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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

The Best Of Us

Batfamily x M!Reader

Word Count: 3,035 Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: And here we are with a Batbrother fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

It wasn’t an inferiority complex. Not really. He wasn’t prone to anger or any of the other symptoms listed under it—and he checked. Multiple times. But there was something about being the only non-vigilante in his family of vigilantes that made him feel inadequate compared to the rest. Bruce had the Justice League, Dick and Jason had their own fantastic groups that saved the day, and Tim and Damian were still in school, but even they had their groups too. Hell, even Alfred still had contacts from his days in MI-5. And yet, he had none of the skills his brothers or father had, no extensive martial arts training, master detective skills, or weapon mastery. He was completely normal—or maybe abnormal in this case. And on some level, he resented that he couldn’t be like his family—maybe he did have an inferiority complex.

***

The greatest thing in (Y/N)’s mind about still being allowed to live at home was that no matter what, there was always food around to eat—Alfred saw to it that every growing man in the house had enough to eat—that being said, their grocery bills were outrageouslyexpensive.

He balanced his tablet in one hand, the other hand adjusting the tie around his neck as he stepped into the kitchen, quick to raise the tablet in time to avoid whacking his youngest brother in the head.

“Morning,” he greeted, taking his seat at the table, just after Jason’s. A chorus of tired, ‘mornings’ came back at him and he quirked an eyebrow. “Wow, loving the enthusiasm this morning, guys.”

Jason snorted and propped his chin on his palm, watching (Y/N) for a moment. “I seriously don’t understand how you’re always so chipper in the morning.”

He huffed a laugh and took a sip of the coffee that Alfred set down. “Someone has to be the ray of sunshine in this group of gray clouds.” (Y/N) cast a glance at Dick who was shoveling eggs into his mouth. “And it seems like our eldest is busy feeding his bottomless pit.” Dick was fast to shoot him a glare, that he returned with a smile.

Just then, Tim trudged into the kitchen in an oversized hoodie and plopped down in his seat, immediately shoving the plate in front of him to drop his head onto the table.

“Jesus Christ, you guys,” (Y/N) sighed, flicking at his tablet for a moment. “You’ve seriously gotta take a day off to recuperate.”

“What do you think we do during the day?” Dick retorted, taking a swig of milk.

“Okay I think you’re confusing the entire day with the first half,” he reasoned. “When I say take a day off, I mean the whole twenty-four hours.” He glanced at everyone, and the only person who seemed to not be tired was Alfred, and that’s partly because (Y/N) believed he was immortal. “You guys are gonna run yourselves into the ground,” he said. “I just don’t think—”

“We know what we are doing, (Y/N),” Damian interrupted with a glare. “We know our limits better than you do.”

He let out a sigh and shook his head. This conversation had happened many times before and it wasn’t anything new.

“I’m not saying I know them better than you Damian, I’m simply saying that you guys should take a day to relax so that something doesn’t happen on the job that you can’t control.”

(Y/N) glanced at his father. “Dad, c’mon, you know I’ve got a point.”

Bruce hummed and flipped the page of the newspaper. “So does Damian.” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and nodded. “You don’t have to worry so much, (Y/N). We know what we can handle.”

He stared at Bruce for a moment then scowled. “I don’t even know why I bother,” he muttered, and Damian was fast to chase his comment.

“I don’t know why you bother either. You’ve never once experienced what we do every night.”

(Y/N) met his youngest sibling’s glare. “Just because I don’t stick my neck out for each person in this city night after night doesn’t mean that I don’t know what it’s like to be exhausted.”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you know what it’s like to be exhausted from blood loss because you’ve been stabbed or shot? Or to be exhausted from saving the lives of innocent people? You do?”

“I—” (Y/N)’s mouth opened, then he snapped it shut and looked away with a darkened expression, tasting something sour in his mouth. “No, I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought,” Damian finalized, and in the wake of the uncomfortable tension, a cellphone went off.

Everyone started looking for theirs, but (Y/N) muttered, “It’s mine.”

He picked it up and put on a cheerful voice. “Good morning Angela…yes, I just got the floor plan…” he tapped at the screen on his tablet. “Do me a favor and move the people from table eight to table three. Mr. Robinson is better friends with Mrs. Grace and will certainly give us a warmer atmosphere in that area.”

(Y/N) paused and listened, then he stood from the table and pushed his chair in. “Let me get to the office and we can situate the rest of the guests for tonight…alright, see you soon. Bye.”

He pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call, then took the black backpack that Alfred was holding to him. “Thanks Alfred.”

“Of course, Master (Y/N). Have a pleasant day at work.”

He huffed a laugh, but it was anything but amused. “I have to give a speech tonight in front of the entire company and three different magazines.” He glanced at Bruce. “Think you’ll be able to attend tonight? It’d mean a lot to me.” Bruce grunted, his way of telling (Y/N) that he’d try, but to not hope for a miracle.

It was fine, he was used to parentless ceremonies and events. He cleared his throat and shrugged on the backpack, making his way to the garage door.

“See you guys later.”

***

He’d given a few speeches in his short twenty-four years, and while he’d never say he was an expert on public speaking, he did know his way around a podium. That being said, every time he had to do a speech, he felt like vomiting—nerves he chocked it up to.

(Y/N) cast a glance around the packed ballroom, quietly groaning at the massive amount of people. His own table was empty, save for Angela and thank god for him, Lucius. He couldn’t help but frown at the name tags sitting in front of the empty seats.

“Wondering where the rest of the gang is?”

He met Lucius’ eyes and gave a halfhearted smile. “I’d like to think they took my advice and took the night off but…something tells me that the night called to them.” His lips pulled downwards. “I’m not going to act like this is a surprise, Lucius. I couldn’t even get them to show up for my university graduation.”

(Y/N) smiled and stood up, grabbing the notecards beside him. “What makes you think I could get them to show up to this?” He left the table and moved to the side of the stage, waiting for his name to be called. His fingers briefly shifted to his chest, feeling his heart fluttering beneath chest, nerves causing his breathing to come in short bursts. (Y/N) shut his eyes and took a deep breath, letting a pleasant smile cross his face as the presenter called his name, and walked up the steps.

The bright flash of photography momentarily blinded him, but he smiled through it. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight at the Centennial Inside Alliance Award Ceremony.” He flashed everyone a million-watt smile. “My name is (Y/N) Wayne, and as many of you know, I am a senior editor for Inside Alliance. It is my pleasure tonight to recognize Inside Alliance’s top writer for the year.”

(Y/N) glanced around the room, making sure to catch the eyes of the hundreds of guests.

“Inside Alliance was created on August fourteenth, nineteen-twenty by a group of immigrant mothers and fathers who wanted to bring knowledge of their homes and cultures to the rest of world. Some of those countries being Germany, Romania, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Israel, and many, many others.”

“The production of their valuable time and extensive care created one of the greatest magazines that is still in business today, that brings attention to the worldwide issues that many groups face, while still connecting to their roots of educating the public on cultures and groups.”

He smiled. “It is with my upmost honor that I congratulate and introduce Miss Flora Janaliyeva, one of our newest and greatest writers that has joined Inside Alliance, and the winner of tonight’s Inside Alliance Award.”

(Y/N) turned to the side and grinned at Flora as she ascended the stairs. Her long black hair was braided down the length of her back and she wore a bright and floral-patterned gown. She reached (Y/N) and he reached with his right, shaking her hand, and handed her the glass award with the other.

“Miss Janaliyeva, it is with honor and congratulations that I give you this award for your excellent talent and recognition of ability from Inside Alliance.”

She smiled brightly and accepted the award. “Thank you, Mister Wayne, the honor is mine.” He nodded politely once more and descended the stairs as she began her speech, quietly taking his place back at the table.

“Well done, Mister Wayne,” Lucius smiled and (Y/N) let out a deep breath.

“I’m just surprised I was able to do that without stuttering or panicking.” He glanced over, smile lowering slightly. “Lucius, are you alright?”

The older man dabbed at his forehead and nodded, though when he breathed, it sounded labored. “I’m fine,” he assured, then reached up to rub at his chest.

(Y/N) shifted. “I don’t think you’re alright Lucius.” He leaned over. “Are you having chest pain?”

“I—yes,” he grit out then met (Y/N)’s gaze. “My chest is getting—tight and I…and I—”

He started to slump over and (Y/N) shot to his feet, eyes widening with fear. “Lucius!” The yell startled the crowd and Flora, who all looked over at the two.

(Y/N) pulled the older man back and pressed his ear to his chest, listening. He pulled away and yelled, “Someone call an ambulance! I think he’s having a heart attack!”

He helped Lucius to the floor and immediately pressed his palms to the man’s chest, starting compressions. His breath came in panicked spurts and he kept looking at Lucius’ face.

“Just hand on Lucius. You’re going to be okay.” (Y/N) kept at it until the EMT’s arrived and they knelt beside them.

“Let us take over.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, too afraid that if he did, Lucius would die, but one of the EMT’s placed a hand on his shoulder while the other slide their hands underneath (Y/N)’s.

“Son, we’ll take it from here.”

(Y/N)’s arms went slack, and he let the medic pull him away, watching as they took over and started moving him onto the stretcher.

“Please, save him. He’s—he’s friends with my family I—”

The medic nodded firmly. “We’ll do all we can.”

And all (Y/N) remembered was someone ushering him into a taxi heading for the hospital.

***

The first people that arrived were Lucius’ family who were grateful for (Y/N)’s actions, but the young man could barely grimace as they disappeared into the hospital room, leaving him sitting outside, his head in his hands. Tears gathered in his eyes as he thought back to what the ER doctor told him.

***

“Mister Fox is in a stable condition, but you have to understand, Mister Wayne, his heart is very weak.”

“But—but he’ll be okay right?”

“Based on Mister Fox’s past conditions, he’s verging into heart failure. His heart is too weak to keep up with what the body needs.”

“And…and what does his body need at this point?”

“At this point? A new heart.”

***

He sucked in a breath and fought to keep the sob from escaping his throat, just as heard, “(Y/N)!”

His head shot up and he saw his father and older brothers coming down the hallway. (Y/N) clambered to his feet.

“Dad I—” he started, but cut off as he choked on a sob, and Bruce pulled him into a hug, holding (Y/N) as he sobbed. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I tried my best but—”

“Shh,” Bruce hushed, a firm, but gentle hand coming to rest at the back of his son’s neck. “You did all that you could.”

He pulled back and wiped his face. “But Lucius needs a new heart, and I don’t know what to do. I should’ve seen this coming. He hasn’t been feeling well the past few weeks and I—”

“(Y/N),” his father said firmly, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. He met Bruce’s eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”

His libs wobbled and he whispered, “But if I were like you guys, I would’ve seen something earlier. I didn’t and now…” sighing, he added, “and now Lucius needs a new heart, or he’ll die.”

Bruce’s sigh was heavier than (Y/N)’s and it made his chest heavy. “We’ll get Lucius a new heart, (Y/N).”

He lowered his head and lamented, “I’m sorry, dad.”

His father squeezed his shoulder then lead him towards Dick and Jason. “Take (Y/N) back home for the night. I’ll stay here with Lucius’ family.”

They nodded and led their brother down the hall, arms firm across his shoulders in a comforting way. They didn’t say anything, knowing that there wasn’t much to offer, but their support was enough for (Y/N), even if he felt horrible.

***

For being the World’s Greatest Detective, his son was evidently the World Best Hider, because it took Bruce a long time to finally find (Y/N). He stepped quietly over to the form sitting on the ledge and took a seat beside him, silently gazing out at the backyard. A bottle appeared in his vision and he focused on it as the smell of whiskey reached his nose.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked but took the bottle anyway.

“Jason gave it to me earlier.” He watched Bruce take a sip. “Figured it fit the occasion.”

Bruce chuckled. “That sounds like Jason’s way of dealing with a problem.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, simply enjoying the calm around the manor and night.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” Bruce suddenly said.

(Y/N) sighed and set the bottle down, kicking his legs out off the roof. “Lucius said he hadn’t been feeling well recently. And I just passed it up to getting older.” He looked at his father. “If I’d actually paid attention, then I would’ve seen the symptoms.”

“Do you actually know what the symptoms of heart failure and heart attack are?”

“I…no, not really.”

“Then you couldn’t’ve known.” He looked at (Y/N). “Lucius works in my office every day. If anyone should’ve known and seen it, it should’ve been me.” Bruce shook his head. “But you did everything you could at the awards ceremony, and that saved Lucius’ life tonight. You did good.”

“I could’ve done better.” (Y/N) muttered. “I should’ve. I’m your son and I’m practically useless to the family but—”

“Woah, woah,” Bruce interrupted, brows furrowing as he asked, “What are you talking about?”

(Y/N) turned to him. “I am the least useful person in this family. I mean you and the guys are these crazy intelligent, vigilante master detectives and I’m just me.” He wiped away a tear that fell from his eye. “I can’t speak seven different languages or solve murder cases with a single strand of DNA left at the scene of a crime. Hell, I can’t even throw a punch.” He sighed heavily. “The last time I tried, I broke my hand.”

Meeting his father’s gaze, he said, “I just want to be like you guys.” He lowered his head. “I just want to be normal and not an outlier in the family.”

Bruce simply stared at him for a long moment, and while he’d never been privy to let his emotions show on his face, he let them this time—shock and shame. Shame that he didn’t see his greatest achievement suffering.

“(Y/N).”

He didn’t look up at first, but then he did. “Yes sir?”

“How long have you felt like this?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Forever?”

His father sighed. “Son, I…I never wanted you to be like us.”

He gaped at Bruce. “What?”

“(Y/N), every person in this family is driven to do what we do because of our childhoods. You’re the only one who doesn’thave any skeletons in his closet.” He stared at him. “We wish every day that we could be like you and not a day goes by that we don’t think that.”

“I…what?” he floundered, absolutely bewildered at the idea that his father and brothers wanted to be the most boring person ever. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“It is.”

“No.” (Y/N) huffed. “I’m me. I’m plain and boring, work a nine to five job me. I mean I write for a magazine for god sakes! And you guys save the world!”

Bruce chuckled. “And what we wouldn’t give to be just a bit more normal like you, son.” He shrugged. “You think you’re inferior because you’re not a vigilante, but you’re the one thing that keeps us all sane. You give us the perspective of someone who isn’t what we are. Of someone who’s completely normal.”

He reached over and placed a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “And being normal? Being you?” Bruce squeezed firmly. “I don’t want you to be anyone else.”

(Y/N) gazed at him, and though he felt tears in his eyes, he didn’t blink, didn’t let them fall. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you proud.”

Bruce smiled heartfully. “You do, (Y/N). Everyday. Because you’ve always been the best of us.”

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mintjamsblog · 3 years

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I'm obsessed with Mistakes, and now with the idea that Tommy will visit Alfie's dungeon roleplaying as a client. I absolutely need a fic about that incredibly hot situation right away, because I can't get it off my mind. (Your writing is amazing, thank you so much.)

Okay, I've had enough of today, so here you go. Set a couple of years in the future. Have some escapist, procrastinating, smut. Because I love the idea that right now, Tommy and Alfie are living their best life in their castle in Ireland.

Tommy is the manager (of course) but every now and then Alfie likes to remind him that he's not always in charge. And this week Tommy's been particularly grumpy and foul tempered. Deep down he's trying to get a rise out of Alfie, smart-talk him into a sharp spanking or a rough fuck. But Alfie seems determined not to play ball.

Instead he makes Tommy wait tables in the restaurant. "I know you think it's beneath you, darling, but Luan's off tonight and we're short-staffed and it'll teach you some humility. Tommy agrees. Reluctantly. Determines to be as grim faced and petulant as he can be, serving with just about enough manners to keep up appearances but not enough that Alfie'll make the mistake of asking him to do this again.

Only Alfie's clearly watching. Tommy knows this for a fact because every time he does something wrong — answers a diner's question too curtly or removes the wrong cutlery — Alfie hauls him into the walk-in freezer for a short, sharp reminder of who's in charge.

"It's my fucking hotel. I'm in charge," Tommy says.

"Not in the restaurant, Sweetie. Restaurant's my domain, innit? So bend over, there's a good boy, you got Table 6's order wrong."

By the time they're half way through service Tommy's arse is bright red and the titillation of the initial pain is tipping over into something darker. It's hard to keep the noises down when Alfie delivers a particularly vicious flurry of swats and asks him why the fuck he started playing with fire if he didn't want to get burned. He's shoved roughly out of the cold-room before he's had a chance to catch his breath.

The guy at Table 9 is watching him too closely, there's a smile hidden behind his lips as he places his order. Maybe because Tommy stumbled out of the kitchen, or his eyes look a little glazed, whatever weakness he's inadvertently shown, this bloke seems determined to exploit.

"Is he working you too hard?" the guy asks when Tommy returns to his table. "You look a little flustered."

Rude bastard, Tommy thinks. Who does he think he is? Although he has to admit he's good-looking. In that public-school boy kind of way.

"Here's your soup," Tommy snaps.

The guy looks down at it and back up at Tommy and leans back in his chair. "This is wrong," he says bluntly.

"Wrong how?" Tommy asks. It's not wrong, he's bloody sure of it.

"I ordered the tart," the customer says.

"There isn't a tart on the—" Alfie cuts him short, appearing out of nowhere with a hand on Tommy's shoulder.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," he says, in a tone more gracious than Tommy's ever heard from Alfie's lips before, "We'll get that changed right away for you. Won't we, Tommy?"

Tommy's eyes dart between them, but Alfie growls, "Tommy," so darkly that he decides to let it drop, follows Alfie back to the kitchen.

He gets another six in the freezer. Alfie's brought his loop with him — a doubled length of flex that's perfect for delivering a frightful sting with barely any noise. No one can hear the thwip of it beyond the clanging and clattering in the kitchen (although if Tommy doesn't bite his tongue, they'll hear the sounds he makes).

This continues throughout the evening. Alfie's liberal with his punishments and Tommy's bratty in return, desperate for service to be over. If he keeps up just the right amount of insolence he should get the end he wants to the evening: Alfie pinning him down and fucking him. Hard. Not letting him escape.

Luckily, it's a Tuesday night so the restaurant is relatively empty. There's only one couple left, as well as the prick from Table 9. He seems to have noticed something's up, which is hardly surprising given Tommy's arse is fucking agony now, and he's tired, and livid with Alfie, and increasingly unsure whether his little plan's going to work.

Alfie seems genuinely pissed with him, and Table 9 is doing his utmost to get on Tommy's nerves. He's criticised everything Tommy's done, tutted when plates were cleared too loudly, sent back the perfectly drinkable wine, even fabricated a hair in his chocolate mousse. (Well, maybe not fabricated, Tommy may have put it there deliberately).

He smiles sarcastically as he hands the guy his espresso. Fucking public school wanker.

"You know that's very off-putting. The way you're sniffing," he says in reply.

Tommy feels his face flash hot; his nose is running slightly, but Alfie thrust him out so fast after using the loop again that he didn't even get a chance to wipe his face on his sleeve. He does it now, feeling ridiculous, like an errant schoolboy.

"It's a shame you can't control your temper," the smarmy fuck goes on. "It was otherwise a very nice meal."

Tommy clenches his jaw so hard his teeth creak. He can’t actually insult a customer. Alfie'll kill him; he's worked too hard at building a reputation for this restaurant.

"I'm a food critic, you know," he adds, fiddling with his napkin.

Tommy's face drains of heat so fast he feels a little he's back in the cold-room, cheek pressed against frozen cardboard as Alfie flays his arse. Fuck. He's chosen the wrong night to be a brat.

"I'd like to speak to the chef," the man says.

Tommy clears his throat but doesn't move. He needs some sort of plan, which normally he could come up with, but not tonight it seems. He can feel his trousers rubbing the welts. Feel panic filling his chest, he's suddenly so fucking tired he could just lay down on this floor. How is he going to tell Alfie?

"It's a shame, because the food was really very good. Excellent, in fact. Your chef is a talented man."

Oh fuck. Tommy digs his nails in his palms and feels the back of his eyes sting.

It's the service that I found wanting."

"My apologies," Tommy grits out.

"I'd like to speak to him please. Your chef."

Tommy feels glued to the spot.

"Go and fetch him then," the guy says, with a condescending wave of his hand. Tommy hates him. Fucking hates him. Tommy fucking hates himself.

The last diners have left when Tommy returns with Alfie. Table 9 is still sipping his tiny coffee. He proceeds to lambast Alfie about the crude and surly service, listing every pout Tommy threw his way and every clumsy movement. He doesn't hold back, is mean and condescending and secretly, Tommy is waiting for Alfie to come to his defense, tell this prick to lay off, that's enough. But he doesn't.

"It's a shame, it really is," Table 9 says. "I was hoping to help you along with a glowing review. Support a growing business, you know."

And that's when Alfie glares at Tommy in a way that sends shivers down his spine. Not the good kind, either, the kind that make him feel two inches tall. Alfie turns to the customer in that syrupy voice from earlier. "My most sincere apologies, sir. You have to forgive my new waiter, he's not yet fully trained. Has a lot to learn, it seems."

"Hmmm," the diner says thoughtfully, staring at his plate. "Well, I might be able to see my way to overlooking this. Provided he's appropriately dealt with."

Alfie folds his arms across his chest and widens his feet. "Appropriately dealt with?" he repeats.

"Yes. Schooled in his indiscretions and made to show some genuine contrition."

"Contrition?" Alfie repeats, raising one eyebrow at Tommy.

"I've said I'm fucking sorry," Tommy starts but then the penny drops. Finally. He's been such a fucking fool.

"Room 109. Five minutes," Table 9 says. "Let's see how sorry he can be."

Tommy's about to open his mouth to protest, but Alfie's already grabbed him by the ear and is walking him towards the staircase. His stomach plummets, his hands sweat, but there's a corresponding surge of adrenaline, a collision of desire and fear that makes his heart hammer in his chest.

"If you know what's good for you darling," Alfie whispers, "you'll do as you're fucking well told".

And Tommy does. For the next two hours, whilst the customer — James, but you can call me Sir — watches. Contrition isn't all Tommy feels as Alfie leads him to a spanking bench positioned at the end of James' bed. "You'll note it's a proper one darling," Alfie coos, "padded for your knees. Although it's your poor arse I'd be more worried about."

James makes a sympathetic clucking noise and leans down to stroke Tommy's hair. Alfie straps Tommy's knees in place. And his ankles ... wrists ... waist. And even as Tommy fights him, snarls curses and spits at the floor, he knows he's not going to safe word out (what he's less sure of is why, why he's going to let that fucker watch Alfie go to town on his welted arse). Self-righteous, posh bloody streak of piss with his smarmy eyes and condescending lips and … fuck … they're soft those lips... brushing his own. Tommy gasps. James noses at his face, strokes fingers through his hair, eyes twinkling with a mixture of sympathy and delight as Alfie lays into Tommy with his hand. Then his belt. Then a slipper.

"You never told me he was so pretty," James says, kissing Tommy's forehead. Tommy screws his eyes shut. He hates this.

"To be fair, I absolutely did," Alfie says, taking Tommy by surprise with a bite to his thigh.

"Well. I didn't believe you," James says.

"S'your problem, mate."

"Bet he looks even prettier when he's crying," James says with a smile. "Bet you look fucking beautiful, Tommy, letting everything spill out."

Tommy jerks against the restraints, furious and mortified and ... turned on.

"Can I make him cry, just a little?" James asks. He's clearly talking to Alfie, but he's fondling Tommy's ear, tracing the shell with his fingertips. His hands are large but soft. And gentle.

Alfie laughs. "You can fucking try, mate," and wallops Tommy again.

"I think he's beginning to see the error of his ways, aren't you, Tommy?" James says. "Perhaps I could overlook the fact he served the wrong starter."

Tommy glares at James, no idea why he's even bothering to argue, when it's all a fucking charade, an excuse for Alfie to humiliate him. "I didn't serve the wrong—"

The word disappears in a shriek, Alfie's brought back that damned fucking loop.

"Maybe," Alfie agrees, but he doesn't relent. He whips Tommy till he's gasping, till he can feel his cheeks tight with swelling.

Then he drops it and starts to stroke Tommy's back, just as James keeps stroking his hair. And kissing his face. And then kissing his lips. His tongue. And then Alfie's tongue is lapping his hole and everything is too hot and too much and hurts and doesn't and the voices are saying he's beautiful, he's done so well, and he can't breathe … the air's going in but not out and everything feels wet and James is smiling at him and smiling at Alfie and saying, "see? I told you he could."

And Tommy lets himself be stroked. Kissed. Carried onto the bed. And he lets the tears be wiped away and he says, "I'm sorry, sir." And he is. So fucking sorry. And it feels good.

#asks #anon #tommy x alfie #my fic #mistakes au

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headcanonsandmore · 3 years

Text

“Letters to Charlie”

Summary: A selection of letters from Ron to his brother Charlie, throughout Ron's first four years at Hogwarts. Includes some mild Romione mentions.

Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~

[1st October 1991]

Dear Charlie,

How are things at the reserve? You said in your last letter that you’ve been getting a lot more burns than normal; have you asked mum for her recipe on salves?

Anyway, I’m settling in okay at Hogwarts. Really glad I was in Gryffindor; my friend Harry was really worried about it, I think. He’s doing fine, but I wish everyone would stop gawking at him all the time. He’s a good bloke; bit quiet but, considering what his aunt and uncle seem to be like, that’s not surprising.

Also, there’s this girl in our class who’s pretty annoying. She treats everyone like they’re idiots and she’s such a teacher’s pet! Her name’s Hermione Granger, and she’s always butting in whenever me and Harry are chatting. She’s not all bad, but I wish she wouldn’t be so uptight about everything. You’d think that someone with hair that bushy would be a bit more fun-loving, but she’s very straightlaced. But I saw her laughing the other day at a joke I made, so maybe she’s not so serious all the time? She has a cute nice laugh.

Don’t tell the twins I said that, or they’ll never stop going on about it.

Anyway, hope you’re okay and that everyone at the reserve is doing fine,

Love,

Ron

[12th November 1991]

Dear Charlie,

Glad to hear that that the Common Welsh Green pair are doing okay. Things have gotten pretty weird at Hogwarts; someone (probably Peeves) let a troll into the castle at Halloween! Me and Harry had to rescue Hermione Granger from the troll; she covered for us, so we didn’t get punished. McGonagall even gave us some points for Gryffindor!

Hermione’s alright, I think. Bit intense, but she’s not as stuffy as I thought. I mean, it was kind-of my fault that she ended up getting caught by the troll, so I’m glad she didn’t hold a grudge about it. She’s always asking me about stuff, probably because she’s never grown up in a magical family. You wouldn’t think it if you saw her in class, though; she gets so many questions right and she’s apparently memorised the textbooks! Barmy, I know, but she’s alright.

Speaking of dragons, do you know if there’s any way of getting a baby one out of the country? Hagrid has a baby Norwegian Ridgeback in his house, but it’s dangerous for the baby to stay here.

Love,

Ron

[16th August 1992]

Dear Charlie,

We managed to rescue Harry from the Dursleys! Mum went mad when we got back, but no harm done. Harry’s aunt and uncle had bars put on his window! I told mum we had to get him out quick; good thing I noticed he wasn’t responding to my letters. Apparently, a house-elf was trying to stop him going back to Hogwarts; weird, right?

Hermione’s saying that she’s hoping to meet up with us in Diagon Alley; I hope so. It’ll be nice to see her again. Apparently, she’s already done all her homework, but that’s what she’s like. What do you think I should get her for her birthday? I asked Harry, but he suggested one of the textbooks (the poor bloke’s never had to buy any presents for anyone ever). I was thinking maybe some of her favourite long-lasting quills, but I’m not sure. Do you reckon I should get her something more… girly? Her best mates are two blokes, so maybe she’d like something to make it clear that I we don’t just see her as another boy? What do you think?

I’m looking forward to Hogwarts this year; hopefully, it should be a bit quieter than last year. How’s your summer been going? You mentioned about the Chinese Fireball having fang rot; has that been fixed yet, or is she still having troubles?

Hope all’s good with you,

Love,

Ron

[6th January 1993]

Dear Charlie,

You’ve probably heard the news already about the attacks happening at Hogwarts. The teachers don’t seem to know who’s doing it. Me, Harry, and Hermione have been trying to figure things out, but we haven’t got any leads lately. We thought it might have been Malfoy, but turns out he’s not doing it (still too happy about the attacks, though, the little git!).

I’m really worried about Hermione, to be honest. The attacks are always against muggle-borns and I’m scared she’s gonna be attacked. Do you know if there’s any creature that can petrify someone? I would ask the defence teacher, but Lockhart can barely tell one end of his wand from the other. Can’t see why Hermione likes him so much; can’t she see how much of a stupid twerp he is?

Like I said before, I’m really sorry about breaking your old wand. I know you said you don’t mind and you’re just glad I was okay, but still. It keeps making weird bubbles whenever I try and cast any spells. My own fault for breaking it, I guess.

Hope you’re well,

Love,

Ron

[8th May 1993]

Dear Charlie,

Hermione got attacked. She’s been stuck in the hospital wing ever since.

I’m scared. Harry’s managing to keep his head screwed on straight, but I can’t concentrate in lessons. I keep expecting Hermione to be sat next to me, and whenever I turn to look at her, I remember where she is. All pale and cold, like she’d dead or something.

What do I do, Charlie? How do I help her?

Love,

Ron

[1st June 1993]

Dear Charlie,

Hermione’s okay! The mandrake stuff finally got given to her, and she’s back to normal! I haven’t smiled this much in months! She gave me and Harry a massive hug each when she turned up in the great hall; me and her couldn’t quite look each-other in the eye afterwards, but I think we both got a bit overwhelmed, you know?

Turns out, this was also because Lucius Malfoy was trying to stop dad’s muggle protection law being passed; people could have died!

Confused as to why none of the teachers bothered to ask Myrtle, since she was a witness to the last time the chamber has been opened, but I guess we’ll never know. Were the teachers like this when you were here?

Anyway, got to go; I insisted that Hermione play some chess with me, since our exams have been cancelled (can you guess which Gryffindor was upset about that?).

Love,

Ron

[3rd September 1993]

Dear Charlie,

We’re all settling back in at Hogwarts; I’m still using those quills you got me in Egypt (thanks again, by the way). Everyone’s talking about Sirius Black, and Malfoy won’t stop being smug about how he knows something we don’t (arrogant little twerp as always).

Hermione’s cat is a bloody nightmare; he’s spent every evening trying to get at Scabbers, but Hermione won’t hear a word against him! Honestly, I don’t get why she can’t just keep the cat away when I ask her to. But she’s always had this thing about being right about everything, so it’s not unsurprising. I just wish she’d stop acting like it’s normal; Hedwig’s been around for three years, and she’s never attacked Scabbers!

Having said that, the first Hogsmeade visit is something to look forward to. It’s gonna be a bit different because Harry can’t go (his aunt and uncle refused to sign his form), but me and Hermione are going to make sure we take back lots of stuff for him so he doesn’t feel left out.

I am a little nervous about going, though; me and Hermione spend loads of time together, so why would this be any different? Probably nothing. Maybe it’s just because we’re bickering more because of our pets? Yeah, that sounds about right. I’ve already got her birthday present, so hopefully she’s not too angry at me and won’t mind me giving her a present.

Let me know how the Chinese Fireball baby is doing,

Love,

Ron

[4th January 1994]

Dear Charlie,

Hermione just can’t keep her nose out of things! She reported Harry’s firebolt to McGonagall, and now it’s been confiscated! She says it’s because it could have been sent by Sirius Black. I know that’s a possibility, but she didn’t need to go behind Harry’s back about it!

I swear, this girl is driving me nuts!

Love,

Ron

[13th February 1994]

Dear Charlie,

Me and Hermione have made things up; she even apologised about Scabbers. She must have been really upset, because she started crying and hugged me! Is it normal to get all flustered when a girl hugs you? Cause it didn’t the same as it did when she hugged me at the end of second year.

You’ve probably heard from Hagrid about Buckbeak being executed. We’re trying to get an appeal plea sorted; it’s mostly me and Hermione doing it, since Harry’s got other stuff to worry about. It’s nice being friends with Hermione again; I hated it when we weren’t speaking. It’s still a bit awkward (we both can’t quite look each other in the eye at times), but that’s probably normal, given what’s happened.

Remember to put that salve mum made on your new scars,

Love,

Ron

[14th July 1994]

Dear Charlie,

Hope you’re enjoying the summer so far; it’ll be great to see you again, mum’s organising the room situation, so I think you’re sharing with Bill. Can’t wait for the world cup! Do you think Ireland will win against Bulgaria? I’ve been saving my pocket money all summer for it, so I can buy some souvenirs! Are you gonna bring some stories about the dragons when you get here?

Mum’s said I can invite Harry and Hermione over, and they’ll be coming to the world cup with us! It’ll be brilliant to see them again; Harry deserves a break from those horrible people he lives with, and Hermione could do with a break from work in general (she’s already finished all her summer homework, but that’s what she’s like).

It’ll be great to have both of them here for the summer; I hope Hermione doesn’t mind sharing with Ginny, since Gin’s more of a Quidditch-head than Hermione is. Mum keeps on at me to tidy my room before Hermione arrives, but it’s not as if she’s staying in my room, is it?

I did clean up my room a bit, though. Hermione’s a bit funny about mess, and I don’t want her to think I’m a slob.

See you soon,

Love,

Ron

[30th October 1994]

Dear Charlie,

I’m still angry at mum, dad, and Bill for keeping us in the dark about the Triwizard Tournament; half the other kids from wizarding families knew! Speaking of the Tournament, the students from the other schools have arrived. You won’t believe it but Viktor Krum’s a student at Durmstrang! He’s a bit grouchy looking, but I guess he gets sick of people treating him different all the time. I didn’t know he was eighteen; he looks way older. The Slytherins are trying to cosy up to him, but he’s knows exactly what they’re doing; I saw him telling a few of them off for being unpleasant to the muggle-born first years. So I guess he’s alright.

The students from Beauxbatons are all nice enough but one of the girls has some sort of Veela charm thing. Hermione keeps glaring at me whenever I get caught in it, but it’s hardly my fault, is it? Harry gets affected too, but does she yell at him? No, of course she doesn’t. I swear, Hermione’s been weird ever since the term started; the other week I caught her staring at my hands for no reason. She got all flustered when she saw I’d noticed, and yelled at me to concentrate on my work. I’m worried about her. Did that ever happen between you and your friends at school? Is this something that happens around our age? I know that mum said things start to change after you get into your teenage years.

Speaking of change, I hope I can get some new dress robes before I ever have to wear these ones. Do you think Bill has any old ones he can let me borrow? I don’t get why mum didn’t just remove the lace and change the colour. I was going to ask Hermione to do it, but I don’t want her to think I’m whining. I just wish I could have some decent robes like all the other boys have. I know money’s tight at the moment, but even the twins have got alright-looking robes to wear I’d feel a lot better if I wasn’t stuck wearing rubbishy clothes for once.

Apparently, the tournaments due to start tomorrow evening. Me and Harry did have a think about entering, but it’s probably too high security. Fred and George said they’re gonna enter, because they turn seventeen in April, so they won’t need to use much aging potion. Should be interesting to see whether they succeed. I just hope we get a decent Hogwarts champion; Cedric Diggory’s alright, but half the girls get giggly over him and it’s bloody annoying. Hermione says it’s because he’s a prefect, but she’s a bit funny like that. If I ever end up a prefect, I bet I wouldn’t have girls giggling and getting flustered about me.

Got to go now; Hermione said she wants to go over our Transfiguration homework in the common room.

Love,

Ron

[25th November 1994]

Dear Charlie,

You should have told me you’d be here for the first task! I know it was secret, but it would have been nice to catch up! Glad the trip over was safe and that the dragons are all okay. That Hungarian Horntail was a nasty piece of work; Harry almost got hit by it!

Speaking of which, me and Harry are best mates again. I’m glad; it was miserable when we weren’t speaking. Funnily enough, he said he didn’t even need an apology; just told me to forget about it. Weird bloke, but it’s great to be friends with him again. Hermione got all teary and told us we were being stupid, but she’s never really understood things like this, so there you go.

Love,

Ron

[17th December 1994]

Dear Charlie,

Glad to hear the dragons got safely back to Romania with no issues. I almost wish I was there instead; ever since this ball thing got announced, half the school’s gone mad about it. Everyone’s asking everyone to it, and I don’t get it. Why can’t we all just go as friends and have fun? But the boys keep going on about dates, so I said I best go with someone good-looking. Yes, I know it’s dumb, but how else will I get everyone to not laugh at my robes? I even asked McGonagall if I could go in my school ones, but she insisted that I use my official dress robes (although she did look sympathetic while she said it, so I guess she understood where I was coming from).

Flitwick’s doing alterations to people’s robes, but he was so swamped with requests that there isn’t any room for me to get mine changed. I swear, I can’t wait until the ball is done and I won’t have to worry about this stuff anymore.

I’d happily stay behind in Gryffindor Tower with the first, second and third years, but I can’t leave Harry in the lurch. He’s got to be there to open the ball, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave him on his own; the poor bloke isn’t good with crowds, especially since half of the school still gawks at his scar every day.

Hermione doesn’t seem to take much interest in the ball, so maybe she’s also planning on staying behind. She got angry at me when I mentioned about going with a pretty girl, which is understandable (it was a dumb thing to say). Hopefully, she’ll have forgiven me by the time Christmas swings around, and we can just go and have fun at the ball. Just as friends, obviously. Maybe if we’re having a laugh, I won’t have to think about my robes looking so awful.

Love,

Ron

[27th December 1994]

Dear Charlie,

I swear, if I ever have to go to another ball again, it’ll be too soon! Hermione’s still angry at me about it; which makes sense, since I was a bit of an arse. But, well, she went with Krum! Seriously, he’s eighteen and she’s barely fifteen! Why didn’t any of the teachers think that was creepy? Why was I the only person who got irritated by it? Is it really so bad that I don’t want my friend being pursued by some creepy eighteen-year-old git? I know what the twins are saying about it, but it’s alright for them, isn’t it? They had decent robes and could actually ask a girl without the girl glaring at them like they’d only just realised the girl was a girl! Gits. They don’t get it.

Ginny had a nice time with Neville, at the very least. Neville’s a good bloke, and I’m glad he treated her well. Apparently, she borrowed a dress off a friend for the ball. I wish I was shorter so I could have just borrowed something off Harry; that would have at least made things a bit easier. Then I wouldn’t have already been a bad mood before we even got to the ball.

Seriously, I’m never wearing those robes again. I don’t care what mum says, I’d rather go in my normal school ones that those frilly disasters.

Me and Hermione are being more polite to each other than normal, which is probably for the best. I hate the fact that I got so angry at her, but I’ve learnt now to not act like that again. I mean, considering she got Krum, I don’t think she’ll need to worry about me acting like that again. It wasn’t as if she even said she wanted to go with me, either; how was I supposed to know? I’m not a mind-reader!

Hope your Christmas is going better than mine, and thank you for the burn-proof socks; they’ll come in handy against the Skrewts.

Love,

Ron

[27th February 1995]

Dear Charlie,

It was nice getting some of the limelight for a while; everyone was asking me about what it was like during the second task. I even had Padma Patil hanging on to my every word about it; I even managed to apologise to her properly for being such a berk at the ball (she was my dance partner, but we didn’t do any dancing). She seemed pretty okay with it.

Fleur Delacour (you remember, the champion who used the calming charm on her dragon in the first task) is being very nice lately; I think she got the impression me and Harry helped saved her sister in the second task. She even gave me a kiss on the cheek after we were all out of the lake! It’s nice to get attention from girls for a change.

Funnily enough, Hermione get glaring at me for the rest of the day. Funny how it’s fine for her to get attention from boys (that creep Krum had her as the person he’d miss the most; they’ve only been to the Yule ball together, the pervy git!), but I can’t do so much as talk to other girls without getting the cold treatment from her. Barmy as ever, but that’s what she’s like.

I think Harry’s really happy about the tournament just having one task left; at this point, I just hope he gets through it with no injuries or anything. Poor bloke’s had another rough year, and I hope he can take it easy after this is all over.

I wonder what I’ll get for my birthday this year. You think Hermione will get me anything? She’s so irritable lately that I wouldn’t be surprised if she just gets me a card and some chocolate frogs. Given what’s happened between us lately, that sounds about as much as I can hope for.

At least we’re still friends, though. I’m not that much of an idiot that I’d stop talking to her over this. I almost lost one friend this year; I don’t want the same thing happening with Hermione.

Love,

Ron

[29th June 1995]

Dear Charlie,

Harry left the hospital wing a few days ago. Me and Hermione are trying to help him as best we can, but the poor bloke still’s struggling. I’m not surprised, considering what he went through.

Dumbledore’s said that things are already changing. I just hope he knows what to do. But he’s still saying that Harry needs to go back to the Dursleys this summer. I hope we can pick him up as soon as possible; Harry’s relatives are bloody horrible.

After the third task, me and Hermione stayed up in the common room. We’ve both said we’re gonna help Harry with whatever happens in future. She also hugged me before she went to bed. It was different this time. It seemed like neither of us wanted to let go.

Stay safe,

Love,

Ron

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed it!

#harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #ron weasley #charlie weasley #tw: food mention #tw: insecurities #tw: mental health #character study #pre-romione #romione #ronmione

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Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 8: Old Friends, Not So New Tricks

Summary: When a familiar face turns up asking for Katie’s expertise, she finds herself confronted by another familiar face, this one being one she would rather never have had to see again.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Blood and SPOILERS if you haven’t seen Agents Of SHIELD….

A/N: Once again huge thanks to @angrybirdcr for her edit here, and the new banner for the next couple of sections of the story as we head forward through the next few parts of SSB...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 7

O/S: Phobias

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

November 2013

There’s a fine line between success and failure. And that last mission had well and truly teetered its way along the edge. The team had been split up after a catastrophic coms failure leaving Katie and Evans badly compromised. They had just about got the situation under control after some quick thinking from Katie and very sharp shooting from Evans, when Steve had broken every protocol in place and run head first into a gun fire to get them out, putting himself in danger.

And Katie was livid at him.

“We had it under control!” she said, her voice raised as she stormed through the corridor away from the hangar, people turning to look. They’d been arguing about it all the way home.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t look like it from where I was standing!”

“Damned it Steve!” She spun to face him. “You weren’t standing anywhere, you were running, head first into the crossfire without even thinking about what was going on!”

“The last thing I heard was that you were surrounded-”

“This is EXACTLY what I don’t want you to do!” Katie groaned as she ran her hands over her face “Run in there without a second thought for your own damned safety or anyone else’s.”

“What do you mean anyone else?” Steve’s nostrils flared.

“You left Rumlow and Rollins completely uncovered,” Katie shook her head, “to come and save me. I’m not a fucking princess that needs rescuing Steve!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Steve’s voice was loud, displaying the anger he was feeling inside at her attitude.

“I’ll talk to you how I want!” She snapped back. “You know everyone gossips enough about us as it is and we’re almost seven months down the fucking line…”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“…and yet you STILL give them fuel!” She threw her hands out to the side, bringing them back down to her combat outfit clad sides with a slap. “Oh look at Nova, needs her Super Soldier Boyfriend to bail her out!”

“For the last time…” Steve hissed between his teeth, but Katie completely ignored him.

“If you can’t remain objective when we work together then maybe we shouldn’t be on the same team.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t if that’s how you feel!” He practically snarled, as he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders back as his hands dropped to his belt buckle, eyes blazing.

“Glad we understand one another.” Katie spat back, before turning on her heel and heading towards the armoury to change, ignoring his shouts.

****

After debrief, for the first time in ages Steve left work alone. He was in a foul mood, and practically wrenched his apartment door off its hinges. In part he was pissed at Katie’s attitude, but in others his anger was directed at himself because deep down he knew she was right. He’d utterly lost it when he’d heard she was in trouble and hadn’t been able to do anything else but rush in there to help get them out. It was ridiculous, she was a trained agent with a shot on her like you wouldn’t believe, and the amount of times they’d been in bad situations before…but something today, something about the way she’d sounded on the radio had gotten to him and he’d abandoned all thoughts of professionalism and gone after his girl.

Sighing he threw his keys down on the kitchen side and grabbed a beer from the fridge before making his way into the living room, toeing off his boots as he want. He dropped onto the sofa and let out a loud moan of frustration, his head lolling back against the cushions. He hated that they’d rowed, this was the first big argument they’d actually had. Sure they quibbled about small things, the fact he made her sleep on the right hand side of the bed at his because it was furthest away from the door (just in case anyone got in), the way he was a bit of a neat freak and when she did stay for more than a night his apartment looked like a whirlwind had been through it (Ok, he didn’t actually mind that so much in truth), the way she tried on every fucking outfit she owned before they went out (maybe not every outfit, but close enough…), the way he often went for a run first thing in the morning and she’d get pissed he wasn’t there when she woke up because…well, because….but all that was stuff he adored. The normal part of being with someone you were comfortable sharing your life with.

As he took a pull from his bottle his eyes rolled to the right and fell on the large photo frame on his wall. It was one she had made him for his birthday.

“Open the big one first…” She instructed, nodding to the gifts that were piled on his sofa.

He did as he was told without saying a word, picking it up and resting it on his lap. It felt like a photo frame. As he peeled back the wrapping paper he realised that’s exactly what it was. It was large with glossy pine edges to match the furniture in his apartment and filled with photos of him all from his life before the ice and his eyes grew large as he took in the faces that looked back up at him. There was a photo of him and Bucky as kids, another as teenagers, then one of them in the army- the one of them laughing that Katie had said she loved. His eyes began to mist over as he saw a few shots of his parents at their wedding in Ireland, on the steps of their tenement building at Brooklyn, one of him and his mom when he was a small boy, then he spotted one of him and Howard along with various shots of him with the Howling Commandos and finally one of him, Colonel Chester Phillips and Peggy. And at the bottom of the frame, on a silver plaque was engraved a quote from the Wizard of Oz- ”A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”

“I thought it was a shame to just keep them in a box.” Katie said gently as she sat next to him. “I wanted you to see them every day and remember you meant as much to them as they did or do to you.”

His fingers trailed over the various faces in the frame as the memories flooded his brain and he felt a lump in his throat at the wave of nostalgia crossing over him, and also at the utter thoughtfulness that had gone into her gift.

“I picked what I thought were the nicest ones.” She continued and he was aware her tone was growing nervous. “But we can swap them if…”

“Katie,” his voice was croaky as he cut her off and looked up at her. He was right, she was biting her lip, worried that she had upset him but nothing could be further from the truth. He moved to take her face in his hands and he kissed her, hard. He pulled away and looked at her speaking with utter honesty and sincerity “This is amazing, Darlin’. Thank you so much.”

Letting out a sigh, Steve’s eyes dropped from the wall to a smaller frame on the sideboard, this one contained a photo of him and Katie a ‘selfie’ of the two of them at the Top of the Rock, taken when they had gone back to New York to visit Tony one weekend in October. He loved it, the pair of them grinning like idiots, Katie wearing a baby blue sparkly beany and matching scarf, her smile genuine and him looking like a loves-struck idiot, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he glanced at the camera. She had the same photo in her living room too.

No, he couldn’t go to bed without sorting this out. Abandoning his half-drunk bottle of Sam Adams, he shoved his shoes back on, grabbed his keys and headed out.

****

Katie didn’t even stay for debrief, more to piss Steve off than anything. It was petty, yes but she was absolutely raging at him. Their relationship had been the talk of the Triskelion for months, and for that reason, they had behaved nothing but professionally on missions, wanting to prove to not only everyone they worked with, but to themselves, that they could remain objective in their work and that them being together wouldn’t compromise the way they behaved in the field.

And now he had fucked that.

She ignored his call which came just as she got home and throwing her phone onto the sofa she grabbed a glass of wine and ran herself a bath, turning her music up loud. She lay back under the bubbles, gently humming along to the music. Music was her thing to calm down to. She’d always played piano, right from the age of four when her mom had taught her, and she wasn’t bad at it either.

The mellow sounds of John Legend’s ‘Ordinary People’ faded into the opening notes of ‘Only One In Color’ by Trapt, and Katie paused, smiling. This song took her years back, to nights in London with colleagues in bars, and then a concert in Orlando in 2009…and Steve, it took her back to Steve and one rainy afternoon in August.

Katie shimmied around, folding laundry and dropping it into the basket as she sang, loudly. It had been ages since she’d done this, just danced around her apartment like an idiot. She turned round to grab the final load out of the machine and screamed as Steve was stood in the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame, that annoyingly cute smirk on his face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Jesus, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough” He grinned, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her. He nuzzled into her neck and the two of them stood there, still, listening to the song that was playing.

“What is it?” Steve asked, pressing a kiss to the spot just below her ear..

“It’s called Only One In Color, by a band called Trapt.” Katie replied, turning her head to look at him. “It kinda reminds me of you actually.”

Steve smiled as they listened for another second before he moved back, his hand taking hers as he raised it above their heads and spun her round, playfully as she laughed, before he pulled him to her.

“Dance with me.”

“What, here? In my apartment?”

“Our own private ballroom.”

“You’ve never danced before.” Katie looked up at him. “You told me.”

“I know, Peggy was right.” He took a deep breath and looked at her. “I was waiting for the right partner. So, what do you say? Teach me?”

“You know I don’t really know a lot of steps.” Katie felt a smile spread across her face as Steve placed his free hand on the curve of her waist and she began to lead them around on the spot, her right hand held in his left, her left curling up and over his right shoulder. She watched Steve, who was concentrating so hard that his brows pinched together slightly, a look that was incredibly endearing.

“Stop over thinking it.” She said gently, looking up at him. “Listen to the music and just let go.”

So he did. He let go, listening to the melody and the words, smiling a little as the lyrics hit home, really making him think about the woman in his arms. She had brought colour to his life, given him a reason to keep going in this world he had found so strange and, well, daunting. As he found his rhythm, he felt the smile pull even broader on his lips. He raised his head from where his eyes had been focussing on his feet and his girl beamed up at him, squeezing the hand that she held.

“See, it’s not that hard is it?” She giggled. Steve returned the grin and shook his head.

“Surprisingly not.” He admitted. They continued to revolve around the space in the doorway between her kitchen and laundry room and Katie lay her head on his chest, Steve’s face automatically turning down slightly so his cheek was resting against her hair. After a minute or so Katie felt him move and instinctively she looked up and could do nothing but smile as they stopped dancing and their mouths drifted closer together. Her hand slipped up, fingers stretching themselves into the short hair at the nape of his neck as his lips met hers, his hand creeping across her back, large palm pressed firmly against her spine.

They never made it to the bedroom, they made it as far as the couch before they were both naked and going at it like a couple of horny fucking teenagers. And since then it had been ‘their’ song.

Katie sighed and drained her wine glass before she set about washing her hair and climbed out of the bath. She dressed in a pair of shorts and a hoodie before pulling her damp hair back into a French braid and had just settled on the sofa to watch TV when the buzzer to her apartment went. Picking up her phone to look at the security camera she took a deep breath and realised it was Steve.

“Sweetheart let me in. My key card is at home.”

She gave no response.

“I’m not going till you do, you know I could do this all day. Or all night.”

Still no response.

“I mean it’s a pretty interesting buzzer.”

With a groan, knowing full well the stubborn little shit in him would do just that, she pressed the button to let him in. Half a minute or so later the alert went again to signal he had requested access to her floor. Once more she tapped to accept and turned her attention back to the TV. She didn’t look up as the elevator door in the panel in her wall slid open, keeping her eyes focussed on the television as he strode into the room, heading straight for her once he’d hung his jacket up on the hooks to the right of the elevator.

“You were gonna watch this without me?” Hesaid gently, nodding to the episode of ‘Brooklyn Nine-Nine’ that was playing as he dropped down next to her.

“Yes.” She replied simply, her arms folded.

Steve fought the smile spreading across his face at her childishness. He knew if she was mad the worst thing he could do was laugh at her and make her think he wasn’t taking her seriously. So, he took a deep breath and turned so he was facing her on the couch, arm resting along the back.”

“I know you’re pissed at me.” He sighed. “But come on Doll, I hate fighting with you.”

“Then stop being a dick.” She snarked back. Steve took another deep breath and looked at her as she continued. “You know what it’s like at work, everyone has constantly analysed everything I do because, hello, Howard Stark’s daughter, and today…”

She trailed off and Steve looked down at his hands and shook his head. “I know. I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t handle yourself.”

They fell into silence and Katie exhaled sharply, deciding to meet him half way. She knew he hadn’t meant to make her feel like he had but, there was also a part of her that had been scared. Not just for her and Evans, but seeing Steve rush in, headfirst with no regard for his own safety just to get to her had really frightened her. Despite his enhanced nature, he wasn’t invincible.

“You need to trust me when I’m out there.” She spoke, her voice was softe.

“I do trust you, you know that.” He looked at her. “But I’m not gonna apologize for looking out for you, Sweetheart. It’s my job. Both as your Captain and your man.”

“I get that, I do.” Katie sighed. “But you put yourself in danger today, running straight into the middle of a fire fight…can you imagine what I’d have done if you’d have been…”

She trailed off, swallowing and took a deep breath before she continued and her words hit Steve. He hadn’t considered she had felt as worried about him as he had her.

“We have to remain objective, and if that means you can’t just abandon the team for me.”

“I know, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He said finally.

She looked at him and took a deep breath, the anger dissipating at his apology and moved to give him a hug, her arms round his shoulders as he wrapped his around her back and pulled her clumsily into his lap.

“I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.” She sighed as she lay her head against his.

“Forgiven?” He asked and she looked down at him, he was giving her his puppy dog eyes. She rolled her own, she couldn’t stay mad at him, especially when there was a small part of her that couldn’t help but adore the fact he cared so deeply for her that he’d rush in, head first with no regard for anything else.

“Captain Dumbass.” She grumbled, before giving him a soft kiss.

“Guess so.” He chuckled. And when she didn’t protest he gently tapped her thigh, and knowing what he wanted she shifted off his lap so he could lay down flat on the sofa, allowing her to drape herself over him like blanket, head on his chest as his arms wrapped around her back, legs tangling together as they settled in to watch their programme.

*****

Katie hadn’t been in the office for five minutes the next morning when she got a message to say Fury wanted to see her. In the years she had known the director, she still found it hard to get a read on him and this time was no exception. She stepped into his office and he nodded to her, and without a word got straight to business, leading her over to the screen on the wall by the sofas.

“I was wondering what you made of this.” He said nodding to the large screen on the wall. The photo displayed was of a tree trunk, cut in half and running down the middle was a long, tube like shape, with some markings on it. The photo zoomed in and Katie frowned.

“These look like the markings on Thor’s hammer.” She looked at the Director.

“Funny you should say that.” Fury nodded. “Because the Spectrographic signatures match the readings from Thor’s hammer too.”

“So whatever was in that tree was Asgardian?”

Fury nodded. “It looks that way, Nova, yes.”

“Where was it found?”

“That’s a trunk from a Norwegian spruce in Trillmarka National Park, Norway.”

“Figures.” Katie bit her lip.

“How do you mean?” Fury looked at her.

“The legends of Thor, they all have origins in Norway. When I asked him about it, Thor explained that Asgardians visited Earth thousands of years ago.” She explained. “They roamed Norway, mingling with the old Norse people, but back then, because humans couldn’t understand the concept of people from another planet, these, well, these aliens were revered as Gods.”

Fury gave a noise of understanding.

“So who took it?” She asked. “Has Thor been back since the whole incident in Greenwich or…”

“I wish he had, then I wouldn’t really give a shit.” Fury sighed. “This thing has gone AWOL. According to my team on the ground, it was taken by a woman and a man, very much of Earth”

“Great.” Katie rolled her eyes, before she continued, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Because every time something alien lands in human hands that ends well.”

Fury gave a snort and pressed a button on a remote and she turned her attention to the TV on the wall of the office. It was screening a news broadcast, footage of a riot. The runner on the bottom of the screen identified the location as Oslo.

“The rioting has left twenty injured and three in a critical condition. Reports indicate that the group of about a dozen was led by this man and woman.”

A picture of the culprits filled the screen. The man was tall, dark haired, dark eyed and had a short beard. The woman, in contrast was slight, blonde and with icy blue eyes.

“And although their motive was unclear, the message was spelled out on the streets of Oslo, for all to see”

“It looks like the item has given them powers beyond those of normal humans.” Fury spoke as the newscast panned over to a fire on the street, this time an aerial view. The fire spelt out the words “We are Gods”.

“So what do you need me to do?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“I’m gonna need you to work with one of my field teams.” Fury continued, looking at her. “My best field team, actually. I want you to help them track these guys down. You have a decent knowledge on Asgardian and Mythological history and the team could do with someone with a little background on the subject.”

“Sir, if these people are as powerful as this report is saying, shouldn’t we consider at least trying to contact Thor, possibly the rest of the Avengers?” Katie looked at him.

“No.” Fury’s response was instantaneous. “I don’t want the Avengers involving. It would attract too much attention.”

“With all due respect, they just set a street on fire. I dare say it’s already attracting a fair amount of attention so whats-“ She trailed off as Fury looked at her, an expression on his face that Katie knew extremely well having seen it several times before. The expression he wore when he was about to drop a bombshell. “Oh, what are you hiding Nick?” She frowned.

“I want you to understand that you��ve been kept in the dark about this so far for a reason. And I know you’re going to get emotional, but if you could refrain from throwing that coffee you’re holding, Nova, I’d appreciate it.”

“Dark about what?” She pressed, her tone irritated. She didn’t have time for this bullshit.

Agent Fury pressed a button on his phone on his desk. “Alright, you’re up.” And with that the TV snapped onto a different channel and she turned to see a familiar man sat in a chair on the screen.

Katie didn’t throw the coffee, instead it slipped from her hands as her mouth dropped open and the entire room swam in front of her eyes.

“Sorry, boss. The God rabbited”

“Just stay awake. EYES ON ME!”

“No. I’m clocked out here.”

“Not an option!”

The room came back into focus again and she looked from the screen to Fury, then back. “This…this is impossible.” She stammered.

“I’d have said the same thing myself not long ago.” Phil Coulson gave a shy little smile.

Katie found herself floundering for words before the anger at the lies and deceit bubbled up.

“No, you…you died! I was there, I saw it!”

“Excellent medics.” Fury concluded.

“They took you away, in a body bag!” Katie’s voice rose to a yell as she ran her hands over her face, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d cried, mourned the loss of one of her friends, a man who had been her mentor. She looked at Coulson on the screen, and then away again, her eyes misting up slightly.

“No one knew I’d pulled through until after New York.“ Coulson spoke softly “I spent months recovering in Tahiti. It’s a magical place.”

“I want your word that you will not reveal Agent Coulson is alive to anyone.” Fury spoke and Katie turned to look at him, her face curling up in an angry sneer. “I debated long and hard about pulling you into this but we need you.”

Katie eyed the director, chin jutting upwards as she glared at him. “Don’t you ever get tired of the lies?”

“I have no option.” Fury’s face was stern. “I can’t risk the Avengers falling apart.”

“I’m not lying to them for you.” She shook her head “No way. A team is built on trust. Without that you have nohing.”

Fury looked at her for a moment, before he sighed. “That wasn’t a request, Agent Stark. If you tell anyone I’ll remove you from service.”

“So now you’re blackmailing me?”

“I’m merely pointing out your options.” Fury replied simply.

“You are unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Fuck you. Fuck this.”

She turned to walk out of the door before Coulson’s voice rang across the room.

“Katie, please. We wouldn’t be asking this of you if it wasn’t urgent, but we really do need your help

The use of her first name, not her code name, made Katie stop in her tracks. Taking a deep breath she spun back, fire in her eyes as she glared at Coulson’s image on the screen. “Why should I?”

“Because, ” Coulson continued, “you’re the only one I trust enough with this.”

Katie ran her hands over her face, torn between wanting to leave and her desire, sorry, duty to help. In the end her duty won out and she felt her shoulders slump as she looked back towards the two men, giving them both a curt nod.

“Fine, but that does not mean that I’m happy about this. Any of it.”

“You’ll rendezvous with the Bus in Oslow.” Fury instructed, ignoring her emotion completely. “There’s a Jet being prepped to take the new shift of mobile STRIKE team members out as we speak. You can go with them.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged. With a final roll of her eyes she made to leave the room before Fury called after her.

“Agent Stark.”

“What?” she demanded as she spun round, fixing her eyes on his.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But I had to do it.”

She swallowed, before she turned and left, not trusting herself to respond.

*****

Steve was looking for Katie, he knew she’d been to see Fury and was eager to find out what it was about. After asking a few agents if they’d seen her he finally tracked her to one of the kitchens where she was sat, hugging a cup of coffee like her life depended on it, staring down at the table. He frowned, she looked absolutely beat.

“Sweetheart?” He asked tentatively as she looked up at him. His frown deepened when he saw her face. She looked distraught. “Honey, what is it?”

One look in his eyes and Katie knew she couldn’t lie to him, she didn’t want to lie to him. Fuck Fury, fuck all of this.

“Coulson…he…” She stammered, looking up at Steve, her eyes wet.

“What about him?” Steve frowned.

She took a deep breath, tears now rolling down her face. “He’s alive, Steve, he’s fucking alive.”

And then the dam broke and she began to sob. Steve instantly went into autopilot, pulling out a spare chair and moving it close to her so he could wrap his arms around her as she cried into his tevlar clad chest, his own mind whirling at the news.

Eventually she calmed down to tell him everything. And Steve listened, not saying a word, simply holding her hand, his thumb skating over her knuckles as she spoke. He did, however, make an angry noise that was half way between a snort and a growl when she told him Fury had threatened to sack her if she told anyone.

“I honestly thought I’d seen it all, that nothing life threw up would ever surprise me again.” She sighed looking at Steve as she finished explaining.

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong.” He smiled softly and she spluttered a watery laugh through her tears, remembering what she’d said to him the first time they had met. “There’s my girl.” Steve reached over to gently brush her cheek with his hand. “I like it better when you smile.”

“Sorry, but I’m so angry. Fury is lying, again! Has he learnt nothing from everything that’s happened over the past few years?”

Steve didn’t say anything, merely studied her face for a moment and then both of them turned their attention to the door when one of the Junior Agents appeared.

“Agent Stark, Director Fury asked me to tell you we’re wheels up in an hour.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, sniffing before she looked at Steve. “I don’t even have time to pack.”

“You got some stuff in your locker, right?”

She nodded. She always had a few days’ worth of clothes in her locker and toiletries to hand, just in case. She ran her hands over her face and stood up. “You know, I don’t even know who I’m meeting!” She shook her head. “Other than Fitz and Simmons, I’ve no idea who Coulson has on The Bus.”

“Whoever it is I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Steve assured her. “And I know it’s shitty but they asked for you for a reason.”

“Suppose I best make the most of it, seeing as it will be my last mission, you know, on account of me telling you.”

“It won’t come to that.” Steve shook his head “I’m not gonna tell anyone I know.”

“Fury always finds out.” Katie sighed. “Tony is right about him. His spies have spies.”

Thirty minutes later she was walking to the hangar, suited in her SHIELD cat suit, Steve carrying her holdall for her as they walked. The Captain didn’t like this, he hated that she was effectively being manipulated and he would have loved nothing more than to give Fury a piece of his mind but he couldn’t, because he wasn’t supposed to know. They reached the bottom of the jet and Katie turned to him as he handed her bag to one of the agents who nodded to them both.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She promised as Steve looked down at her and nodded

“Make sure you do.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not sure how I’m gonna cope without my best girl.”

“Your best girl?” She teased. “How many others do you have?”

“One or two.” He shrugged. “But they’re in different states, so, they don’t count, right?”

She gave a laugh as she shook her head. “Jerk.”

Steve chuckled and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “You know you’re the only one for me, Doll.” He dropped a soft kiss to her lips. “Just go do what you gotta do. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He kissed her again, this time a little longer, although both still well aware that they were in the middle of a very busy hangar, surrounded by a lot of people. Sighing, Katie pulled back and allowed herself to melt into his arms for a quick hug before she stepped back.

“I love you.” She said gently.

“You too. Be careful.” He looked at her, his features verging on stern with his warning.

“I’m always careful.” She grinned, walking backwards up the ramp, wanting to look at him for as long as possible.

“Well that’s just an out and out lie.” He raised an eyebrow, hands dropping to the buckle of his belt.

She grinned, blew him a kiss and then disappeared into the main part of the jet. Steve watched for a second as the ramp shut before he turned and left the hangar.

*****

There was a moment’s hesitation, where Coulson and Katie simply looked at each other, and then Katie’s anger boiled over and she stepped forwards, slapping him, hard across the face. The agents who were milling around all paused as Coulson’s head snapped to the side.

“Guess I deserved that…” He said, turning his head back to look at her as everyone hastily carried on with their jobs.

As Katie stared at her old mentor, her anger melted away and with a little sigh she threw her arms around him. Coulson squeezed her back, before Katie moved a little to look at him, before she spoke for the first time.

“Good to see you again. Not dead, I mean.”

Phil gave a chuckle. “You too Nova. Come on, the rest of the team are waiting in the lab.”

He led her down the hall, Katie following, her eyes taking in her surroundings before Coulson stopped at the end of a corridor, near a door to a room that she could see had a glass wall.

“Now, before you go in, there’s something else you should know.” Coulson turned to face her and she looked at him, letting out an angry groan.

“What now?”

“I want you to know, Fury didn’t want me to tell you as he didn’t think you would come, it wasn’t my decision to keep it from you.”

“Keep what from me?” Her temper was flaring again. “I swear to God AC I am this close…”she held her fingers an inch apart, “to losing my shit!”

Coulson hesitated for a moment and then opened the door to the lab. As they walked in six people all looked up from what they’d been watching and turned to face them. One of them was a dark haired girl she didn’t know and next to her were Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz who Katie knew from the labs when they had worked with Lawson. Then she spotted Melinda May, an agent only rivalled in fighting skills by Natasha.

And then a pair of familiar dark eyes met hers as another familiar face looked up from a tablet.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Katie muttered and she turned to Coulson who shrugged apologetically.

“Good to see you too.” Ward grinned as Katie folded her arms and glared at him.

There was a moment’s pause as the two simply stared at one another, Katie’s teeth grinding together in irritation, before the girl with the dark hair spoke. “Okay, so this is awkward…”

“And this is Skye.” Coulson spoke, breaking up the tension. “She’s a…”

“Hacker.” May supplied, at the same time Skye replied, “consultant”

Katie was really struggling to keep her temper under control now, so missed the irritated glare Skye shot at May. First Coulson, now this. Fury was going to absolutely get the full Stark-slash-Supernova explosion when she got back.

“So, shall we get down to business?” Coulson asked, spotting the look on Katie’s face, realising she needed to focus on something else. “What have you got?”

“We’ve managed to identify our thieves.” May spoke as Sky pressed something on the tablet she was holding. A close up of the woman’s face appeared on the holo-projector in the middle of the room. “Her name is Petra Larson”

“And this is Jakob Nystrom, her boyfriend. Both thirty. Leaders of a Norse Paganist hate group”

“And their numbers are growing thanks to what happened in London and the internet” Sky scoffed. “Yay internet,”

“Norse Paganist?” Simmons questioned

“Obsessed with anything derived from Norse mythology, stories of Asgard, yada yada.” Skye explained.

“And now a weapon.” Ward gestured to a long object on the table which Katie hadn’t noticed until that point.

“Is that a 3-d print?” She asked, instantly captivated by the item, looking at Fitz who nodded. “May I?”

“Of course…” He said. Katie picked it up and turned it over in her hands, testing the weight as she scanned it up and down. The detailing was exquisite.

“The scan accounted for only one side.” Fitz explained. “There was too much damage to the tree for a complete reproduction”.

“But, see here, it’s clearly broken on both ends.” Katie held it up. “So there are more pieces.”

“Yeah, two at least” Fitz responded, nodding.

“Which means Sid and Nancy may be looking for a complete set.” Ward spoke as Coulson turned to Katie.

“The markings. Just as you said on the call they’re Asgardian symbolism.”

She looked at the item in her hand and nodded. “Similar to Thor’s hammer.”

“Yeah, hard to translate with our limited knowledge.” Couslon shrugged.

“You should give your buddy the God of Thunder a shout.” Sky spoke “He gets his powers from his hammer, right? What if this is his nail to the hammer?”

“He’s off grid.” Coulson looked at her. “And if he has a cell-phone, we don’t have the number.

“I told to get him a pager.” Katie muttered as she peered at the rod and then something stirred in her mind, and she began racking her brains. There was something similar about this, something that she’d seen or read before, if she could only remember what.

“So,” May looked at Katie, “SHIELD’s investigations are on the trail of Nystrom and his followers.”

“We’re charged with identifying the object and finding any other pieces before they do.” Coulson finished.

Katie nodded, still thinking. “If this acts in the same way as Thor’s hammer then that’s a sensible task.”

And then she trailed off as it suddenly hit her exactly what it was she’d been trying to remember.

“No, it can’t be.” She muttered as Coulson looked at her questioningly. She nodded to the item in her hand and then looked back at him. “I could be wrong but this…this could be a piece of the Beserker Staff.”

“The what?” Ward frowned.

“It’s from an old legend that a great warrior, from another world came to Earth” Katie spoke, recalling the research she’d done once upon a time. “He had in his possession a magical staff but he loved Earth so much he never left, and he broke the staff into pieces and hid them.”

“Any idea on where?” Coulson asked. Katie shook her head.

“Well our Pagan friends certainly seem to have some advantage on that front.” Ward sighed. “They found this thing in a hundred and fifty square kilometres of Norwegian forest.”

“Guys, what if it called to them with magic?” Sky asked, her eyes going large and excited.

“Called to them?” May shot her a ‘be real’ look in response.

“We know it’s Asgardian, so the rules are a little bendy here.” Skye pressed.

“Just because we don’t understand something yet doesn’t mean we should regress back to the dark ages, talking of magic and fairy tales” Simmons shook her head and Fitz scoffed his agreement.

“Actually, that’s exactly what we need to do.” Katie looked around as the idea came to her.

“Excuse me?” Simmons asked.

Ignoring him, Katie turned to Agent Coulson. “Remember when we first found the hammer in New Mexico, and I told Fury to consult with an expert on Norse Mythology to fill the gaps.”

“Elliot Randolph,” Phil nodded.

“We should speak to him, he’ll know more about it than me.”

“Alright.” Coulson nodded, looking at May. “He’s a professor at the University of Seville. Set the course, let’s pay him a visit.”

“Shouldn’t take us too long.” May shrugged “But it is getting kinda late. By the time we get there it will be past eight in the evening local time. Can I suggest we head out first thing tomorrow morning?”

Coulson nodded. “Alright. Sounds like a plan. Okay team, lets wrap it up here and get something to eat. Think we’ve earned it.” He then turned to Katie, gesturing with his head for her to follow him out of the room.

He led her down a few more corridors and to a flight of steps which led up to the upper deck of the large airship.

“The Accommodation is probably a bit smaller than you’re used to, but…”

“If it’s that bad imma find a hotel.” She shrugged as she followed Coulson down the corridor.

“What and miss all the fun?” Phil looked over his shoulder. “I’ve had the gin bar stocked specially.”

“Yeah, for the record that isn’t going to take away from the fact that I’m utterly pissed at you and Fury”

“I know you well enough Nova to not even hope that would be the case” Coulson snorted as they turned right. Eventually they reached the living area and Coulson led her to one of the spare rooms.

It wasn’t as bad as Coulson made it out to be, a bed that was slightly bigger than a single but not a full double, with a small wardrobe and a small basin to the side.

“This isn’t so bad.” She turned to Phil who was watching her a little cautiously.

“Glad it meets your approval.” He nodded, leaning in the door way before he took a deep breath. “Look, I really am sorry about all of this. I wouldn’t have-“

“Let’s just find that thing and then I can go home.” Katie cut him off, not in the mood for anymore apologies or explanations. She had a job to do, and the sooner she did it, the sooner she could get back.

“That’s the plan.” Coulson nodded. “I’ll be in the bar in an hour or so, got a few things to sort out before but, well, it would be nice if we could catch up.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Katie replied. There was a pause before Coulson gave her another curt nod.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

With that he turned and left and Katie’s eyes fixed on the now empty doorway. With a purposeful stride, she moved forward and pressed her palm to the pad at the side, the door sliding shut with a slight click.

Katie turned around, looking at her bag which had been placed at the foot of her bed and with a loud, angry groan of frustration she flopped backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

***** Chapter 9

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #Katie Stark #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans characters

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bondsmagii · 3 years

Text

This is definitely one of the… wilder stories here, but as always, I suppose people will believe what they will.

This will unfortunately require some backstory, but I guess you could say the long and the short of it is that I played at being God, and it. Well. Kind of sucked, actually.

So, the backstory. I’ll try to keep it brief. I grew up in a small country village about forty-five minutes away from Belfast, Ireland. There wasn’t much going on there, as you could imagine – just a standard rural Irish town, where the most exciting thing that might happen in a week was old Farmer Joe getting a new tractor or something. Anyway, I’m not sure how many of you know about Ireland’s rather troubled past, but for the most part I missed all that. I was born around the time things were finally settling down, and while my earlier memories are filled with bomb scares and low-flying helicopters and gunshots in the night, the distant sound of shouting and the acrid smell of smoke burning a little too close for comfort, by the time I hit my teenage years most of it had wrapped up. Of course, there was the occasional scare here and there, and I’m not saying my friends and I didn’t go out looking for trouble once we were old enough, but it wasn’t the same. I’m not saying that out of a sense of, I don’t know, regret or annoyance or anything. Now I’m older, I’m not so enamoured by the idea of that much violence. I’m just saying it wasn’t really a patch on the kind of violence that used to happened there – the kind of violence that fascinated my friends and I so much. It sounds bad, but really we were just kids being kids. Little boys everywhere play at war games. It just so happened that the war we were playing had happened in our own country. It’s difficult not to be obsessed, when you see the reflection of history on the faces of every generation around you. Even slightly older siblings would know all about it – it wasn’t something you asked your grandfather, distant war stories over some vague European country that you’ve only seen on a map in your Geography classroom. This was our street corners, our high streets, the road outside the house. Here the grass verge at the side of the road where the bodies were dumped; there the lay-by where over a dozen people were blown to pieces. It was awful, but we were children. We were enamoured.

Anyway. The only violence we got really involved in was the summer rioting that happened yearly, like clockwork. It sounds like a joke, but that’s how it goes. You don’t need to know the details, but suffice to say in mid-July every year, the city would light up like we were back in the 1970s. Localised, of course, and still nowhere near as drastic as it used to be, but enough to get a taste. Petrol bombs. Police lines. Armoured cars. Water cannons. Unrestrained summer fun, you could say. But that’s for a bit later.

I’m a writer. I have been since I was four years old. Generally speaking I’m a horror writer, but I’ve branched into historical fiction a fair bit over the years. Living in Ireland, growing up how I did, it was inevitable that I would develop a fascination for Irish history. I was always a very curious child, my head in books, chasing up stories that would keep me awake at night. I never knew any boundaries. I would go after answers with military precision, asking questions, going places I shouldn’t. Dangerous for anyone, of course, but in a country like mine, where crossing the road could quite literally lead to your murder? It was reckless. I was reckless. But that’s the thing about being that age. You think you’re invincible. You think you can do anything.

I was about fourteen or fifteen, at the height of this obsession. I believe I was fifteen when I wrote this particular story, but it’s difficult to say. It was part of a series, and I was going back and forth on it and other projects for many years. Here we finally get to the point of the whole story: I had developed an obsession with Irish history, as I said, and specifically the more “modern” history – from 1916 onwards, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence, all that. I was fascinated by the Irish struggle for freedom, and while age and hindsight has lessened my… enthusiasm for the violence, I do maintain a strong opinion towards the whole thing, which is not the point here so I won’t get into it. What I’m trying to say is that my stories reflected this enthusiasm, and were undoubtedly glorifying in nature, and also at that age I was more concerned with living the fantasy than doing the research, so it was all very self-indulgent. I’m sure anyone who wrote at that age knows what I mean.

My main character… well. I’m sure you know what to expect. He was—well. Me, really. In the way of all main characters at that age, and perhaps a little even as we get older, there’s a piece of us inside all our main characters. Sometimes a little piece, other times just a cooler and more badass version of yourself. Michael was that for me. I suppose that must is obvious; I wasn’t even trying to be subtle. My name is of course Miceál, which for those of you keeping track is the Irish form of Michael. I’m just grateful that I didn’t go as far as to give him my last name, too, but everything else was there. He looked like me, he held the same views and beliefs as me, he acted like me – or at least, he acted in the ways I liked to think I’d act, or how I imagined acting later that night in the shower, reliving the scenario again. He was the best kind of self-insert character, indulgent and fun and a good friend to me. I poured a lot of myself into him. I poured everything into him. He was a constant companion, something that became ever more important to me as my real life—well, went to shit. To put it mildly. I would sit in my room writing my stories, and Michael would go out there and fight the good fight, killing and bombing for good old Ireland, and then I’d shut my computer down and go to sleep feeling just a little better than otherwise.

I’m not afraid to say that I can be obsessive. I like to get into the heads of my characters; I like to know them as well as I know everything. Yes, Michael was me, but he was also a version of me who had done things I have never done. Sometimes I would try to imagine myself as him; wonder what it was like to see through his eyes. Wonder what a me who had done that would look like. Wonder what he would do in a situation. I asked myself that a few times; a lot of times. What would Michael do? I could have put that shit on a wristband. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I’ve always been a bit of a method writer like that. It was normal, until it wasn’t.

I first saw Michael on a hot July day, in Belfast. What we call the rioting season had come around; my friends and I were there to take advantage. Just at the sidelines, mind you – nobody wants to get a face full of water cannon, even on the hottest of days. Michael was in the thick of it though. Of course he was. I’d written him to be that way.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. At first I thought I must be seeing things, but the more I looked the more I realised he looked exactly like me. Only he was a little taller, a little fitter, and his hair looked different. His clothing was different, too; perhaps a couple of decades out of date, but looking at him I saw his clothing didn’t remain consistent. The changes were subtle – material, tone – but I noticed. Looking back, I assume it’s because I never did give a specific date for his story to occur in. Well, wherever he was from he was there now, throwing rocks with the best of them, skipping from stone to stone and hurling them at police lines with an easy swing that could only come from years of practise. When we had all finally cleaned out the area – soldiers coming, a helicopter, the kind of trouble you don’t want to toy with – I managed to catch up with him. He was talking to my friends. They noticed we were both there, but didn’t seem to realise we were two different people. The whole time we were all talking, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Michael. I tried, because I knew how obvious I was being, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t work him out. I couldn’t even trust that’s what I was seeing. And the whole time, Michael watched me back. I knew the look in his eyes. It was his smug little, I know something you don’t know look. Of course I knew it. I had made him like that. I had given him that look.

I didn’t see him for some time after that. Believe it or not, I put it out of my head. I mean, come on. It was probably some other guy that my friends knew. We were in Belfast enough, and Michael isn’t exactly an uncommon name. I put it out of my mind, but I was sure that sometimes, I saw him. I was sure I’d see him in Belfast, ducking down side streets or leaning in close conversation with someone I couldn’t make out. He was always watching me. Sometimes I’d feel eyes on me and know it was him, but when I looked around I wouldn’t spot him. On some occasions – and these were always the worst – I would feel his eyes behind my own. Like he was on the inside looking out, moving independently in there, a set of eyes swivelling around over my own. It happened most often when I was trying to write his story. As you can imagine, I was nervous to do so. The more I thought I saw him, the less I wanted to write, but I didn’t think that was a good idea either. I didn’t know what to do.

It was a sunny weekend just before school started back after summer that I finally resolved to do something about it. I didn’t even feel stupid as I booted up my old Windows 95 desktop and opened Word. Michael’s story was there, in 12-point font as I always wrote then, plenty of enthusiasm but a lot less technical skill. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, and then I typed.

Hello?

Nothing, of course. I deleted the word, wondering what I had expected. Feeling a little stupid now, I tried to think about where to go with the story. It was difficult to write now I had some kind of real person to assign to it all – what were the ethics here? How could I—

I won’t get into that. It would be a philosophical essay all of its own. I sat for a while wondering what to write, and then it hit me that the story had changed. The words Michael had spoken, in the paragraph that I had left off – they were no longer the words I had written. I forget what the original words were now, but they were something relatively simple; some response to another character, and I remember that another name was mentioned in it – the name of Michael’s in-universe best friend, Eamon. Now that name was gone, and the rest of the text had changed, too. Now the writing read something different entirely.

I thought you wanted to know?

I lied earlier. I said that age and experience and perhaps some more emotional maturity had led me to turn away from the kind of violence that fascinated me so much then, and I have no doubt that under normal circumstances it would have done. I had somewhat of a speed run, however; I turned my back on it because

I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had often wondered what it would be like to do what Michael did, of course. To kill and risk death for a cause, to face down prison, torture, exile. I had wondered what it would be like to commit those acts; how easy or difficult it would be to pull a trigger or push a detonator. I liked to think, in my foolish, idealistic teenage mind, that if it came down to it I could. Of course, I was in the very privileged position to not have to actually answer that question.

Michael, on the other hand, knew. And Michael was, if not me, than a product of me. Could it be possible that he could show me?

I ignored the message for several days. I didn’t know what to think. Truth be told I thought I was going mad. School started again and I got so busy that I almost, almost forgot about it – and then I opened the document by mistake one day, got into reading it over, laughing at my brilliant comebacks, you know how it is. And there it was again.

I thought you wanted to know?

Yes, I remember thinking. It stunned me – I remember that. I didn’t want to mess with this kind of stuff – I’ve always been a huge believer in the paranormal, always been cautious when it comes to fucking with that kind of stuff. I believe that magic like this, it requires intent. It needs you to be sure. It knows how you feel, true in your heart. So even when I ignored it again, even when I deleted the words and re-wrote whatever the original had been, even as I didn’t reply… I knew in my heart that my question had been heard by something. I could feel Michael’s eyes on me again, though now I wondered if it was Michael’s eyes, or something else entirely. It felt like a weight. Have you ever been in an old, old place, where you can practically feel the people who lived and died there; reach out and touch them? It felt like that. Like the weight of history was pressing down on me. I didn’t fall asleep easily that night, but when I did sleep was dark and endless.

I don’t know how long I spent in that state. In reality it was only seven hours; I woke up with my alarm. In that time period, wherever I was – because I was not living – I seemed to witness a hundred different lives. Over the course of Michael’s story I had him do all kinds of things; live all kinds of situations. I deleted things, changed others, added things in. I wrote what would now be called alternate universes. In that night I experienced them all. I know how it feels now. I know how it feels to pull a trigger; to watch the spray of someone’s life splatter a wall or a windscreen or the screaming backseat passengers of a car. I know how it feels to push the button, the one that sends a charge surging down a wire or flickering out over my head in an invisible wave of death, notifying the bomb, detonating the explosives. I know how it feels to sit in a hotel bar across a border, listening to the news, sipping a drink and feeling my heart beat in my chest as I add more numbers to the tally, more blood to my hands. I know how it feels to be shot, to be beaten, to watch a friend die, to kill someone who used to be – who still is, despite everything – a friend. I know how it feels to cough blood into my hands, onto the ground; to grip a wound that won’t stop bleeding; the blinding flash of an explosive detonating too soon and how the whole world seems to roar and how there’s a difference between the thud and slap of wet mud hitting the ground and the warmer, denser rain of something that used to be human. For days, weeks, years – I walked in Michael’s shoes, I lived his life, I committed every act.

I felt his pain. His fear. This hellish world that he lived in, created to kill and die and lose and fear, over and over. To meet his God and to finally, finally ask – why?

And what could I say? Because I wanted to know?

Well. Now I do.

#creeptastic #creepypasta #my creepypasta #writing #my writing #short story #fiction #can you tell i've been listening to tma lately?#anyway VERY tempted to record this seems i'm a decent voice impressionist and i have the right accent for the statement lmao

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rosesvioletshardy · 4 years

Text

you what now? - frank mccullen (b.h. - Pixie)

okay so this got deleted as soon as i posted it but thank god someone told me about it but anyways here is my first frank imagine

i really hope you guys like this because it was kind of hard to go off with with just the small clips, ben’s interview, and the trailer so i tried the best i could

masterlist

warnings: none

# of words:1627

“Frank where the hell are you? I’ve called your cell, I don't know how many times now. I’m really starting to get worried. I haven’t seen you in a long time and neither has your mom. I really hope you’re safe. Please I don’t know what I did or if it’s even my fault, but please call me back.” y/n had spoken into her phone for what seemed like the hundredth time trying to get a hold of her boyfriend as she opened the door to their apartment. All she ended up getting was his voicemail which meant his phone was dead, turned off, or he was just simply ignoring her. She didn’t want it to be the last reason seeing that the situation has been making her a little anxious as to where he was and what he was doing. The night they were supposed to be having dinner for their anniversary, he never showed up, but instead went with his best friend, Harland, to hang out. Turns out, Frank had gotten a bit into a run in with gangster priests after Harland had accidently killed a hitman with a big load of MDMA with him and now they were after them, but she didn’t know that at all. Or the fact that he was running all over Ireland to help a girl named Pixie to avenge her mother’s death as well.

Right now, Frank, Pixie, and Harland were all sitting around in the cheap motel room they had gotten for the night after a day at the beach and running all over the country for the past few days. They needed a place to sleep for a bit and change with a shower after not being able to for a few days. Before Frank had gone into the shower, he put his phone on charge for a bit before going in. While he was in, Y/N had tried calling him again and again and sending him messages to see if she could try to get in contact with him after a few hours. She hated being clingy in a way, but she was truly worried about him and it had been a few hours since she had last contacted him and she wanted to know maybe this time he’ll answer. Pixie and Harland were minding their own business but as soon as Frank’s phone went off for the 5th time in a row they were starting to get annoyed and looked to see who was calling and texting him so much. Harland had reached over to pick it up and him and Pixie looked at all the notifications on his screen to see that someone named “Y/N <3” kept calling and texting. Harland had immediately recognized who it was and let out a quiet “fuck” and hitting the back of his head against the headboard as Pixie scrunched her face up in confusion

“What’s wrong?” she asked him

“Frank’s girlfriend, Y/N. They were supposed to go out on a date for their two years but it was the night I killed the hitman and I completely forgot about it and he didn’t show up for their date because I called him but he said he promised to make it up to her and I don’t think he ever did.” he explained to her before continuing

“He is so screwed when we get back” he finished

“He didn’t tell her about any of this?” pixie asked as Frank exited out of the bathroom in clean clothes

“Tell who about this?” frank asked drying his hair

“Y/N. She’s left a shit ton of messages and voicemails. You didn’t tell her about this did you?”

“Well I didn’t know how and by the time we had gotten here my phone was already dead.”

“You better call her mate, because when we get back she’s going to have your head.”

“I know, I know. Toss me it, I'll go outside. I need a smoke anyways.” Frank mumbled as he put on his shoes and grabbed his jacket to go outside.

After lighting a cigarette, he spent the first several minutes reading all the messages she had sent, along with some from his mom asking where he was and why he wasn’t answering his girlfriend. Taking another drag and letting it out, he hovered his thumb over her contact to call her.

“C’mon. You can do this. Just tell her the truth and she’ll believe you. She loves you, she’s your girlfriend, it’s not that big of a deal.” he whispered to himself

He pressed her contact and put the phone against his ear, waiting for her to pick up as it rang. Y/N was about to head to the kitchen for a late night snack until she heard her phone ringing and headed back to hers and Frank’s room to see who was calling her so late in the night. When she picked up her to see who it was, she felt her heart and stomach drop when she saw his contact name and photo. She didn’t know whether or not she should answer him seeing that he had been ignoring her for the longest time and left her waiting for their anniversary dinner. Frank was getting anxious over the thought of her not wanting to talk and he understood but he was hoping that she would pick up so he could hear her voice again. Y/N snapped back into reality and answered her phone and put it to her ear.

“Hello?” she answered coldly

“Babe? Listen, i am so sorry i didn’t answer any of your texts or calls. It’s just been a crazy past few days and-”

“Frank you left me all alone in the restaurant after it took me months to get a reservation and you didn’t bother explaining why. I sat there by myself for 2 hours before I decided to leave” she told him, tears creeping into her eyes as she sat down on their shared bed

“I know and I’m sorry, I regret it so much. Harland accidently killed a guy who was looking to kill a girl and he had a bag of MDMA so we tried to see what we could do with it and now we’re helping the girl, Pixie, avenge her mum’s death and now gangster priests are now after us.” he said all in one breath and Y/N confused because the only thing she managed to get out from him speaking so fast was the last part

“I’m sorry did you say that gangster priests are after you?”

“Yes. but everything is alright. We should be done and back in Sligo soon. That’s why I had to go with him to the airport, to try and get it all out of there but we couldn’t. I promise you when I get back, we’ll do whatever you want. I’ll try and get the reservations back, we’ll celebrate, we’ll stay in if you want or just do whatever you want to do.. I’m really sorry again, I didn’t mean to and if I could turn back time i’ll make sure Harland doesn’t go out and I’ll force myself to make sure I get there in time.” he explained quickly, his accent getting thicker the quicker he talked

“Frank it’s fine. Just please be safe and don’t say or do anything stupid in front of the priests.”

“Kind of late for that.”

“Oh no. What did you say?” Y/N groaned

“I might have mentioned to a kid, youth pastor maybe, around our age or a few years younger that if God didn’t want him and I eating pussy, then he wouldn’t have made them look like tacos” he told her already remembering his poor choice of words

“Oh my god”

“I know

“That poor kid. You couldn’t have said something else other than comparing a vagina to food?” she asked him putting her free hand on her face smiling as she imagined how that could’ve gone down

“Hey if you think about it? I’ve seen one, many times before, if I may add, and it sort of does” he laughed causing her to turn red and laugh with him

“But seriously please be careful. I don’t want to hear that my boyfriend died and some kid told a newscaster that the guy told him that. Maybe you should let Harland or the girl Pixie do all the talking from now on. You haven’t really gotten the best with words.”

“Hey! I’ve got good energy and positive attitude though”

“That is very true. You always do, even in the worst situations” she told him chuckling a bit before finishing

“Please come home soon and stay safe. I miss you.”

“I miss you too--” he told her as a silence took over for a moment

“Listen, it’s getting late now, but don’t worry I’ll be back home in time. Very much alive. I love you”

“I love you.”

With that, the both of them hung up and waited until the day where everything went back to normal and Frank wouldn’t get arrested for what he did trying to help someone. They really missed each other and he made sure that he wouldn’t go a day without checking on her and telling her that he was alright and not dead. As he walked in, he saw Harland and Pixie looking at him hoping that something went right for once and he nodded telling them that she’s okay and that she wasn’t mad at him anymore. They both gave out a sigh of relief as they took a swing of their beer and talked before heading to bed not knowing what will happen the next day.

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guigz1-coldwar · 3 years

Text

'Fighting spirit' : New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Fighting spirit"

"I'm always happy when I have you near me, knowing that we both protecting each other !"

Chapter Summary : 3 days has passed since the terrible mission that has cost Garrett's life, Yirina is finally ready to have an talk with Song after an discussion with Park....

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +3600

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I couldn't know more about why I wasn't talking when I was captured and why I was sometimes sick during the end of December 1980, something that is intriguing me since that memory I had with Freya. I tried with Zasha, I didn't have any responses except for an little talk with them after 2 longs days and then, I tried with Sims....same result with him, nothing that could give me an clear answer to the first question, I guess that my memory will have to work hard to discover the answers I need but it will take an lot of time.

After that talk with Sims, I did go to the dorm and finally have some sleep...an troubled one to be honest, thinking about Garrett, Song....shit, I don't know how I can make myself able to go talk with Song after today. She's probably hating me and the fact that she didn't talk to anyone like Hudson claimed, it will be very hard to me to have an discussion with her. I will do it for sure but now....it's complicated.

During the 3 following days after that terrible day, an part of the team including me, Park, Song & Woods stayed back at the base while the other part was making some travel in the jungle to clear up the remaining forces of Perseus & Naga in the region. It was at the end of that day, the 28th of May in the middle of the night....that Sims, Wolf & Rivas came back...with Garrett's body. They finally found him after days of research and when we saw him, I was nearly broke in the inside along with Park & Song....she was crying the tears of all her body when she asked everyone to leave her alone with Garrett in the medical room.

"Yiri ?" I was sit alone at my workplace when Park came back from outside after passing an call to London, calling me out in an low voice as she arrived near me.

"Yes ?" I demanded, putting my eyes away from the M1911 where the engraved bullet is still inside that mag, not having even shot with the pistol for days to look at Park.

"You might want to have some peace & an talk ?" She proposed with an small grin, gesturing in the outside, at the direction that she came.

"Yeah, it would be good for me." I replied, slowly getting up from my chair to grab my light browned military jacket and an cigarette from an pack on the desk. "Where are we going ?" I asked her.

"Somewhere quiet with some peace." She responded, repeating her words from her last sentence silently as I put on my jacket and then follow her outside. We've been doing that since 3 days now and it was good...just me & Park, trying to have some moments alone to think about the situation. "You're okay ?" She questioned, talking about my state.

"No, it will take time." I answered, still thinking about the mission and by looking at Park, it was the same thing for her. We finally stopped ourselves near an empty Huey, our usual talking spot. "I don't think that I will forget that easily, Garrett didn't deserve that." I added, once fully stopped.

"I know, me too." Park breathed before sitting down on the ground with her. "I managed to call London." She started after we got sit.

"You called the director ?" She nodded to my question, biting her lips.

"I had to tell him of what happened clearly." She said, crossing her arms and looking down at her feets. "His body will get send back to London." She continued in an sad tone. Manchester was where Garrett was born

"Does he have any family ?" I demanded as I didn't know about this but she shook her head.

"He had one but...." She snorted, sounding like an hard subject to talk. "His parents died during the Troubles in Northen Ireland and his sister...she's part of the IRA." She added, making my eyes goes wide.

"Garrett was Irish ?" I whispered, sounding an bit stunned.

"He was born in Manchester but an large part of his life, he lived it in Belfast, his parents were Irish." She explained to me, slowly pulling her head up to look at me, sad. "His parents only wanted an good life for him but they died in 1974, his sister has decided to join the IRA ranks while him....he fled Belfast to get to London."

"And he joined the MI6." I expressed discreetly, biting the left part of my lips followed by an nodding from Park. "I never thought that Garrett was in fact an Irish." I exclaimed, still surprised by that news.

"It's something that he wasn't so public about." Park stated to me, looking around. "He didn't want to be considered as an Irish and for him, his true links are in England." She grinned an little about it, an grin of sadness. "Even with where his sister is now, the MI6 will told her about it."

"Of course, she had to know even if she's working with the IRA." I affirmed, knowing that family is something to count on even if we're in cold with someone in it. "Did you work against the IRA ?" I demanded to Park, curious about it.

"No, I was more focused on what was happening around the world but I did never wanted to get myself involved with them." She replied, sounding sure of her words. "Even if I believed first that the IRA killed my brother, things weren't normal."

"If only I was able to avoid that to happen...." I breathed away, thinking about that day before Park put her left hand on my lap as I was sit just next to her.

"It wasn't your fault." She told me in an low voice, wanting to reassure me. "You tried to help him to know the truth."

"Yeah...the truth." I repeated this word, meaning an lot as I was really trying to help her brother William to arrest Stone and maybe reveal Perseus's threat long before. "Things could have been different but here we are." I spoke up, looking at the direction of the hangar. "Trying to find the man who fucked up with my brain while hoping that Naga will talk." I added. We couldn't interrogate Naga until he was properly healed and it was only today that we could know if he's going to do it.

"Me...you...Woods & some others, no one want to put their lives on the line to save Adler but we have no choice." She stated surely, giving her thoughts that we share. "And if we don't, like Woods said, we will be all speaking russian." She continued, sounding like an joke but her voice wasn't following that thought.

"To say that this fight against Perseus could have been done if Adler wasn't so stubborn." I confirmed that to Park who nodded sadly, probably thinking of the 3 years I spent in an coma. "What can I say now ? I'm back, still struggling to not getting killed by Perseus or the CIA." I said before slowly starting to get up, back on my feets.

"You think that you're ready to talk to Song ?" Park questioned me, also getting up, an question that she's asking each time we end those moments.

"Yeah, I think I am." I responded, changing from the last answers I gave to her.

"You don't want to wait or you're sure to do that now ?" She questioned me again.

"It's better that I do that now." I breathed, joining my hands with Park for an second, looking at them with good eyes. "I will do it alone." I claimed even if Park said that she was always here to help me in case. "If I need you, I will ask you."I added before I did an kiss on her lips that lasted only an little second.

"Thanks." She whispered before we start to get away from the spot to return back inside the hangar.

As Park was going to take an shower near the dorm, I came back to my workplace, hoping to see Song at the moment but she was still inside the medical room with Garrett as the others said to me and advicing me to wait until she came back into the main room but she wasn't coming back after waiting almost 10 minutes, everyone going to sleep as Park came back at the workplace, awaiting for Song too.

I didn't want to wait too much so I decide to go to the medical room without listening to the others advices, taking my M1911 with me and letting Park alone as I requested from her. Passing through the door leading to the medical room was very hard for me to do, fearing to be greeted by something not nice but instead, nothing happened when I slowly entered the room and then, I saw her.

She was sit on an chair near an bed where Garrett body has been put in for the moment until he got transported to the UK. She had her hands all around Garrett left one, looking at him with sadness. On his face, he was also smiling too....he left his world, smiling....thinking maybe about Song.

"Song ?" I started in an low voice, slowly walking to get next to her, not wanting to erupt brutally.

"Go away." She ordered in an silent voice despite the words used. It was her first words she did pronounce in 3 days and....it was weird. "I want to be alone with him." She exclaimed, her look still on him.

"I know, Song but can we talk ?" I demanded, now not sure at all about actually talking after seeing her like that. "It's maybe not the time but I think I need to do this." I continued, causing her to look at me.

"You want to talk ?" She told me in an normal voice, holding Garrett's hand in hers as I nodded to her. "Park told me what happened." She said as Park actually tried last day to talk with her with no avail. "I'm not angry anymore."

"You're not angry against me ?" I expressed, sounding confused.

"Not anymore." She repeated, looking back at Garrett. "I know that Park always say the truth and what she said about you, I know it's the truth." She continued, me keeping an straight face, fearing her reaction if I smile...something that I wasn't really able to do since 3 days. "You're an good person, Grigoriev."

"Thanks." I breathed, finally getting next to Song and looking at Garrett with an little grin of sadness. "I'm sorry, Song." I apologized, putting my left hand on her shoulder.

"It wasn't your fault." She whispered before she put her hand in her jacket to grab something inside. "Something you might want to know." She added, handing to me an single black picture.

"What's this ?" I asked, trying to figure out what was this black picture until I realized...."No, don't tell me...." I stopped myself, fully realizing the meaning of that picture.

"It's been 3 months now." She responded, putting her right hand on her chest....she was pregnant...and Garrett was the father. "I was going to tell him after the mission." She explained as I was giving back the picture, stunned by that revelation. "It was....one of his dream to be an father." She continued, her eyes looking at me.

"Really ?" I chuckled and she nodded.

"Yeah but now....my child is going to grow up without an father." She muttered, her voice filled with sadness. "I can't tell anyone about this."

"Song." I started, moving to get at her level next to her, wrapping my hands around the one she had on her chest. "You can trust me & Park, we can help you." I admitted.

"I know." She smiled at me, looking at my hands. "You're my friends, I'm trusting you." She confirmed before her eyes was looking at the door direction. "To say that the man who is responsible for his death is in this very building." She thought.

"You wanted me to pull the trigger but I couldn't." I started to get my M1911 to remove the engraved bullet from the chamber to show it to Song. "This bullet....it was supposed to kill him...for Garrett." I showed her the bullet and Naga's name on it. "I will keep it until I do it." I said before I pulled back the bullet into the mag.

"I heard that he's in the interrogation room with Hudson." Song told me, immediately knowing what she wanted to do.

"You want to go with me in that room." I nodded at her, making her sure that I knew of her intentions. "I'm waiting for you with Park at the door." I added before I got up to stand, slowly moving away from Song & Garrett.

"Good night, Garrett." Song snorted as I saw her moving to pull an little kiss on Garrett's forehead before she start to follow me outside.

It was hard for her to actually leave that room and Garrett but now knowing that we are going to get to see Naga at his interrogation room, I was maybe ready to actually did what I wasn't able to do days ago. Of course, I told Park about our moves and she agreed to follow us but I didn't tell about Song's pregnancy, thinking that it would be better for her that Song reveal that to her directly instead by me.

The interrogation room wasn't so far from the dorm and when we entered it, we could see Hudson, walking around Naga who was tied up in an chair, an bandage covering his left arm after I cut off his hand and an lot of dressings on his face. Like the man who was tortured by Wolf, Woods & Rivas, Naga was almost naked, only wearing an pair of boxers, not even socks.

"You're here to interrogate him ?" Hudson demanded, seeing the three of us arrive in the room and stopping to move before getting leaned against an wall.

"Did he say anything ?" I asked him, not even responding to his rhetorical question.

"No, he's been inconscious after Woods came in to talk." He replied, gesturing to look at the cuts that Naga has on his legs. "Here's the tools if you need to." He pointed at us an table filled with said 'tools' : wrench, an big car battery, etc....

"You used them ?" Park questioned Hudson, moving to get next to the table.

"No, we wait that Naga's fully operational until we can use them." He responded, crossing his arms as I was looking back at the table, Song stayed behind.

"Park, give me those two metal stems." I pointed at her next to the battery. Torture was disgusting me but...when someone is hurting my friends...I have no choices.

"What are you planning ?" She demanded as she gave me the stems anyway in my hands.

"Something electric." I answered, sounding mostly angry in the inside, not even making an laugh of it. "Hey, you awake ?" I started to slap Naga's face, wanting to awake him up from his sleep.

"Uh ?" He muttered, slowly waking up.

"I need you to stay focused !" I exclaimed before I literally planted the two metal stems in his respectives kneecaps, causing him to scream painfully as Song closed the door to muffle his attempts to scream more.

"That's brutal from you." Hudson told me.

"I didn't ask for your opinion." I looked at him with deadly eyes, my rage fuelling up before looking back at Naga. "Fully awake ?"

"Fuck you !" He cursed, fighting the pain of having two metal stems in his legs as Park moved the car battery next to Naga, having realized my plans with Naga : torture by electrocution. She put the battery cables on the stems, ready to activate the battery.

"It isn't going to help you if you don't talk." I affirmed to him, putting my hands on his arms, holding them firmly in my hands. "Now...tell us where did Stitch has taken Adler ?" I asked him but the only thing he did was to spit on my face.

"Do it !" Song ordered in an low voice and I nodded to Park, not before putting an tissue inside Naga's mouth, avoiding him to fully scream. She activate the battery, causing Naga to look at the ceilling, receiving an lot of electricity inside his body as me, Park, Song & Hudson was looking at him. I was slighlty disturbed by my own actions to torture but Naga killed an friend....

"It's good ?" I gestured at Park to stop, removing the tissue from his mouth.

"Better to start talking, Naga." Hudson suggested, still in the same position and taking an deep breath.

"I ain't saying anything." Naga admitted before spitting again on my face, causing me to clean up my face and putting back the tissue in his mouth.

"Again." Song told Park who activate the battery again and making me Naga scream, muffled by the tissue. This time, we let him getting electrocuted for almost an minute. "I think it will talk now." She added.

"You can stop now." I said to Park who stopped the battery.

"So, Naga, willing to talk ?" Park questioned him, her hands ready to activate the battery in case an bad answer from him.

"I know....I know...." He whispered, struggling with the shock he has received in an short time.

"What do you know ?" Song asked him, walking next to me, her voice very dark & serious.

"I can tell....where Stitch has taken Adler...." He started, half-opening his eyes and sweating on all his body. "Kas....Kastovia....he took him to...Kastovia." He gave us an answer.

"Kastovia ?" I muttered.

"It's an small socialist republic in the Soviet Union near the Georgian SSR." Hudson explained to me, giving me more intels about what was this Kastovia. "It's an perfect place for Stitch to hide but now is to know where exactly."

"Where's Stitch, Naga ?" Park threatened him, making him look at her hands, posed on the battery, precisely on the switch

"I don't know." He breathed.

"Do it again." Song ordered, causing me to pull back the tissue.

"Verdansk !" Naga shouted before I could pull the tissue in his mouth, stopping me in my moves.

"You're saying that Stitch has taken Adler in the Kastovian capital ?" Hudson expressed, sounding astonished to hear that from Naga like us. "Damnit, something must be happening in Verdansk."

"And what now ?" Song demanded to Hudson.

"We will make an briefing tomorrow with Naga's new intels and to see if the crews in the field find something about it." He replied, moving away from the wall to grab an pack of cigarettes from his jacket. "For now, Naga's gonna stay here until further notice." He added before he start to go away but then....he grabbed my right.

"What do you want ?" I asked him silently, making some steps back as Park & Song were watching Naga.

"Officialy, the CIA want me to make Naga an informant about the Golden Triangle but...." He stopped himself to look at Naga. "I'll cover you three, you can do it, I will keep my eyes shut." He continued before releasing me and walking out of the room....did he really approved of letting us do what's needs to be done ?

"Song." I whispered as I took off my M1911 of my holstler, checking if the engraved bullet was in the chamber.

'Yes ?" She demanded, looking at me.

"I think that...you should be the one to pull the trigger." I replied, handing over my M1911 to her, she was the one who has to do it...I've been thinking of this since the whole torturing session.

"I don't know..."

"Trust me." I cut her gently, still handing the gun to her.

"Song, you're the one to do it." Park affirmed, giving some hope to Song as she finally took the gun from my hands.

"Hey, I made an deal with Hudson !" Naga protested with us but that wasn't avoiding Song to point my gun to him. "You will have big problems, girls !"

"We know." I told him, crossing my arms.

"That's for Garrett !" Song expressed in an rage before closing her eyes.

"Wait...." Naga pleaded but it was too late...as Song pulled the trigger of my M1911 and the engraved bullet flied straight to his head, hitting him right between the two eyes and his body went limp.....he was finally dead.

"That's for Garrett." Song repeated again before she turned around to face me to give me back my pistol. "Thanks, Grigoriev, you really have an good spirit in you." She confessed as I took back my pistol before she start to slowly walk away from the room, leaving me & Park with Naga's dead body.

"She's saying the truth, you have an wonderful spirit." Park added to Song's statement, putting her hands above my heart. "An fighting spirit." She exclaimed as I was pulling my M1911 in its holstler.

"Thanks...I did what was need to be done, Song was the one who needed to pull the trigger." I told her, looking away at the opened door and thinking of an lot of things right now. "It wasn't going to bring him back but now...he could rest in peace, knowing the man responsible is dead." I confirmed, taking back the same words I remember days ago before going into Laos.

"I'm proud of you like always, Yiri." Park affirmed to me as we started to walk away from the room, leaving Naga's body in here before closing the door behind me as Park was grinning at my side.....

"I'm sure that he's proud of you....you did really good."

#cod bocw #cod cold war #cod black ops cold war #cod cw #call of duty cold war #cod #call of duty #cod bell #black ops cold war #yirina grigoriev #fem!bell #helen park

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scullysexual · 4 years

Text

A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight [Reposted Anniversary]

You can read chapter’s One Two and three here or alternatively you can read all four chapters on ao3.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface @improlificinsarcasm @enigmaticxbee Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this!

- - -

Chapter Four

It’s not often that Scully feels self-conscious. It’s not often she cares what other people think of her; she’s happy to live her life if she’s able to live it in peace.

But standing here now does she realise just how much she stands out. This spontaneous trip meant most of her belongings got left behind at that filthy inn she was staying in. Clothes didn’t matter, she was going home. Even when she got on the ship, nobody downstairs cared what she wore, for the week she was here, the two sets of items would do her.

Until now.

She stands outside the dining room, back against the wall as she attempts to blend in. The people who pass her, those who notice her (the women mostly) glare at her, stare at her with confusion, repulsion. One even asked the door man what she was doing here. The door man had just shrugged, told the woman he was told she was attending dinner with the Mulders. The woman shook her head, turning to the man beside her to loudly ask what these people were doing affiliating themselves with people like her.

Scully kept quiet. She stood in her spot and waited.

“Scully?” Relief spreads through her when she hears Mulder’s voice. He walks a little ahead of his family, unlinking his arm from Phoebe’s. Scully doesn’t miss the offended look Phoebe gives her.

“How long have you been waiting?” he asks. He takes hold of her arm, leading her away from her hiding place.

“Not long,” Scully answers, just happy that she’s no longer standing here alone.

“We sent Krycek down to escort you up? Did he not come get you?”

Scully shakes her head.

“Right,” says Mulder, looking towards the group. Scully follows, finding Krycek to be nowhere.

“We’ll speak to him later. Come on.”

He takes her arm again and just as Scully is about to ask about Phoebe, Mulder looks at her, a sorry smile across his face as he drops her arm and moves to back over to Phoebe instead.

She doesn’t miss the woman’s smug smile.

Scully falls behind the group as they walk in, Mulder and Phoebe leading. Her eyes stay fixed on their linked arms, feeling a pang of what she can only rationalise as jealousy at the sight. Scully scolds herself, reminding herself that Mulder isn’t hers.

She thinks about that. She’s known the man for two days, when did she begin thinking of him as something that was hers anyway?

Tearing her gaze away, she looks around the room. A lot of money went into making this place look as grand as it does, from its high ceilings, to the massive chandelier in the middle of the room, to even the pristine carpet. Charlie could work for his entire life and still not make up the earrings equivalent to the cost of this room.

She looks to the people already seated at the tables, probably unaware to the money they are standing in. They’ve probably never once given it thought but it’s all Scully can think about.

That is until her eyes fall to a dog that sits in its own chair, eating its own scraps of better looking meat than is served downstairs.

Even the dogs eat better than us, Scully thinks as they sit.

She sits opposite Mulder and Phoebe, wishing they were sitting next to each other but at least she can look up and see him. Mulder smiles at her, kicking her foot beneath the table and Scully smiles, reassured as she places her foot on top of his.

His smile drops as he gazes at her and the look in his eyes steals her breathe away. She could be the only person in this room right now.

Scully breaks the eye contact, her eyes falling down to look at the plate and the cutlery that sits either side. Three spoons one side, two forks and a knife the other. Scully stares at it, bewildered and wondering why the need for so many utensils. She’s gotten through life fine with just a spoon and the occasional knife every once in a while.

She feels a nudge against her foot and looks up to see Mulder smiling at her with an amused look on his face, barely lifting up the normal looking fork. Scully kicks his foot, unimpressed with his finding enjoyment in this.

Dinner begins and despite Scully’s initial fears the conversation doesn’t gravitate to or about her. They discuss the engagement, of what their lives will be like back in New York again, they gossip about people of the ship, so-and-so being seen with so-and-so whilst married to so-and-so. Scully doesn’t listen much, she eats her serving which is a lot more than she usually eats and plays footsy under the able with Mulder. She’s fine and somewhat happy here, eating decent food and no longer feeling like she’s out of place.

That is until the dreaded words exit Phoebe’s mouth.

“Miss Scully…”

The chatter around the table stops as all eyes fall Scully. She stops the game she’s playing with Mulder, shifting her own eyes towards Phoebe.

“How are you finding all this?” the girl asks. “Not too overwhelming, I hope.” Her voice is laced with false concern.

Scully looks around, taking in all the faces that have gathered around the table.

She swallows her food before speaking. “It’s not too much different to downstairs, actually,” she says, her eyes moving back to Phoebe. “Better food, though.” It gets a few awkward laughs.

“How is steerage, Miss Scully?” Mrs Mulder asks to the side of her. “I heard the accommodations were well on this ship compared to others.”

Scully shifts in her sit, putting her fork down on the table as she leans forward to see the older woman.

“Beats the cargo hold on a ferry,” Scully says with a smile. “A lot less rats here, too.” She looks pointedly at Phoebe. The woman seethes.

“Miss Scully is joining us from third class,” Mr Mulder explains to the new people on the table. “She met my son the night last night on the back of the ship.”

Scully sits back, caution of the reactions around her. Some make inquiring faces towards Mr Mulder and Mulder and to each other.

An older man begins to speak. “Do you often find yourself conversing with…” he looks unsurely at Scully. “third class passengers, Fox?”

“Not usually,” Mulder admits and Scully watches with curiosity at how he handles this situation. “Though I would consider doing it again,” he looks to her then. “They are quite interesting people.”

Scully smiles, impressed.

Of course Phoebe has to ruin it.

“How is it that you’re here, Miss Scully?”

You asked me here, you eejit is just on the tip of Scully’s tongue before Phoebe herself saves them both from embarrassment and elaborates.

“I mean, how did you get on the ship with so little money?”

Scully begins to play her own game. These people want to degrade her, drag her down and make a mockery out of her, so be it. She’ll be honest.

“It was my brother, really,” Scully says. “He won the tickets when he won a game of poker. We were on our way home actually and instead we ended up here.”

“And where is home?” another man asks.

“Belfast,” she answers. “Or just outside of it to be exact.”

“Titanic was built in Belfast, wasn’t it?” Mulder asks but it’s clear he already knew the answer.

“It was,” Scully says proudly. “It’s the city’s pride and joy. We don’t have much but least we have Titanic.”

“Do you and your brother travel around together a lot?” Mrs Mulder asks.

“Only recently.” She thinks to Charlie who is probably wondering where is she. Or he’s too drunk to care. “He’s fifteen, see, so he’s only just been allowed out of my mother’s eye. He’s never been one to stay put and has wanted to leave Ireland for a while now. Ma wanted me to watch over him, make sure he didn’t get into trouble and that.”

“Looks like all mothers are the same regardless of class,” Mulder says and Mrs Mulder smiles though it looks like it takes a lot of effort.

“How is Ireland given the, er…circumstances?” somebody asks.

Scully pauses. Her battle-worn country wasn’t doing so well lately.

“It could be better.” she says truthfully.

“They should leave Ireland alone,” Mulder says seriously. The table falls quiet minus some disgruntled grunts. “It’s obvious they don’t want to be under the union, just give up and leave it be.”

Scully sits back in her seat, enamoured with Mulder’s statement.

“Doesn’t work that way, son,” Mr Mulder says.

“Why not?” asks Mulder, sincerely.

Before Mr Mulder can answer, Phoebe cuts in.

“Do we have to talk politics tonight? It grows heavily tiresome.”

And just like that the conversation drifts to something else, something other than Scully or Ireland. Scully looks to Mulder, shrugs and mouths at least you tried.

Dinner moves on, course after course, full from her firsts Scully declines another and soon grows bored. Her mind wanders to downstairs, to the party that is no doubt commencing down there and how much she longs to be there with them not up here with sore ears from the piano music and her head hurting with trying to keep up with these people.

Mulder catches her attention with a tap against her foot as he mouths, You want to go?

Looking around, nobody paying attention to her, she nods.

“Father,” says Mulder. “I’m going to take Dana back to the gate.”

Mr Mulder looks towards Scully, “Have we tired you out already?”

Beginning to stand, Scully replies, “I’m afraid so.” She turns to Phoebe. “Thank you for the invite, Miss Green. I’ve enjoyed it.”

Phoebe smiles, an act for the people. “My pleasure, Miss Scully.” She turns to Mulder then, grabbing his arm. “You won’t be too long?” she asks.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

No with kiss goodbye or anything of the sort, Mulder leads Scully out of the dining room.

The cool air is welcoming, as is the freedom, too. She’d done well, Scully, even with the less-than-appealing questions. He was proud, though he had no right to be.

“So, how did I do?” she asks, as if reading his mind, a habit they had seemed to fall into.

“Wonderful,” he says. “Dress you up a bit and no one would have been none to wiser.”

She smiles bashfully at the decking. He likes it when she grows shy.

“Did you enjoy it?” Mulder asks. He knows what the answer will be but just out of curiosity really.

Her answer is as expected.

“Does anyone enjoy that?” She giggles to herself and it’s a sound Mulder finds himself wanting to hear again. “I think one night is good enough for me.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He thinks back to that dinner, to the one pressing matter he’s most anxious for her to hear.

“I meant what I said in there, about Ireland, it should be its own country.”

They stop just outside the third class gate. She looks up at him, searching, woefully. “I’m afraid you’re preaching to the choir.” She looks down then, to the stairs, to where the sounds of a party are escaping through the cracks in the door. It sounds appealing, fun, something Mulder has yet to experience of this ship, save from his meetings with Scully.

“Come down with me,” she says suddenly, her eyes big and asking.

Mulder begins to shake his head. “I- I can’t…” he begins, though he wants to protest. “I promised Phoebe…”

Scully sighs, big and heavy, exasperated. “And how many of those promises have you actually kept?” She sighs once more, calming herself down and shaking her head. “Whatever. You go back and have fun in there.” She spins, beginning to unlock the gate. Mulder stands there, watching, his heart heavy, his heart telling him to go down there and just have some bloody fun, it’s not going to hurt.

“Scully…” he says and she turns. “Will I be okay down there?”

“They’ll be too drunk to care.”

It’s loud and busy. A band composed of various instruments play in the corner, their music floating around the room, upbeat and celebratory. It’s a celebration of life down here, people dancing with whoever, others who drink, play poker, darts, laugh. It’s alive. There’s no need for talking, no need for language or verbal communication, they communicate through dance and laughs, everything is clear and there are no lies. They’re just people. Just people living.

He sits on a stool, a Guinness beside him and watches Scully dance in circles with a little boy who stared imploringly at her hair, not that Mulder can blame the boy, he too has often found himself captivated with it.

He likes it here, likes how he has this corner to himself and he can just appreciate everything- appreciate Scully more so- how much happier she looks down here. He can be a voyeur here, too. He can watch her without feeling like he’s intruding or looking at her like a creature of wonder. He never has but when it’s just them, and when she looks back at him, he feels like he is.

The boy yawns and the two stop what they’re doing. She wanders back over to Mulder once she’s sent the boy off, a full smile doing its own dance across her face.

“His name’s Willem,” she says as she picks up his drink and drinks from it. Mulder doesn’t protest, they can share everything if she wants.

“Come dance with me?” she shouts over the noise and Mulder had been distracted with the thought of her saliva on his glass that it had taken a moment for him to process her request.

This he protests.

“No…no…” he says, shaking his head.

Scully rolls her eyes, outstretching his hand. “Come on. I’m sure a rich fella like yourself learned how to dance.”

The truth is, his parents had tried to teach him, put both him and Sam in lessons when they were younger and while Sam had naturally excelled (even though she protested originally) he’d lumbered about like a giant (it got worse when he actually grew into a giant)

“And even if you cannae,” Scully continues. “Neither can anybody else here.”

Mulder thinks about that for a second, before looking around the room to see that the ‘dancing’ was really just jumping in time to the music. Somewhat less nervous, he takes her hand and pulls himself up.

His hand naturally gravitates to the dip of her waist, and only then does he become aware of how close they are. They bask in the moment of just being free to touch each other, away from all those who might say otherwise. They can do as they like down here and nobody upstairs would know any different.

The tension is broken when a smile breaks out across Scully’s face. “We’re essentially in a tavern, Mulder,” she tells him. “You don’t have to be so formal.”

Mulder doesn’t feel formal; his tie off, buttons undone, sleeves rolled up (he hadn’t missed Scully’s look when he’d done that) He takes his hand out of hers, missing the feeling of it, as it joins his other one at her waist.

There’s a break in the music and Mulder, nervous once more, leans down towards her.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Scully shrugs, “Just do what everything else does.”

And with that, there’s the change of music. Instantly he spins her and then begins jumping around the room, weaving their way in and out of people who are also doing the same thing. It’s fun, Mulder thinks, dancing is actually fun, he could spend the night doing this if he wanted to.

Time speeds up and he has no idea how long he’s been gone for. They know where he is and who he’s with and Mulder couldn’t care any less. He’s six beers in, ready to spend all of Daddy’s money in one night, and in the middle of an arm-wrestling match with someone he thinks is from Belgium.

He refuses to lose, that competitive school-boy coming out of him. His opponent seems to be the same. There’s no winnings at the end of this- no money or even a free drink. They play for the fun of it.

Mulder loses and he shakes Mr Belgium’s hand and moves on.

Later in the night, losing count of how many beers he’s drank but knowing he’s drank enough for the room to be a wee bit out of focus, he gets into a conversation with an American about baseball. Barely anybody in England really knew what he was talking about half the time.

He explains the rules to Scully with a promise that they will play as soon as the ship docks.

The party slowly comes to an end with people slowly drifting off to their rooms, the bar closing and the band packing away. Mulder sits back in the corner, slouched against the bench, head down, as the room spins around him.

“Think we need to get you to bed,” he hears Scully say.

Lifting up his head, his stomach lurching slightly, a heavy loopy grin crosses his face as he sees two Scullys in front of him.

“Only if I get to go in yours,” he answers back, too happy and drunk to care about the consequences.

He sees her bite her lip and it’s incredibly attractive.

“There are hits and there’s misses,” she reminds him, reaching for his arm and helping him up. “And then there are misses.”

Worth a try.

He tries his best to get himself up the stairs but all he wants to do is shut his eyes a sleep, the world spins and he doesn’t like it, the ship rocks back and forth making everything worse and he doesn’t like it. He just wants to curl up next to Scully, she’ll make it all go away.

They get up the stairs and he stumbles against the wall, needing a moment to just breathe in the salty air and hope he doesn’t throw up.

“Jesus Christ, how much have you had to drink?” Scully asks.

“A lot more than I usually do,” Mulder says, shutting his eyes against the spinning and the rocking and the overwhelming idea to just throw up.

He opens his eyes and she’s incredibly close to him, concern littered across her features. He focuses on Scully, wills himself to see just one, to use her as a way to calm his twisting stomach.

But something changes as the two Scullys become one Scully, his Scully and he’s had so much fun tonight then he can remember having, he wants this fun for the rest of his life.

He moves forward, ready to capture it, to take that fun and make it stay, make it never go away.

But her hand falls to his chest and all she needs to say is one name.

“Phoebe…”

It sobers him up. Or he sobers himself up. He nods slowly, bringing himself to full height. Phoebe, he thinks over and over again. Phoebe doesn’t deserve this.

Content that he now isn’t going to throw up, or pass out, or whatever Scully moves away from him, taking her hand off his chest and he immediately misses the contact.

Phoebe…Phoebe…Phoebe…

“Goodnight, Mr Mulder,” Scully says, she opens the gate, allowing him to leave.

And Mulder goes, against everything he goes, back to Phoebe, back to his life.

He makes sure to watch Scully go back down the stairs, however, until she disappears from sight.

Goodnight, Miss Scully, he thinks sadly.

With a sigh, and a hand rubbing his face, Mulder prepares to leave it all behind and savour the fun he’s had, the world Scully’s opened up to him. Just as he’s about to walk, a voice stops him.

“Had a fun night, Mulder?”

And Mulder’s blood turns cold.

#a jewel beneath the moonlight #chapter 4 #updated #i write

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cali-holland · 4 years

Text

Heartbreak Weather, Part Three- T.H.

Pairing: Tom Holland X Horan!Reader

Prompt: Tom’s in San Francisco and you’re home in London. One Instagram live and a few paparazzi photos bring in some stormy skies.

Word Count: 3500

Featured Songs (All by Niall Horan): San Francisco - Bend the Rules - Everywhere - New Angel

Previous Parts: Teaser One Two

Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

It had been two days, an entire two days since you had actually talked to Tom. Though in the grand aspect of things, two days really isn't that much time. But to you, it was a silent eternity. You had been together for over a year and you had never gone two days without speaking properly. Technically, you two had talked, but not really- not like a couple would. It was instead small texts of “sorry I missed your call” and the usual good morning/good night messages.

You normally wouldn’t be that stressed about it, knowing that you were busy with your new found career and Tom was busy doing a press tour in America and then he’d be off filming for a couple more months. You were stressed about it though because you had seen Tom do a livestream yesterday from San Francisco. Again, normally a livestream was nothing to worry over, but you overheard a distinct laugh in the background of the video.

You didn’t want to question why Tom would be hanging out with Ellie, in San Francisco of all places. You didn’t want to be the paranoid girlfriend who couldn’t trust that her boyfriend would be faithful to her while he was away.

And yet you were. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Tom, it was that you didn’t trust her. She had already stolen your ex boyfriend while he was in the same city as you; who was to stop her from attempting to steal your current boyfriend from you while he’s in a whole other country?

You let out a small sigh, deciding it was probably best if you called Tom, just for you to hear his voice at least.

Each time your phone rang, you felt disappointment beginning to creep into your thoughts. You were about to abandon all hope when Tom answered on the final ring.

“Hey, darling,” He said. At the sound of his grumbled voice, you realized you had woken him up. Checking your clock, it was four AM for him in California, and you immediately felt guilty.

“Did I wake you? I can call you back later.” You offered.

“No, no, it’s alright.” Tom replied, “How are you? I’m sorry I couldn’t call yesterday.”

“I could be better. I just miss you, that’s all.” You answered and he let out a small sigh.

“I miss you too. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“Three months is a long time.” You said, trying your hardest to keep it together.

“I know, but trust me, I wish I was home with you right now.”

“Well, I should go. Let you get back to sleep.” You said, thinking about the video from yesterday. You knew if you stayed on the call any longer, you’d ask about it.

“O-Okay. I love you,Y/N.” Tom said, disappointed by your words.

“Love you too.” You responded quickly before hanging up the call. You tossed your phone to the side and began to cry. You didn’t want to think that Ellie had probably been with Tom, but you couldn’t think of anything else.

For the next few hours, you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts of Tom. You reasoned that really you didn’t know if Ellie was in San Francisco with him. You could have heard some other girl have a similar laugh yesterday.

It wasn’t until you were going to bed later that night when you really started overthinking it all over again. You were pulled from your thoughts as Niall texted you.

At first, it was a cryptic text- ‘did you see the pictures?’. But then, the paparazzi photos came through of Tom out in San Francisco with Harry and the one person you didn’t want to think about anymore. It wasn’t like Tom was all over Ellie; they weren’t really even touching.

You were beside yourself with hurt as you immediately called up Tom. This time, he answered on the first ring.

“I know what you’re going to say-” Tom rushed out. You assumed he had seen the pictures too, judging by his reaction.

“What was I going to say then?” You asked, struggling to keep yourself together enough to be open with this conversation.

“Did you- did you see-” He sighed, trying to form the proper words, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? For not making time for the past few days? Or for spending that time with one of the two people in this world that I don’t trust at all? For not telling me that you were with Ellie yesterday and today?” You lost it. You wanted him to tell you everything was okay, you wanted him to take away your fears, but, as you waited for him to respond, you realized that sometimes you can’t always get what you want.

“For all of it.” He admitted, “Darling, what can I do to make this right? Please, Y/N.”

“I think we should break up.” Your voice shook as you said the finalizing words, tears running down your cheeks.

“Y/N, darling, I can explain. Just don’t-” Tom said. His own voice resembled yours, shaking with uncertainty. You knew he had to be crying on the other end of the call, which only made you cry harder.

“No, Tom. You know how much Eric hurt me with Ellie. I thought I could trust you, but I don’t know anymore.” You wiped at your cheeks as you continued to cry.

“You can trust me, please. I’m sorry.”

“Goodbye, Tom.” You hung up the phone as he tried to call out your name. You laid in your bed, letting your tears overcome you. Your phone began to ring again and you knew it was Tom, trying already to make amends. You switched your phone to silence, and called up Niall.

“Y/N, did you-” He asked as soon as he picked up the call.

“Yeah, I saw.” You sniffed, wiping away more tears. “We broke up.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Niall let out a small sigh. You could tell he didn’t know what to say. Here you were in the same situation a year later with the same girl as the other woman.

“I want to go home. I can’t stay here, not now.” You said.

“Okay, I’ll arrange your flight, alright? You just get some rest for now, and we can talk about this later.”

“Okay.” You mumbled and hung up the phone. You cried alone in your room, waiting for sleep to overcome you.

~~~

The next morning, you woke up to someone knocking on your front door. You groaned, slowly trudging your way out of bed and to the front door. You checked to see who it was first, not wanting to open up the door to Tom if he had suddenly decided to do a grand romantic gesture in an attempt to woo you over. Fortunately, it was just Niall.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, opening the door. Your brother gave you a soft smile, holding up a box of muffins.

“I told my manager I needed to be home for a bit, so I’m here to take you back to Mullingar. I figured you’d want some muffins, though. I know blueberry’s your favorite.” Niall said. He had barely gotten inside when you pulled him in for a tight hug.

“Thank you, Ni.” You cried into his chest. His free hand soothingly rubbed your back.

“It’s going to be okay.” Niall closed your door and led you over to your kitchen table. The two of you sat and ate your breakfast with a dull silence surrounding you. Niall waited in the living room as you packed a couple suitcases. You weren’t quite sure how long you’d be home in Ireland, but you wanted to have enough to get by for a couple of weeks.

It wasn’t until you and Niall were leaving your apartment complex that you really spoke, as you thanked him for everything. The two of you started to load his car when you saw a familiar black car pull up to the complex. Niall was alerted immediately by your sudden stiffness. You let out a breath of relief when it was just Harrison who emerged from the car, no Tom in sight.

“Y/N, where are you going?” Harrison asked, his eyes filled with sorrow.

“She’s going home.” Niall replied, coldly. You could tell Niall was in his protective brother mode by the way he clenched his fists by his side. He looked over at you, making sure you were comfortable with Harrison’s presence, and you gave him a small nod.

“Look, there’s nothing going on between Tom and Ellie.” Harrison stated. His blue eyes never left you.

“Harrison, just don’t.” You said, holding up a hand to stop him from continuing, “Please leave. If Tom really cared, he’d be here. And honestly, I don’t want to ever see him again.”

“Y/N,” He sighed and Niall stepped up.

“She asked you to leave.” You were surprised at the bitterness in Niall’s voice. Harrison gave you one last apologetic look before returning to his car and leaving without another word.

“Thank you, Ni.” You gave your brother a hug before the two of you got into his car.

“If Tom shows up in Mullingar, I’ll make him leave too. Don’t worry.” Niall said, driving off towards the airport.

~~~

“Alright, that is the last time I try to make a roast.” Tom sighed as the two of you looked at the sad, small roast before you. You giggled, hugging him from behind with your arms wrapping around his apron-wearing waist.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s still edible?” You asked, pressing a kiss to his neck. It was your first Christmas together and Tom wanted to make a romantic dinner for the two of you on the Sunday before the big day. He was so focused on making a perfect roast that he forgot about any side dishes, and now he had accidentally burned the roast.

“No, it’s dead.” He turned around to face you and smiled sheepishly.

“It is dead.” You nodded in agreement. “Want me to call for take out?”

“Yeah,” Tom said, defeated.

“It’s okay. I love that you tried.” You smiled, giving him a kiss.

“Next Christmas, I will make the perfect roast and there will be side dishes.” He stated as you moved away from him to order some dinner for the two of you. You blushed at the thought of already planning out your next Christmas together.

You woke up with a jolt. You blinked your eyes open to see Niall sitting across from you, laughing lightly.

“We just landed.” Niall said, “It looked like you needed some sleep.”

“Yeah, well, my dreams aren’t exactly ideal right now.” You admitted.

“Did you dream about him?” He asked.

“It was last Christmas, when he burned the roast and we ended up just eating Chinese food.” You let out a small laugh at the memory, “I guess I’m missing all the good times we had together.”

“Hey,” Niall spoke softly, placing a comforting hand on your knee, “It’s alright to miss those times. It’s alright to miss him. Just don’t let yourself get caught up in the memories when reality is out there.”

“I know.”

The rest of the trip to your parents’ house was relatively quiet. Ever since Niall became famous, your parents moved out to the countryside, searching for more peace than they found at your childhood home. Their new house was much quieter with much more space.

When you got home, your parents tried their best to act as if mostly everything was normal with you. It was a delicate situation, and it was treated as such. Besides, you hadn’t seen your parents in a few months, and Niall hadn’t seen them in person since Christmas. The reunion was better spent talking about life’s events.

For the next few days, you found yourself trying to heal your broken heart and clear your head. You spent most of your time out in the garden, reading books and playing guitar. It was your favorite spot on the property as it was the best place to listen to the birds singing their own songs. On the first day, you had told your parents and Niall about the events leading up to the break up, and it was rarely mentioned after that.

It was your fourth day home and you made your way out to the side garden with your guitar. The gray sky overhead told you a regular autumn storm was approaching, meaning you would probably be inside for the rest of the week. Laying down on the swing, you began to gently play your guitar. You got lost in the tranquil melody until you heard the garden gate open and close. You sat up to peer over at the gate, and you felt your heart drop as Tom stood across the garden from you, a solemn look on his face.

“I don’t want you here.” You said quickly getting up from the swing and making a beeline for the backdoor. Tom rushed to cut you off, effectively stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” Tom pleaded, “Please, listen to me.”

“Go find Ellie. I’m sure she’d love to listen to you.” You stated, not daring to look up at him.

“I don’t want Ellie, I only want you.” He begged, “Why won’t you look at me?” You shook your head, unwilling to respond out of fear that you would cave and take him back. You pushed past him and continued back to your back door. Tom called out after, “Y/N, I still love you. You’re the only one for me, there will never be another.”

“I suggest you leave before Niall comes out here.” You said, not looking back as you closed the door and hurried to your room. You watched from your window as the rain started to pour down on the country roads outside. You saw as Tom left the house with his head hung low, taking your heart with him.

Once Tom’s car was out of sight, you let out a heavy sigh and laid back onto your bed. You closed your eyes as you felt your mind begin to wander. You could perfectly envision Tom right there in the room beside you; he was everywhere for you.

“Tom, come on, we need to go!” You said, knocking on the door of your en suite bathroom.

“Give me a second, love!” He called back.

You had only brought Tom a few times out to Ireland to visit your parents, and this was one of those rare occasions. Of course, you had to be home in Ireland to celebrate Saint Patrick’s day, and this year Tom managed to come home with you. You had only been together for about nine months when the big day came around, and you were so excited to take him through the celebrations of it.

You let out an overdramatic huff as you sat down on the edge of your bed, waiting impatiently for him. You two had already had dinner with your family and seen the parade, but now it was time to go to the pub with your close friends from school.

“Alright, how do I look?” Tom asked, coming out of the bathroom in a casual green shirt and dark jeans with a black leather jacket.

“It took you that long to wear normal clothes?” You joked, standing up from your spot on the bed.

“Do you not like it?” He pouted.

“You look great. How do I look?” You asked. He eyed your own green get-up, which was much more of a night-out look than his outfit- not that you were complaining.

“Beautiful as always.” Tom said, pulling you in for a kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist as he deepened the kiss. His hands began to trail to the hem of your shirt, pushing the fabric up, you pulled away and he sighed, stopping his hands.

“My friends are waiting.” You stated, stepping out of his arms to grab your purse.

“I don’t even get a little-?” He asked.

“Put it this way. You might have to pinch me later.” You gave him another quick kiss before grabbing his hand and leading him outside.

“Such a tease.”

Another sigh left your lips as all you could think about was Tom. You began to look around your room, eyes wandering the cream colored walls. Your parents had tried to keep it basic, yet homey; after all, you didn’t live at home anymore, but they still wanted you to be able to call it yours. You had a few pictures on your dresser; three with Tom and one with your brothers.

The first photo was in black and white, sitting on the edge with a silver frame. It was a photo of you and Tom from almost months ago. You two had gone out for a picnic with Tom’s family, and of course you brought along your guitar. Tom was sitting, propped up against a tree, while you were sitting, leaning into his side. You had your guitar in your hands and you had been playing random songs all afternoon. Later that day, Tom approached you, asking if you could teach him guitar- you could picture the memory still.

“Paddy says he wants to learn guitar now.” Tom told you as the two of you stepped inside your apartment, which had basically become his home while he was in town. You swore half the time he forgot he had his own house.

“Oh, really?” You asked, smiling as you held onto your guitar case.

“Do you think you could teach me sometime?” Tom spoke up. He took one of your hands in his and squeezed it. You knew it was his way of politely saying ‘I want to learn right now’.

“Come on,” You laughed, pulling him into your living room. He sat on the couch and pulled you on top of him. You got your guitar out of its case and he wrapped his arms around you to place them on the guitar. He planted a kiss to your neck, making you let out a small giggle. “So, do you know anything about guitar?”

“I know some chords, but no songs.” Tom explained.

“What song do you want to learn first?”

“What song did you learn first?” He asked.

“‘Little Things’ actually. Niall taught me how to play.” You said, almost embarrassed to admit that your brother taught you how to play guitar with his own song.

“Then teach me ‘Little Things’.”

“Okay.” You began to show him the proper finger placement, walking him through the song.

As Tom grew dedicated to learning more songs on guitar, you kissed his sore fingertips each night. A few weeks after the picnic, Tom surprised you by playing ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis Presley. He told you, “I wanted to learn love songs for you because I love you”. That was the moment you knew he’d do anything for you and you’d do anything for him.

The second photograph was from Easter when you and Tom spent dinner with his family. They had a small swing in their backyard, and that’s where the two of you ended up after dinner. You laid in Tom’s arms, perfectly content in the beauty of springtime. Tessa had jumped up to greet the two of you on the swing, making you both laugh and adjust to make room for her in Tom’s lap. Harry had managed to take the perfect picture of the two of you reacting to Tessa’s jump.

The last picture was of you and Tom from his Far From Home premiere in London. Although you had been dating for a year at that point and the media was very aware of your relationship, you had never really been his date on the carpet. You still attended events with him, but you were camera shy about walking the carpet with him. This time, though, he literally got on one knee and begged you to walk with him, so how could you say no. “Darling, you’re making me fall in love with you all over again in that dress”, Tom said to you when he first saw you in your special dress. He couldn’t keep his hands off you all night, and he didn’t stray away from any opportunity to show you off during interviews.

You closed your eyes and began to overthink everything all over again. One question loomed over your mind: was breaking up with Tom the right thing to do?

~~~

Part Four

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland series #niall horan

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary -Chapter 24

Warnings: mentions of depression, death, grief, sad Tyler, a tad of smut

Tagging: @thunderintheshadows (although you read this already over on Ao3 lol), @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud

The meeting is scheduled for one pm. Held in one of the hotel's smaller conference rooms; Nik hosting from Colorado through a secure satellite feed arranged by the FBI. At Esme's insistence, she'd sought out Mark's help, who in turn, had agreed to lend his assistance as long as it was kept strictly 'off the books'. Neither Tyler or Yaz made aware; a need to know situation that Nik was certain they didn't need to know. Not at this particular time, anyway. She'd also managed to convince the hotel management that the team -she'd spun a story about them providing private security for some of Ireland's elite- needed a meeting room for 'strategic purposes', and a hefty money transfer had been sent to them to ensure both their cooperation and their silence.

Yaz arrives last; arms and hands loaded down with bags of food and drink for lunch, along with his laptop and iPad.

“You went back to that coffee shop, didn't you,” Tyler grins, recognizing the logo emblazoned on the front of one of the paper bags. “Was she there? Did you see her? Did you talk to her?”

Esme sits alongside of him, their thighs touching under the table. The need for closeness...both physically and emotional...is overwhelming. On both their parts. As if something or someone was just waiting in the shadows to snatch them away from one another. Bot are nervous. Anxious. All of the missing information, the complexities of the case, the uneasiness that comes with being in an unfamiliar place and not knowing exactly who your enemy is. All mixing together to create a brutal and punishing force. All jobs come with their share of danger. With the unexpected twists and turns that jumped out at you without a moments notice. Always having to think three steps ahead of you; always wanting to ahead of your foes so you could take them by surprised, not vice versa. But this was different. The trouble had started before they ever set foot on Ireland soil. Danger could be lurking around every corner; in every dark alleyway or doorway.

She is feeling it more than the others. It's been almost six years since she'd last been on a job. She had thought that that part of her life was behind her. More than content to give up the almost nomadic lifestyle in favour or a quieter existence. Quite enjoying the routine and the familiarity that comes with being a stay at home mother and a housewife. It sounds old fashioned; the solace found in taking care of a house, in cooking dinners and doing laundry and other various chores, in keeping a husband happy and satisfied, in spending time with her children and loving on them as much as humanely possible. But after years of never forming true bonds with anyone and never having a stable place to live while running from her demons, being a spouse and a parent turned out to be exactly what she'd needed. She'd needed normal. Or at least their version of normal.

At the mention of a girl, she glances away from her laptop, fingers hovering over the keys; in the midst of sending an instant message to Ovi. Both he and Chloe were in constant contact. Always letting her know what is going on at home. Whether it be sharing stories about what the kids were up to, asking questions about things like favourite foods and things that would provide comfort when the little ones were emotional over the realization that both their mom and dad are gone, letting her know that things felt safe and secure and there had been no suspicious activity or threats. At least not yet.

“She was,” the grin that spreads across Yaz' face is enormous as he arranges the food and beverages in the middle of the table, then busies himself with setting up the tech needed to hold the meeting. They're running on Nik time, and her time -in her eyes- is extremely valuable and she expects others to recognize and abide by it. “Her name is Anna,” he says. “Anna O'Brian.”

“Oh how adorably Irish,” Esme quips. “Is she legal? Did you ask to see her driver's licences this time?”

Tyler gives an amused smirk.

“You're getting just as bad as he is,” Yaz complains, nodding in the other man's direction. “He's rubbing of on you.”

“She likes when I rub one off on her,” Tyler says, and then winces when his wife grabs a hold of what little excess fat he has above his hip and pinches as hard as she can.

“What?” he asks innocently. And when she huffs in disgusts and turns her attention back to the laptop, he playfully nudges her in the ribs with his elbow.

“You're disgusting,” she replies. “I can't believe you even said that.”

Yet at the same time, she can recognize the remarkable transformation -one of many- that he's gone through over the past five and a half years. He's no longer on guard twenty four seven; he's able to relax and actually live in the moment. No longer constantly haunted by the horrible decisions of the past. Comfortable enough in his own skin...his new skin...to not only let others in, but to be like everyone else. Sarcastic, humorous, finally content in his own skin. Yet when it's time for the seriousness of a situation to kick in, he will be back to all business.

He'll be the old Tyler again. A transformation so quick and subtle that its as if the new one never even existed.

“I read it's supposed to be good for the skin,” he reasons. “It's probably why you look as young as you do. Like a natural moisturizer.”

“You've got serious issues,” she huffs, and then yelps when he grabs a hold of the back of her knee, squeezing lightly and the proceeding to tickle her mercilessly. “Stop it!” she orders in between the laughing and the hiccups that soon make an appearance. “What is wrong with you? Tyler! For fuck sakes! You're going to make me pee myself!”

“You too make me sick,” Yaz declares, when Tyler finally relents; smiling and winking at her, running a hand over her hair and then pressing a kiss to her temple. “It's gross. The way you two are. All happy and in love and shit. It's been almost six years. Shouldn't you hate each other by now? Isn't this when things go south and you just stay together for the kids?”

“Oh there's days,” Esme says. “Where he is walking a very thin line. Believe me. He's too scared of me to push things too far.”

Tyler nods in agreement. She holds all the power. It doesn't matter that he's a foot taller or ninety pounds heavier. He knows when to just shut up and tow the line. “Then she gets over it when I hate fuck her,” he grins. “She's relatively harmless after that.”

She sighs in exasperation. “So who's this girl, Yaz?” she asks, as she returns to composing her message to Ovi. “Waitress? Bartender? Stripper?”

“Speaking of strippers,” Yaz grins. “Tyler...remember that red head in Russia. The one that kept rubbing her massive...” he gestures to his own chest, mimicking breasts. “...in your face.”

“Oh my god I do not need to hear this!” Esme makes a dramatic gagging noise and places her hands over her ears. “I want to remain oblivious to what he was up to before I met him. Those days didn't exist! I want to pretend they never happened!”

“She had a massive girl boner for your man. She did these things for free. She probably would have given him money for letting her.”

“Yaz...” her eyes are narrow as she glares at him. “...I will punch you in the throat, I swear to God.”

“You remind me of her,” he continues. “With the new hair. Only your boobs are real.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyler frowns, and smacks the younger man upside the head as he gets up to grab food. “Don't talk about my wife's body like that. Don't cross that line, mate. Don't make things weird.”

“My knight in shining armour,” Esme grins.

“Slightly tarnished and dented armour,” Yaz suggests to her “You like that one? Give me that one. Are you impressed by me?”

“I'll both accept it and allow it,” she nods. “I'm going to write that one down so when I get down to writing my book entitled 'Shit Yaz Says', I can include it. So who is she? This girl? Don't leave me out of the loop.”

“A waitress. At a place we went to the other day. She gave me her phone number and I wanted to go in and apologize for not calling her yet. I even brought her flowers.”

“Nicely done,” Tyler nods his approval. “You've been taking notes.”

“We're going for drinks tonight,” Yaz excitedly bounces up and down on his heels, like a little kid that just found out the Tooth Fairy now gives out twenties for a molar.

“Drinks?” Esme arches an eyebrow. “So that's what kids call it these days. Just call it what Tyler does. Studying.”

“For the record, I did not start that shit,” he places two plates of food on the table and slides one towards her. It's weird in a way; how you get to know someone so well that you know exactly what they'll eat, and be appreciative of even the small gesture of getting it for them. “I did not call it studying. Ovi said he and Chloe were studying. I just took it from there.”

“Tyler is a huge fan of studying,” she continues, briefly pressing her shoulder into his when he sits down, giving him a smile of appreciation. “He likes to study alone.”

“That is not what I said. I said if I have to study alone, I will. Not that I enjoy it. Just that it needs to be done sometimes. What are you supposed to do when your study partner gets a lot of headaches or doesn't feel well?”

“Excuse you, but when was the last time you heard any of those excuses from me? Months. Declan was still a tiny little thing.”

“You two are both fucked,” Yaz declares, and then adjusts the blinds covering the window; so there isn't too much sun streaming into the room and preventing them from seeing the smart board that Nik will appear on. “T minus six minutes. You guys ready for this shit? It's going to get weird, isn't it. Even more weird than it already is.”

“I have been eating at the buffet of strange all day,” Esme declares, then fills him on everything that has taken place since she'd opened up her eyes first thing in the morning. The strangers outside the hotel room; the nervous shuffling of feet and harsh whispers. How'd she attempted to glimpse a glimpse of them but had been just a few seconds too late. About the housekeeper insisting that no one was staying in the room that Esme had seen...with her own two eyes...the couple emerge from.

“Hmmm...” Yaz says in response to that piece of information, then looks at Tyler from across the table. Pointed stares. Tyler's eyebrows shooting up. So much communicated between them without even needing to use words.

She launches into what she knows about the Buckman family; no hands on knowledge, but history with colleagues that had gone toe to toe with them and had somehow managed to survive.

“They're not a family you want to fuck with,” she says, as she sips from a bottle of water. “This is Amir Asif on steroids. I'm not even joking. If you thought Dhaka went to shit, this has the chance to be a hundred times worse. If this blows up in our faces, it's going to be damn near impossible to get those kids out. Not when it's just one person doing the heavy lifting.”

“You think we need more help?” Yaz asks, and when she shrugs, he addresses Tyler. “You think you need more help? You're the one actually going in. How are you feeling about the chances? Or being able to get both of them? Two kids plus yourself? Do you think you can get all three of you out?”

“I'm fine with it,” Tyler replies. “I'll be okay. I can handle it.”

“Realistically what's the chances?” Yaz inquires. “That you can successfully get two kids out at once and go up against anyone coming at you? It isn't going to be as easy as just walking in there and grabbing them and taking off. There's going to be resistance. Big time. You think you can handle two kids plus all the other shit being thrown at you?”

“I think you need to let me worry about all of that and let me do my job. How many extractions have I done? Tons. Yet you think I'm some kind of rookie just walking in there blind? I know what I'm doing. I can handle getting two kids out.”

“And yourself?” Esme speaks up, not looking away from her laptop.

“We're not talking about that right now. This is about the kids.”

“Your life is just as important,” she gently argues. “Whether you think it is or not.”

“The job is a success if the kids get out,” he counters. “It doesn't matter if I do or not.”

“It matters to me. And to your kids.”

“Maybe we need an extra set of hands,” Yaz suggests. “Someone watching your back.”

“I don't need someone going in with me. What I need is people leaving me alone to do my job. I work better alone. I'll get the kids out. No matter what it takes. That's all that matters. Getting to them and getting the fuck out of there. I've done this before, remember? Have either of you gone in and done the bloody stuff?”

“That's not the point,” Esme says. “How many extractions have you done where you've had two people to get out?”

“None,” he admits.

“Exactly,” she huffs. “What harm does having back up do?”

“It's messy enough with just one person. I don't need someone all up in my ass questioning everything I do. I work alone. I've always worked alone. So just let me go in and do what I have to do. I'll have it under control. You need to trust me.”

“Two kids, two people,” Yaz reasons. “Would make it a hell of a lot easier.”

“Neither of you are listening to what I'm saying. I run this part of things. I call the shots. Not you. And not you,” he gives Esme's thigh a squeeze under the table. “You have to just back off and let me do what I do. You want things to run smooth? Or as smooth as they can? Then keep other people out of the way. That's all I ask. Please...” he presses a kiss to her temple. “...trust me. Just trust me.”

“Fine,” she relents. “But I don't like this. I don't like any of this. Two kids plus yourself? While trying to out run and out gun whoever is going to try and stop you? There's no Saju busting his ass to clear a path. There's no Nik and the team providing tactical support. There's no G to act as a sniper like he did in Dhaka.”

“You were a sniper,” Yaz points out. “In the corps.”

“I was not a sniper. I merely acted as one from time to time.”

“But you still did it,” Tyler says. “When you had to.”

“Oh hell no. You two are not putting this on me. I came here to help with intel. That's it. That is as far as I'm going. You two are not dragging me down into some fucked up rabbit hole because one of you is too stubborn to ask for outside help and the other just puts his tail between his legs and agrees to whatever the first one says. No. I'm not doing this. I won't do it.”

“You've got the experience,” Yaz continues. “And I trust you. Tyler trusts you. You can handle it. And we don't have to drag more people into this. Your intel stuff will be down by then, right? So why not stick around and help out? Better than bringing in outsiders, don't you think?”

“And you agree with this?” Esme address her husband. “You think this is a good idea? Getting me even more involved in this than I already am?”

“I trust you,” he says. “If there's anyone I want having my back...”

“This is fucked!” she cries. “You're both insane. What in the actual hell is wrong with the two of you? Where did all the common sense go? Both of you used to have tons of it and now it's just gone. It's disappeared. How does any of this make sense? How do I go from being the intel person to suddenly being tactical back up? Explain to me where this all went wrong.”

“You don't have to actually go in,” Tyler explains. “Just be there. Like G was in Dhaka when I went to see Ovi's captors.”

“Just be there in case you're needed,” Yaz adds. “You know this is going to go to shit. They're going to have a lot of fire power. And Tyler can't get those two kids and himself out of there and be one hundred percent effective when engaging. It's impossible. Not with two little kids tagging along. Just hang out. Find a nice high perch somewhere. Wait and see if you're needed.”

“This is crazy,” she runs her hands over her face. “This is just all so crazy. What are the chances of any of us actually surviving this?”

“Did you make it out of Dhaka?” Tyler inquires. “Did I not find a way to keep you alive? To get you across the bridge?”

“That's not the same thing and you know it.”

“I'll get you out of this too, ” he says. “I promise.”

****

“Talk to me,” Nik says in trademark fashion. “Who has information?”

“Esme knows the Buckmans. ” Yaz speaks up, and his sister arches a quizzical -yet extremely interested- eyebrow.

“I don't know them. I know of them. There's a huge difference.”

“What do you know?” Nik asks.

“I only what I've heard through the grapevine. In the circles that I travelled in. Word gets around. Especially about families like that. The old man was killed ten years ago. Everyone suspected it was a hit, but no one every really knew for sure. It was all hearsay. Water cooler chatter. And I saw his file. His rap sheet was enormous. There were charges on there that should have had him rotting away in jail. Yet he always found a way out of and around things.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“They were back then. When the old guy was running things. I've been out of this for five years, Nik. I'm not exactly up on all the gossip. They were powerful. Probably the most powerful crime family out there. But they were quiet about it. Always flying under the radar. But people knew about them and people feared them and that was enough. They had access to all kinds of shit. Money can buy you a lot of toys. Extremely dangerous and scary ones. So if the daughter really is running the show...”

“She has the same kind of resources and money available to her,” Nik concludes.

“And the pictures,” Esme taps her fingernails on one hand against the tabletop as she speaks, using the other hand to bring up the photos of Heather Buckman on the laptop. “The ones someone gave to Tyler. The ones with the kids are very real. There's no doubt about that. You can't fake that kind of terror in someone's eyes. Especially kids. But the wife? Those are not real, Nik. It gets more and more obvious every time I look at them. First of all, it makes no sense to keep mother and kids in two different spots. That's two separate places you have to constantly man and monitor. Second, she's only been given a minor working over. Nothing like the kids. The hair was a nice touch, but it was too much. Too much effort into trying to make something look real.”

“Any way of figuring out where she or the kids are being held?”

“Based just on those pictures? No. There's thousands of places that could look just what it's in the photos. Without actually narrowing down locations, it's impossible. What's the chances of going into McMann's house?”

“I can get you into anywhere you feel the need to be,” Nik confidently declares. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm not even sure to be honest. But maybe there's something there that can give us some sort of clue. It's a long shot. But...”

“I'll arrange it and contact you. In the meantime, I have a couple places for you to check out. I want you go in and ask some questions. Tell them that you're a journalist from over the pond that received an anonymous tip that there's trouble brewing between the IRA and a New Zealand crime family. That should be enough to loosen some lips. Charm them. Get them to warm up to you. Flirt with them if you have to. Pull out all the stops. I don't care how far you have to go to get information. Just get it. I'm sending the address to your SAT. It's a bar in downtown Belfast. Owned by an active IRA member.”

“She's not going alone.” Tyler speaks up. “No way. Not into something like that.”

“You tag along but you stay outside,” Nik says. “I don't want you in there. They'll recognize you when they see you and we can't have the two of you being connected in any way. Stay across the street. Or somewhere they won't spot you. But no more than a hundred yards away. Make sure you're armed. Just in case.”

“She should be armed too,” he suggests.

“They'll make her for sure. We can't take that chance. She goes in alone and does what she needs to do. You stay outside and keep an eye on things. You only go in if things go to shit and you have no other choice. Understand me?”

He nods.

“I have someone coming to meet you. He'll be there between six and nine pm, you're time. He's from Dublin. He's reliable. He's bringing you some more ammo and some weapons. He's on the up and up. You can trust him. Have you talked to McMann? Does he know that you're onto him?”

“I'm meeting with him tomorrow morning,” Tyler says. “He wants to talk. See where we are at with things. To be honest, I want to fucking strangle him.”

“Well try not to. I know you're pissed. And I understand it. But you should let him know. That you know everything he told you about his New Zealand extraction was a lie. Maybe if you lose it on him it will get him to talk. He knows more than he's letting on. Maybe seeing you pissed will scare some sense into him. Tell him everything. About the pictures. About the threats against your family. Lean on him and lean on him hard. As hard you can without physically hurting him.”

“I vote that Tyler at least gets to throw one punch,” Yaz pipes up. “To the throat. Nice and hard.”

Esme nods in agreement.

“Yaz,” his sister address him now. “I've got someone meeting up with you with some new technology. High tech. Ways that we can all communicate without it being noticeable. Ear wigs, bugs, things like that. Inconspicuous. The old radios won't cut it. Too noticeable. I'm sending you his information and you can reach out to him and arrange something.”

“Where are we at on this Erin girl?” Tyler inquires. “The one that showed up at my room.”

“I've done all the digging I can do,” Nik replies. “There is no Erin Ferguson in Belfast that matches her description. I don't know if Esme would have more luck.”

“I can try,” she offers. “But there's only so much I can do. Without facial recognition software and other high tech shit like that, my hands are pretty well tied. I can see if there's any security footage of her entering or leaving the hotel and maybe I'll get lucky with image search on google. But that's a big 'if', Nik.”

“See what you can do. I'm not expecting miracles.”

“How's things there?” Tyler asks.

“There's been no sign of anything even remotely suspicious. No threats. Nothing. But I'm going to stay here and keep the detail I have. Ovi and Chloe are handling things. The kids are happy. Calm. Well, as calm as they can be. You know what you're kids are like. Calm doesn't exactly describe them well. But they're fine. They miss you guys. I didn't realize how much they look and act just like you, Tyler. It's kind of unnerving. Scary even. You have some seriously strong genes.”

Esme nods in agreement, and he gives her a wink and a smile and takes her hand under the table.

“We've come up with a plan,” Yaz informs his sister. “When it comes to tactical support. For when it comes time for Tyler to get the kids out. It's going to be hard. Juggling two kids and fighting back. Because you just know the shit is going to hit the fan and they're going to come at him and they're going to come at him hard. With everything they've got.”

“What kind of plan?” Nik asks.

“Esme can do it. She has the experience. She can just find a place to watch and wait from. If things don't go wrong, then that's all she'll have to do. Watch. If things do blow up...”

“And they will,” Esme speaks up. “Because if Dhaka as bad as it did, this is going to go a hundred times worse. And that's being fatalistic. That's being realistic. These people? They're capable of bad shit. Horribly bad shit. They make Amir Asif seem tame in comparison. Dhaka was a shit show. This is going be Dhaka on a massive dose of steroids.”

“But will you do it?” Nik asks. “Can you do it? Because I think we all understand if you can't.”

Esme sighs, pushes her hair behind her ears. “I can do it,” she confidently. “I don't want to do it. But I will. Only because it's Tyler.”

****

They make love. The drapes drawn across the window; rays of sunlight poking through the small gaps in the fabric. His hands on her hips as she straddles him; guiding every slow, deliberate movement. Sex has always been what they do. A coping mechanism. The most pure yet raw way of experiencing the deepest and most primal form of intimacy. Driven out of need and desperation; fuelled by worry and stress and the fear that each time may be the last. So many unknowns lying ahead of them. The future suddenly terrifying unstable.

When she comes undone -nails scrapping painfully down his chest, his name exploding from her lips- he gives her little time to recuperate. One strong arm wrapping around her waist and throwing her down onto her stomach, legs flat against the bed, a knee pushing her tights apart before settling himself between them. Pausing long enough to run the tip of his tongue all the way down the length of her spine; eliciting a whimper from her, her entire body trembling from both the new sensation and the aftermath of her powerful orgasm. His hands running over her shoulders, fingertips grazing over her ribs and down to her hips, once more gripping them tightly as he pushes into her. The friction intense; the press of her body against the bed, the tightness of those barely spread legs, his hips sinking as far into her as they possibly can. A low, feral growl erupting from within his chest as he bottoms out inside of her. Dropping his head, longer strands of hair brushing against her bare skin as his teeth nip at her shoulders and the back of her neck. Holding back as he revels in the sensation of being so deep inside of her, until her hand is lifting up and blindly grabbing at his hair; a clear indication for him to continue. And he captures her hand in hers, holding her arm above her head, pinned to the mattress as he pulls out entirely and then slides back in with such force that it pushes her body up the body and causes her to cry out into the pillow underneath her.

His control is non existent. He'd felt it slipping away inside that conference room. Everything was going to shit and he knew it. The disaster was inevitable; looming on the horizon like some dark, threatening cloud that you can't possibly outrun. Things have already gone so wrong. The worry and the fear are already overwhelming. The stress all consuming. And he is physically channels those emotions; using her body as a way to relieve some of the burden. Bruising, painful thrusts that have her whimpering and crying out, his name repeatedly tumbling from her parched lips. Her nails digging into his fingers with enough force to break the top layer of skin, her other hand grasping at the sheets below. And he kneels above her, free hand sliding between her and the mattress, fingers pushing past her sopping lips to find her clit. Slowly rubbing at it until the second orgasm hits; tears streaming down her face, his name being screamed loud enough for anyone in the hallway or adjacent rooms to here. Continuing his ministrations until she's coming a third time; her eyes wide, delirious sounds escaping her. Fucking her until she can't quite possibly can't handle any more; both hands biting into her hips as he pushes his pelvis against her ass and empties himself inside of her. Sweat dripping from his brow, the droplets glistening on her bare skin.

Afterwards they rest. Letting their bodies settle. Their minds absorb -and fixate- on all of the information they'd be given early. He lays on back, a forearm over his eyes, a hand on Esme's hip as she naps on her side, ass tucked against his hip. He hears her stir; the long, soft sigh that she releases, followed by her quiet, sleepy voice.

“Tyler?”

He switches positions, rolling over onto his side; front pressed tightly against her back. The hand that was on her hip now coming to rest on her shoulder; palm gliding all the way down her arm, fingertips passing over her wrist and down onto the top of her hand, then retreating and sliding back up again, until his hand settles on her ribs.

“Yeah?” he asks, and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Are you okay? You seem...I don't know...different. Distant. Ever since the meeting with Nik.”

“I'm fine,” he assures her. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

“Lots of things. About us. About you.”

“Bad things or...?”

“I'm just worried,” he admits.

“About?”

“You.”

She brings her arm across her body and places her hand over his, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t want you going there,” he says. “To that bar. Alone.”

“You’ll be outside. A hundred feet away.”

“Outside,” he stresses the word. “You’ll be inside. Alone.”

“I’m only going in there to ask some questions,” she reasons. “See if I can’t lure them in. Get them to talk. Or send me in the direction of people who will. What do you think is going to happen?”

“They’re IRA,” he reminds her. “They’ll be armed. What if they make you?”

“They won’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

She sighs, slipping her hand out of his and then rolling over to face him. Their heads sharing the same pillow, the ends of their noses practically touching.

His hand moves to her thigh now, stroking it softly.

“Remember in the elevator?” she asks. “When that kid was armed and I was freaking out? And you said you weren’t some rookie?”

He nods.

“Well neither am I. This isn’t the first time I’ll be doing this. I spent years going into worse places. Mingling. Being accepted. Getting people to open up to me. I’ve deal with some pretty scary, hard core people and not once did I ever get made. You need to trust me, Tyler.”

“I do trust you. You’re my wife. I trust you with my kids, don’t I?”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it. I’m not talking about the trust that comes with sharing a life together. Sharing a bed. Sharing children. I’m talking about the trust that comes with the job.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not in the job. You never have been. And I don’t want you to be.”

“Then why am I here?” she challenges.

“Because I need your help.”

“Which means I’m in this. Whether you like it or not. You brought me into this, Tyler. I was more than happy to stay home and take care of a house and give you babies and raise those babies. That is what you wanted. You made that clear as soon as we got married. You wanted a housewife. You wanted someone to give you kids. You wanted a family. You wanted everything your mother was and then some. And I went with it. Because I knew it was what you needed. I knew you needed that normalcy. That if you were going to successfully balance the job and a regular life, that you needed things a certain way at home. And I’ve given you that. Or I’ve tried to, at least.”

“You have. You know you have. And you know how much I love you. How much I love my kids. How much I love our life. And you’re right. I did need all of that. I still do.”

“But I had a life before you. I had a life before all of this. Before marriage and kids.”

“I know.”

“And it bothers you to even think about. You hate thinking about what I was like before you. But this was my life, Tyler. Before you ever existed in it. I lied to people. I conned them. I made them trust me. Then I let other people…people like you…destroy them. And I was good at it. Damn good. Other mercenaries trusted me. So why don’t you?”

He regards her intently, drawing in a long, shaky breath, teeth grazing against his bottom lip. “Because it’s different.”

“How? And I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m genuinely curious. How is it different?”

“Because you weren’t married to any of them. I’m your husband. The father of your kids. They didn’t have any ties to you. I do. I love you. And I don’t want anything happening to you.”

“You trusted me in Dhaka,” she points out.

“Dhaka was different.”

“How so?”

“Because it fucking was,” his last shred of patience finally snaps, and he hates himself for it. How he doesn’t have a logical and sound explanation for why he feels the way he does. “Things were different then,” he attempts, and rolls over onto his back, running his hands over his face before sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “We were different then.”

“We were just fucking then, you mean. Back then, I meant nothing to you. I was just some desperate and lonely girl. A warm body for you to occupy yourself with. It was easier for you that way. To just let me do what I needed to do because I meant absolutely nothing to you. It wouldn’t have mattered back then if something happened to me.”

He gives a derisive snort and shakes his head, then reaches for a bottle of water on the nightstand. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You meant something. Even then. I don’t know what it was. I can’t explain what I felt. I just know I felt it. I just know you meant something. Stop tying to fucking psychoanalyze me all the time. I know what I felt. About you. About what was happening. I shouldn’t have to explain it.”

“It was sex, Tyler. There’s nothing wrong with admitting it. That that’s all it was.”

“That’s not all it was. Maybe it started out that way. Maybe that’s all I wanted at first. But it changed, okay? Some time in those five days. I don’t know when or how. Just that it did. I knew I wanted more from you. That we could have something fucking amazing if we actually tried. If we trusted one another enough to try. And we were so close. So fucking close. To getting that. To getting to that boat and never looking back and just seeing where things took us.”

“Do you regret the path we had to take to get to where we are now?”

“I don’t regret anything. Do I sometimes wish things were different? That things didn’t go so wrong in Dhaka? I wish that all the time. That we just got across the bridge and got the fuck out of there. But we didn’t. Things happened the way they did. We can’t go back and change that. Do I wish we could have had more time to get to know each other? Before we found out we were having a baby and decided to get married? Yeah. Sometimes I do wish that. Only because I think it would have been better for you.”

“Tyler, I have you. I have our kids. How much better do you think I need things to be?”

“I don’t mean better in that way. I mean…I don’t know…easier…” he swallows half the bottle of water, and she plucks it from his hand and finishes it before pushing herself up onto her knees and shuffling towards him. “…don’t make me talk about these things. Please. Just don’t.”

“You’re doing fine,” she assures him, as she straddles his lap, a gentle smile on her lips as she pushes her fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp before resting clasping her hands together at the nape of his neck. “What are you so scared of?”

“Nothing. I’m not scared of anything. I just don’t want to talk about shit like this. This isn’t me. You know that.”

“I think it is. Deep down. I think you need to talk about these things or you wouldn’t bring them up in the first place. Talk to me…” she pecks his lips, then rests her forehead against. “It’s okay…you can do this…you can be this way with me…you know that…”

He sighs, eyes closing as his palms run along her thighs, over her hips and up her back. Stopping briefly at her shoulders; fingers pressing into the flesh before his hands slide back down again, coming to rest of her sides.

“It’s okay…” she repeats. “Tyler…look at me…”

He opens his eyes. Brilliant blue locked on chocolate brown. And in that moment, Esme realizes that in almost six years, she’s never seen him like this. Not even when he was in the hospital fighting to not only heal, but to regain some sense of control over his life. Looking so confused and lost. Worried.

Vulnerable.

This big, strong and seemingly man for once wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Tyler…you can say it. Whatever you need to say. You don’t have to do this. Keep things from me. Please. Just tell me. Talk to me.”

“Sometimes I think you hate me. For making things so hard on you.”

She blinks. “What?”

“For having to make the decisions you did. For having to give up your life. The job. Everything changed when we met. Everything changed once things went to shit on that bridge. I changed. So did you. And you could have just walked away afterwards. But you didn’t.”

“Because I didn’t want to. Because I wanted to be with you. You didn’t force me to stay. I stayed willingly.”

“But things were hard. They sucked. Huge. You shouldn’t have had to see the things you did. Hear the things you did. You should have just left. When I was in the hospital. You should have just walked away. And sometimes I wonder if you wish you did.”

“Not once have I ever wished that. Not once have I ever hated you. I don’t regret giving up my life for you. Did it suck sometimes? Did I hate seeing you like that? Did I feel like shit because I couldn’t help you more than I already was? Did I hate seeing you in pain and suffering? Of course I did. I hated the circumstances. Not you.”

He nods slowly, eyes never leaving hers, searching for even the smallest hint of regret.

“Do I sometimes wish none of that ever happened? That things never went wrong in Dhaka? Of course I do. I wish every day that you didn’t have to go through what you did. That you didn’t have to suffer like you did. All those months of rehab and all the pain. I would take those away in a heartbeat and you know I would. But everything else? Finding out we were having a baby? Deciding to get married? I don’t regret any of that. I mean, you’re a pain in my ass…”

He gives a small chuckle.

“…but I don’t regret marrying you. Or having your children. And I’ve never hated you. Not even during our worst fights. When you’ve said some brutal and hurtful shit. Not even then. I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I meant what I said. That there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. But you need to trust me, Tyler. You wanted my help. You brought me into this. And now you have to trust me to do what I need to do. I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t lose you,” his voice is barely above a whisper, those eyes still locked on hers. “I just can’t. You always talk about how scared you are to lose me. But I’m just as scared as you are. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t do this by myself. Take care of four kids. I just can’t.”

“Yes. You can. You would do it because you wouldn’t have any other choice.”

He shakes his head, finally turning his face away from her when the emotion becomes too much to handle. The rawness of the situation. The blatant, heart breaking honesty.

“You’re stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for,” she says, and presses a kiss to his temple. “You’d be okay. And so would the kids.”

“I don’t…” the tears are hot and bitter as they trickle down his face. “….can we not talk about this….please…I don’t want to talk about this…”

Placing a soft, tender kiss on his cheek, she lays on hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to rest it upon her shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he whispers, and then clings to her, arms wrapped tightly around her slender body. “Please…” he begs, barely able to get the words out. “…don’t make me talk about this…”

She tightens her hold on him, one arm wrapped around his neck, the fingers of her other hand pressing into his scalp. “It’s okay,” she assures him. “It’s okay, Tyler. I’ve got you.”

Those words hit with tremendous power. And he surrenders. Finally giving in to all the fear and the worry.

His entire body shaking with the ferocity of his sobs.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #chris hemsworth character #extraction #extraction fan fic #sanctuary

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner Ch8: Old Friends, Not So New Tricks

Summary: When a familiar face turns up asking for Katie’s expertise she finds herself confronted by another familiar face, this one being one she would rather forget...

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Bit of bad language in this one, nothing mega. Bit of blood… and the return of an old favourite.

Flashbacks depicted in italics. Oh and MAJOR SPOILER ALERT IF YOU AINT SEEN AGENTS OF SHIELD!!

Note- I read a fic on here not long ago that used Trapt-Only One in Color as a song. It happens to be my fave and was also my wedding song, so I’ve used it here too.

November 2013

There’s a fine line between success and failure. And that last mission had well and truly teetered its way along the edge. The team had been split up after a catastrophic coms failure leaving Katie and Evans badly compromised. They had just about got the situation under control after some quick thinking from Katie and very sharp shooting from Evans, when Steve had broken every protocol in place and had basically run head first into a gun fire to get them out, putting himself in danger and Katie was livid at him.

“We had it under control!” she said, her voice raised as she stormed through the corridor away from the hangar, people turning to look. They’d been arguing about it all the way home.

“Yeah, it didn’t look like it from where I was standing…”

“Damned it Steve…” she spun to face him, “You weren’t standing anywhere, you were running, head first into the crossfire without even thinking about what was going on…”

“The last thing I heard was that you were surrounded…”

“This is EXACTLY what I don’t want you to do!” she said, groaning as she ran her hands over her face “Run in there without a second thought for your own damned safety or anyone else’s…”

“What do you mean anyone else?” his nostrils flared.

“You left Rumlow and Rollins completely uncovered!” she shook her head “To come and save me…I’m not a fucking princess that needs rescuing Steve…”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” his voice was loud now.

“I’ll talk to you how I want!” she snapped “You know everyone gossips enough about us as it is and we’re almost 7 months down the fucking line…”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“And yet you STILL give them fuel!” she threw her hands out to the side, bringing them back down to her combat outfit clad sides with a slap “Oh look at Nova, needs her Super Soldier Boyfriend to bail her out…”

“For the last time…” he began but she completely ignored him.

“If you can’t remain objective when we work together then maybe we shouldn’t be on the same team.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t if that’s how you feel!” He practically snarled, as he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders back as his hands dropped to his belt buckle, eyes blazing.

“Glad we understand one another” Katie spat back, before turning on her heel and heading towards the armoury to change, ignoring his shouts.

****

After debrief, for the first time in ages Steve left work alone. He was in a foul mood, and practically wrenched his apartment door off its hinges. In part his bad mood was down to Katie’s attitude, but in others it was at himself because deep down he knew she was right. He’d lost it when he’d heard she was in trouble and hadn’t been able to do anything else but rush in there to make sure she was ok. It was ridiculous, she was a trained agent with a shot on her like you wouldn’t believe, and the amount of times they’d been in bad situations before…but something today, something about the way she’d sounded on the radio had gotten to him and he’d abandoned all thoughts of professionalism and gone after his girl.

Sighing he threw his keys down on the kitchen side and grabbed a beer from the fridge before making his way into the living room, kicking off his shoes. He dropped onto the sofa and let out a loud moan of frustration, his head lolling back against the cushions. He hated that they’d rowed, this was the first big one they’d actually had. Sure they quibbled about small things, the fact he made her sleep on the right hand side of the bed at his because it was furthest away from the door (just in case anyone got in) the way he was a bit of a neat freak and when she did stay for more than a night his apartment looked like a whirlwind had been through it (Ok, he didn’t actually mind that so much in truth) the way she tried on every fucking outfit she owned before they went out (maybe not every outfit, but close enough…) the way he often went for a run first thing in the morning and she’d get pissed he wasn’t there when she woke up because…well, because….but all that was stuff he adored. The normal part of being with someone you were comfortable sharing your life with.

As he took a pull from his bottle his eyes rolled to the right and fell on the large photo frame on his wall. It was one she had made him for his birthday.

“Open the big one first…” she instructed, nodding to the gifts that were piled on his sofa.

He did as he was told without saying a word, picking it up and resting it on his lap. It felt like a large photo frame. As he peeled back the wrapping paper he realised that’s exactly what it was. It was large, glossy pine edges to match the furniture in his apartment, filled with photos of him all from his life before the ice and his eyes grew large as he took in the faces that looked back up at him. There was a photo of him and Bucky as kids, another as teenagers, then one of them in the army- the one of them laughing that Katie had said she loved. His eyes began to mist over as he saw a few shots of his parents, at their wedding in Ireland, on the steps of their flat at Brooklyn, one of him and his mom when he was a small boy, then he spotted one of him and Howard along with various shots of him with the Howling Commandos and finally one of him, Colonel Chester Phillips and Peggy. And at the bottom of the frame, on a silver plaque was engraved a quote from the Wizard of Oz- ”A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”

“I thought it was a shame to just keep them in a box…” Katie said gently as she sat next to him “I wanted you to see them every day and remember you meant as much to them as they did or do to you…”

“I picked what I thought were the nicest ones…” she continued and he was aware her tone was growing nervous. “But we can swap them if…”

“Katie…” his voice was croaky as he cut her off and looked up at her. He was right, she was biting her lip, worried that she had upset him but nothing could be further from the truth. He moved to take her face in his hands and he kissed her, hard. He pulled away and looked at her speaking with utter honesty and sincerity “This is amazing…thank you.”

His eyes dropped from the wall to a smaller frame on the sideboard, this one contained a photo of him and Katie a ‘selfie’ of the two of them at the Top of the Rock, taken when they had gone back to New York to visit Tony one weekend in October. He loved it, the pair of them grinning like idiots, Katie wearing a baby blue sparkly beany and matching scarf, her smile genuine and him looking like a loves-struck idiot, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he glanced at the camera. She had the same photo in her living room too.

No, he couldn’t go to bed without sorting this out. Abandoning his half-drunk bottle of Sam Adams, he shoved his shoes back on, grabbed his keys and headed out.

****

Katie didn’t even stay for debrief, more to piss Steve off than anything. It was petty, yes but she was absolutely raging at him. Their relationship had been the talk of the Triskellion for months, and for that reason, they had behaved nothing but professionally on missions, wanting to prove to not only everyone they worked with, but to themselves that they could remain objective in their work and that them being together wouldn’t compromise the way they behaved in the field.

And now he had fucked that.

She ignored his call which came just as she got home and throwing her phone onto the sofa she grabbed a glass of wine and ran herself a bath, turning her music up loud. She lay back under the bubbles, gently humming along to the music. Music was her thing to calm down to. She’d always played piano, right from the age of 4 when her mom had taught her, and she loved to sing when she got the change to that was.

The mellow sounds of John Legend’s Ordinary People faded into the opening notes of Only One In Color by Trapt, and Katie paused, smiling. This song took her years back, to nights in London with colleagues in bars, and then a concert in Orlando in 2009…and Steve, it took her back to Steve and one rainy afternoon in August.

I’ve been searching all my life I used to be so color blind You opened up my eyes Do you wanna share your dreams See a different side of me You’re everything I need

Katie danced around, folding laundry and dropping it into the basket as she sang, loudly. It had been ages since she’d done this, just danced around her apartment like an idiot. She turned round to grab the final load out of the machine and screamed as Steve was stood in the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame, that annoyingly cute smirk on his face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Jesus, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough” he grinned, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her. He nuzzled into her neck and the two of them stood there, still, listening to the song that was playing.

“What is it?” he asked her.

“Its by a band called Trapt. It’s called Only One In Color” she replied, turning her head to look at him. “it kinda reminds me of you actually.”

Steve smiled as they listened for another second before he moved back, spun her round and pulled him to her.

“Dance with me.”

“What, here? In my apartment?”

“Our own private ballroom.” he shrugged.

“You’ve never danced before.” Katie said, looking at him “You told me.”

“I know, Peggy was right…” he took a deep breath and looked at me “I was waiting for the right partner. So, what do you say? Teach me?”

“You know I don’t really know a lot of steps…” she felt a smile spread across her face as she stepped forward to take the hand that he had offered. Steve placed his free hand on the curve of her waist and Katie began to lead them around on the spot, her right hand held in his left, her left curling up and over his right shoulder. She watched Steve, who was concentrating so hard that his brows pinched together slightly, a look that was incredibly endearing.

“Stop over thinking it…” she said gently, looking up at him. “Listen to the music and just let go.”

You turned an old world upside down A wave of calm when I was so tightly wound And so full of doubt I’ll never tell you that two’s a crowd I know I can’t get through without Ever needing you around

A short while later a smile began to pull on his lips as he found a rhythm and he raised his head and Katie grinned and squeezed the hand that she held.

“It’s not that hard is it?” she giggled. Steve returned the grin and shook his head.

“Surprisingly not,” he admitted. They continued to revolve around the space of her large living room to the song, and Katie lay her head on his chest, his face turned down slightly so his cheek was resting against her hair. After a minute or so she felt him move and instinctively she looked up and could do nothing but smile as they stopped dancing and their mouths drifted closer together. Her hand slipped up, fingers stretching themselves into the short hair at the nape of his neck as his lips met hers, his hand creeping across her back, his palm pressed firmly against her spine.

They never made it to the bedroom, they made it as far as the couch before they were both naked and going at it like a couple of horny fucking teenagers. And since then it had been ‘their’ song.

Katie sighed and drained her wine glass before she set about washing her hair and climbed out of the bath. She dressed in a pair of shorts and a hoodie before pulling her damp hair back into a French braid. She had just settled on the sofa to watch TV when the buzzer to her apartment went. Picking up her phone to look at the security camera she took a deep breath and realised it was Steve.

“Sweetheart let me in. My key card is at home.”

No response.

“I’m not going till you do, you know I could do this all day. Or all night.”

No response.

“I mean it’s a pretty interesting buzzer.”

He grinned as he heard a click and the door opened to the lobby. He selected the floor to the elevator and the button turned green signalling she’d answered that call too. He walked into the apartment and found her on the sofa, what looked like Brooklyn Nine-Nine paused on the TV.

“You were gonna watch this without me?” he said gently, dropping down next to her.

“Yes.” she said simply, her arms folded.

He fought the smile spreading across his face at her childishness. He knew if she was mad the worst thing he could do was laugh at her and make her think he wasn’t taking her seriously. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned so he was facing her on the couch, arm resting along the back.”

“I know you’re pissed at me.” he said, “But come on Doll, I hate fighting with you.”

“Then stop being a dick” she snarked back. Steve took a deep breath and looked at her as she continued “You know what it’s like at work, everyone has constantly analysed everything I do because, hello, Howard Stark’s daughter, and today…”

She trailed off and Steve looked down at his hands. “I know. I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t handle yourself.”

They fell into silence and Katie sighed, deciding to meet him half way. She knew he hadn’t meant to make her feel like he had. There was also a part of her that had been scared. Not just for her and Evans, but seeing Steve rush in, headfirst with no regard for his own safety just to get to her.

“You need to trust me when I’m out there.” she said, her voice was softer, devoid of her earlier anger.

“I do trust you, you know that.” He said, looking up at you. “But I’m not gonna apologize for looking out for you, sweetheart. It’s my job. Both as your Captain and your man.”

"I get that, I do…” Katie sighed, “But you put yourself in danger today, running straight into the middle of a fire fight…can you imagine what I’d have done if you’d have been…”

She trailed off, swallowing and took a deep breath before she continued and her words hit Steve. He hadn’t considered she had felt as worried about him as he had her. “We have to remain objective, and if that means you can’t just abandon the team for me.”

“I know, you’re right, I’m sorry.” he said finally.

She looked at him and took a deep breath, the anger dissipating at his apology and moved to give him a hug, her arms round his shoulders as he wrapped his around her back and pulled him to her.

“I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.” she sighed as she lay her cheek on his chest.

“Forgiven?” he asked and she looked up at him, he was giving her his puppy dog eyes. She rolled her own, she couldn’t stay mad at him, especially when there was a small part of her that couldn’t help but adore the fact he cared so deeply for her that he’d rush in, head first with no regard for anything else.

Grinning she picked up the remote and pressed play on the episode that was waiting on the TV.

“Guess so.” he chuckled, settling himself down on the couch before she crawled over and lay down along the cushions, her head in his lap.

*****

Katie hadn’t been in the office for 5 minutes the next morning when she got a message to say Fury wanted to see her. In the years she had known the director, she still found it hard to get a read on him and this time was no exception. She stepped into his office and he nodded to her, and without a word got straight to business, leading her over to the screen on the wall by the sofas.

“These look like the markings on Thor’s hammer.”

“Funny you should say that.” Fury said, “because the Spectrographic signatures match the readings from Thor’s hammer too.”

“So whatever was in that tree was Asgardian?” Katie asked

Fury nodded.

“That’s a trunk from a Norwegian spruce in Trillmarka National Park, Norway.”

“Figures” she said.

“How do you mean?” Fury looked at her.

“The legends of Thor, they all have origins in Norway. When I asked him about it, Thor explained that Asgardians visited Earth thousands of years ago.” she said, looking at the director. “They roamed Norway, mingling with the old Norse people, but back then, because they couldn’t understand the concept of people from another planet, they were revered as Gods.”

Fury gave a noise of understanding.

“So who took it?” she looked at Fury “Has Thor been back since Greenwich or…”

She was still slightly pissed he had been back and not in contact with her.

“I wish he had.” Fury sighed “ But no. This thing has gone awol. According to my team on the ground, it was taken by a woman and a man, very much of Earth”

“Great” Katie rolled her eyes “I can’t think of a single time when anything alien in human hands ended well.”

“Understatement of the century…” Fury said, pressing a button on the remote on the TV and she turned her attention to it. It was screening a news broadcast, footage of a riot. The runner on the bottom of the screen identified the location as Oslo.

“The rioting has left 20 injured, 3 in critical condition. Reports indicate that the group of about a dozen was led by this man and woman.”

A picture of a man and a woman flashed up. He was dark haired, dark eyed and had a short beard. The woman, in contrast was slight, blonde and with icy blue eyes.

“And although their motive was unclear, the message was spelled out on the streets of Oslo, for all to see”

“So what do you need me to do?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“I’m gonna need you to work with a Field Team.” Fury continued, looking at her “Help them track these guys down. You have a decent knowledge on Asgardian and Mythological history and the team could do with someone with a little background on the subject.”

“Hang on, if these people are as powerful as this report is saying, shouldn’t we consider at least trying to contact Thor, possibly the rest of the Avengers…” Katie frowned.

“No.” Fury said “I don’t want the Avengers involving. It would attract too much attention…”

“More attention than setting a street on fire?” she frowned.

Fury looked at her, an expression on his face that Katie knew extremely well having seen it several times before. The expression he wore when he was about to drop a bombshell on you.

“Oh, what are you hiding Nick?” she frowned.

“I want you to understand that you’ve been kept in the dark about this so far for a reason. And I know you’re going to get emotional, but if you could refrain from throwing that coffee you’re holding Agent Stark I’d appreciate it”

“Dark about what?” she pressed.

Agent Fury pressed a button on his phone on his desk “Alright, you’re up…”

The TV snapped onto a different chanel and she turned to as a familiar man sat in a chair on the screen. Katie didn’t throw the coffee, instead it slipped from her hands as her mouth dropped open and the entire room swam in front of her eyes.

“Sorry, boss. The God rabbited”

“Just stay awake. EYES ON ME!”

“No. I’m clocked out here.”

“Not an option!”

The room came back into focus again and she looked from the screen to Fury, then back again “This…this is impossible” she stammered her words.

“I’d have said the same thing myself not long ago” Agent Coulson said, smiling “Now, I think anything is possible”

Katie found herself floundering for words before the anger at the lies and deceit bubbled up.

“So this whole thing, you dying, was it a set up?”

“No, it’s not like that.” Coulson spoke, shaking his head on the TV screen “I did die, several times on the table.”

“Excellent medics.” Fury concluded.

“They took you away, in a body bag!” Katie yelled as she ran her hands over her face, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d cried, mourned the loss of one of her friends, a man who had once been her Senior Officer until she had transferred under Hawkeye. She looked at Coulson on the screen, and then away again, her eyes misting up slightly.

“No one knew I’d pulled through until after New York… “ Coulson said softly “I spent months recovering in Tahiti. It’s a magical place…”

“I can’t risk the Avengers falling apart.” Fury said “I debated long and hard about pulling you into this but we need you. But I want your word that you will not reveal Agent Coulson is alive to anyone.”

Katie eyed the director, chin jutting upwards as she glared at him “Don’t you ever get tired of the lies?”

“I have no option.” Fury said, his face stern.

“Well I’m not lying for you.” She said, shaking her head “No way.”

Fury looked at me for a moment, before he sighed “If you tell anyone I’ll have no alternative but to remove you from service.”

Katie snorted “So now you’re blackmailing me?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“You are unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Fuck you. Fuck this.”

She turned to walk out of the door before Coulson’s voice rang across the room.

“Nova, please, we wouldn’t be asking this of you if it wasn’t urgent, but we really do need your help

She took a deep breath and turned back to look at Fury and the screen.

“Why should I?” she shot back

“Because…” Coulson continued “You’re the only one I trust enough with this.”

“Fine, but that does not mean that I’m happy about this. Any of it.”

“You’ll rendezvous with the Bus in Oslow.” Fury instructed. “There’s a Jet being prepped to take the new shift of mobile STRIKE team members out as we speak. You can go with them.”

“Sir.” she nodded, reverting to absolute professional mode, at least that way she could try and push down what she was feeling. As she went to leave the room he called her back.

“Agent Stark.”

She turned to Fury

“I’m sorry.” He said “But I had to do it.”

She swallowed, before she turned and left, not trusting herself to respond.

*****

“Sweetheart?” he asked tentatively as she looked up at him. His frown deepened when he saw her face. She was upset. “Honey, what is it?”

One look in his eyes, she knew she couldn’t lie to him, she didn’t want to lie to him. Fuck Fury, fuck all of this. If he sacked her then so be it.

“Coulson…he…” she stammered, looking up at Steve, her eyes wet

“What about him?” Steve frowned.

She took a deep breath, tears now rolling down her face. “He’s alive, Steve, he’s fucking alive.”

And then dam broke and she began to sob. Steve instantly went into autopilot, pulling out a spare chair and moving it close to her so he could wrap his arms around her as she cried into his tevlar clad chest, his own mind whirling at the news.

Eventually she calmed down to tell him everything. And he listened, not saying a word, simply holding her hand, his thumb skating over her knuckles as she spoke. He did, however, make an angry noise that was half way between a snort and a growl when she told him Fury had threatened to sack her if she told anyone.

“I honestly thought I’d seen it all, that nothing life threw up would ever surprise me again.” she sighed looking at Steve as she finished explaining.

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong…” he smirked at her

She spluttered a watery laugh through her tears, remembering what she’d said to him in that gym last year.

“That’s better” he said, reaching over to gently brush her cheek with his hand “I like it better when you smile.”

“Sorry, but I’m so angry” she sighed, “Fury is lying, again! Has he learnt nothing from everything that’s happened over the past few years?”

Steve didn’t say anything, merely studied her face for a moment and then both of them turned their attention to the door when one of the Junior Agents appeared.

“Agent Stark, Director Fury asked me to tell you we’re wheels up in an hour.”

“Thanks.” she said, sniffing before she looked at Steve “I don’t even have time to pack.”

“You got some stuff in your locker, right?” Steve asked.

She nodded. She always had a few day’s worth of clothes in her locker and toiletries to hand, just in case. She ran her hands over her face and stood up. “You know, I don’t even know who I’m meeting!” she shook her head “Other than Fitz and Simmons, I’ve no idea who Coulson has on there.”

“Whoever it is I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Steve said gently “And I know it’s shitty but they asked for you for a reason.”

“Hmmm” she said, “Suppose I best make the most of it. Seeing as it will be my last mission, you know, on account of me telling you…”

“It won’t come to that.” Steve shook his head “I’m not gonna tell anyone I know.”

“Fury always finds out.” Katie said, sighing “Tony is right about him. His spies have spies.”

30 minutes later she was walking to the hangar, suited in her SHIELD cat suit, Steve carrying her holdall for her as they walked. Steve didn’t like this, he hated that she was effectively being manipulated and he would have loved nothing more than to give Fury a piece of his mind but he couldn’t, because he wasn’t supposed to know. They reached the bottom of the jet and Katie turned to him as he handed her bag to one of the agents who nodded to Katie.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” she said, as Steve looked down at her and nodded

“Make sure you do.” he raised an eyebrow “not sure how I’m gonna cope without my best girl.”

“I don’t intend on being gone for that long” she said, grinning as he dropped a soft kiss to her lips.

“Just do what you gotta do.” he said shaking his head “I’ll be here when you get back.”

He kissed her again, this time a little longer, although both still still aware that they were in the middle of work. Sighing she pulled back and allowed herself to melt into his arms for a quick hug before she stepped back.

“I love you” she said gently.

“You too. Be careful.” he looked at her, his features verging on stern with his warning.

“I’m always careful” she grinned, walking backwards up the ramp, wanting to look at him for as long as possible.

“Well that’s just an out and out lie.” he raised an eyebrow, hands dropping to the buckle of his belt.

She grinned, blew him a kiss and then disappeared into the main part of the jet. Steve watched for a second as the ramp shut before he turned and left the hangar.

*****

The flight over to Oslow wasn’t too long. Katie used the time to do as much reading up on the item they were tracking as possible, going through all the files that Coulson had sent her. Eventually they docked with The Bus, her and the other agents made their way to the Air Lock. The doors were shut, the capsule took them down a level and the glass doors opened. There stood in front of her, was Phil Coulson. The other agents pushed past, clearly fine at the sight of a dead-not-dead man in front of them. There was a moment’s hesitation, where Coulson and Katie simply looked at each other, and then Katie’s anger boiled over and she slapped him, hard across the face. The agents who were milling around all paused as Coulson’s head snapped to the side.

“Guess I deserved that…” he said, turning his head back to look at her.

As she stared at her old mentor, her anger melted away and she rushed to give him a hug. She squeezed him hard before standing back and then looking at him, scanning him for anything, anything at all that wasn’t right.

“I’m all here!” he smiled, knowing what she was doing. “Come on, the rest of the team are waiting in the lab.” He said, leading her down the hall. He stopped at the end of a corridor, near a door to a room that she could see had a glass wall. Coulson turned to face her and she looked at him

“Now, before you go in, there’s something else you should know…”

She groaned “What now?”

“Fury didn’t want me to tell you as he didn’t think you would come…it wasn’t my decision to keep it from you.”

“Keep what from me?” her temper was flaring again now “I swear to God AC I am this close…”she held her fingers an inch apart “to losing my shit…”

Coulson hesitated for a moment and then opened the door to the lab. As they walked in 6 people all looked up from what they’d been watching and turned to face us. One of them was a dark haired girl she didn’t know. Next to her were Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz who she knew from the labs when they had worked with Lawson, then she spotted Melinda May an agent only rivalled in fighting skills by Natasha. And then a familiar face smiled at her, from where he had been bent over a tablet.

“Oh for fucks sake…” Katie muttered and she turned to Coulson who shrugged apologetically.

“Good to see you too.” Ward said. Katie folded her arms and glared at him.

“And this is Skye…” Coulson said, breaking up the tension, introducing the new girl. “She’s…a…”

“hacker.” May said, at the same time Skye replied “consultant”

Skye glared at May, who was simply wearing a smug expression on her face.

Katie was struggling to keep her temper under control. First Coulson, now this. Fury was going to get it when she got back.

“So, shall we get down to business?” Coulson asked, spotting the look on Katie’s face and realising she needed to focus on something else. “What have you got?”

“We’ve managed to identify our thieves…” May spoke as Sky pressed something on the tablet she was holding. A close up of the woman’s face appeared on the holo-projector in the middle of the room. “Her name is Petra Larson”

“And this is Jakob Nystrom, her boyfriend. Both 30 Leaders of a Norse Paganist hate group”

“And their numbers are growing thanks to what happened in London and the internet” Sky said “Yay internet,”

“Norse Paganist?” Simmons questioned

“Obsessed with anything derived from Norse mythology, stories of Asgard, yada yada…” Skye explained.

“And now a weapon.” Ward said, gesturing at a long object on the table.

“Is that a 3-d print?” Katie asked, instantly captivated by the item, looking at Fitz. He nodded. “May I?” she asked

“Of course…” he said. Katie picked it up and turned it over in her hands, the detailing was exquisite.

“The scan accounted for only one side.” Fitz said, “Too much damage to the tree for a complete reproduction”.

“But, see here, it’s clearly broken on both ends.” Katie said, holding it up. “So there are more pieces…”

“Yeah, two at least” Fitz responded, nodding.

“Which means Sid and Nancy may be looking for a complete set.” Ward said.

“The markings.” Coulson turned to Katie “Just as you said on the call they’re Asgardian symbolism.”

She looked at it again “Similar to Thor’s hammer”

“Yeah, hard to translate with our limited knowledge.” Couslon said

“You should give your buddy the God of Thunder a shout.” Sky spoke “ He gets his powers from his hammer, right? What if this is his nail to the hammer?”

“He’s off the grid.” Coulson said, looking at her “And if he has a cell-phone, we don’t have the number.

“I told to get him a pager…” Katie muttered as she peered at the rod and then something stirred in her mind, and she began racking her brains. There was something similar about this, something that she’d seen or read before, if she could only remember what.

“So…” May looked at Katie, “ SHIELD’s investigations are on the trail of Nystrom and his followers.”

“We’re charged with identifying the object and finding any other pieces before they do.” Coulson spoke

Katie nodded, still thinking “If this acts in the same way as Thor’s hammer then that’s a sensible task…”

And then she trailed off as it hit her.

“No...” she muttered. “It’s...no, it can’t be...”

Coulson looked at her questioningly

“I mean, I could be wrong but this…this could be a piece of the Beserker Staff.” she continued

“The what?” Ward looked at her.

“It’s from an old legend… that a great warrior, from another world came to Earth. He had in his possession a magical staff but he loved Earth so much he never left, and he broke his staff into pieces and hid them…”

“Any idea on where?” Coulson asked. Katie shook her head.

“Well our Pagan friends certainly seem to have some advantage on that front” Ward said “They found this thing in 150 square kilometers of Norwegian forest.”

“Guys, what if it called to them with magic?” Sky asked, her eyes going large and excited.

“Called to them?” May said, shooting her a ‘be real’ look in response.

“We know it’s Asgardian, so the rules are a little bendy here.” Skye pressed.

“Just because we don’t understand something yet doesn’t mean we should regress back to the dark ages, talking of magic and fairy tales” Simmons said, Fitz scoffed his agreement.

“Actually, that’s exactly what we need to do.” Katie said, looking round.

“Excuse me?” Simmons asked.

I turned to Agent Coulson “AC, remember when we first found the hammer in New Mexico, as I told Fury to consult with an expert on Norse Mythlogy to fill the gaps.”

“Elliot Randolph,” Phil nodded.

”He’s a professor at a University in Seville” Katie said, looking round “We should speak to him, he’ll probably be able to help.”

“Alright.” Coulson said, looking at May “Set the course, lets pay him a visit.”

“Shouldn’t take us too long.” May said “But it is getting kinda late. By the time we get there it will be past 8pm local time. Can I suggest we head out first thing tomorrow morning?”

Coulson nodded “Alright. Sounds like a plan”

He turned to Katie, gesturing with his head for her to follow him out of the room “The Accommodation is probably a bit smaller than you’re used to, but…”

“If it’s that bad imma find a hotel.” she said as she followed Coulson down the corridor.

“What and miss all the fun?” he looked over his shoulder “I’ve had the gin bar stocked specially.”

“Yeah, for the record that isn’t going to take away from the fact that I’m utterly and utterly pissed at you and Fury you know.” she shot back.

“I know you well enough Nova to not even hope that would be the case” Coulson said as they turned right. Eventually they reached the living area and Coulson led her to one of the spare rooms. It wasn’t as bad as Coulson made it out to be, a bed that was slightly bigger than a single but not a full double, a small wardrobe and a small sink area.

“This isn’t so bad.” she turned to Phil who was watching her.

“Glad it meets your approval.” he said, leaning in the door way. “look, I really am sorry about all of this…”

“Its fine.” Katie said, “Let’s just find that thing and then I can go home.”

“That’s the plan.” Coulson nodded. “I’ll be in the bar in an hour or so, got a few things to sort out…be nice if we could catch up”

Katie nodded, and then watched him leave.

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

So, we’re crossing over into Agents of SHIELD territory now for a little while before we get a very, merry STARK Christmas.