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saiilorstars · 1 year

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Dare To Forget Me

Ch. 47: The Lesser Gaps

Previous chapters // Montserrat’s masterlist

Fandom: SVU // Pairing: Rafael Barba x OC

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @averyhotchner @abzidabzy @hellofutur @foxesandmagic @xovalliegirlxo

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

Early in the morning is when SVU received their newest case. A pinboard had already gotten started by the time noon rolled by.

"The housekeeper of the victim confirms what the daughters told us before," Olivia was walking the detectives through the case with the pinboard.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Sonny said all of a sudden. He was leaning forwards on his chair, nearly looking ready to climb over the table to get to the pinboard. "The victim is Mr. Walter as in Walter Briggs, the writer?"

"Does that have any relevance?" Montserrat arched an eyebrow at him.

"Uh, yeah, Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award…" He went off the imaginary list on his fingers and since he seemed to be going for the long haul, Olivia cut him off.

"Well, he's nearly 80, and his wife — his sixth wife who's 45 — and making him have sex constantly."

"Is that a crime or an old man's dream?" Amanda asked with a pen raised in the air. Her expression was half disbelieving the story Olivia was presenting.

"The daughters say that she wants another child, so if he is incapable of giving consent, then they're right, it's...it's rape."

"Yeah, and the fact that the alleged rapist is his wife is legally irrelevant but, I mean, of all the people...I mean, have you guys read Briggs' book "The Fifth Assailant"?" Sonny waited for anyone to answer him but he was mighty disappointed to see the same blank faces. "The guy is a literary genius!"

Nick seemed to have been working on something and it was at that moment that he finally remembered what it was. "Isn't he the literary genius who threw one of his wives through a plate glass window?"

Sonny's face fell but, to his credit, he did answer honestly. "Yeah, there's actually a scene based on that in the book."

"Nice guy for sure," Montserrat said sarcastically, eyes darting to the pinboard. "Okay, so the complaints are coming from his daughters, right? What's in it for them? The man's rich, isn't he? Do the daughters get a bigger slice of the estate?"

Olivia shrugged. "We don't know but for now we've got an allegation, we have corroborations, so you two—" Her finger made a point towards Sonny then Montserrat, "—go speak with the happy couple."

Montserrat pushed herself up from her chair. "I'm game but as long as I get to go with my partner and not a fanboy," she sent a pointed look in Sonny's way. He rolled his eyes at her in return.

To his heavy annoyance, she had the full support of the rest of the squad.

~ 0 ~

Charmaine Briggs turned out to be a rather pretty redhead with a graceful aura. She welcomed the strange detectives into her home with a polite smile. She led them to her elder husband who was sitting in the study room. Walter Briggs greeted them normally but it wasn't that difficult to tell that sometimes his mind would wander.

"I should say I'm still not quite sure why you're here," Charmaine's voice was nothing but polite but both Montserrat and Sonny detected the subtle edginess underlying her words. She was practically demanding them to explain the reason for their presence in her home.

"It's called a welfare check," Montserrat started explaining. "We do it from time to time, mostly with seniors."

"I'm guessing that would be me, huh?" Walter's light sarcasm was met with mutual smiles from the others. However, Charmaine's was short-lived.

"Oh, dear, did my husband's daughters call you?"

"They did express some concern," Sonny cleared his throat. "They said they weren't allowed to see Mr. Briggs?"

Charmaine didn't look the least bit surprised by the accusations. She very calmly put her tea cup on the coffee table and offered both detectives apologetic smiles. "This is one of those difficult family situations...stepmother, stepdaughters. I'm sure it happens all the time."

"Mhm, I'm sure it does but actually, Mrs. Briggs, would you mind if we...if we spoke separately?" Montserrat rose from her seat with the question. "It's just standard procedure."

Charmaine shook her head. "As a matter of fact, I do mind. Walter and I don't keep secrets from each other, do we, Walter?"

Walter dutifully shook his head as well. "Not really, no. I humor her." He winked but it was unclear who it was meant for — the detectives or his wife?

"So what exactly did you want to talk about?"

Montserrat shrugged. If that's how the woman wanted to play it then so be it. "It's pretty personal. Pertaining to your sex life."

That certainly got Charmaine to stiffen. "And that's a police matter?"

"79 and stiff as a varnished eel," Walter suddenly said. "A varnished eel. My third wife took up with a bartender because I got distracted by my book on the pope. Now, you spend six months in the Vatican, and you'll see what happens to your testicles."

Montserrat was out of ideas about what the man could possibly be talking about. She was even more discouraged from talking when the man winked at her. Of course then she remembered she did in fact carry the fanboy beside him and turned to him with an expectant look.

""Roman Follies". It was a wonderful book, sir. I read it in college," Sonny told the man. "Okay, so Mr. Briggs, you're happy to keep your wife satisfied?"

"Well, of course I am. I mean, just look at her," Walter languidly gestured towards his smiling wife. "Moreover, I'm obliged. It's a man's duty to nature. A million years of evolution, you know. Oh, these feminists, they can preach and screech all they want, but until the day that a man suckles an infant and a woman goes out and hunts, and…" He trailed off only to return with the same sentence over and over. "A woman goes out and hunts, and…"

It was as if the detectives could see the literal lights switched off.

"What?" The man blinked at them. "I'm sorry. What?"

Charmaine lowered his pointing finger with a sigh. "I'm sorry. My husband's very tired, but as you can see, we are fine."

A short moment later, the two detectives were led out of the house.

"She's got the politeness downpacked," Montserrat said as soon as they were free on the street. "But I'm having trouble deciding whether or not she's being honest."

"I know that Briggs is," Sonny said and was soon subjected to a look from his partner.

"Is this coming from Detective Carisi or the fanboy?"

He rolled his eyes. Montserrat laughed as they came to a stop by their car. "Like you're not a fan of anything?" He unlocked the doors for them.

Montserrat swayed her head a few times before uttering a name, "Alicia Markova." She pulled open the passenger door and got inside while Sonny tried working through the mysterious name.

"Okay, what!?" He climbed into the driver's seat eventually if only for Montserrat to see his utterly confused face. "Who's that?"

"A ballerina you idiot," Montserrat laughed. "She was one of the best ballerinas. She performed in places where ballet hadn't even been done before. But you know what, even if I was around her — or any other of my favorite celebrities — I wouldn't let that get in the way of my job."

"I wouldn't," he assured her.

"Okay," Montserrat raised her hands in a surrender motion. "Now drive. We gotta explain this trip to Olivia and then, if we get lucky, Rafael."

Sonny agreed with a nod. The fact that their visit hadn't gone all that good was enough of a conflict. Hearing Rafael say it out loud was another thing neither looked forward to.

"You're kidding me. His daughters are complaining, but he isn't?" The ADA did nothing to hide his distaste even when Olivia did her best beforehand to make the case sound like a real case, which it was (in her mind).

"Yeah, he says he's doing his manly duty by keeping his woman satisfied," Sonny said, awkwardly clearing his throat in the end. He was pretty sure, like the rest of the squad, that this wasn't a clear point case. There were different elements to it and not all of them were good.

Rafael led the group into his office, doing very little (if he was being honest with himself) to find cause for a further investigation. So far, no one had said anything alarming. "So he's consenting to the sexual activity?"

"Him and his varnished eel…"

"Okay, but is he capable of consent? I mean, what's he like?"

"He winked at Montserrat a couple times," Sonny shrugged, missing the way the woman in question threw him a look.

Bemusement sparked in Rafael's eyes. "Really?"

Montserrat knew that teasing voice anywhere and immediately glared at him. "Shut up." Her command did nothing for his widening smile.

"Alright, anything else?" Olivia motioned the two detectives to move onto more important details.

"He quoted from an essay about manly men that he wrote in "Playboy" in 1972, and then just like that—" Sonny snapped his fingers, "—he goes off into ga-ga land. It was sad. The guy was a titan."

"It does seem like we should dig in a little further," Montserrat said. "If the guy goes off into space so often, who's to say that his wife doesn't take advantage?"

"Who's to say that she does at all?" Rafael countered. Montserrat's face fell flat. "I am only asking a question that needs to be thought of as well."

"Alright, well what about this?" Olivia was suddenly waving her phone at him. "Mr. Briggs just went to the hospital. Apparent heart attack. The daughter said that he had a heart condition. If the wife knew and was secretly feeding him those pills…"

"Yeah, that's assault three," Sonny jumped on her trail. "Recklessly causing physical injury to another person, maybe even attempted murder. Am I right, counselor?"

"Seldom," Rafael flatly shot him down. As soon as he saw Montserrat's growing impatience with him, he tried to remedy some of the situation. He didn't need grief about this later. "Unless the daughters can give you proof that the wife knew about the heart condition and was exacerbating it, you've got nothing."

"Alright," Olivia took on the challenge with a tight smile. She made a motion for Sonny and Montserrat to follow her out.

Montserrat was the last one to follow but before she left, Rafael called out slightly quieter, "Don't flirt back with him, okay?" He absolutely loved her reaction that it was almost impossible not to laugh on the spot.

"Funny?" She glared at him. "Have dinner by yourself. Hope that's fun!"

"Oh, Montse," he was left to laugh alone.

~ 0 ~

"Dr. Tedroe?" Olivia stopped a woman passing by them in the hallway.

The doctor's eyes flickered past Olivia to the two detectives flanking her. "Are you here because of the incident?"

"Yes, we're wondering if Mr. Briggs' heart attack could have been caused by his medication."

"I don't know. I never got the chance to take a complete medical history."

"Why not?" Montserrat arched an eyebrow at the doctor.

Tedro seemed just as puzzled for some reason. That never boded well. "I thought that's why you're here. His wife arrived 20 minutes ago with a private ambulance and removed him from the hospital against medical advice. She pulled him off the EKG monitor and was in such a hurry, she took our IV pump with her. The nurses didn't try to stop her because Mr. Briggs needed it to maintain."

A mutual outrage went from the Sergeant to the detectives. Were they hearing right!?

"Can he maintain outside the hospital?" Olivia asked.

"Maybe, maybe not. His wife has put his life in jeopardy."

"And you just let her take him?" The question tumbled out of Sonny's mouth before he knew it. Of course he realized that it wasn't the doctor's fault for this. It was Charmaine's.

"We got the court order!" One of Walter's daughters, Judith, came rushing towards them with her step sister Delilah in toe. "Where's our dad?"

Everyone exchanged glances with each other as they decided who got the lucky job of answering that question. As her duty entailed, Olivia took it.

~ 0 ~

Two visits in the same day, so close to each other, made Rafael feel ever so lucky. It would've been nice if this time 'round they'd brought him some actual trouble he could work with legally...but no. All they were doing right now was following him down the block back to the office.

"This was my lunch break you know," he said, not that anyone heard him. Well, he could see Montserrat smirking from the corner of his eyes. Sometimes, his blood really did boil...but he wouldn't have it any other way.

"We have checked every hospital in Manhattan. There is no sign of Briggs," Olivia was going on.

"But it's not kidnapping," Rafael said for the third time since the conversation started. "She's his wife. She has the right to take him out of the hospital."

"Even against medical advice?"

"Well—"

"Ripping hospital equipment out of the wall?"

"Want me to file a larceny charge on the IV pump?"

"Stop being a smart ass," Montserrat playfully rolled her eyes at him. "You know his daughter's got a court order to visit him? Charmaine's in violation."

"Has she denied them access?"

"They don't know where he is!"

"So no."

"C'mon Councilor, she's endangering her husband's life," Sonny tried his hand next. "The... the doctors made that clear."

"Yeah, plus the rape and assault charges are still under investigation," Olivia reminded.

"Barely…one of them's a stretch," Rafael scoffed. "And the other's a chasm."

At this point, Montserrat had to wonder to what extent his argumentative talents went to be able to shoot down all three of them in one go. She might be a little bit proud...but right now she was a bit irritated.

"This is a sick old man getting dragged across the city," Olivia tried once again.

"Well, we're not social workers!" Rafael exclaimed, quite exasperated. It wasn't like he was purposely taking their case down but in legal terms, there was nothing he could do.

"But we are cops, and we can keep investigating," Olivia said.

"Knock yourselves out."

"We will," Olivia said as a promise. She headed down the opposite direction, leaving her two detectives to follow.

"You're going to be paying for that one later," Montserrat lingered behind for a bit, though she kept sending cautious glances in Olivia's direction in case the Sergeant looked back. "And not by me…"

"Mm," Rafael glanced over his shoulder. "You people are testing me today."

"Oh," Montserrat feigned offence with a hand over her chest. "I will make sure to remember that the next time you want to, I don't know, lay a kiss on…" She tapped a finger over her lips.

Rafael rolled his eyes. As if she could maintain that threat. Without a word of warning, his hand struck forwards and yanked her close to him. He smiled smugly at her wide-eyed face. "We'll see about that."

Montserrat tried pulling away but he had a strong grip around her wrist. "Stop that! Liv could look back!"

"How are our dinner plans coming along, then?"

"Shut up — Rafael, this isn't funny! I'm going to kill you! Let go!"

"I was thinking Japanese again? Maybe Thai?"

"I'll be busy tonight considering I'll be on trial for murdering you!" Montserrat's eyes blazed with absolute anger. "Now let go of me!" He swiftly let her wrist go but to his amusement, she stayed right where she was...which was pretty close to him. "If I didn't like you so much, I'd seriously consider murdering you," she said sharply. His clean grin was more than infuriating. "I have to go," she shook her head.

"Go, go, I'll call you tonight."

"Not if you're single," she jabbed her finger on his chest.

"Right," he laughed.

She hurried off before he got any other ideas. Sometimes, he actually managed to be properly childish.

~ 0 ~

At the end of her shift, Montserrat hauled herself to her therapist's. It was a long overdue appointment that she wouldn't postpone. Dr. Weslin was ready to go as soon as Montserrat arrived and since there was a lot to go through, Montserrat started straight away. There was one specific thing she wanted to talk about after all.

"I have noticed there's more gaps in-between my, uh, moments," she said, just barely keeping the content from overpowering her. It just felt so surreal being able to say that out loud and mean it. There were times where the longest gap was only about a day. Now she could go months. "I feel like I'm finally getting somewhere, you know? I have no idea what that might be but just the fact that I'm aware that I am going somewhere...it's thrilling."

Weslin watched Montserrat carefully, keeping her comments to herself for the time being. She was expecting Montserrat to make a turn after everything.

"There was just one moment I had…"

There it was.

Because in her experience treating Montserrat, Dr. Weslin tended to notice that Montserrat would often start with the best things that happened to her and then she would shift entirely when she had to admit to something that didn't fit with her happy picture.

Montserrat slowed her shifty movements on the couch. Her gaze would no longer stick to Weslin; her eyes would flicker around the room like she usually did during her first visits. "I don't know if it's a sign that I'm somehow getting worse again, but—"

"Montserrat, it's okay, you have the floor to speak," Weslin had to cut her off or else they might never reach the point Montserrat was trying to make.

Montserrat nodded. She was biting her lower lip nervously. "There was a case that we had a few days ago. Two boys raped a girl. I was fine doing my job up until the trial." Weslin was looking directly at her, somehow making her even more nervous. It was ridiculous to feel that way. Weslin never judged her for anything and she had to get that through her head. "The case was nothing I haven't already seen but...there was one new thing." She swallowed hard. "One of the boys — ironically the one who didn't think he did anything wrong — was, um...his name was Daniel."

Weslin raised her head, blinking a few times out of genuine surprise. As soon as she caught herself, she set it aside and motioned Montserrat to continue.

"Of course I should have realized that this would happen at some point but I just didn't and I...I was caught off guard," the detective started picking at her nails without even realizing it. Weslin silently eyed the motion. "When he was up on the stand, testifying that he didn't do anything wrong. It was a whirlwind of emotions, honestly. I was so incredibly satisfied to see the ADA destroy him on the stand…"

Weslin took note of the new rage that filled Montserrat's words, as well as the new force she was using to pick at her nails. She knew that the detective wasn't even aware that she was close to bringing out blood from her skin.

"He had that coming, I knew it, and I felt it. It was a dark satisfaction," Montserrat finally willed herself to meet Weslin's gaze. "Is that bad? To-to feel that type of satisfaction?"

"It's the retribution you think you ought to have," Weslin said, strategically and wisely avoiding a straightforward answer to the question. It had no real answer, but that wouldn't make Montserrat feel any better.

"But that's the thing, I still don't know what the hell I want," Montserrat admitted, heaving a heavy sigh. "I was talking to Rafael about this and-and he told me that he had looked into my file. I went crazy, Dr. Weslin."

"You were upset that he looked?"

"I felt weak in front of him," Montserrat said quietly. "Exposed. He went through the most horrific part of my life. He knows everything — well, almost — and I just couldn't handle that at that moment. I had a sort of anxiety attack. And when he helped calm me, we talked. I admitted that I was sure Daniel ordered the sniper in retaliation for, um, the drive-by shooting incident. Rafael wanted me to do something about it, talk to someone at the precinct, and I freaked. I realized that I was still unsure of what I wanted."

"Entirely?" Weslin challenged.

Montserrat pulled her hands apart from each other, giving her picked-at-skin a decent rest. "Well...maybe? I don't know. I can say that I would like to one day see Daniel pay for what he did to me. I know that I deserve to see my justice but right now I can't see it happening. I don't want it. It completely terrifies me that someone else might find out what happened to me."

Weslin nodded with her. "As I have said before, the road to recovery is a long one and there is no deadline here. But I would like to commend you because it seems like with time, your thoughts about the matter are changing. As always, I'm going to remind you that it's normal to have setbacks. It's normal to feel the exposure and weakness as if it was still that first day. What's important is how you overcome them each time it happens and it seems like you're doing a very good job with that."

Montserrat smiled lightly. "Yeah," she felt a warmth blossoming over her chest knowing that she was saying the truth. She had gotten much better overcoming her moments. Time was, she would shut herself down and stay like that for days...but not anymore.

"There is only one question I'd like to ask, and of course you don't have to answer…" Weslin trailed off until Montserrat gave her the permission to keep going. "We both know that there is still an important fragment of this case that you have not revealed to anyone. That hasn't become a problem to you throughout all these new things, right?"

Montserrat swallowed hard. "Like…?"

"Your relationship, for starters. By the things you've been telling me, it seems to be getting serious."

"Right…"

Weslin lifted an eyebrow at the detective, expecting some type of answer to her question.

"No," Montserrat ultimately said. "I-I don't think I ever will. That's one part that I'm...I'm sure I've done right. I don't say anything not for me, but...for them. I see no logical reason to ever bring that part to light."

~ 0 ~

On her way out of Weslin's office, Montserrat thought to text Rafael just to make sure he knew that he was still paying for the happenings earlier.

'Are you enjoying your dinner alone?' She texted quickly and easily. She waited for the buzz of his response until she got home. She didn't think it odd considering the workload he often had in the nights but still, she decided to give him a quick call. Maybe they could work something out for the next night.

She called twice and there was no answer. She was just coming into her bedroom when her phone vibrated with his text.

'Sorry, can't talk. Grandmother's in the hospital.'

Montserrat nearly crashed into her bed with that text. "What!?" She screeched and quickly texted back.

'What happened to her? Is she alright? Do you need me there?'

The fact that she was basically offering to expose herself to her family never even crossed her mind at that moment.

'Thank you but don't worry. I'll call later, promise. Sleep well.'

How was she supposed to sleep knowing that he wasn't? Her heart ached and suddenly, she didn't care about meeting his family. She should be at his side, helping him...but she couldn't surprise him like that. His mind must already be frantic enough without her adding unnecessary stress. She'd have to wait for his call.

#ocappreciation #fd: svu #svu #rafael barba #svu fics #rafael barba fics #rafael barba imagines #svu imagines #law and order svu #rafael barba x oc #svu ocs #oc: Montserrat Novak #fic: dare to forget me

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ohmycenchaheart · 3 years

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Came across these headcanons that I’d written post the finale because I refused to accept the show ending like that. I refuse to believe that after everything they’ve gone through, Cha Young and Vincenzo cannot be together. Sorry PJB, but that’s not happening (even if it was sorta realistic and brilliant). Anyway. This is what I’d have loved to see play out.

Homecoming

It happens on one of their game nights. Game day became game night because Cha Young often has trials at the court these days.

They’re playing Mafia again. Of course they are. And when Cha Young ends up as the Mafia, she thinks momentarily of a compliment, indulgently given over cups of Makgeolli, that maybe she truly did believe in the Mafia.

Their game is interrupted by the arrival of two of Geumga Family’s honorary members — Ahn Gi Seok and Cho Young Woon, who are lovingly welcomed with hugs and pats on the back. Because it’s not often most of the family gets to be together (most and not all, because one of them is always missing).

“Well, my old-looking hoobae and I were wondering if there’d be room for three more players at tonight’s game night…” “Yah, Ahn gun, we’ve been the ones drinking, but it seems you’re the one who is drunk,” says Mr. Tak. Upon which, Mr. Cho adds, “Ahh, you see, we brought an old friend along.”

And it is then a familiar voice greets them. “Annyeonghaseyo.”

To say that the Geumga Plaza family collectively loses it would be an understatement.

Mr. Nam is the first to tackle Vincenzo with a hug and his trademark “Byeonhosa-nim!”

Cha Young stands at the back, elated and trying to process if this is really happening, while Vincenzo gets hugged by the rest of the family. With a knowing smile, Yeon-Jin reassuringly squeezes Cha Young’s arm, while her husband gushes over Vincenzo, and others wait their turn to hug the now returned man.

When it is her turn for a hug, no one misses on how Vincenzo is the one to initiate the hug. No one even remarks on the soft look both their faces sport, or how their hug lasts a few seconds longer than the others’.

And then game night isn’t game night anymore. Over Tteokbokki and beer, Mr. Cho and Mr. Ahn reveal how they worked it all out, using their agency and the guillotine file to clear Vincenzo’s name and let him come back. On Vincenzo’s part, he still has his secret island, but he has moved his Italian family somewhere safe, and left someone very capable in charge. It’s not that he has changed his ways, no, he is still the man he was when he left. It’s just.. it was about time he returned home to his family.

The three also let the plaza people know how well Han Seo has been recovering after undergoing numerous surgeries, and how they hope he will be joining them back in Seoul after completing his rehabilitation therapy abroad. Mr. Nam wonders if that means they’ll be getting a new intern at Jipuragi sometime soon.

When Hee Soo accidentally drops her napkin and bends down to retrieve it, she catches the two lawyers holding hands under the table, while being the perfect picture of nonchalance. She smiles and doesn’t say a word.

When the family has finally finished catching up, and sleep gradually takes over them all, the group decides to disperse.

Before leaving, Mr. Lee and Yeon Jin let Vincenzo know what time his goddaughter will be awake the next day, so that he can finally meet her.

Cha Young and Vincenzo make their way to the footbridge (a place where some of their fondest memories linger still despite all the time that has passed) because there’s something Cha Young has to let him know: she might have (read: definitely has) taken over his old apartment.

It was honestly a matter of convenience, nothing else. For those days when work makes her put in longer hours, and it’s easier to sleep at the apartment rather than going back all the way home. Plus, she already had the spare key and it was easy to negotiate with Mr. Cho (who didn’t charge her a penny for the place, as if he’d dare). It had nothing to do with the fact that on days when Cha Young found herself missing him more than usual, curling up in this apartment brought her comfort. With all his things still there, sometimes it felt as if he hadn’t left.

But of course, Vincenzo already knows all this. Mr. Cho had already filled him in.

And so they make their way to the apartment 606. It still is sparsely furnished like the way it was when he lived there, but there are a few new additions. His couch has more pillows and a soft throw blanket. His living room table is littered with case files and a familiar bunny massage stick. In the kitchen there are boxes of ramen and instant coffee mix, and cartons holding makgeolli bottles. In his bathroom, there’s an extra toothbrush and a small make up bag by the sink. Bottles of shampoo and perfume and soap that smell like her now stand next to his old toiletries. It makes him smile because it feels he never left, like they’ve been living here together in this tiny apartment all this while, his world and hers mixing together. He won’t admit how many times he’s dreamt of this -- just them and the life they’ve made together.

When he enters his room, he finds half his closet space is taken over by her “emergency wardrobe”... And it seems his old Booralro sleepwear has somehow made its way to her pile of clothes. In Cha Young’s defence, despite looking silly, that silky nightshirt is ridiculously comfy, and it’d be such a shame if she let a limited edition piece of work go to waste. That she kept it because it reminds her of him remains unsaid.

The one addition Cha Young has made to the apartment that Vincenzo loves the most is in his room. Atop the dresser, next to all his lighters and Inzhagi’s bird food, are three photo frames. The first has a picture of him and his mum. The second is the portrait of the two of them with Cha Young. And the third is the picture from their fake proposal that the art gallery had emailed them. It’s funny how, despite spending all that time together, this was the only photo they had together. Vincenzo thinks it’s time they change that.

They both stand by the window, and when Inzhagi finally comes by to say hi to his old friend, Cha Young is reminded of a Shakespearean quote — Journeys end when lovers meet — because lets be real, Vincenzo’s true love is this pigeon. Vincenzo is highly offended when Inzhagi shows preference to the bird food Cha Young has laid out for him, and not the one Vincenzo has to offer. Guess Cha Young’s diligent feeding of the bird during his absence has secured her a new friend.

Given the late hour, it only makes sense that Cha Young sleep over. And traditions must be continued, so some ramyeon is made (this time it’s two servings because no matter what Cha Young says about not wanting ramyeon, Vincenzo remembers his lesson all too well) and bottles of Makgeolli are consumed.

The two wake up the next morning, all tangled up on the living room floor, in the space between the couch and the coffee table (that is now pushed aside). And despite the uncomfortable floor, it’s the soundest sleep they’ve both had in the last year and half.

But they need to wake up soon and head out. First stop coffee, a quick check up on their gold, and then to meet his goddaughter over whom he has promised to look after. And after that, a quick stop to their old Bungeoppang stand (if it’s still there) and a drive to where their parents now rest.

This, Vincenzo thinks as he holds an asleep Cha Young in his arms, is what it means to finally be home.

#can we just get a season 2 where he finally comes back to her never to leave #vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #cha young #vincenzo x cha young #chacenzo #chayenzo #vincenzo headcanons

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minor-solemnity · 3 years

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Invention and Intrigue pt.4

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

You look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive.

You still spend a lot of your evenings with Tom. The only difference being that he touches you more often seems to reach for you without conscious thought or effort. You’ll be sit side by side and his fingers will tap rhythmically on your upturned palm. He’ll kiss your cheek after he’s walked you back to your common room and when he leaves, he’ll pause before letting your hand drop from his, as though he has to consciously remind himself to let you go. For someone who so rarely displays joy in physical proximity in public, he is surprisingly demanding behind closed doors. You’re charmed.

In public, you both keep your distance. You smile at him politely in the halls and he nods in acknowledgement in return. You like it this way. It makes the moments when his guards drop that much more satisfying, and honestly, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand Melanie’s excited gushing if she were to find out that you were dating.

There’s also the matter of his Slytherin cohort.

If you were a more idealistic person, you would probably be annoyed by the fact that he keeps his distance. You would probably question what you are to him. If he viewed you as something fun to pass the time with, but not good enough to be seen in public with. You’re not an idiot, no matter how much you might act like it sometimes; you know that your blood plays a large role in why he is so keen to keep your budding relationship a secret.

But you aren’t a more idealistic person and therefore you understand perfectly that his friends (though really, you’re not sure if you can call the boys he spends time with his friends) would likely abandon him if they knew about you. You’re honestly not sure how Tom even managed to build such a loyal following in the first place. You’ve not spoken about it, but you’re aware that Riddle isn’t a pureblood surname.

And so you spend two glorious months sheltering your relationship from the world, wrapped safely in your shared love of magic and the possibilities it holds and, more often than not, the green blanket that Tom had gifted you.

It’s on one of these nights in early summer, when the sun has only just started to set, and you’re making the most of the warmer weather that it all goes horribly wrong.

Tom leaves you in the entrance hall because he is Head Boy and apparently that means he has responsibilities that don’t include walking you back to your common room. You’re halfway up the steps to the first floor when the stunning jinx hits you. Distantly you hear footsteps and then there is a shadow looming over you and a familiar loud cackle ringing in your ears before everything fades to darkness.

You come to in a classroom you vaguely recognise as the one that Tom had taken you to when you’d kissed for the first time. You spare a moment to appreciate with grim irony that you weren’t wrong in your prediction that going into the dungeons would lead to (a probably very painful) death. Lestrange stands in front of you and your heart starts hammering when you see he’s holding your wand loosely in one hand whilst his own is pointed directly at your chest. You glance at the door behind him, wondering briefly if you try and make a run for it, but Lestrange is bigger, stronger and faster than you and without your wand, you are more or less helpless against him. “People like you contaminate everything,” He spits. You know exactly what he’s talking about. He must have seen you with Tom, must have realised what you were to him. By the looks of it, he isn’t best pleased. In fact, his aristocratic features practically distort themselves under the weight of his disgust.

Lestrange raises his wand and you are preparing yourself to welcome death with open arms when the door slams open. Tom is a rigid pillar of anger. There’s absolutely nothing behind his eyes and whilst he isn’t the most expressive person under normal circumstances, it’s nothing compared to the blank, cold rage that you see in him now. In front of you, Lestrange stills, something flashes in his eyes that you think might be fear before it fades. “Stay out of this, Riddle, if you know what’s good for you,” He says, and he’s angry, yes, disdainful and haughty, but you don’t miss the slight hesitation in his voice.

Tom doesn’t either because the mirror that is his expression cracks and a slow, cruel smile twists his upper lip. He looks terrifying and you’ve never been more grateful to see him. “Put your wand down,” He says, and it’s soft, cajoling, completely at odds with the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Put your wand down and look at me.”

And the thing is, Lestrange does. If you were unconvinced of the sway that Tom holds over his peers before, you aren’t any longer. You think that they would walk through fiendfyre if he ordered them to. Tom doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move a muscle. He isn’t even holding his wand and a thought begins to form in your mind that he might just tell Lestrange to leave. You hope he doesn’t. You don’t care if it’s cruel of you, but you want him to suffer.

Lestrange makes a strange choking noise, and it takes you a moment to realise that he’s trying to suppress a sob. For a moment, you wonder how Tom is managing it without his wand but then you remember the book he’d been reading months ago and your wonder morphs into shock and then awe. Legilimency.

With his back turned to you, you can’t see what’s playing across his features, but his hands are shaking and your wand clatters to the ground. Seeing the opportunity for what it is, you dart forward and scoop it up, immediately feeling safer and less afraid. Tom motions for you to join him, and for the first time since he appeared something resembling human emotion flashes across his face. As soon you’re close, he wraps an arm around you and presses his mouth against the top of your head in a vague approximation of a kiss. From where you’re now standing, you can see Lestrange’s expression all too clearly. His features are no longer distorted in disgust but rather in anguish. Eyes wide and unseeing, he shakes in front of you, any sense of superiority reduced to ash.

“Leave.” A single word. An order, a command and Lestrange is scrambling out of the room. It’s only when you can no longer hear his footsteps that your breath hitches and you begin to shake. You’re not sure how long you stand there, face buried in the folds of Tom’s robes, his hands rubbing gentle, comforting circles against your back, but finally, you begin to calm down enough to disentangle yourself from him. He leads you back out of the dungeons and towards safety.

When you get to the entrance hall, Tom turns and offers you his hand. “Walk with me.” His eyes are still hard, as though he still hasn’t shaken the cold contempt he’d exhibited earlier.

He must see the trepidation play out across your face because his expression softens marginally, dark eyes searching yours almost imploringly. Slowly, tentatively, you reach out and curl your much smaller hand in his. The dry warmth of his skin seeps through you, calming you in a way that you’re not sure is entirely advisable.

Six months ago, you had thought of Tom Riddle as an enigmatic, child prodigy. The finest wizard to step through the gates at Hogwarts since Albus Dumbledore himself. A portrait of politeness and charm. Now you look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive.

It’s an intimidating thought, to say the least. To feel safe and assured in his presence is probably akin to self-destruction, but here you are: walking, hand in hand, through the rose garden.

“You know, I thought I had a good idea of what my future would look like,” He murmurs, running his thumb across the back of your hand. You hum noncommittally because your suspicion that his interest in the darker aspects of magic isn’t entirely academic is now confirmed. He has plans for his future, and now, you suppose, he has plans for yours too. “I think that the future might look very different from now on.”

“How so?”

“I’ve decided to take Slughorn’s advice and go into politics.” The words themselves don’t surprise you. Tom’s ambition, his intelligence, his ruthlessness all spell the beginnings of a lucrative career in politics. What surprises you is the fact that this wasn’t his original plan. But then you think about how you even came to know him and what drew you to each other in the first place and you begin to understand that Tom’s plans likely never constituted anything you could call legal. “When I first came to Hogwarts, I knew immediately that if I wanted to get anywhere in this world, I would have to ingratiate myself with the old families. They’re the ones who hold the real political power in this society. They’re the ones who have the final say on what legislature passes and what fails before it even reaches the Wizengamot. I’ve worked hard to… cultivate a loyal following, purebloods who will carry out my will without complaint.”

That still leaves you though. You’re not so modest that you’re unaware that you are, at least, a factor in Tom’s change of heart but that still doesn’t erase the unspoken issue that Lestrange’s actions had dragged into the light. “They might complain if you were to be seen with me, Tom. They will complain.” You sigh and regret for a future that has not yet come pass fills you. You can see it now, Tom, as Minister for Magic (because you cannot imagine that he would settle for less) with a beautiful pureblood wife to give him credibility in the eyes of a traditionalist society. “As you said, they’re the ones with the real power.”

“You misunderstand me.” He says and he leads you to a bench where you both sit. He turns his body towards you, sitting so close that your knees knock against his. He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead, he interlaces your fingers, holds it against his chest. You don’t want to hope that maybe this isn’t the end like it surely must be, but you find yourself hoping nonetheless. ��They’re weak,” He says plainly. “They’re weak and they’re frightened. Lestrange attacked you from behind and stole your wand because he is afraid of you. I would burn their entire world to the ground for you.” He pauses and then smiles, slightly sinister, slightly cruel, entirely lovely. “As it stands, I merely intend to irrevocably change it. They will follow if they know what’s good for them.”

Melanie says that you’re dramatic, but you don’t think you hold a candle to Tom. Conviction and sincerity blaze across his face and you can’t look away. You pull the hand which is still wrapped tightly around yours to you and kiss his knuckles. “I'll be with you every step of the way.”

END

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

A/N: Tom becomes minister for magic - his political enemies always seem to mysteriously disappear or otherwise change their minds. Reader makes sure that no one can prove anything tho. The Statute of Secrecy is dismantled and integration is in baybee.

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fic #minific #harry potter #harry potter fanfic

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it-was-summer · 4 years

Text

Who Do You Love? (Five x reader)

Requested: YES!! I am so so so happy that people are sending in requests! Also I am so sorry that this took me so long to write, I just started college in August and I haven’t had the motivation to write, with love em. I hope this satisfies <3. @kennahargreeves8

Plot:Could you do a Five x reader fanfic where the reader and Five are mean to each other and they like each other. The reader kidnapped by the commission because they distracted Hazel and Cha Cha from kidnapping Klaus and the reader and Five kiss at the end.

Word Count: 4,674 (I went overboard)

He was nothing but a little boy, even in his adult body. You were working at the Commission when someone had brought up the appearance of a boy running around in the wastelands of the post apocalyptic twenty-nineteen. He wasn’t supposed to be there, and yet there he was.

It took the commission a few years to decide to let him become a field worker, like you. You were a good field worker, always got the job done right, worked alone, worked quietly and didn’t ask for too much. You didn’t enjoy it as much as they thought you did, but it paid well and it was guaranteed protection.

He needed to be trained and one day, when you were about to leave your hotel room, The Handler was standing in front of your door with number Five. “No,” you went to close the door, but a polished, red heel stopped you. “He can get trained by someone else.” You begged as you slowly opened up the door.

“I know, Sweetheart,” She reached out her hand to gently pat your face “You are simply, the best!”

You scoffed at her reasoning, stepping to the side to let her and Five enter the small room. “I’m simply the biggest pushover.” You corrected her gently as you sat on the edge of your bed, looking over at Five with a slight frown. He was inhabiting a body that was older than you envisioned. You requested to be put into a body that was in its early teens. It allowed you to stay alerted and awake, it didn't wear you down too much.

It was easy to fool people like this, but it did also attract some unwanted attention sometimes. You could feel your frown turn into a small grin at the memory of a woman asking ‘where your parents were’.

“Five won’t intervene, he will just be shadowing you for the time being,” she pat Five on the shoulder with a perfect smile. “I’ll see you later.” She waved her goodbye and then she was out the door, leaving the two of you alone.

Your partnership with Five was anything but short and sweet, the Handler wanted him to be with you for almost two months just so the commission could see just how good Five really was. He had talent that was sure, but he was too loyal. His loyalty to his family was definitely going to kill him.

He was also incredibly annoying. He wanted to do everything his way. He was always right about everything. Everything.

You wanted to go around the back, Five would blimp in before you could form a plan. His power was a major disadvantage to you, because you were just a normal assassin working for a company that dealt with the fabric of time and space.

He thought he was just so smart, so amazing. He was just so full of himself, it made you want to vomit in your mouth. If you went against any of his ideas then you were suddenly an ant. Nothing more than an ant on the sidewalk, getting yelled at by a grasshopper.

Nonetheless, he was a really talented recruit. He had the makings for a successful assassin but the talent he possessed could also lead to his downfall.

If you were being one hundred percent honest, you liked Five. You liked him because he was a hard worker and loyal friend, if you were giving him the title of friend.

He was nice to talk to and if you had to pick someone in the commission to team up with it would be Five. He was witty, never missed a beat and he let you make fun of how old he looked.

One day, while you were working you saw your friend in the briefcase room, the two of you made eye contact, you flashed him an easy smile and then you turned the corner. You didn't see him return.

Time was fluid here at the commission. It could be six days in one timeline could be an entire year at the commission, people worked fast and within the timeline. When it had been the day for the Kennedy assassination, all hell broke loose.

Normally you didn’t really care for things that caused people to run around in a hurry, yelling out orders from the Handler and panic ensuing, it wasn’t until you heard someone say, “Five’s gone awol” that you stopped in your tracks and let out a shaky breath, knowing that your friend probably wouldn’t be back alive.

No one seemed to care that much about your missing friend, a part of you wanted to ask the Handler what she was going to do to Five when they found him, but she was too stressed to even look your way.

You played with the watch, resting on your wrist, thinking about how many days it has been since you last saw your older friend, how many weeks? It was weird. Your friendship was weird, indeed. You were in such a small and young body and he was not, he had wrinkles. He was gross, you felt a tear slide down your cheek, gently swiping it away before deciding that you need to stop thinking about him before you got even more upset.

Days passed like years and months passed like centuries. No one uttered a word to you, but Five was buzzing in everyone’s mouths. He was messing up the timeline, you shouldn’t be worried, you should be ashamed.

You felt a bitter taste in your mouth as you stood up from your desk, wandering over to the briefcase room, people entering the room and leaving the room and a man at the desk in front of it.

Before you knew it, you were slipping into the briefcase room, grabbing one and vanishing with a flash of blue light as people screamed your name.

You knew where you were, you set the time, and now you were in the front yard of a classic looking building, doors and gates cleverly embroidered with two umbrellas. You swallowed hard and opened the gate.

You couldn’t knock on the door, you just stood there paralyzed, briefcase in hand. It was so stupid, you could run someone through with knife but you couldn’t knock on a stupid door. The only reason you abandoned the doorstep was because you were sure that you could hear someone talking close to the door. You walked with your head down, moving through the narrow streets of the city, narrowly missing people and letting your head fill with anxious thoughts.

The loyal part of you wanted to go straight back to the commission and apologize, hopefully not die and hope that you wouldn’t get fired, but there was a bigger part of you that needed to save your friend. You didn't have many friends so you needed to take care of the one you had, even if it meant leaving the commission.

When everything was taken care of, removing the tracker from your arm, then you set off back towards the academy. Along the way you were trying to summon any remaining courage you had left with every heavy step, blood dripping down from your arm at a sickening slow rate.

Your plan was to hide the briefcase outside of the house, knock on the door, ask for help and get inside. You didn’t want Five to know you were here, if he opened the door you were fine with it but you didn’t want one of his siblings telling him the news without your knowing.

You stashed the briefcase amongst the bushes in the front of the house, almost invisible, and then knocked on the door. The person who opened the door was a beautiful woman, dark skin and ombre hair in tight curls. You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes filling with false tears “Miss, could you please help me?” you asked, voice cracking ever so slightly as you lifted your sleeve to show her the deep gash in your arm.

Then you were in, sitting at a table getting stitched up by another beautiful woman, dressed in a 60′s like fashion, perfect blond hair and a pleasant smile. She smiled ever so softly as she closed up your wound, ignoring the group that was surrounding you in the kitchen.

There were just three of them, two women, one of them being the women who opened the door and the other looking much more cautious matching the face of one very large man standing behind the two of them. You winced and let out a small sound of pain as you struggled to say your name, telling the story about how you had lost your mother on the streets and how someone attacked you in an alleyway.

The three of them looked anxious as the blond beauty finished fixing your arm and stood up in a cheery manner, leaving as she pondered about a woman's life out loud. They did say his family was strange, you never got any case files on them so they weren’t your concern...well right now they were.

They soon introduced themselves, Luther was the large man, Vanya was the small woman and Allison was the glamorous woman, you shifted in your seat, drying your eyes. “I’m sorry for intruding, I just ran to this house because of the umbrella,” You explained, gently caressing your arm, feigning childlike shyness.

Luther nodded a little as Allison started to speak “They make you feel safe?”

“No, I just like the decoration.” You responded in the best way you thought a child would. You had to use this tiny body for your best interest.

Allison, advocating for you, persuading her siblings to let you stay in her room promising she would actively look for your ‘mother’, mentioning how if her daughter was in your situation she would be dying of worry. To save her, the unnecessary worry you assured her that you had called your mother at a nearby payphone and told her your location, telling her that you were going to go into the umbrella academy before you went in. She seemed skeptical, but somewhat satisfied before leaving you all along.

You knew that you were not a welcomed visitor, nor could you stay very long, you just hoped that Five would be back before you had to fake your leave.

You sat on the bed, playing with your hands, chewing slightly on your lip deep in thought when you heard the familiar sounds of guns going off down the hall. When you opened the door you saw two figures in their masks shooting up a room, backs towards you, Hazel and Cha-Cha. You ran down the hall, passing a man taking a tub taking a bath, oblivious to the events unfolding around him. You ran down the hall into a vacant room, hiding against the wall behind the door.

After a jaw clenching minute, the dripping man came into his room, oblivious to you as you pressed against the wall watching him dance. It was then the attacker came into the room that was when the dripping man was made aware of the situation he was when. Hazel advanced towards the man, your tiny structure giving you the upper hand as you moved in front of him and swiping at his feet. He dropped, grabbing your ankles and pulled you down right after. The last clear thing you saw was the man running out in a towel yelling for his siblings and then the butt of Hazel’s gun coming down on you.

You came to, your eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness of what you assumed to be the truck that surrounded you.

They were idiots. The two of them, they kept asking you where Five was, and claimed that you were one of his siblings. Every time they would ask you would answer with ‘I don’t know’, the question was so repetitive that you wanted nothing more than to scream that you were with the commission. They had yet to notice that you were a desk worker, and ex-assassin, at the commission, they were just simply so amazingly dimwitted.

You hissed as Cha-Cha slid the blade of knife across your cheek, pressing hard enough to definitely leave a scar, warm, crimson blood trickling down your cheek before you let out a soft whimper of annoyance.

“You two are just going to keep asking me the same question over and over again aren’t you?”

“Of course, we know that he would have told his siblings where he was,”

“Not this sibling,”

“Soon they’ll be looking for you and we can get them all at once, you and your freak family will be wiped out of existence.” Cha-Cha hissed as she sat down on a chair directly across from yours. “So where is he? Don’t you care about your siblings?”

“Not necessarily.” You said with a dirty smile, tired eyes burning as you stared at her confused face.

“I’m done!” she said, shoving herself off of the chair and storming over to the bathroom in a fury, leaving you alone, Hazel following her silently.

It had hours since they kidnapped you, assumed you were a sibling of Five’s, and were now torturing you. Waterboarding occurred, it felt nice to have a clean face, a close call with a finger nail removal played out, but for the most part they would just keep beating you till you felt dull. The feeling of nothing spread across your body like an invasive species. It didn’t numb the pain, but it did numb the feelings that came with the pain.

You were tired, alone and desperate for a savior. You tried to gain the attention of the cleaning lady while you were locked and gagged in the hotel closet, but that attempt was futile.

You were strapped to a chair now, once again getting asked the same question over and over again. You were getting sick of this question, probably because you shared the same question as them. Eventually they both resided into the bathroom, you were facing a window with a strip of duct tape over your mouth when you saw the outline of a woman pass by the window. Using this as a lame excuse to try and escape you started to slam your head onto the table, praying to something that you would be heard.

This is when your emotions started to return, you felt terrified, the idea of dying here was terrifying. You were so close to finding him and these dim witted assassins shouldn’t be the final stop. You needed to get out of here. You wanted to live. That’s when the door unlocked and you made eye contact with a woman holding a gun, her eyes instantly locking onto yours.

She spoke but you just nodded as she freed you from your restraints. You shakily got to your feet, but then the bathroom door started to open and the shooting started. You hit the floor and started moving towards a rather large vent, you pulled the metal covering down seeing an all too familiar briefcase as you started to crawl into the vent, pushing the briefcase with you, finally escaping from your tormentors breathlessly.

Now you were running down a street, blood dripping from your arm again, having reopened your wound in the vents, but that didn’t matter, you were free.

You held onto the briefcase as you limped through the night streets, you didn't know where you were and you were hoping you could find a way back to the academy without those idiots following you. You needed to find Five. You sat on a park bench and fixed the briefcase to this date and time and changed the location, and suddenly you were there in a brilliant flash of blue.

When you appeared in front of the academy the first thing you did was destroy the briefcase, you had yours and those irritating little try hards didn’t deserve a way back home. You threw the dismantled briefcase into the street, hoping it would get run over or explode or something, one of the two. You walked up to the clean glass doors, looking into the bushes for your own briefcase only to greeted by the same plain green shrub you were already searching. You cursed softly to yourself and you reached for the doors, throwing any caution to wind.

After what you had just been through, you didn’t care. You were hoping that their ‘mother’ would care for you if she found you first. You really didn’t care what happened, you just needed to see Five. If you were being honest at this point he was your only hope, a friendly face that would hopefully give you food and water. You were hungry.

As you walked into the ,surprisingly, unlocked house no one greeted you, silence was your host. You aimlessly walked upstairs, towards the only area you were familiar: the bedrooms. It was the last place you had been in the house, maybe that man in the towel would be there, maybe he could help you with finding Five. You could hear voices, a conversation, a conversation that hopefully involved something interesting, one where you weren’t going to get beat up at the end of it.

You walked faster down the fall, taking a turn, getting closer and closer till you stood in the doorway of the room of the man you saved from Hazel and Cha-Cha. He was in there but he was talking to a young boy, he looked about your age, talked like he was older.

The man’s eyes landed on you in the doorway and you saw a haunted expression on his face and you knew he must’ve been the one to take your briefcase. Nobody looked calm when coming back for their first time, especially if it wasn't intentional. You were about to say something when the boy spoke up first.

“How did you get in here?” he asked rather alarmed. You sent him a small look of confusion before you remembered that this, in fact, was not your house.

“I... uh, the door was open,” you answered lamely, hoping that this little boy, whoever he was, would let it drop. You pointed at the man you saved, “Why do you have a horrified look on your face and where is my briefcase?” you questioned, stepping into the room, only to be blocked by the boy.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” the boy said, something about the way he said your name was familiar. You took a small step away from him, how did he know your name?

“How do you know my name?” you said retreating to the door, closely watching the two in front of you.

“What do you mean, ‘how do I know your name’, you trained me!” he scoffed at you, letting the realization dawn on you.

“Five,” you beamed, rushing to him “oh you're so tiny! Just like me! I was here looking for you, but then Hazel and Cha-Cha,”

You were cut off by the older man, “She saved me from getting kidnapped from those psychos’ in the masks and then I found the briefcase out front, thought it had money in it, and I went back to Vietnam,” he breathed, sounding plain exhausted as he told his short story. You nodded a little as you watched him fall onto the bed with a groan “Now can you two please lower the volume?” he ended, frowning at you and Five at the center of the room.

You inched closer to bed, reaching up to tap his shoulder ever so gently, his eyes closed as he tried to calm his aching head “What did you do with the briefcase?”

“Destroyed it,”

You let out a small whine before you nodded, turning around on your heel and leaving the room, let out a tiny yell in the hallway before you turned around seeing Five staring at you with a small grin on his face.

Five had left the academy in a flash, only to return seconds later, you watched him as you were left sit in his room as he began to frantically mutter equations to himself, writing out his process on the walls around the two of you. You stood up, staring at his work on the walls with a small frown “What exactly is your plan?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at Five, seeing him pause his frenzy.

“You aren’t involved in the plan,”

“Five, don’t be ridiculous! I’m here, I’m your ally, let me help you.” You pleaded calmly, walking over to him with a little smile. He looked better now, age wasn’t really a concept at the commission. Technically you were in your forties but you looked about fifteen or fourteen, and now Five looked the same. You thought it was funny that he used to wear clothes like this everyday.

“You aren’t even supposed to be here, besides I need someone here at the academy to make sure something doesn't go wrong. You got promoted to a caseworker, so you know how important this must be.”

Your smile dropped, but you nodded in agreement, knowing that he had a plan and you had to stick to it if you wanted this to pan out well.

So now you were waiting at his house, he said he was going to go and meet Hazel and Cha-Cha, with a fake briefcase. You could tell he wasn’t telling you the whole truth, it was the way he scrunched up his nose, that's how you knew he was lying.

You never felt so helpless, you didn’t know how to stop the apocalypse and you didn’t know if you would be any help in stopping the apocalypse. So now you laid on Five’s bed, it didn’t smell like Five. Five smelt like pine and a tiny hint of sandalwood. You smiled a little as you turned to lay on your side, letting exhaustion catch up to you as you fell into a deep sleep.

You were pissed, it had been a day since Five disappeared, leaving you to watch over his chaotic family. They always had so much drama, and they did not trust you. You understood them not trusting you, but come on really, stop with the dramatics. You sat on a bar stool, listening to the siblings bicker among themselves for what felt like a second time when Five dropped out of the sky, slamming onto the island.

His siblings clamored around him, asking him questions, but he stood up, stole Allison’s coffee, downed it and then lectured his siblings. He then explained that they needed to stop Harold Jenkins. You tuned out the rest of the conversation, eyeing Five carefully, something about him wasn’t right. He kept ranting on and on with his siblings continuously bombarding him questions, and yet all you could do was stare at him.

The little brat wasn’t even acknowledging you, he was so... infuriating. You moved to follow Five out of the room, wanting to help, even if he didn’t want to. So now you were in the backseat with Allison, while the Five and Diego bickered in the front seats. When Diego left, the three of you stood outside the alleyway, and you and Five watched Allison make a call to Vanya.

You looked over at him, a frown still etched on your face as you stared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me the whole plan?”

“You didn’t need to know the whole plan, you need to stay put and stay safe.”

“You don’t know what I need,” you gently kicked his shoes with yours, your voice cracking slightly “,what if you died? What would I do then? My goal isn’t to save your family’s life, it’s to save yours. Tell me what I would’ve done, Five.”

Five stared at you after that, looking a little shocked. You understand why until he reached up towards your face and brushed the falling tear off of your cheek before he let out the smallest “I’m sorry” you had ever heard in your life.

When the four of you arrived at Harold’s house you had a small lump in your throat accompanied by a feeling that something bad was about to happen. Then when Allison called us up your eyes followed his every move, the way he gripped his stomach and swayed, and before you knew it he dropped straight to the floor without any warning.

Your eyes were glued to the bed, it was better than looking at Five, every time you spared a glance at his unconscious body you felt your cheeks get hot and your eyes fill with tears. You hated feeling so useless, why was he making you feel so useless? It was cruel, the cruelest thing he has ever done to you. You cared for him so deeply and it was cruel of him to ignore that.

When the sheets of the bed shifted, you lifted your eyes to look at Five, seeing that he was indeed awake. He made a move to get up, only to be greeted with your hand pushing him back down onto the bed. “You’re an idiot if you think that I am gonna let you get up from this bed.”

“I have to get up,”

You cut him off by lightly pressing on his stomach wound, “You don’t have to do anything with that wound,” you sat down again feeling Five relax under your hand. You let out a small sigh, puffing out your cheeks as Five and you stared at each other. “You’re insufferable, Five. I have never met another person or thing more insufferable than you. You need an award.”

“You aren’t really that great either.”

“Keep your mouth shut Hargreeves,” you ran a hand through your hair with another sigh “I came here to help you, I left my job, sucky as it was, I left it to help you, because why? Because I didn’t want to see you get killed when you came back or hear that you were horribly terminated by those idiots that tortured me. I know you aren’t the kindest person, but I shouldn’t feel like this...” You stuttered gently looking for the word, you didn’t know how you were feeling. You were mad but something struck you deeper, maybe it was fear or concern, maybe it was disdain? Something stronger than what you were used to.

You felt fingers ghost over yours, you looked up from your hand staring down at Five as he sat there as he silently, played with your fingers. “I shouldn’t feel so helpless, I feel like I shouldn’t have left, I shouldn’t have left the commission, especially when you don’t want me here.”

“Who said I didn’t want you here?”

“You did,”

“I said that you shouldn’t be here, not that I didn’t want you here. I want you to be here.” Five muttered in a sweet tone as he cautiously held your hand.

“Don’t say things to make me feel better, it’s horrible to do that to a girl,” you slowly moved your hand away before Five caught your wrist, stopping you from moving away further. “What are you doing, Hargreeves?”

“Something that I should have done when I saw you in Klaus’s room two days ago,” he said, sitting up and leaning closer, and without realizing it you were leaning closer as well.

“I need you to come out of this alive, Hargreeves.” you said in a tiny voice, different from your usual bold volume, sounding oddly vulnerable.

“I will,” Five then pressed a gentle kiss against your lips, pulling away quickly “and so will you.”

You smiled a little and let out a tiny laugh “Okay.” you whispered as you leaned in once again to kiss him on the lips.

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thebiscuiteternal · 3 years

Text

“Introductions” Reverse Nies, First Meetings, New Jobs, Brotherly Ribbing, Nie Mingjue Is A Brat, Nie Huaisang Stress Cooks, Meng Yao Absolutely Does Not Have A New Crush

__________

In the not quite a week since he has met the younger man, Meng Yao has learned that outside of the battlefield, Nie Mingjue is surprisingly quiet. True, his voice tends to roar when he uses it, but he doesn’t actually use it that often unless provoked either by particularly good circumstances or particularly bad.

After reading the reports Meng Yao had painstakingly compiled for him, the younger man had nodded, seemingly to himself, then stood up and headed for the horse pens, beckoning him to follow. “This is high quality work. My older brother will love you,” he had said then, earnest and concise in the praise.

However, that was almost a full day ago, and the general has said very little since except to send off a message that he couldn’t glean the contents of.

Oddly, Meng Yao finds he doesn't mind the quiet, but his curiosity finally gets the better of him once they are within sight of the Unclean Realms. "What is your brother like?" he asks. He has developed a general idea of the sect from observing its soldiers and cultivators, but he honestly has heard very little about Nie Huaisang, the man who runs it, most of the gossip steadfastly remaining centered around Nie Mingjue himself.

Nie Mingjue snorts, looking amused. "You'll see."

That sounds... vaguely ominous.

Servants meet them to take the horses, and he mentally takes note of how uncomfortable and fidgety the two men seem to be.

Nie Mingjue's good humor vanishes when he also notices. "Is he in the kitchens again?"

One of the stablehands nods. "Tai-zongzhu arrived unannounced just after dawn this morning and Nie-zongzhu entered the secondary kitchen shortly after his departure."

“When was that?”

“A little after chen shi.”

"Ah, shit," Nie Mingjue mutters, scratching the back of his neck. "I'll check on him."

"Thank you, young master."

Meng Yao eyes the younger man as they head towards one of the buildings. "What’s going on? Is there something I should be worried about… like food poisoning?"

Or regular poisoning.

One can never be too sure.

"Ha! No, no, Sang-ge can cook just fine. The problem is that he only ever does it when he's... upset."

He has seen some terrors of the kitchen, but the sight that meets them when they enter still gives him pause. Several fully broken down carcasses -sheep or goats, by the look of the skulls- are neatly arranged in separate piles on the massive main table: meat, bones, hides, offal. A series of buckets are carefully placed for catching the drain off. And in the midst of it all, spattered in blood and busy with a series of knives, is a single man of about the same size as him dressed in plain linens with his hair tied in a severe bun.

"Must've been a hell of a meeting if you couldn't come greet me," Nie Mingjue calls across the room.

The stranger's head shoots up from his work, demeanor immediately brightening. "Jue-er!"

Meng Yao stares as the man -no, wait, Nie-zongzhu- barely takes the time to wipe his hands and wrestle out of the linen overcoat before rushing to hug his younger brother. He still has dried blood swiped across his face, likely from a careless attempt to get errant hair out of his eyes, but neither of them seem to notice, nor care as Nie Mingjue scoops the smaller figure into a bear-like hug.

It is... an interesting look, combined with those facial features.

Quite interesting indeed.

"You can tell me who you were imagining the mutton as later," Nie Mingjue says, putting the other man down. "I've brought you someone."

"Is that so-oh, hello!"

Meng Yao suddenly finds himself the focus of very green eyes, and swallows hard.

"This is Meng Yao, the one I wrote ahead about.” A large hand claps him on the back and the wince that escapes before he can school his expression back to neutrality causes Nie-zongzhu to snicker in a way that absolutely shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

“Jue-er, be nice! He’s not used to that like I am.”

He really should bow. The fact that he hasn't done it already is an insult. And yet the best he can manage is a short nod before he suddenly finds his hands clasped in a tight -and still very slightly bloody- grip and oh, Nie-zongzhu's welcoming grin is even brighter up close.

"And gods, am I glad to meet you! If you can do even half of what Jue-er said you can, you're now my best friend."

“Don’t accept that as a compliment until you see the disaster area he calls an office.”

Nie-zongzhu actually rolls his eyes at his brother. “Just because you can’t find anything in there-”

“It looks like a typhoon went through! Followed by an entire sounder of wild boars!”

This is clearly a very, very old argument, and he’s not sure how he feels about the fact that they’re letting him so freely witness it.

Or the fact that Nie-zongzhu seems to have forgotten he’s still holding Meng Yao’s hands. “Um, could you-”

“Hm?” The other man looks down, then lets go with an embarrassed expression. “Aha, sorry about that. I sometimes forget formality around family.”

“That’s an understatement,” Nie Mingjue mutters, then promptly gets elbowed in the ribs for it.

“Hush, you brat. Anyway, give me just a moment to get this all sorted out,” Nie-zongzhu says, returning to the table and scooping up the outer robe he had been using to cover his clothing. “Then I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

“I can do that. Having some unpacking time will let him brace himself for the paper-filled hellhole.” Nie Mingjue ducks a thrown talus bone and shoots his older brother an unrepentant smirk.

“Insufferable menace. I take back every thought I ever had about missing you,” Nie-zongzhu grumbles as he tosses the robe back on. “Fine, get out of here.”

“As my sect leader commands.”

Meng Yao is still slightly dazed by… all of that as Nie Mingjue grabs him by the shoulder and guides him out towards the main building. “Is… is it always like that with you two?”

“Pretty much.”

“Even around the rest of the sect?”

Nie Mingjue’s grin is sharper than his brother’s, but their family resemblance has never been more clear than in that moment. “You’ll get used to it if you stick around.”

Similar to the ‘You’ll see’ from earlier, Meng Yao isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to take that as encouragement or a threat.

---

It takes him longer to marvel at his new home -the bed alone probably costs more than he has ever made in his life- than it does to unpack what few things he has brought, and yet when he returns to the second kitchen, the mess from earlier has already been cleaned up and Nie-zongzhu is attacking vegetables with the same efficient gusto he had been using on the mutton earlier.

“Come sit!” he calls cheerily when he notices Meng Yao hovering by the door.

Meng Yao eyes the knife movements a little dubiously, but edges towards a chair. “What are you making?”

Nie-zongzhu nods to the massive pot gently bubbling on a fire behind him. “Lucky for me, Zhou Lian and her daughter made a good-sized batch of fresh noodles this morning while I was in here, so I’ve started stew.” He scoops up a pile of diced cabbage and almost idly tosses it in without even looking at the pot. “Is your room alright? Anything I need to change?”

“It’s-” overwhelming “-fine. You have an eye for decor.”

“At least you appreciate it. Jue-er would sleep on a rock if I let him.”

Meng Yao has to bite his tongue to keep from snorting, because Nie Mingjue has been doing almost exactly that in the camps. “Where did he go, anyway?” he asks, resting his chin in his hands. “I thought you two would have stitched yourselves to each other’s sides by now.”

He doesn’t mean to speak so casually. It just slips out, lulled by the air of easy sociability that seems to surround Nie-zongzhu. When he realizes what he has said, and to a sect leader, he chokes slightly and straightens up with the intent to apologize, but Nie-zongzhu just laughs.

It’s a nice laugh.

“If it doesn’t involve butchery, you couldn’t pay him to hang around in the kitchens,” the older man says, moving on to a pile of mushrooms. “He’s already gone out to terrorize the training fields until dinner. You’re welcome to join him if you like, I’m sure he’d be happy to throw a sword at you.”

“That sounds tempting,” Meng Yao says, and though he’s not entirely being sarcastic, it earns him another laugh. “But since assisting you is now my assignment, would it be alright if I stayed here and asked a few questions instead? I would like to be prepared in order to perform to the best of my ability.”

“Oh, of course, of course.” Nie-zongzhu makes an offhand gesture with the blade he’s using, and Meng Yao mentally notes how the movement is more suited to holding, say, a fan than a knife. At least they’re a safe distance apart. “Ask away.”

“One of the servants mentioned an incident with a minor sect leader this morning-”

“Ah. That.” The mushrooms go into the pot and Nie-zongzhu sighs. “Honestly, the whole mess isn’t really his fault, since it’s not like he can control the weather nor how the Wens react to it, and I’ve already thought of some possible solutions. I just needed to burn off the irritation first. Could you pass me the onions?”

Meng Yao obligingly gets up to fetch them. “That’s understandable. Is there anything that I could do to help smooth the situation out?”

When he turns back around, the small basket in hand, Nie-zongzhu is looking away at the stew pot and absently tapping his nails against his lower lip in thought.

He forcibly pulls his gaze away from the motion and looks at the basket instead as he sets it down. “Zongzhu?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry. Actually, Jue-er mentioned transferring reports to maps as one of your strong suits. The maps Tai-zongzhu brought aren’t bad , but the storm damage has already outdated them. If you don’t mind, perhaps you could help me figure out a better picture of what we’re dealing with? After dinner, of course.”

A potentially challenging, yet surprisingly simple request, tailored to his abilities, with an opening that he could refuse and ask for a different task if he so chose. Considering the last few weeks of being ordered about on the worst of menial jobs, it’s a refreshing change of pace.

Much like his new employer, actually.

“Of course,” he agrees, and the smile on his face is genuine.

#mdzs #reverse nies #jin guangyao #meng yao #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #sangyao #fanfic

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alecmagnuslwb · 3 years

Text

Time Doesn’t Love You Anymore

Read on AO3

Day One

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!” his phone rings out from the makeshift nightstand that’s actually just a stack of old yellow pages.

Zatanna groans reaching out in an attempt to silence the damn thing, not even lifting her head from under the covers. She pushes out a little too hard dislodging one of the yellow pages from its Tetris style stack nearly knocking them all to the floor. Sometimes she really hates staying in one of John’s so-called safehouses.

Above her she hears a deep sleep addled chuckle and feels the warm press of skin against her back as John stretches for the phone. The motion moves the covers down past her shoulders and she grumbles as the sunlight rudely hits her eyes.

“What?” John says answering the phone, she grumbles again moving her pillow from under her head to over her ears. The conversation goes muffled after that until she hears the distinct snap of John closing his ridiculous drug dealer flip phone.

“Zee?” he says rubbing a warm hand up slowly up the back of her oversized Star City tourist t-shirt. With his other hand he slowly pulls the pillow from her grasp she only yields when his fingers start trailing up and down her spine slowly, a touch she always just melts right into.

She flips over and John’s hand stays put on her skin resting on her stomach. “What?” she says finally opening her eyes to look up at him.

“That was Chas, a friend of a friend gave him a tip on that cup Midnite’s been after,” he says slowly moving his thumb back and forth against the delicate skin of her abs. Zatanna hums in response. “It seems it’s right here in New Orleans and in a mausoleum not far from here.”

“Good for it,” she says and pulls the blankets up over her head again. John chuckles again tugging at the covers a bit just enough to uncover her eyes again.

“We should go check it out, last thing anyone needs is for Midnite to get his hands on yet another magical artifact to hold over everyone else,” he says. Zatanna sighs cracking open her eyes once again and lifting herself up to lean on her elbow mirroring John’s position.

She concedes his point, any chance to have something over Midnite and actually be able to bargain with is a good thing. Especially for her boyfriend, he’s always getting himself into tangled deals with the man.

That being said she has no intentions of leaving this bed just yet, they were out far too late last night dealing with some League business that had been floated her way by Diana. She was happy to do it, she’s has to keep that Justice League membership card up somehow, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to catch up on her sleep in the aftermath of it.

She trails her fingers along his collarbone and starts traveling down, down, down until her fingers trail through the dusting of hair on his chest.

“Okay, but five more minutes here,” she says trailing her finger and eyes lower and lower.

John’s breath catches when her fingers move the cover even further down and she reaches his belly button.

“Your hand gets much lower and it’s gonna be a hell of a lot more than five minutes,” he says not trying to stop her in any way.

Zatanna shrugs lifting her eyes up to his and showing him an innocent little smile. “And that’s a bad thing?”

John lets out another stuttering breath as her fingers stop their path downwards bypassing the spot he wants them most. She trails to the side lingering back and forth at the top of one of his thighs.

“And everyone thinks I’m the devil in this relationship,” he says with a smile shifting so that her back is pressed into the mattress. He situates himself so that he’s comfortable between her legs and she smiles lifting a hand to run through his hair.

“Not my fault you’re such a sucker for me,” she says cupping his cheek with her hand and running her thumb along his lower lip. John moves just a bit taking the digit into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it slowly once, twice. Zatanna’s breath hitches this time.

Slowly he releases her finger and her hand drops as John leans down placing slow open-mouthed kisses on her neck trailing a line down, down, down.

He doesn’t mention going to a mausoleum for a long, long while.

It’s the latter half of sunset by the time they reach the mausoleum, the bright summer sun low in the sky minutes away from welcoming night. The outside of the crypt is warded, but not too heavily at all; John places one sigil on the weather worn stone and it all drops.

Inside there’s not a single protection, Zatanna steps in first and waves a hand across the air forming a trail of glowing lights along the ceiling to illuminate the space. The place is largely barren, no caskets empty or filled, nothing but some broken down old gates and a few hundred cobwebs.

And there in the center sits the cup nothing special or seemingly magical about it. It looks like a normal silver chalice, worn and aged by however many years it’s been sitting in the same exact spot for. There’s not a whiff of magic in the air, unusual for any corner of the entire city.

“That’s it?” Zatanna says scrutinizing the thing, her arms crossed.

John shrugs stepping closer to the stand where it rests, “Chas says it is.”

Zatanna hums, Chas is usually right and despite its outward appearance and its lack of any sort of energy signature this wouldn’t mark the first time Zatanna has seen great power come from something so mundane.

“What’s it supposed to do?” she asks.

“Supposedly drinking from it will grant one powers unknown,” he says continuing towards it. “Sounds like a bunch of shite to me, but Midnite doesn’t think it is and I’m always happy to have one up on Mr. chose no sides himself.”

He tilts his head and smirks over his shoulder at her before he takes the final step right up to the stand.

John doesn’t even touch the cup, just hovers in its space his foot still a full inch from the base of the stand but before he so much as lifts a hand fully over it, before Zatanna can even say a single backward word John goes up in flames. The sick crackling of skin and the unnatural falling into ash happens in an instant, he doesn’t even have the chance to scream.

Zatanna rushes to his side but it’s far too late not even a full second has passed and as soon as her fingers reach him she brushes through ash drifting in the air, his bones shattering to the ground with a loud crack in the quiet echo of the empty mausoleum.

Zatanna falls on her knees to the floor alongside what’s left of him eyes wide, breath heavy, she’s fairly certain she feels the track of wet tears from her eyes, but mostly she just feels nothing. She feels vacant, like she’s not even here like this isn’t even real, like this is some horrible nightmare she’ll wake up from at any moment. She digs her hands hard into the cobbled stone beneath her the ash of the man she loves, loved, seeping underneath her fingernails.

She’s not sure how long she stays there, she’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually she’s not alone. Doctor Fate settles by her side taking off his helmet and then it’s just her friend Khalid settling a heavy sorrowful hand on her shoulder. She’s so out of body she’s not certain if he asks her what happened or just figures it out for himself, she vaguely hears him say something about feeling a surge of magical energy and tracing it to her, but none of it truly registers.

A dark gloved hand that belongs to some bat settles on her shoulder in passing and she replays the morning when everything had been okay. A red cape flits past the corner of her eyes and she thinks about how she should have not let him step inside this place without checking it more thoroughly. A ghostly energy with a flash of red hovers around her tentative and frantic at the same time and she finds herself replaying the last milliseconds of John’s life and hollowing out a little more when she realizes just how similar it is to when her father burnt to a crisp in her arms as well.

Another pair of fishnets kneel down beside her before leaning in and placing strong arms around her shoulders, blonde hair brushes against her cheek and that’s what breaks her from her semi-catatonic state, the proverbial dam breaks and she just sobs and wails and she’s certain it’s a horrible sounding affair.

Eventually between the trauma, crying and dehydration she tires herself out passing out between one last hiccupping sob and the next.

Day Two

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!” his phone rings out and Zatanna twists and bolts upright. She looks at her hands first, clean and not marred with the ashes of the man she loves. To her left the covers rustle and John curves an arm around her gripping the phone with is fingertips and flipping it open.

“What?” he says his voice muffled by his face still buried half in her pillow. Zatanna just looks at him as he talks to whoever’s on the other end of the line waves of shock and relief washing over her. He slowly sits up as he talks noticing the way she’s staring at him; he raises an eyebrow moving the conversation along before shutting the phone and dropping it somewhere in the tangled sheets around them.

“Love?” he starts and she doesn’t even give him a chance to breathe before she’s on him, the kiss is a little desperate and John hesitates to return it at first, no doubt a little worried about her sudden reaction but between one press and the next he gets with the program responding to every movement.

She pulls back after a few more beats and touches her forehead to his.

“Whew,” he says and she feels the puff of his breath against her lips still so close, warm and real and alive. “What was that for?”

Zatanna just shakes her head. “Bad dream,” she says raising one had to rest over his heart, happy to feel the steady beat underneath her fingertips. “Very bad dream.”

Because that’s what it was, no matter how real it felt, she’s had some doozy dreams like it before so she’s not unfamiliar with the feeling. She lingers close for a few moments coming down from the shock of the nightmare before pulling back.

“You gonna be okay?” John asks quietly reaching out to brush the hair that’s fallen into her face away. She nods feeling the tension that the nightmare left behind exit her body, her shoulders loosen. “Want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head and gives him a small reassuring smile. Maybe later, right now she just needs the distraction of seeing him right in front of her.

John smiles one of those rare bright smiles he lets out and kisses her on the cheek.

“So, what was that phone call about it?” she asks.

“Chas has a lead on that artifact Midnite has been after, right here in the city,” he says and starts going on about it. Zatanna listens carefully and a little worried, it’s exactly the same thing that led to that horrible nightmare.

It’s a coincidence though, definitely. He’s been talking about this cup a lot lately so of course it was on her mind, of course her dream latched on to a thing that’s been near the top of their to do list for weeks now. It’s purely coincidental.

But just to ease her mind Zatanna plays things out differently, she doesn’t talk him into lingering in bed. John makes them a late breakfast; she puts on a completely different outfit than the one that ended up covered in ash and convinces him to walk through the city to the mausoleum instead of portaling over.

There’s a weird air of deja-vu around it all, a weird lingering of the nightmare at the edges of her mind. Everything is playing out differently than the dream, but only because she made it that way and when the mausoleum comes into view her uneasiness grows. It looks exactly like it did in her nightmare and she’s certain she’s never seen it before.

They get in just as easily, there’s still barely any sort of magical signature around it. John puts one sigil on the stone and it falls away like there was never a thing in the way in the first place. It’s the same as it was in her dream she just doesn’t brush it off this time.

“Wait,” she says tugging John’s coat before he can step inside of the crypt. John raises an eyebrow in question. “I’ve got a bad feeling, my bad dream it was just like this and it didn’t end pretty.”

“How not pretty?”

“Like you dead not pretty,” she says eyes lingering over his shoulder looking into the mausoleum, it’s just as dark but she’d bet money that cup is sitting in the exact same spot on the exact same pedestal.

“You think it was a prophetic kind of dream?” he asks turning fully towards her his hands on her shoulders.

“I mean that’s not usually my thing, but it’s way too similar,” she says reaching up and holding his forearms a sense of urgency in her voice. She does not want him going inside of there.

“Okay, then I won’t go in,” he says easily. Occasionally stubborn as he can be sometimes he just listens to her and she’s never been more grateful for those moments until now.

She breathes out a sigh of relief tugging him further back from the entrance.

“Let’s run a few more spells over it, make sure nothing’s off,” she says hand already outstretched to start a few more scans.

John nods his head. “Alright, I’ll take the back you take the front,” he says with a wink as he turns back to shut the mausoleum gate he’d easily broken into. He shuts the gate fully and winces.

“John?” she says turning back to him and he pulls his hand away and looks down.

Flames crackles at his skin and not the bright orange ones she’s familiar with him carrying.

“Shit,” he says and just like in her nightmare they take him over completely.

This time she screams his name when his body succumbs to the flames to the ashes, she screams because this time there’s no way it’s not real; this time she won’t wake up and it’s a nightmare, maybe it never was in the first place.

When Khalid shows up this time she’s sitting with her back to the mausoleum her fingers gripping into the grass tightly. She’s crying still when he leans down and reaches an arm out to comfort her, crying because she could have stopped this, she saw this coming. Something out there gave her the foresight and she brushed it off as a dream. She knows better than to ignore something like that, goddammit she knows better.

She knows better and now John’s dead because she didn’t listen to it.

When Khalid takes off his helmet Zatanna can’t bear the look of sorrow, of pity on his face so she shuts her eyes tightly and curls her fingers even tighter into the grass.

Day Three

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!”

Zatanna sits upright in an instant watching as John stretches out behind her for his phone clumsily.

“What?” he answers it and Zatanna snatches it from his hand.

“Chas?” she says confirming it for herself.

“Hey, Zee,” he starts and she cuts him off hanging up the phone immediately. She moves to throw it to the end of the bed, but changes her mind flipping the phone over and taking the battery out for good measure. Her phone is somewhere around here and she vaults from the bed to give it the same treatment for when Chas inevitably tries her next.

She can’t blame him if he does after that display of panic she just provided, but she has good reason to be in a panic.

She finds her phone in a pile of last night’s clothes and dismantles it as well. She lets out a breath as she tosses the battery to the other side of the room.

“Um, Zee?” John says voice filled with concern and confusion. She turns standing to a full height to look at him, him alive and well at least for now.

“I think I’m stuck in a time loop, and that cup you’ve been trying to find, well Chas found it and it started this whole thing,” she says running a frustrated hand through her hair.

John runs a hand across the stubble on his jaw and nods as he works to get out of bed himself.

She’s not sure if it’s the worry in her voice, the no doubt look of fear on her face or just his unstoppable faith in her, but he doesn’t question it, doesn’t second guess it or think she’s crazy for a beat. He just simply says, “Tell me about it.”

So she does, she settles down at the kitchen island a cup of coffee in her hand grounding her to the now and not to the what could be and tells him everything about her past two Wednesdays.

“So we don’t go to the mausoleum,” he says easily when she’s done. He curls a hand around her wrist stroking the skin lightly.

“John I don’t think that’ll work, it’s all connected to there, so there is where answers might be,” she says moving her hand to link their fingers together.

“It is, but the only way to know if breaking it is just not going is to not go,” he says. “I don’t die maybe it’s over.”

Zatanna shakes her head. “You know it’s not that easy, it’s never that easy.”

John shrugs, “Maybe just this once it will be.” It sounds borderline optimistic which means it must be really bad, she’s the optimist not him.

“But the day doesn’t reset when you die, trust me I have to live with it for a while,” her voice cracks a little when she says the last part. John shakes his head and rounds the counter pulling her into his arms.

“I know this is gonna be hard, but it’s the only way to know for sure that it’s not this easy,” John says. He presses a kiss into her hair. “If the day starts over again whether I make it through today or not then you tell me all about it again and we figure it out together.”

She pulls her arms around his middle tightly and takes a deep breath.

“We need to look up more about that cup, I need to know everything I can about it no matter what,” she says pulling back and looking up into those deep blue eyes she’s seen burn up right before her twice now. She can’t stomach seeing it again.

They spend the day buried in a few hundred books she conjures up from every library she has access to and a few she doesn’t but can’t be bothered to ask permission for right now. This is a time sensitive situation she can deal with the fallout if the day doesn’t restart.

The cup has barely made a peep in its years of existence, most of what they find correlates with the vague knowledge that John had given her on the first day.

It’s surrounded by myth more than fact. No one’s ever had it in their presence for longer than a few minutes. It’s powers, if any are largely unknown. Most of the accounts even the ones from some of the greatest magical minds in history have chalked it up to nothing more than a totem of luck at best. She disagrees, she’s had the opposite of luck since they came into contact with it.

She hovers over him a bit more than she should brushing her fingers across his skin or through his hair every time he passes by. They make it all the way to 11:50 without incident and for a bright hopeful moment she thinks that maybe he was right, maybe this will be easy to get through.

So of course, just as she thinks that it all goes to shit. They’re sitting on the couch surrounded by books and Chinese takeout boxes John has a cigarette hanging from his lips his focus on an old weathered book when the window rattles. Zatanna notices it not eager to brush it off as something as simple as the wind. She stretches out her hands magic already brewing at her fingertips.

The weather picks up lightning strikes and thunder rolls, the window shatters and Zatanna ducks. The last thing she hears is John shout.

Day Four

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!”

Zatanna groans into her pillow and reaches out an arm shoving over the entire makeshift nightstand. She doesn’t know what the fuck happened last night, or this night last night, whatever the hell it is, but she’s pretty sure John wasn’t going to survive or if he had midnight was going to trigger a restart one way or another.

“Damn luv,” John groans leaning over to look at the tossed about stack of yellow pages and his phone. She lifts herself up and flips over rubbing a frustrated hand over face as she looks at the ceiling staring angrily at the crack that’s streaking along the discolored white paint.

She turns her head looking him in the eyes with a sigh. “We need to talk,” she says praying to someone that this will be the last go around.

This time they decide they have to go to the mausoleum, staying at home didn’t achieve much. They scan and spell and do a million little ward checks and safety sigils on John before they even get within a hundred yards of the place.

This time he makes it all the way in, even picks up the cup, only to end in ashes and flames.

***

Ten days pass much in the same way. She wakes up, screams bloody murder at John’s phone, tells him everything and then they get to work. For ten days they call friends for leads, friends of friends, even a few friends of friends of friends much to no avail. Very little new information comes their way about the cup itself and as for time loop well every time loop spell is different every time loop spell has its own eccentricities and lessons to be learned.

Every day she watches him die, sometimes it’s just like the first time, sometimes like the second, every now and then they don’t even get inside and he still bursts into flames. Once they spend the whole day going through the entire graveyard, checking for anything that might have a connection to their mausoleum and somehow a zombie pack rises from a corner of graves tearing into John’s flesh and hers before midnight even hits.

Every day that passes she feels a little more broken, a little less hopeful.

Day Fifteen

She doesn’t even stand a chance this time, John’s dead before breakfast. She ignores the phone ringing; she just stays in bed and lets John kiss her and slip out the door by himself this time. She doesn’t feel like explaining the time loop, she doesn’t have it in her to watch him burn today.

Just one day, she needs just one day to try the one thing she hasn’t, to reach out to the one person she hasn’t yet.

Tracking down Doctor Fate is never an easy thing to do and he never appreciates when people just summon him up without warning, but she’s beyond caring about that now. She gets dressed quickly and pulls her hair into a ponytail and moves the couch and coffee table out of the way to draw the sigil to summon him on the living room floor all while trying not to think about John dying alone.

She says the words and the sigil lights up gold and blue with an angry Doctor Fate floating in the center, or she assumes he’s angry it’s not like he has facial expressions.

“You know I don’t like to be summoned this way Miss Zatara,” the voice inside the golden helmet booms. “I have no-“

Zatanna raises a hand, her eyes cold and hard cutting him off.

“Listen, you can give me the whole respecting the laws of my magic and interference speech later,” she says knowing there won’t be a later. “I don’t need the all-knowing Doctor Fate to tell me he can’t tell me things right now; I need my friend Khalid. So, if you could drop the helmet and let me talk to him that’d be great.”

Fate tilts his head in consideration. “That’s quite demanding of you,” he says his feet finally settling to the ground.

“Yeah well I tend to feel pretty demanding when Constantine keeps dying,” she says frustrated, she doesn’t have time to argue or listen to his philosophy.

The glow around him settles and finally the helmet comes off at that. Khalid looks at her concern overtaking his young features. She’s seen that look on a lot of faces lately and suddenly she’s missing the unfeeling glow of a golden helmet instead.

“Keeps dying?” he asks stepping outside of the sigil and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Time loop,” she says and tells him everything, well not everything, there’s a lot of useless information she’s learned over the last few days. He listens to it all and she’s pretty sure the helmet does too.

“You’ve learned a lot,” he says when she’s done. “And you’re certain no one has specifically placed this curse on you, it’s the cup?”

She nods. She’s already gone through the list of usual suspects; Midnite stays neutral so it can’t be him even if he wants to get his hands on the cup, Nick is locked away tight, Faust isn’t clever enough for something like this and anyone she’s fought with the League is preoccupied with trying to destroy other League members or the world at large not just fucking with her.

Khalid is thoughtful for a moment his arms crossed, the helmet glows from where he’s sat it on the coffee table.

“I don’t have any answers that you haven’t already found, but he might,” he says gesturing to the helmet. Zatanna sighs, Fate tends to be more ominous than helpful, but she relents.

Khalid puts his hand on her shoulder one more time giving a comforting squeeze before he puts the helmet back on. A burst of light and Fate is once again floating before her.

“You know as well as anyone, that sometimes you cannot fight magic. Sometimes you must let it take its course,” he says and with another burst of light he’s gone. She shields her eyes as he goes, dropping her arm when the bright white light fades.

She huffs angrily at the space where he’d been.

“That’s all he’s got, let it take its course,” she says flopping down onto the couch. “Fuck that.”

Letting it takes its course will get John killed and she’s not about to let that stick anytime soon.

***

The days start bleeding into one another from there. She can’t remember what number day things happen on, but she remembers every excruciating detail. She tries to act like she doesn’t know just how many days it’s been on the ones where she decides to tell John what’s been happening, but she can tell he sees right through her.

She knows exactly how many days it’s been; she knows exactly how many times she’s watched John die. She remembers when the hellhound showed up and tore him to shreds, she remembers every flame that’s burned him away, she remembers the day he slipped in the shower and cracked his head open bleeding out and she didn’t even know it and for as long as she lives she won’t ever be able to forget the sight of him taking a magical lance to the heart to save her from another Faust scheme.

Every day she’s given some new horrific memory that if she ever does manage to get out of this will haunt her for years to come.

Day Twenty-Five

She feels stuck, he always dies and it’s not always the cup anymore. Today she lets it happen doesn’t even fight him to stay in bed a moment longer he picks up the cup and he’s gone just like that. She doesn’t scream or cry this time; she just freezes and clenches her fists so hard that she feels the skin break and blood drip down through her fingertips.

She turns her phone off and covers herself in enough glamours that no one will be able to find her unless she wants to be found.

She wanders through the city, aimless and uncertain for hours, blood drying on her hands. She just walks and walks until her legs are as tired as the rest of her. She falls heavily onto a bench and watches the people pass by. Couples hand in hand pass her and she wishes so desperately that could be her and John. Today, the first today, should have been an easy day off in a city with good food and instead it’s become all this.

A girl in all black and a boy in a trench coat pass by her and it’s too much, she opens up a portal, not even caring if anyone sees and rushes through. She doesn’t realize where she’s sending herself until her feet land on cobbled sidewalk and she literally walks right into a familiar yellow cab.

Chas must hear the thump of her running into it from the driver’s seat because he’s out of his seat in an instant, already standing before her.

“Zatanna!” he says happily, that big smile of his she’s always glad to see. He wraps her up in his arms in a big bear hug that she easily returns lifting her off the ground a little. She smiles a little sadly wishing she could be just as happy to see him. He’s always been, and always will be, her favorite of John’s seedy friends. He’s a good man, maybe the best man she knows choosing to help and stay good even if he’s not really superpowered in any way.

Any other day she’d smile right back, she’d ask him about Renee and Geraldine and they’d laugh about whatever new stupid thing John’s gotten himself into. But today something about his warmth about his joy makes her break immediately.

It’s been quite a few days since she let herself have a good cry she guesses it was inevitable the dam would break again. She sobs into his chest as he settles her back down on the ground, his arms go around her a little tighter.

“Woah, Zatanna, you’re okay,” he says reaching his hand up to brush against her hair soothingly. “You’re okay.”

She’s not sure how long she stands there crying into Chas’ flannel shirt making it a mess of tears, fading makeup and snot. She calms down eventually pulling back a little but he keeps her close his hands rubbing up and down her arms comfortingly.

His face isn’t pitying, she’s gotten a lot of that over the days, it’s just kindness and care.

“I’m fine,” she says hastily wiping the tears from her face.

“You’re not,” he says lifting her head up with a gentle knock under her chin and a smile. “And that’s okay.”

“I should tell you,” she starts sounding the most tired she thinks she’s ever sounded.

Chas shakes his head. “Only if you want to, you sound tired darlin’ and you sound like you don’t want to have to say it all right now and that’s fine.”

Zatanna smiles gratefully brushing a hand uselessly across the damp spots on his shirt.

“Sorry I ruined your nice shirt.”

Chas snorts looking down at it for a moment, “I think being with John all these years has made you forget what a nice shirt on a man looks like.”

Zatanna starts to laugh, but it comes out with a small sob. Just the mention of John gets to her now, especially from someone who loves him as much as she does. She’s glad he’s okay with her not talking, she doesn’t have it in her to break his heart too.

He notices the slip and reaches out again taking one of her hands between his own.

“Hey, so what do you need? Need to cry some more or would punching me in the face relieve some of that heaviness you’re carrying even, I’ll let you have three good hits for free,” he says and Zatanna smiles a little. “Or maybe we can take a drive and just be, I’ll only charge you for half on the meter even.”

Zatanna laughs at that a real genuine one.

“A drive sounds good,” she says and he squeezes her hand once before walking her over to the passenger seat. He opens the door for her and she soaks in the familiar comfort of his cab while he gets in. He turns on the radio, some oldies station that he’s obsessed with and they just drive.

He doesn’t push her for answers about her behavior he just hums along with every song that’s on and drives.

“I’m totally not paying the meter,” she says long into their drive, the sun has gone down and she’s starting to nod off. Being comfortable like this she’s staring to wonder how much sleep she’s actually gotten through all this, if she’s gotten any.

Chas chuckles warmly and that’s the last thing she hears before drifting off with her head against window. When midnight comes she doesn’t know not until she wakes to the loud ringing of John’s damn phone the next morning.

Day Thirty-One

She beats him to the phone; it’s been a month, a full month and she’s so tired. She’s tired of losing him, tired of fighting to stop it for it to only happen no matter what she does. She’s tired of going to everyone she knows for help and coming up empty on answers. She feels powerless, like her magic is a waste of time and space right now, like she’s just a waste of time and space. What good is magic and being a supposedly all-powerful witch if she can’t even save the person she loves most in the world.

She talks to Chas longing for the day she had with him where she didn’t have to go through explaining all this to someone; she nods and agrees with what he says at the right spots leaning far enough away that John can’t hear a single thing he says on the other line. She parts with a cheery goodbye and lies straight to John’s face making up some story about his cab that won’t get John moving to go anywhere.

She wants to make the most of this day, it’s a depressing time loop anniversary for her and she wants to forget for a little while, forget with him.

They waste away the morning in bed, if the sex feels a little more desperate than usual, a little more intense John doesn’t say a thing. They have breakfast in bed, feeding each other in the sappiest ways. She glamours a book that has some stories about the cup into the latest novel in a mystery series she’s been into and sits on the couch all afternoon. John lingers reading something of his own and giving up eventually choosing instead to rest his head in her lap with a cigarette in his mouth. She runs a free hand through his hair tickles of sparkling blue magic playing across her fingertips. They walk down the street to a little bar that makes a damn good veggie burger for dinner and she pulls him back into the bedroom as soon as they’re in the door.

Soon enough he falls asleep. She watches him sleep for a while, his sandy hair tousled, the eyeliner he fell asleep in from the night before still smudged under his eyes and only half his nails painted black. She wants to sear this into her memories, not the horrific visual of him burning to a crisp in her arms.

He shuffles in his sleep a bit, instinctually rolling just a little bit closer to her. She reaches out running her fingers through his hair slowly before she glances at the phone that has become her greatest enemy seeing that the time still gives her an hour till midnight. She slips from bed quietly and waves her hand over John letting some sparkles of peaceful sleep fall all over him to make certain he doesn’t wake.

She gives him one last lingering look as she slips out of the room, he may not remember each day but if there’s any lingering pain when all is said and done at least this time she hopes he won’t even wake up to feel whatever takes him from her this time.

She goes to the mausoleum alone, she shouts backwards words and walks in without a single check, she steps up to the cup and just stares at it.

Nothing happens. No fire, no brimstone. At least not to her, maybe she unknowingly just lit her boyfriend on fire in bed which feels and sounds terrible even if she’ll get another day to stop it.

“What do you want from me?” she shouts at it the sound echoing into the empty mausoleum. Nothing, it just sits there like a boring old cup.

She picks it up from its stand curling the stem hard in her hand.

“Tlem yawa dna ekat lla ruoy cigam htiw uoy,” she snarls at it and nothing happens her magic just fizzles out around the cup. It’s not the first time she’s tried something of this nature, but it’s the first time she’s been here alone.

She lets out a frustrated shout and tosses the cup into the nearest wall hard, it doesn’t even crumple. That’s not new to her either, she’s tossed it into walls, sidewalks and everything in between. It doesn’t even seem to care if she takes it out of this mausoleum the same thing always happens and it never even bends. She picks it up tossing it again and again until her arms are tired, until she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket the five-minute warning till midnight she’s started setting each morning letting her know her time is up.

She uses it wisely taking her frustrations out on the cup again and again and again.

***

She tries to save him every day and fails.

So one day she just leaves. The phone rings and she’s up out of the bed in an instant, tossing on the first pair of pants she can find. John chases after her ignoring the phone that keeps on playing that same damn song.

“Love, where are you going?” John asks hastily following her. She’s barely dressed and she’s already halfway out the door, she just has to get out of here.

She sighs pressing her forehead to the half-opened door before turning back to him.

“I just need to get out of here,” she says and it comes out a little more desperate than she intended.

“Alright, well just give me a minute and we’ll leave town if you want,” he says already turning to get ready and get the hell out of dodge with her. She appreciates his unwavering loyalty to follow along with her no matter what more than he’ll ever know, but she just can’t be with him today.

“No, John, I just need to go alone,” she says grabbing his hands that are reaching for his own discarded pants from the night before. He looks at her his face a mask of worry.

She steps closer and cups his face in both of her hands.

“I swear I’ll explain everything when I get back,” she says knowing that she won’t be coming back and even if she did he won’t be here when she does. She leans in kissing him soft and slow, she savors them all a little more these days, fearful that one will become the last.

“Just trust me, okay?” she says when she pulls back from his lips. He lifts his arms up holding her wrists and rubbing his thumbs into her skin.

“Alright,” he says letting her go. She slowly runs her hand down from his cheek and along his chest before she turns away.

“I love you,” John says. He doesn’t say it a lot, but when he does he pours everything into it and it breaks her heart and pieces it back together at the same time.

She turns quickly to meet his eyes, making sure he knows she means it just as much. “I love you too. I evol uoy oot.”

She catches sight of a small raised smile at the corner of his lips before she shuts the door behind her. She portals to San Francisco, smashes her phone into a hundred tiny little pieces, puts up a glamour spell to protect her from being found and spends the whole day in her old bed. She doesn’t know if it’s the cup or something else that kills him that day, she doesn’t want to know.

She stares at the bright red numbers on the clock beside the bed until it turns to midnight and the day starts all over again.

Day Fifty

“What if it’s me?” she asks studying the ash underneath her fingertips. It was the cup again this time, just far earlier in the day than usual. She ran before any Justice Leaguer could show up not needing to once again see and feel their sadness and pity alongside her own.

She still had four hours till midnight so she’d wandered and wandered until she ended up here in the House of Mystery leaning back against the bed that’s sometimes theirs, a bed she hasn’t gotten to wake up in in fifty days.

Boston found her there about two hours ago and settled down beside her the best he can. He hasn’t said a word, he’s just listened as she’s spilled out the condensed version of the past fifty days to him.

“What if what’s you?” he asks.

She sighs dropping her hands between her knees. “What if it’s me, what if I’m the one who’s supposed to die?” she wonders, it’s not the first time it’s crossed her mind. Aside from the zombie incident she’s never even been physically scathed on any of the days so maybe it’s her. “Maybe if I die, he doesn’t. Maybe this finally fucking stops.”

She’s so tired, so fucking tired.

“Tanna,” Boston says with so much pain in his voice. John’s his friend and he’s dead and here she is talking about her own death so casually. Just because everyone else gets to start over every single day with no memory of this doesn’t mean they don’t still hurt in the moment.

“He’d never want that, he’d never want you to die for him,” he says. He reaches out hovering his hand over one of hers, the closest to a touch he can muster in this form.

“He’d die for me,” she says and she feels the tears coming, she keeps thinking she’ll run out, but she never does.

“Yeah, well the bastard is a hypocrite that way,” he says with a chuckle and for a moment Zatanna smiles. “Plus on a selfish note, I’d miss you.” She turns her head to look at him, his white eyes look serious and caring.

It’s a good reminder that she has friends in all this, even if she feels completely alone.

“No dying okay,” he says holding her eyes. “You’ll sort this, or the universe will or something, you’ve never been beat and you never will be.”

Zatanna smiles a sad smile his way and lifts up her hand her palm hovering under his, very nearly holding hands.

“No dying,” she says as she leans her head back onto the bed keeping her hand steady beneath her friends. She stays put like that till midnight feeling a little bit lighter just for having him there.

Day Fifty-Six

She’s decided that this is hell. Knowing the fate that awaits someone you love and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it. Despite the pickup of Boston’s optimism days ago, she still feels too defeated. She’s done a few thousand spells, played the day out fifty-six different ways and she’s still got all that’s left of John under her fingernails.

She’s sitting in a bar on the far side of New Orleans well on her way to finishing a bottle of whiskey the bartender has kindly left for her.

She doesn’t even flinch anymore at the bit of ash at her fingertips she catches sight of as she tosses back her latest glass, she’s becoming more and more numb to it all which is more than concerning. Problem is there’s no one to be concerned about her anymore, anyone who is will just forget to be when the clock strikes midnight.

“Hey, gorgeous,” a voice beside her says sliding into the stool next to her like he belongs there. Zatanna eyes him, he looks like his name is Chad and she’s instantly annoyed by his presence.

“You look lonely, maybe I can help,” he goes on and yeah she may have infinite time these days, but she doesn’t have time for this. Her patience is thin at best fifty-six days into the same day.

She gives the man a fake joyful smile and for a moment she can see he thinks he has a chance.

“The love of my life has died in front of me fifty-four times and this bottle here,” she pauses pouring herself another glass. “Isn’t for sharing.”

He looks like a deer in the headlights and opens his mouth surely about to say something that will just make her more annoyed.

“Og yawa,” she says flicking her fingers in his direction. A blasting magical wind takes hold of him flinging him across the bar and out the door. Everyone in the bar freezes and stares, she ignores them turning back to her bottle and sliding an extra twenty towards the bartender for his troubles. He just shrugs pocketing the money and moving along.

Slowly the other people in the bar decide she’s not a threat to them and go back to their own business. She slowly sips on her refill until someone else slips into the stool she just flung Chad from.

“Well that was quite the show,” Papa Midnite says tapping the bar once signaling the bartender. He slides a drink in front of him without hesitation.

She hums in agreement, she’s not surprised to see him, this is his bar after all.

It's the second time she’s seen Midnite since all this started, the first time had been confrontational Zatanna still holding on to some little bit of hope around day twenty. She’d confronted him fast and violent with John’s blood still drying on her hands from where he’d been mugged of all things. She’d held magic flames close to his face, a thing she usually wouldn’t do, and forced answers out of him about why he wanted this cup so bad.

“Because I like the illusion of power, even if it’s just an illusion,” he’d said. He knew less about it than she did at that point. Whatever that damn thing is it’s not an illusion of power at all she knows that all too well now.

This time though she’s not here to fight him she’s just here to drink.

“Don’t worry I won’t throw you out a door too,” she says taking another sip and looking at him from the corner of her eye. He raises his glass to her in appreciation.

They sit side by side quietly for a few beats before he puts down his drink and turns to her.

“So, where is your lesser half?” he asks.

Zatanna swallows the last of her drink hard. “Dead,” she says feeling her heart lurch at the word.

Midnite’s head drops a little and he hums. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says running his hand over his goatee. His tone is surprisingly genuine, so much so that she has to turn and look him in the eyes. He looks genuinely sorry, maybe even a little sad with the glow of the bar lights in his eyes.

“He was a right bastard,” he continues on raising his glass and tipping it to her empty one still tight in her grip on the bar. “But he always kept things interesting for me.”

He takes a sip of his drink before turning back to face forward.

“You don’t want to know what happened?” she says refilling her glass.

Midnite shakes his head and waves a hand dismissingly in her direction. “Why bother, you’ll find a way to fix it.”

Zatanna snorts. She wishes she had the same belief in herself that Midnite seems to have.

“Not this time I don’t think,” she sighs running her fingers along her glass, a bit of the ash slips into her drink and she feels bile rise in her throat pushing the glass away from her fast.

Midnite laughs a deep, smooth thing that sounds like how French press coffee would if it could chuckle.

“Bullshit,” he says. He twists a ring on his finger and hovers his hand over Zatanna’s glass. It disappears in a cloudy whisp replaced with another fresh clean one already filled for her.

“Stubbornness is the thing you two have always shared in common,” he says tilting his head thoughtfully. “You show it in different ways, different reactions, but when it comes to each other it’s the same. He’s slipped through hell for you and you’ve put a beat back in his heart against the better wishes of the universes magic, he’ll be back annoying me soon enough.”

Zatanna shakes her head gulping down the new drink in one go. He will be back, that’s true, but it won’t matter because it’ll just end the same way it always does again and again. She doesn’t have to tell him all that though, she doesn’t have the energy too, so she just deflects.

“Is the neutral party encouraging necromancy?” she says trying to make it sound teasing, but it falls flat. This time loop has beat all the humor from her.

Midnite lets out another low chuckle. “Not encouraging, just being smart enough to know to stay out of your way if you choose it.”

He downs the last of his drink and pushes up and away from the bar leaving her to it. She’s drunk enough this time to not even realize when midnight comes.

***

For a brief unexpected run of days, she’s given some new fight. Somehow encouraging though without context words from someone who’s not a friend gives her new drive to fight.

But that drive turns into anger eventually.

One day she just snaps and the only person around to take it out on is the person she’s trying to save. The phone rings and she tosses it against the wall immediately shattering it into a hundred pieces.

John looks at her like she’s gone crazy and before he can even so much as question her she’s railing into him.

She doesn’t know why, it’s not like he planned this, it’s not like she blames him, but she’s just so angry.

Angry at the world, angry at this curse she can’t seem to break, angry at Midnite and Chas and everyone who’s ever mentioned this cup. Angry at John for dying. Angry at herself for not solving this yet. So she picks a fight, yelling at the cup isn’t cutting it anymore evidently, she doesn’t even know what she says first to provoke it, but it’s something harsh enough it stuns John silent. She shouts and says things she doesn’t mean and walks out eventually with a loud slam of the door.

It hurts her to hurt him, but she’s just so damn angry.

The upside is tomorrow she’ll get another shot. She’s not worried about running out of chances to redo this anymore, she can say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, act as out of character as she wants because tomorrow she’ll be the only one who remembers it, the only one who has to live with it.

She’s out of fight, she’s out of answers, she’s just out. So when the phone rings the next morning she’s determined to just make the most of every second even if it means she’ll lose him again before midnight strikes no matter how hard she tries not to.

Day Seventy-Eight

Seventy-eight days, seventy-eight deaths most of which she’s seen and she’s finally decided to listen to what Doctor Fate said to her what feels like a lifetime ago.

She lets the magic takes it course. She’s done everything she could think of, she’s altered every course she could and the result is always the same. So this time she just lets the magic dictate the day.

She just accepts fate, destiny whatever the fuck it wants to call itself, she accepts she can’t save him even if it breaks her heart.

The day goes much like the first had just with a few different bumps and changes here and there. She doesn’t fight anything, she doesn’t argue. She just takes it all in in ways that she hasn’t allowed herself to on any of these repeats.

She doesn’t bother checking the time on her phone, she slips it in her pocket out of sight and out of mind. She just keeps her fingers twined with his and listens to him rattle on about finally having an upper-hand against Midnite the next time they have to see him.

She soaks in every word, every bit of his accent, the way he says her name and the way his chuckle sounds when a cigarette is dangling from his lips.

She just soaks it in, accepts whatever this day brings. She’s done being reckless, she’s done fighting. This day has been the closest to the original one yet and she’s letting it go.

It’s a little closer to midnight than usual since they decided to shower together after breakfast when they finally walk into the mausoleum, easy breezy just like it always is.

She lights the place up and feels her minutes to midnight reminder vibrate in her pocket. She ignores it, silencing it quickly as John investigates the space. He steps up to the cup and Zatanna closes her eyes, just because she’s accepted what’s inevitable doesn’t mean she has to watch it.

There’s no sound. No shouts or screams, no sick burning flesh, no ash floating in the air. Just the sound of John making the start of a humming sound.

She opens her eyes as John touches the cup and nothing happens, just nothing. He picks it up and passes it around between his hands back and forth, back and forth like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s breathing, he’s whole and he’s humming a fucking Metallica song under his breath tossing an ancient magical artifact around like it’s a tennis ball.

She pulls her phone from her pocket and there in bold letters across a picture of her and John from that day they borrowed the Wayne mansion pool for themselves is the time.

12:01 A.M.

It’s a new day, it’s Thursday.

She doesn’t know if she should scream or cry or laugh, but evidently her body chooses for her, chooses the thing it thinks will be the most cathartic for her. She laughs, hard and loud and frankly maniacal. She feels like the final girl at the end of a horror movie, like she’s riding off in a stranger’s truck as a man with a chainsaw can’t quite catch up, like a girl who just watched the rich bastards who spent all night trying to kill her explode one by one. She won, she fucking won and she doesn’t have a clue how and it feels impossible, but she did and all she can do is laugh.

She probably looks and sounds crazy, cackling like the witch she is, tears of joy? Relief? She’s not sure which, streaming down her face. John freezes with the cup in hand staring at her a look of worry on his face. Something about the look on his face makes her double over in laughter even more, she crouches closer to the ground head down and hands on her knees.

John comes over to her side a gentle hand on her back.

“Luv, you alright?” he says sitting the cup down on the ground. She catches sight of it and falls further to the ground flat on her butt, her legs kicked out on the ground purposefully kicking the cup away from them.

“I’m fine,” she says through hiccupping laughs as she finally starts to calm down. John settles down beside her a hand on her thigh. “Best I’ve been in seventy-eight days.” She giggles a little lifting her head to the ceiling. She wipes under her eyes clearing her face of the tears that fell during her unexpected laughter.

She curls a leg under herself and turns to him lifting her hands to his shoulders.

“I need to tell you something,” she says shaking her head in disbelief.

And tell him she does, everything. She tells him all the little details from day one to day seventy-eight. She tells him the good, the bad and every bit in between. She tells him about the days she didn’t handle it well and the days she made the most of.

She tells him the things she regrets, even if he doesn’t remember them. She even tells him about the day Boston talked her out of letting herself die to save him and he holds her hands a little tighter. She lets it all pour out, seventy-eight days of heartache, frustration and anger and he takes in every word.

It’s well after midnight by the time she runs out of steam, runs out of things to tell him and he pulls her in close. He presses a soft gentle kiss to her forehead.

“You are the strongest woman I know, strongest person I know,” he says his eyes looking a little glassy. “I never could have survived all that, I never could have handled losing you so many times.”

He’s said that before, he doesn’t remember of course, but it’s more comforting and fulfilling today than it was before. Because today he’s alive and she won’t have to go through this same damned day again.

“Let’s go home,” he says rising from the floor. He holds out his hands that she accepts immediately and pulls her up alongside him. “Forget this cup ever existed.”

The cup. Yeah she’s not leaving without dealing with it first.

She drops his hands and raises one of her own putting a protective wall around John. He opens his mouth to argue about it and she silences him.

“Nope, this thing has killed you, so bubble boy it for a minute for my peace of mind,” she says turning and picking up the cup from the ground. She doesn’t bother with trying to destroy it, it’s never worked before and she has an inkling it won’t today either.

She sits it back where it started and closes her eyes. She twists her hands in a complex movement and speaks loudly echoing across the mausoleum.

“Dnes siht raf yawa dna reven tel enoemos eb deppart nihtiw s’ti sehctulc niaga!”

A swirl of her magic, a kaleidoscope of colors swirl around the cup and lift it into the air and in the next second it’s gone puffed out of existence, or at least her existence, in an instance.

She breathes out a sigh of relief waving a hand to drop the protective bubble from around John. She walks over to him and wraps her arms around his waist.

“Home now?” he says rubbing his hands up and down her back. “You need some rest.”

She nods her head into his chest, her nods matching up with the beat of his heart.

Day Seventy-Nine (aka Thursday)

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!”

Zatanna shoots up immediately from where she’d been curled comfortably in bed her head against John’s chest. No, this can’t be happening.

No, no, no, no, no.

She saw the time, it passed midnight, John’s alive. It’s a new day and this can’t be happening.

John grabs his phone from his own nightstand, not hers where it usually sits, and silences it quickly.

“Sorry, luv, I should have changed it, I didn’t think,” he says reaching out and putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. She deflates with his words and his touch, reaching up to curl her fingers around his.

“Never use that ringtone again,” she says turning towards him. “I never want to hear that song for the rest of my life.”

“Consider it done,” he says moving their joined hands to his lips and kissing the back of hers softly.

Day Eighty (aka Friday)

She spends more of Thursday, Thursday god isn’t that a nice thing to be able to say, than necessary trying to work out what exactly it is that broke the time loop.

John never leaves her side as she pours over her memory and over the books she’s already memorized but nothing quite adds up. All she can chalk it up to is the cup protecting itself, why it cursed her instead of John who got closest first she’s not certain, but it’s the best she’s got. Hopefully the spell she cast on it will keep it from ever putting someone else through what she went through.

She eventually decides to settle on what Doctor Fate said all along, sometimes you can’t fight magic. And maybe when she finally stopped fighting the fight stopped for her.

She wakes on Friday to a normal alarm and John’s arms around her. He presses kisses across her shoulders, he indulges her need to be a little more cautious and her occasionally overprotective moments as they come one by one.

He definitely doesn’t complain when they shower together and only snorts a little every time she bubble boys him. He even doesn’t bat an eye when she won’t let him use the toaster. She already saw that electrocute him once and she’s good without witnessing that again.

John’s in the kitchen now flipping some stir fry in a pan over the oven’s open flame. Zatanna had only flinched a little when he lit it and the protection spell she sent his way when he did, well it was a small one.

She uncurls herself from the couch and joins him slipping her hands up under his barely buttoned shirt. She warms her hands rubbing them slowly across the light trail of hair on his chest. His skin is always borderline fiery and it’s soothing against her cold hands. She’s so glad she won’t have to go without this anytime soon. So glad he’s breathing and still just as hot blooded as he’s always been.

She drags her nails just above his waistband and his breath hitches a bit.

“So handsy,” he says with a wink over his shoulder to her his focus still on the food in front of him. She shrugs, she’s going to be very tactile for the foreseeable future just to remind herself this is real.

She’s also going to need to make a few of those therapy sessions she’s been skipping up, but that’s a job for Monday. Because there actually will be a Monday, and every day of the week after that. It just feels refreshing to think about.

A few minutes later their food is done and she backs away from him slowly still trailing her hands across his back. They curl up comfortably on the couch with their plates in hand and some cheesy Godzilla movie on tv, Zatanna’s legs thrown across John’s lap.

When she’s done she leans over to sit her empty plate on the table alongside John’s just as a flame appears on the coffee table. She pulls her hand back quickly and John’s grip on her thigh tightens as the flame dies out a piece of crisp burnt at the edges paper appearing in its place.

Zatanna grabs it slowly and brings it up so that she and John can both read it.

The note is written in delicate, old style cursive that she doesn’t recognize.

‘Thanks for getting that cup for me, New Orleans and its superstitions happen to be all too true for me. Too much hallowed ground and all that, especially with an artifact so shrouded in mystery. Sorry, the process had to be so daunting, they do say that cup can be unpredictable, but hey acceptance is important, right? – your favorite enemy, Circe.’

A second piece of the flaming paper appears on the table as they finish reading the first and she snatches it up.

‘P.S. I’ll let you know if I figure out what it does, or if it’s really good you’ll just hear about it ;)’

Zatanna turns from the notes in her hand and meets John’s eyes.

“Midnite never did say where he heard about the cup from did he?” John says. He takes the notes from her hand where she’s started to grip them a little too tight. He crumples them up and tosses them into his half-filled glass of water.

“She whispered in his ear and he didn’t even know it, she knew you’d find out and want to beat him to it and she knew that I’d help, she knew we would make it safer for her,” Zatanna says gritting her teeth. This whole time she’d been so angry at so many things and it never crossed her mind that Circe would want something so inconsequential. A cup that for all intents and purposes is nothing more than a trap.

“I’m gonna kill her next time she makes her way to this dimension for putting you through that,” John snarls.

“Imprisonment seems more fitting,” she says in response drifting her hand up and into his hair. She moves her fingers along his scalp and feels his anger simmer down just a bit.

John turns from where he’d been staring at the soaked notes in the glass and looks into her eyes. He leans in and kisses her hard.

“I’ll hunt her down,” he says fiercely pressing another quick kiss to her lips.

Zatanna smiles resting her hand at the base of his neck. “Okay, but can you do that tomorrow?” she says because the word tomorrow won’t lose its novelty any time soon. “I just want to keep basking in your aliveness for now.”

“Tomorrow,” he whispers into the space between their lips. Tomorrow. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?

#my fic #johnzee #john constantine #zatanna zatara #magicblazersource #time loop fic baby! always wanted to write one and finally did

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ryqoshay · 3 years

Text

Putting on Hairs: Patronizing Meeting

Primary Pairing? Trio?: MariKana... Dia? Hinted: RinPana, KotoUmi? Words: ~2.1k Rating: G AU: Theater, Werewolf, Werebeast, Monster, Cryptid

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Author’s Note: A bit of a detour from NicoMaki. Honestly, I thought the spotlight would first swing to YohaRiko, but this is what came to mind, so here we are.

Summary: The theater’s primary patron pays a visit.

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“Oh, park there, Kanan-chan!” A voice cried excitedly from the back seat.

Kanan sighed and shook her head. “We can’t just park anywhere on the street, Mari-chan.”

“Uuu…” Mari pouted. “But I want to have a good view of Dia-chan’s new theater.”

Kanan chuckled. “You can see it just fine from here, and you’ll get to see it close up in a little bit. Let me just find your designated parking slot.” She turned the steering wheel to direct the car into the lot.

“We have a designated spot?”

“Of course, you do. Didn’t you read the email Dia-chan sent the other day?”

“I skimmed it.”

“All of the top tier patrons have designated parking slots.” Kanan explained. “And since your donation was the largest, even managing to edge out the Nishikino family, you get the best spot.”

“Of course mine was the highest, I want to help my Dia-chan however I can.”

Her Dia-chan… Kanan mused silently. If only…

While it was true that the three of them had grown up together, they had lost track of each other back in high school when Mari spent her second and third years over seas in the United States before going to college in Italy. Dia also left to attend college in Tokyo, leaving Kanan alone in Numazu.

It had barely been a year since Mari tried to reestablish contact. She managed to convince Kanan to leave the dive shop in the capable hands of a cousin, move to Tokyo and open a new shop right on Odaiba Beach. However, she ended up spending much of her time driving Mari around and leaving the shop to her employees. Not that she minded this arrangement. She enjoyed the excuse to spend time with Mari, and if she was being completely honest, knowing the blonde’s habits behind the wheel, it let her worry less for her friend’s safety.

Driving was also a way for Kanan to feel like she was contributing to the household. Mari was obviously the primary bread winner, so Kanan liked to do things in return.

Mari had found a huge 3LDK penthouse apartment where she invited Kanan and Dia to live with her. However, thus far, only Kanan had accepted. Dia, unfortunately, had been less responsive to either of their efforts to reconnect. But there was a room was open for her to accept at any time.

“Ah, here we are.” Kanan spotted the slot and pulled in.

“Eh? The best parking is on the second level?” Mari sounded confused.

She really didn’t read the email… “Of course, this is where the skyway entrance is.” Kanan explained.

“Skyway? Booo… I wanna see the main entrance!”

At this Kanan laughed. “Alright, just let me message Dia-chan to tell her where to meet us.”

With that said, Kanan exited the vehicle and was about to open the door for Mari, when the blonde hopped out herself instead.

“<Let’s go!>” Mari cheered in English, offering a brilliant smile and pumping a fist into the air.

Kanan pulled out her phone as she followed her energetic friend toward the stairway.

Krakanan: Mari-chan wants to see the main entrance, so we’re heading there instead

KurosawaDia: Very well. See you two in a few minutes.

KurosawaDia: Umi-san will be joining me.

Krakanan: I figured as such

Krakanan: I look forward to meeting your new business partner

Krakanan: I’ve heard good things about the Sonoda Theater Group

Not expecting a response, Kanan returned her phone to her pocket and continued her way toward the front doors of the theater. She and Mari made their way across the street, around the corner and..

“Dia-cha~n!” Mari cried, running up the handful of steps between the sidewalk and the entry and all but tackle hugging the raven-haired woman at the top.

“Salutations, Mari-san.” Dia greeted. “Thank you for coming today. I look forward to introducing you to the cast and crew.”

“Always so formal, Dia-chan.” Mari pouted. “It’s been for~ever~ since we saw each other, you should be more excited.”

Something changed in Dia’s expression. Just for a second. Had Kanan blinked, she would have missed it. And she had no idea what to make of it.

“Anyway,” Dia said after a moment “please allow me to introduce you to my partner in this endeavor, Sonoda Umi.” She pulled an arm free of Mari’s embrace to indicate the blue-haired girl beside them.

“Thank you for your generous donation, Ohara-san.” Umi said with a bow.

“Ohara-san?” Mari repeated. “<No, no, no.> You can just call me Mari. Any friend of Dia-chan is a friend of mine, Umi-chan.”

Pink dusted Umi’s cheeks undoubtedly caused by the casual referral. “V-very well, Mari-san it is.”

“Anyway, what a lovely place you two have here.” Mari finally released Dia and stepped down a few stairs to get a better view of the façade above her. “But, Sonoda Kurosawa Theater? Really?”

“We decided it best to put Umi-san’s name first.” Dia explained. “Her family is more renowned here in Tokyo than my own.”

“No, that’s not it.” Mari dismissed. “I meant, why just your names? That’s so boring!”

“How do you mean?”

“You should call it something more exciting, like The Monster Mash!”

“That is a song, and a dance type.”

“Or how about Tales from the Cryptids?”

Dia sighed. “That’s just a play on the title of an old television show.”

“But I mean that’s what this whole place is about, right? Giving our kind a place to be what they are while excusing any slipups as movie magic?”

“Theater magic, but you’re not exactly wrong.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Umi spoke up “but should we really be discussing such things out in the open like this?”

“Oh, you worry too much, Umi-chan.” Mari waved her hand at the other woman.

“No, Umi-san has a point.” Dia conceded. “Let’s head inside, shall we?” She turned and motioned for the others to follow.

“Fine.” Mari crossed her arms before moving back up the steps. “But you guys hired that Yoshiko girl, right? I think we’ve all seen how her claims are reacted to by the general public.”

Kanan couldn’t help enjoying the show as she watched her friends behave pretty much the same as they did back in high school. They really hadn’t changed much… except for whatever that crack in Dia’s demeanor had meant. She decided she could explore that issue later and smiled to herself as she followed the others into the theater.

“<SHINY!!>” Mari proclaimed, throwing the front doors wide as she entered.

“Pigi!” A voice squealed as a head of red hair ducked below a nearby counter.

Ah, of course Dia-chan would bring Ruby-chan here with her. Kanan thought to herself. I wonder if that means Hanamaru-chan is around here somewhere as well.

“You can come out, Ruby.” Dia said, her tone softening immediately as she called her younger sister and moved toward where she was hiding. “It’s just Mari-san being her usual boisterous self.”

“Mari-chan?” Ruby poked her head up. Emerald eyes sparked with recognition. “Mari-chan! Kanan-chan!” She ran to greet the two excitedly.

As Mari happened to be closer, she greeted the blonde first with a warm embrace. However, she was quick to shift to Kanan to welcome her as well.

“Good to see you again, Ruby-chan.” Kanan said as they parted. “We’ll have to catch up sometime soon.”

“Mm.” Ruby agreed with a smile. “Are you two the reason for the meeting?”

“They are.” Dia confirmed. “I want everyone to meet some of our generous patrons. I believe we have the Nishikinos slated for tomorrow?” She turned to Umi who confirmed with a nod. “Anyway, speaking of the meeting, we should head to the stage now for it.” She was about to turn and resume walking when…

“One last thing, Dia-chan.” Kanan spoke up.

“Yes, Kanan-san?”

Kanan spread her arms wide. “Hagu.”

Dia flushed a little but smiled anyway and stepped into the embrace.

“It’s… good to see you again, Kanan-san.” Dia spoke quietly, surprising Kanan. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little cold as of late.”

Then, all too soon, as far as Kanan was concerned, Dia pulled out of the hug and resumed leading the way through the theater to the stage. Upon arrival, Umi and Dia began their introduction of the theater’s patron, Mari.

It seemed Dia’s penchant for long drawn out speeches hadn’t changed. Kanan considered. And it seemed she had found a business partner with similar tastes.

Ah, there’s Hanamaru-chan. Kanan thought as she scanned the crowd gathered on stage. Next, she picked out Chika and You, remembering their faces from back in Numazu. She made a mental note to greet them all after the meeting.

She recognized Nico and Maki from pictures included in emails sent by Dia about the lead roles for their first production. A few other faces looked familiar from other pictures, but she couldn’t readily place their names.

Still, it was amusing to observe some of the body language of those gathered. There was a young woman with red hair both longer and darker than Ruby’s. She was giving nervous side glances to a shorter girl near her. That girl had some of her blue hair tied up in a bun with a black feather sticking out. Wait, was that the Yoshiko girl Mari had mentioned a few minutes ago?

Next was an ash blonde whose attention seemed focused on Umi. Then, there was another redhead with braided twin tails who looked quite friendly standing next to slightly taller woman whose aura was as cool as the dark blue of her hair. A bespectacled brunette was looking at Nico like a fan waiting for an autograph. A darker brunette with a lovely red ribbon in her hair next to another ash blonde sporting an uneven, though cute haircut. A short pink haired girl with a blank expression stood next to a taller blonde with a brilliant smile. Then a sleepy looking brunette, a raven-haired young woman giving off a fiery aura, another with the tips of her dark twin-tails dyed green and a redhead with a stylish bun surrounded by a braid.

Quite the crew. Kanan found herself wondering what each might be.

“Food’s here, nya!” A voice cried from somewhere in the auditorium before an orange-haired blur scampered down the aisle. “Where do you wanna set up, Umi-chan?” A young woman asked, not seeming to care that Dia was still talking.

“Rin.” Umi scolded. “You’re early.”

“Better than late, right? Oh! Kayo-chin is here!” Rin scampered over to the brunette with glasses.

“R-Rin-chan...” Kayo-chin? said as Rin rubbed their cheeks together. That must be a nickname.

Kanan wondered if the nya had been indicative of her actually being a cat or just a verbal tic. Based on her running speed, Kanan suspected the former, though both wouldn’t surprise her.

“Special delivery!” Another voice rang out.

“Honoka, you’re…” Umi started.

“Ooo, what did you guys order for us?” Mari interrupted.

“We got lots of stuff!” Rin announced proudly. “But I gotta set up the tables and such for Honoka-chan to put things on.”

“Do you need help carrying anything?” The braided redhead spoke up.

“Sure! Lemme show ya, nya!” Rin sped back up the aisle.

“Emma-san…” Umi sighed as the redhead followed.

“It’s alright.” Dia said. “We’ve already lost Mari-san.” She turned back to her staff. “It seems the meeting is adjourned. Please be sure to thank Mari-san for sponsoring this meal, brought to us by Kousaka Catering.”

“I thought she didn’t know what was ordered?” Umi raised an eyebrow.

“I placed the order. Mari paid the bill.”

“I see.”

“There’s plenty of food!” Mari announced loudly. “Don’t hold back! Eat all you want! Take some home if you want. I don’t want to see anything left.”

As Kanan headed up the aisle to see what else needed to be carried in, she mused about the appetites of those she knew. If those were any indications of the others, she wondered just how much had been ordered. She figured it would probably fill an entire…

Box truck.

Sure enough, parked haphazardly on the sidewalk, emblazoned with Kousaka Catering on the side, sat a box truck. And it indeed appeared to be completely packed.

She spotted Emma carrying several catering boxes, stacked past her head.

“The breadsticks are buono!” The young woman said as she passed.

Part of Kanan wanted to break out her other arms in an attempt to carry even more boxes, but as there was no shortage of witnesses on the public street, she settled for a similarly sized stack as Emma. Perhaps some other time. No more than three steps later, and Rin was already slipping past her, carrying only half as many boxes, but speeding along at probably thrice Kanan’s pace.

Again, Kanan found herself wondering what all everyone was. She knew Mari would want to stop by the theater on a regular basis, so perhaps over the next week or so, she could find out.

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Author’s Notes Continued in Followup Post

#MariKanaDia #AU August #Ohara Mari #Matsuura Kanan #Kurosawa Dia #Sonoda Umi #Putting on Hairs #Love Live Sunshine #Love Live #fanfic

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retroateez · 3 years

Text

Prophecy - Chapter Seventeen

length: 3k

tag list: @hewwo-from-the-other-side

prophecy masterlist

Strolling arm in arm with Seonghwa, the kingsguard of Ateez's powerful monarch, was not a situation you had ever expected to be in, not in a million years.

But yet, here you were, clutching onto the tall, handsome man as he led you through hallways and down great wooden staircases. Really, you didn't know what you were more nervous about, being in the spotlight in front of hundreds of people, or seeing Wooyoung dressed like this.

Your gown, an exquisitely made garment just for you, fits your form beautifully. The skirt sways gently with every step you take and every so often, you swear you catch the stitched butterflies fluttering with ease.

"Yeosang enchanted the butterflies," Seonghwa explains quietly. "They gave me quite the fright too when I saw them moving."

You smile, thinking of Yeosang whispering softly to the fabric and watching as the rose pink butterflies come to life.

Before long, you're both stood in front of the great oak doors that lead into the main hall. Seonghwa adjusts his position, putting his heels together and straightening his back. You can tell he's done this countless times before; he knows exactly how to carry himself and you would expect absolutely nothing less from the man who exudes regality.

"I don't know if I can do this, Seonghwa." You exhale sharply, tightening your grip on the kingsguard's arm.

"Of course you can!" He gives you a small, reassuring smile. "All you have to do is walk, and sit. When Wooyoung comes to you and offers to dance, you accept, and then you dance."

"I'm- I'm not cut out for fancy stuff like this." You say, looking up at him with sad eyes. "I'm just a nasty little street thief."

Seonghwa scoffs.

"You think a street rat would ever wear something as beautiful as this? Nonsense! The past is the past, Iris. You're one of us now."

Something about Seonghwa's words calms you, the thought of being accepted by (almost) everybody in the castle warming you to the heart. In a sense too, he's right. The shades of your old life had been completely cast out, starting with Yeosang giving you a proper home, and Hongjoong giving you a job of sorts.

Really, you had it all.

But the insatiable hunger for more still burned within you, and no matter how hard you tried to push it to the back of your mind, it would come back ten times louder.

Seonghwa reaches out and knocks firmly on the door, and immeditately, both of them are pulled open.

You stand there, mouth agape, taking in the scenery before you.

The great hall has been completely transformed, from an empty, lonely space to a bustling center of hospitality and entertainment.

On the far left, where Hongjoong's brilliant throne is, sits a long table, with space for nine people. In the center, is a smaller, but no less impressive version of the throne, where you assume the king himself will be sitting.

Off to the side of that, is a rectangular platform, upon which is Mingi, expertly playing his lute whilst accompanied by three other men playing various instruments you couldn't name. The rest of the hall is full of grand oak tables, each one lined with people chattering and singing along loudly with Mingi's song. Every table is graced with an abundance of hot food and goblets of ale. Whole roasted pheasants, hogs, mountains of golden roasted potatoes and boiled carrots covered every single surface and filled the air with a delicious aroma.

You spot Yeosang and Wooyoung occupying two chairs on the top table, conversing with each other, probably about the prophecy. You also spy San admist the guests, who laugh heartily as he speaks to them. Perhaps a jester is more than jokes after all.

At the end of the table is a sturdy young man with chesnut brown hair, who looks incredibly familiar to you, but you know you've never met him. Next to him is Yunho, who you grin at, happy to see a familiar face. He doesn't reciprocate your smile, instead giving you a small wave. You pray that he hasn't noticed the stolen textbook.

Seonghwa keeps you closely by your side as you glide into the hall and the silence in the room becomes abundantly clear.

Everybody is watching you.

All the guests take their seats and they sit like obedient children, observing as the stoic, cold-faced kingsguard accompanies you to your seat at the head table.

For some of them, this is a completely new experience; to see Seonghwa leading a beautiful woman to the most importaant table in the room. But for the older attendees, it is a sight they haven't seen since the passing of the Queen.

It's only when you're sat, Hongjoong's empty seat to your right and a giddy Yeosang to your left, that you realise you were holding your breath the entire time. Seonghwa tucks your chair in gently, and takes his own place on the other side of Hongjoong's vacant space, with Wooyoung faintly blushing to his right. The noise in the hall picks back up again, allowing you to quietly converse with your mentor.

"You look positively beautiful, my little student." Yeosang beams at you, and you shyly smile at him.

"You look rather dashing yourself, Yeosang." There's no lie; his brilliantly blonde hair is styled (for once) so it trails ever so slightly down the back of his neck, his outfit makes a start contrast to his usual attire, although he has opted to keep his signature white shirt, but over the top is fitted, beige jacket with embellishments of gold down the line of buttons, and leading down to his wrists.

"Do you like the butterflies?" He asks, a glint of pride behind the eyes. "I thought you would like them."

"Yes, Yeosang." You nod. "They're very pretty."

Suddenly, a hush falls over the room once more, and you guess that can only signify the arrival of a certain person.

The same doors you entered though swing open again, and Hongjoong himself confidently strolls in. He's wearing the tawny brown fur coat you saw before, fancy black trousers with gold patterning up the outside seams of the legs. His boots are ordinary, but they shine brilliantly, almost putting the jewels on his crown to shame.

It dawns on you then that you have actually never seen the king wear his crown, and you're astonished at how stunning it is. At the center is a huge blue gem, identical to the one sitting in the middle of the silver circlet on your own head. Each peak of the crown is embellished with glittering green sapphires, and between the tufts of his fluffy, mousy hair you can spot the sparkling rubies and garnets fitted around the base of the crown.

Hongjoong paces slowly, aware but unaffected by all eyes watching him in awe. He gets to the table, and stands on the other side of where you are seated, and he turns to face the crowded hall.

"Welcome!" he cries, motioning out in front of him. "Esteemed guests and distinguished friends, welcome to the annual Ateez ball."

The guests clap and cheer at their welcoming, Hongjoong patiently smiling as he waits for them to shut up. Sometimes he really hates his obligation to these dreaded social functions.

"It is with great sadness that the kingdom of Seventeen is not able to attend tonight," He says. "Commander Jeonghan sends his regards to all of you."

Hongjoong claps his hands together, the sound echoing throughout the hall and ringing in your ears.

"Nevertheless! Let us enjoy a night of feasting and festivities! Please, thoroughly enjoy yourselves." He finishes with a deep, sweeping bow, upon which the attendees go wild once more, taking up their goblets and gulping their mead down hungrily.

Hongjoong moves around the table, and takes his seat beside you with an exhausted sigh. All chairs, except for two which belong to Mingi and San who are busy entertaining the guests, are now occupied, and you can't help but wonder who the brown haired man next to Yunho is.

"Hongjoong?" You turn to your right and timidly ask the king your question.

"Jongho?" He questions. "He's the tailor who made your dress. He's a quiet lad, from somewhere up north I believe, but he's damn good at what he does."

Jongho's face perks up over hearing his name and he whips around to face you. Hongjoong signals for him to come over, and he does.

"Jongho! This is Iris, Iris, this is Jongho." The king introduces you, and you can't help but blush at the handsome smile the young man gives you.

"Pleasure to meet cha," He says. "You look even more beautiful in that dress that I ever could'a imagined. Hope yah like it?" You notice the difference in his accent, figuring that must be how they talk up in the north.

"It's gorgeous. Thank you."

"Oh hey, you're that kid from the inn!" Yeosang's voice behind you makes you jump, and you slowly realise that Yeosang is in fact correct.

"The inn with the bear!" You gasp. "Do you know if the bear is okay?"

Jongho chuckles. "The bear is fine. I actually recognise you two from the inn also, fancy meeting here, eh?"

You laugh along with him, one of the many worries settled in your mind as you finally learn about the bear that's been plagueing your dreams for so long.

"Well, I'm glad we are all well aquainted." Hongjoong smiles sarcastically, and Jongho takes that as his notice to return to his seat, bowing politely to you before he does so.

"So when do we start dancing and stuff?" You ask Hongjoong, your eyes following Seonghwa as he hurriedly gets up and scurries out of the hall. Your gaze falls back to the king as he shrugs.

"Probably within an hour or so," he answers. "Only people of high status are allowed to dance, so lords, ladies, princes and princesses from other kingdoms will take the center."

You nod, gulping nervously.

"I hope you've been practicing." Hongjoong says. "You'd better not embarrass me in front of my guests."

"What?" you yelp. "Why don't you go out there and dance if you're so bothered?"

"Because I'm the king." he smirks. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to, and I can make anyone do anything I want."

"You're evil." you snarl at him.

"You love me really." he grins. "Besides, I'm being awfully nice to you, am I not? Letting you live in my castle, giving you lavish clothes, allowing you to do whatever you please?"

"But why? All I do is cause trouble and get in the way."

Hongjoong stays silent for a moment, mulling over his answer before turning to face you once again.

"Truthfully, you remind me of my mother. She was very headstrong, very determined. She would never let my father order her around, not a day in her life would she obey the king's command." He stares into the joyful crowd, his eyes misting over ever so slightly as he remembers his late mother.

"I think she would have liked you very much." He continues. "She loved me dearly, but I think deep down she would have loved to have a daughter. My behaviour as of late, I know she would not have approved of it. My mother firmly believed I would be a good king, and so I strive everyday to make her proud. Your arrival reminded me of the promise I made to her before she passed."

"What promise was that?" You whisper.

"To treat everyone fairly, as she would have done. Regardless of age, race, or gender, my mother was a kindred spirit to every soul she met. Did you know that both Mingi and San were found abandoned outside the gates of the kingdom?"

You shake your head.

"My mother refused to have them sent to the orphanage, so she brought them here and they were raised alongside me."

"She sounds like an amazing woman, Hongjoong."

"She was." He smiles fondly. After a few moments, he shakes his head, rubbing his hands together. "My mother also loved to dance, and so with that, the ball shall properly commence!"

Hongjoong stands up, grabbing a glass goblet and a shiny silver spoon from the table and clinking them together to seize the attention of his guests. You watch as he commands the room like a true king, speaking confidently and without hesitation.

You look out at the sea of guests that hang onto his every word, and smile proudly.

Even if you haven't always seen eye to eye, he's a good man who just wants the best for his people, even you can recognise that.

Hongjoong raises his filled goblet towards the ceiling and grins cheerily at his spectators.

"To Ateez!" he toasts.

"To Ateez!" The crowd, including the table at which you are sat, mimic Hongjoong's cry and you sip eagerly at the alcohol in your cup.

When you place your goblet back on the table, you see Wooyoung stood in front of you, on the other side of the table.

You hadn't actually noticed just how handsome he was looking tonight, and now you had a perfect view.

He was wearing his signature, loose, white shirt, except the first two buttons were undone, giving everybody a direct peek at the top of his chest. He also wore a brilliant crimson waistcoat with bold, green plant stems stitched across the front. Beautiful emerald leaves accompanied the stems, with gorgeous, multicoloured flowers dotted here and there all over the front and back of the waistcoast. You even noticed dainty pink butterflies opening and closing their wings, sitting on the flowers of his outfit, butterflies that were completely identical to yours. Wooyoung's trousers were his usual black ones, but tighter than usual.

His jet black hair was soft and curly, parted in the middle and allowing him to stare at you fondly with his stunning amethyst eyes.

"Would you care to dance?" He asks politely, offering you his hand over the table.

Of course, you nod, and hurriedly rush past Yeosang and San who are sat at the table, to take Wooyoung's hand. He gently takes your hand in his, and raises your hand to his lips. He kisses the back of your hand delicately, and smiles at you with a sparkle in his eyes and a warmth in his heart.

"You look stunning tonight, Iris." He whispers to you, leading you towards the middle of the room where the other couples are preparing to dance.

"As do you, Wooyoung." You blush deeply.

The two of you are stood in the center of the hall, and it feels like you're the only two present. You place your arms around his neck, resting your hands on his broad shoulders, and try to contain the blushing when he puts his hands on your waist.

"Are you ready?" He teases. "Remember all your training?"

"Of course," You mumble back. "How could I possibly forget when I had such an amazingly gifted teacher?"

"Don't let San hear you say that," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "Or else his ego will shoot through the roof."

The music starts up again as you giggle quietly. You feel Wooyoung's hands tighten slightly on your waist and the nerves slowly begin to creep in once again.

But then Wooyoung's fingers are on your chin, tilting your head up to face him.

"Hey." He whispers. "No nerves here. We've got this."

And you grin from ear to ear, because he's right.

You manage to keep yourself standing, Wooyoung assisting you most the time by leading you with gentle spins and careful twirls. The two of you join the rest of the crowd in a group dance in which you temporarily switch partners. To your delight, you ended up with Mingi, who despite the vast height difference, was very pleasant to dance with. At one point, Mingi even picked you up and spun you so fast you thought the room was spinning around you.

"That was so fun!" you exclaim to Wooyoung when you return to your original partners.

"I'm glad you thought so." He replies, a hint of playful bitterness laced in his voice. "I much prefer dancing with you than San, his shoulders are much too sharp."

You nod in agreement, laughing joyfully and grinning as Wooyoung matches your gleeful expression. The dancing continues for a short while longer, most of the dancers filing out to eat and drink as the music becomes calmer and slower. But you and the elf carry on as if you were the only two in the room, whispering to each other as you gracefully move across the floor.

Hongjoong watches the two of you from his seat at the main table. He's sitting alone, Yeosang, Yunho and Jongho having collected themselves at the table of King Chan and his guests, talking animatedly.

Hongjoong watches as you and Wooyoung dance, observing with an amused twist of his mouth as Wooyoung dips you down, holding your waist, and gently places his lips on yours.

Hongjoong can't help but admire the bravery displayed by the elf.

He watches you smile into the kiss, and notices how Wooyoung's grip on your waist tightens. The king might even go as far to say he's impressed.

With an exhale, Hongjoong's gaze moves from you to the others, to San cracking jokes, to Mingi expertly playing his lute, and to the other three who seem to be getting along well. He's glad he went through with the ball, the stress of the prophecy getting to him more than he would have liked.

The king sits silently, pondering over the last few months, when Seonghwa, visibly distressed comes hurrying over.

"Hongjoong," he rasps. "We've recieved a message from Seventeen. They've recieved word that there's magic in the kingdom and they're sending soldiers to attack-"

"Ah." Hongjoong nods. "That's why Commander Jeonghan didn't show up. I see."

The king stays silent for a few moments, Seonghwa staring him with panic written over his entire face.

"Well, there's no reason why we can't talk this out. Tell them to send their commander and we can assure them there is zero magic in Ateez."

"But-"

"But what, Seonghwa? There is zero magic in the kingdom. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir." The kingsguard nods hurriedly, and once again rushes out of the hall, no doubt to instruct the messengers.

Hongjoong sighs. He won't tell the others, not yet.

"Let them enjoy themselves." He mumbles to himself, watching Wooyoung twirl you around in his arms.

#wooyoung #san #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #mingi #jongho #yeosang #ateez au #medieval!ateez #ateez #ateez fic

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hurtedheartsxi · 3 years

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“Just because I don’t feel pain, doesn’t mean I can’t strive to understand other people’s pain”

welcome to avengers campus, isn’t it nice to be back, CHA YOHAN ? it’s been so long since i’ve seen you being a typical FORTY year old ANESTHESIOLOGIST, the image of JI SUNG against the retroreflective panels of headquarter buildings. feels like forever since i’ve seen you hanging around THE MEDBAY. makes sense too: considering you’re known for being + INTELLIGENT & + QUICK THINKING, even when you can be quite - ARROGANT & - EMOTIONALLY COLD, too. hey, have you seen the news reports lately …? i heard you’ve been getting visions from DOCTOR JOHN beginning to return, waking up from dreams of STARTING A NEW CLINIC. must be something in the water … say, did you always have your MEDICAL FILES ? i’ve never seen you leave home without it. — ( He/him, cis male )

cw for general medical things (especially cancer), euthanasia, parental death, child kidnapping/death (not on Yohan’s part but a patient),

Canon: Jesus fucking christ so much goes on in Doctor John

-To start off: he has CIPA which means he can’t feel temperatures or pain. While to most people it would be a good thing, Yohan’s body can’t really tell him if there’s something wrong...so he has to monitor his vital every day and be careful with himself.

-There was a case with a a child kidnapper that also killed two kids and. well. he also euthanized the child kidnapper except the nurse in charge foraged a signature and??? yeah that got him into jail.

-He met Siyoung in jail after having to help her with a patient and boy oh boy did it go down uphill from here folks!

-Yes he does get fired at some point. Yes it’s because of his CIPA (also that nurse who held a grudge against him).

-He’s also called Doctor 10 seconds because he can diagnose a patient in like 10 (ish) seconds. Most likely he can tell what you have based on your tests and your answers.

-:swim:

-----

Earth -200000

-He had. An okay childhood...yes he still has CIPA. Yes he still has to monitor himself. Yes he still went to prison. Yes it’s because he euthanized a man.

-Except he studied in Korea and America and by god don’t ask me how that works.

-He’s a doctor/ anesthesiologist at the medbay for S.W.O.R.D and sometimes for the students who get hurt. Also Sento, because by god that man gets into more explosions than what its worth.

-He’s a pretty chill person for the most part if not a bit arrogant about his skills. Not enough to think that he’s god but enough to annoy people.

-Also for some reason people thirst over him. He doesn’t care at this point.

-All in all, he DOES care for his patient; he just doesn’t show it in the most conventional ways.

#afm.intro #violet.mp3 (Yohan)#((god this is lackluster but i am TIRED))#((why does everything in doctor john happen SO FUCKING MUCH))

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buckyreaderrecs · 4 years

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So Far Away: Chapter 4/?

Summary: Bucky Barnes doing what he does best. Saving. Loving. In this particular case, the object of both is you. (Bonus: Bucky Barnes happy, healing, doing really well!) Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3.

Chapter 4: Sometimes the road to recovery is x-rays and pain killers. Sometimes, it's freeeeeesh ava ca doo.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Characters: Bucky Barnes, F.R.I.D.A.Y., Cecilia Reyes Additional tags: mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists), possible future smut (who knows, not me), she/her pronouns, more tags/characters to be added with future chapters, hero Bucky Barnes, canon typical violence, warzone/disaster zone setting, Alpine the cat, other Marvel characters mentioned but not central to the plot Warnings: possible triggers for anxiety, PTSD, grief

Note: Hi! I am overwhelmingly grateful to everyone who has read this story, and heard my call for inspiration. Because of you, this chapter exists, and I have a better idea of where to take this story. Thank you all so, so much. Honestly. I hope you love this.

So Far Away Chapter 4/?

Waking up in such a soft and safe environment took a hot minute. The danger was so far away from you and comfort was so close. Slowly though, your eyes opened and you tried to sit up. Sloooow mooootion. But then, pain.

You'd apparently slept off the memory of your injured hand, leaning straight onto it. It hurt so badly that you felt dizzy, then quickly sick to your stomach.

Within seconds of hearing you cry out, Bucky was at your side. "Alright, come on, darl'. Knew we should've gone straight to the doc when we got 'ere," he said, the latter statement directed at himself.

Trying to shuffle to the edge of the huge bed was exhausting. Tears began to stream down your face, running over the flushing red skin. You were embarrassed, somehow feeling it through the intense pain.

"Can you stand?"

You could, albeit shaky and holding your arm close to your chest, terrified something would hit it.

Bucky pressed a hand to your lower back and ushered you gently from the suite.

In the elevator, he called to F.R.I.D.A.Y. "Tell me someone's up in med?"

"Dr Cho is in D.C. but has left Medical to Dr Reyes,"

"Okay. Tell her we're on our way," he asked.

"Already done,"

"Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y."

Bucky turned to you, watched you struggle to keep your eyes open. He frowned, then cupped your face in his hands. The vibranium was cool.

"You're gonna be okay, Y/N. I know it hurts, but trust me - I've seen worse."

He wasn't being dismissive, just trying to pull you from the pain for a second or two. It worked; you offered him a weak smile. Bucky leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose. You could smell toothpaste. He must have been in the middle of getting ready for the day when you woke up.

'Medical' was a whole floor. Research happened in the east wing, and the trauma centre existed in the west.

Dr Cecilia Reyes was ready, waiting for your arrival. "Barnes," she greeted. "You found her then,"

"Word travels fast, huh?"

"Oh, you know… Winter Soldier on a mission to find a girl. That kinda thing gets people talking," she replied with a smirk.

Bucky liked Cecilia. She was tough, raised in the Bronx. He liked that despite her power, she opted for a relatively normal life. She was good people.

"Well, welcome," she said to you, leading you to a private room. "I'm Dr Reyes. Heard you've banged up your hand pretty bad?"

"Yeah," you managed to squeak out.

"Scale of one to ten, how bad's the pain?"

Ten. Definitely. "Uh… Eight," you lied.

Cecilia snorted. "So at least a nine then? Don't need to be tough for me," she told you, smiling kindly. She nodded for Bucky to help you up onto the bed in the room.

"I was okay last night," you said to her.

"Probably still in a bit of shock. Had a rough couple of days. Body's smart. Guess it waited to tell you it needed help," she replied.

"Should've brought you here last night," Bucky said.

"Nah, Barnes. Sleep is the great healer. She's here now. Let's see what we've got."

An x-ray, backlit and brutal, showed a broken ring finger, broken thumb, and three breaks to your hand. Cecilia told you that all things considered, you were lucky; the breaks hadn't split skin, muscle, or tendon. She set a cast on your wrist, hand, and thumb, and stabilised your ring finger by splinting it to your pinky.

"If you want, we can just cut it off and you can get one of what he's got," she joked during the process.

"Hey! Too soon," Bucky said, feigning offence.

She rolled her eyes at him dramatically. "What, like 80 years or something?"

Bucky laughed, then smiled over at you. "It's all right, darlin'," he said, noticing your expression. "If I can't joke about it, what's it good for, you know?"

"In her case, it's good for some top tier pain meds. Here - take two as needed. No more than eight a day. With food is better. And for reference, a can of Pringles does not count as a meal,"

"That felt personal," Bucky said, eyes narrowing at Cecilia.

"Your diet is trash," she told him, matter of fact.

"Firstly, once you pop you can't stop. Even I know that. Secondly, how do you know about my diet, doll?"

"Doll me again, Barnes, and I'll-"

"What?" he interrupted. "Force field me to death?"

"Joke all ya want, but it can be done."

Bucky laughed again, fondly shaking his head at her. Cecilia held back a full grin.

"Force field?" you asked, sitting quietly, letting the fentanyl you'd been given before the x-ray seep into your body.

"I'll tell ya later," Bucky said, reaching out to fold stray hair behind your ear.

"Alright, need anything else? You're not-" Cecilia started.

"Nah, nah, I'm good. Thanks, Doc. We''ll get out cha' way."

They hugged like they meant it, and she left the room.

Bucky turned to you. "I'd decorate that thing for ya, but Steve's the artist," he said, nodding at your cast.

"S'okay," you whispered in reply.

"Fentanyl working then?"

Eyes closed, grinning, you nodded slowly. Bucky snorted.

"Good. Guess we'll get some food in you then,"

"Pringles?" you asked hopefully as Bucky held your hips, helping you slide off the bed.

"Whatever you want, darlin'."

People pretended not to watch you and Bucky leave the trauma centre. It's kinda what people did in Stark Tower - pretend not to see and know what they saw and knew.

"He's got a girlfriend" someone whispered.

"No, didn’t he, like, go full hero and save her or something?"

"Think we got more to worry about than who and what Bucky Barnes is doing," Cecilia said loudly to the room. She smiled though. Good for him, she thought to herself.

…

Before you really knew what was happening, Bucky was handing you an iPad.

"Sit. Ubereats us something," he said.

You were on the couch, back in Bucky's suite. Looking around, you felt that awe again - floor to ceiling windows with New York views will do that. There was a light, knitted blanket over you. It seemed out of place in the modern apartment setting.

For a good fifteen minutes since returning from the medical suite, you'd just been sitting there. Bucky had waited until you seemed more… coherent, to ask you to pick food.

"You know Ubereats?" you asked, smiling, proud of yourself.

Bucky snorted. "I know I'm old, but I'm not playing-bingo-with-senior-citizens old."

You laughed and for a second, forgot about everything.

"That being said," he added, "I did live through The Depression, and I do have a super soldier metabolism… So, you know, don't skimp on the food."

You wondered what his dinner of choice normally would be. Order history! It looked like Bucky was working his way through every takeout option in N.Y. Nothing repeated.

"Burrrrrrito?" you asked.

"Yeah, darl'. Whatever you want,"

"I waaaaant… freeeesh ava ca doo,"

"That the drugs talking?"

Mental note to self: show Bucky Barnes memes.

After the order was placed, you put the iPad on the coffee table in front of you. Bucky picked it up, shot you a grin, and disappeared for a while. You did consider following him - he felt like safety. But, you were slowly coming out of the fog of fentanyl and knew tagging along like a lost puppy probably would make you feel awkward more than anything.

Bucky's voice floated through… superhero stuff, you assumed. Busying yourself with finding the remote, then being startled by F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s offer of help ("Can I help you find something to watch?"), you managed to fill the time until Bucky returned without having to really think too much. There was a feeling sitting in the back of your mind and the bottom of your stomach that you wanted to keep ignoring for as long as possible. It seemed… bad. And you weren't ready for bad.

"Alright," Bucky said, coming to stand in front of you. "How we doing?"

You smiled, nodded. His expression shifted. Sceptical.

"Yeah? You sure?"

"Ah-huh," you confirmed.

"I'm just gonna run down and grab the food. Won't be a second."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you with only the television to keep you company. You tried to pay attention, focus on the show. But the volume was too loud, even on the lowest setting. It was agitating, stressful even. Switching it off, you were enveloped in silence.

Calm down, you told yourself. And yet, a heartbeat was pounding in your ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You could hear your own organs now?!

Suddenly, you found yourself at the window, looking down at the city. How can everyone… You were thinking too fast, spiralling. But how could you think of anything else? How could everyone down there just keep going? D.C. was still burning. People had died.

People.

Your people.

Everything - your head, the room, your world - began to spin.

Where's… Where's… Where the hell was a phone?

"Y/N," F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice alarmed you, coming out of nowhere, but not enough to make you jump. "I'm detecting an elevated heart rate. Can I help you with anything?"

"I… ah… You're just a machine," you muttered to yourself mostly. "Wait! No! Where's the phone?! I need a phone… I need to call…"

Call who? Who would you call first? What would you do if…

You didn't hear F.R.I.D.A.Y. tell you where to find a phone, or ask again if you were okay. You didn't hear her tell you Bucky was on his way up. As soon as he walked in, he knew what was happening.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., tell me next time," he said while putting the takeout on the suite's small round dining table. "Y/N," he called. He stood in your field of vision, but not too close. "Y/N? Can you hear me?"

"I'm… I need a phone," you said, voice frantic, pupils blown. "There's people…"

"We can do that. Phone's right here," Bucky told you, pulling his cell from his pocket and holding it out to you. When you didn't take it, he slid it back in and held a hand out to you instead. "Y/N, take my hand. We're gonna sit down. Don't want you to fall and break any more bones,"

"How many days has it been?" you asked, your words pushed together, the letters overlapping.

"I'm gonna come closer, okay? Coming to you." Bucky moved. When he could see it wasn't making it worse, he held on your good wrist, his other hand on your waist, and walked you to the couch. You followed along, mindlessly compliant. "It's been five days. Not everyone will be on the lists yet, but we'll call, yeah? Or, we can get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to do it for us."

You were sort of nodding, but were still finding it hard to focus. Bucky waited another few moments, watching and assessing, before deciding he needed to intervene further.

He put his left hand on your face, cupping the cool metal to your skin. Gently but firmly, he turned you to face him.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked, raising his right hand.

"What?"

He repeated the question.

"Three," you answered, dismissive and maybe even a little annoyed.

"Good. Now?"

"Five. What are you doing?"

"Now?"

"Two! What are you doing?!"

"Distracting you," Bucky said. "Making your mind work on a task that isn't just panicking,"

"I'm not panicking," you told him.

"Not now, 'cause it worked. You're still not breathing properly though,"

"I'm fine,"

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" Bucky called.

She spoke, "Your heart rate is still elevated, Y/N, and-"

"Okay, I get it," you stopped her.

"Just take a couple breaths with me. Don't need 'em to be deep. Just hold them for a couple seconds."

As he called it, you took a breath in, two, three, out, two, three. You managed to do it twice before shaking your head and wriggling in your spot.

"I'm not- I just-" and you were off again, rambling about people, phones, and things you needed to do.

You went to stand, but Bucky grabbed you around the middle, pulling you down. Your back was to him, pressed to his chest, while his arms were wrapped around you. He would have let go if you fought him or cried out. But, you were limp and quiet almost immediately.

As you clung to his arms, he rested his head on your shoulder and made soft hushing sounds. Bucky waited patiently until your breathing regulated. You had closed your eyes and let your entire weight rest on him.

"I know how you feel. You're exhausted. Makes everything feel… bigger. But I promise you, it's gonna be okay," he told you, voice calm. Calming.

"You can't promise that," you replied, voice weak.

"I reckon if anyone can - it's me. Had a lot of life experience. And, got a lot of resources. Superhero perks," he laughed, trying to lighten your mood. "You trust me?" he asked, to which you nodded. "Good. So, trust me. I've got you. And right now, we've got some burritos that need eatin', and you need to tell me what freesh ava ca doo is."

Hearing the words come out of his mouth was entirely ridiculous and you couldn't help but snort. It left a smile on your face.

"There she is! Come on. Up!”

Chapter 5.

Tag list (open): @animegirlgeeky @bubbabarnes @browngirlmagic @lookalivefrosty @aynaraxas @vibraniumwitch @the–sad–hatter @grecianlune @fairislesheets

#mine #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes/Reader #Bucky Barnes / Reader #bucky barnes/you #Bucky Barnes / You #Bucky Barnes / Y/N #Bucky Barnes/Y/N #Marvel fanfiction #So Far Away

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biasedwriting · 3 years

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Kaleidoscope of Our Summer ||2||

Masterlist

Minah was certain she looked like a wet cat clinging onto Taekwoon as he helped her clamber onto the side of the pool, the buzzing in her head nearly drowning out the sound of Hakyeon screaming at Sanghyuk and Jaehwan. Taking another large gulp of breath, she noted the look of concern in Taekwoon’s eyes and nodded, trying to avoid looking anywhere but his face.

Which didn’t help much either, given that it was a terribly attractive face. Neither did it help that he was very close, almost standing between her legs.

“Are you alrigh-” Taekwoon began almost at the same time as Minah did.

“Thank you…” she found herself turning very red under his gaze. “I usually can swim...it’s just…” she wondered why she was whispering.

“Sandals. Excuse me...” the taller replied, reaching to unbuckle the offending footwear off as Minah watched in shock.

“Please! You needn’t!”

“They made you sink like a rock,” Taekwoon mumbled, easing the footwear off and casting them outside the pool where they fell with a clatter. He ran his fingers through the wet strands of his dark hair and let out a sigh through the poutiest pink lips Minah had ever laid eyes on, “I knew those two were up to no good, but I didn’t expect it to go like this.”

“Seriously though, thank you.” Minah’s vision was covered in white as Hongbin threw a towel around her and hauled her to her feet. Violently rubbing her hair with the fluffy fabric, he tugged her towards the house and away from Taekwoon.

“Are you alright? Let’s get you into some dry stuff.”

Minah opened her mouth and closed it, noting the guilty look on Sanghyuk and Jaehwan’s face, Hakyeon and Wonshik’s concerned looks and Taekwoon’s t-shirt by their feet with a half-eaten sandwich lying beside it. She bit her lip and looked down at the soaked ends of her dress and the stringy strands of hair hanging from her forehead. Looking back, she saw Taekwoon clambering out of the pool.

Throwing the kitchen door open, Hongbin led Minah in only to see Haneul setting her bag down on the counter and looking at the dishevelled and very soaked Minah in stark contrast to the crisp business formals she had on. She sighed, shaking her head before holding her hand out to her friend.

“Do I want to know what happened?”

Wrapping the towel tight around herself, Minah nodded to the backyard “Sanghyuk and Jaehwan threw me in the pool. While I had my sandals on...you know, the ones we bought together.”

“Might as well have tied a stone to your leg and thrown you in!” Haneul gasped before turning to Hongbin incredulously “And Hongbin pulled you out?! He can’t even swim to save himself!”

Rolling his eyes, Hongbin sighed “no, Taekwoon jumped in. In fact, he stopped mid-sandwich to jump in. Sanghyuk and Jaehwan thought she was staying underwater to fuck around.” He patted Minah on the back “have you got anything dry for her to wear?” he asked Haneul.

“I think some of Wonshik’s old t-shirts and shorts should do. I think I may have left something or the other behind, let’s see.” Haneul replied thoughtfully before nodding to Hongbin “go on, give them hell for me...unless Hakyeon is already on the task.”

Hongbin grinned “you bet your butt he is. I’ll just go out and make sure everything is alright and leave you guys to it.”

Watching Hongbin leave, Haneul quickly led Minah upstairs to find her a worn pair of sweatpants and one of Wonshik’s old t-shirts (after much debate about his very questionable fashion taste). Talking to Haneul was very comfortable for Minah. They had been online friends even before Minah had moved to Seoul having come in contact through one of Minah’s high school fests. She liked the warmth that Haneul spread, making everyone feel welcome and at home.

No wonder Wonshik was head-over-heels for her.

“I expected them to pull something like that, but honestly I didn’t expect to nearly drown,” Minah commented, tugging the t-shirt over her head, “I think I’m drowning in these anyway,” she said, stepping out of the bathroom and doing a dramatic twirl for Haneul.

“As long as you’re dry,” Haneul replied looking at her phone. “Haven’t Ara and Miya turned up yet? They were both pretty excited about meeting Hakyeon and Taekwoon.” It dawned on Minah that in the confusion, Haneul hadn’t had a chance to greet her friends either.

“No, they haven’t. I was expecting Miya sometime soon. Ara said she had a meeting with her boss. You should head down and meet Hakyeon and Taekwoon, I’ll just dry my hair and join you.”

Haneul set her phone aside “yeah, I’ll head down. I think Sanghyuk and Jaehwan will be preparing a ‘we’re sorry’ speech scripted by the one and only Cha Hakyeon. I don’t want to miss that!” she chuckled, heading to the door of the room before pausing and cocking her head “I think Miya is here.”

Minah leaned out of the bathroom to hear the steady thump-thump of footsteps coming up the stairs and prepared herself for the ball of energy that was their beloved Miya. If Jaehwan was a cute ray of sunshine, Miya was sunshine in the shape of a human being. Exuding happiness (and inappropriate jokes) and lifting everyone’s mood up, Miya was a pleasure to have around.

“3...2...1” Haneul counted down and the door flew open as Miya stormed in waving a bunch of irises tied together neatly with a violet ribbon and eyes wide.

“SANGHYUK TRIED TO KILL MINAH?!”

“I see Hongbin got to you first,” Haneul commented, holding the door open for the taller one to rush in and tackle Minah into a hug.

“You’re alive!” Miya threw her arms around her friend again dramatically making the latter giggle into her shoulder.

“Yes, very much alive, thank you.” Minah eyed the flowers clutched between Miya’s fingers “Are those for Hakyeon or Taekwoon? Because they’re getting crushed.”

Miya quickly detached herself from Minah and examined the flowers checking if there was truly any damage caused.

“Why are you gifting flowers of hope to two men returning from enlistment?” Haneul squinted at the flowers while Minah noted the sheepish grin and the blush creeping up Miya’s cheeks.

“They’re flowers of hope?”

“Did you just buy seasonal flowers? Because irises do quite well at this time of the year. I’m sure Hakyeon will appreciate them...not sure about Taekwoon, I’m sure he’d rather have a tub of ice cream...” Haneul mused as Miya turned redder.

“They’re not for either of them...uh...someone gave them to me…”

There was a moment of silence as Minah and Haneul processed what Miya had told them.

“Oh my god, who is it?!” Haneul exclaimed while Minah rubbed her own hair with the towel thoughtfully.

“What’s the ethics of people giving their counsellors flowers?”

“No no! It’s not someone coming to the centre! It’s from the part-timer at the florist’s next door!” Miya replied frantically waving her hands (flowers and all) to somehow make Minah’s train of thought come to some form of a halt.

“Oh?” Minah smirked, nudging Miya slightly.

“The part-timer has a wittul crush on our baby Miya?” Haneul giggled, joining in on the nudging.

“Nothing of the sort! I was just having a particularly heavy day so I came out of the centre for some air and a cup of tea! I was sitting on the bench outside just...decompressing and he came over and asked me if I was alright! I just told him I was getting a little overwhelmed at work and he ran into the shop and came back with these and ran away!” the tallest exclaimed as Haneul cooed.

“That’s so sweet! He was giving you a bunch of hope!”

“Was he cute?” Minah nudged her friend again. Miya threw herself on the bed in response (holding the flowers away to prevent them from being crushed) and mumbled into the mattress.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Haneul replied, plucking the flowers out of her hands. “I’ll put these in a vase so you can take them home when we’re done with dinner.” Heading towards the door she turned back “wash up and come down.”

“Okay!” Miya called into the mattress giving the eldest a thumbs up while Minah patted her back. Miya rolled on the bed and looked at her friend who was shooting her an amused smile. “Minah! He looked like a cute little bunny!”

“Hmm,” Minah hummed thoughtfully “we do like bunnies...except Hongbin sometimes. Are you going to talk to him any time soon?”

Miya stared at the ceiling for a long moment, letting some of the stress of the day ease out of her body with a long exhale. “I don’t know...I should thank him for the flowers I suppose.”

“Maybe ask him to a cup of tea or something?” Minah replied, plopping down beside Miya “I need to figure out how to thank Taekwoon as well.”

Miya frowned “thank Taekwoon?”

“Yeah, he got me out of the pool. Didn’t Hongbin tell you?”

Miya rolled her eyes “no! He told me you nearly drowned and I was too worried to care about who saved you so I ran upstairs!”

“And now you can see I’m fine! Now go wash up, I’ll wait for you.” Minah smiled, lying down on the bed as Miya rolled off it and hurried into the bathroom. The former sighed, feeling more at ease with Haneul and Miya around. She wondered when Ara would be coming in given that she’d been frequently having meetings with her boss...what was his name again?

“Miya! What is Ara’s boss’ name? Was it Myungsoo?’

“Nah! It’s Kyungsoo!” Miya called back, rinsing her face.

“Huh, I was always bad with names,” Minah grumbled, starting when the door opened and Taekwoon’s head popped in.

“Uhm…” she struggled to sit up as he walked in.

“I was wondering if you were alright...so I came to check on you…” he began as Miya stuck her head out of the bathroom to see who the intruder was. “Sanghyuk was feeling too guilty to come...he’s been pacing like a mad man downstairs.”

“Oh...uh…yeah, I’m alright.” Minah sat up, fixing the t-shirt which she was practically drowning in. “I was just waiting for Miya,” she added, nodding towards the bathroom.

“Hey! Welcome back!” Miya waved with a grin as Taekwoon shot her a familiar warm smile.

“You’ve grown…” he commented as the youngest smirked proudly.

“I’m still growing, can you believe?”

Minah found herself smiling at the familiarity between the two, freezing when Taekwoon turned back to her and feeling scrutinized under his gaze. Heat flooded up her cheeks as she met his gaze, wondering if it was normal for someone to have such intense eyes.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you want to head back home?” he asked as Minah shook her head.

“No, I’m quite alright, thank you. I think we can head down and put everyone’s worries to rest,” she said, standing up and nodding to the door. Taekwoon shot her get-up an amused look before stepping out. Miya on the other hand smirked.

“What?” Minah blinked in confusion as she stepped out of the room.

“Nothing, other than you let your googly eyes for Jung Taekwoon slip,” Miya whispered, following her friend out.

“I had no googly eyes!” Minah hissed back.

“Sure, okay….Ara!” Miya waved at the new entrant standing at the end of the stairs greeting Taekwoon. Ara’s short bobbed hair bounced as she enthusiastically waved back.

“Hello, ladies! Sorry, I’m late, had a meeting! I brought cake though!” she held up a large box with a grin. Taekwoon quickly relieved her of the cake before heading into the kitchen.

“You’re having an awful lot of meetings these days,” Miya smirked as Ara shrugged in response.

“Kyungsoo had ordered the book I’d been looking for for months, so he called me in to hand it over to me.”

“That’s quite nice of him...isn’t this the second time in the month that he did this?” Minah quirked her eyebrow at Ara who shrugged again.

“Yeah, but it’s an acquisition for the shop as well. So I get to read it at work.”

“You know most bosses don’t let you read at work even if it is a book store?” Minah replied “maybe you’re a special employee.” she winked, while Miya held back a cackle.

“I am good at my work,” Ara nodded thoughtfully, making Miya and Minah roll their eyes. Ara often seemed oblivious to the attention she was gaining with her existence. Her pixie-like features and friendly demeanour attracted a great deal of men, women, and everyone in between, only to have their hearts very gently broken. From what Minah had understood, Kyungsoo had hired Ara not just for her skills in book-keeping, but the customers she attracted.

Apparently, the boss himself was interested. But she’d let Ara figure that one out for herself.

“I’m so good at my job that he’s ordered the Guardians book I’d been crying to you guys about! They should be coming in a few weeks...imports, you know.” Ara puffed up proudly and Miya patted her shoulder.

“You sure are the employee of the decade, now come. I’m starving.”

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#kaleidoscopeofoursummer #leo #kyungsoo #jungkook #hyuk #ravi #vixx #vixx fanfiction #exo #exo fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Save the Last Dance

Summary: Lacey digs a little deeper into her employer’s past, finding out a little-known secret about Mr Gold.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt, available here.

Rated: T

Save the Last Dance

Although everyone in town said that Mr Gold was an enigma, Lacey had never really believed it herself until she had started working for the man. She could never tell what he was thinking or whether he was serious about any of the threats he made, but she knew better than to push her luck too far.

Lacey’s greatest talent had always been knowing just how far she could get away with pushing, and after working for Mr Gold for three months and knowing no more about him now than she had done at the start – perhaps even less – she decided that she was going to use that talent to learn something, anything, about the man.

It was not out of any desire to profit from her knowledge, merely to satisfy her own curiosity. He was a man wrapped up in so many layers of mystery alongside all his layers of clothing that he was almost impossible to read, and Lacey wanted to know what made him tick. It would make working in the shop alongside him a lot easier if she knew something about him.

She’d always had a sneaking suspicion that she was what made him tick. After all, he wouldn’t have taken her on as an assistant if he didn’t like her at least a little. But nothing he ever did or said whilst they were alone in the shop together ever gave her the slightest indication that he felt any kind of attraction to her, sexual or otherwise, and he certainly never really showed her any kind of affection. Sometimes, given the amount of snark that went back and forth between them, Lacey wondered why he’d even hired her in the first place.

Although, that said, she knew that she would miss the snark if she no longer had it in her life, and it had become an integral part of their… relationship? Friendship? Were they close enough to each other to use either of those words? Lacey knew that she would certainly be happy if that were the case; as infuriating as he could be at times, she couldn’t deny that she had definitely grown more than a little attracted to Mr Gold over the past few weeks.

She sighed. Gold had gone out to fetch their lunch order from Granny’s and she was alone in the shop. It was the perfect opportunity for snooping around and learning what she could. It wasn’t the first time that Gold had left her alone in the shop, and it definitely wasn’t the first time that she’d taken a closer look at some of the stock, but it was the first time that Lacey was undertaking her detective work with a serious goal in her head.

Mind you, she didn’t really know what she was hoping to achieve by looking around the shop. It wasn’t as if Gold kept all that many of his personal belongings here; they were all up at the salmon pink monstrosity he called a house, and Lacey highly doubted that she would ever be in the privileged position of being able to snoop around in there. Still, she might as well take advantage of this time now that she had it.

She wandered over to the old gramophone in the corner, dragging out the record box from underneath it and blowing off the dust. Gold didn’t usually let her play music in the shop; occasionally he might allow the radio but normally she was in headphones. She didn’t even know if the gramophone still worked, but a bit of tinkering had it going, and she set about finding something to play.

This proved slightly more difficult than she was expecting since none of the records were labelled; all of them in plain card sleeves. She grabbed one at random and put it onto the turntable, carefully putting the needle into place.

It was big band music, a swinging, thirties’ style jive, and Lacey raised an eyebrow even as she started to tap her feet to the beat. This was certainly an interesting find, although she didn’t know what it told her about Gold. Before long, she was dancing around the back room. The professionals on Dancing with the Stars definitely didn’t have anything to worry about, and she was glad that no-one could see her.

Actually, Gold might walk in with her lunch at any moment. Lacey stopped dead on hearing his voice and spun around to see him standing in the doorway through to the main shop.

“I didn’t realise that old thing still worked.”

Lacey switched off the music and went over to Gold, taking the paper bags from him and spreading out their lunch over the workbench. She’d already taken a couple of bites out of her sandwich when she realised that Gold was still standing transfixed in the doorway.

“Gold? Are you ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He was definitely paler than usual, his eyes staring off into the middle distance and looking right through Lacey even as she gave him a tentative wave. Eventually he shook himself and came into the room fully, sitting down to eat with her. Lacey paused with a handful of fries halfway to her mouth.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, yes, dearie, I’m fine. It’s just been an awfully long time since I last heard that music, that’s all.”

Lacey didn’t say anything as she continued with her meal, but her brain was clanging pots and pans together and blowing horns inside her head, telling her that this was it and she had finally made the breakthrough that she had been looking for. The gramophone and these records were the key – to what she didn’t yet know, but to something.

It was the first time that she’d seen Gold have a truly emotional reaction to anything, although she couldn’t quite tell what emotion he was feeling. She was onto something here, and further investigation was definitely warranted.

Lacey was never normally one for working any more hours than she absolutely had to, and she knew that Gold would have some kind of quip for her when he saw that she’d got to the shop first, but sometimes detective work required some sacrifices. She began to paw through the box of records again, putting another one on the turntable. This one was slower, Latin.

Lacey counted beats on her fingers. Was it rumba? It was music to dance to at any rate, a close, paired dance evocative of sultry summer nights. She closed her eyes and swayed in time with it until the sudden cut-off startled her out of her trance. Gold was standing by the gramophone, his expression unreadable.

“Morning, Mr Gold. I just thought I’d investigate some more of these old records, since they seem to have been here for such a long time.”

“Please don’t.” Gold took the record off the turntable and slipped it back into its sleeve.

“OK. Why not?”

“Just don’t! Now clean up in here and get to work, it’s inventory day as you well know.”

Lacey was about to point out that the records were part of the inventory and it would make sense for her to continue her investigation, but she sensed that she was on the brink of overstepping a boundary and she left well alone.

Gold gave off a distinctly frosty air until lunch, when he heaved a huge sigh just as Lacey was getting ready to go to Granny’s.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

Lacey stopped in her tracks. Gold had never yet apologised for shouting or snapping at her, and neither had she to him.

“That’s ok.”

“The music just brings back painful memories that I don’t want to revisit. But if you want to listen to the records, you’re welcome to take them home with you.”

Lacey shook her head. “Nothing to play them on.”

“Then you can take the gramophone as well. I’ll get Dove to bring it over tonight.”

“Mr Gold, are you sure?” She wanted to ask who are you and what have you done with Gold? “It must be worth a fortune.”

“It’s yours if you want it,” Gold said firmly.

“OK then… Thank you very much.”

Lacey made her way to Granny’s, not entirely sure that she wasn’t stuck in the middle of a very strange dream.

Gold was as good as his word, and Dove delivered the gramophone and records that evening. Lacey spent the next week slowly working her way through the collection. It was only once she opened the last record sleeve that she pieced together the truth.

It did not contain a record. Inside were scattered photographs – some professional prints, some clipped from newspapers, all of them of the same couple, frozen in the middle of a waltz or cha-cha. The woman she didn’t recognise, but there was no mistaking that the man was the Mr Gold of thirty-odd years ago.

Lacey hurriedly shuffled the photos back into the record sleeve. He couldn’t have known that they were in there; there was no way that he would let anyone see that part of his past.

Part of her was telling her not to mention it, that what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt either of them. The other part was convincing her that she ought to return the photos to their rightful owner. Lacey sighed. It was probably time to do the grown-up thing for once.

Gold seemed to be in a good mood when she walked into the shop the next morning, although she didn’t know how long that would last after she had said her piece.

“Mr Gold? I think that these belong to you.”

She handed over the record sleeve with the photos in, and Gold looked confused for a moment until he looked inside. The ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

“So, that’s where she put them,” he murmured. “I knew that she must have hidden them somewhere.” He looked up. “Thank you, Lacey.”

Lacey shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t like I had any use for them.” She paused, wanting to probe further now that she had this opening, but scared of the shutters slamming down in her face. He was looking at one of the photos now, from the bright red dress and low dip, Lacey guessed that it was a tango or paso doble.

“So…” she began hesitantly. “You used to be a professional dancer?”

Gold nodded. “It was a long, long time ago.”

“I guess I know why you quit.” She glanced at his cane, resting against the workbench. “Your partner’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

“Her name was Belle,” Gold said softly. “She was my fiancée as well as my partner. I lost her at the same time I got this.” He tapped the cane. “I always vowed that I’d never dance with anyone but her. I didn’t realise that it would be literally.”

Lacey reached across and touched his trembling hand. “I’m so sorry.”

It was time to leave well alone, and she came out into the main shop to open up, setting up behind the counter with her phone until custom arrived. Morbid curiosity had her open up Youtube and slip her headphones in. Surely some video footage must exist. She typed Cameron Gold ballroom dance into the search bar and waited for it to load on the shop’s shaky wifi. The third result down showed what she wanted.

1999 National Championships – Cameron Gold and Belle Marchland – Viennese Waltz

The footage was grainy but still mesmerising to watch, both of them flying around the floor as if their feet were barely touching the ground.

“You remind me of her sometimes.”

Lacey looked over her shoulder guiltily to see Gold standing there. He didn’t look put out, more just amused.

“She was ridiculously stubborn, just like you. Tenacious like nothing else.”

At least that sort of solved the mystery of why he’d hired her.

“She’s a much better dancer than I am.”

“I think that goes without saying. But I appreciate you for your own merits now.”

Lacey was a little taken aback by this confession.

“I wasn’t aware that I had any merits.”

“Of course you do. You’re committed, you don’t take any nonsense from anyone, including me, you’re independent and resourceful, and although you like to pretend that you’re brash and that you don’t care, there’s a wonderfully compassionate soul underneath it all.”

Lacey swallowed. “Do you like me, Mr Gold?”

He nodded slowly. “I know that I don’t have much to offer you except bitterness and sarcasm.”

“I don’t mind a little bitterness and sarcasm.” Lacey bit her lip. It was only comparatively recently that she’d started thinking about him in that way, but the more she learned, the more she was drawn towards him. “Maybe you can find a new partner to dance with after all. Even if this one has two left feet.”

“I think I can work with that.”

The kiss that they shared was chaste and tentative, everything still raw and tender in the aftermath of learning about Belle, but Lacey liked to think that it had promise in it.

She smiled and leaned in to kiss him again. It seemed as if Gold, stuck in the past for so long, was finally looking to the future, and Lacey was happy to be a part of it.

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #Golden Lace #Mr Gold #Lacey French #Fic: Save the Last Dance #AU

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disinvited-guest · 4 years

Text

3/5/2020 Milwaukee

I snagged a spot to the left of the keyboard, far enough over to see Marty across the stage. I was happy to notice that the venue had evidently been putting my “Historic Preservation Fee” to good use. What had been a flimsy floor of plywood over an open pit in front of the stage was now relatively solid ground. Since the plywood floor had bounced and shook during the 2018 show, I didn’t miss it. We were very close to Marty’s Quiet Storm setup as the crew was prepping for the show, so as Fresh took it back offstage, we noticed that he wasn’t wearing any fancy socks!

Only a few minutes after eight, the lights dimmed and a gif of the flag from the Flood Promo was displayed on the projector. The crowd began to cheer, but it was several seconds before the pre show mix was replaced by Gyspy, and late into that before They took the stage. Finally, there they were! Both Johns, Danny and Marty came on and as the cheers died, kicked off the evening by playing Dead. As they finished, Dan came onstage ready to go.

From Dead they went straight into They Might Be Giants, beginning an absolutely amazing set. Dan and Danny were kidding around the whole time, Flans was all over the stage, Marty was making the best drumming faces, and Danny was dancing as he played. All the things I had missed about going to shows were there in abundance, and it was wonderful.

Without pause, they moved on to the always exciting Twisting, and then We Want a Rock. During the latter song, Danny glanced over at me and did a double take, then gave me a big smile and a nod of recognition. I think maybe he didn’t recognize me immediately with my longer hair.

Flans had a bit of trouble with his part on Want a Rock, and after the song was over and he had greeted us all, he told us “I just did the musical equivalent of falling down the stairs, so this seems like a good time to remind you that there will be no refunds.” He continued on, telling us that they had just finished a “four-song rock-block” and that the first set this evening would be all Flood, and the second set would have two songs from Flood, making it “arguably the best set.”

During all this, Danny was upstage dealing with what was apparently a cut on his right thumb, touching the spot and exclaiming “ow!” although he didn’t treat it in any way for the rest of the set.

Meanwhile, Flans continued his introductions, “We are only They Might Be Giants act that matters and from the original members of the band, we’re glad you’re here.”

Linnell then explained that tonight he was debuting his new keyboard stand, and that he’d had his old one for 25 years. Flans told us all that people had tried to tell him to change it, “but I said ‘leave my buddy alone about his keyboard!’” this was said in a tight growl of a voice, crowding the microphone in a truly hilarious, faux-aggressive way. Linnell went on to explain that no one in the crew had said anything about the stand to him, but when he brought it up to them, they had said that he really did need a new one.

Flans then excitedly chimed in to explain that the keyboard stand was like many men’s second wives “because it is much like the old one. You are just showing you have a type.” Linnell seemed a tiny bit taken aback by the comparison, but replied that it was “under the hood” that it was different. The new keyboard stand is a light blue with silver buckles on the sides and removable black legs. The keyboard on it for this run of shows was white with wood-grain panels on the side.

As their conversation about the keyboard stand wound down, Flans mentioned that he didn’t know what song was next on the setlist, so he moved away from his mic to check his copy upstage. Watching him go, Linnell said drily “Well you need to be at the mic for it.”

Flans did return to the mic quickly, allowing them to play Minimum Wage. Several people in the crowd, myself included, did a whip-cracking motion at the appropriate time, which felt awesome but looked hilarious. From there, they played Your Racist Friend, meaning Curt came onstage to blow us all away. He stayed onstage as they started Particle Man. Flans showed everybody how to clap, but the crowd had mostly stopped only a few lines into the song, with the few who had stuck with it eventually losing momentum. During the interlude, they played Sun Ra’s Rocket Number Nine, which I had never heard before, and thus had no idea what they were doing. It sounded very awesome though, and it was clear why it had made it into the show, with Curt rocking out on the euphonium, and an excellent accordion riff on Linnell’s part. Curt kept the euphonium for the next song, Hearing Aid.

Flans told us that the next song they were going to play was a short one, and that they were going to do it two ways. He encouraged us to “Listen when we do it this way so you can spot the difference,” and they played Sapphire Bullets of Pure Love.

After the song was over, Flans seemed slightly at a loss to explain what came next, “The next part of the show, it’s not really justifiable.” He decided that we did need an explanation before they played it, but passed off the task to Linnell, “You do it.”

Linnell told us all “It was a dare actually, we lost a bet, that's why we’re doing this.”

“But you need to tell them what we’re doing,” Flans interjected.

“I think you explained it well,” Linnell answered, causing Flans to make a face. “We’re playing the song we just played backwards.”

Regaining his way with words, Flans told us all “If you could record this- and I’m not saying you could- you could take it back to your fancy recording studio, in your McMansion way out in the suburbs and play what we are about to play backwards and it would sound exactly like the song we just did.”

And with that, they began Stilloob, which was truly amazing in a way the video I had watched of it simply could not capture. There was a wild energy in the air, that of people who know what they are doing is both beautiful and ridiculous. Both Dans and Marty were glued to the sheets of paper with their parts on them, and were visibly relieved once the song was over, although I think they did an amazing job with it. As they moved straight on into Letterbox, Dan moved up onto Curt’s riser, then caught Danny’s attention before striking a ‘rock pose’ for him.

I believe it was at this point in the set when Flans told us all how trying not to touch his face has just made him realize how much he touches his face. Linnell responded with a wonderfully bizarre rant about other people touching his face “They tell you not to touch your face but don’t say anything about other people touching your face. I would like to ask the members of the band to stop touching my face, you know who you are!”

It was hilarious, but marred slightly by a few drunk ladies in the crowd screaming that they would like to touch his face. Eventually, they subsided, and Flans got back to the subject at hand, how trying to touch his face “just made me aware. Like adult onset-” he stopped here, clearly at a loss, then continued “I was going to say adult onset OED, but that would be a good thing.”

“It would be a good thing to have the Oxford English Dictionary,” Linnell answered. “I have that other thing”

“The opposite of that,” Flans shot back

“I have the opposite of the Oxford English Dictionary,” Linnell agreed.

From there, they played Lucky Ball and Chain, during which Danny followed Dan around looking over his shoulder at his guitar while Dan tried to move away. After a few moments of this, Danny went over to look at Linnell’s keyboard then came back to Dan and pointed an accusing finger at Dan’s guitar. I’m not sure what he was looking at.

From there, they played Hot Cha and then Women and Men, which is a personal favorite of mine. During the next song, Someone Keeps Moving My Chair, Danny mouthed along to a few of the lyrics.

There was a pause as Linnell went over to get his accordion and returned to the mic. There was a moment of confusion as Linnell, off-mic, asked who started the next song. Flans, who was already checking the setlist for what song was next, replied also off-mic. “You do, John,” making everyone onstage crack up. This began Whistling in the Dark, followed by the always high-energy Birdhouse in Your Soul.

“We have one song left, and then we are going to take a 10 minute break that lasts 45 minutes.” Flans explained to us after Birdhouse ended. “We’ve played, as I’m sure you’ve been keeping track of, 16 songs off of flood and we’re going to play 2 in the second set.”

The last song in the set was Road Movie to Berlin, which included the King of Liars verse, which caused a few audience members who hadn’t heard it before to laugh. Marty played his tambourine diligently throughout the song, and Dan and Danny, who only play at two brief points, were off the stage before Flans was done singing. Marty and the Johns finished out the song, then walked offstage to join them.

As the lights came on and the crew began setting up for the Quiet Storm, it became apparent Fresh must have changed his socks sometime during the first set, as he was now wearing socks with the 9;30 Club logo printed all over them. I also learned during this break that they had switched their ‘cue song’ meaning that even though Girl Don’t Come was in the playlist, there were a few more songs between it and the end of the break.

The Johns and Marty were back onstage before very long though, to the ominous Godzilla Intro. Marty was really playing up the tone that it created, with stoic looks and deliberate movements as he came on and got ready for the set.

Before playing anything, Flans greeted us all; “Welcome to the Quiet Storm portion of the evening, the part of the show when we play all the quiet songs.” A man in the crowd booed in response to that statement, and Flans, looking out in his general direction, told us all “We would like to dedicate all our songs to the guy who just booed. This next song is from the difficult middle 30s of They Might Be Giants.”

This led into 2082, which was, of course, amazing. Linnell sang the year 2415 instead of 3415 as he was listing off the progressing years.

Flans didn’t know the album the next song was on, and banged his forehead on the mic in frustration before introducing the song as Music Jail. The song was so incredibly rocking for the format, and I was truly amazed. I had heard this song with the full band setup before, but this different version truly felt new and special.

Linnell moved over to his keyboard for the next song, Wicked Little Critter, and there were no lights on him because of it. It was a bit strange, but didn’t detract from the song.

Instead of moving on while the setup was taken offstage, like they had in 2018, the Johns and Marty all went offstage so the crew could take away the Quiet Storm setup (and so Fresh could wear the cover like a cape). While they were doing this, they projected the Underwater Woman video for the audience to watch.

The band was back on quickly to finish out an amazing second set. Before beginning, I have a few general notes. This set was really bass-heavy and Danny did an absolutely stellar job. He was amazing to watch! Also, I think he liked seeing my reactions to the songs I didn’t expect them to play, I could see/feel him watching me during some of the intros. The crowd had obviously taken full advantage of the break to refill their supply of alcohol, and were a bit rowdier and less coherent.

Coming onstage, Flans rushed straight to the mic to announce “This song is not on streaming sites because we like sabotaging our own career!” This got a huge cheer as they began The Communists Have The Music. I believe it was during this song that Dan reached over and tried to poke the body of Danny’s bass, which he quickly jerked out of the way before they moved apart with big grins.

Next, they played Wearing a Raincoat. I’m always overjoyed to hear anything from Spine, and was completely surprised they had pulled this song out of the vault!

I believe it was here that Flans pointed out the balconies, and went on a diatribe explaining how it was their job to get people excited, but in venues like this you didn’t want the people in the balcony getting too excited. I believe that Linnell chimed in to mention the Modeska, and not getting sued by the children of lawyers. Finally Flans sternly warned the people in the balcony that they were only allowed to be “85% rocking out.” The folks in the balcony cheered, and Linnell relented “Well, okay, 90%.”

At this point, someone in the crowd shouted out a request. Flans, a bit peeved, moved his mic stand forward and demanded to know “Is there anything else?” Then spent several seconds arguing with the incomprehensible mess of many crowd members shouting out song titles. “I’m telling you! We don’t take requests.” While all this was going on I, embarrassed, had taken off my glasses and hid my face in my hands. When I looked up again, Danny was watching me, amused, and we shared a rueful smile over the situation.

Eventually, Flans stopped arguing with the drunken masses and they played Pet Name, which sounded amazing, then moved on to Spy. I had expected new samples from Linnell for his part of the ending, and I wasn’t disappointed. He had an Eagles’ sample of “take it to the limit” which he had repeated several times opposite the band. The beauty of this sample is that, because that line repeats in the song of origin, you aren’t absolutely sure it is repeating sample until the 3rd or 4th time. Not limiting himself to that, Linnell also played the same sample slowed down, which sounded appropriately monstrous. Eventually, he switched directing over to Flans, who had trouble controlling the crowd in his bit, eventually giving up on us. Instead of finishing the song, he stopped everyone playing, then began the intro to Older, which was incredible.

After Older, which included the always-humorous long pause, they went straight on to Let Me tell You About My Operation. The highlight of this song was, as always, Flans’ energetic delivery and non-stop movement around the stage.

Finishing Operation, Dan left the stage and Linnell went to get his accordion. I had no idea what they were going to play, not even after it was announced as being a song from Apollo 18, until they actually began the song, Turn Around!

Afterwards, Linnell went to the other side of the stage, presumably to put the accordion down, but came back to his mic still holding it. Meanwhile, Marty and Danny were telling Flans he needed to stall. At this point in the setlist, All Time What was listed, but they never ended up playing it, so I assume the trouble was somehow related to that.

Flans returned to his microphone and told us a story to stall as requested. Apparently, he used to have a job where he worked at Grand Central Station. A bunch of the city’s electrical wiring is located under the city, and the heat from the wires attracts a lot of roaches. Flans shared a changing room with the exterminator, who was there one week every six months. One day Flans struck up a conversation with the guy and they were “bonding over having shitty jobs,” when Flans noticed the guy had a roach on his jacket. “So I pointed it out to him and the guy went ‘Aaah!’”

There was some scattered laughter from the crowd, then an awkward pause. After a moment, Flans said “There’s no punchline to this story, I just think that if you have that job you should maybe have a different relationship to bugs”

Linnell further explained “That would be like if we said, ‘we’re going to play another song Aaah!’”

They then played Museum of Idiots with Linnell on the accordion, a change from when he played it on the keyboard in 2018. I will never get tired of hearing this one live; feeling the bassline in my chest and hearing the raw emotion in Linnell’s voice is truly wonderful.

The issue that had delayed the show was clearly not yet fixed, so as Linnell put down his accordion and returned to his keyboard mic, Flans prepared to stall some more “So when you worked for the NJ Port Authority-” He was cut off by Danny, who had come up between him and Linnell, presumably telling them that they weren’t going to be able to fix whatever the problem was and had to move on.

Linnell then responded to Flans’ original comment by saying there was no rearview, and that they had to look forward and not back. He then told us all “‘Aaaaggh! We’re going to play another song.”

They played The Guitar, with Linnell and Curt on the Future of Sound. I do enjoy FoS, but I will admit I slightly prefer the live version of The Guitar that has a bass solo in the middle. I may be a teeny bit biased though.

After the Guitar was over, Linnell had to go and grab his accordion AGAIN, while Flans introduced Dan on the keyboard and told us all that this would be their last song of the night. He said something about having the best audience ever as well, but I didn’t catch all of it. Dan, having made it up to the keyboard, was staring, confused, at the settings. Linnell eventually went over and changed the settings for him before they started Doctor Worm.

They left the stage to thunderous applause. Eventually, Dan came back on alone, starting the intro to Istanbul, which the audience began clapping along with. While he amazed us all from in front of the drum riser, the other guys crept onstage quietly, so they were all in place to start the song. There were two fake endings, one with Dan and Curt switching off, which is always my very favorite part of the song, and the real ending with Curt displaying his talent, meaning we got to be amazed by Curt and Dan both at different parts of the song! After the song was over, there was a mass exodus as Marty, Dan, and Curt walked offstage, although Curt returned right away.

“We’re playing another song,” Flans announced, “I don’t know why those guys left!” Danny looked over at me and grinned at this, and I grinned back. They played Theme From Flood, officially hitting all the Flood songs for the show, and then left the stage once again

When they returned to the stage this time around, Flans grabbed a copy of the Flood picture disk that had been sitting up against a case upstage. He showed off the disk to us, saying that picture disks were controversial, and the sound quality was probably not as good but “It will be the best sounding zoetrope you’ll ever own!” Unfortunately, while he was doing this, some folks in the crowd thought he was giving that copy away and started yelling for it, so I missed some of the nuances of his pitch. Eventually, Flans put the disk back where it was, and they played End of the Tour, then an especially rocking New York City before leaving the stage for the night.

Danny and Marty were both back onstage soon after. Danny gave out setlists, including one for me, and waved at me after he did, I waved back and felt a bit silly and a bit giddy. He then grabbed a bunch of Flood stickers and started throwing them out into the crowd like throwing stars. It didn’t work very well in practice, with a lot of stickers going astray. I eventually got one that landed on my shoulder before leaving the venue. It was a long, windy walk back to my hotel, but I was glowing with joy the whole way.

#tmbg #recap

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wykart · 5 years

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Haunting Five

Alas, I have descended from the realm of copious fanart to full-blown fan fiction. I can’t get enough of these characters so it’s time to create my own content I guess.

Five killed alot of people, probably more than Hazel and Cha Cha given how well-renowned he is within the commission, Klaus would definitely have something to say about this.

Summary: Ever since Klaus made the (regrettable) decision to stay sober, the ghosts that he's successfully kept at bay since childhood have been coming back in a big way. Those who die violently and unexpectedly often harbour resentment towards those who killed them, and what could be more violent and unexpected than meeting your end to an elite time-travelling assassin like Number Five. Needless to say, Five has a whole undead entourage following him around, and Klaus is finding it difficult to cope.

read here on ao3 or under the cut

Sobriety was overrated, and not just because his head was always pounding and the world felt harsh and cold, but because the ghosts were clawing their way back into his mind, more and more all the time. He hadn’t seen so many since those nights in the mausoleum. It was as if he was more visible now, without the drugs to muddle his mind, they flocked to him, desperate to use him as a middle man to get back at the world, desperate to find someone that could hear their voices. He couldn’t blame them. Maybe he could even come to welcome them if they’d think about shutting the hell up every once in a while.

Whenever Five came into the room, Klaus left. At first, everyone assumed it was simply because Five was a self absorbed asshole, which he was, but Klaus had grown used to self absorbed assholes after growing up at the academy, and he’d developed an immunity. He tried his best to be subtle about it, though he didn’t really need to be, his siblings barely seemed to notice when he left the room, all too wrapped up in their own thoughts. That, or they just assumed Klaus was just being Klaus, a man with the attention span of a hyperactive toddler who was always waltzing in and out of their lives whenever he needed something from them. Usually cash.

As the days went by, the figures that gathered around Five became clearer, amassing like a congregation in the pews. It always seemed to be those who died violently and unexpectedly that were the loudest. Everyone that Five had ever killed had died this way, usually simply because the commission decided that they were a liability to the continuation of time and space. Needless to say, they were pissed.

Time came when Klaus couldn’t bare to be around Five for more than a few minutes, let alone pay attention to whatever he was saying - usually something condescending or insulting, or both. He would find a way to casually slip out of the conversation without drawing too much attention to himself. Then, he’d go and stand in the hallway propped up against a wall with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears, fighting the urge to wander down to the darker parts of town for something to ease his pain. That’s exactly the position in which he found himself after Five had barged in on another of Diego and Luther’s arguments (which Klaus had been spectating like a football match), sipping a martini and telling everyone to stop being so childish. There was still something incredibly uncanny about seeing a thirteen year old school boy day drinking while glaring at them all like there was drool dripping from their mouths. Although they’d stopped throwing punches, Luther and Diego were staring one another down from opposite ends of the living room, pacing and surveying one another like wild animals. Five sat down beside Klaus, tutting and shaking his head.

“You know, I think they’ve actually regressed since they were thirteen, I didn’t think that was possible but,” he took another sip and cleared his throat, “here we are.” He turned to Klaus, who was already feeling uncomfortable as the ghosts began to converge on him, muttering. “What are they arguing about this time anyway?”

“I have no idea,” he answered, “and in a way that makes it more entertaining, I can pretend it’s about who ate the last cookie instead of all those serious adult things we’re all yelling about nowadays.”

Five nodded thoughtfully, going to take another swig of his drink. Klaus raised his hand to stop him from putting the glass to his lips. “You know, you should probably give the martinis a rest little buddy.”

Five rolled his eyes, reminding Klaus of the stubborn kid they’d lost sixteen years ago, the kid who’d role his eyes at anything and everything. The man that had returned was often jarringly different from the boy that the Hargreeves children remembered, but it was times like this when the old Five shone through. “Must I remind you that I’ve lived more than long enough to drink whatever I want, whenever I want it.” Five snarked. This was the moment he’d been dreading, an inescapable one on one encounter. Five would see right through any bullshit excuse he’d pull, he might not care, but he’d see.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it old timer, but that’s a perfectly good thirteen year old liver you’re fucking up, maybe just take it easy for a couple years.” Five just scoffed and went back to his drink.

A woman was screaming. Screaming his name and cursing the boy that sat beside him. An old man muttered in another language, blood pooling around white hair. Klaus was on edge, and he missed he days he would spend traipsing from gutter to gutter, living off thrills and empty air. And speed, there was that too. It was a miserable life, but at least he was alone. Ben was beside him, but Klaus could barely hear his voice in the din. At times like these, Ben was the only thing that kept him from going insane. He was the only one that could see what he saw, and could understand how he felt.

“Just stick it out,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. There was an illusion of touch, even if Ben’s hand would just phase right thought him. “Just a little bit longer and he’ll go back to the bar, you can sneak off.”

“Yeah, I know where I’ll be sneaking off too,” he sniggered, under his breath, "right to my fucking dealer."

“Don’t say that,” Ben encouraged, “it’ll get better, you just need to learn how to control them, it’s gonna take some time.”

Five must have noticed that something was up, between all the twitching and grimacing and looking generally freaked out. “Doing ok there?” He asked, eyebrow raised, considering his brother the way one might look at a pitiful, sort of disgusting beetle struggling on its back.

Klaus barely heard what he said over all the noise. He glanced sideways at Ben. “He asked if you were ok,” he said.

“Christ, of course he did, what a stupid question.” Klaus chuckled to himself, which only further raised Five’s concern. Klaus cleared his throat hastily, “Yeah, yeah I’m always fine, always,” he repeated, whispering. Five shrugged.

Luther had been the first to give up the testosterone-fuelled staring contest, leaving Diego to slump down on the couch opposite his two brothers, no doubt intent on brooding for as long as possible. A lot had changed since they’d all lived here as kids, but not this - the cycle of tension between the two self-appointed top-dogs of the family. It was sort of comforting in a sad way, in the same way that it comforted the others to see that little Klaus was still rolling joints and pouring his life down the gutter. Their scars ran deep.

For a moment the room was silent - well, silent for everyone but Klaus, who had never known true silence all his life. The ghosts kept calling out to him, as if he could help, some of them didn’t even realise they were dead. The career of a time travelling assassin amassed a collection of colourful characters, some of them must have been gone for centuries.

“Take it easy with those drinks, Five,” Diego said, as his brother went to get himself another hit from the bar. Five threw his brother a dead-eyed glare and continued on his way. Diego looked to Klaus as if to say ‘can you believe this kid.’ Klaus shrugged and basked in the brief relief of Five leaving his side and his undead fan club concentrating their attention elsewhere.

“You’re right, Delores,” Five’s voice sounded from across the room, “I don’t think either of them have had an original thought in their lives.” Diego badly suppressed a chuckle and rolled his eyes. Klaus answered him with a nervous laugh, a little too enthusiastic for the context. Truth was he only had half a mind of what was going on, the other half was listening to this 19th century French lady screaming his name with about as much coherency as one could have if their throat was sawn through with a serrated trowel. They were only getting louder, the more he thought about them the more visible he was. Go away, he thought, I can’t fucking help you.

“It’s scary, being where they are now,” Ben reminded him, “if I didn’t have you here, I would’ve been lost, just like them.”

“Yeah ‘cause I’m you’re fucking saviour,” Klaus mumbled, smiling to himself.

“Don’t push it, asshole. Just concentrate on them, your brothers, remind yourself what’s real.” Diego barely seemed to notice their little conversation, he was too busy seeing how many times he could spin a knife in the air before catching it.

“Well, I should be going,” Diego announced, sheathing one of his many knives and getting up from the couch. “You should come with me to the gym sometime Klaus, you could really use the, err,” he indicated towards his brother, skinny and shaking, “exercise.”

Five was coming back. Klaus shook his head vigorously, which only served to make to voices blur together. He wished he had something to smoke. Ben was saying something again, but his brother’s reassurance only added to the cacophony. Any comfort he could offer him was lost. The boy sat down opposite Klaus, arm draped over that weird mannequin. “Yeah, ok Delores I don’t need you on my case too. I’m drinking this martini, just deal with it.”

Klaus cleared his throat, as if to remind himself that he still existed underneath all the noise. “Hey, uh, Five, little buddy?” he mumbled, voice raspy, “you think you could tell them to shut up, just… just for a second.” He brought trembling hands up to his ears, clawing at the sides of his face. He couldn’t help but feel like a kid again, a kid locked in the dark while skeletons burrowed into his mind.

Five rolled his eyes, he didn’t have time for Klaus’ bullshit. “Thought you were trying to stay sober.”

“Oh, I’m sober alright, I’m so fucking sober that it’s like Dia de Muertos up in here.” He laughed, high and choked. “In case you’d forgotten, this is what sober is for me. You starting to see why I’ve avoided it for the past seventeen years?” The woman with the trowel in her neck was wailing, all of them trying to get his attention, as if he could do anything. “Lady can you SHUT IT!” He shouted. In surprise at being acknowledged, she actually stopped, for a moment anyway.

Five cocked his head to one side, examining empty air. As if concentrating hard enough would let him see what Klaus couldn’t avoid. “There are ghosts here?”

“Yeah, there’s a shit ton of ghosts here,” he said, matter-of-factly, “and they’re all royally pissed off!” He sighed, looking out at them all. All the gruesome wounds and twisted, sorrowful expressions, begging.

“Why are they hanging around this old place?” He inquired, taking another sip of his drink.

Klaus chuckled. “They’re here because of you. Jesus, Five, you killed a lot of people.” Five was taken aback, as if he’d never considered the resentment of the people he left behind, walking in these lonelier planes. They had been jobs to him, every single one. Just another step on his path back to his family.

“What, are they all just… standing there?”

“Oh yeah, standing, sitting, screaming like a fucking BITCH,” he directed that last outburst towards trowel lady, who shut her gurgling, bloodied mouth properly this time. “Dude, why would you stab her with a trowel that’s just cruel.”

Five was reminiscing, searching for some vague memory. “There was nothing else around, I had to improvise.” He sighed, looking Klaus in the eye for more than a fleeting moment for once. “This is why you’ve been avoiding me, then.”

“Oh, you noticed.” He said, waving his hand around in the air absent-mindedly. “I figured you were too, how shall I put this,” he paused, “far up your own ass.”

Five glared at him. “I notice everything, Klaus,” he sighed again, setting down his drink on the side table and letting the mannequin slide out from under his grip. He leant forward, brow furrowed. It was his thinking face, one of Klaus’ least favourite of Five’s expressions. “Why do they stick around? What do they want from me?”

“I’m not sure they know what they want,” Klaus considered. He usually avoided thinking about the ghosts at all, let alone their motives for being such colossal pains in his ass. “You were a hitman so, they died quick, right? Unexpectedly. Most of them are probably innocent too, I mean shit, Five, there’s a couple of kids here.”

“It was necessary, for the fate of the world, and for me to get back here.” Klaus suspected that rhetoric was more for Five’s benefit than anyone else’s. Everything was always necessary, no matter how fucked up.

“Oh, you don’t need to convince me of that, maybe you should try preaching to trowel lady instead.”

Five cleared his throat, a little reluctantly. “Uh, trowel lady,” he began.

“You don’t even remember her name?”

“No, I don’t remember her name,” he hissed, indignant, “I don’t even remember what she looked like.”

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Ben’s voice sounded from beside him, finally discernible.

“Shut up, Ben,” Klaus whispered, “why don’t you get all buddy-buddy with her, seeing as you’re both dead.”

“Wait, what did you say?” Five asked. Klaus shushed him and leant back, resting the back of his head on the top of the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s just,” Klaus began, “it’s never been this bad before. Back when we were kids, there’d be a few stray corpses hanging around, plus a couple of perps we’d done in on the job – crushed by Luthor, slashed up by Diego, ripped to gory little pieces by Ben.” Ben shot him a look. “Sorry,” he added, under his breath. “It’s only getting worse, most days I can’t even hear myself think, especially when you’re around so, thanks for that.”

Five went quiet for a moment. It was strange for him not to come out with some quick quip that made him sound both intelligent and like an utter asshole. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, and he was. “And I’m sorry to all of them too, if that’ll make a difference.”

“Well, it might, I don’t know how this shit works.” Klaus sighed and looked back at his brother. The faces that swam around the corners of his vision were fading to a mottled blur. “Thanks, Five.”

“Don’t mention it,” he smirked, that shit-faced sidewards grin. He picked up his drink again, putting it to his lips.

“Nope!” Klaus cried, getting to his feet. “Nope, absolutely not,” he snatched the drink from his brother’s hands.

“Hey, what the hell!”

“No more martinis for you,” he poured the contents of the glass out onto the carpet.

Ben rolled his eyes, “really?”

“What,” he hissed, “I’m improvising.” He cleared his throat, addressing Five, his face now wiped of that smug expression. “Only thing you’re getting now are apples and oatmeal, young man”

Five opened his mouth as if to retaliate. He shrugged instead, “fine, fine!” He spat, getting to his feet. “I’ve got work to do anyway, come on Delores.” He hauled the mannequin up with him, one arm wrapped around its disembodied torso. He muttered to himself as he traipsed up the stairs, “alright, alright Delores, you win. No more damn martinis.” And to think, Klaus pondered, they’d almost had a moment of familial bonding.

“That’s right, go to your room now,” he called in a sing-song tone. “So, Ben, I think that went well,” he muttered, grinning. The ghosts were still there, of course, they never really left, not if her was planning on staying sober. Some of them shuffled up the stairs after Five, some continued wandering, muttering, it was infuriating. But, he considered, it was better. Something was actually getting better for once in his life. He could get used to this.

#tua #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #bentacles #number five #five hargreeves #the boy #the seance #the horror #diego hargreeves #number four #number six #luthor hargreeves #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #fluff and angst

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dogbearinggifts · 4 years

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Little Tyrants, Chapter Three: No Other Superstar

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Vanya was four, Reginald Hargreeves visited her cell. But not to take her powers away. Just to let her know he could. Just to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her powers were a privilege he could rescind should she ever choose not to fall in line.

Years later, the old man is dead—and the last sibling Vanya wants to see has reappeared in the Academy courtyard.

This work is also available on AO3.

Author’s Note: If you’d like to read the asks that inspired this story, you can find them here and here. Follow-up asks can be found under the tags “vanya keeps her powers au” and “five returns as a kid au.”

The title of this chapter is taken from Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi.”

Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two

**********

Leonard had never been overly fond of coffee.

He drank it when it was in front of him, drained the mug and didn’t complain. To call it a show of strength would be overstating the issue—were that the case, his fellow inmates would have hosted more coffee-drinking contests than brawls, and Leonard could have risen to the top simply by forcing more and more of the stuff down his throat. No, there was something else to the ritual, something less dire yet more crucial. Drinking coffee, drinking it hot and bitter with no sugar or milk to make the experience somewhat pleasant, wasn’t proof of one’s strength, but denial of one’s weakness.

The thought brought a smile as he watched Vanya shake cocoa powder over a pile of whipped cream.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He allowed his smile to remain. “Just the way you take your coffee, is all.”

The whipped cream, a perfectly formed swirl of white, was nearly covered in a layer of soft brown, like the last patches of snow clinging to a mound of dirt. “Sugar and coffee with more sugar on top. If you’ve got a better way to toast my dad, let’s hear it.”

Leonard covered a flash of irritation with a chuckle. He’d learned a lot about Sir Reginald Hargreeves from the man’s daughter. For their first few dates, he’d taken her into or past various coffee shops around town, hoping to jog her memory of the incident that had, by some miraculous failure of the justice system, not landed her in prison. He’d expected a monologue about her restraining order or the woes of anger management; instead, he’d been treated to long lectures on Sir Reginald Hargreeves’ views of sweets and caffeinated beverages. Coffee. Coffee with sugar, coffee with creamer, coffee with nothing. Tea with milk added. Tea with dried fruit mixed in. Tea from the furthest reaches of the globe, tea from the local supermarket. He approved of none and had once spent thirty minutes tearing into the poor courier who mistakenly left a canister of ground coffee on the back step with the rest of the groceries. Harold Jenkins would have snatched up Reginald’s hardline stance on decaf and stowed it away in his collection of Umbrella Academy trivia. Leonard Peabody had been left with no choice but to smile and nod and wait for her to whine about something he could put to use.

Vanya could have launched into another diatribe, but instead she lifted her mug and sipped, leaving a dollop of whipped cream on her nose. On another girl, Leonard might have found it cute. “You’ve got a…”

“Oh!” She fumbled for a napkin, then wiped it away. “Thanks.”

“How was the service?”

“You mean the one we postponed?”

Leonard’s spirits gave a small leap. “Aw, you’re kidding!”

“Nope.” She sighed. “Apparently, when some brother comes back, you suddenly can’t have a funeral anymore.”

“Brother…which brother? The druggie?”

“No, Klaus was there already. I mean, he was in rehab, but he wasn’t the one who came back.”

Leonard filed that bit of information away, though he didn’t spy an immediate use for it. “The Moon guy?”

She shook her head over another sip of coffee, one that left no trace of whipped cream behind. “That’s Luther. Five’s the one who came back.”

“Five.” The boy had been given a name at some point, but the papers and magazines and comics had never introduced him as anything other than Number Five. For a time, Leonard had tried to work up the courage to ask his classmates to call him Number Eight, but that desire was long since dead. “Didn’t he leave when you were—what? Thirteen?”

“Yep. Just ran out the door and never came back.” The bitterness that worked its way into her tone was slow, growing slightly with each word. “Well. Until yesterday.”

“Damn. Must’ve been weird seeing him.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“He try to shred your mask again?”

He said it with a smile, but Vanya’s expression darkened. Leonard couldn’t say what about moping could rouse her anger, but whatever it was, he’d take it. “Nah. Just moped around the house until I left.”

Leonard tried to reconcile that image with the prankster he’d once admired, the one whose smile always hinted at an amusing secret. The two meshed about as well as oil and water. “What’s he got to be sad about? Came home, didn’t he?”

“I know, right?” Vanya took a bite of her bagel. Leonard had stood by as she followed the barista around the counter, watching her slice it and place it in a toaster oven and then a bag. The barista had managed to complete the task without error, despite her frequent glances toward the phone and its promise of a speedy response from the police. “He pops back in after sixteen years and he’s all anybody can think about.”

“That’s weird.” If Vanya didn’t intend to explain Five’s drastic change in personality, it would be pointless to ask. “I mean, it seems like they’d want to get your dad’s funeral over with.”

“God, you’re not kidding. I told ‘em we should just have it then, and Allison’s all ‘Oh, well, we really should wait, Five’s upset and we’ve got to wait for him to get better.’” She rolled her eyes, letting the bagel fall to her plate. “Come on. How long does it take to go outside and dump some ashes on the ground?”

“I dunno. The Sir Reginald Hargreeves, dead?” Leonard nearly added at last and caught himself just in time. “Maybe they want to be in the right frame of mind.”

“What frame of mind? High? That’s what Klaus’ll be. Everyone else’ll just be bored.” She lifted her bagel again and talked around her next bite. “Don’t know why they keep dragging it out.”

“Nobody wants to be there, huh?”

“Nope.”

“So why’re they staying? Couldn’t you all just say nope, no funeral for you and move on?”

Vanya sighed again. “I guess there’s something in his will about how he needs a real funeral with all his kids there. Can’t leave until we get the service over with, but you know. Nobody in my family knows how to do things the easy way.”

“Or the smart way.” From the way Vanya spoke, he’d figured a family reunion would be about as welcome as a family case of scabies, and the sooner they could all leave the Academy and return to their lives, the better. That probably still held true, but if the five of them—six now—were legally obligated to carry out a memorial service which they’d chosen to postpone, then it bought Leonard some time, though he couldn’t say how much.

She sniffed. “You think my family’s ever done anything the smart way?”

*******

Number Five. An odd name, but not the oddest Hazel had found waiting for him in a Commission file.

Much of it followed standard Commission format: a photograph, a location, a handful of scattered facts. Sometimes the latter came in handy, sometimes they didn’t. Learning that Zoya Popova had a bit of a sweet tooth hadn’t aided in her death, though the tidbit stuck with Hazel long after her body had cooled.

It was the photograph, in this case, that held his attention. Dark hair, dirty and dulled. Pale skin clinging to cheekbones more prominent than they ought to be. Whoever had snapped the photo had cropped out his surroundings, leaving only his face, dominated by wide dark eyes averted from a camera they hadn’t seen. Most targets didn’t smile in their file photos, and Number Five was no exception.

“What’re you looking at?”

Fifty or sixty jobs ago, Hazel might have told her he was studying the target, seeking out any additional information that might help them carry out the job as quickly and cleanly as possible. Staring down yet another night on a mattress that should’ve been thrown out five years back with the smell of cat piss in his nostrils, Hazel couldn’t muster up a single reason to lie.

“Target. Number Five. How old d’you think he is?”

“I dunno. Twelve. Fifteen, maybe.” Cha-Cha opened the closet door, peered into the shallow space, and moved on to the restroom. “Should be easier than the last guy.”

That was Hazel’s cue to offer a few words of agreement, maybe crack a joke before letting the matter drop; but Cha-Cha had nudged aside the curtain now. She might as well have grabbed a handful of his hair and given one good yank, for all the good that rustle did his aching head. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m making sure we have enough space to do what we’ve gotta.”

Hazel let himself fall onto the nearest bed, the creak masking his sigh. “Run in, shoot the kid, run out. You really think we need another plan?”

“If this one goes the way that job in Guadalajara did, yeah.” She closed the bathroom door behind her and moved past him to check the front window. “Should’ve had a backup plan for that one.”

“Still did it on time.”

“Doesn’t mean we did it well.” She pressed herself against the wall, leaning back to inspect the window without opening the curtains. “You heard what the Handler said.”

He’d heard. And heard, and heard. The Commission was lucky they had all the time in the world at their command, considering their managers spent so much of it lecturing agents for perceived failures and slights. “Long as we get it done.”

“You know that’s not how it works, asshole.”

Hazel sighed. Working for the Commission wasn’t like delivering the mail or washing dishes in the backroom. Completing the task on schedule was never enough—no, they wanted flair. Nothing too noticeable, nothing that might be traced back to them, but speed alone wasn’t enough. Professionalism. Style. A body that left few clues for the authorities and enough questions to keep the case in their minds long after it had gone cold. One of those things on its own might earn a nod of approval; it took all three of them together to gain the Handler’s praise.

Her inspection concluded, Cha-Cha turned from the window, but her foot snagged on the briefcase, sending her stumbling across the floor, nearly falling onto Hazel’s bed.

“Shit!” Cha-Cha caught herself, arms braced against the bed, and pushed her way to her feet. “Why the hell’d you leave that thing on the floor? You know we’re supposed to carry it!”

“I was sitting down! You expect me to carry it while I’m sitting here?”

“I expect you to not leave it in the middle of the goddamn floor!”

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t have tripped over it if you’d watched where you were—”

“It’s not about me tripping, it’s about you leaving the goddamn briefcase out where anybody can grab it!”

“Oh, like we’ll have the whole city walkin’ on through while we’re here.”

“Just put it somewhere safe, will you?”

Hazel could have tugged it closer to his bed, shoved it as far under as the boards would allow. That was the response she expected, the one she wanted. It would have been easier, ended the whole exchange on a somewhat peaceful note and made it less eligible to become the topic of a later argument.

In one swift motion, he was on his feet. A few steps took him to a large grate set into the wall, and a few twists of the screwdriver attachment in his pocketknife had the screws in his hand and then on the table.

“Oh, no. You are not putting it in there.”

“You told me to put it somewhere safe.” He hefted the briefcase into the mouth of the shaft with a clanking thud. “And there it is. Somewhere safe.”

“The Handbook says we’ve gotta carry it at all times.”

“Well, then you carry it.”

He watched her, grate in his hands. After a moment, she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and turned away.

“Well, all right, then.”

Hazel put the grate back in place, reached for the screws, and realized it would be more prudent to leave the grate unattached to the wall. Of all the things to land him in hot water with the Commission, not being able to reach the briefcase in time because he’d sealed it inside the wall seemed like one of the dumbest.

When he got to his feet, she was now the one with the file open. Number Five’s photograph sat off to one side, the left edge of his face obscured by her thumb as she read what scant details the Commission had provided. “Any idea where to start with this kid?”

“Should probably find him first.”

“Thanks, dumbass. Couldn’t have guessed that.”

“You asked.”

Cha-Cha tapped a forefinger against the page. “Says his name’s Number Five. Can’t be that many kids in one city named after numbers.”

“Probably not the only kid here with a shitty name.”

She dropped her arm and the file with it. “Now why the hell would you think that?”

“Oh, come on. With our luck, they probably sent us to the one city where every kid’s got some bullshit name. If there’s a kid named Number Five, there’s gotta be one named Gas Station Bathroom or That Year I Washed Dishes With a Man Named Hank.”

“Well, if that’s what we’re dealing with, then we should still be able to ask around and find a kid named Number Five.”

That tone, so purposefully even and intentionally calm, set Hazel on edge. He’d agreed to travel with a partner, not a parent. He’d agreed to work alongside her, not submit to extended lectures and constant condescension. “You know it’s not gonna be that easy.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s easy or not.” She hefted their package onto the bed. “As long as it gets done.”

*******

Vanya didn’t discuss her family when she played the violin.

After their months together, in whatever one might call their semblance of a relationship, Leonard still hadn’t decided how he felt about that. No talking meant no endless litany of woes caused by a family she hadn’t seen in years or a court system that had decided a slap on the wrist was too harsh for what she’d done. It also meant a halt to tidbits about that family, snippets of information Leonard could commit to memory and scribble down later. There was a silver lining to every cloud, as he’d heard, but in this case he couldn't be sure which was which.

The comics had gotten her power wrong. Those writers, those artists—they’d understood her capabilities. They’d known how easily she could bend sound to her will, how she could magnify footsteps and rustling newspapers into a force ready to smash an entire wall to bits or toss robbers and kidnappers about like dishrags. All of those things had made it onto the page, though absent the blood and screams Vanya mentioned as matter-of-factly as she mentioned the time of day.

Her violin changed things.

It didn’t rob her powers of their destructive potential. He knew as much long before the first strains of Tchaikovsky sent the curtains dancing as though in a gale and set her lampshade swaying back and forth, before the force of it hit him like a drumbeat blared through speakers placed too close. And it would be a mistake to say she had less control without her music. He’d seen and heard enough to know otherwise.

But there was a distinction. Without her violin, her power was a hurricane barreling down the coast, ripping trees up by their roots and tearing homes to pieces before tossing them aside. When she played, it was like an army marching in columns, guns at the ready and every step synchronized. Both were under her command, yet the difference between them was the difference between a man with a pistol demanding money in a back alley, and a man in a tuxedo demanding compliance from behind a revolver. After six months, Leonard still couldn’t say which he preferred her family surrender to.

The final notes faded; the ripples through her apartment quieted. Vanya gave a small bow as Leonard clapped.

“Was that okay? I felt like the middle was a little shaky.”

“No, it was great.” The sheer level of power she packed into a simple string of notes was enough to give him chills. Were that power intentional—had she infused the music with the full brunt of her fury—she could have easily brought the complex crashing down around their ears.

She set her violin and bow in their case before returning to the sheet music, frowning over pages filled with notes she herself had arranged. “Something’s just not working there. Not sure what it is.”

Both her playing and composing held flaws, but Leonard knew so only from her habit of calling attention to them. Had he spent his teen years learning violin under the watch of Sir Reginald Hargreeves rather than waiting to be shuffled from juvenile hall to prison, he might have been able to spot them more readily than she did, point them out before she realized what she’d done, show her precisely which holes they created in the overall quality of her piece and tug at those holes until the whole production lay in shreds at her feet.

Instead, he kissed her cheek. She’d tensed at his first attempt months prior, but an apology, a frank discussion, and a pointed avoidance of similar acts for weeks afterward, had kept her from slamming the door in his face. Now, she relaxed at the touch. “It sounds fine to me.”

Her smile was genuine, soft and grateful. Almost charming. “Glad you like it. I’m still kinda new to this whole composing thing.”

It wasn’t enough that she could play music—oh no, she had to compose it too. Even with his limited knowledge, he could tell her efforts were nowhere near as complex as those of the composers she admired, but they sounded good. Pleasant. Had he not known the composer to be one of the Hargreeves, he could have enjoyed it. Here she was, writing her own music and playing the greats onstage, while he refurbished antiques for doddering old women and young people who thought themselves the first human beings in history to discover treasures in the past.

“Ever, uh….” The words were clear in his mind, the question more of a demand than anything; but he’d learned that the more uncertain his tone, the longer he hesitated before questions, the more it put her at ease. “Ever think of playing that for your family?”

“You’re kidding, right?” She stacked the pages together and slid them back into a folder, then stepped out of his grip as she snapped her violin case closed. “You know how many concerts of mine they’ve been to? None. Not a single one.”

It was amazing, he thought, how quickly bitterness could replace the uncertainty in her tone, take her smile and turn it into a scowl. Not every mention of her family did that, but those that did needed to be remembered, placed together and compared until commonalities emerged. “Aw, come on. I’m sure they’d listen to that.”

“Maybe if you tied ‘em up first.”

Leonard had considered the notion back when his plan was still an idea, when his dates with Vanya were still awkward and suffused with the sort of tension one might expect from international negotiations; but it had never progressed beyond that. A plan that took out Klaus and perhaps Diego before running afoul of Allison and Luther was no better than a plan that had him walk into the Academy unarmed and announce his intent to see none of them leave alive. “I’m sure it’d go better than you think.”

Her expression, never to be mistaken for one of joy and harmony, darkened even further. “Not with Five there.”

“He doesn’t like violin?”

“He doesn’t like me playing violin. I tell you he replaced all the strings once?”

“No.”

“Yeah. Changed ‘em out for yarn right before Dad wanted to hear me play.” Her jaw clenched. “Took me forever to find the strings.”

“Couldn’t your dad just buy you some new ones?”

“That’d make the most sense, wouldn’t it?”

She didn’t elaborate further, and Leonard knew better than to wait for more of the story. It could be difficult to predict when she’d launch into a longer tale and when the line or two she gave him was the story itself, but he preferred the option that didn’t compel him to listen and offer sympathy for minutes at a stretch.

Vanya took her own composition back to where she kept sheet music for the orchestra separate from sheet music for her lessons. While her back was turned, Leonard cast a few quick glances about her apartment in search of some tool to turn the conversation back toward her family. As far as he could tell, she’d brought nothing back from the Academy, and kept nothing at hand to remind her of the eventual service in her father’s honor.

She glanced at the clock. “I’ve still got a while before I need to head to my next lesson. Want to walk around downtown for a while?”

Leonard would have sooner returned to prison, but she wanted to spend time with him. That was what mattered. He’d learned what she wanted, paid a little above asking price, and begun his investment. The more loyalty he gave her, the more kisses and hand-holding and rants about the unfairness of a world that bowed to her power he endured, the more trust she would reward him with.

He smiled. “Sounds great.”

********

Noon came and went. Hazel’s first year as a field agent had taught him not to expect meals at regular hours or intervals, that the job came first and his needs came second, if they placed at all. Combined with the jet lag he only managed to shake on jobs that lasted longer than they should have and the confusion that came with jumping from to day to night and back again, and Hazel had learned that mealtime was whenever he could set aside a few minutes to wolf down a bite.

Even so, he was hungry by noon, so that seemed as good a time as any to start the usual argument.

“Now? We’re this close to finding that kid.”

“No we’re not.”

“We’ve just gotta look a little longer.”

“Look for what? It’s the middle of a school day. Even if we find out where he’s going, we’re not gonna get him. Should just wait until school lets out.”

“If the Handler’d wanted us to do that, she’d have dropped us off right in the afternoon.”

Hazel watched a red sports car pull slowly into the parking lot of a burger joint, then join a line of cars at the drive-thru. Sitting the way he did, elbow propped up near the window with his chin in his hand as though they were on a sightseeing venture and not a business trip, never failed to annoy his partner, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. “Just more shitty planning on her part.”

“Shitty—” Only the motion of the car, it seemed, kept Cha-Cha from whirling in her seat. “They monitor time, Hazel. They know what they’re doing when they send somebody out first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah. Right when they can’t even nab the kid they’re going after.” He shifted a little, trying in vain to relieve some of the pressure on his back. “God. Hate chasing down kids.”

“How would you know? Number Five’s the first main target who’s not old enough for a driver’s license.”

“Yeah, well, I hate it already.”

Rather than launch into another lecture, Cha-Cha sighed, her shoulders sagging a little. “Yeah, me too. Been a bitch to find him.”

That wasn't the reason Hazel would have chosen, but he didn’t offer one of his own. “You’d think they’d give us a little more information.”

“They’re doing the best they can.”

She had no proof they were, and Hazel had no proof they weren’t. As management styles went, the Handler’s was about as transparent as a soot-covered brick wall. She gave orders, and those orders were followed. Explanations were for those higher up the food chain. Questions were for those in charge. If Hazel broke into headquarters and found extensive profiles of past targets complete with facts that could have ended a job in minutes rather than hours, he wouldn’t even blink.

He said nothing as Cha-Cha eased the car into a drive-thru. His stomach turned at the thought of another greasy burger, but searches for a target often placed her in a strange state of mind. If hours passed with no sign of the target, she’d push comforts aside. No glances toward scenery, no comments on the sights they prowled. No sitting down to rest. No water until her voice cracked or coughing set in. Most often it was Hazel who urged her to take a break for lunch, and then she’d complain about the smallest wait, try to sneak ahead in line when no one was looking. If she’d chosen to stop for lunch all on her own, hunger must have made it impossible for her to think of anything but. He tried to enjoy the anomaly for what it was, but his mind drifted toward a real, sit-down meal in an actual restaurant with table linens and napkins, a plate of manicotti that wasn’t warmed in a microwave beside a basket of garlic bread and a salad with housemade dressing and fresh croutons….

“Hey. Asshole.”

Cha-Cha’s hand against his shoulder shook his thoughts away. Cool spring air floated through her open window; behind her sat a speaker and a menu. Faded letters on a backlit piece of yellowing plastic spelled out the names of simple meals. This place must have had the shortest wait, and it didn’t take a genius to guess why.

“Just…uh…” The restaurant didn’t offer burgers, as he’d expected, but sandwiches. A nice tuna sub from a place like this would probably leave him flat on his back in the motel room, but the threat of hospitalization was enough to set him on a different course. The Commission didn’t take kindly to agents who brought their identities to the brink of discovery. “Roast beef is fine. Provolone cheese.”

She repeated his order to the speaker, then pulled forward. Hazel half-expected her to snap at him, to remind him to get his head in the game because this job needed the both of them, but she kept her gaze forward. One forefinger tapped the steering wheel.

“Number Five.” He couldn’t tell if she said to him or only herself. “Who the hell names their kid Number Five?”

“Maybe they only wanted one kid and didn’t bother naming the rest.”

“Why not just give ‘em all names that start with the same letter or something?” She passed a few bills to the cashier, took the change, and drummed her finger again. “There’s gotta be something else. Commission always gives us a couple clues, right?”

He scoffed. “You call those clues?”

“Well, they help.”

“Since when?”

“Beijing, 1411?” She didn’t give Hazel a chance to call that the fluke it had been. “That name. Number Five. Name that weird’s gotta be a clue.”

“You didn’t say that when we went after Polly Esther Slack.”

“We found her in—what? Two hours? Don’t need a real big clue for a girl who spends every Wednesday night and Sunday morning in the same damn place.”

“Well, far as we know, Number Five’s not spending his time anywhere.”

“He’s somewhere, and somebody’s seen him.”

She was right, but Hazel wasn’t about to admit as much. Not aloud. “So what’re we missing here?”

She accepted the bag from the window and handed it off. Hazel took his sandwich and handed Cha-Cha hers.

“I dunno,” she said. “But we’re missing something.”

Hazel unwrapped his sandwich. Pale bread, suspiciously cold toward the center. Bits of dry beef stuck out from all sides, and a flash of yellow fought to tear his attention from the wilted lettuce. Part of him wanted to swear. Part of him wanted to demand they return to that godawful place and demand a redo.

The rest of him lacked the energy for a fight with no chance of victory.

He took a bite. The bread, at least, had been thawed enough for that, but not enough to conceal its origins. That was what held most of his attention—but it distracted him from the dry beef and processed cheese, so he followed that bite with another, and another. Cha-Cha didn’t touch her food. She drove in silence, pausing at stop signs but otherwise not deviating from whatever course the road set.

In an instant, his sandwich was nearly pitched out of his hands as Cha-Cha slammed on the brakes.

“Cha!” His hand snagged the grab handle and he clung to it. “What the hell—”

She executed the fastest three-point turn he’d ever seen, one that left him glancing all around in search of police lights. None appeared.

“We’re going downtown,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I know how to find this kid.”

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