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holy-honeybees · 3 years

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Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

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Chapter One

Chapter Eight

Arthur struggled through the ever-deepening snowdrifts, hunched over as he braced himself against the wind. The fingers on his right hand were already frozen and stiff, and the metal of his prosthetic was so cold it burned where it met the remaining flesh of his arm. He cursed his stupidity for having gone outside in a blizzard with no coat or hoodie. Even with his vest zipped up and his hands tucked under his armpits, he shivered so hard the mechanic felt he might shake apart at any moment. Arthur wondered just what had prompted him to leave the safety of the van without proper protection from the cold. He’d like to think he had some self-preservation skills, though his recent actions had done little to support that claim, and he was sure Vivi at the very least would outright challenge the statement.

I have to find Mystery, he reminded himself. He couldn’t remember why it was so urgent that he find the kitsune though, only that it was. He’d long ago lost sight of the white shape in front of him, and Arthur had to wonder if he was even going in the right direction anymore. Still, he pushed onwards, compelled to keep moving forwards even if he didn’t understand why.

I have to find Mystery. The phrase had become a mantra he repeated with every step, a reminder of his single-minded purpose. Between the wind shrieking in his ears and the constant chattering of his teeth, he could hardly put together a cohesive thought outside of trying to locate his friend. He knew he should try harder to figure out what was happening and why he was out here, but he was so tired, and the cold was mind-numbing.

I have to find Mystery. Something nagged at the back of his mind that besides being hopelessly lost and half-frozen, something else wasn’t right. Some unnamed threat which loomed in the darkness. He just couldn’t recognize what it was. The temperature outside plummeted even further, and a particularly icy blast of air seemed to freeze him to the very core. Arthur shivered, not just due to the bitter cold, but from memories he’d buried long ago as they began to resurface.

---

It had been a long drive to reach Uncle Lance’s home in Tempo, and the hours spent under the summer sun had caused the temperature inside the car to climb to an almost unbearable degree. His dad had told him that rolling down the windows was just as good as running the air conditioning, but Arthur was unconvinced. He was beginning to suspect that Uncle Lance didn’t call the old station wagon his father drove “lemon” just because of its bright yellow paint. For the first half of their trip, Arthur had done his best to distract himself from the heat by playing with his Game Boy Color, and after its batteries had died, he’d resorted to trying to keep cool by letting the wind blow through his hair, his arm dangling out the open window. At least, up until his father had laughed and said that was a good way to lose a limb. Arthur had promptly yanked his arm back inside the car and, despite the sweltering Texas heat and his dad assuring him he’d only been joking, rolled up the window for good measure. By the end of the journey, they were both covered in sweat and even his dad’s sunny disposition had begun to waver.

As the door to his uncle’s home swung inward, the blast of cool air that washed over him made Arthur shiver in relief. Lance usually accepted his brother’s unannounced visits with practiced ease, welcoming them in with a rough “get in here before you let the cool air out” and strong-armed, back-slapping hugs. They would come by when his dad was between gigs as a roadie sometimes or when the car needed repairs. This particular visit felt different though. There were no bone-breaking, lift-you-off-the-ground hugs between the two brothers, no boisterous laughter as they greeted each other. Instead, Lance had merely met them both with a dark, raised eyebrow, the stout man nearly eyelevel with his scrawny, preteen nephew. Maybe it was because it was so hot out and they were both sweaty, or maybe they’d come at a bad time. Either way, the tense situation made Arthur shift uncomfortably, the added weight of his heavy backpack threatening to throw him off balance. They must be staying for a while this time. Arthur had almost everything he owned crammed into the old bag he lugged around, the zippers threatening to burst under the strain. As usual, his dad hadn’t done any packing of his own, and would probably end up heading out to the car half a dozen times throughout the night to grab various items, Uncle Lance grumbling good-naturedly the whole time.

“Hey, buddy,” his dad said, ruffling his hair, “Me and your uncle are going to go check out the car, take a look under the hood. Why don’t you go get settled in? We can order some pizza for dinner later.” Arthur meekly nodded his head and shuffled past his uncle in the doorway, eager to escape the tense atmosphere that no one was acknowledging. The old mechanic twitched his lips up into a brief smile as Arthur passed, which the young boy nervously returned. His uncle’s serious, gruff nature was intimidating at times. When Arthur had first met the taciturn man, he worried that Uncle Lance didn’t like him. His dad had laughed off his concerns though and told him that’s just how Lance was, and without kids of his own, his uncle would simply need some time to get used to him.

Arthur passed through the familiar hallways of his uncle’s home until he reached the spare room he and his dad usually stayed in. Normally, it served as a kind of office or storage space for Uncle Lance’s business, with instruction manuals, receipts, and spare parts scattered amongst a few personal items. There was an old wrestling belt and a framed picture of Arthur and his father on the wall above the sleeper sofa they used. The bed was already folded out and made up with clean sheets and pillows, and Arthur wondered if their spontaneous visit had truly been unexpected. His dad had announced their trip a couple of days ago, and they’d been on the road driving to their destination ever since. Arthur had gone out to get some ice for their motel room and come back to see his father deep in conversation on the old telephone the room came with. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever seen his dad so serious. His father had cutoff midsentence once he’d spotted Arthur, looking inexplicably guilty before saying a hurried goodbye to whoever was on the other line. The young boy could only make out the speaker’s agitated tone of voice, distorted by the crummy receiver, before his dad hung up the phone. With his father’s usual smile plastered back on his face, everything seemed to have returned to normal, and Arthur was told to pack his things because they would be leaving first thing in the morning to visit his uncle.

Now that they had arrived, Arthur couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong, like he was missing something. Some vital clue he should have picked up on that would have helped him to make sense of what was going on around him. He shouldered his backpack off onto the bed, intent on starting to unpack his things. Instead, he only worried at the zippers, his thoughts too troubled to focus on the task at hand. He felt as if there was an answer right in front of him that he just couldn’t see. After several fruitless minutes, Arthur gave up on unpacking his bag and left to find his father and uncle. He wandered through his uncle’s home, searching for the two adults, before being drawn to the garage door by the sounds of an argument. Despite being nervous about being caught eavesdropping, Arthur pressed his ear to the door to listen.

“Just think about what yer doin’ for once, Percy,” Uncle Lance said in a low, dangerous voice.

“It’s just going to be for a little while,” Arthur’s father replied, his usual cheerful tone sounding strained.

“You an’ I both know that’s not true!”

“This latest gig will last a month or two, tops,” his dad said, and then, after the slightest of pauses, so small Arthur could almost convince himself he’d imagined it, “Then I’ll be back.”

“No,” Lance insisted stubbornly, “I know that look in yer eye, I seen it before. Saw it when my baby brother up an’ dropped out of high school, hit the road, an’ didn’t drop his family a line for a full year to even let us know he was alright!” Arthur’s dad sighed heavily.

“Look, Arthur’s starting to grow up, you know? The whole ‘on-the-road’ lifestyle isn’t really doin’ him any favors. He’s smart, but there’s only so much I can teach him. Kid doesn’t really have any friends, either. He could really benefit from going to school, meeting kids his age and getting a real education.”

“If this is really about his best interests, why don’t you stay here with him?” Lance pressed, “Settle down finally. Get a steady job in town. Hell, I’ll hire you.” The only response was silence.

“Yer not leaving Arthur here so he can ‘grow up’,” Lance growled, “Yer stickin’ me with yer kid so you don’t have to!”

“I don’t know what I’m doing! I didn’t plan on becoming a parent!” His father shouted angrily.

“You are one though, an’ yer not gonna figure this one out by runnin’ away from it!”

“I’m trying, okay? If it was just about keeping him fed or entertained or whatever, it’d be fine, but…he’s different. I thought he’d outgrow it, but that last show I worked, you know, with that rock band? He had one of his…fits halfway through the set. He kicked up such a fuss they had to stop the show and everything. The guys on stage were cool about it, but, well… Would do him some good to have someone like you help toughen him up.”

“Percy, I know you’ve got yerself convinced yer doing what’s best for him, but that’s not what it looks like from my perspective, and that certainly ain’t what it’s gonna look like from his. Of all the selfish, irresponsible—”

“I love my son!”

“I’m not the one yer gonna have to try an’ convince if you go through with this.”

The rest of the argument was lost to the ringing in his ears as Arthur quickly backed away from the garage. So there was something wrong. What was worse, it seemed like it had something to do with him. He retraced his steps to the spare room, his breath coming in progressively shorter gasps. He’d had episodes like this before. “Fits”, his dad called them. It happened from time to time at the concerts his father worked, like when the music was too loud or there were too many strangers crowded around him, though those hadn’t been the only incidents. One time had left him feeling so dizzy and lightheaded afterwards, his dad had taken him to an emergency room. The doctor who had given him a checkup had called it a “panic attack”, suggesting they reach out to a specialist to talk. He never got the chance though, their transient lifestyle requiring them to leave town the very next day. His dad tried his best to help, telling him to relax and dismissing his fears as silly, but Arthur just couldn’t do the same.

With his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest, Arthur closed the door to the spare room behind him and promptly dumped out the contents of his backpack onto the bed, frantically searching for anything that might help calm him down. His eyes settled on his Game Boy and he snatched it off the bed before sitting down on the floor. With its batteries run down, he wouldn’t be able to distract himself by playing a game, but there was something comforting and familiar about holding the small dandelion-colored console nonetheless. He ran his thumb over the control pad—up, right, down, left—again and again. Gradually his breathing slowed, and the fuzzy edges receded from his vision. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and Uncle Lance entered the room, frowning as he did so.

“You alright, kid?” his uncle asked, “Yer lookin’ kinda pale.”

“Y-Yeah, just cool-cool-cool—” Arthur shook his head, trying to dislodge the word he’d gotten stuck on.

“Cooling off,” he finished lamely.

“…Alright. Well, pizza’s on its way. Should be here in about thirty minutes. Yer dad ordered the usual,” Lance said gruffly. Arthur gulped and nodded his head. His stomach felt as if it was twisted up in knots, and the thought of eating anything made him feel vaguely queasy. His uncle paused for a moment, as if to say something else, before giving up with a sigh and walking away.

The pizzas arrived right on time, and long before Arthur was ready. He, his dad, and his uncle all sat around the small kitchen table Lance owned, paper plates loaded up with hot, greasy pizza slices. His dad joked and laughed, smiling the whole time, as if nothing were wrong. Uncle Lance barely said a word, only letting out the occasional grunt, while Arthur nibbled half-heartedly at the pizza in front of him. They’d ordered the Meatzilla and Atomic Aloha, with extra pineapple and jalapeño peppers, Uncle Lance and his father’s favorite pizzas respectively. Normally, Arthur was happy to share with his Uncle Lance, the Atomic Aloha being too spicy for him to enjoy, but now the pizza he did force down sat heavily in his guts. When they’d all finished eating and Lance cleaned the paper plates and used napkins off the table, his dad had asked him to stay behind. His father told him that he had a new gig, but this time, Arthur was going to stay behind with Uncle Lance, just for a couple of months while he was gone. Arthur wanted to tell him not to go, but he simply nodded along, his thoughts muddled and his stomach churning unhappily.

His father left within the hour, assuring him that he would be back soon and that he loved him very much. He ruffled Arthur’s hair as walked out the door, leaving the young boy behind to sit on the couch with his uncle in the living room. Uncle Lance opened his mouth as if to speak several times, but always closed it with an uncertain look in his eye, the silence instead filled by reruns of old wrestling matches playing on the TV quietly. Eventually, Arthur excused himself, saying he was turning in for the night. He entered the spare room and flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to clear away the contents of his backpack he’d haphazardly dumped on top of the sheets. He curled up and cried, tossing and turning miserably as the pizza he’d eaten failed to settle in his stomach. The harder he cried, the worse he felt, and the sick feeling grew until Arthur had no choice but to rush to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He was still kneeling by the toilet, the cool tiles of the floor pressed against his hands and knees, when he felt a hesitant hand, rough and calloused, pat him on the back.

“It’s okay,” Uncle Lance said, “I’ve got you.”

---

Released from the grip of his memories, Arthur found himself kneeling in the snow. The cold seeped even deeper into his bones with his arms and legs sunk way down into the snowbank. The mechanic struggled back to his feet and scanned the horizon for his forgotten destination.

I have to find Mystery, Arthur reminded himself, tucking his arms tight against his body as he resumed his steadfast march. His breath fogged before him, looking like a silver mist that disappeared just as quickly as the memory had. He couldn’t even recall what it was he’d been thinking about despite the tears frozen on his face. Something about when he’d come to live with Uncle Lance. But hadn’t he always lived with his uncle? He just couldn’t remember. He pushed the doubts and confusion from his mind as he continued to trudge numbly through the snow.

I have to find Mystery.

He felt raw and weary, like an exposed nerve. Where were the others? Why had he been left behind? Abandonment had always been an issue for him, though he didn’t understand why. Uncle Lance had always been there for him. Still, whatever had caused that fear to take root was only exasperated after Lewis and Vivi had started dating.

I have to find…

It had been hard seeing them so happy together. It left Arthur with a complex mix of emotions where he was glad for his friends yet jealous at the same time, which gave way to shame for feeling so awful when he should have been excited and supportive. He was just waiting for the day they’d tell him they didn’t want him around or need him anymore. He’d been distancing himself slowly so that when the time came maybe, maybe it wouldn’t hurt quite so much. Instead, it just made him more miserable to see how happy his friends were without him. Then there was the cave.

I have to…

His weakness had let whatever that thing was take control of him. He could still only remember bits and pieces of what happened, even months later. Everything was hazy up to the point he woke up in a hospital bed without his arm, jumping out of his skin if Mystery so much as twitched an ear. Vivi was like a blank slate, and Lewis was missing.

I…I have to find Lewis.

Arthur watched as another thin stream of silver left his mouth, whirling away into the wind. He felt drained, his mind foggy. He must have found a lead to his missing best friend out here, wherever this was. Still, he’d wished he’d brought a coat or something. But if he could find his friend and bring him back, it’d be worth it, whatever it took. Arthur called out for Lewis as loudly as he could, the name broken into pieces by his stutter and chattering teeth. He had to be close by if he’d made the decision to leave Vivi and the van behind. Arthur kept shouting, his voice becoming hoarse as he sucked in deep lungfuls of frigid air, trying to be heard over the howling wind. A desperate sense of urgency fueled him, tinged with a guilt and remorse he couldn’t quite place, which nonetheless helped propel him onwards through the snow.

I have to find Lewis!

#mystery skulls animated #msa #msa fanfic #mystery skulls animated fanfic #arthur #lewis #vivi #mystery #uncle lance #arthur kingsmen #lewis pepper #vivi yukino #Snowdrift

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spaceskam · 4 years

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a little bit of Alex attempting to chill for @bamfalexmanes ❤️

ao3

warning: mentions of forlex, mentions of noah

Alex woke up at 5 o’clock sharp.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Alex jumped at the voice and was about two seconds away from setting off his taser before he realized who had spoken. Isobel, for some reason, was standing at the foot of his bed with her arms crossed over her chest. He dropped the taser and took a deep breath, unable to stop staring at her like she’d lost her damn mind.

“Why are you here? No, how are you here? I have a fuck ton of security,” Alex said. Isobel gave that award-winning smile and came closer to sit on the edge of his bed.

“And I have a very talented brain,” she said, batting her eyelashes. Alex rolled his eyes. “I’ve decided you needed a day off. You’ve been stressed out and it’s stressing me out, so I called in sick for you and broke in to turn your alarm off and you woke up without it.”

“The alarm is just in case,” Alex said, still glaring at her. She rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulders in a failed attempt at making him lay back down. “You can’t just call into my work or decide I need a day off. I have shit to do.”

“Not anymore,” she insisted, “I called in and your superior completely understood and said to rest and I got Michael and Kyle to take on all your alien-investigation duties, so you’re free. And I’ve got your nice little woodland boyfriend to agree to a chill Alex day. No stress today, it’s forbidden.”

“I don’t actually trust them to do my work, so now I’m going to just stress more because I know they’ll fuck it up,” Alex shot back.

“Nope,” she said, patting his head, “Michael is pretty meticulous about doing things just the way you like it. It’s gross.” Alex kept his glare. “Seriously, go back to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep once I wake up.”

“Well, then stay in bed. I’ll cook you breakfast in bed or something.”

“Isobel--”

“Hush,” she said, pressing her finger to his lips and ignoring the annoyed look on his face, “You’ve done a lot for us, let us do something for you for once, okay?”

Reluctantly, Alex agreed and slowly laid back in bed.

“Isobel, if you’re making eggs, make sure you use the--”

“Nope! Not controlling anything today! La-la-la, can’t hear you being controlling!” she yelled, covering her ears as she left the room. Alex rolled his eyes and tried to relax.

Relaxing definitely didn’t come easy to him, it never had. He’d clung onto the little bit of control he had and, if he lost that, it stressed him out. He remembered always taking over in school projects and taking over making dinner when he was younger, always convinced that if he didn’t do it himself it wouldn’t get done right. As an adult, he clung to that control all the same. But Isobel had apparently done a lot to make him have a stress-less day, so he was going to enjoy it. Or try.

He made it five minutes before he grabbed his phone.

Isobel had put it on Do Not Disturb which he had to maintain a massive amount of willpower to not turn off. Instead, he went ahead and called Forrest himself. Then he would abide by Isobel’s relaxation rules.

“Excuse me, did I misread something? I thought it was let Alex relax day,” Forrest asked, amusement in his voice. Alex smiled and tried to focus on his light existence to help him relax.

“It is, but I’m convinced Isobel is deliberately using the wrong pan,” Alex admitted. Forrest snorted and Alex could hear the sounds of horses in the background. It was nice having a boyfriend on a ranch--he was always up as early as Alex.

“How dare she use the omelet pan for scrambled eggs?” Forrest teased.

“You say it like it’s funny,” Alex said. Forrest laughed easily.

“It is funny. Just relax, babe. Isobel has been planning this for, like, two weeks. She even made you guys a reservation at a spa. Which I’m only telling you because I know you don’t like surprises, but act surprised whenever y’all show up,” he informed. Alex took a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he said. Forrest hummed in response.

“And if you want me to come over and help you relax a little more tonight, I can. Shine the bat signal and I’ll be over in the blink of an eye,” Forrest said.

“I might take you up on that. Haven’t decided how effective Isobel’s relaxation techniques are going to work on me,” Alex admitted, letting the line fall silent. Eventually, though, he sighed and sat up. “Okay, I’m gonna try to enjoy it. Keep your afternoon free.”

“Every moment of every day is free if you’re the one asking.”

“Dork.”

“Always.”

Alex ended the call and put his phone in his dresser drawer. He was going to try. If Isobel went through all this trouble, it was the least he could do.

He stretched and grabbed the remote from the foot of the bed, turning on the TV and going to Netflix. He decided on New Girl (only because Forrest had already started watching it on his account) and tried to just relax.

And it was still hard.

“Aw, look at you, still laying in bed after twenty minutes,” Isobel teased, coming in with two plates of food. He tried not to be concerned when she sat beside him in bed. He usually didn’t eat in bed and he had a lot of memories of his father being angry at him for having food in his bedroom. But he was a grown ass man and he could wash the sheets.

“I’ve laid in bed longer than twenty minutes after I woke up before,” Alex said.

“I mean when you don’t have someone in bed being all distracting,” Isobel said. Alex didn’t correct her. “Thought so.”

For an episode of the show that Alex found funny enough, they sat and ate. Alex thanked her for cooking and tried not to think about if she used the wrong pan or the wrong spatula or the wrong plate. He allowed the plates to be put on the nightstand to take out of the room later and they both laid down and let it go to the next episode.

He felt himself start to relax a little more. Every time his mind tried to remind him of something he needed to do, he shut it down and reassured himself that Michael and Kyle were taking care of it. And if he snuck away later to call Michael to double check, Isobel didn’t need to know.

There was a point where Isobel started telling random stories about whatever she could think of. It was such a distinct thing that he chose not to say anything about. She was trying to open up. She was trying to be a friend. He was going to let her and reciprocate because that didn’t sound bad.

“Wait, wait, back up, you did what?” Alex laughed. Isobel grinned.

“Technically it was more Max and Michael’s doing, but they broke into the football team’s locker room and stole all of their socks after they laughed at me for something I don’t even remember. I think I was blacked out at the time, but they still just wanted to defend me,” Isobel said. Alex laughed and shook his head.

“But why their socks?”

“Small, but extremely annoying,” Isobel pointed out, “They threw them in the desert.”

“Jesus,” Alex laughed, “My brothers would never.”

“Well, you’re in luck because you’ve got people that would do it for you now,” she said, giving him that same wild smile. Alex huffed and nodded.

“Good, I’ll let you know if there’s any socks that need to be stolen.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

They laid there for awhile, until the birds had stopped chirping for the morning and the clock read 8:30. Then she suggested he get ready because she had some plans for the day. Already knowing what those were, he agreed.

He let himself take his time, actually taking his time on washing his face and fixing his hair. He wanted to look nice if he was supposed to be feeling nice. He got his prosthetic on and chose something nice but comfortable and decided it was good enough. When he came out of the bathroom, Isobel whistled her appreciation.

“Damn, I knew you had it in you to look good,” Isobel said.

“Here I was thinking I always looked good.”

“Eh, well, your fatigues make you look boxy and when you slick your hair back, you look like you’re trying to blend in too much. I like the messy look with the whole tank-top-open-button-up combo you got going on,” Isobel said, gesturing to him. Alex laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” Alex snorted. He looked over to the nightstand to see that she’d already taken them to the kitchen. He just hoped she washed them. “So, what exactly are the plans for today?”

“I’ve got a few things in mind,” Isobel said, that sly little smile on her face. He huffed a laugh and mentally thanked Forrest again for spoiling it for him.

Within a few hours, Alex found himself laid out on a massage table a few feet away from Isobel. She didn’t say anything about it, but he had decided she had a left over couple’s spa trip that she forgot about making reservations for and decided to bring Alex along instead.

He was honestly thankful he didn’t have to be by himself. As awkward as it was to be basically naked a few feet away from your ex’s sister, it was a lot less awkward than it would’ve been if he found himself alone with a stranger that he couldn’t see properly. He needed to be aware of his surroundings to relax and it definitely helped that there were other people in the same room.

So he tried his best. He wasn’t a big fan of massages, having really conflicted feelings about being touched by strangers in general, but he tried. He imagined it was someone he knew, someone he trusted to touch him without making it uncomfortable. Basically anyone he’d hooked up with except for that cadet he hooked up with a few years into the Air Force who kept asking questions about why he had so many scars.

After the massage, they were taken to go get facials which Alex made about half-way through before he had to stop. Too much keeping his eyes closed and that was something he couldn’t do, but he thanked the woman anyway and made small talk while Isobel did the whole thing. It was actually pretty relaxing in a completely different way.

“This one is gonna be your favorite, I just know it,” Isobel insisted once the facials were over and they were headed to the next room. Alex was smiling easily for what felt like the first time in awhile. No forced smiles or no smiles that only lasted a few seconds. Isobel seemed to notice and she held her head up with pride.

They got manicures and pedicures next which had easily proved Isobel right. Part of Alex felt downright giddy about it. The last time he’d gotten a manicure and pedicure was on Maria’s 18th birthday and he barely even got to enjoy them that long. After DADT was repealed, he’d thought about going to get one, but couldn’t bring himself to go alone. But maybe he and Isobel needed to make this a regular thing.

“See, I told you you’d like it,” Isobel said.

“Thank you, Isobel, seriously,” Alex said. She smiled, shrugging a shoulder as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. But it was. He was actually relaxing for once. That meant a lot.

“Don’t mention it. Did I ever tell you about that time we went water skiing and Max broke his nose?”

It wasn’t until they went to a fancy restaurant that she had reservations at that he noticed she’d been talking a lot. Like, significantly more than usual. It wasn’t long that he caught on she was just trying to keep her mind off of real life too.

“Be honest,” Alex said halfway through their meal, “You needed today too.”

Isobel’s smile turned a bit sour and she took a deep breath. It was so distinctly Michael that it was almost jarring.

“Today would’ve been my 6th wedding anniversary,” she admitted. Alex tried to keep his reactions in check, but he couldn’t help the way he instantly felt bad that clearly no one else had known that.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I just needed to do something to take my mind off it,” she insisted. Alex didn’t say anything, just stared at her. It most definitely wasn’t fine. “I just... I feel like I’m never going to stop missing this man I thought I knew.”

“Honestly? You probably won’t,” Alex said. Isobel scoffed.

“Well, thanks.”

“I mean, look, he was taken from you in a really horrible way. It’s not like he showed his true colors at all. You had, what, half a decade with a man who treated you well at all times and seemed to put your needs first and was kind. It makes sense for you to mourn him even if he wasn’t real,” Alex assured her.

“I hate it, though,” she admitted.

“If it helps, I didn’t even have that much with my dad and I’m still mourning him. It’s annoying and it’s frustrating, but it’s apart of life,” Alex assured her. She tilted her head.

“Alex, this day is supposed to be about comforting you,” she said playfully. He gave her a smile.

“It can be about both of us,” he said, “I tell you what, let’s make this day into something different. It’s no longer a wedding anniversary to a shitty man who lied, it’s now Isobel and Alex’s Annual Chill Day.”

Isobel laughed, “You really want to do this with me every year?”

“If you needed me to do this with you every month, I would,” Alex promised. He saw tears build in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “You’re my friend, Isobel, and one of the only people that hasn’t fucked me over. I don’t take that lightly.”

“Okay, then. Isobel and Alex’s Annual Chill Day it is,” she said, raising her glass of wine. He raised his to hers.

“Gotta love new traditions.”

And he did. That night, Isobel stayed over and he got one of the best night’s sleep he’d had in awhile. He didn’t even need a man in his bed to get it.

It helped knowing Isobel felt the same exactly way.

#isobel & Alex fic #isobel & alex #isobel evans #alex manes #rnm fic #my fic

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stahlop · 4 years

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Making a Memory (4/?)

Thank you everyone who has been reading this story. I’m so happy you’re enjoying it. This chapter is really long, but you’ll be getting to know Killian and Emma a little more.

Thanks once again to @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite for being the best betas ever.

And don’t forget to give @gingerchangeling some love for her amazing artwork!

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It was a four hour drive from Boston to Chantey’s Lobster House, and Emma was still confused about what the hell was going on with Henry that he not only took his sister and another girl from camp, but that he wanted to meet at a random restaurant in Maine. She had looked it up online and there didn’t seem to be anything special about it. No reason why he chose this place over another. It did seem to be the last establishment near civilization for a while according to the map. There wasn’t anything near there for the next 100 miles or so, which seemed really strange for Maine, since the forested area near it didn’t seem to be part of any national parks land or trust either. Emma had used some bail bonds tricks to try and see if Henry and the girls were staying at a motel nearby, but as far as she could tell, no man had checked in with almost identical twin girls. Could they possibly be camping out in the woods? They had to have stayed somewhere the previous night.

Emma and Killian were now on the road to said eatery, which was not awkward at all. No it wasn’t. Especially not after the conversation they’d had with Henry that morning. Nope. Not awkward at all.

“Mom?” Henry said as Emma put the phone on speaker so both she and Killian could listen.

“Henry, thank god!” Emma’s eyes began spilling tears that she’d been holding in since the previous night when this whole mess had started. Killian had touched her shoulder to comfort her at the first sign of her distress. She almost didn’t notice it, because it felt so natural, like he should be the one comforting her. And it almost felt familiar, like she knew exactly how his hand would feel on her shoulder. Like he’d done it before. But that was impossible, because they had just met this morning. And just as Emma was about to panic about how not panicked this was making her feel, he snatched his hand away, as if he was also realizing that they barely knew each other and it was not appropriate for him to be comforting her.

“Henry, I’m here with Killian, just like you asked.” Emma said.

“Hello, Henry.” Killian’s voice was deeper than normal and sounded a little menacing, yet calm at the same time, as if he were talking to an actual kidnapper and not her son (and for some reason this started to conjure images in her head of how he would talk in the bedroom, and this was not the time or place for that line of thinking).

“Hello, Killian, it’s good to hear from you again.” Henry stated as though talking to Killian was a normal occurrence. That threw Emma. Why was Henry talking to Killian as if he were an old friend? It seemed to throw Killian too. He looked even more distressed, pacing the room while tugging at his hair.

“Do we know each other, lad?” Killian asked, clearly troubled at the friendly way Henry was speaking to him.

“We did.” Henry sighed. “Once upon a time.”

Emma looked quizzically at Killian as if he was supposed to know what that meant. He shook her head and looked just as bewildered as Emma felt. What the hell was Henry playing at?

“Ok, Henry, you have some explaining to do and we’d like that to start now.” Emma said as calmly as she could. She was trying to keep this situation under control as best as she could, but the cryptic information that Henry possibly knew Killian at one point was messing with the both of them.

“Not until you two meet me in Maine” Henry replied. He was eerily cool, which set off alarm bells in Emma’s head immediately. She put the phone on mute for a moment.

“Something isn’t right.” Emma said softly, even though Henry couldn’t hear them. “Henry is the kind of kid...man, that gets excited about everything. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound this...this, I don’t even know what mood this is for him. I’ve never heard it before.” She chewed on her lower lip in worry.

Killian stared at her, his blue eyes showing the worry reflected back at her. She shouldn’t need to make him more concerned, but this was not the Henry she knew. Something was wrong. Killian pushed his hand through his black and silver-threaded hair before reaching toward her. Emma suddenly had the image of him taking her chin in his hand, caressing her face to make her feel better, and softly kissing her. But the image disappeared when his arm reached past her to the phone where he unmuted it to respond to Henry.

“Why is it so important to you that we meet you in Maine, Henry?” Killian asked him, again calm as a cucumber, his British accent making Emma feel quite at ease. What the hell was going on with her? Her daughter and son were missing and she should be freaking out about. It was if the sound of his voice just made her feel safe and secure and like everything would work out.

“I’ll explain it all when you get here.” Henry repeated again. I’m sorry about this Killian. I really am. But rest assured, Alice is safe. She told me to tell you not to worry about your Starfish.”

Killian’s mouth started to turn upward into a sad smile and the lines around his eyes crinkled. Emma saw tears starting to form in the corners of them.

“She’s really all right then?” Killian asked as though he hadn’t believed Henry before.

“Of course she is Killian. I would never hurt my ….my ….a friend of my sisters.” Henry replied. “Now look. I need you two to come up here as soon as possible. There is much we have to discuss. We’re waiting for you.” And with that, Henry hung up.

Both of them stared at the phone as if Henry would magically still be on, even though it was showing her call log.

“So, I guess that’s that.” Killian said, threading his hand through his hair again. Emma nodded in agreement, licking her lips, they’d become dry during the phone call, but she saw him staring at her lips as if he wanted her as much as she wanted him. How would his lips feel on hers? How would his salt and pepper scruff feel rubbing against her cheek? He was a silver fox now and she could see in her mind how good he probably looked as a younger man. She shook her head of the unbidden thoughts that would not leave her brain, realizing this was not the appropriate train of thought to be having (and maybe in the future they could look back on this and laugh about it), and when she looked back at him, saw that his hand had now moved to rub at the back of his neck. He looked stressed.

Right.

Daughter.

Taken.

By her son.

Of course he was stressed. Emma really needed for this all to be over.

“My car or yours?”

They sped along the I-95 in Killian’s Jeep Cherokee. It was an older model, one she didn’t even think they made anymore. But it ran fine and could get them where they needed to go.

Emma had offered her car, the ancient yellow Volkswagen Beetle that she’d stolen when she was 16. The car was older than Henry and she had no idea how it was still running, but it was, and so she kept it. And even though Neal had given it a clean VIN number years ago to help her out after her stint in jail for his crime, she never once thought to get rid of it, because it reminded her of all the bad decisions she had made. Even if those bad decisions had given her the two best children in the world. Or at least one good child, Emma was starting to rethink Henry’s status at the moment.

“Music?” Killian asked, breaking Emma from her thoughts.

“Uh, sure.” She said, hoping some music would break some of the tension floating in the air. It was bad enough that Emma’s son had taken their children, but this attraction that Emma was feeling toward Killian was driving her insane, being this close to him in his Jeep, where she could smell his natural aroma (and he smelled amazing), and practically feel the heat emanating from his body, was doing things to her body that she hadn’t felt in years. But it wasn’t the attraction that was making the tension, it was the fact that it almost felt natural, like sitting next to Killian Jones was the most natural thing in the world, and that was freaking Emma out more than any sexual tension between them.

The strains of an old classic rock tune, one she couldn’t place, but knew she’d known at one time, filled the Jeep. Killian started to hum along, and Emma could see some of the tension ease out of his body. His shoulders sagged against the back of the car seat, while his muscular arms loosened, and his grip on the steering wheel did too. Emma was impressed with the modern hook he wore that hooked into the driving apparatus so he could have both ‘hands’ on the wheel.

Emma forced herself to stop staring at Killian and leaned her head against the window, watching Boston fly by. She had never been on a proper road trip, although, she wasn’t sure if she could call this a proper road trip but it was probably the closest she’d ever come to one. Growing up in the foster care system didn’t really lend itself to road trips. She and Neal talked about road tripping it to Tallahassee before the whole watch incident happened, and then again when he came back into their lives, but then Hope came, and then Neal died, and Emma never got around to having that road trip. Maybe if Henry had gone to college somewhere outside of Boston, but he’d stayed home. Saved money, he claimed, living at home and getting in-state scholarships.

A tear slipped down her face. Emma tried her best to not let Killian see her wipe it from her cheek, but even with his eyes on the road he was very perceptive.

He turned the music down with his right hand, his prosthetic hook staying in the steering wheel apparatus.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?” Killian asked with that wet-dream inducing British accent. Ugh! Well, she certainly couldn’t tell him that part of her thoughts now, could she.

“Not your love.” She said too quickly. She needed to get her walls back up. She couldn’t allow her nether regions to control her. This whole thing was bordering on ridiculous. “I...I just don’t know how I got myself into this mess.” Emma responded, curbing her tears. “I did not raise Henry like this. I don’t understand what is happening right now.” She was frustrated at this whole situation. “And Hope is my practical one. Why would she go along with this! Henry was always the one trying to convince her to do crazy things as a kid and making up stories. She was...is such a pragmatic kid.” Emma wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince that this wasn’t her fault, Killian or herself.

“Look, lo...Swan,” He began, and the way he said Swan did something to her. She had been too upset when he’d said it earlier to really hear the way it sounded. She didn’t realize her last name would sound so sexy coming out of his mouth. And it also sounded completely natural, which was odd because no one called her by her last name, ever. “I really don’t think Henry kidnapped Alice.” Emma turned to stare at Killian, because how could he not think that.

“I know my Alice, and while she may be shy with people she doesn’t know that well, she’s also fiercely loyal to those she’s friends with. I also know she’s been practically obsessed with this damn book your boy wrote, and if she had the opportunity to leave camp with him for some reason, especially since he’s a camp mates’ sibling, then I can totally see her doing it, consequences be damned.” Killian gave a small smile that Emma could tell was to soothe her. She gave a small smile back, a real genuine smile that she hadn’t used around a man in years. If he hadn’t been driving the car right then, she probably would have kissed him. Just grabbed the lapels of his red flannel shirt, pulled him close, and laid one right on him.

“Why don’t you try and take a little nap, Swan. We’ve still got a good three and a half hours on the road.” Emma realized that everything was catching up to her, and she was exhausted. She was asleep within five minutes.

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She was climbing something, she wasn’t entirely sure what. It certainly didn’t feel stable like a rockwall or even a mountain would. And she wasn’t alone. Someone else was climbing with her. She wasn’t talking to whomever it was. She couldn’t make much out, just black leather and shiny metal.

“You never forget your first.” She heard from her climbing partner.

“I love a challenge.” She grabbed a vine. A vine? What the hell was she climbing that vines would be involved? She looked up at the now obvious man that was above her on a….beanstalk? And yet, it didn’t seem odd at all.

She was up high again, but this time she felt like she was on stone. There was a giant coming after her. Why was there a giant coming after her? The man in black leather was nowhere to be seen. Had he abandoned her? She struggled to find him, but oh, crap, the giant was coming for him. The giant passed by her and she struck him with something that knocked him out cold.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but we make quite the team,” he said happily, but Emma was only annoyed.

She had what she’d come there for and she, oh no, she chained him up with the giant.

“Swan. Swan!” Oh, god, the anguish in his voice. She recognized it now. It was…

She was in a nursery. Two babies were laid out in matching cribs and matching outfits. They were crying and she couldn’t get them to stop.

“Who are the cutest babies?” She was about to break down. Why had she thought two babies wouldn’t be that hard? “You can stop crying any time now. Mama just wants you to stop crying.” The sing-songy voice she was using didn’t match the panic in her voice. Rattles appeared in both hands and she was furiously shaking them to try and entice the babies to stop crying, but it only made them cry harder.

“Don’t you worry, my dear.” A voice sang over the crying from behind her. She turned and saw a heavily-lidded woman with dark, curly hair standing behind her.

“Who are you?” She said backing up to protect the children.

“Never you mind.” The woman said, moving toward her. “Just know, you won’t have to worry about your children for much longer.” The woman’s cackle echoed throughout the tower. The babies’ cries grew louder and louder. She needed someone, the other half of her team, she needed...she needed….

“HOOK!” Emma bolted straight up in her seat as she woke from whatever nightmare she was having. She startled Killian who was getting back into the car. Emma noticed they had stopped at a gas station. He was holding two take out coffee cups.

“You okay there, Swan?” Killian asked, looking concerned. Emma shook her head to clear it from the obvious nightmare she’d been having.

“Yeah, sorry. Just a really weird dream.” He handed her the coffee cup which she graciously took. She took a sip as he settled himself back into his seat, placing his coffee cup in the cup holder next to him, and was pleasantly surprised at what she found in her cup.

“Hot chocolate?” She queried as her tongue savored the sweet taste. “With whipped cream and cinnamon?” The spiciness of the cinnamon rounded out the sweetness right at the end of the sip.

The tips of Killian’s ears went red and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Uh, yeah? I don’t know. I started making it before I even thought about why. Um, Alice likes it this way. I didn’t want to waste it.” He stumbled over the words, obviously embarrassed about bringing her a kids drink. He looked so cute, all blustering and blushing. She took another sip.

“Well, it’s my favorite too. So Alice has good taste.” She said smiling at him and holding out her cup. He grabbed his cup from the holder and gave her a mock cheers in return, then he started the Jeep and got them back out on the road.

Emma checked her watch and saw that they’d only been on the road for two hours. Just another two to go before they reached their intended destination. Before they got some answers.

“Care to tell me what your dream was about?” Killian asked with a hint of caution in his voice. How could his voice just drip sex when he was just being a concerned person?

“Oh, it was just a bunch of nonsense.” Emma said, trying to calm her body down. “Something about a beanstalk and a giant. I think I must have been thinking too much about Hope and maybe that triggered an old fairy tale in my brain or something.” She smiled sheepishly and pulled a loose strand of hair from her ponytail to behind her ear.

“Oh.” He said, sounding a little troubled by her response. “It’s, just, um, well...” He was nervous, continually rubbing at the back of his neck. Emma wasn’t sure why he was so nervous all of a sudden. It wasn’t like he was having inappropriate thoughts about her. Was he? “You, uh, screamed my name at the end, when you woke up.” Killian clarified.

Emma could feel her skin getting hot and the blush creeping down her cheeks and into her chest. She thought back to the end of her dream, that moment between dreaming and waking up. There had been something about screaming babies and a woman, and…

“I didn’t say Killian, I said Hook.” It came out like an accusation. Was he trying to embarrass her in some way. “I don’t even know what that means. I could have been dreaming about Captain Hook for all you know.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and now she was angry. Dammit!

“Oh, I…” Killian let out an exasperated huff. It must have been hard for him to have a decent conversation with her having to watch the road the whole time. She knew he could really only see her peripherally and was not getting the full range of emotions. “Sorry.” He said. “It’s just, with this thing,” he motioned his head toward his hooked appendage, “that’s something I tended to get called. My colorful moniker if you will.” He added looking at her quickly with a sexy smirk and a really bad attempt at a wink, that was still very flirtatious. Was he flirting with her?

And why did it feel perfectly natural despite the fact that their children were missing?

Ever since Neal had died Emma hadn’t felt the need for a relationship. A one night-stand here or there, but they’d never felt right. She had no desire to attach herself to a man again. And yet, here she was, attempting to not flirt with this gorgeous man sitting beside her, who, from the looks of it, maybe was flirting with her too.

Killian seemed to take her awkward silence as something else, because he immediately put his eyes back on the road.

“Sorry, Swan, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You can get back to fantasizing about Captain Hook, by all means.”

Oh yes, he was definitely flirting. And it actually wasn’t awkward at all.

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Killian could have kicked himself after the Captain Hook comment. He was trying to defuse the obvious tension in the Jeep. He just hadn’t realized the tension was sexual in nature on both sides. He’d felt the attraction right away, but the prospect of her son having kidnapped his daughter had put a damper on that. But somehow, finding out that Alice was safe and had gone willingly because Henry happened to be her favorite author, made the attraction to Emma come out full force. At least, that was the excuse he was telling himself.

She had fallen asleep almost right away when he’d suggested taking a nap at the beginning of the trip. He’d been glad for it. Had given him some time to think about things, reflect on his life and what not. He’d always felt like something was missing after Milah had died, but Alice had been enough. She was all that he needed. But now he was wondering.

Wondering if the potential for a relationship had slipped out of his grasp now that he was 49. He refused to say he was almost 50. What a harsh number 50 sounded to him. Neither of his parents had made it to 50, or he guessed his father may have, but seeing as he left when Killian was small due to less than legal dealings, Killian had always assumed his death had caught up with him much sooner.

Wondering if Alice was truly happy without a female influence in her life. She was his whole life, but from this whole camp experience and now running off with Swan’s children, he was beginning to realize that he was not her whole world anymore. He knew that day would come eventually, but did it have to coincide with his mid-life crisis as well?

Wondering if there was potential for something with this woman softly snoring beside him, as long as Henry was telling the truth and no harm had befallen their children. Would that be weird to pursue a woman whose child had taken off with his child? Was that akin to Stockholm Syndrome in some way? Or, what was the quote from that awful Speed sequel that was on the other night? “Relationships based on extreme circumstances never work out.” Is it just the rush of the situation that is making him notice things like the way her eyelashes flutter when she breathes out in her sleep, or the stray piece of hair that he wants to move back behind her ear, or how her green eyes have tiny flecks of hazel in them.

After about two hours he feels the need to use a restroom and grab some more coffee. He figures they’ll be eating at the lobster house (hopefully everything will be alright and they will have appetites at the lobster house), so he doesn’t get any snacks for them to share. He makes the hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon before he even realizes he’s doing it. She drank coffee at his house this morning, but for some reason he automatically made the hot chocolate for her.

Alice had an affinity for the sweet concoction. Killian had no idea where she got the idea for it. She was not someone who liked sugary snacks or drinks. She prefered tea like he did, sour and licorice flavored candies, and fruit if she wanted something on the sweet side. He didn’t even keep hot cocoa in the house. He had gone into a convenience store once for a cup of coffee before they took a trip somewhere, he can’t even remember where, but she had insisted on a cup of it and adding the whipped cream and cinnamon. It had been summer time, so he’d been surprised there was even any hot cocoa in stock. Alice had been five or six if he recalled correctly. So any time he went somewhere with her he got her the chocolate treat. He hadn’t even thought about it in the gas station when he got himself his coffee this time. He blamed it on Alice being on his mind.

He’d come back to the car to find her in the throes of a nightmare, thrashing about in her seat. . He wasn’t sure if he should try to wake her or let her ride it out. Alice had nightmares as a child and the therapist he’d gone to see after Milah’s death had suggested to let her work through them, that waking her up could be detrimental to what she was working through.

“HOOK!” Emma shouted as she bolted up as much as she could being belted into the seat. The name jarred Killian. He hadn’t been called Hook in a long time. Back when he first lost the hand he’d had a few of his coworkers start referring to him by that due to the hook he wore at work to help him out. Once he got into management he started wearing the prosthetic to work and the nickname died out, and also because he was now their boss, and it wasn’t appropriate to call him that. He could only imagine what Emma was dreaming about that had caused her to call out his old moniker.

“You okay there, Swan?” His eyebrows furrowed in concern. Emma didn’t seem the type to have nightmares. He could tell she was a pretty tough woman. She’d told him she worked in bail bonds when he’d tried to be chivalrous and open the Jeep door for her, scoffing at him and everything. If they hadn’t been in the middle of, whatever it was they were in the middle of, he’d have kissed her right then and there.

“Yeah, sorry. Just a really weird dream.” She said, shaking her blonde ponytail about. He placed his coffee cup in his cup holder and then handed Emma hers. He had just started to maneuver his hook into the driving apparatus when he saw her smile at the sip that she took.

“Hot chocolate?” Killian could see her savoring the flavor in her mouth. “With whipped cream and cinnamon?” He’d almost forgotten that he’d gotten that for her instead of coffee. He felt the heat of embarrassment creep across his face and his ears, and his hand automatically went to the back of his neck, a nervous tick he’d never been able to kick.

“Uh, yeah? I don’t know. I started making it before I even thought about why. Um, Alice likes it this way. I didn’t want to waste it.” God, he was an idiot. He couldn’t even get this beautiful woman a grown up drink. She must think him the biggest buffoon ever.

“Well, it’s my favorite too. So Alice has good taste.” She smiled the most genuine smile he’d seen from her yet. It seemed she had an affinity for hot chocolate as well. Killian mentally patted himself on the back. They pretended to toast their drinks, both taking a sip. Killian put his coffee cup back in the holder and got them back on the road. They had another two hours to go before they would reach the lobster house.

He should have just turned the music back on. Or made some small talk. Asked her more about being a bail bonds woman. Hell, even ask her about Hope and Henry. Talking about their daughters should have been the most natural topic to talk about given their circumstances, but, no, he had to ask about the damn dream.

“Care to tell me what your dream was about?” He didn’t want to pry too much, but he was also curious about why she yelled out his old nickname.

She looked at him with ...confusion? He wasn’t sure what the look was that she was currently giving him. “Oh, it was just a bunch of nonsense.” Emma said. She took a deep breath as though the dream were still lingering on her mind. “Something about a beanstalk and a giant. I think I must have been thinking too much about Hope and maybe that triggered an old fairy tale in my brain or something.” She tucked a strand of her ponytail that had come loose back behind her ear, and Killian wished he wasn’t driving at the moment so he could have done it instead.

“Oh.” That was not the response Killian was hoping for. Of course, it’s not like she would have just come out and said I was having a sex dream about you. “It’s, just, um, well...” He rubbed at the back of his neck again, making sure to still keep his eyes on the road and keep his hook in the steering apparatus. Should he tell her that she said the name he used to be called? She might be embarrassed that she was dreaming of his hook and called that out. He quickly made the decision to say something. He rarely flirted with women anymore, and something inside him told him she wouldn’t be upset. “You, uh, screamed my name at the end, when you woke up.”

Killian could see out of the corner of his eye that she was all flushed. Had she really been dreaming about him?

“I didn’t say Killian, I said Hook.” Emma practically spat out. “I don’t even know what that means. I could have been dreaming about Captain Hook for all you know.” Killian could see that maybe telling her that had been a mistake. But now she seemed to be accusing him of making things up.

“Oh, I…” Don’t ruffle the woman who you have to spend another two hours in the car with, you git! “Sorry. It’s just, with this thing,” Killian nodded his head to his left side, “that’s something I tended to get called. My colorful moniker if you will.” And, as if it were beyond his control, he turned quickly toward her, gave her a smile and a wink, and then turned his head back to the road.

He immediately regretted doing that. But it had felt completely natural. Like it was something he would do with her. His skin prickled under the slight unease he’d now brought into their conversation. What was she thinking? Was she thinking he was an absolute letch? He thought the flirting was coming from both sides, but maybe he was wrong. Or maybe, he thought as he peeked slightly at her and seeing her slight flush coming back, she was thinking the exact same things he was thinking.

“Sorry, Swan, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You can get back to fantasizing about Captain Hook, by all means.”

Killian settled his eyes back on the road with another little smirk, but he could feel the tension in the air disappearing, with the smile he’d seen peeking out of the corners of Emma’s mouth before he had put them back on the road completely.

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Emma and Killian spent the next two hours talking about anything and everything. It was all that Emma had imagined really getting to know someone was like, something she’d never had growing up.

She learned how Killian had lost his parents at a young age.

“Cancer. Can’t really remember what kind, I was pretty young. I just know she was sick and then she was gone.”

He paused slightly, “It took a few years, but then my father left as well. I was in my teens. He just didn’t come home and then I think some guys came looking for him. It’s all real hazy. I just know he must have been doing something illegal.” Emma nodded along realizing they had similar backgrounds.

“I started working at the docks as soon as I got out of high school so I could make some money to go to community college, but I really liked working near the water. I’d hoped to save up for a boat someday and run tours out of the harbor, but then….” He trailed off and Emma could see a far away look glaze his eyes over. “I met my Milah. Again, the details are kind of fuzzy, but she was married, he was abusive. She had run away to the docks at one point after one of their rows, and I saw her, crying, and being the gentleman that I am,” Emma rolled her eyes and gave a small snort to that statement. She wasn’t sure why as he’d been nothing but a gentleman, but it had just bubbled up as if it were the most natural reaction to that statement. “I’m always a gentleman, Swan.” He responded in a slightly flirtatious tone and that smirk that once again made Emma’s cheeks blush. “I offered to take her to the police. She almost refused, I found out later it wasn’t the first time this had happened, but she eventually realized this handsome stranger, her words, not mine, Swan; I’d have gone with dashing rapscallion,” Emma put her hand over mouth as if she was trying to suppress a laugh, but she was secretly smiling, “was everything her husband was not. I was kind and caring and nurturing, and we were friends for a long time as I helped her prepare to leave her husband. And then we went past the friendship stage, and she realized I was also someone who truly loved and cherished her.” Killian gave a sad smile at the memory. Emma could only imagine that type of love, having never experienced it herself.

“Of course, her husband wasn’t happy when she left him, and I can’t really say where he went, just that once he lost his power over Milah, he left us alone.” He frowned a little bit at that part, as if he hadn’t got it quite right and was trying to remember some specific detail. The pause was so great that it almost seemed as if his story had come to an end, but then he continued on.

“We had tried for years to get pregnant. We assumed that it wasn’t in the cards when Alice came along. It was a cruel fate of the gods that my Milah only got to see the first two years of Alice’s life before she died.” He took a shuddering breath before pressing on. “It’s been me and Alice ever since.” And in a much happier tone, “I think we did pretty well for ourselves considering.” He gave a quick smile to Emma before turning his attention back on the road.

Emma, in turn, told him about her past, things even some of her closest friends didn’t know about. It was eerie how easy it was to open up to him.

She was an orphan, “Found on the side of the highway. I don’t know what kind of parents do that to a newborn. I can only imagine it was some teenaged mother who couldn’t bear to kill me herself and hoped either a car or nature would do it for her.” Emma seethed.

Being bounced around from foster home to foster home, “I had a family for the first three years of my life, it’s how I got the Swan name. But when they got pregnant they gave me back.” Emma said rather sadly. It had always been a point of contention with her that someone would throw away a child once they finally had one of their own. Had they really loved her that little?

How she’d met Neal and their life of crime together. “You stole a stolen car?” Killian asked incredulously. “He was asleep in the back seat, how was I supposed to know?” Emma said slightly defensive.

She told him how Neal had framed her and left her in jail, “Bloody wanker he was.” Killian retorted, almost as if he were responsible for Neal doing that to her.

And how she’d found out she was pregnant, “But I was determined to do something better by Henry. I didn’t want him to have the same doubts and questions I did, so I collected him from the foster home he’d been in, I got my GED in prison, and I found a job and housing through an outreach program.” Emma said proudly. She didn’t actually remember a lot of those details, but just remembered how satisfied she’d felt when she was able to retrieve Henry and do something with her life.

“Neal came back when Henry was 11. I don’t remember why or how anymore, just that now that he knew about Henry he wanted to be a part of our lives again.” Emma sighed, vaguely remembering how angry she’d been at Neal for just showing up back in their lives. “I never fully forgave him, but I let him back in for Henry’s sake. And obviously succumbed to his charms, again, because, Hope.” She furrowed her brow trying to reach for the emotions that had come from that particular reunion, but found that she couldn’t find them. It was like she knew the memory was there but perhaps the emotions that went with it had faded from time. That didn’t seem right, but what other explanation was there?

Emma took a deep breath as she came to the part that required her to bare more of her soul than she was comfortable with, yet she felt it was easy to bare it to Killian. “I could never truly love him. He’d broken that trust when he’d sent me to jail. And even though we were stable and both in a good place, when he died in the fire, it was like a weight had been lifted off my chest that I would no longer have to wait for the other shoe to drop. Hope and Henry are enough, they’ve always been enough, and they are all I need.”

She started to chew on a fingernail, an old nervous habit of hers, after all that had been said. “Well,” Emma said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat and adjusting her seatbelt as if that’s what was making her uncomfortable, “that, was…”

“A lot?” Killian said with a slight laugh. Emma could tell he was trying to lighten the situation, as if they hadn’t just unburdened all their past trauma to each other. And yet, it didn’t feel weird to be telling someone who’d been a stranger until that morning about her past.

‘Look, Swan.” Killian began, placing his hand on hers in her lap. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of here. We’ve both had atrocious childhoods, but nothing that could be done by either of us to change anything. We’ve both overcome it to lead admirable lives and have wonderful children. This...whatever this is with Henry and the girls, is merely a small blip. I’m sure it’ll just be another amusing story we tell in years to come.” Emma’s skin broke out in goosebumps, not missing how he used the word we as if they would be telling the story together, something she didn’t seem utterly opposed to, especially since she’d also thought it earlier. She was about to say something back when her stomach let out a loud grumble. She smiled sheepishly.

“Guess I should have insisted you wait for me to get a snack at that last stop, huh?” She commented, pushing a little on her stomach. Killian quickly drew his hand away. The placement of it now seeming too familiar, like he’d had his hand on hers over her stomach plenty of times before.

“It looks like we’re about 15 minutes away now.” He said, checking the time on his map app on his phone. Plus it’s almost noon. We haven’t eaten since breakfast at 7:30 when we were leaving. Or whatever you called that ridiculous pastry that you insisted was breakfast.” Killian said shaking his head, some of his hair falling into his eyes. Emma was about to remark how a bear claw is not a pastry, but a superior breakfast food, but her mind had instead conjured up an image of Killian leaning over her with that hair hanging over her, his blue eyes gazing at her hungrily as though he were going to devour her right then and there. The image that was now seared in her mind felt more like a memory rather than a fantasy. Where the hell had that come from?

After the outpouring of tragic backstories, they listened to the radio instead of talking for the rest of the drive. Killian still had it on a Classic Rock station, the smooth sounds of Take it Easy by The Eagles wafting throughout the Jeep. This had been Classic Rock when she’d been a child and she smiled, thanking god that he didn’t listen to the music his daughter was probably interested in. Emma hated when she’d catch herself singing along to whatever famous-at-the-moment popstar was on the radio because Hope was currently obsessed with their songs. He even sang along to the songs under his breath, which was adorable.

Emma tried not to be too obvious about staring at Killian, especially when he was singing, but even his profile was gorgeous. She was sure he’d been a looker when he was younger, but she still thought he was a fine specimen of a man. She wished she’d been able to see the gray starting at his temples, getting to make fun of him for finally looking his age. She frowned a little at that thought. Where had that come from? Emma shook her head from that line of thinking and noticed that they were entering a more wooded area, civilization falling behind them. But it wasn’t until they were only five minutes away that Emma’s brain started getting that niggling feeling, like she was forgetting something important, and her arms broke out in gooseflesh. And that’s when she realized that this road looked awfully familiar.

It had been 19 years, but she knew exactly what this place would look like. She’d been there before. Emma was surprised the place still existed as she remembered the woman working at the counter had told her the food wasn’t that good and didn’t exactly instill customer loyalty. She was surprised that when Henry told her the name she hadn’t remembered.

How did she forget the place she was discovered as a newborn?

How did she forget meeting the person who would turn her life around from one of crime (she hasn’t told Killian that part, the part where she had lost her job and due to her criminal record could find another one and had resorted to petty thefts and pickpocketing to help her and Henry survive) to a badass bail bondsperson? Hope’s middle name was Cleo after all, the name of the woman who believed in her and taught her about building those walls and inspiring the red leather jacket of armor she still wore to this day (although, not the original, that was long gone in the fire). It was as if the memory had been buried and had suddenly exploded to the surface when they’d rounded that corner.

Emma could see the outdoor patio as they turned the corner and her heart started picking up speed. The sign proclaiming the name of the establishment still had its red lettering and outline, although a little worse for wear now after so many years. Emma started to sweat as Killian pulled into the parking lot. Just a moment ago she’d had goosebumps and now she felt like she needed to rip all her clothes off for how hot she was feeling. It was as Killian pulled into a spot that Emma’s heart felt as if it were going to explode from her chest and she started having, what she assumed, was a full blown panic attack.

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

Killian wasn’t sure what had happened. One moment Swan had been nodding her head along to the music, and then she’d gone extremely quiet, and now he thought she might be having a heart attack.

Her breathing was erratic as she took in great big gulps of air, like she couldn’t breath. Her lovely face, that had had beautiful smiles on it earlier in their car trip was now pale, clammy, and covered in sweat. It was when she closed her green eyes and put her head in her lap that he realized she may be having a panic attack.

Killian understood panic attacks. He’d had them for years after Milah died. Sometimes he’d wake up having one; once he’d even had one just from feeling the heat from the stove (he’d burned dinner that night). Over the years (and through therapy) he’d learned how to calm himself down when he was in the height of one, and even though he had no idea what had triggered Emma’s, he was sure as hell going to try and calm her down.

“Emma.” He said with a calming and soothing voice and slowly turning the car engine off now that they had arrived at their destination. “Emma, love, can you hear me?” He dared not touch her, even though his fingers itched to give her comfort. He remembered how Alice, being much too young to understand why her Papa was shaking uncontrollably on the floor, had tried to lay her head in his lap, more for her own comfort than his, and him practically throwing her off of him. Her subsequent crying had actually brought him out of the attack, his paternal instincts kicking in over the panic that had overtaken him. But he knew that touching Emma would be more about what he wanted than what she could take at the moment. “Emma?” He asked again.

She shook her head in her lap and grunted something unintelligible, but it was a definite indication that she wasn’t all right.

“Emma,” Killian said again soothingly, “darling, I think you’re in the midst of a panic attack.” Talk her down, that’s what he needed to do. Provide her with a measure of safety. “Can you take my hand?” he asked, holding his hand out next to her. Emma bolted upright in her seat, eyes still tightly shut, sweat still on her brow, breathing still all over the place, but she thrust her hand into his and squeezed it.

“Well, I’ll admit, Swan, this was not how I imagined holding your hand for the first time.” He joked and then silently berated himself for flirting during this situation. Smooth, Jones. He thought to himself. Real smooth. But Emma gave a slight laugh, so he figured he must be doing something right. Holding her hand certainly felt right, and slightly familiar. Killian could already hear her breathing evening out. She squeezed his hand about every ten seconds or so until the shaking and the sweating stopped. After what seemed like a century, but had only been about one minute according to the digital clock on the dash, Emma finally relaxed her face and her eyes slowly opened. Her color and breathing had returned to normal and she relaxed the vice-like grip she’d had on his hand.

“I’m sorry.” Emma said, taking back her hand and using it to brush some of the matted hair off her face. She kept her eyes gazing straight ahead, looking directly at the lobster house.

“Not to worry. Although, I was afraid I was going to be left with no hands at one point.” He gave her a goofy grin and waggled his eyebrows, even though she wouldn’t look in his direction. She smiled at the joke at least. A wonderful smile that got her back to her normal state a bit quicker he hoped. “I used to get panic attacks after Milah died.” He shrugged, letting her know she wasn’t alone. She took one more deep breath which seemed to finally put her back to rights.

“This place…” She began, “Henry wouldn’t have known. There’s no way he would’ve known.” Killian wasn’t sure what she was getting at, she seemed to be babbling to herself now, until, “Killian, this is where I was brought as a baby when I was found!”

And now he understood. He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if he had to go back to someplace that had such a negative connotation to it.

Emma was wringing her hands in her lap. Although he’d only met her this morning, he knew being vulnerable was not something that happened to her often. He knew she thrived on being strong and not letting others see her weaknesses.

“Emma.” He said as he put his large hand over her small ones to calm them down. “It’s just a place. It doesn’t hold any power over you.” He hoped that was the right thing to say and that she didn’t spiral out into another attack. Instead, she laughed; a thoroughly hearty laugh.

“Okay, Goblin King.” She gave out a final laugh before pulling herself together. And then there she was again, the Emma Swan who he’d met that morning, no trace of vulnerability left. She pulled down the visor mirror and scrubbed her face, getting rid of the redness that had been there, and then redid her ponytail the best she could without a brush on her. Killian wanted to offer to help her, having mastered ponytails and braids for Alice with just the one hand, but the flirting seemed out of place now after everything that had just occurred.

“Let’s go in and see our children.” Emma grabbed the car door handle and swiftly exited the car ready to face this challenge.

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @cssns @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @qualitycoffeethings @snowbellewells

#cssns #cssns20 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #gingerchangeling #inspired by the parent trap

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yuulina-vre · 3 years

Text

Gifting you a new life

Finding the hint

Pairing: Steve x Bucky, Reader insert

Warnings: None

Word count: 3731 words

Part: Two

Summary: Bucky struggles a litte through his workday

Masterlist

* * *

Bucky wakes up tiredly. The night wasn’t one of the best he ever had but it wasn’t as bad as the worst ones. Nightmares and restlessness had him captured and awake for half of the night. Now he doesn’t really feel rested, but he’s used to it by now. His shoulder aches as he sits up. He winces slightly, starting to massage around on the scarred flesh of his stump for a moment, then rolling his shoulder and ignoring the slightly dulled pain. After throwing the blanket off his lap he yawns wide and long before he stands up to stretch his arm as high as he can. He throws a quick glance at his metal prosthetic that he had taken off before bed. He still can’t decide if he likes or hates it, even after years of having it. It makes the everyday life easier but at the same time it’s a struggle to put on by himself, he can’t feel with it and sometimes he calculates his strength wrong and smashes glasses and the like. One thing that’s makes no difference are the looks. He gets them if he wears the arm and he gets them I he doesn’t, but by now he’ s at least used to that.

With a sigh he lets the arm stay in his box and walks to the bathroom and straight to the mirror. After seeing his reflections, he sighs again, this time in annoyance. His hair is a mess! It’s tangled up nicely and look like a mop, not hair at all. Maybe he really should cut it at some point. He had grown it out since he got honorably discharged from active duty. That was about three years ago.

He eyes his reflection with a slight frown, brushes his hair but doesn’t try to even get it somehow presentable, just pulls it up into a bun. Then he undresses as best as he can with one arm and steps into the shower to quickly get rid of the sweat of the night, from dreams he can’t even remember anymore.

After stepping out of the shower into the now steam filled room, he feels more awake and refreshed. His hair is now a wet mess in a bun since he didn’t pay attention to it and got it all wet. But he doesn’t mind.

Wrapped up in a towel around his waist and holding it with his hand he leaves the bathroom again to sit back down on his bed. His eyes wander back to the arm in the box. He silently debates if he should put it on today or not. Sometimes he rather not wears it when his shoulder hurts already it makes attaching the arm difficult and the pain will grow over the day but without it his workday will be a struggle to handle. After a few minutes of back and forth he garbs his prosthetic, letting the towel fall from his hips. It’s not like someone can see him running around naked anyway. Aside from Maggie but she’s not even here. Bucky struggles a little with getting the arm attached to his shoulder. It always hurts a little afterwards which is now worse since his shoulder is, in fact, hurting already. “Come on you fucking piece of- Aha” he curses a little until he finally manages to get the damned thing on. He really hates this arm. Maybe. Probably. He rotates his arm and shoulder for a while, massages the scarring again to prevent the stiffness from setting in just yet. It feels a little heavy at first, like it’s dragging his right side down, but Bucky knows that it’s just because he actually wears his prosthetic for the first time in three days and the feeling will vanish the longer he wears it. He carefully flexes his metal hand a few times, testing the strength and motion before he lift himself from his bed to shuffle over to his closet. He gets one of his favorite shirts and a pair of boxers and pants to get dressed in before he leaves the room to walk downstairs to his kitchen. Once again, he’s reminded that his house is actually too big for just him. He used to live here with his siter but since she married a few years ago he’s living all by himself in the house he grew up in. he thought about selling the place a few times by now but never really got it in him to follow through. There were just too many memories of his parents and his childhood in the walks and floor. Each cracking step, whistling of wind that squeezes past the windows, each little ting that need renovating or replacing has its own memory to tell. So, he stays. Maybe he adopts a dew more cat. Maggie probably feels lonely when he’s not home anyway. Yawning tiredly again, still not really awake, he switches on the coffee machine before he starts the toaster. While waiting for his toast he goes to one of the cabinets to retrieve some of Maggie’s favorite food and fills it in her bowl, whistling for her, so she knows food’s ready. Then he walks back to his table, grabs his toasts and some stuff to put on them, grabs his coffee and starts his breakfast, all while scrolling through his phone. He’s almost finished eating when he hears a meow from behind him. Bucky turns around only to be greeted by a white, black-footed fluffy cat that stares up at him with sparkling amber eyes. “Hey you. Finally, back? I waited for hours last night.” Bucky glares at his little girl but Magnolia only meows again, rubbing her head against his leg with a purr before stalking over to her food. Bucky shakes his head and silently curses himself for being so soft for the fur ball. “You know, one of these days I see you stealing my credit card to buy yourself some staff or something. You do what you want, huh?” The cat meows again, looks up at him and flicks its tail as if to say that he’s damn right. Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. For feeding I’m good enough, I know.” Snorting he drinks the last of his coffee, gets up and disposes everything into the sink to wash up later. Then he walks to Maggie, bends down and picks her up into his arms. She struggles for a second, not pleased to be interrupted while eating breakfast but then settles down, rubbing her head under his chin with some more purring. A smile creeps on Bucky’s face, he starts scratching under Maggie’s chin and kissing her fluffy head until his gaze switches to the clock on the wall. It’s late already but he figures that he can take five minutes to cuddle with his favorite girl. He strokes though the cat’s fur, letting her purr against his chest while she still rubs her head against his chin and shoulder. As much as Maggie loves to be outside, striving through the wilderness of his garden, she loves to cuddle with him, too. Sometimes Bucky thinks that she has more dog than cat in her genes. She always seems to know when he’s not feeling well or is in pain. She comes running up to him, greatly takes her places on his lap or chest and stays there, purring contently and letting the man stroke through her fur until he’s feeling better, or she decides he has to suck it up already. Sometimes she stays as long as Bucky lets her, and he has to admit that it can be pretty long. He loves her small warm body purring against his skin. Magnolia is really good at comforting, too.

The little white ball meows again and Bucky kisses her head once more. “I know, I need to get ready.” He sets her down watching her walking back to her food. “See you later, Maggie. Don’t do stupid stuff. And don’t scratch the couch again. I know it was you!” He points at the cat, but Magnolia just throws an innocent look at him, munching happily. He shakes his head before he walks to his wardrobe in the hall, slips on his ID card for the military and takes the dog tags form the key hooks where they always hang. He stokes his thumb carefully over the old and damaged metal, lingering for a moment in some memories. These tags are the only thing that he still has from his time as a soldier. They aren’t his though, oh no. He gave his own to his sister for keeping safe util he’s ready to take them back again. These ones are somebody else’s. They’re from the man that he rescued. A comrade, a total stranger. He pushed him away as a grenade exploded which made the stranger fall down a small cliff. That was the day he lost his arm. He can’t remember much about the day, let alone the face of the Captain he saved. Since he retired his service and works in the lost-and-found section of the military he tries to find the man. For five years now. He still has no clue who he is or where to find him. He doesn’t even know if he’s still alive or if he died that day. No one could help him, and no one seems to know the man. At least no one he talked to. The team is so damaged that the only things he knows are, that the man had the rank of a Captain and his last name ends with ‘gers’. So, he carries the tags with him, as reminder and in hopes to finally find a clue one day and get the chance to give them back. He carefully slips them into his jeans pocket, takes his car keys, locks the door and walks over to his car. The old thing looks like it’s falling apart some day and Bucky really hopes that his motorcycle will be repaired by tomorrow. He hates his car.

* * *

The moment he opens the door to his office at the community center he sighs. He managed to get across the whole place without anyone stopping him to have a chat. It’s not that he doesn’t like talking to anyone but if he doesn’t have to than that its totally fine for him. He likes to be alone and have his silence. He only greeted some people he knows pretty well, and actually likes.

Now he collapses into his chair with a huffed sigh. It’s not that he has much to do but the few things he has to do are tiring. Carding through old files, newspaper, calling the archive of the military and so on. A lot of running around, too. And all that just to return some old things to retired soldiers or their remaining family. The things mostly consisted of dog tags, photos sometimes clothes that were found on battlefields or while sorting through other stuff somewhere. To be fair, most of the people are very happy to get some memories to cherish. Some are not that happy and ask to get rid of the things because they dig up things that were buried a long time ago. Bucky can understand that very well, that’s why Becca has his own tags right now.Bucky rubs at his shoulder; his prosthetic seems to give him more trouble today. He wonders if his shoulder is too stiff already, it has only been two weeks since it got massaged professionally. Or if it got infected again. That happens sometimes and with all the scarring he has, the fears get more vivid that the doctor was very sloppy in his work. If he had enough money, he would go to the next best doctor, get everything fixed but that would cost a fortune and the military would not help him out since he already got his arm and operations covered before. He lets out a second sigh. What a damn mess he returned to. Everybody tells you that it will get better after returning home, after living a normal life. Bucky thinks he has more troubles now then he had before. A knock on the door startles him out of his thoughts. He looks up just as it opens and a brunette woman steps in. “Maria.” Maria Hill, one of Bucky’s favorite co-workers and at the same time some sort of boss, after Nick Fury of course, holds a cardboard box in her hands. “Hello James. I’ve got something new for you.”“Again? I didn’t even finish the last box.”“I know. But this might be interesting for you. The things all should be easy to get back, too.” She places the box on his table and opens it. “We got a few lost dog tags, some pictures form wife’s and children, clothes and all the usual.”

“Something pretty damaged?”

“No, at least not as damaged as the tags that you’re always carrying around.” She musters his feature as his hand instantly raises to the pocket. “Did you find any clue by now?” She raises her eyebrows, looking really interested. She always tries to help him find the mysterious Captain but until now there’s no lead. “No.” Bucky sighs defeated, flopping back in his chair. “The guy seems to have vanished. I found some guys who were in the same area as we were back then, but no one seems to be either around here or to remember. Just have to keep looking.”

“Did you look through protocols?”

“Yeah, and I asked Peggy. But nothing ‘til now.”

“You’ll find him eventually.” Maria pats him on the shoulder with a kind smile. “Anyway, this here might be a little easier. The tags are pretty good to read, so you shouldn’t have any difficulties to find the ones to return them to. Some of the photos even have names written on the back, could be some kind of help.”

“Thanks.” Bucky gifts her a small smile before he pulls the box closer to look through it. Maria looks him over for a while. “It’s bad again, huh?”

“Hm?” Bucky looks up at her, wondering what she means this time. “Your shoulder. You’re holding it in a protective posture again.” She nods at his shoulder before she crosses her arms. “I don’t understand why you aren’t asking Fury for a new one.”

“Because his answer is going to be the same as last time.” Now Bucky leans back in his chair, crossing his own arms over his chest. “He’s going to say that I already got a new arm, and that the military isn’t a charity organization. We don’t repair what’s already been repaired.” Bucky rolls his eyes and sees Maria do the same. “Should I talk to him?”

“No. I will talk to Phil, try to find out if I have any other option so I don’t need to pay everything on my own. Since then, I have to live with this.” He shrugs his shoulder and suppresses a wince as a sharp pain shoots through it. Maria seems to notice it, her face darkens a bit, but she says nothing to it, well knowing Bucky will deny it if she points it out. “Fine. But do it quickly. It wouldn’t help when your shoulder is too damaged to repair anything.” She is almost out of the door as she turns to him again. “James. Nick says you still have to take your vacation. If you haven’t taken it by the end of the month, he’s going to force you.” He looks up, feeling a little uncomfortable but nods at the woman. “I know.” He watches as Maria leaves before he leans back in his seat again. It’s really not that he doesn’t want a vacation, he just doesn’t know what to do with all the time. He has no family left to visit besides Becca who lives in the same town, no other half to take on dates, Magnolia would disagree, though. She likes it when he spoils her rotten all day and would gladly have him home for a week or so. A vacation also means that he has way too much time to think, too. After he lost his arm he was in a really dark space of his head. It had taken his therapist almost two and a half years to get him back out of it and since then Bucky always tries to take as less free day’s as he can. Still, Fury always insist that he takes his vacation and always makes sure he really does.

While he goes through the contents of the box, he sees a photo that somehow catches his attention. On it is a man, clearly a higher ranged soldier with a woman. They’re both smiling at the little blonde boy in the man’s arms. The boy seems to be around five years old, has a lost tooth but he seems a bit smaller than other kids Bucky has ever seen at that age. He’s also very thin but his eyes shine with happiness as he hugs his dad while laughing. The photo is well used with all sorts of bends and folds in it. The edges turned a little yellow with time and are a little frayed. He keeps looking at it for a while longer and sets his mind to find the owner to this one first. He turns the photo around to see if somethings written on it. “Sarah and me with our little sunshine. 1993.” Bucky reads out aloud. He turns the picture again and thinks for a moment. Where should he start to search? He decides to run down to the archive to ask Peggy about it. She usually has some good ideas to help him.

* * *

The archive, like almost all archives, is down in the basement of the whole compound. It’s pretty big and each time Bucky is down here he asks himself how Peggy still knows where to find something. Margeret ‘Peggy’ Carter is one of Bucky’s favorite woman. She’s kind and almost always likes to chat with him, always knowing what to say and when to be silent. She listens to him and is actually the only one that never showed him some kind of pity. She always says what she thinks and is honest with him. He appreciates it very much. Peggy even established the lost-and-found unit for the military, having lost her own husband in a war.

He knocks lightly on the door and waits for Peggy to call him in. Never would he dare to just enter. Peggy can be really scary when she wants to be, and he learned that lesson more than once. “Come in.”

“Hello, Peg.”

“Bucky. How nice to see you.” The elderly woman smiles at him and waves him over. “What brings you down here?”

“I need your help.”

“Oh, what for this time?”

“I have this picture. Do you happen to know this man or where I can find something about him?” He passes the picture over to her and she eyes it for a while before turning it over. The year that’s on the paper is one year before Peggy lost her husband, so she knew many soldiers at that time. She hums and mutters to herself before she stands up and shuffles away to vanish behind some of the shelves. Twenty minutes later she comes back with a big box of folders. “This are all the soldiers that got send away in 1993. Let’s see if he was one of them. He looks kind of familiar, but I don’t have a name to that face.” Bucky nods and they go through folder after folder until Peggy hums. “I knew he’s familiar. He was the one to always get me some cake on my birthday. And his little boy was a really sweet one. He drew me lots of pictures, quite talented actually.”

“Show me?” Bucky holds his hand out for the folder and Peggy passes it to him with a bitter expression. “The poor boy. He must be around your age now. Joseph was a really nice man. But in 1993 he was sent to this stupid mission.” The brunette woman shakes her head with a displeased sound. “Something top secret.” She scoffs and Bucky can clearly see what she thinks about it. That kind of mission happe more that one would think and never do the families hear what really happened to their loved ones when they pass away while being shipped off. “The man never came back. Sarah had to raise Steve all on her own. The boy had lots of sicknesses and Sarah had to manage double shifts in the hospital and caring for the boy when he was ill again.” Bucky looks up from the folder and passes it back to Peggy. “You seem to know a lot about them.”

“Sure do. Sarah brought Steve over from time to time. I told her I would look for her little troublemaker if she needs to pull extra shifts. Until he turned thirteen, I think, he was like a nephew. Then Sarah had to move away. Her rent was too high, and I lost contact.” Bucky nods and looks back down at the picture. “Do you know where I can find her?”

“On the cemetery I’m afraid. I think Sarah died a few years ago. The boy must have turned 18 or so.” Bucky raises his eyebrows and looks down at the picture once more. “Seems like a bad life for him so far.” He picks the picture up and looks at Peggy again. “Do you know where he lives now?”

“No. Dear god, if I would know where everybody’s children moved, I would know whole America.” She frowns at him, but her eyes still sparkle. Bucky guesses she has some nice memories returning right now. “Okay, okay, Peggy.” Bucky raises his hands with an amused laugh. “Need some help to get these away before I leave.”

“I got this, you just go and make this boy a bit happier. I remember he was really sad back then. He loved his father.” She waves at Bucky as he leaves.

Pervious Part / Next Part

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Bucky x Steve #Reader #reader insert #Yuulina writes #Steve x Bucky

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

Happy belated birthday, @courtorderedcake ! I am so sorry this gift is late! It’s been a week, we’ll just say that, and I wanted your gift to be good. I know you have been through SO much difficulty, my dear, and I wanted to write a fic focusing on Emma’s tough past and her strength because I know you identify with her so deeply. This turned out going in a much different direction than I anticipated, especially with the Daddy!Charming at the end. Nevertheless, I hope you like it! I based this on the song of the same name by Pearl Jam, and the two lines I used at the end made me think of you, Court, as well as Emma: “She holds the hand that holds her down/ She will rise above.”

This fic doesn’t follow the season seven timeline simply because it makes my head hurt and it was just easier to ignore it. I also needed Emma’s past in the Land Without Magic to touch her in the present, and the whole “all the realms are in Maine” wouldn’t really work here. Therefore, this is three years after the season six finale. Henry is sixteen Neal Nolan is three, and baby Hope is two months old.

Summary: The past collides with the present when Emma gets an upsetting phone call. But she isn’t a lost girl anymore.

Rating: T for brief discussions of child neglect, emotional abuse, and alcoholism

Words: 3,500 and some change

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @distant-rose @delirious-latenight-laughs @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @profdanglaisstuff @tiganasummertree @resident-of-storybrooke @snidgetsafan @thislassishooked @branlovestowrite @scientificapricot @stahlop @hollyethecurious @shireness-says @winterbaby89 @wellhellotragic

Neither Emma nor Killian would say that their pasts were a faded, distant memory. Trauma just wasn’t that easy to get over. They would say, however, that this life they’d built in Storybrooke made the memories easier to handle. They had legit, “I’d go to hell and back for you”, family and friends. They had the home of their dreams where they could give Henry and Hope all the things they never had. They no longer felt the pang of hunger or the bite of cold.

Most of all, they had each other. Having each other meant sharing the burden of those memories for the first time. It was like peeling an onion, and Emma didn’t mean that metaphor in the usual sense. She meant the layers stung like hell, so they could only handle tiny bits at a time. It was okay, though, Killian told her. They had a lifetime together.

Taking the pain a tiny piece at a time was why the phone call came as such a shock for both of them. It wasn’t that Emma forgot about Hank, it’s just she’d never heard anyone speak of him aloud in almost thirty years.

Killian watched her face go pale, saw her arm go limp even though he could still hear a tiny voice coming through the speaker of her phone.

“Emma? Is everything okay?”

She dropped the phone without ending the call, and it hit one of the throw pillows and slid to the edge of the couch. Without saying a word, she headed upstairs, and Killian snatched the phone up and pressed it to his ear. The person on the other end was saying “hello? Ms. Swan, are you there?”

“This is Mr. - this is her husband,” Killian said. Though Storybrooke was no longer isolated from the outside world, Killian still essentially didn’t exist outside of its borders. Their marriage, though real in every way that mattered, wasn’t legally official outside of their little hamlet of fairy tale characters.

“Oh,” the woman on the line said, “well, could you just let her know that visiting hours end at nine pm?”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “Visiting hours?”

“Yes, if she’d like to come visit Hank Gregory. Her foster father?”

Killian sank to the edge of the couch. “Could you fill me in, please? My wife was a little - overwhelmed by your call.”

“Well, Mr. Gregory was admitted to Maine Medical Center here in Portland about two days ago with complications from both liver disease and diabetes. We’ve done all we can for him, but he’s been admitted into the ICU.” The woman took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength to get the next words out.

“I told your wife this already, but he doesn’t have a lot of time. We asked if he had any next of kin he’d like us to contact, and your wife’s name and number was all he gave us. He said she was his foster daughter?”

Killian rubbed the curve of his hook against his chin. No wonder the nurse phrased it as a question - this call likely wasn’t going the way she had envisioned. Across the room, Henry had discarded his video game controller and was watching Killian with a question furrowing his brow. Killian wished he weren’t so worried himself because it’s one thing for the man to have Emma’s name. It was quite another for him to have her cell phone number.

“Let me jot down those visitation hours,” he finally told the nurse, motioning to Henry to get a pad of paper and a pen. The lad dashed to the kitchen and fished them out of the junk drawer. Killian repeated the information from the nurse as Henry scribbled it down. After ending the call, Henry regarded him intensely.

“What was that all about? Mom seemed really upset.”

Killian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not one hundred percent sure yet, Henry.”

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

“Are you’re absolutely positive that you want to do this, love?”

Emma was clutching the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, but she nodded at Killian anyway. They were twenty minutes outside of Storybrooke, and she’d been completely silent the entire time.

“I need answers. The man treated me like shit for two years, and now, 24 years later, he calls out of the blue?”

Killian really wasn’t sure what to say, so he merely rubbed Emma’s arm with the curve of his hook. She smiled at the gesture, and her body relaxed. One of her hands released the steering wheel, and she reached over to grasp his. He lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

“The bastard isn’t going to die without me getting a thing or two off my chest, either,” she added with a bitter chuckle.

There was a time a few years ago that the anger radiating from her and the harshness of her words would have him worried. His mind would have gone immediately to his own bitterness towards his father and the darkness that kind of path leads to. But now he knew better. Emma had faced the darkness and risen above it. He also knew she had to face her demons on her own terms.

“I’m right beside you, Swan, you know that.”

Her face relaxed and she turned her palm to lace their fingers together. She lifted their hands and pressed her lips to the back of his before letting go so she could put two hands back on the wheel. She bore right and soon the Bug was heading down 295 to Portland.

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

Maine Medical Center was enormous, comprised of several different buildings. To make matters worse, parts of it were being renovated and construction zones were everywhere. They finally found the correct building, finally found a parking deck, and then walked what felt like a million miles to the ICU. Killian had never been anywhere but Storybrooke General, but this massive place had the same sterile smell and chilly air. He noticed Emma shivering and put his arm around her as they walked. She leaned into him, clasping his prosthetic hand in hers, his hook not exactly appropriate for the setting.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” she whispered.

“It’s what a husband does,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.

His quip at least elicited a tiny chuckle from her. They approached the nurses station for the ICU, and Emma told them who she was and that she was here to see Hank Gregory. A smiling woman in her sixties whose spectacles reminded him of Granny Lucas led them to the correct room, which looked more to Killian like a glass prison. She eased the door open and called to the patient in the bed with a voice only slightly above a whisper.

“Mr. Gregory, you have visitors.”

The man’s eyes blinked open, and he turned his head towards the open door. He was covered in wires and tubes, and things blinked and beeped all around him. The nurse pressed a gentle hand to Emma’s arm.

“I’ll let you visit.”

Emma simply nodded, and Killian could tell she would rather flee. But she let out a long, slow breath and then took a step closer towards the man in the bed. His skin was pale and looked as thin as paper, littered in bruises. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks sallow, and there was a yellowish pallor to his face. He was mostly bald with only a few wisps of dingy gray hair. Killian glanced at Emma. She dropped her arms to her sides, and her hands were balled into tight fists.

“Emma,” the man said on a struggled breath, “you came.”

“How the hell did you find me?” she bit back.

The man’s eyes blinked, moist with tears. He looked sad, resigned, but not angry or defensive. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you over the years. Trying to, anyway. You can be a hard girl to find.”

“Yeah, I kinda pride myself on it.”

He ignored her jab, and smiled at Killian. “And who is your young man here?”

“I’m not ten anymore, Hank. This isn’t my young man, he’s my husband.”

“Killian Jones.” Killian gave the man a slight nod, unsure if he should attempt to shake his hand or not. He glanced nervously at Emma, wondering if she was offended by his polite greeting, but her gaze hadn’t left the man in the hospital bed.

“Nice to meet you, son.”

“He’s not your anything.” Emma propped her hands on her hips. “How. Did. You. Find me?”

He sighed, his head sinking even farther into his pillow. “I saw you in the papers a few years back. Emma Swan Always Gets Her Man, that was the headline. I’ve done some, well . . . work with computers, so I -”

“You obtained my personal information illegally, right? Did you know I’m a sheriff now?”

Hank tilted his head. “No, actually, I didn’t. Funny thing, I was following your career in New York, even found out about your son -”

“You stay the hell away from Henry!”

Hank ignored her “-but then the two of you just . . . disappeared. I held onto your number, though. When I gave it to the nurse, I wasn’t sure if it would even work. I was even less sure that you would come.”

Emma’s chin was tilted, and Killian knew what that meant. “Why me?”

“You’re all I’ve got left, Emma. You were my daughter, for God’s sake!”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your daughter. I never was.”

“Maybe not by blood, but I loved you like my own -”

“You don’t know what love even is!” Emma was shouting now, and Killian glanced nervously at the door. He wasn’t going to stop her, though. Obviously, whatever was pouring out of her had been bottled up for years. Hank was obviously not long for this world, and he knew better than anyone that his wife needed to say everything that had been left unsaid.

Hank was crying now, tears catching in the wrinkles that marred his face. “I didn’t treat you right, I know that, but I did love you, Emma. I did.”

Emma shook her head. “Really? You loved me so much you spent all of the money on liquor while I starved? Loved me so much you spent every waking moment in that damn recliner with the tv on? Do you know how many times I had to clean you up after you’d puked all over yourself? How many times I had to haul trash bags full of empty bottles out to the curb?”

“I know, I know!” Hank was sobbing now, his voice breaking as he struggled to speak. “When Denine and I took you in, we were gonna do it together. We were so excited to give you a home. But then she died, and I . . . she was my life, Emma. I was grieving so badly that I lost myself in the drinking, and -”

“I was grieving too!” Emma shouted. “And I was only ten!”

An awkward silence fell then, the sounds of the hospital machines louder within it. Hank’s gaze trailed to the ceiling, and his hands picked nervously at the thin hospital blanket. He let out a shaky sigh before finally speaking again.

“I’m dying, Emma. My liver’s useless, my kidneys are failing.” Groaning, he struggled to sit up in the bed, his right hand shaking violently as he reached for the blanket across his lap. When he yanked it aside, Killian’s eyes widened in surprise to see legs that ended in blunted stumps where feet should have been. Emma, however, didn’t react at all.

“Look at me,” Hank choked out. “I hated myself so much, I literally killed myself. Didn’t give a shit about my diabetes, so I lost my feet.”

“Serves you right,” Emma replied coldly.

“You’re right, it does,” Hank agreed, awkwardly covering himself back up and collapsing against his pillows. “Denine would be devastated if she saw me now.”

“She was good to me,” Emma whispered, hugging her arms around herself.

Hank nodded, tears gathering in his eyes once again. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was before it’s too late. I hoped that maybe we could -”

“Fine,” Emma interrupted him, “you got to apologize, but if you think that means I’ll forgive you, then I guess you’re gonna die disappointed.”

Emma completely ignored the broken man as he sobbed in the hospital bed, turning instead for the door and striding from the room. Killian followed her, but he couldn’t help glancing back at Hank Gregory with sympathy.

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

Emma felt physically drained, yet a buzz of righteous anger still tingled along her skin. Killian, however, had fallen into a melancholy she couldn’t understand. They had decided to get lunch in the hospital cafeteria rather than drive around trying to find a place to eat. They had found a spot to sit next to a window looking out at a courtyard, and Killian seemed far more interested in watching the people walking past than the food in front of him.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, reaching out to grasp his hand, “what’s wrong?”

He gave her that smile that never fooled her because it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, love, really.”

As if to try and prove it to her, he picked up his fork and speared a piece of broccoli. Not very convincing, however, when it never reached his mouth. Emma sighed and put down her grilled cheese.

“Yeah right, nothing.” She regarded his brooding nervously, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Do you think I’m an awful person? To yell at a dying man like that?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. As difficult as it was, it had to be said.”

If anything, Killian’s words only made him look more depressed. Emma frowned. “But you think I should go back and forgive him?”

Killian shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to do in a situation like this. I confess, I wish you would, but . . . “

“But what?”

He finally met her eyes, dropping the fork with the uneaten broccoli. “Can’t you see it, Swan?”

Her brow furrowed. “See what?”

“Is there really that much difference between me and Hank Gregory?”

Emma couldn’t help it, a short laugh escaped her lips. “You can’t be serious.”

“A one-handed pirate with a drinking problem,” he grumbled.

“What?”

Killian rubbed his forehead, unable to look at her. “It’s what Pan said in Neverland when I told him you were finally seeing me for who I really am.”

Emma rolled her eyes, though she knew Killian was serious. “And you’re going to believe that psychopath?”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong. And here you are, refusing to forgive . . . an alcoholic with no feet.”

Emma’s eyes widened as his words sank in, then her face softened and tears moistened her eyes. “Oh babe,” she told him softly, grasping his hand again and rubbing his knuckles with her thumb, “you’re nothing like him. I’ve seen you drink too much, sure, but you’re not an alcoholic. You’ve never neglected me or Henry or Hope. You’ve done nothing but put us first.” She let out a long, slow breath, relieved when she saw a tiny glimmer spark in her husband’s eyes. “Hank ignored me, neglected me, yelled at me and called me names for two long, excruciating years.”

“Oh Swan,” he told her in a choked voice, “I’m not sure I was much better after losing Milah.”

“No, stop it,” she said firmly, grasping his prosthetic and his hand firmly in both of hers. “That may be true, but I know you, better than anyone. I have no doubt in my mind that if a child needed you, you would have been there. As a matter of fact, you did just that, for Neal - I mean Bae.”

“And then I mucked it all up like I always -”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Jones.”

He gave a small laugh, and ducked his head. Since she didn’t seem to be getting through to him, she got up, plopped right down in his lap and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Forget the past, remember? Isn’t that what we said on our wedding day?”

“Yes, but -”

“No buts. Hank Gregory was never a father to me. He sucked, okay? You, however, are the best father I could ever dream of for Henry and Hope.” She punctuated her words with a searing kiss, not giving a damn that they were in the middle of crowded, bustling Maine Medical Center.

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

Emma rubbed her palms on her jeans nervously as she watched the dying man through the glass of his room in the ICU. Killian put his arm around her and pulled her close.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

Emma nodded. “Yes. You were right, I did need to say those harsh words.” She turned to him and shrugged. “But they weren’t the only words. I guess I have too much of my parents in me.”

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

With a steadying breath, she stepped away from her husband and opened the door. She had thought Hank was sleeping, but she had been wrong. He turned towards the door and smiled when he saw her.

“I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Yeah, well . . . “ Emma shrugged as she approached his bed. She stepped to the foot of it and grasped the edge with both hands. “I was talking to my husband, and he reminded me that people can change.”

Hank’s eyes brightened with hopefulness. “I have changed, Emma, and I was hoping maybe I could get to know my daughter again.”

Emma lifted her hand. “Please don’t call me that, Hank. I found my real parents, and they’re wonderful people. My dad and I especially are close. He and I -” she chuckled, surprised when tears rose up in her eyes thinking of David. “Well, we’re a lot alike. My mom definitely says so about a hundred times a day.”

Tears rolled freely down Hank’s cheeks. “Oh, Emma, I’m so happy to hear that. Knowing that, I really think I can leave this world in peace.”

Emma blinked, startled. “What?”

“I was such a horrible parent to you, Emma, and you were so innocent. I never forgave myself, and I tortured myself after children’s services took you away wondering what happened to you. Wondering if you ever found a family to love you the way you always deserved.”

Emma nodded, the tears flowing freely on her own face. “I have. I really have.”

“Anyone else besides Henry, your parents, and that handsome husband of yours?”

“Yes,” Emma said, pulling her cell phone out of her jacket pocket as she came around to the side of the bed, “my baby girl Hope. Here she is on the day she was born.”

Hank’s trembling hand came out to bring the screen closer. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is, isn’t she?”

An awkward silence fell as Emma pocketed her phone. She shifted her feet awkwardly, wondering if she could really spit the words out she had come here to say.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Hank finally said.

Emma’s face softened as she held his gaze. “Yes, I do. Not for you, but for me.” She took another deep breath and reached out to grasp Hank’s hand. “Hank, I forgive you.”

The man let out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes closing as he whispered, “thank you.” He must have been saving that breath for Emma’s words because as soon as it fell from his lips, every machine in the room started beeping. Emma was shoved out of the way as doctors and nurses rushed in to attend to the dying man. She found herself back in Killian’s arms, weeping against his shoulder.

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

The drive home was a bit surreal with nothing but silence their companion back to Storybrooke. Emma didn’t think the feeling was grief - she’d known that, and God, she’d never forget it. Yet she did feel emotionally spent, and wrung out of all coherent thought. Killian didn’t seem concerned by her silence, content to watch the scenery go by and hum along with the radio. Occasionally, he would take her hand in his and give her a reassuring smile.

Emma was surprised when she saw the Welcome to Storybrooke sign - it was like she had driven home on autopilot. When they parked outside of their house, her heart flipped to see her dad’s truck. David came out on the porch before they had even exited the vehicle, Hope cradled in his arms.

“Snow needed to take Neal to t-ball practice so I -” David’s words were cut off when Emma launched herself into his arms. His free arm came up to cup his daughter’s head, and he was shocked to hear her crying against him. He looked to Killian with a startled expression and was relieved when his son-in-law gave him a small smile and a tiny nod that Emma was fine. Killian gently took Hope from him, grinning as the two month old squealed in delight. His arms free, David held Emma tighter.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” he finally asked her.

Emma pulled back, a smile lighting her face despite the tears. “Yeah, I am. Better than okay. I just . . . I love you, Dad.”

David swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I love you, too.”

She holds the hand that holds her down / She will rise above.

#cs ff #cs future fic #emotional hurt/comfort #daddy charming #killian's self loathing #emma's past #emma facing her past

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

Hello, hey, hi there internet. I’ve spent the last two days casually dying in my living room, so to combat that, I’ve written some vague Halloween words set inexplicably in the Out of the Frying Pan universe. It’s because @searchingwardrobes tagged me when she reblogged these gifs. Also, this is very much for @shireness-says who is an absolute delight at all times.

She couldn’t move her fingers fast enough.

Emma pulled herself closer, tugging lightly on the mess of hair in her hands and whatever noise he made ensured that these few stolen moments were absolutely, positively worth it.

In a storage closet.

On set.

Where she was dangerously close to ripping her husband’s jacket off.

He had to go film in a few minutes.

It was a miracle no one had found them yet.

So, it might not have been the most mature thing they’d ever done, but it had been a week and she’d spent the last two days looking at costume options to wear while cooking some Halloween monstrosity and Mary Margaret keep texting about the party at the Jolly and it was—

“God, I can’t think when you do that,” Killian groaned, a distinct lack of anything even resembling frustration in his voice.

Emma smiled against his mouth. And nipped at his lower lip. That version of the sound was slightly different and possibly even better, a low rumble in the back of his throat and his hand flat against her back as soon as it worked under her shirt.

“Yeah, that is definitely the point,” Emma said. She gasped when his other hand moved, prosthetic working under her left thigh to hitch that same thigh further up his hip and something shook precariously above his head.

“If we get concussed,” she continued, “I’m blaming you.”

Killian snickered, dropping his head to drag his mouth over the curve of her jaw and the side of her neck and Emma’s back arched of its own accord. “If memory serves, love, this was your idea.”

“Yeah, well—“

“Well?”

“Oh, don’t get smug.”

“Would I do that?”

Emma hummed, another hair tug and unspoken command to kiss her again because they were so goddamn good at kissing each other and she hadn’t checked with Henry on his costume yet.

She assumed Henry remembered to get his own costume.

And that Ryan hadn’t.

Because she was a baby.

“You’re getting distracted, Swan,” Killian murmured.

“You think very highly of you mind reading powers, don’t you?”

“I think you nearly yanked my hair out of my head—“

“—Ok, let’s not joke like you’re not stupid into that.”

It was a closet, so it wasn’t very bright in the few feet of space Emma had pushed them into, but she was certain she could see the first few hints of color on Killian’s cheeks and the tips of his ears and that one, specific way his eyes flashed never failed to leave her just a little breathless.

She scrunched her nose.

“What if we just blew off the party?”

“What?”

“Didn’t go,” Killian shrugged, an impressive feat considering the location of his hand and how much stuff the network had managed to stuff in this closet.

“It’s at our restaurant.”

“And have you planned a single second of it?”

“Why does that sound like a commendation?”

He nipped at the shell of her ear. Emma had to glance down to make sure she hadn’t burst into flames. She hadn’t. So, positives. “It’s not,” Killian said. “First of all, when would you have had the time—“

“—Oh shit, remind me later that Rubes wants to talk about starting some kind of Instagram video thing—“

“—Swan, we cannot talk about Lucas while I’m actively trying to get my hand under your shirt.”

Emma’s nose was going to be permanently scrunched. And impossibly charmed. “Is it not already?”

“Well, that’s just semantics and—“

“You know,” she drawled, scratching lightly at the back of his neck, “you are even more attractive when you’re flustered, Lieutenant.”

“Even more?”

“Also not a condemnation.”

She could feel his smile when he kissed her, which might have been better than the thigh thing and the hand thing and they managed to hide in the storage closet for another three minutes before Emma figured there would be actual repercussions to being in the closet and—

“Oh my God, have you seen this?” Ruby asked sharply, several days later at a party Emma hadn’t planned a moment of, wearing a red hood with a stuffed wolf in an actual basket.

Emma shook her head. The tiara was already pinching her brain. She needed to find her kids. And her husband. And maybe another closet. Or, a hallway.

She wasn’t going to be specific.

“You’re just shouting words at me,” Emma said. “Have you seen Henry? Or Ry? Or—“

“—Your husband post-makeout?”

“Excuse me?”

Ruby’s smile stretched across her face so slowly, Emma was actually concerned something had happened to the fabric of reality. That didn’t last long. Because then there was a phone in her face and a video on the phone and, that time, the nose scrunch came from the blush rising up her own cheeks.

He must have filmed before he cooked — a talking head for Iron Chef and Emma couldn’t imagine how no one had noticed, but his hair was…messy. Standing almost straight up. Clearly wrecked by Emma’s fingers.

Ruby threw her whole head back when she laughed.

“Oh my God, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. That is—you really did a number on him, huh?”

Emma’s face flamed, lips tugged back hind her teeth and eyes squeezed shut, like ignoring Ruby would make sure no one else knew about this, but that was a pipe dream and she could hear footsteps moving towards them.

“Oh, leave her alone, Rubes,” Mary Margaret chided. “Sometimes, you’ve got to seize your opportunities when you get them, that’s all.”

Emma gagged. “You are married to my brother.”

“And your husband filmed his Iron Chef interview with makeout hair.”

“How did the happen?” Emma asked, finally opening her eyes. Ruby was still laughing. “I mean—was Gina not there?”

“Did you want Gina to see Killian’s makeout hair?”

“Stop calling it that!”

Mary Margaret ducked her head, turning to bury her face in Ruby’s shoulder. It didn’t help mask her laugh much, both of them shaking with the rather pitiful attempts to stay quiet.

“That’s not an answer,” she muttered.

Ruby bit down on her hand before she answered. “Apparently Gina was helping Ariel with stuff for tonight, couldn’t be on set when they started filming and, uh—“ She shrugged. “—This happened.”

“Are they going to use it?”

“I don’t think they have another choice, really. Plus—“

“—I think I look pretty great, honestly,” Killian interrupted, an arm circling Emma’s waist and his chin hooking over her shoulder. She definitely leaned back. “And, for the record, Gina was the one who was shirking responsibilities, not me. I was on time for call.”

“Yeah,” Ruby laughed, “you’re a picture of responsibility.”

“You want to let our kids stay at your apartment this weekend?”

“So you can make out with Em?”

“Was that not obvious?”

“And filmed for posterity,” Mary Margaret added, smiling when she saw the presumably scandalized look on Emma’s face.

Killian kissed behind her ear.

And Emma hadn’t really made any decisions about anything to do with the Jolly’s annual Halloween party, but the party was fun and Ariel had let Will come up with some ridiculous alcoholic concoction that left her with a pleasant buzz under her skin and she didn’t argue as soon as her shoulders pressed into the hallway outside of the kitchen, Killian’s mouth catching hers.

She pushed her fingers into his hair.

#cs ff #captain swan #here's hoping this is even coherent #seriously guys my ears are a disaster #i've watched two seasons of bob's burgers today

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spirit-of-the-void · 5 years

Text

Echo Chamber (Vergil x Reader) Chapter Two

Author’s notes: Sorry this came out so late--my laptop is having issues. But alas! We’re finally moving on to actually meeting Vergil, in which our reader feels a bit of gremlin activate.

Chapter Two

Why am I doing this? Why am I still going here?

The drive to Capulet was an hour long, not nearly enough time for you to get through all the thoughts and doubts banging around your poor cranium. Driving used to be cathartic, damn it. Something done to relax, to free oneself from troubles and worries in the pounding bass of the car’s stereo and through the wind flowing from open windows. Sadly, doing the former stopped being an option after the incident with your leg. Music didn’t provide relief anymore, only serving to make you feel lonely and nostalgic in ways that brought all the memories back. Which sucked, because listening to music used to be the best coping mechanism, one that made you so happy and free. It was why the band had been formed in the first place, why learning to play a guitar freed you from so much stress.

But silence had its own downsides. It left your apprehension free to dig in roots, watered by empty space between the sounds of the engine running and wind gusting through open windows. Thoughts of where you were going, and with what purpose in mind left you growing steadily more anxious as the drive lasted on. That hour felt both like an eternity and far less time than needed, which left you feeling even more dazed about the whole situation. Was this really the best idea, coming to this place to meet absolute strangers in some jaded attempt to suffocate your own trauma? To bring inspiration and motivation back? It seemed so logical when Kraven said it, but now you were having doubts considering just how far-fetched it sounded. Maybe turning around was the proper thing to do, maybe continuing therapy would help in its own time.

Problem was you didn’t want to disappoint your band members anymore.

They were being so patient, so caring. How many different scenarios had you turned down in this similar way? Getting to the midpoint of the process before turning tail and running back to the safety of your home. Too uncertain, too afraid. You were sick of crawling back into bed, heart aching and prosthetic feeling like a heavier and heavier weight when it was removed every night. If this followed through, if you managed to make it to this place and talk to the devil hunters working there...well, even when nothing came about it then at least you could say an attempt was made. It felt less like going to accept a job offer and more like scouting out some strange, mysterious unknown that promised to be the key to all the solutions. Strange, especially since it definitely wasn’t.

Anyway.

Before long you were turning off the interstate onto side streets, buildings rising up on either side. This part of town was far more Gothic in design, less of the modern housing from your neck of the woods. Many abandoned shop fronts passed by your car, houses that definitely didn’t look lived in for quite a few years. Yikes, this was a bit shifty. Capulet wasn’t very well known all things considered, one of the numerous towns either ravaged by poverty or demons themselves several years ago. Upside was that the rent on a lot of these buildings was dirt cheap, downside was that practically no one wanted to move into places of this caliber. Minus Devil May Cry itself, obviously.

You knew right away when the building approached, the bright red neon sign a far cry from everything else around it. There was plenty of parking space considering how very little people lived in the area, your car coming to a slow halt right in front of the store and settling while you tried to calm down. Engine off, deep breaths taken--you could do this, right? This was definitely the place, as off-putting and strange it appeared to be. Honestly, what was to be expected from the devil hunting headquarters? A church? Normal house? An office building? There was no handbook for this sort of thing, and you made the mistake of setting up expectations in the first place.

Regardless, you tried to swallow down the hesitation and worry in a desperate attempt to build yourself up. Kraven had expectations for you, they all did. And each moment you waited was another moment everyone’s carriers were forced to stay on hold. Interests would wane, fan support would eventually fade with time if you weren’t careful. And with the popularity of Eidolon’s Fall being on the rise at the time...this setback needed to be taken care of, and fast. Your hesitations be damned, this wasn’t happening anymore.

You just wished your dumb head would listen.

Self-deprecation isn’t helping, The reminder felt firm despite the glum thoughts, your hand reaching for the door handle and popping it open with a firm click, Time to wake up and face the music, kitten. This is meant to help me, remember?

You kept trying to tell yourself that as you left the solace of your vehicle, one hand gripped tightly on the cell phone and the other a fist at your side. Baby steps--only way to go is forward, right? Would be easier if that particular limb wasn’t so god damn heavy. You winced as your weight settled on it, looking down briefly after shutting the door to make sure it wasn’t obvious that it was a prosthetic. Between the boots, leggings, and the length of your jacket...your legs looked downright normal. My legs ARE normal, you corrected yourself, frowning at the train of thought and feeling a bit disappointed at its course, losing a leg doesn’t make me strange in the slightest, it doesn’t make me different.

That was the truth, you knew it well.

The doubt managed to be swallowed down a little bit, your heart thudding quietly against your ribs as you locked the doors on your vehicle. Shifty neighborhood, fairly okay car--no chances taken. No offense to Devil May Cry of course, you just didn’t really want to risk losing anything inside, like the various CDs or essentials that were kept in the back seat in case of emergencies.

Regardless, you managed to pry yourself away from the symbol of familiarity, feet dragging as you approached the double doors of the building itself. The sun was still out, half obscured by clouds that seemed to hint at a storm coming later, which wasn’t a surprise--your phone had long alerted you to the potential weather threat, so this definitely wasn’t a bad omen. Screw that, you didn’t fall into such silly superstitions, especially not when some of your best days happened during storms. Weather brought forth so much inspiration, after all.

At least...it used to.

You sighed, stepping up to the doors and pausing as you debated whether to knock or not. Was this the kind of establishment that one could just stroll into? What if you did and caught someone in a situation that wasn’t yours to see? Christ, your head just would not settle down at all, playing through every bad scenario and making you want to turn and walk back to the car. You were never like this before, never full of so much hesitation and worry. Just knock and get it over with, the worst you’ll get it embarrassment. You can live with that, right? Seemed easy enough, and once upon a time it would have been.

There was faint music playing within, someone was definitely home. You swallowed, raising the hand that wasn’t holding your phone and rapping it firmly on one of the double doors.

There was an audible sound of someone moving inside, the music quieting down a bit. A brief pause filled the air, making you a tad bit more nervous before a voice called from within.

“Come on in…!”

Well, there was some relief. You let out a large gust of air, steeling your nerves a bit more before gripping the door handles and pulling them open. Forward and steady, you reminded yourself, staring around warily as you entered the new area with a hint of curiosity mingling in the mix. This place was definitely not what you expected, not by a longshot. Nor was the person waiting inside, sitting at a messy desk with his feet kicked up in a tell-tale posture of laziness. It certainly didn’t look like the business of a demon hunter, nor did he seem like one himself--the whole space was on the messier side, pizza boxes stacked on the floor near the desk and items scattered here and there. Any semblance of order seemed incredibly lacking, a thin layer of dust visible on the floor as you let the doors close at your back.

You blinked owlishly, meeting the gaze of the apparent demon hunter as he stared with a hint of surprise. It was pretty clear you weren’t what he was expecting, but then again your own expectations weren’t met either. A far cry from priests or what your mind had conjured, this man looked a bit rugged, wearing a black shirt covered by a red leather jacket with black jeans. Unshaven, hair a bit tousled but face handsome nonetheless.

Hell, the vibe he carried reminded you of some of the older musicians you had met while touring--like a rugged metal guitarist, one with a lazy smirk on his lips and an air of non-commitment as he sat up to eye you curiously in the doorway. You straightened up, shoulders firmly squared and heart hammering lightly at the fear of the unknown as you struggled to find anything to say in greeting.

Luckily, he picked up the slack. Head tilted to the side a bit, mouth quirking up in a grin as he said in a friendly tone, “Hey there--how can I help you, sweetheart?”

His casual use of things like sweetheart made you a bit wary, but he didn’t seem to mean it in a condescending or creepy way. There was a comforting note in his expression, like he could sense how nervous you were to be there in the first place. Which wasn’t shocking, you were frozen like a deer in the headlights.

“U..um…” You cleared your throat, taking a few measured steps forward and trying to find your sense of manners again. This was a business, and you were setting up to be a bad first impression, “I saw an ad in the paper for secretary work, so...I came to ask about it, if that’s okay?”

Could have called first, but you were afraid doing so would throw off the burst of confidence it took to get here.

Regardless, the stranger didn’t seem bothered. Merely surprised, mouth popping open and brows threatening to touch his hairline as he took in your words. It confirmed your suspicions a bit--that was the face of a man who didn’t really expect anyone to answer the request of said ad, and it showed plain and clear. Something about that was kind of funny, and a bit concerning all things considered--why put it in the paper if they weren’t expecting someone to apply for the position? Then again...working for a demon hunting company did seem a bit far fetched, not to mention the risks that would come with it.

“Really?” He asked incredulously, scratching the back of his white-haired head as the chain underneath him squeaked a bit, “Well...huh. Damn. Uh--” The man stood up, grunting when the motion made a few of his joints pop in protest. It didn’t take much to guess that he must have been sitting there for a while. You watched warily as he started rummaging around the desk, looking for items unknown while continuing on, “Didn’t really think anyone would show up to be completely honest. You got any prior secretary experience?”

Cutting right to the chase? Was this an interview? You shifted in place a bit, fingers tapping rhythmically on the back of your phone as you hedged, “Uh...Technically? Not in an official capacity, but I learned how to organize files when taking care of my Grandmother’s legal affairs after her passing.”

And when the band was still starting out, you handled all the legal funds with Kraven’s help until Mathius was hired on. But this stranger didn’t need to know that yet.

He released a little “huh” at your response, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled out a file from a drawer. There was a thoughtful expression on his face for a brief moment, like the white-haired man was deep in thought before a grin spread across his lips.

“Good enough for me--you’re hired.”

...What?

Shock could not have been any more obvious in your expression, mouth popping open and eyes staring at him in absolute disbelief. Did he just hire you on the spot, with barely any information given and no paperwork? Your idiot brain left behind anything a normal job might need to even fill out an application, maybe on purpose if you were being completely honest. Hell, he didn’t even ask you name and was already declaring that the job was yours to have. Were you hallucinating, or had that really happened?

Your mind completely scrambled, leaving you floundering for a decent response but not managing a single one at all. Honestly, there was nothing to base this scenario on, no other job you had over the years being gained in such an easy, bizarre way. You had been prepared to come here, maybe chat a bit, be turned away after having no references and no papers, but...no such luck.

This was so fucking weird. The man didn’t seemed phased by your shock and lack of response, turning away and starting to pull out files from random locations to set them on his desk. The lack of organization was almost disgusting, papers strewn about and things littering the table top in a messy manner. You needed to get yourself together, he clearly had a game plan already in mind while you were lacking in several bits of information. There were so many questions, so many things you needed to say after him just hiring you on like that, but your tongue felt glued to the roof of your mouth.

“U..um…!” You stammered, hurrying up to the desk and clearing your throat meaningfully, “E...excuse me, but are you sure…? You never even asked my name--Hell, I didn’t bring any paperwork with me, no references…!”

Your inquiries didn’t phase him, summoning forth another shrug of his broad shoulders as his calm eyes turned to meet yours.

“What’s your name, kid?” He sounded amused, like he was asking the question just to appease you in some strange way. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes, one that you weren’t sure made you uneasy or not yet.

Regardless, you bit down the exasperation, tone a bit confused as you replied dutifully, “M...my name is Y/N.”

“Good,” He smirked, extending a hand over his desk to shake yours in greeting, “You can call me Dante, I started this humble little establishment myself so I guess that makes me your boss. As long as you don’t mind being paid under the table, paperwork shouldn’t be an issue.”

Wow, this was all very shocking. You shook his hand in a daze, his grasp warm and firm before he turned away again. Dante, the founder of Devil May Cry--he was definitely bizarre. Paying you under the table was just an added oddity, especially with how cut and dry the whole scenario had been. Most companies wanted a paper trail, wanted to do background checks to make sure that they weren’t hiring a criminal or something like that. Such things clearly didn’t extend to Dante, the white-haired male going about his task like it was no big deal. Kraven was absolutely going to lose his mind when you told him about this, that was for sure.

“Th...that’s no issue,” You replied meekly, holding your phone to your chest and trailing behind him a bit as he moved about the room, “Um...Are you sure this is okay? To just hire me on the spot like this? It’s just a bit shocking, is all, you barely asked me questions and I...um…”

Why were you contesting this so heavily? This was a job you acquired with little to no effort. Most people would kill for such an easy opportunity.

But you had a job--the issue now was breaking past the trauma that kept you from it.

Dante let out a little hum at your question, turning that charming smile on you again as he chuckled, “Trust me kid, in this kind of business you learn not to ask questions,” The man sized you up for a moment, leaning lazily against the front of his desk and stroking the stubble on his chin, “Like why a lovely lady such as yourself would want to work as the secretary for a demon hunting company in the first place, right? Just as long as the work gets done I don’t really mind, my brother is the one who insisted we hire someone to get things more organized in the first place.”

Brother? There was another person like him here?

You paused at his words, feeling a bit fidgety again as his gaze held yours for a moment. What he said confirmed what the article had claimed, what everything had mentioned about Devil May Cry in general--this was in fact a demon hunting business, which was absolutely bizarre in its own right. Not to mention his inquiry about you, and what made you want to take the job in the first place. It hadn’t been apparent before that such a thing would be strange or suspicious, but in retrospect...yeah. Yeah it was. There were plenty other places that were far more normal and less dangerous looking for work, yet here you were with your own agenda in mind. It almost made you feel guilty, like all of this was under false pretenses.

But you had come this far, and you couldn’t very well turn back. Nor could you tell him the truth of the matter, the truth lodging in your throat like barbs and refusing to move.

Instead you let out a light sigh, rubbing your arm idly as you mumbled in reply, “I see...Well, I do have my reasons but...they’re a bit personal. I swear I’m here to work hard, I just...” You hesitated, eyes raising to meet his again as you continued softly, “Do you... really hunt demons…?”

Your question seemed a bit perplexing to him, if not amusing. One of those white eyebrows raised again, arms crossed over his broad chest in a display of bulging muscles. You know, for someone who seemed to consist only on a diet of pizza--based on the numerous boxes on the floor--he was surprisingly fit. It did make sense that he would be physically proactive if it meant fighting creatures of the night and otherwise. And judging by his age, Dante must have been at this gig for a long time. Underneath all that lazy energy was a sense of tiredness, one that touched his eyes and the wrinkles around them. What kind of hardships came with a job like this? How long had he spent fighting demon kind?

Dante let out a low hum at your question, reaching into the drawer of his desk to pull out twin pistols for your view. Honestly, you had never touched a gun in your life, the closest encounter to one being the weapons cops and military used during the concert attack. Seeing some now felt strange, especially with how fancy these particular pistols were. Black and white, fairly big in size and custom made if your eyes were certain. It was almost...beautiful, even to someone who wasn’t particularly impressed with firearms and knew practically nothing about them. There were images engraved on the handles, showing the cameos of beautiful women.

“Demons in the flesh,” He confirmed, palming the white pistol a bit and holding it out for your inspection. Hesitation filled your expression, one hand reaching out to gingerly clasp the weapon and feel its weight. The words for Tony Redgrave were engraved on the side, the gun looking a bit old fashioned all things considered, “She’s put lead in the skulls of more monsters than I can count, for many many years.”

You released an inquisitive huff of air, hurrying to hand the weapon back for fear of touching anything that should set it off. Your knee-jerk reaction made Dante chuckle, sticking the guns into holsters behind his coat and settling back once more.

“Not much of a fighter, are ya?” He observed, pushing off from the desk and heading back around to another pile of files.

Something about that way he said that made you bristle a little internally, head raised high as you replied, “Depends on what the fight is. I may not know how to shoot a gun, but I’m not the lie down and take it type either.” You had been through hell and back, fighting tooth and nail to get your life back to normal. That had to count for something.

I’m not down for the count yet.

Dante nodded once at that, seeming impressed by your firm tone and determination, “Ain’t that the truth--regardless, maybe I’ll teach you how to fire a gun sometime.” He set down another stack, finally satisfied by his own efforts before walking by and patting you on the shoulder, “Hope you’re ready to get started ‘cause I’ve got a few errands to run.”

Oh no, the shock was back again. You stared at him incredulously, mind blanking out as he started to head for the door. Was he being serious? The devil hunter expected you to start now, and worse he was just going to leave you here alone after knowing you for less than ten minutes? It sent your head spinning, mouth open and various sounds of disbelief pouring out as you managed to grab him by the sleeve of his jacket to halt the departure. You hadn’t even been planning on getting the job, and now it was apparently your first day? What order did he want the files in? And where did he want you to put them? So many questions, too many questions.

“Wait!” You protested, meeting his calm gaze as it turned to meet yours, “You’re starting me out already? And just leaving me in your place alone?” Are you insane? Was implied at the end of that sentence, but not spoken aloud.

It didn’t need to be--judging by the smirk the white-haired man wore, he knew damn well what you meant.

“Unless you have prior engagements, yeah,” Dante quirked his brow, side-eyeing you as your expression blanked. There was literally nothing else on your schedule, and he somehow picked up on that right away, “I don’t mind you getting a feel for the place by yourself--the doors will be locked while I’m out so it’ll just be you, kiddo.”

Are you kidding me?

You decided that the nickname “kiddo” was even worse than sweetheart, and far more annoying. But there was no time to complain about it, especially when Dante seemed hellbent on leaving. I was maddening, head refusing to conjure up any viable excuses to counter his words, not in its frazzled state. And to be quite honest anything that could be thought of would be an outright lie, you had zero prior plans and had spent a good majority of your time in the house moping. Well, outside of Kraven, Boris, and Celine forcing you places for events, or hanging out at Kraven’s house for funsies. To be completely honest, this was the longest time you spent not in the house in a very...very long time.

So you blanked again, fingers slipping from Dante’s jacket as you managed meekly, “Is there...any order you want the files put in…?”

Christ, I’m becoming a pushover.

And Dante knew it. A grin tilted his lips, eyes alight with mirth as he said in a lazy reply, “Eh...by date I guess? Whichever way you want to is fine by me.”

With that, he started forward again, hands pushing open the double doors as he left you standing in the foyer in a state of confusion. The white haired man turned partially, giving you a two finger salute before slipping his way outside.

“Good luck, kid. I’ll be back soon--hold down the fort for me, will ya?”

With that, the double doors closed behind him with a solid thud, accompanied by a loud click as he locked them. Suddenly alone, terribly so in an unfamiliar place, unfamiliar neighborhood, unfamiliar territory. You were still rooted to the spot, heart pounding in your chest as the silence stretched on for a solid minute after his quick departure. Flabbergasted didn’t quite cover it, disbelieving didn’t either. Meeting Dante was like meeting a very lazy hurricane, one that seemed calm and chill at first glance before sending one rolling and tumbling in its raging winds. You were still dazed from the encounter, the whiplash of it making you plop down on the floor in that spot and hold your head forlornly. Christ, Christ--what had you gotten yourself into? This place was bigger than expected, and now eerily quiet to boot with you sitting there alone.

At least...you hoped that was the case. No one else lived here, did they? He did mention a brother, but gave no indication on whether or not said brother was home other than saying that it was “Just you”. God damn, if he was anything like Dante you were in for a bad time, the man was a bit much to handle at moments. You released a hefty groan, hands running up your cheeks and carding through your silken locks as you tried to gather the thoughts back together. Well, this mess was yours to handle--a change had come, and all you could do was roll with it. Everything else in your life had been that way, so why not this too? All the strange circumstances aside, the files lined the desk and floor in unceremonious heaps, no order involved. Best thing you could do was get started.

“I’m an idiot,” Your voice sounded so loud in the quiet space, despite how loud the statement was murmured. You stood up, groaning at the renewed weight on your prosthetic as it carried you to the desk where most of the mess lie in weight, “Kraven is not gonna believe this.”

You checked the time on your phone, debating calling the supportive male to tell him about the entire encounter but thinking otherwise when the time came into view. He and Boris would be going to the Zoo about now, so maybe a text would suffice. You sat down in Dante’s chair, wincing when it squeaked loudly in protest. Old, rickety, definitely in need of a replacement--It was paid no mind, your thoughts focusing on the gentle tap of fingers as you typed out a very carefully worded message to Kraven, because any wrong things said might spurn the vocalist to call you despite his date. And that was definitely not what you wanted.

“Made it there okay, big boy. I uh...I already got the job, apparently. It’s a bit wild--I’ll tell you about it later. Smooches.”

You felt satisfied enough with what was typed out, setting the device down on your desk and eyeing the stacks of paper awaiting you. There was certainly a lot to do, and by the looks of it there was no good place to start it. Dante did not seem the type to have a system of any kind, so there was bound to be inconsistencies. Which was only proven correct when you lifted a file, reading the writing scribbled on the front before appearing at another. One was dated--the other was not. Another had locations, others didn’t. A growing sense of exasperation started to temper your already confused thoughts, adding in a layer of anxiety as the files started to be spread out one after the other. Honestly you knew Dante for less than an hour and you already wanted to shake him a bit.

Son of a bitch.

“I am filled with regrets, captain.” You muttered to no one in particular, shrugging off your jacket before sliding down onto the floor to lay out files. Your eyes scanned the surrounding space, annoyance spiking at the mess that littered the wooden floor. Okay, first things first--the pizza boxes and dust had to go. The files were a seemingly impossible task at the moment, so despite not being a cleaning lady you didn’t mind straightening up the space a bit to ease the stress of what was going on.

You stood back up, looking around and wondering just where the hell Dante would keep a broom, if he even owned one. Not likely.

This man is a goblin.

Your search took you through the lower floor, an impromptu tour that you didn’t necessarily expect to have. The main area lead back into what appeared to be a small living room and hallway, a leather couch resting against a far wall across from a television. You noticed right away how basic everything seemed, lacking in any personal or family photos. A shelf held some strange knickknacks, but they were foreign to you entirely. Even the hallway walls didn’t wear anything minus a couple posters--one of a scantily clad woman, and an old rock band. You recognized them--they were before your time, but their music was fairly nice. They were paid barely any mind on your way to the kitchen, a sigh of relief leaving your lips at the sight of a broom cupboard on the far wall.

This room was also a bit of a mess, but you weren’t touching that quite yet. Dante’s diet of pizza was growing more and more likely, much to your consistent dismay and heavy disgust. You tried to ignore it, making your way to the cupboard and praying to every known god and goddess that the absolute disaster of a man owned cleaning supplies of any kind--which, luckily, he did. Inside the little, dusty room was a small vacuum and broom, shelves lined with full bottles of cleansers that didn’t look touched at all. It made sense--someone must have bought these with cleaning in mind but fell short of the actual task, whether that was Dante or not you weren’t sure. Regardless, what was needed got taken and the rest was left in case of future uses.

“Captains log, day thirty seven,” You said to yourself, setting about the task with vigor and starting to collect any garbage found into a trash bag, “My hubris has finally led to my downfall, and now I’m a cleaning lady.”

I’m also a bit crazier than I thought.

There was, obviously, no one to answer. But it made you feel better, damn it.

Time started passing quickly as you cleaned, straightening anything your hands could find and dusting every available surface. The repetitive tasks left time for wandering thoughts, but held enough attention to make sure things didn’t go off the rails too badly. Most of them collected around your new boss, wondering what kind of person he was and how many years were spent demon hunting. The occasional weapon hung on the walls on plaques, either things Dante once used himself or items acquired from various jobs. Between that and the neon signs, the room started to actually have a nice vibe when it grew cleaner and cleaner. The atmosphere reminded you of a bar, or various band hangouts that had been bounced between over the years of playing and touring.

There was something very cathartic about cleaning a very messy space, a deep sense of satisfaction filling you after the last swish of a mop traveled over hardwood. You pulled your hair into a ponytail at some point, making your way across the room bit by bit.The files were safely stacked on top of the two filing cabinets and the now-clean desk, waiting as the next hurdle for you to get over. It would have to stew for a bit, at least until the floors dried and the garbage bags were dragged away. You set about that next, peering around for any place to leave the bags that wouldn’t inconvenience anyone--the kitchen was the only safe place, bags placed in the broom cupboard and a reminder set on your phone to tell Dante about it. The following half hour was spent tidying up the kitchen and small living room, another two bags added to the mix and rooms much cleaner than they were before.

I can’t believe I came here, applied for a secretary job, and ended up cleaning their business. Not that you minded--this was your choice, after all. Plus there was nothing really terrible about cleaning, it was just...relaxing. The exercise felt good on your legs, the prosthetic feeling a bit too warm at times but there would be time to air it out later. The sensation was nice, akin to ripping off your bra after wearing it all day in the heat. It was the one thing you promised yourself upon starting back toward the first area you cleaned, intending to check on the wet floors and see how they fared.

But before you could return to the clean room, a clicking sound rang out through the hallway, alerting you to someone opening the main doors to Devil May Cry. You paused in the living room, worrying for a moment that Dante may have returned to see you made zero progress on the files, but impulse cleaned his house. It hardly mattered, but it was still a worry, one that grew as you hurried into the main room to see who had entered through the double doors. But much to your sudden anxiety, a low voice was muttering before you reached the doorway, one that definitely wasn’t the devil hunter from before. Low, a bit more nasal and sharper in tone--it was released in a low, disbelieving growl that still managed to reach your ears despite how quiet it was.

“What the hell happened in here?”

His tone was incredulous, absolutely disbelieving. Honestly? You couldn’t blame him.

Reaching the doorway, you paused and stared at his face, nervousness spiking considerably as you took in the newcomer with fascinated eyes. He was tall, just as tall as Dante and carrying an aura far more intimidating--this had to be his brother, there was no doubting that silvery hair, eyes a cold blue that was a bit closer to grey and face handsome in a sharp, defined way. They definitely had good genes, that was for sure. You weren’t oblivious to the beauty of your fellow human beings, but it rarely made you stop and try to collect yourself in their presence. Maybe it was the air of hostility this stranger carried? Or perhaps it was the sword attached to his hip, clothing dark and definitely not your average everyday outfit.

A sharp jacket hugged his frame, a lined vest underneath and dark slacks on his legs. Formal wasn’t quite the word to describe it, but he was definitely dressed imposingly to Dante’s laid back jeans and leather jacket. Clean shaven too, less like a goblin and more like seeing a predator walk into the room and bringing that sense of danger with him. Speaking of danger--his eyes snapped up at the sound of your footsteps, meeting your startled gaze in the doorway with not a spec of recognition, which was normal considering he never met you before. You froze instantly, unsure of what to do or say considering that you were a stranger in his home. Dante definitely wasn’t the type to call ahead and warn him, that was glaringly obvious. This man was definitely more on edge than his brother, fingers twitching to the hilt of his sword in an instant and confirming that you needed to do something before he attacked.

Just typical of my luck.

“U...um…” You managed to get out, clasping your hands in front of you in a show of non-violence as you continued quietly, “Y...you must be Dante’s brother--”

“Who are you?” His biting hiss cut you off, your shoulders jolting when the words seemed to whip across the room like a javelin, “What are you doing here?”

You were getting to that, before he interrupted. Christ, today was shaping up to be a doozy.

A sigh left your lips, last hints of patience waning and body slumping against the doorway a bit as you replied in exasperation, “My name is Y/N--Dante hired me as a secretary, so that’s why I’m here. But I spent some time cleaning first so I could have space to lay out the files, especially since they have no rhyme or reason to them.”

The growing annoyance in your voice was apparent, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, a scowl marred his already frowning lips, hand slowly releasing the sword’s hilt much to your relief. Well, that was one hurdle past. It would be a lot easier to talk without the threat of death looming overhead.

“Secretary?” He growled incredulously, narrowing those chilly eyes on you and sounding very impatient, “I was never informed of this--when were you hired?”

“....Today.” It didn’t sound true even to your ears, but the exhaustion in your tone definitely gave away just how tiring the interactions with Dante had been. He was a man best experienced in doses, at least in your opinion.

This didn’t seem to be the answer his brother wanted, that scowl growing into a look of pure irritability as he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if the action would somehow bring forth patience, or the return of sanity in some form or another. You shifted anxiously in the doorway, eyeing the floor underfoot to make sure it was dry--this newcomer was walking all over it, but his shoes seemed clean enough. Now all that was left to do was those files, which you were anxious to return to if the chance was given. But something about Dante’s brother made you wary of sudden movements, he was way too twitchy with that Katana on his hip.

“Let me see if I’m correct,” The man growled, tone thick was annoyance and aggravation as he leveled his cold eyes on you again, “My brother hired you today, with no prior interviews to my knowledge. Left you here in the building alone with our possessions, and then proceeded with his job for the day without informing me of a single thing.”

Something about the way he spoke of you was very offensive, like you were already labeled as a petty thief in his eyes. That certainly would not fly despite how correct all his words were, and now validating it was to know that someone else found it all equally ridiculous.

You crossed your arms, one hip jutting out slightly as you protested, “I would never steal something…!” Your tone made his eyes snap back to your face, a flicker of surprise in those cold eyes as you continued, “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get back to work.”

It was only then did you approach the files stacked on the desk, deciding to ignore his presence after such a blatant implication was thrown your way. You couldn’t decide who was the better brother, this one or Dante, but it scarcely mattered. He kept his eyes trained on you, watching your form settle on the now-clean floor and start pulling down stack upon stack of sealed paper. Something about your actions seemed very strange to him, a look of disbelief making its home in his fierce expression. It was a shame that he was so rude--a pretty boy like that could definitely get through the world on modeling alone, or if he had any music talent girls and boys alike would fawn all over his fierce type.

You shook off the thought, trying to find some semblance of order within the files and failing to find a single one. Christ, the need and want to shake Dante was growing with every passing second. How did this place even begin to fare as a business with no semblance of order at all? The incident of the Qliphoth must have forced Dante’s hand a bit--you were willing to bet they could slide on buy on freelance work before then, but now that the government was involved a paper trail was a thing of necessity.

Much to your growing confusion, Vergil did not move from the doorway, continuing to watch you with a frown marring his lips. You did not meet his gaze, just watching out of the corners of your eyes and wondering just what the hell he wanted. This was all growing so very tiring, your leg overly warm and achy from walking around a couple hours. If this persisted much longer, you were going to lose every semblance of sanity and maybe get yourself killed. But before either of you could say anything, the doors behind him swung open again--part of you hoped it would be Dante returning, but two more strangers walked through the door instead.

A man and a woman this time--both complete strangers to you. Dante didn’t warn of them stopping by, but they seemed familiar with this place and with the man who previously insulted you.

Oh dear.

“Afternoon, Vergil,” Greeted an older, dark-skinned male, tipping his hat lightly in the brother’s direction in a less-than-friendly manner. He had a cigar between his lips, wearing a snazzy suit and seeming unimpressed by Vergil’s impressive scowl, “Glad to see you’re cheerful as always.”

Vergil didn’t reply, interrupted by the woman standing in the doorway before any words could leave his mouth. It occurred to you then that she was staring at you, her irises meeting your worried ones for a brief moment across the open space. They were pretty--one green and one red. She herself was very beautiful, wearing a cute outfit of shorts and a blouse with thigh high boots--Dark hair, pale skin. Fair. She looked surprised to see you sitting there cross-legged, and even more so when her eyes traveled around the spotless room with complete disbelief. You couldn’t blame her for that.

“Who are you?” She asked, causing the two men to look at you now. Having all the attention in the room on your person wasn’t unfamiliar, but it still somehow made you nervous, “And what the fuck happened in here? I’ve never seen this place so...livable.”

Before you could muster a coherent reply, the dark-skinned man let out a light chuckle, walking toward you and extending a hand to help you up from the floor. It was accepted easily, your form rising up and jolts popping slightly with the motion.

The man’s words made you relax considerable, the only one there who seemed to have any semblance of knowledge, “Ahh, you must be the new secretary--Dante called to inform me of your presence,” He looked around the room as well, seeming impressed and wearing a bemused grin, “You’re a miracle worker, I can’t imagine having the patience to touch this nasty place.”

Vergil scowled again at his words, aggravation flashing in those cold orbs as he was met with the realization that Dante made sure to warn this man, but not him. Why that was the case, you would never know.

Regardless.

“To be honest, cleaning it was a blur and I barely remember it,” You replied with a weak laugh, the day’s exhaustion catching up now that there seemed to be someone who was actually informed of the situation, “My name is Y/N, by the way...I did mean to organize the files first, but...they’re just a mess.”

“Morrison, pleasure to make your acquaintance” The man, now dubbed Morrison, replied with a look of pure pity at your situation. This was definitely a human being well used to Dante’s bullshit by now, “How about Lady and I give you a hand? I usually find Dante all of his work, and she’s helped out on several of them.”

You paused, meeting her curious eyes again and hesitating. This was meant to be your job, right? Maybe it was wrong to drag other people into it, especially considering the fact that they just got here.

But she seemed to read the guilt on your face, planting a hand on her hip and releasing a light sigh into the clean-smelling air, “Whatever, fine by me,” Much to your relief, she managed a friendly smile, winking her red eye at you as she added, “Nothing more fun than a group effort, right? We can chat a bit while we wait for that dumbass to return.”

Your shoulders relaxed considerably, heart pounding against your ribs in the remaining throes of anxiety in worry. Thank god there was finally a jumping off point for all this paper--you honestly didn’t know how to manage without the help of obvious professionals. Morrison pat you once on the back, chuckling lightly as he strolled toward Dante’s chair sitting in front of two stacks, a cloud of cigar smoke following in his wake. Lady met your gaze again, seeming very interested in you for whatever reason. Maybe it was the fact that you managed to clean up the main room of Devil May Cry, or maybe there wasn’t a lot of girls usually working here? Whatever the reason, a couple friendly faces was nice after the scare that came from Vergil moments prior.

Speaking of Dante’s brother, the surly man stalked past you on his way out of the room, sparing no passing glance in his retreat. You found yourself watching as he went, eyes lingering on the way the devil hunter moved--so strange, precise in every motion and fluid like a predator. His shoulder muscles shifted and moved under his jacket, tense even as he disappeared up the only flight of stairs with practically no sound. Christ, had you ever met someone so wound up in your life? There was something about him that made you sad, like staring at a creature who didn’t have the chance to relax in his life. Something about it made you really interested in picking him apart, bit by bit. To see what was underneath all that prickly exterior, if Vergil was even capable of relaxation.

It looks like those lips never smiled in their life.

But something about that...makes me very interested in taking on a challenge.

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Tagged: @cantcopewithlosingv @bnha201826 @lilbighuman @dylan-o-yumm @veenus-ow @totes-ma-yogurt @pop-vicky-love @meliapis @kingdomhearts378 @kupoopo @slaanessh @pixiedust-and-some-believe @agalaxyfarawayy @v-loves-alicia-dmc5 @nightshadow4713 @sycophantize @nyxsiren @raven-huntress @slightlylunatic @efiicitia

#devil may cry #vergil x reader #Vergil Sparda #devil may cry vergil #echo chamber #chapter two #DMC #dmc5 #vergil

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unfolded73 · 6 years

Text

No One’s Father (knightrook ff, 1/1)

Rated G, 2200 words, canon compliant through 7x16

The familiar voice carried over the din of conversation at the bar. “Another scotch, please, Roni. And also a club soda with lime.”

She glanced over at Rumpelstiltskin as she finished filling a beer from one of the taps and nodded. Thunking the beer down on the bar in front of a customer, Regina set about preparing the requested drinks. It hadn’t escaped her notice when the two detectives had come into the bar with two uniformed police officers, seemingly for no other reason than an after-work drink. She couldn’t decide which was more unusual, the fact that they were there at all together, or the fact that Detective Rogers was currently laughing at something one of the officers had said, a huge grin lighting up his face.

Setting the drinks on the bar, she indicated Hook with a subtle tilt of her head. “He seems happy.”

Rumple turned and glanced at his partner before looking back at Regina. “He’s got Tilly off the street and staying at his place.”

Regina raised her eyebrows at that. “Wait, he’s not…”

Rumple shook his head. “Sound asleep as ever. If it’s occurred to him how much happier he is since he took her in, he has no idea of the real reason why.”

“So how?”

His lips quirked up in a half-smile. “You of all people know that curses can’t stop those who truly love each other from finding their way back together.” He glanced at Hook again. “But I have to admit, it’s rather inspiring to watch.”

“Has it melted even your cold, dark heart?”

With a chuckle, he picked up the glasses from the bar. “Impossible.”

Regina lowered her voice. “And the pills?”

“All the more important for Tilly to remain asleep, don’t you think?” he said softly, almost too low for her to hear. “Unless you’ve found a cure?”

With a frustrated shake of her head, Regina held a finger up to another customer trying to get her attention. “Believe me, you’ll be among the first to hear if we can find a cure for a poisoned heart.”

As if on cue, the door to the bar opened and Henry came in. He spotted Regina and smiled, his hand popping up in a wave.

“See?” Rumple said as he started to turn back to his table. “Love finds a way. It’s why those who employ dark curses will ultimately never prevail.”

“Detective Weaver, are you giving me a hope speech?” Regina said.

His perpetual smirk made another appearance. “Doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

~*~

Rogers reached for his jacket. “I’d best be getting home.”

Sergeant Jenkins looked up from his beer. “So soon, Eagle Scout? Is it time to alphabetize your soup cans already?”

The other cop who’d accompanied them on this little outing -- Liang, his name was -- gave Jenkins a sneer. “Come on, Jenkins, that’s not even a good burn.” He turned to Rogers. “Thanks for taking us out for a beer, man; I appreciate it.”

“Well, it was the least we could do given the help you gave us today,” Rogers said, surprised by this small kindness from a coworker. He finished pulling his coat on and reached for his wallet, intent on leaving some cash on the table, even though his club soda had no doubt been free.

“I’ve got it, Rogers,” Weaver said, waving away his attempt to pay. “Have a good night.”

Nodding his thanks, Rogers smiled and raised his hand to the group. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He caught Roni’s eye on his way past the bar, and she gave him a warm smile. It felt good, having friends; friends were something he’d had too little of in his life. It made him feel like a colorblind man suddenly granted the ability to discern vibrant colors, this recent discovery of what it felt like to have people around him who cared.

Rogers had lost his mother so young that he barely remembered her, and his father had been a drunk and a petty thief, leaving him and his brother to fend for themselves when they were young boys. After his father disappeared, Rogers bounced from one foster home to another, but his memory of that time was hazy. Even losing his brother was difficult for him to remember. He supposed grief could do that, burying trauma deep so that it wasn’t keenly felt.

He did remember enrolling in the police academy, though, and how he’d hoped that by becoming a police officer, he could begin to honor his brother’s memory. Every late night or early morning on the job, every appointment with his physical therapist after his accident, when he felt like giving up on learning to use his prosthetic hand, it was only the thought of his brother that pulled him through. At least, until the Eloise Gardener case hit his desk.

It used to awaken him at all hours of the night, this nagging sense that there was a girl out there, lost and alone, that only he could rescue. He even formed a mental image of her, and now that he’d faced down the real Eloise Gardener, it shamed him to remember that image. A blonde girl with shining eyes, dressed in a pale blue dress and a white pinafore, like something out of a storybook. In truth, Eloise Gardener couldn’t have been farther from that idealized fantasy his brain had cooked up. It was no wonder that finding her hadn’t stopped the sleepless nights, and that nagging feeling that there was a girl he needed to save.

Rogers approached his apartment door, reaching for his key ring from the pocket of his jeans. He could hear the thump of the bass-line of some kind of music coming from inside, and he smiled.

Opening the door revealed the music, if it could be called that, to be some kind of odd rap style, the likes of which he’d never heard before. Tilly looked up from the sofa where she’d been reading a book, and rushed to grab her new phone and shut the music off.

“What on earth was that?” he asked as he closed the door and took off his jacket.

“Swedish hip-hop,” she said. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he said. “Just keep it down to a dull roar so that the neighbors don’t complain. Have you eaten?”

Tilly nodded. “I had some beignets at work, and then I had a bowl of cereal for dinner.”

“Not exactly a balanced diet,” he commented, looking over toward the kitchen. Tilly’s cereal bowl and spoon were in evidence, as was most of a half-gallon on milk sitting out on the table.

“You left the milk out again,” he said, picking the container up and whisking it into the refrigerator. He’d have to start buying milk by the gallon, the way she was going through it. He mentally added it to the list of things he needed to pick up at the market the next day.

He expected at most a distracted apology from the girl, same as he received the last time she left a milk jug sitting out on the table. What he got instead was a sort of high pitched keening sound, and it made Rogers look around in alarm.

Tilly had dropped her book on the floor, and as he watched with no small amount of horror, she knocked her fist against her forehead a few times. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered.

“Tilly, stop,” Rogers said, rushing over to the sofa and gently pulling on her arm to stop her from hitting herself in the head. “It’s not a big deal, I promise. Please don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she said mournfully. “I forgot about the milk.”

“Tilly, I promise, I’m not angry with you.” He started to put his arm around her in what he intended to be a comforting gesture, but he held himself in check. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel unsafe in his home, and he knew the burden was on him to make certain she never thought for a moment that he had any lascivious intentions toward her. In truth, even the thought made his stomach turn over in revulsion.

“You’re too nice to me, Detective. I don’t deserve anyone being this nice to me.”

“Nonsense, everyone deserves kindness.” He nudged her shoulder gently with his own. “Most especially you.”

She met his gaze, seeming to be searching for something in his eyes. “Why are you letting me stay here?” she asked.

“Because you needed a safe place to sleep,” he answered automatically, but he knew as soon as he said it that he needed to go a step further if he was going to reassure her. “Because helping you makes me feel more at peace that I have in…” He chuckled softly. “I don’t know, maybe ever. I know that sounds odd, but it’s true.”

“It doesn’t sound odd.” She leaned back against the sofa cushions, staring up at the ceiling. Rogers watched her, waiting for her to speak again.

“Back when I was in school, I used to try so hard to be a good student. The kind of student that teachers would smile at, you know? I would tell myself, ‘pay attention, Tilly, pay attention.’ But then I’d realize that the whole class period had gone by and I hadn’t heard a single word. And then I’d get up to go to change classes and leave my backpack sitting next to my chair. I’d walk into the next class with no book, no papers, no pencil. The other kids would laugh at me for being so stupid. Or they’d laugh at my dirty clothes. Or at the fact that I didn’t have money for lunch.”

“You were an orphan?” he asked. He’d never asked about her parents, and she easily could have been a runaway, or one of the many kids who get kicked out of their house because of their sexual orientation, but somehow he knew neither of those things were true.

Tilly nodded. “Never knew my parents.” Then she smiled sheepishly. “Well, I never knew my mum. My papa used to come to me in dreams.” She shrugged. “I know how that sounds, but I don’t know. I think maybe… maybe he died when I was little? And maybe his spirit used to watch over me.”

Rogers smiled sadly, thinking of his brother. “Maybe.”

“Anyway, the point is, my brain has always been a little funny. It floats around and decides to go places without my permission, and so I forget things. And I think the pills make it worse.”

With a glance over at the counter where Tilly’s pill bottle sat, Rogers struggled for what to say. He knew Detective Weaver had been ensuring that Tilly stayed on her medication long before he got involved, but now that she was living with him, it was falling to Rogers to remind the girl to take a pill every night before she went to bed. He wasn’t entirely clear on what kind of mental health issues the medication was treating, but the last time she’d gone off her medication, she’d shot Weaver, so he didn’t doubt their importance.

“I know the side effects may be troublesome, but it’s still important that you take your pills.”

Tilly’s face crumpled. “I hate that I need them.”

“There’s no shame in needing medication. You wouldn’t fault a diabetic for needing insulin, would you?”

“Yeah, that’s what people always say,” she grumbled.

“Perhaps because it’s true.”

With a watery giggle, Tilly wiped at the tears that were threatening to leak out of her eyes.

“Have you seen Margot-with-a-T again?” he asked, hoping to move her to a happier topic of conversation, but Tilly shook her head sadly.

“I thought she might come by the food truck since she knows that’s where I work, but she hasn’t.” She sniffled. “I guess maybe she’s not interested, you know… that way.”

“So you aren’t interested in the fact that I learned where you can find her?” he asked.

Tilly grabbed his arm hard enough to hurt, her blue eyes wide as saucers. “What do you mean? Where can I find her?”

He grinned at her excitement. “I just so happened to learn that Margot’s mother Kelly works with Roni at the bar. And Margot has been helping out there too.”

Squealing, Tilly leaped to her feet. “So maybe if I go down there now I can catch her?”

“Maybe.” She was already halfway out the door. “Put on a jacket,” he admonished, barely resisting the urge to add, and be home at a reasonable hour! He shook his head at his own foolishness, treating this girl like he was her father. Rogers was no one’s father, and likely never would be.

Tilly dutifully pulled her jacket on when he handed it to her. “See you later!” she called as she ran down the hall of the apartment building, not even bothering to pull the door closed behind her.

With a rueful smile, Rogers watched her go, a pang in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. No more than he could explain the fact that he waited up for her that night, making certain she was safe in her room before he went to bed. No more than he could explain how this lost girl’s happiness seemed so inexorably tied to his own. No more than he could explain why the nightmares that had plagued him since those first days on the Eloise Gardener case were finally and mercifully gone.

#knightrook #knightrook ff #ouat s7 fic #my fic

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poisonedfortunecookie · 6 years

Text

Happy Birthday @skylocked !! I hope that today is a better day for you and that all the good things come your way. I wrote this little shance fic based off one of your beautiful pieces because you always draw them so beautifully.

I hope you enjoy this little drabble

Let the World Know

“Are you sure about this?” Lance whispered. He was shivering, but Shiro knew it had nothing to do with the chill of the arena or the sheer outfit he wore.

Lance was a bundle of juddering nerves, so was Shiro, though he masked behind a steely, unflinching façade.

Shiro slid a hand beneath the cape that draped from Lance’s shoulders and pressed his hand against the strip of smooth, exposed skin of Lance’s back.

“We can call it off if you want,” Shiro said softly, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns against the warm, sun-kissed skin.

Lance took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled his body sagging against Shiro’s supportive hand.

“No. I want to do this...it’s just…” his voice hitched with worry, and he cast Shiro a sidelong glance.

Shiro pressed his hand more firmly against Lance’s back and drew him towards him. “So do I, no matter what the consequences,” he said decisively knowing where Lance anxieties truly lay.

This would be a big step, a massive risk that could cause them both untold complications for their future careers. They both stood to lose a lot, some would say too much, but Shiro would gladly throw it all away if he could keep Lance at his side.

“Okay,” Lance took a deep breath and nodded once, “okay!”

“We’re ready for you to go on now,” an attendant with a clipboard approached them. Shiro’s hand dropped away from Lance’s back, but the attendant was too busy gazing at her clipboard and listening intently to her earpiece to notice.

They moved to the ice.

Shiro led the way, tall and proud, with Lance his elegant, graceful shadow. They skated to this middle of the rink and split off Shiro going to the left and Lance to the right as one of the hosts announced them.

“And now we have a very special program from two if the hottest male figure skaters, Takashi Shirogane of Japan and Lance McClain of Cuba.”

Lance glided around the right half of the rink light and quick on his feet. His blades hardly seemed to touch the ice. As he went around, he waved and winked to the crowd, and blew the occasional kiss, to many squeals of delight. He was well known as the flirt of the ice, a siren that called everyone's attention to him and tempted them to join him with a twinkle in his eye.

Shiro travelled in a more sombre manner, with power and dignity. If Lance was the darling of the ice, then Shiro was it’s King. He commanded the ice, and the audience's attention, with his presence alone.

They skated around their half of the rink and came to the middle again in unison. They crossed paths, and Lance smiled reaching out a hand to brush his fingers against Shiro’s. It was a light touch, but Shiro's hand tingled with the thrill of it, as it did whenever he held Lance's hand. They parted, and now Lance was skating around the left side of the rink and Shiro the right, greeting the other half of the crowd.

“Now McClain caused quite a stir just two years ago when he just flew all the way to Japan and asked, the then retired, Shirogane to train him,” the other host laughed incredulously as if he still couldn't quite believe the bold move Lance had taken.

Lance smiled at the memory and blew another kiss to a group of girls holding up a banner. They shrieked with joy and almost dropped it.

The whole reason Lance had started to skate was Shiro. The man was his inspiration and his motivation. After the accident that took his arm, Shiro disappeared from competitive skating, and it seemed the public eye entirely. It had taken Lance a full year to save up enough to afford to go to Japan and track him down.

“You want me to train you?” Shiro scoffed.“In case you hadn't noticed I'm hardly in the right shape for that,” he sneered brandishing his prosthetic arm at Lance.

Lance caught the waving hand in both his own and held tight. Shiro froze.

“You are the greatest skater I know. It's because of you I've gotten thus far, and I know you still have it in you. You're my hero,” Lance said emphatically, his blue eyes shining with an intensity that took Shiro’s breath away.

“And many say it's thanks to McClain that Shiro returned to competitive figure skating,” the first host chimed in.

The pair skated back to the centre if the ice twirled around each other and came to a stop taking up their starting positions, back to back.

“This short program is a combined effort between these two. McClain composed the music, and Shirogane choreographed the program. The title us ‘deai’ which is Japanese for 'encounter'.”

“So this is likely to be the story of these two friends' 'encounter' with each other," the host predicted.

Shiro heard Lance snort being him, and he too had to fight off the urge to smirk.

Well, they'd all know soon enough.

The music started, a gentle, melodic tune and they skated away from each other. Lance's movements were flashy and graceful showing off the breadth of his talent, and yet even as Lance executed every move flawlessly, there was something mournful about his performance. Something was missing.

Shiro's movements were sharp and heavy, as is he was restraining himself. His gestures were designed to conceal, to not draw attention to himself, his head bowed and his arms up attempting to hide.

Lance leapt into the air and spun, landing to face Shiro, a distance away from him across the ice. Lance moves now expressed surprise and longing, and he set off towards Shiro and skated circles around the older man crying for his attention. Shiro turned away from him and tried to ignore him, but everywhere he turned Lance was there, tempting and inviting.

Shiro tried to push Lance away and make his escape as the beat of the music picked up, but Lance was persistent. He chased Shiro again, and this time Shiro lifted him and threw him up in the air. Lance spun high in the air the lights glinting off his costume.

Shiro turned, executing a flashy move that accented Lance's spiral in the air. As Lance fell, for a heart-stopping moment, it looked as if Shiro wasn't going to catch him as if Shiro was turning away for good, but then Shiro's arms were there. He caught Lance at the last moment and swept him low across the ice. They were face to face. Lance's arm wound around Shiro's neck in an elegant arch, his body a perfectly graceful line.

Shiro lifted him up and set him down, but Lance held on and drew Shiro towards him. He danced around Shiro, encouraging and enticing. Everything he did was directed towards Shiro, and Shiro was drowning.

“Why won't you get on the ice?” Lance scowled.

“You know why,” Shiro said bluntly, swinging his prosthetic arm at his side for emphasis. It was a weak excuse.

“I'm not going to learn anything with you just standing there shouting at me,” Lance complained. He glided in circles around the ice, groaning loudly.

“You will if you follow my instruction,” Shiro said sternly.

Lance glared at him, but then a smirk slowly took over. He skated to the wall towards Shiro, the picture of innocence.

“You know maybe you're right,” Lance mused. Shiro knew then he was up to something, but it was too late. Lance was too close before Shiro could stop him Lance glided past him and snatched his phone out of his hand.

“Lance give that back,” Shiro sighed. Lance glided away from him.

“Nope, you're going to have to come get it.” Lance taunted.

“I know you always have your skates with you,” he called as he travelled further across the ice.

Shiro growled and wondered if his phone was worth it, but Lance was right, he did always bring his skates with him. He couldn't let go of them, and Lance's skating was such a wicked temptation, so vibrant and alive it reminded Shiro of everything he'd lost, everything he missed and everything he wanted.

“Ok fine but don't say I didn't warn you,” Shiro grumbled. He grabbed his bag and quickly put on his skates. He hobbled towards the ice and paused. Could he really go out there after all this time?

He looked up at Lance, who was gliding in aimless circles, watching the videos of him Shiro had recorded on his phone. His whole attention seemed to be on the screen and yet he still moved so elegantly. He didn't stumble or hesitate completely at home on his blades.

Shiro stepped out on the ice and caught his breath. He felt like he was skating for the first time all over again, his balance was completely off thanks to the awkward, unfamiliar prosthetic but as much as he stumbled, trying to keep his balance, the cold was familiar and welcoming.

“See it's not so bad now is it, you just need to learn to get your balance again,” Lance skated up behind him, supportive hands resting on Shiro's hips. Shiro hadn't even seen him get close. He hadn't been paying attention.

“Now just straighten up,” Lance ordered a hand pushing against Shiro's back.

“And pull these shoulders back,” Lance grabbed Shiro's shoulders and pulled them back.

Lance skated around him and all of a sudden he was in front of Shiro, skating backwards his hands held out invitingly.

Shiro took them.

The music reached a crescendo, and now Shiro and Lance were mirroring each other, skating together. They copied each other perfectly, and yet the movements were still their own, Lance grace where Shiro was strength. The beat and slide of their skates against the ice matched each other and went in time to the music.

After some mirroring, they came together again and now they were dancing together. Every move allowed them to complement each other now, even as Shiro lifted Lance and guided him through the techniques, making him centre stage, Lance threw the spotlight right back at him, drawing him in.

“I think...I'm going to go back to competitive skating,” Shiro confessed nervously.

“Really? Shiro that's wonderful!” Lance all but squealed, and he threw his arms around Shiro pulling him into a tight hug.

“You're not mad?” Shiro gasped.

“Of course not, why would I be mad? This is a dream come true!”

“Competing against me?”

“No, competing with you, being on the same stage, in the same competitions. Even if we're competing for different countries...I've always wanted to compete with you,” Lance breathed softly.

The music wound down, and their dance slowed becoming something more tender and intimate. They were coming to the final lift, the end of the routine. Shiro caught Lance's eye but there was no need for him to ask again or confirm anything, he saw it in Lance's expression, in his skating. He was ready.

They faced each other and Shiro's hand slide under Lance's arms lifting him up, his arms held out at full length. Lance held himself tall, his arms poised above him in a final, elegant pose. The music slowed and began to taper off. The pair glided to a stop, and Shiro slowly lowered Lance as the last notes of the music carried across the ice.

Shiro gazed up at him, still as mesmerised as he had been the first day he met Lance, maybe even more so now. Lance glittered under the lights, the gold around his head shimmering reflecting off his hair and skin making him glow.

Lance gazed down at Shiro, his left arm come down to circle around Shiro's shoulders without quite touching him, hovering so close his hand shook slightly with the desire to touch. The admiration in his eyes shone just as bright, but there was tender affection in them too, understanding and acceptance. There were so many emotions in those deep blue eyes, all reflections of the different ways Lance loved Shiro.

Shiro lowered Lance against him, supporting Lance's weight against his chest. Their faces were so close their lips a breath away from each other.

The final note of the song played, and silence carried across the ice. It was over, and Shiro would put Lance down, and they'd take a bow. At least that was what everyone expected.

They moved in unison, Lance wrapping his arm around Shiro's shoulders, his other hand curling around the back of Shiro's head. Lance tilted his head just as Shiro lowered him the last few inches and their lips could finally meet.

The kiss was cold but was soon warm by the heat of their mingling breath. Lance's lips were soft and pliant, while Shiro's were firm and demanding. Lance sank against Shiro and held on tighter. He tilted his head so he could deepen the kiss.

Shiro arched against Lance and pressed up into the kiss. He welcomed Lance and took everything the other man had to offer. He met Lance, pressing up into the kiss to claim the other man's lips so there could be no doubt that this was an accident or a one-sided thing.

Their lips pressed and slid against each other in an intimate dance of their own. Shiro lowered Lance onto the ice and wound his arms around the others man's waist, never once breaking the kiss.

The kiss lingered for several long moments, the arena around them so quiet that all they could hear was the wet sound of their lips pressing together, their breath coming in short hot gasps, and the thundering beat of their hearts.

They drew apart reluctantly, slowly, lips parted wanting nothing more than to go in for another taste.

“Ready?” Shiro breathed against Lance's lips. Lance nodded, his eyes closed. They took a deep breath together, steadying themselves and then moved apart to stand side by side.

Shiro's arm remained around Lance's waist, and Lance's hand rested on Shiro's shoulder.

The crowd was silent.

“Well…” the host's voice echoed around the rink louder than usual.

“It seems that all those rumours going around about their relationship are actually true."

The crowd cheered and screamed. Lance sagged against Shiro in relief, and Shiro's hand twitched against his hip. The crowd was happy for them, excited even, although there were several disappointed, teary faces in the audience.

Shiro laughed and pulled Lance closer, sweeping him in for another kiss.

The cheers continued, and a rain of flowers, plush toys, and other gifts were thrown onto the ice for them.

#skylocked #shance #happy birthday!!!#ific

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hello-stensy-blog · 6 years

Text

Crushable, Chapter II : Should I stay or Should I go?

Everything was pitch black in the car’s trunk. The only thing Stensland was able to say about the road was that it was pretty bumpy now. The darkness was not the only inconvenience: he was uncomfortably huddled up on himself. It reminded Stensland of a childhood memory. When he was ten, playing hide and seek with his cousin, he hid in his grandpa's car trunk. After a few hours of searching, no one could find him. Stensland was pretty proud of not being easily found that day. Now, he would give the world to have someone find him, because despite appearances, Stensland was not ten anymore and he couldn’t fit in such a tiny place without it hurting. Plus, this was no game. It wasn’t his old grandpa’s cheap car, but a bad guy’s expensive one.

He was ugly sobbing. He has had too much contradictory feelings in the last twenty four hours. I just want to go home. I'm scared. These guys don’t mess around. What the Hell are they going to do to me?

*********************************************** They attempted to chase down the vehicle until they lost sight of it. The angry ginger in the passenger seat had his face all tensed. Clyde was driving but he didn’t know where he was even going anymore. Eventually, the ginger told him a direction that he followed.

-So is this like your plan B or somethin'? -More like plan G, to be honest, the ginger answered in a cross tone.

They drove until they reached an abandoned house deeper into the countryside. They parked here and Clyde went to remove a very distressed Stensland from the car's trunk.

-Don’t kill me, please! I didn’t know there was money in your bag! -And how come you know now? the Ginger retorted. Stensland had no idea how to answer, but it didn’t matter. At the bag’s owner command, Clyde was shoving him inside the house. Stensland ended up cuffed to a chair in the middle of a near-empty room, the only furniture being the chair he sat on and another. Stensland had watched enough TV to know where this was going. His whole body was shaking. He looked like a frightened child. The sight of it was making Clyde feel sad. He thought that it was unfair, somehow, that Stensland was not a bad guy or a criminal. He was just dumb enough to steal a bag obviously filled with dirty money. He’s no gangster, he’s no more than a scared kitty. Crushable in so many ways. While the mean ginger was away, Clyde awkwardly stroked Stensland’s hair in a comforting way. Stensland tensed up, then relaxed after a second. His face now showed something like hope.

-Please, he told Clyde in a begging tone, You have to help me. They will cut me into little dice if you don’t! -They won’t, Clyde said. Clyde stepped back quickly when the ginger returned. He was yelling on the phone again.

- Ugh! I don't know, Ren, figure this out on your own! You're a grown up! You know where to find me when you’ve finished! He hung up. He gave Stensland a nasty smile. Dude's even more frightening when he smiles, Clyde thought. What is he up to now anyways?

-My colleague is currently looking for the car that left with the bag, if you want to know. When he is done with that, he will join our little party. You have until his arrival to come up with a way to refund me.

-But I... I don't know! I really don’t ! I am so sorry, but that was a lot of money, and- He slapped Stensland to make him shut up. It worked. He then said: -I KNOW there was a lot of money. That is precisely why it is SO important. -I-I can’t do anything for you, I’m sorry, I’m SO sorry! They left with that bag, and I don’t have a lot of money right now so it will take me ages to fill up a bag, and- -Oh, I’m so sorry, the Ginger said with a mockingly empathic tone, I had no idea you were so miserable! I guess that’s settled then, I’ll leave you be! Everything is forgiven, everything is forgotten! I’ll just have to tell my boss that you are sorry! He’s a very understanding guy, after all! </p>

He slapped him once more and switched to his usual cold voice: -If my coworker can't get his hands on the bag you stole, I swear we will enslave you. So you better pray that we get it back before I lose my patience.

Clyde frowned. Okay, that is definitely wrong, and not only because the poor Stensland looks like he is about to shit himself. I can't stand there and watch these guys destroy his life just for some stupid money, can I? It ain't like the mafia is running low on money. So what if they lost some? They're probably gonna get twice what they lost by the end of the week. While Clyde settled deep in his thoughts, the conversation between the two gingers went on. There were more threats thrown from one side and begging from the other. It ended with Stensland’s chair being kicked, falling to the ground with him on it. Blood was streaming across Stensland's face from the impact when his eyes met Clyde's. He looked miserable―like a martyr. He does not belong in this harsh crime world, he has an angel's face. He should be married to a sweet girl, expecting a cute baby and owning two fluffy kittens instead of the life this mafia boy promised him. Clyde made up his mind then. Knocking down the abusive ginger was an easy task for him as he was too caught up in bullying Stensland to notice Clyde’s move in on him. He took him down with a strong blow to the head with the second chair. In one of the stunned man’s pant pocket he found a set of keys. He found one to free Stensland from his handcuffs and helped him up. Stensland was definitely confused at the new turn of events.

- Can you stand? Clyde asked him.

Stensland nodded quickly. His body was shaking.

-Let's go. Stensland hurriedly gathered his backpack and followed him.

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

Stensland was back in that car, except now he was not in the trunk. He was in the passenger's seat and Clyde was driving really fast. Rifling in the glove box, Stensland found a wallet. His interest was piqued and he checked inside. It contained cash (lots!) and an ID card. Stensland giggled. Clyde threw a brief glance over to him, wondering what was so funny.

-His name is Armitage! -Your name is Stensland, Clyde reminded him.

Stensland pouted a bit. Now he felt silly for even bringing it up. The silence was too heavy for him, so he kept his mind busy by resuming exploring the contents of the glove box. Stensland found a gun. He definitely had goosebumps now, taking it in his hands. It was heavier than what he imagined. He began pretending to aim just for fun. He felt like a Big Deal. Well, maybe he was after all. In the past twenty four hours, lots of shit had happened he had never thought he would ever experience. Clyde turned to him again.

-Uh, you know how to handle a gun, right?

Stensland sighed. Why did people always assume he had no idea of what he was doing? Why did people always think of him as a big baby? He answered with overconfidence:

- Well, it’s simple! A child could-

He was interrupted by the sound of the gun’s silencer going off as he accidentally fired. Both men jumped at the sound and Clyde lost control of their vehicle for a time, which caused Stensland to scream his lungs out. Clyde quickly took action to restore their initial position on the road. Now that the situation was under control and they were no longer at risk of getting into an accident, Clyde squared his jaw and ordered Stensland in the nicest way possible:

-Put that gun down, please.

Clyde didn’t need to ask twice. Stensland quickly put the gun back in the glove box.

-I’m so, so sorry, I-

As he was apologizing once again--something he had done far too much in the time Clyde has known him, Stensland saw IT. His face instantly got two shades lighter as he realized what he had done. He had accidentally shot Clyde’s left arm. Clyde had certainly noticed the bullet hole in his prosthetic, which explained why he looked so dreadfully pissed. Damn it. He saves my life and I repay him by shooting his fake arm. Good job, Stensland.

There was another awkward silence until Stensland had what he considered a bright idea. He fumbled in his backpack until he found them―a colorful box of band aids. Favoring a light blue one with a pattern of ducks and hearts on it, he peeled away the film and proceeded to cover the bullet hole with it. Clyde took a look at it, remaining silent for a while. Then out of the blue, he giggled. That was a relief for Stensland.

*********************************************** Armitage woke up to what sounded like thunder. He promptly got back on his feet, perhaps a little too quickly. He found that he had a terrible headache, and he knew who to blame for that.

-Damn you, Clyde Logan…!

The thunderous sound stopped. Soon, a man entered, wearing a stylized black and silver motorcycle helmet.

-You certainly took your time, Ren, Hux growled, They’re gone! -For fuck’s sake, Hux! I was chasing the idiots who stole the money YOU were dumb enough to let them have! At least show some appreciation! -Well, did you catch them? -I didn’t, Ren admitted, But that’s not the point! -Why would I show you appreciation then! Oh god, let’s just skip that! Did you tell ANYONE? -Of course not. -At least there is something you did well. We must go now! These assholes took my car! -Wait… Come again? Are you telling me that...they took your Camaro?

Ren sounded like he found it amusing. He knew Hux cared about his car way too much. It was on the verge of an obsession, really. A real clean-freak. He never even let them make out inside of it. Picturing his precious baby stolen by two idiotic amateurs... But he quickly changed his opinion when he saw Hux's face. He looked like he was about to spit on his face, burn him alive and cry in shame at the same time.

-Come on babe, chill. We’re gonna catch them. -Don’t you ‘Babe’ me you freaking moron! Let’s GO!

For once, Hux didn’t complain about getting behind Ren on his motorcycle. He ‘hated those machines’ as they always ‘ruined his hair.’ Ren always rode ‘too fast and careless.’ Now, though, desperate times called for desperate measures.

#clydeland #clydeland fic #clyde logan #stensland #logan lucky #crashpad #crash pad #kylux #armitage hux #kylo ren

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