no longer likes his bowtie or the fact that the first four buttons of his shirt are closed.
It takes him a little while with McCree’s and Zenyatta’s help to calm Junkrat down--and he never realized just how tall the man was until he had to wrestle the Junker to the ground. By the time he’s done fixing himself up, the paparazzi crowd has dispersed and his hand is now occupied with champagne instead of rowdy children. He scans the crowd, seeking out his target for sweet talking.
But someone else catches his eye.
A figure in a dress no more fancier or elegant than any other attendee’s, but there’s just something about how the person holds themselves that gives him pause and puts him on edge as though the claws of a particularly dangerous animal were pressed against his neck.
Hanzo damn near drops his champagne glass in surprise when he’s able to put a name to the face.
It's you.
He has to do a double take and squint.
No, he has to be dreaming. This is a dream.
But no matter how much blinked or tried to clear his vision, you remain with the exception that you are more regal and composed than any time he's ever seen you. It's as though he's never known you at all. And maybe he doesn’t.
At his elbow, McCree whistles, catching your attention. Even your smile is refined, thinned and polite. You seem to politely fend off all the interested parties with ease and make your way over, shoulders held back and chin lifted, each step sure and crisp. Even your footsteps radiated authority and an unshakeable confidence not normally found in your daily life.
Up close, he can see you put immense thought into your appearance. Your make-up is sharp and meticulous. The dress is well suited to your figure and skin. Everything is composed to give you a fierce presence that cannot be ignored even by laymen. If he had to put your appearance into one word, it would be “beautiful”.
Why you never pay attention to your appearance normally is beyond him.
"You clean up nicely," McCree remarks as he hands you an extra glass of champagne. Gingerly, you take it between your fingers, tilting your head just so in appreciation with the crinkle of your eyes to match. Natural, but calculated. "What's your secret?"
Simply, you reply, "I had help.” Then: “You look great, yourself. I’m not sure if I like the rugged look or this side of you more. Both are handsome.”
“Much obliged.”
Clinking your glasses together, you raise yours at Hanzo. Autopilot kicks in and Hanzo politely meets your glass with his. Words escape him and a sip of champagne fills the void.
It cannot be you. You, who shows up to meetings in pajamas. You, who slouched on every sittable surface like it was your personal couch. You, who can’t even be bothered to put your clothes on right without someone else fixing it for you.
But you’re right here, making small talk with McCree like you were meant to.
“Hanzo, you look great, too. Very gorgeous.”
“Not as much as you,” he responds almost automatically. He clenches his jaw and hopes that he doesn’t look as panicked as he feels. This situation is just too strange.
Your eyes twinkle and you laugh. It sends a shiver down his spine. The sounds of something dangerous draws near and the sense of danger against his back presses itself harder against him. “Silver tongues everywhere. But I appreciate it. How are you enjoying the party?”
“As much as anyone else.”
“Not at all, then.”
“Come on, when are we ever going to have such fancy food?” McCree says, waving at the trays of hor d'oeuvres being carted around by bots.
“Soon, if our mission goes well.”
Again, you give him a look that he’s wary of.
Just what have you been doing all this time to be able to look like this? You seem to have no problems blending in to the crowd here as though you belonged with them. If he didn’t know you were a part of Overwatch, he would’ve mistaken you for a target.
He’s reminded of the few mafia bosses he’s met in life who would greet him wearing jinbei instead of the expensive suits Hanzo was accustomed to seeing. People with so much power that they don’t care about appearances anymore-they have nothing to prove to anyone.
Are you the same? Or was the Watchpoint just your way of unwinding?
Soon, Lena and her girlfriend join the conversation. Lena looks delighted at your appearance, a large grin spreading across her face.
"Lookin' fancy, love. Was wondering if you’d even make it."
"Thank you, Lena. And is this Emily? I've heard so much about you, Lena just won't stop gushing."
“What does she say?”
“Hey, hey! Ix-nay on the irlfriendgay.”
Seeing this side of you puts him off kilter. He’s not quite sure how to reconcile the image of you that he’s accustomed to and the person in front of him. He’s used to people hiding their true natures and donning personas, but this contrast is just too jarring.
Luckily, he finds his break when he spies his target and with an “Excuse me” makes his way to her. He doesn’t turn back lest he makes a further fool of himself.
“Are you enjoying the party, Argus Twenty?” he asks.
The omnic’s lights blink as though scanning her memory bank for his face, but seemingly comes up empty. “Very much so. And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
“Shimada, Hanzo. Overwatch. At your service.” He bows slightly at the waist. “I have heard a lot about you.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Only the best. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about your work and if there was anything Overwatch can do to help. We seem to be of similar ventures.”
Even without facial expressions, he could tell she’s smiling. “In that case—”
It’s much easier than he expects to talk to her. She’s refreshingly straightforward and objective, presenting her troubles and solutions with tact. He even gets her to speak of the power dynamics and relationships in her organization, and how they could help each other.
Somehow, he feels like he already knows her.
The time passes easily (as does his mission).
When Argus leaves, she gives him her business card, inviting him to the restaurant that is the organization’s main headquarters. Hanzo promises to visit to further build on this relationship. Now he can tell Winston they’ve secured another means to support. Another job well done.
As he searches for Winston, he sees suspicious movements from the corner of his eye. It’s Mei and Hana, cornered by someone who looks to be twice their age combined. He can’t exactly see who it is, but he can tell the two are uncomfortable.
"I want to hear all about it. My villa is open to you ladies anytime."
“Thank you, we’ll have to check our schedules.”
“Oh, but I insist. I’m sure you can free up some time.”
No one else is close enough to interfere. He resigns himself to what would undoubtedly be a difficult time. Squaring his shoulders, he raises his head, donning the air of authority that he once wore like a second skin and makes swift strides toward the trio, fully intending on breaking up the one-sided 'conversation'.
Someone else bears him to the punch.
"Have you been hiding from me all night?"
Your smile is dazzling as you smoothly and loudly interject, extend a free hand toward the man. "Mr. Drumph, what about my invitation? We haven't spoken since that time in Washington, beginning to think you've forgotten about me."
The man's face screws up into a tight smile.
"Long time, my friend!" He grasps your hand with both of his, giving it a firm shake. "Was just inviting these ladies to my villa. Great views. Great food. Nothing better. You’re invited, too, of course."
“Of course. When’s a good time for you? I’m fully booked for the next five months, but I will clear my schedule for you, just tell me when.”
“You know, if I could just get those lobbyists off my back, I could probably do two weeks from now.”
You tsk, a derisive smile on your face. "From the OmniCore, right? I could lend you a hand, you know. They do owe me for that one case, you know, with LumeriCo?"
"That’s right, LumeriCo. You have connections with them, don’t you?”
“I can arrange for that right now. Give you some breathing room for a month.” You take out your communicator, already texting. “You know, I remember your golf course is near your villas. I would love for you to show me your short game again. Maybe even invite Sam this time.”
“Sam? Remind me again...”
“President of HardBank.” A guiding hand turns the man around, gesturing at some vague figure in the crowd. You shoot a look at the frozen Mei and Hana, gesturing with your eyes for them to make their escape.
The two give you a thumbs up, shuffling away.
“Oh, yeah, her. She was involved in the acquisition fiasco with BioTech—”
“We all benefited from it. I think she can lend us a hand this time, too. HardBank’s the main sponsors of OmniCore. I’m sure she can call things off for a bit. Come with me to the bar, I see you could use another drink. Have you ever tried a boilermaker?”
The two of you slowly start to walk, drifting into the thick of the party like old friends, Mei and Hana quickly forgotten. Hanzo watches as more and more people begin to take notice, likely seeing Mr. Drumph's presence at your side as permission to approach. It’s not long before you’re laughing it up and chatting with other, equally powerful figures. You blend right in with them, feeding them the same poison they dish out.
The sight is painfully familiar.
Hanzo stands there, determined not to feel impressed by your handling of the situation and instead goes to check on the two.
—
As the party winds down, Hanzo finds you resting in one of the more secluded areas of the venue. Even half-hidden like this, you’re still sitting with your back straight and eyes sharp, ready to jump straight back into the socialite persona you’ve displayed this entire evening.
Wordlessly, he hands you a juice which you take without looking at him.
“Thank you.”
He says nothing, looking down at your head and studying your features.
Truly. If you dressed like this and acted like this all the time, he wouldn’t have wasted his time worrying about you and the potential shame you would bring upon Overwatch. Now he feels liek a fool for having been concerned in the first place. Winston would not call back anyone who isn’t qualified to do their jobs, and Overwatch, despite being defunct and having lost its way prior to the Fall, did employ some of the most brilliant of each field. It serves to reason that you are no different in that regard.
“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask quietly.
“Hm. I just was not aware you had experience in something such as politics. It’s a bad hobby.”
"There is no good or bad in politics. Just self-interests."
"I am inclined to disagree."
"Disagree then. It doesn't change the fact that I get more done at golf courses and resorts than in an office."
"And what exactly have you done for Overwatch?"
You raise a pointed eyebrow as if asking if he were serious. A sly, calculated smile slowly worms its way into your face. There's a new shine in your eyes, mischievous and mocking.
"If you don't know, then there's no need to worry yourself about it."
Translation: Your lowly rank does not permit you to know.
Before he has a chance to retort, Winston jumps in, seemingly a little more tipsy than when Hanzo first saw him.
“Please allow me to explain then.” Winston puts his finger in the air. "Overwatch is currently in need of financial and political support. We can continue doing our deeds, but there’s a risk it won’t be perceived well. We needed someone to handle that side for us, hence…” He gestures at you, nearly hitting you in the face, and the party. “All this.”
It's true. None of them are suited for the tedious backdoor dealings of the political world. Hanzo is the closest candidate, but his ties mean nothing here. (Not that he wants them to in the first place.) And he can’t think of anyone else who would be willing to spend the time cultivating these relationships.
“Cat’s out of the bag then.” You smile that well-practiced smile, swirling your juice. "I've been a political aide for a long time. When Winston asked me to come back, I spent months going around and establishing political ties. Now I handle most of Overwatch's advocacy. Your good deeds will only go so far. To change a corrupt system, it's best to either dismantle it or take control of it."
"And which are you doing?"
The flute touches your lips and your smile turns sly. "Which do you think, Mr. Shimada?" A sip of your drink prevents you from answering. Not that he was expecting it, not after seeing what you do.
“Hm.”
“Well, don’t worry about it too much. As long as you accomplish your mission, there’ll be plenty of opportunity for you to get involved in mine.”
You laugh and instantly go back to your professional self, having spotted another target of yours. Excusing yourself, you approach a couple with smooth compliments and sinister whispers as you attempt to secure another backdoor deal.
Again, Hanzo tries not to be impressed with the words coming out of your mouth and the ease with which you wield these promises.
Truly, his impressions were wrong.
—
Hanzo sees you again at the Watchpoint, weeks after the party.
You're back to your usual self, dragging a blanket around your waist, probably in lieu of actual pants. Unconsciously, a disgusted noise escapes his throat. But he doesn’t forget that beneath that sloppy facade is the mind of a person willing to put themselves at political risk for Overwatch and that whatever his impressions of you are, they’re wrong.
But it’s hard not to go back to being annoyed with you now that he’s had a glimpse of what you could really be.
First impressions are lasting, after all.
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