#but i wish there was more breathing room for lucie. the doctor keeps being all sad (fair his life is awful) but lucie's going Through It | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

matildashoney · 3 years

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𝙸 𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎? // 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚆𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚂𝚎𝚎

𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝚂 // 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 // 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚁: 𝙱𝙸𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁, 𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝙾𝚂𝙿𝙸𝚃𝙰𝙻𝚂, 𝙰𝙽𝚇𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚈

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 @theharriediaries 𝚊𝚗𝚍 @truckerhatharry 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚊-𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝚒'𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

Truthfully, Harry isn’t sure what time it is, this time around. Clocks seem to evade him, and numbers seem to dance into intricate formations that he can’t seemingly understand.

Harry Styles stops time when he walks into the room. Caroline always says that it’s the commanding presence, the nature of his personality, the way he holds everyone’s attention so easily that makes him stop an entire room and gain their attention. Caroline always says that Harry is the type to make everyone know they’re important and needed in the space, that there isn’t one person that would be in the group or the audience or the meeting that wouldn’t feel like they’re an essential part of whatever is happening.

Caroline always says that Harry makes her feel that way.

Harry makes the effort to be this way if he’s being honest. Harry makes the effort to hold everyone’s attention and make everyone feel important, because, for years, he portrayed the demeanor of someone who thought he was the most important person in the room, that he was where all the attention should be. That is until he met someone who made him see how truly minuscule in the affairs of universes and worldly happenings, he is. That is until Harry met Caroline, and he realized that there was nothing more that he wanted than to know everything and anything about her, instead of talking about himself, for once.

Until Harry met Caroline, and everything changed.

Harry isn’t sure what time it is, right now. Green eyes stare at the stark white walls surrounding him, his head leaning against a concrete foundation and the clicking of the clocks on the wall – and yet, he still can’t seem to find the time from anyone – and a raging headache forming at the forefront of his mind. His eyes shut quickly, squeezing closed to try and make the time pass any quicker than it is. Time is going so slowly, though, that he thinks he might scream. Harry wants to scream, honestly. That might make the pain easier to swallow, the heartache easier to handle.

Going based on the trajectory of the situation and where they are, Harry would be going home alone, tonight, and that’s a pill that he’s not prepared to swallow quite yet. That, and the idea that someone might tell him something that he really doesn’t want to hear, something about Caroline that will break him at the core.

Caroline wasn’t … you know … right?

Thinking that makes Harry want to be sick. There would have been a sign. There would have been some sort of something if she was. There would have been a note, a letter, something. And yet, there was nothing when Harry came home; nothing that could give him a sign or a clue or something that will tell him if he needs to worry or not.

Harry couldn’t make sense of it.

“Mr. Styles,” the nurse says, coming through a hallway and gently touching his shoulder to garner his attention, her soft demeanor comforting him as he looks with exhausted and bloodshot eyes, tears staining his cheeks. “Unfortunately, we have to keep Ms. Ryan for the twenty-four-hour waiting period, with her history and her family history, to make sure she’s not trying to hurt herself or others.” Harry nods understandingly without saying a word – that much was expected – and stands on his feet, ready to see his fiancée, finally. “Honestly, based on Ms. Ryan’s previous welfare checks and hospital stays, the doctor was not expecting it to go as well as it did. Ms. Ryan’s welfare check went much better than the others in her history, which is great news.”

“Think that we both know my wife isn’t okay, but is she okay enough for me to see her?” Harry asks nervously, unsure of the technical aspects of a hospital stay and the regulations that they’re going to have to follow. Caroline has never had this bad of an episode in their time together, and this has scared Harry more than anything. “Am I allowed to see her? I really want to see her. I’ll follow whatever regulations you have, but if I could see her, that would be really kind of you.”

That’s the first time Harry’s said the word out loud. Wife. Caroline would be Harry’s wife, soon. This could effectively tamper with the timeline and how long that very well takes. Harry doesn’t care about any of that like he knows Caroline will. Harry cares about Caroline getting better and coming home.

“Of course, Mr. Styles. Caroline can have visitors, now, and you can see her, stay with her, too. Caroline is dehydrated, mainly, and malnourished from not eating for a week, so she’s hooked up to a lot of machines, just so you’re aware,” the nurse says smoothly and calmly, checking her notes on her clipboard and reading technical terms that Harry can’t seem to grasp or understand. “Caroline is not suicidal, though. Truthfully, that’s what counts, right now. That’s what everyone cares about.”

Caroline sat in the hospital bed when Harry walks inside with the nurse, with wires clinging to her body, nibbling on a sandwich while he walks right to her and sits at her bedside. Harry swears that he won’t be able to handle seeing her like this, again. Harry wants to be sick just thinking about it. Caroline, naturally, makes a joke about the hospital socks, saying, “My third pair of hospital socks and they’ve finally given me something other than that hideous orange color. Oh, the joys of London Town!”

“Callie,” Harry sighs, shaking his head and breathes out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he leans onto the bed and kisses her forehead as she clicks her heels together in the baby blue sticky socks underneath the blanket and makes the wish for the two to be home, in the comfort of their own bed. Harry thought he couldn’t stay, that he wasn’t allowed, and that killed him, to know that she would be alone in a room by herself, having to sit alone with her thoughts for days. Thankfully, that’s simply not the case, tonight. He doesn’t think he could have handled being alone, tonight, anyways. Not after what he saw. “Callie, you scared the living shit out of me.”

Caroline sets her sandwich on the tray, wipes her hands on her napkin, and opens her blanket. reaching for Harry with wide arms, smiling softly when Harry immediately rushes towards her and circles his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly and breathing in her scent. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that to me, again,” Harry says strictly, sternly, his eyes welling with tears as his fingers gently brush over her cheek and his lips meet her forehead softly. “Caroline, I need you to take this seriously, okay? Baby, you didn’t eat for nearly two weeks.”

Caroline whispers something in Harry’s ear, something that he can’t really understand, and he brushes it away, simply going back to holding her tightly and breathing in the sweet apple scent that lingers in her hair. Harry assumes it was something of another apology, which isn’t something he really wants, per se, it’s more the fact that she didn’t tell him, that she didn’t reach out to him. Harry knows why, and he feels guilty, so guilty.

Caroline doesn’t like bothering Harry when he’s doing business; especially not business that involves moving Shakespeare’s Library to elsewhere in the United Kingdom and would be a great investment opportunity. Caroline doesn’t like being the reason Harry can’t focus – unless it’s for ulterior motives – and the fact of the matter is, Harry wouldn’t have gone away on business if he knew Caroline was about to face an episode like she is, right now. Caroline and Harry both know that much.

Harry, then, feels incredibly guilty when something of the sort happens, because not only did he not know, but he wasn’t there to fix it. Harry likes to fix it.

“Callie, what happened that made you do this?” Harry wracks his brain trying to find a reason because Caroline was so good before he left. Caroline was writing and eating and functioning before he was set to leave; something must’ve happened in the day that he was flying and settling in that made her break. “What triggered it, Callie? I know something did. I wouldn’t have left you alone if I knew you were in an episode, like that. That’s not how we do things; you’re supposed to tell me. I’m supposed to be there for you, Cal.”

“Harry, it wasn’t anything.”

“Caroline Elizabeth Ryan.” Harry never uses Caroline’s whole name like that. That’s when it occurs to Caroline how poorly Harry is dealing with this, right now. Caroline, usually, only has to worry about how she is dealing with her episodes, she’s nearly forgotten there’s a whole other person on the receiving end, now, a person she loves very deeply. “Does it have to do with your mother? Is Lucy why you’re in here? ‘Cause I swear to God, Callie, I’ll march myself to wherever she has and have a kindly chat with her.”

“My mother has nothing to do with this,” Caroline says through her teeth, and Harry can tell that she’s lying. Caroline’s tell, her quirk, so to speak, is that fact that her jaw clenches tightly and she has to speak through her teeth whenever she’s lying. Caroline doesn’t lie to Harry – it’s one of their boundaries – and it’s easy for him to tell when she is. Harry tilts his head, his eyes pointing at her directly and his lips pursed together in a straight line, his expression saying everything that he isn’t. “Can we talk about this later? I’m exhausted and I missed you. I can hear that you’re angry with me, too. I don’t like that you’re angry, with me, right now.”

“Caroline,” Harry says calmly, sighing out a breath between his lips, shaking his head and sitting on the corner of the makeshift mattress that the hospital has laid her on, “not this time, okay. Can’t, you can’t shy away from this conversation, this time.”

“I’m not ready to have this conversation, Harry.”

Harry’s voice breaks, the tears beginning to fall down his cheeks again and the pain collecting in his throat, the lump that he swallowed down when he walked into the hospital room now resurfacing and bringing the tears to his eyes. “Callie, tell me. This isn’t something to run away from.”

“My mother,” Caroline swallows thickly, her eyes welling with tears at the thought, shaking her head to try and shake the incessant, nagging feeling that she’s going to cry, “she, um, sent me a letter in the mail. It came the day you left.”

“And what did it say, Cal?” That’s what makes Caroline break into hysterics, the six words making tears pour down her cheeks, her chest heaving with shaky breaths, her hands covering her face with her fingertips digging into her eyes, trying to hide the tiny markings her nails are leaving in her face. Harry gently pries her hands away, kissing her fingers and scooting closer to her body, taking her hands in his and holding them tightly. “Baby, tell me.”

Caroline sucks a breath in through her teeth and hurriedly says, “My mother is back in the country with her mother and would appreciate it if, even though we live only a few hours away, I wouldn’t contact her anymore. Lucy said that it’s great that I’m doing well and have my life together, that she’s happy for me, but she would prefer to not have any contact with me.” Harry kisses Caroline’s knuckles and gently wipes at her eyes, the wires getting tangled in their hands. “Harry, why doesn’t she want me?”

“Callie, baby,” Harry sighs, sliding himself closer and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, bringing her into his chest, her face tucking into his neck and immediately wetting his shirt with her tears. Harry doesn’t mind it, he would rather have her crying in his arms than see her unconscious in their bedroom, again. “I’m sorry your mother is so horrible to you. I’m so sorry.”

“All I want is for her to want me, Harry,” Caroline sniffles, shaking her head and feeling done with the conversation, taking her hands from her thighs and wiping her eyes, sighing into Harry’s neck and kissing his skin lightly for comfort. “Kiss? Could really use one, right about now.”

“Always, love. My Buggy.” Harry smiles softly and nudges Caroline’s face with his nose, his lips laying a kiss on her cheek and waiting for her to tilt her head slightly towards him to kiss her mouth. His mouth moves slowly on hers, kissing her sweetly and gently, as though a slightly harsh touch could leave her bruised and bandaged. “Callie, you mean everything to me. More than you’ll ever know.”

“Can’t be more than what you mean to me.” Caroline shakes her head in disapproval. “Hate that you still call me ‘Buggy’, as though I’m still a nuisance, to you, though,” she says, and he laughs breathily, at that, because it’s not the reason he calls her that, now, but it was. Oh God, Harry thought Caroline was such an annoyance when they first met. “Hard to believe I used to hate your guts,” Caroline giggles, tucking her chin to her chest and spinning her engagement ring on her finger, the tiny diamond sitting perfectly on her hand. Harry hates how small it is, but it’s Caroline’s favorite jewellery she’s ever owned. “Oh boy, the hate I had for you. I could’ve beat you up, Harry Styles.”

“Caroline Ryan, all you would’ve done is start to cry.” Harry shakes his head. “Barely a punch to the jaw, which I would’ve deserved, by the way, and you would’ve been in tears. I love you for it, but you wouldn’t handle that very well.”

“Hey!” Harry laughs for the first time in hours, a hearty laugh, a laugh that makes Caroline’s heart swell in her chest and feel like it’s going to burst with how much she loves him. God, Caroline really loves Harry. Like, wholeheartedly in love with him, type of love. “I could’ve done it. I could’ve done it, without crying. Maybe a little stutter-stepping, but I could’ve done it.”

“All right, all right,” Harry sighs, leaning forward and kissing her forehead, lingering on her skin to breathe her in, his eyes squeezing shut when she grabs his cheeks and kisses his mouth, once more. “Have all those tests and meetings with the doctors, tomorrow, and you need your rest.”

Caroline’s eyes go wide. “Can you stay? Do you have to go?”

“I’ll be right there, all night,” he says, pointing towards the makeshift lounger in the corner of the room with blankets and a pillow laying on the cushion. “Callie, I promised you ages ago, I’m not going anywhere.”

Caroline sighs, nodding quietly and pursing her lips together. Harry’s words are true, she knows this with her whole heart, but there is the angry and subconscious part of her brain that tells her that Gabriel Ryan said that, too. Her father said that, too. Caroline swallows a lump in her throat, breathing through her nose and shoving her tray of food away from her, suddenly feeling exhausted and mentally drained. Maybe it was the conversation about her mother, maybe it was the promise that her father broke, maybe it is the idea that Harry is there and no one else cares. Maybe it’s everything all at once making Caroline feel so utterly tired, but her eyes are beginning to shut against her cheeks and her heart rate is beginning to slow. Harry can see that she’s finished by her quiet actions, kissing her cheek and gently moving from the mattress to the lounger, looking at Caroline with concerned eyes as she turns onto her side and yanks the blanket closer around her neck.

“Goodnight, Bug. I love you,” Harry whispers, kissing her forehead and sighing against her skin as she nods her head. Harry can see the depression oncoming, the confession of her mother’s letter and the promise that her father broke lingering in the air. Caroline is great at putting on a façade around everyone else, but with Harry, it’s barely functioning. “Things are going to get better, Callie. Do you trust me?” Caroline nods silently, tears welling in her eyes and beginning to fall down her cheeks. Harry walks to the lounger, cranking the lever and turning out the recliner to lay on for the evening. Caroline’s voice draws his attention, turning away from his bed and listening to her carefully. “Say that one more time, for me, Cal?”

“Can you read me some of your poetry?” she whispers, the lights barely illuminating her eyes that he adores so much. Caroline doesn’t turn around, remaining facing the doorway and listening carefully. “Maybe from when we didn’t like each other so much. Tell me that things get better.”

Harry smiles softly, taking his leather notebook – the one that he carries with him everywhere – and opening to the first page written with an indented ‘C’ in the header. “This is from the day I was late to our very first annotations meeting.”

Caroline giggles, sniffling quietly and then says, “Oh, I was infuriated with you, that day. God, I asked Rigsby for a new annotation partner, too. Think I told you that I hope you never fall in love with someone like me.”

“That’s absolutely correct,” Harry laughs, shaking his head at the memory. Meeting Caroline and the very first few months of knowing her were so difficult, Harry thought they’d never get along. Harry made it a challenge for himself, to have Caroline like him, even the slightest bit, and that started his fascination and infatuation with her; the one that made him fall in love with her. “Are you ready, love?”

Caroline sucks in a breath and rolls to her side, her eyelashes wet against her cheeks as she stares at Harry adoringly, forcing a smile and swallowing back a choked sob as she notices how fully written in this notebook is, how many pages are marked and colored and decorated in intricate drawings that represent the poetry he’s scribbled in his writing. Caroline notices the ‘C’ imprinted in the front of the notebook, and that’s when she realizes. “Have you moved every poem about me into that notebook, Shakespeare?”

“Maybe.”

Caroline nods silently, sucking in a breath through her nose and snuggling deeper into the sheets on the mattress, smiling softly at the man laying across from her, ready to read his poetry. “Okay.”

Harry dramatically clears his throat, smiling softly at Caroline, his fingertip holding the page where the poetry begins on the day, they met alone for the very first time. “you told me that you never fall in love // that it’s too dangerous, too risky // and i have begun to wonder // that if love is too risky // what is it that makes you feel safe.”

Caroline waits at the coffee shop for nearly three hours without a show from Harry.

Having three coffees and one muffin and about three hours of gearing up to even come to the coffee shop alone, Caroline is fed up and ready to leave. That is until, the floppy tendrils of curls show up rushing through the door at a near four in the afternoon, sputtering apologies as he flops his things on the spare chair at the table and hurries to the counter to buy himself a drink. He looks dishevelled, as though he’s woken up only minutes ago and hurried here, and part of Caroline wants to feel sorry for him that he’s slept until two in the afternoon, most likely, and forgotten.

That part of Caroline is very small, though.

“Caroline, I’m so sorry,” Harry says hurriedly, brushing through his hair and taking a seat at the table and pulling out his notebook and his computer and textbook with the play written inside. “I overslept. I was working on this poetry assignment, all night. Not trying to make an excuse. This was our plan all week. I’m sorry.”

“Let’s just get started. Our discussions are due in less than,” Caroline says distractedly, looking at her phone for the time, “six hours.”

“Right, yeah,” Harry says embarrassedly, his cheeks turning red beneath the softened lights of the coffee shop, his hands slightly shaking as he was rushing to get himself together, his papers scattered in his notebook. “Have you annotated anything, yet? Obviously, there are my annotations that you can copy, if you need them.”

Caroline laughs, shaking her head and letting out a frustrated laugh, “Harry, that’s, um, nice, I think.” Her eyes are squinted as she stares at him, and then she turns to her textbook and opens to the first act of the play. “But, in the three hours I was waiting for you, I finished the entire first act. I’m ready for the discussion. Could do that, we could do that, and then leave, if you’d like. Obviously, you have more important things to be doing.”

Harry looks awfully embarrassed and there is a sudden boost of confidence that Caroline feels around him. Usually, Harry is the one with the chip on his shoulder, with the one-up on the partners that he’s working with, especially women. Harry has his looks, his charm, and occasionally – if he’s using it well enough – his intelligence. Harry’s poetry usually wins over the women and men he works with, the inspiration that strikes when he’s working with someone that is smarter, brighter, more intelligent than he is, bringing him closer and closer to finishing his poetry collection that he’s been working since his acceptance into the graduate program. Coming into his fourth section of poetry, Harry’s found himself writing about love and love stories and romance since the day he started his portfolio, and yet he’s missing an entire section about unrequited love.

That is more frustrating than anything, Harry’s found.

“Um, sure,” Harry sighs, letting out a heavy breath and raising his hand to the waiter that’s walking near their table, ordering a black coffee and a muffin before settling into his seat, once more, and opening to the page that the discussion post is referring to. “Okay, well, this discussion post is asking about the difference between infatuation and love between Orsino and Viola and Olivia, in Act One.” Harry looks between Caroline and their notebooks and their textbooks and says, “There isn’t one, really.”

“Did you just say there isn’t a difference?” Caroline asks astonishedly, shaking her head and setting her pen in her notebook and shutting her computer halfway. “Orsino is practically tripping over himself for Olivia, and Olivia is falling for Cesario, or Viola playing pretend to get into the palace and find her brother. All of it is infatuation. Orsino’s entire claim for love is based on his infatuation with Olivia.”

“Tell me something,” he says smoothly, nodding his head to the waitress bringing his coffee and his muffin and thanking her quietly before turning to Caroline and squinting his eyes. “Do you not believe that love is partially based on infatuation? Isn’t that how you fall in love? By becoming infatuated with someone, with something. Do you not believe in love at all?”

Caroline sits back in her seat, very well aware of the judgement being passed to her in this very moment, and is slightly insulted by his insinuation, his implication. “Look, Harry, whatever personal judgements I have on love and falling in love are truthfully none of your business. At the end of the day, love is risky and dangerous. Anyone that willingly falls in love is a fool.”

“That’s bloody depressing,” Harry says with a scowl, shaking his head and brushing his fingers through his hair, pushing the floppy tendrils away from his forehead and revealing his bright green eyes that suddenly feel intimidating to the look. “I love love, I think. I think there’s something so fun about wanting to be partners with somebody, wanting to be by their side through thick and thin. That’s what makes life exciting. Doing it with another person.”

“Happy for you,” Caroline notes sarcastically, shrugging her shoulders and beginning to write out her discussion post on her computer, completely ignoring Harry’s pointed stare and the judgement passing through his emerald eyes. “Love isn’t safe. This story proves that. Could you imagine falling in love with someone, only to realize they’re not really that person? That would be devastating.”

Harry uncaps his highlighter and pen and begins annotating the remaining sections of the play’s act, ignoring Caroline’s harsh judgements and words. “Guess that’s how you feel but it’s wrong,” he says under his breath, writing carefully his thoughts about the obsession between Olivia and Orsino and Cesario. “At the end of the day, everyone wants to find love in their life. Obviously, you want your love to be requited, but if it’s not, at least you experienced love in some capacity, yeah?”

Caroline doesn’t pick up her head from her computer screen, not bothering to even engage in the conversation with him. Caroline’s barely known Harry for a week, barely spoken to him for more than an hour, and she already heavily dislikes him. “Not particularly.”

“Look Caroline –” Harry goes to say, his eyes growing wide when Caroline cuts him off nearly immediately, shocking him out of his words for a minute.

“Callie, for the umpteenth time. Liv already told you that, I’m sure.”

Harry looks at Caroline with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, tilting his head slightly and gathering his thoughts before speaking, again. “Callie, I’m not sure what your problem with me is, considering we just met, but–”

Caroline cracks her fingers, sucks in a breath through her teeth and says all in one outburst, “My problem with you, is that you’re not taking this seriously, unlike me, and you’re pretentious and think you’re the best at everything. That is not how you make a first impression and to put it simply, you’ve made the worst one upon me.”

Harry’s mouth clamps shut, his jaw tensing and un-tensing as he breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to remain composed and not act as though this conversation is absurdly hurting his ego. Harry’s ego is something that he built up so much over time, that it seemed impossible for anyone to tear it down, and yet here she comes, all in one break, destroying his egotistical demeanor. He is good at whatever he works on, the annotations, the poetry, the writing. His confidence is based on the boosts from professors and family and friends always building up his abilities and saying how capable he is to be someone, to be a writer.

And Harry is pissed, pissed that someone that is a bit too insecure themselves, that uses their mental health as a way to treat other people poorly, that wants to say he doesn’t take his education seriously, is trying to make him insecure about himself, too.

“If that’s how you feel,” Harry says, very much insulted by her statement and trying to formulate a response that is worthy to make it known how he feels about everything, “then I’m willing to speak to Rigsby about switching partners. Although, I think it’s unfair that you’ve passed a judgement about me so quickly when I’ve barely made a judgement about you.”

“Okay, Harry. Truthfully, Liv already told me what you said about me that first day I met you. You made judgements about me before we’d even sat down together, alone. That only supports my judgement about you, doesn’t it? That you’re an egotistical, pretentious person that quickly judges others that aren’t like you.”

“Caroline, the only thing that I’ve judged you on is the fact that you use your mental health or whatever the hell it is that you use to gain sympathy from other people. Especially your friends.”

Quickly standing up, she gathers her things and shoves her computer into her backpack, laying her hands on the table and gritting her teeth so hard it looks like her jaw might actually break. Caroline stares Harry down, making him slightly uncomfortable with how hard she’s looking at him. “Harry Styles, you don’t know anything about me or my mental health or my friends. Quite honestly, it’s people like you, that make people like me, not talk about my mental health with others. Maybe you should thank whatever the fuck you believe in that you don’t have to handle mental health issues. And I hope to God that you never fall in love with someone that wakes up with a brain like mine every, single, fucking day because you’ll ruin their life with how lowly you think of them.” Caroline gathers her belongings and hurries out the door, the wind brushing against her cheeks and whipping against her heated skin. Her fists are clenched together in tight coils of anger, one hand releasing from the tight ball and reaching into her bag for her car keys, quickly unlocking her tiny, navy blue sedan and throwing her backpack into the passenger seat and immediately walking around to climb into the driver’s seat.

Harry is speechless, absolutely and utterly speechless, and unable to stand up and say something properly to defend himself before she’s rushing out the door. “Caroline, wait!” Harry pushes his chair out from beneath him, stumbling around the fallen wood and drawing plenty of eyes to his distraught figure as he hurriedly rushes out of the building and into the parking lot where Caroline is spilling expletives with all of her belongings scattered on the ground. “Caroline, wait for a second!” Caroline doesn’t wait, continuing to try and gather all of her things and shove them into her bag but the material is wrapped together and making it difficult and there are tears welling in her eyes as she drops everything frustratedly and sits back on the tarmac in absolute frustration. “Caroline.”

“Harry, what do you want from me?” Caroline takes a deep breath, gathering all of her things, throwing her bag in the passenger seat of her truck and climbing inside, trying to ignore the silence that overwhelms the two of them as they stand there staring at each other. Caroline can feel a tear fall down her cheek in betrayal, the last thing she wanted was to cry in front of him.

“I,” Harry is quiet, unable to fully make a sentence and spit out a coherent thought. “I’m sorry for what I said. I, I didn’t mean it. That was wrong of me to say. Rigsby wanted us to work together because we’re the best students in that class and likely have a few things in common when it comes to working with literature. I need to graduate in May, too. Can you please give me a second chance? I swear I won’t make you regret it.”

Caroline looks at Harry and looks at her white knuckles clutching the steering wheel, the little crescents starting to form in the cushion of the wheel. Guess it’s better that it’s the wheel rather than my thighs, she thinks. There is so much harm that could come from being Harry Styles’ partner, Caroline’s decided. Harry Styles doesn’t understand her mental health, firstly, and he likely never will, based on his reactions and interaction in the first conversations and dialogues they’ve shared. Harry Styles is pretentious and rude, secondly. Harry Styles, thirdly, thinks he’s the very best thing to walk the planet and knowing Caroline’s father, that would be the furthest thing from the truth.

“Honestly, Harry, I can’t,” Caroline says truthfully, shaking her head and grabbing the gear to shift into reverse and back out of the parking lot, Harry quickly moving his feet to avoid being run over with the impatience she’s exhibiting. “I’ll be talking to Rigsby on Monday about a new partner.”

* *

Caroline is angry. Angry is the only way to describe the way she feels, right now. Angry, specifically, with a man by the name of Harry Styles.

Donald Rigsby refused to change their annotation partner, insisting that Harry Styles would make the best pairing for the intensity of the course load that they would be doing throughout the semester. Donald Rigsby said, and Caroline could quote, “Harry Styles is a charming young man that is an excellent writer and I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding.” Caroline wanted to roll her eyes, to tell him that he’s an asshole that doesn’t understand empathy of any sort. Caroline wanted to say so many things, and instead, she nodded her head silently, forced that famous smile that everyone knows and loves, and walked out of his office with a slight stomp to her feet.

Caroline immediately grabbed her phone and wrote a very calculated worded email to Harry Styles, saying:

Harry,

Unfortunately, and though I tried to talk him out of it, Rigsby has insisted on us being partners, for some reason unbeknownst to me. He has expressed his opinion thoroughly about the topic and would like to not hear further about it. He believes that we will make a great team working on annotating Shakespeare’s texts, based on our work ethic and our talent as writers. Although this is not what I would have wished for, I am hoping for the best, as we both have to graduate at the end of the year, and very much need this course to pass our degrees. I am sending this email as an offering of peace for the time being until we can meet again.

I am free again on Saturday for another annotation meeting for the second act of the play. Is that time going to work for you? Let me know as soon as possible. Thank you.

Callie Ryan

Caroline waits two days for a response from Harry. Two. Whole. Days. Caroline waits for two days, and the only response that she gets is infuriating, absolutely maddening, totally and completely frustrating.

All Harry says is this:

Caroline,

Apology accepted. See you on Saturday.

Harry x

Apology accepted? Apology accepted? Is Harry so dense in that thick skull of his that he thinks that Caroline was apologizing for what she said to him? Absolutely fucking not. Caroline would never apologize for what she said. Caroline wouldn’t apologize for saying that she hopes Harry never falls in love with someone like her, especially. Caroline meant all of it, every single word, from the beginning to the end. Adding onto the fact that she meant all of it, it is her best commentary to this day.

Caroline walks out of her shift at the local bookstore with steam whistling from her ears, her eyes reading over the email again and again, silently wishing that she’ll look at the screen of her phone once more, on the off chance that she clicked the wrong email and it’s not actually what was sent to her. Harry couldn’t be that ridiculous, right?

There isn’t any way that anyone can be that pretentious and uptight. There simply can’t be. Caroline refuses to believe it.

* *

Caroline waits at the coffee shop for nearly six hours, on the day of their meeting, waiting for Harry. Maybe a bit less than that. Maybe a bit less than that because it took her three hours to gear up to meet him with her anxiety and the episode she’s been suffering through. Caroline struggled to get out of bed, to even make it to her car, barely functioning to brush her teeth and thread her fingers through her hair. Her hair has been tangled in a braid for three days, and it’s beginning to look a bit dishevelled, although she has run water through the baby hairs flying around her forehead.

Caroline’s medicine is all out of whack. Originally, it was working for a while, making sure the episodes were manageable and taken care of throughout each stint of the rollercoaster, the lights on and lights off as she’s called it since the earliest age of twelve. However, now, it’s like the medicine isn’t even doing anything to her system, and she’s hitting the highest highs and the lowest lows for weeks without any remorse. Caroline can handle it usually, but with the stress of her father’s anniversary coming in October, the horrible partner she’s been assigned in her annotations course, and the overall overwhelming sensation of graduation lingering around the corner, there’s a bit too much to be able to handle the highs and lows every two weeks.

Caroline is in a Lights Off week.

Caroline can tolerate a lot. Making that clear to people is something that she prides herself on. Caroline can tolerate most things: running late, cancelling, having to reschedule because of a conflict of some sort. Caroline cannot tolerate skipping a meeting entirely … without any warning.

Harry doesn’t show one hour, two hours, three hours, four hours later.

Caroline checks her email twice, maybe even three times to see whether or not he’s emailed her last minute to say that he couldn’t come. Nothing. Not a word from Harry Styles.

Caroline waits around for another hour waiting for Harry, completing the annotations for Act II of The Twelfth Night and finishing the “Act II Discussion” Rigsby posted online earlier that week. Hatred and anger rush through her veins as she thinks about how this should’ve been done with her “partner”, today, and the way that he’s not even had the courtesy to tell her that he had to cancel their meeting and do the work on his own. Caroline gathers her belongings, taking out her phone and dialling her best friend’s number, ready to rant and rave about this person that she’s being encouraged and more so, forced, into talking to daily, that clearly doesn’t respect her or her boundaries for working environments. That may be what makes Caroline even more angry. Harry doesn’t respect her. If Harry does respect her, he surely doesn’t know how to show it.

Caroline clicks on Liv’s number, tucking the phone in between her shoulder and her ear, and gathering her things to take to her car, waving goodbye to the workers that know her by name and shuffling to her vehicle parked in the very first space outside. Caroline makes everything a habit, from where she frequents to the minuscule habits that only a boyfriend or girlfriend could catch onto, like the way she washes her hands twice before dinner and compulsively types her notes on her computer to avoid rewriting after lectures. Caroline is comfortable with her life, with how she lives it, and she isn’t going to let one person get in the way of the peace that she’s brought to her life over the last year without her father around, a feeling of tranquillity that he would have wanted for her.

“Hey, Callie. How’s it going?” Liv says when she answers the phone, a smile evident in her voice and Caroline can only assume she’s with her significant other by the extra voices in the background. “Did you finish your annotations?”

“Of course. Guess who didn’t fucking show, again?” Caroline grumbles, climbing into her car and waiting for the phone to connect to the speaker for her to leave safely. Caroline shakes her head angrily, the utter disappointment and upset building inside of her chest making her want to scream and cry. Could someone really be this insensitive to someone else? Could Harry really be this ridiculous? Donald Rigsby is wrong about Harry Styles. Very wrong. “Things would be fine, I would be fine, if I wasn’t losing my fucking mind over the workload for this class,” she continues, shaking her head and carding her fingers through her hair frustratedly. “I don’t understand how anyone could be so insensitive towards others. It’s absolutely fucking ridiculous. I can’t stand him, Liv. I don’t care what Rigsby has to say about him. I think Harry Styles is the worst person on the planet.”

“Callie,” Liv says softly, warningly, almost and it makes Caroline go silent. Caroline knows what Liv is about to say and she is simply praying that she wasn’t on speaker phone. “Callie, Harry’s here with Niall.” Caroline goes deathly silent, now. Liv walks out of the room, eyeing Harry apologetically, and making her way into her bedroom to talk to her best friend and hopefully calm her down before she comes home. “Cal, Harry was here because he broke up with his girlfriend and needed to talk to Niall.”

“Harry could’ve messaged me,” Caroline mumbles, closing her eyes momentarily and soaking in the silence that overwhelms her car, the moment of silence where her brain is finally quiet and there is nothing to be heard from anyone. Caroline knows it won’t last long. Caroline’s brain is never nice to her for very long.

“Harry says you didn’t give him your number, only your email.”

“Well, yeah. Why would I give a stranger my phone number, Liv?” Caroline sighs, turning into the car park and grumbling when she sees a vintage car parked in her space. Caroline doesn’t need to know anything about anyone to know that a pretentious asshole would have a car, like that. Most certainly it’s Harry’s. “Motherfucker parked in my space, now, too. God damnit!”

“Callie, are you okay?”

“Fine, Liv,” Caroline breathes out, pinching the bridge of her nose and leaning her head back on the headrest behind her. Momentarily, Caroline makes the decision that she’ll take herself to her boyfriend’s house for the week, not really wanting to be around her best friend and his boyfriend and the subsequent asshole that is making himself known around their apartment. “Think I’m going to go to Max’s for the week, this way you and Niall can have the apartment. Getting my things from my car and then I’ll come and get my things.”

“Don’t have to do that, Callie,” Liv sighs, heaving a heavy breath into the speaker and pursing her lips together, trying to find a way to relieve her best friend’s anxiety and the tension creating itself in their conversation as they continue to speak. Caroline always gets angry so easily when her mood is like this, and Liv knows why, she’s not angry over it, she knows what she’s done to make her best friend so frustrated with her and the situation at hand. “I’ll kick Harry out if he makes you uncomfortable, Cal.”

“Olivia,” she says, shaking her head and turning off her car, opening the driver’s door and stepping out onto the concrete, “it’s fine.”

Caroline walks up the steps to their apartment and opens the door quietly, trying to make as little noise and draw as little attention to herself as possible. Harry is standing in the kitchen, laughing with Niall about something unrelated and turns to look at Caroline, his eyes widening at the way she immediately walks straight past him, nudging his shoulder along the way, and to her bedroom to start gathering her belongings that she’ll need to take with her to her boyfriend’s house.

“Caroline,” Harry says, earning a smack to the arm from Niall and a deathly look from Liv. Harry doesn’t care what they say, her name is Caroline, that’s what he’s going to call her. “Can we talk outside?”

Caroline looks at Harry questioningly, her eyebrows coming together in the center of her forehead as she contemplates telling him off right then and there. Harry has an ego bigger than his head, the privilege that exudes from the way he views mental health making her skin crawl with disgust, and an attitude that extends much further than what Caroline could rightfully handle. Could anything good come from a conversation with Harry? Likely not. Has Caroline impulsively decided that this conversation can be her time to tell Harry to go to hell? Yes.

Harry walks outside first, holding the door open and waiting for Caroline to lay her things on the tile flooring near the front door and follow him outside. Harry’s eyes travel across the expanse of her figure, and he’s well aware that it’s wrong, and that she has a boyfriend, but there is something about her that he can’t get his mind to wrap around, that he has an infatuation with.

Anna Marie and Harry broke up this afternoon. That’s the whole reason that Harry came to Liv and Niall, in the first place, to tell them that she’s gone, and they wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore. Niall cheered and Liv smiled knowingly, telling him that Callie and Max were still very much together. Harry assured her that that wasn’t the reason why that he had no intentions of pursuing Caroline, but Liv knows better. Liv knows boys better than that. Harry just shrugged her off and went about his conversation with Niall, talking about the way Anna Marie insisted she was breaking up with him, instead. Harry let her have her way, as long as it meant he wasn’t with her anymore. Could that be considered something that an asshole would do? Likely so. Did Harry care all that much? Not really.

Caroline nods in a halfway ‘thank you’ at Harry as the apartment shuts behind her, knowing fully well that Liv and Niall are waiting on the other side to hear what they have to say to each other. Caroline ignores it, knowing that she’ll get an earful from her best friend whenever they have time alone for being too harsh or mean to her boyfriend’s best friend. Caroline shakes her head at the notion, thinking to herself how ridiculous the whole situation is.

If Harry had just shown up on time, showed a little bit of respect, maybe respected other people’s boundaries, then this wouldn’t be happening. This wouldn’t be a conversation that they have to have. Caroline wouldn’t hate him the way she does.

“Okay,” Harry starts, shrugging his shoulders and leaning against the railing so that his shirt tightens against his chest and the muscles in his arms are on perfect display. If Caroline found him attractive, maybe this would distract her, cause her mouth to go dry and her comebacks to weaken. Good thing it isn’t that way. “Caroline, you think of me as the worst person on the planet?”

“I do, yeah,” Caroline states flatly, leaning against the door and trying to keep her eyes on his. Maintaining eye contact has never been one of Caroline’s strong suits and doing so when she’s obscenely angry is certainly not making it any easier. “Harry, you’re kind of a piece of shit.”

“All this anger because I missed an annotation meeting, and I didn’t tell you?” Harry sounds like he’s mocking her and it’s making Caroline even more angry than she already is. Gabriel Ryan would never tolerate this behavior. “Is that really it, love? Is this something more going on?”

“Don’t ‘love’ me, with your accent, and try and patronize me,” Caroline says through clenched teeth, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest to add to her frustrated nature. “That was just icing on the cake, Harry. I really don’t like you.”

“That’s such a shame, innit? ‘Cause I like you.”

“Harry, you don’t even know me!” Caroline is so frustrated she thinks she might cry, tears beginning to gloss over her honey eyes and make her vision blurry. “God, you’re just some privileged guy in my literature class. That’s all you are! Honestly, nothing I say will get through to you! This whole conversation is pointless and useless and a waste of my fucking time!”

“Have you gotten it all out, now, Caroline?” Harry teases, clutching the door handle that Caroline reaches for, blocking her into the door and hovering over her face, his lips merely inches from her mouth, teasing the way her plump flesh entices him for only a second. “Have only one idea on how or what we’re going to do about it to make it better, Caroline. Kiss?”

“Hah! Over my dead body, Harry Styles. Only in your wildest dreams would I ever kiss you.” Caroline slinks beneath Harry’s arms blockading her in and opens the door, frustratedly grabbing her belongings and making her way out of the apartment. “Bye, Liv. Bye, Niall. I’ll see you later.”

“Caroline,” Harry says calmly, reaching for her wrist and grabbing her gently, taking her hand in his and trying to have her attention for more than a moment. Caroline immediately flings her hand out of his and reaches for the keys to her truck. “Meeting this week, maybe? Can get some work done earlier than the weekend if you’d like. I don’t have anything tying me down, now.”

“Harry Styles, you and I are no longer working together. Get this through your thick head. I’m not working with you. I’m not speaking to you. Rigsby never has to know that we didn’t work together. I’ll lie. I don’t want to see you. That’s it. End of story.”

Home.

Home is where many things happen for Caroline and Harry. Home is where Caroline and Harry sing and dance in their kitchen at three in the morning when Caroline is wide awake and needing to be distracted from the intrusive thoughts that are overwhelming her brain. Home is where Harry started his business ventures. Home is where Caroline started writing her novel. Home is where Caroline and Harry kiss beneath the sheets and touch each other intimately and know their way around each other’s bodies, caressing and touching in the most loving way. Home is where the heart is, they say, and that would be true in Caroline’s case.

Harry is home, wherever they are.

Caroline looks at Harry with tears in her eyes, drawing the covers back and gesturing for him to lay in the tiny makeshift bed with her, ignoring the shaking of his head and smirking at the way he sighs and gives in, pushing himself out of the lounger and walking over to her with his notebook in hand, knowing well enough by now that she’ll want him to continue to read to her until she’s sleeping and unable to listen any longer. Her legs are stretched out over his thighs, her cheek laying on his stomach, smiling at the slight pudge that’s accumulated there since they started cooking more meals at home with the bookstore right beneath them. Caroline’s arms circle around his waist, not caring whether or not her arm will fall asleep in the middle of the night or not, and his hands intertwine themselves in her hair, brushing through the straight locks soothingly. His touch is gentle, nurturing, and Caroline suddenly is reminded of when her father used to do the same thing to her when she would have a nightmare or couldn’t sleep.

Harry is like Gabriel in a lot of ways, Caroline recognizes. Maybe, just maybe, that’s why she’s fallen so head over heels in love with him. Caroline never thought she would find a man as good as her father, previous relationships included, and yet, here she is, with one right by her side. Harry is patient and kind, loyal and generous. Harry understands her mental health and never blames her for an episode, good or bad. Harry works with her, and makes sure that she knows that he’s there, no matter what the reason may be. Caroline searched high and low for someone like him, someone that would accept her for the way she is, and even in previous relationships, she never found someone to do it as unconditionally as Harry has. Caroline will be forever grateful for the way they met, although not particularly ideal, because it meant that they met at all.

“Thought you’d be asleep by now, baby,” Harry says softly, brushing his fingers through her hair and kissing her head. “I can read more if you’d like. Do you want to talk instead? Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Caroline’s fingers trace over the pattern on Harry’s shirt mindlessly, the speckled design on the shirt making her frown, realizing that he never had the opportunity to change when he came home. All because of how Harry found Caroline – unconscious in their bedroom. Lying on the floor by their bedside, with her eyes shut and her lips slightly parted. Harry is in his airport clothes, likely reliving the trauma that she’s given him for the rest of his very life.

“Callie,” he says sweetly, taking her attention away from the shirt by lifting her chin and making her eyes meet his, “you don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay.”

“Harry, I should’ve called and told you. I thought I could handle it on my own, that it wouldn’t bother me because there have been so many other times where she rejected me. This time, though, it broke me.” Harry can feel the tears from Caroline’s face soaking into his shirt and trousers and he doesn’t say a word, only turns his body slightly so he’s facing her, and his thumbs can wipe away the tears recklessly falling down her cheeks. “I don’t understand what I did to make her not want me, Harry. All I ever did was be myself. That was too much for her? Am I too much?”

“Never,” Harry says, shaking his head adamantly and pressing his thumb to where her eyebrows have furrowed together and gently rubbing across her skin, kissing her forehead soothingly and lingering there for good measure. “Lucy has a very British way of thinking, Cal. That’s not a great thing when it comes to mental health and all that. Hell, I had a very British way of thinking, at first. There’s a reason we didn’t get along. There’s a reason my friends wouldn’t share things like that with me.” Harry looks at Caroline sincerely and says, “Until I met you.”

Caroline doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Harry thinks that she’s finally fallen asleep. Until an audible breath echoes through the quiet room and Harry looks to see Caroline beginning to wipe tears from her cheeks, once more. “Do you think that we should postpone the wedding? Until I’m better? I’ll understand if you want to delay the wedding, Harry.”

“Caroline Elizabeth,” Harry breathes, shaking his head frustratedly and sighing as he delicately grabs Caroline’s chin and brings her face to meet his. Harry’s thought about delaying the wedding. Of course, Harry has. Although, it’s certainly not because of what Caroline thinks. Harry’s worried that she’ll have another episode in the meantime and want to cancel the wedding altogether while they’re trying to make final preparations and there will be nothing that he can do to change her mind. “I’m marrying you in three months. That’s final. I don’t want to hear another word about it from you. I’m marrying you, I’ve been wanting to marry you, and I’m ready to marry you. Okay, Cal?”

“Okay.”

Harry sighs and kisses her forehead soothingly, gently scratching at her head and kissing a line from her forehead to her nose to her mouth. “I love you, Caroline.”

“Know you do.”

Harry smiles at that, gently turning his body over and laying on his back, allowing Caroline to make herself comfortable. His hands reach for his journal on the makeshift bedside table, opening to a marked page with a poem that he wrote on the plane the day he left, the day everything went wrong, thinking about how much he would miss her and want to be with her every day until they were in each other’s company. “I’m happy that you know.”

“Have you got any clue how much I love you, Harry?”

Harry turns his head to look at Caroline, her eyes slowly shutting and her lips slightly parted as she sucks in deep breaths and gives way to the sleep that’s been nagging at her eyelids for nearly an hour. Harry’s heart is so warm and swollen with Caroline in his arms that it makes him almost forget to answer her. “Have some idea, yeah. It’s a lot. Love me a lot, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

“Feel the same way about you, Callie,” Harry says honestly, scratching lightly at her scalp and letting his mouth linger with a kiss on her forehead for a while. “Love of my life, you are.”

Harry always means what he says, Caroline knows this. Caroline knows this, even though her brain is bombarded with intrusive thoughts telling her that he’ll leave her like everyone else, eventually. “Falling in Love” is a hard concept to truly understand, to make one’s brain believe they’re worthy of deserving. Caroline has waited a long time, a very long time, to feel like she is worthy of love. Caroline knows why the relationship never worked out with her ex, with Max – because she didn’t feel worthy to be loved by him. Caroline isn’t sure what happened with Harry that made the switch, which made her feel like maybe this one will show her that she’s worthy of it.

Certainly, it’s because of how Harry loves. Harry is the perfect way to learn to love yourself because the way he loves is so unconditional and pure. Harry loves with his whole chest, with his whole might, with a ferocity that makes you feel like you’re the only person on the planet that means anything to him. Caroline, although obsessed with him, certainly hasn’t always felt this way. Caroline certainly couldn’t stand to be around Harry for a while, which made it nearly impossible to see how she could have fallen in love with him. Of everything, their relationship is everything but a mystery, of a circular moment of hatred to love, of infatuation to lust. Harry is the perfect example of the quote, “But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our love.”

Caroline looks to Harry and simply stares for a while, not saying anything, soaking in the way his fingers brush through her hair and his perfect lips are pursed together in thought as he mindlessly watches the reruns of a television program on the clunky machine shelved in the corner of the room. Caroline doesn’t necessarily want children, for the sake of genetically passing her brain to another human, but looking at Harry, right now, and the way that he is with her, she thinks that it wouldn’t be so horrible to have another version of him toddling around. Caroline knows she’s in love, then – when everything changes because of him.

Harry says something suddenly, his eyes still trained on the television, his fingertips scratching Caroline’s head softly to gain her attention to reality. “Callie, I think you’re incredibly brave.”

Caroline smiles softly, shaking her head and nudging further into Harry’s embrace, threading her leg through his thighs and cuddling closer to him, whispering, “But it is not bravery; I have no choice. I wake up and live my life. Don't you do the same?”

“All the Light We Cannot See?”

Caroline nods with a smile. Harry knowing the novels she references has always made her feel warm inside. “Can you read me one more?” she wonders, nodding towards the poetry journal in his hands and the marked pages that are bending out of the cover. “Only one.”

“Only if you promise to go to sleep,” he says sternly, opening the pages and turning towards the one that is the most recent, the most freshly how he’s feeling. Harry’s been writing poetry about Caroline for so many years that it seems almost impossible that there are things he has forgotten to say or neglected to say. And yet, nearly every day, there is something new that he wants to find the words to express about the love of his life. “Have all those doctor’s visits in the morning, Callie, and the psychiatrist is coming to check on your medicine before we can leave.”

“Fair enough.”

“Only one,” Harry warns, clearing his throat and opening the page, smiling at Caroline’s eyes are already squeezing shut and ready to let his voice lull her to sleep. “Goodnight, my love.”

“feeling you against my chest // my heart is beating, undeniably a mess // you are everything all at once // and i’d do anything for you to see // that you are all i ever need.”

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @goldenbabys-world, @burberryharold, @stylesfics-xx, @grace-ful-gold, @summertimestyles, @laur-sogolden, @yourhsficsplug, @morethanamelodyy, @truckerhatharry, @plzplzme

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elisaphoenix13 · 3 years

Text

Consequences Of Pitching Practice

"Bah!"

"That's all well and good but you still haven't given me the screwdriver."

"Nnmmmnnn." Lucy answers while slobbering all over said screwdriver.

Tony huffs fondly. "Don't let your mom see that. I don't need another lecture about how unsanitary that is." He takes the screwdriver and chuckles when the baby glares at him. "It's also unsafe. I kind of like you."

Lucy babbles at him angrily as Tony wipes the screwdriver free of drool and he offers her one of her actual toys. It's not that he didn't offer her her own toys in the first place, it's just that Lucy had an uncanny ability to get her hands on whatever she wanted. Even when she was confined to a highchair or something. It wasn't anything magical, Tony and Stephen made sure of that, Lucy was just a typical, curious baby.

Tony had a feeling he may have been the same way as a baby.

"If you keep back talking me like that, you won't have lab time with me anymore." Tony says as he tightens a screw.

"Mmmfffbbb!" Lucy retorts and the engineer looks over at her to find that she had somehow gotten her hands on a different screwdriver. Which she was currently drooling on the rubber end of.

"Maybe I should take that as a clue that it's lunchtime for you." Tony says. "How about a bottle?"

Some happy beeps and whirs grab Tony's attention and he looks over at the kitchenette to find DUM-E excitedly starting a bottle. The first ingredient? Grease of some sort. Tony wasn't even sure when the robot grabbed that.

"No, no, no. Lulu can't have grease. You finish that for yourself!" Tony reprimands as he walks over to make a proper bottle. He partially ignores the sad noises DUM-E makes and takes the bottle over to Lucy. "Here you go dolcezza. How about something sanitary to put in your mouth?"

Lucy eyes the bottle her father holds out for her and Tony's eyes widen when she actually throws her screwdriver across the room and takes the bottle. He looks over to where the tool had landed when he hears a crash and finds a separate project emitting sparks from where it had been hit. Six months old and she had quite the arm.

"Maybe we should make a baseball team." Tony says calmly. "You can be our pitcher. Diana was kind of like that too but Cassie corrupted her."

For once, Tony doesn't get an answer from Lucy, but she was too busy with her lunch. Something he should probably be thinking about at the very least.

"Think your mom would make me a sandwich if I asked him nicely?"

A pointed look from the infant makes him chuckle.

"Probably not, huh? Not when I'm down here with you and tinkering for f--"

A low hum distracts Tony and he swivels around when it gets louder by the second. The machine Lucy had damaged with the screwdriver was spitting sparks like an angry cat, and it was glowing brighter and brighter. Tony barely had the mind to turn back and grab and cover Lucy just before the thing exploded. The force of the explosion sent them to the ground, but Tony made sure to keep Lucy secure in his arms. When he recovers and sits up, he winces as his ears ring and the first thing he hears is Lucy crying. Her poor ears were probably ringing too and he knew that Stephen was going to have a fit when the sorcerer undoubtedly came to investigate. Both Friday and Victor tended to snitch on him, especially when one of the kids was in the lab with him.

"I'm sorry dolcezza." Tony says to Lucy in an attempt to soothe her. "Daddy should have checked to make sure you didn't do so much damage."

He carefully gets back to his feet as a window opens to ventilate the smoke, and checks Lucy over to make sure she's unharmed, glad to see she wasn't and was already calming down. Her cries had already turned into whimpers and she had grabbed one of his fingers to stick into her mouth to help soothe her further. Tony coughs and waves away the smoke in the air, noting that DUM-E was actually in the process of putting out a small fire by the machine. It wasn't the only thing Tony noticed either. There were two extra bodies standing by the burning remains of his project, and when the smoke finally cleared away, Tony froze.

The two people that were also waving away the smoke and coughing were his parents.

Howard and Maria were standing ten feet away from him and all Tony could do was stand and stare.

That project was in no way a time travel machine, but clearly that's what had happened. His parents were somehow pulled from the past with a half finished machine that Lucy broke with a screwdriver, and Tony was floored. The last time he saw his mother was the night she died, and his father during the time heist.

"Tony!" The engineer blinks and looks over at the door with wide eyes as Stephen rushes in and over to him. "Friday told me there was an explosion. Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah. We both are. Lulu was just a little spooked…"

"Tony?"

Howard's voice draws the attention of both men and Stephen's eyebrows fly up toward his hairline.

"What exactly were you working on?" Stephen asks Tony.

"Not a time machine."

=======

"She's so darling." Maria says as she takes Lucy from Tony. "What's her name?"

"Lucy." Tony mumbles and watches the interaction with fascination.

Once they had gotten over the initial shock, Tony managed to explain what happened before promising to find a way to send his parents back to where they belonged. For now though, they were stuck in the present time and Tony was already preparing for anything. Maria wasn't the problem...it was Howard. Tony had no idea how things would go when it came to his father.

"Who is her mother?" Howard asks.

There it is. That didn't take long, Tony thinks to himself. He then points to Stephen.

"Him. Meet my husband, Doctor Stephen Strange." Tony says.

"Did you adopt?" Maria asks.

"Yes...but not Lucy. Stephen is literally her mother. The girls were made with magic." Tony explains, and Maria brightens when he mentions the girls.

"There are more?" Maria asks while Howard simultaneously says, "Really, Anthony? Magic?"

Stephen was the one to answer Howard before Tony could open his mouth again. The doctor didn't even have to say anything. He simply displayed his magical abilities and Howard actually closed his mouth.

"How many children do you have?" Maria asks again.

Tony looks at her and genuinely smiles. "Seven."

"And a half." Stephen adds and Tony chuckles.

"That's a long story." Tony explains to his parents.

"Where are the others?" Howard asks.

"Somewhere." Tony says flippantly.

"Peter is out patrolling, Harley and Thomas are running an errand for me, Diana is downstairs with Cassie, and William is napping with Valerie." Stephen tells them. "Tea?"

"Yes, please." Maria says and Stephen walks into the kitchen.

Tony could only watch his mother play with Lucy. Even Howard seemed content to spend time with his granddaughter, so Tony joined Stephen in the kitchen and finally took a shuddering breath. Stephen looks over at him with concern and Tony waves him away.

"I'm alright."

"Wondering if it's all a dream?" Stephen asks.

"Maybe? It was nerve wracking just seeing my father during the time heist and now he's actually here. Sort of." Tony tries to explain.

"You have a chance to tell him what you want to." Stephen says. "And...I understand how you're feeling."

He reaches over and carefully grabs Tony's right arm, and looks at the scars traveling from the top of his hand and up his arm. They disappear briefly under his sleeve, but then reappear at the collar of his shirt and finally stop just below the right side of his jaw. Tony supposed Stephen had a point. Stephen probably felt that having Tony back was just a dream for a while. But Tony was here to stay.

Howard and Maria had to go back.

"You've made it very clear that I'm only allowed to die of old age or caffeine overdose." Tony chuckles and Stephen looks at him flatly.

"Preferably the former."

"That's the plan. Where's Athena?" Tony asks as Stephen gently drops his arm and turns back to the tea.

"Upstairs with William and Valerie. Tibbs is sleeping in his cat tower."

"The chaos will start up any second now regardless." Tony huffs and Stephen picks up the tea he finishes and takes it back into the living room.

Tony follows him, finding Lucy surprisingly with his father, and giving Maria a chance to drink the tea Stephen offers her. The chaos truly did erupt after that as he expected. Maria was only halfway through her tea when the kids that were out and about came home, Cassie and Diana came upstairs, and William and Valerie shuffled out of the little girl's room. Harley and Peter had expressions on their faces that made Tony think that they knew who exactly their visitors were, but they didn't say anything.

"Here's the rest of the brood." Tony announces. "Brood and a half." He says motioning to Cassie.

"I'm sure it's always exciting here." Maria says with a smile.

Stephen snorts. "If it's not the kids, it's our friends. Sometimes it's both."

"But it's our life. I don't think any of us would trade it for anything." Tony says.

Not even for one more day with his parents like he might have wished for once upon a time. He got his wish anyway, just not the way he thought he would. Because Lucy liked to throw things.

Tony told himself that he wanted to say things to his dad if he ever got the chance to, but just like the time heist, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to see his parents off with another bad memory, and he didn't want to do that to any of his kids. They deserved a good memory with their grandparents...and Howard was being pretty decent so far. He could be civil too.

=====

To Tony and Stephen's surprise, Howard and Maria enjoyed spending every moment with the kids. Stephen at first kept an eye on them to make sure they didn't force any of their beliefs on them (or try to parent them in their own way), but he was able to relax after a little while. The older couple were content to spend time with the kids as grandparents usually did. Watching movies, playing games, cooking, and sharing each kid's hobbies.

Tony unfortunately couldn't spend much time with his parents because he had to fix the project Lucy had thrown the screwdriver at. He had to find a way to return his parents to their own time since he knew they didn't belong here. No matter how much he might have wanted them to stay and see how his life turned out.

Maybe they would go back to his seventeen-year-old self and tell him everything would work out okay. Even back then, Tony probably wouldn't listen to them, so he could see their attempt to reassure him being ignored.

It only took Tony a couple of days to fix the machine so that he could send his parents home. He let them, Stephen, and the kids know...and spent the rest of the night and up until the next afternoon with his parents. When it came time to take them back downstairs, they all went to say their final goodbyes.

"Do they have to go?" Diana pouts and Maria smiles as she pats her head.

"I know dear. It's unfair, but I'm glad we got to see you and your brothers and sisters." She says softly. "You be good for your mom and dad."

"I will."

Maria and Howard were quick to accept Stephen's role as the kids' mother once they explained how it started. How it started as a bit of a joke but overtime became serious...and then true when Diana was born. Of course they weren't used to it since their time was almost forty years prior, but even they knew anything could happen that far in the future. That things and people were becoming more open-minded.

"Thanks for teaching us some more of your recipes." Harley says, making Maria smile.

"Of course. I'm glad to see you enjoy cooking."

He shrugs. "Sometimes."

"Make sure you surpass your father." Howard says and Peter grins.

"We will."

After the kids finish saying their goodbyes -- and of course Lucy throws her teething ring at them -- Howard pulls Tony aside. Stephen watches with a raised eyebrow, but Tony subtly waves away his concern and the sorcerer turns his attention back to Maria and the kids.

"I'm glad to see you've done well for yourself." Howard says.

"For the company?" Tony asks.

His father sighs. "No. I'm glad to see that you have a family. A good one. Your children are all amazing and I'm not even talking about their potential." Tony looks at him in surprise but doesn't interrupt as Howard continues. "Your spouse...I don't know how things are in this time...but he's good for you. I…" he sighs. "I'm not good at this…"

"It's okay. I think I know what you're trying to say." Tony reassures. "I love him. I love my kids...and I would do anything to keep them safe. I have and I always will."

"I'm proud of you." Howard says softly. "I know our relationship wasn't the greatest, but I wanted to make sure you knew that. I doubt you need to know that or if you care--"

"Thank you." Tony says. "It means a lot."

"I'm glad we got to see you happy."

Tony felt just a tiny bit lighter after that when they rejoined the others. He hugged both of his parents goodbye, watched as his kids and Stephen did the same, and then booted up the machine that would send his parents back. Tony made sure Lucy didn't have anything that she could throw and make a mess of the machine again, and then finally hit the button. He looked at his parents as the machine hummed loudly, and returned the smile they gave him before they disappeared from sight and the machine powered down.

Stephen walks over to Tony as the kids head back upstairs, and wraps his arms around his neck. "Any regrets?"

"No."

Not at all.

#supremefamily #stephen strange #ironstrange #tony stark #mama bear au

28 notes · View notes

lupin72 · 3 years

Text

Pretty Damn Lucky

Anon asked for a fic where ‘Lucy is pregnant and is freaking out because no one knows that she and Tim are even dating. How would they react and how would they tell everyone at work?’ This wasn’t something I had given any thought to before but I hope it worked out okay!

Lucy stood frozen, staring at her reflection in the mirror before her. Her arms braced her weight against the sink. If it hadn’t been there to stop her fall, she wasn’t sure she would still be standing. She was alone in the precinct bathroom. Alone, that was, apart from the positive pregnancy stick in the sink.

What was she going to do?

She had only been dating Tim for four months. No one even knew about it yet. He was a sergeant at the station, and she hadn’t been fully qualified a year. They wanted to wait it out. With any luck, she could prove herself as a cop first and then everyone else could know.

The baby inside her clearly had other ideas.

Lucy had only taken the test on a whim. They had always been safe. Hadn’t they? But when she was sick this morning and with her period now two weeks late, she had thought she should. Just in case.

It wasn’t just in case anymore.

Ten minutes passed before she found it in her to make her way to roll call. Her walk was casual as she could make it, her facial expression somewhat neutral. Lucy sat at her usual seat. And then Tim walked in and any composure she had scraped together shredded into nothing. He didn’t smile at her like a normal boyfriend would have. Instead, as their eyes met, he merely nodded in pleasant hello before he sat down in his seat. Right next to hers.

As had become their custom, the one small grace they allowed themselves, Tim slouched just enough that his knees were far enough apart so that his left one bumped Lucy’s right. It rested there. It was the only point of contact they allowed themselves when on shift. Sure, they might escape for a brief conversation in passing in the corridors but with an audience, this was as much as they dared push it.

Usually, the brush gave her goosebumps. The secret relationship could be hot in its own way. Today it sent her stomach somersaulting.

They hadn’t discussed children. Hell, they hadn’t discussed anything about their relationship past keeping it a secret for now. Everything was very much for now.

How was she going to tell him?

That choice was pushed when Jackson had to drop Lucy back off at the station mid-way through their shift. She had thrown up a grand total of four times and no matter how she tried to insist she was fine; Jackson was having none of it. She knew he was right. She couldn’t work in the condition she was in.

Lucy wasn’t ready to acknowledge that pretty soon she wouldn’t be in the field at all. She was only freshly qualified and yet it was all about to blow up in her face. She knew she wanted the baby, hadn’t doubted that since she saw the test. But that didn’t mean she was ready for all the consequences.

As she stood in the bullpen, just about to turn for the locker room her phone beeped.

Tim- are you okay? Heard you were sick on shift. Come up to my office before you go?

Lucy smiled at the message. He was caring, if a little overprotective sometimes. He had always toed the line when it came to her. He had admitted, during a late night drinks at hers, that he had let his feelings control his actions when she was kidnapped. That he knew he would jump in front of any bullet meant for her and would never try to train that instinct away. He wasn’t happy when she admitted she felt the same for him.

But they were working on it. Working on his trust both in her and in the fact that this wasn’t going to go wrong. Lucy knew he feared it. Knew he was full of so much fear from his relationship with Isabel and then with Rachel. Two long term partners that had left him in the dust.

She just hoped this wouldn’t ruin their shot too. Not that she thought it would, she realized, as she finished getting changed and made her way to Tim’s office. He would make a great dad. And she thought they would make a good go of it together. It was whether that was what he wanted, whether he was 100% ready for it, that made her falter as her hand rose to knock.

She noticed the blinds were already drawn, something he usually did when she was inside. Gathering her strength, she told herself that it didn’t matter. She wanted this and she had to be honest with him.

She knocked.

Tim was at the door in a second. He pulled her in by the hand and hastily closed the door. As soon as it was, that marker of the outside world now securely gone, he cupped her head in his hand and smiled down at her.

“You okay, baby?” he asked.

The pet name almost made her threatening tears spill over. He didn’t use them often, but every now and then a babe or a baby slipped out. She loved it, a fact that he knew. But it was too much right now.

“Lucy?” She still hadn’t responded, and the worry lines grew deeper on his face.

“Maybe you should sit down?” Lucy suggested, turning from him and making her own, shaky way to his desk. She couldn’t find it in her to sit and instead gripped the back of the chair.

“Okay you’re officially freaking me out here. What’s going on?” Tim asked. He made his way round to his seat, but she noticed he didn’t sit down either.

“I um,” Lucy paused and then, summoning all the courage she had left she looked up and met his eye. “I’m pregnant.”

Tim collapsed into the seat.

Minutes passed, painfully long minutes. Tim’s hands rose to rub at his face, covering most of his reaction from view but Lucy caught a good enough glimpse to see that all color had drained from him.

Her heart plummeted.

And then he looked up, the hands came away and, was that a threat of a smile?

“I’m sorry, I just. Wow.” Tim cleared his throat and pushed himself to his feet again. He began to pace the room. “I just never expected… How far along are you?”

“A month, I think, maybe nearing two? I was late, but as you know that happens sometimes, but then I was sick this morning, so I thought I should check. Tim are you okay?”

Tim spun immediately to face her again. This time the smile was on full show. “Sorry,” he quickly apologized and in three long, fast strides he was before her, hands on her shoulders. “I’m happy Lucy. Shocked, but happy. I am on board with this one hundred percent. That is,” he paused, seeming to catch himself, “if you are?”

Lucy felt herself smiling, despite the fact her hands were still shaking. “Yes,” she breathed.

And then his lips were on hers.

They decided to wait until Lucy had been to the doctor before they told the precinct. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long for an appointment and two weeks later they were both, this time, standing outside an office. Only this time it was Captain Grey’s. It had made sense to come clean to him first, to understand fully how the department wished to handle both Lucy’s maternity, her field work and the fact they were dating at all. Neither one of them expected Grey to have too much of a problem but there were people above him to be considered. And the rumor mill of the precinct too.

Grey called them in.

Looking up from his mountain of paperwork, he greeted them. “Sergeant Bradford oh and Officer Chen, what can I do for you?”

He looked confused, Lucy thought, but there was also something else he wasn’t fully hiding. Some other reaction to seeing them both walk into his office together.

“Sir, I just want to say that what we are about to tell you never has had, nor will ever have, any effect on how myself or Officer Chen perform our jobs. We are capable officers and I think we have both proven that.”

Grey frowned, “Out with it Bradford.”

“We’re together,” Lucy answered, “in a relationship I mean.”

It wasn’t the script they had rehearsed but the words escaped Lucy before she could hold them back.

Grey’s eyes narrowed, in a half-hearted look of anger, for all of one second before a smile broke out on his face.

“Well, I do believe I am owed at least thirty dollars.”

That wasn’t the answer they had been expecting.

“Excuse me, sir?” Tim stuttered from beside Lucy.

“You two have not been anywhere near as secretive as you thought. I didn’t think it made sense to tell you, since plausible deniability meant none of us would have deal with the consequences of this,” he gestured between them, “and I had been watching to check that it wasn’t affecting either of your performance, but I guess we will have to deal with it now. If I might ask, what changed? Why come clean now?”

Lucy swallowed, her hand rising unconsciously to her stomach. It was all the answer Grey needed.

“Ah, well,” the smile on his face impossibly grew. He rose to his feet and clapped Tim on the shoulder. “Congratulations to you both.”

Tim awkwardly cleared his throat again, but this time Lucy could see that he was positively beaming. She felt her own smile grow.

“Thank you,” she told Grey. “What happens now?”

“Well, I’ll have to let the superiors know and it might limit the work you two can do together in the future. I don’t think I have to tell you how the fact Tim was your TO might affect your career since you both had the sense to try to hide this.”

Lucy nodded, “I know, I’m ready to face it. But maybe you could let us tell some people first? West and Nolan don’t even know yet.”

“I wasn’t going to announce it at the next roll call Officer Chen,” Sergeant Grey laughed. Lucy really couldn’t be any more shocked. “It’s your news to tell. I’ll try to keep it as quiet as I can.”

Lucy parked her car outside Angela’s house. Pausing, she turned to Tim. They had a deal since they started dating that she got to drive her own car. It always felt weird seeing him the passenger side.

“Ready for this?” She asked him. They had discussed how Angela might have his head for not telling her sooner, both about them being together and the baby.

Tim nodded. Lucy could tell that he was doing his best to look grim, as though he really was daunted, but she could feel the excitement rolling off him in waves.

This was the first friend they would get to tell together. They had decided to tell Angela first, both because of Tim’s fear and because Lucy had admitted that it would be nice to get some advice before they went completely public. After all, Angela had hid her own pregnancy out of fear of the repercussions so Lucy could do with speaking to someone who understood.

Tim placed his hand on Lucy’s knee and leaned towards her.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” he whispered, “But I’ll do everything I can to make it easier for you. I know I have it easier being the man and being sergeant, but you know I’m willing to ask for a transfer if things get tough.”

Lucy smiled at him and felt her eyes water. Stupid hormones, “I know.”

With that Tim turned and opened his door, “That’s if you protect my head in there, she won’t risk throwing things at a pregnant woman. You might be my only hope of making it out alive.”

Lucy laughed and together they walked to the house.

Angela opened at their knock. She appeared in the door frame with her sleeping son Jake and a wide smile on her face.

“Tim,” she beamed at seeing him first, “And Lucy?”

Lucy smiled, “Hey Angela.”

Angela looked confused but she invited them in.

“Sorry for the mess, you wouldn’t believe what he can get into.”

Angela fluttered around trying unsuccessfully to tidy some of the debris with one hand, but Tim put a hand to her shoulder. “It’s alright, there’s no need.”

“So what brings you two here?” She asked, seeming to have given up.

“We have something to tell you,” Tim began. The excitement had faded slightly, and Lucy could tell he was getting nervous just by one glance at his clenched jaw.

Angela looked between them. “Go on.”

“We’re,” Lucy looked up at Tim and felt unable to continue.

“We’re together,” Tim announced, keeping it simple and wrapping his arm around Lucy’s waist as though to confirm it.

Angela burst out laughing.

“Seriously Bradford? You interrupt my child’s nap all so you can tell me that?”

At their obvious looks of confusion, Angela clarified, “I know. Everyone knows.”

Tim spluttered. Lucy took a step toward her, “We thought Grey was exaggerating. What do you mean everyone knows? No one’s said anything to us?”

“That’s because no one knew for sure. You think they would risk getting into trouble with a sergeant for spreading rumors? People talk, but no one was brave enough to let it get back to either of you.”

Tim sighed and Lucy felt her own wave of relief. If people knew but no one had made a deal of it, then she might just escape the stereotype and the judgement. Maybe. Then again, they were more than just hooking up.

“That’s not all we had to tell you,” Lucy continued. She had said the words twice, once to Tim and once to the doctor. It still felt unreal, but she felt herself speak them again. “I’m pregnant.”

Angela let out a whoop loud enough to wake Jake. She cursed and immediately started to rock him, gave up after ten seconds, and ran instead to pull them into a hug. “I’m so happy for you both, congratulations.”

After a few minutes of pleasantries Lucy turned to Tim. “Think you could maybe give us a minute?”

“Why don’t you take Jake out back? He’s got a thing for birds it might calm him down.” Angela suggested.

Tim looked hesitantly between them. Lucy tried to give him a reassuring smile and it must have worked for he sent his own her way and moved to pick up Jake.

The sight of them together had Lucy’s stomach fluttering, her heart pounding in her chest. Jake stopped crying as Tim cradled him and she couldn’t help but think about what a great father he would make.

“He’s going to be a great dad,” Angela said, as though reading Lucy’s mind.

“Yeah, he is,” Lucy agreed.

“You’re going to make a great mum too.”

Lucy ducked her head and resisted the urge to disagree.

“The fear is normal, it gets a bit easier. Then they are here, and it comes right back at you again,” Angela advised. “But you get through it.”

Lucy smiled, “You’ve been a great mum to Jake, I don’t know how you two did it with both your careers and everything else.”

“It hasn’t been easy, but you make it work. You don’t have much choice really. But he’s been a blessing. I remember how scared I was when I found out. It was the day after Nolan was accused. And the day I got promoted. I was so scared that I would always be seen as the pregnant detective, given the lighter case load, forever seen as the weak link. So, we hid it. And judging by the fact you’ve kept your relationship quiet this long, I’m guessing you are considering hiding it too?”

Lucy nodded, “I don’t want to be judged either. It will be hard enough when everyone finds out me and Tim are together but this-”

Angela’s smile grew, “I told you, everyone worked that out long ago. And this baby of yours could actually help matters. It shows you are serious, and the fact you are becoming a family shows that you fell in love. Tim isn’t your direct superior anymore and you got together long after he was. There’s not much they can say to that. And even if they do, you get over it. Trust me I’m dating a defense attorney, I know all about it.”

Lucy laughed at the last part, “Thank you Angela.”

“No problem, now, not that I don’t trust him, but I think we should rescue Tim. Jake can get fussy if I’m not in the room.”

They decided to tell Jackson and John next. Lucy had arranged to meet them for drinks after shift. Tim was supposed to join them, but he got a call last minute and had to work overtime. Being a sergeant on patrol had its downfalls.

So, Lucy met the boys on her own. She shouldn’t have been nervous, or awkward, after all this was how they had spent so many nights. But she found herself shuffling in her seat.

Nolan had gone to the bar just as she walked in the door, not giving her any chance to correct the drink order from her usual. At least it gave her an early way in.

“Actually,” she told him as he sat down in front of her. “I was thinking of sticking with just the pineapple juice tonight.”

Both men froze and put down their drinks. Jackson looked confused but Nolan’s eyes dropped, Lucy expected subconsciously, to her stomach.

“Yeah John,” she said, feeling a smile grow on her face at the immediate look of happiness her friend gave her.

Jackson on the other hand still looked confused.

“I’m pregnant,” she told him.

It was becoming easier to say it now. Especially since they had told her parents. Although that one had been easier since they already knew she was dating Tim, and, thankfully liked him a lot.

Both men immediately sprung to their feet to crush Lucy in a group hug, congratulating her and laughing as they did so.

“Aren’t you going to ask who the father is?” Lucy prompted when neither man had done so.

Jackson and Nolan looked at each other awkwardly as though daring the other to speak.

“Angela and Grey weren’t kidding when they said everyone knew about Tim and I were they?”

All Jackson and Nolan could do was laugh and shake their heads.

With their friends in the know, as well as their superiors, they simply stopped hiding their relationship. Surprisingly, no one had been brave enough to say much beside the odd remark, usually off shift. It hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as Lucy had expected. But when she was pulled off the street and placed on desk duty, just as she was starting to show, there was no denying the secret any longer. A handful of people had asked out front, mostly to her whilst others had asked John or Jackson. Thankfully, Angela had been right, and it hadn’t made matters worse. Instead, they received many congratulations and happy remarks.

Lucy expected some of it had to do with their history. Many officers were familiar with what had happened between Tim and Isobel, and they certainly knew about Lucy’s kidnapping. Surviving a serial killer gained her some respect and the work she had done on the streets couldn’t be denied either.

Lucy missed patrol but staying in the precinct had its perks. She no longer had to suffer Tim’s insatiable worry, or her own for that matter, and they managed to enjoy more time together. If he was in the office, they shared lunch and if he was on the streets, he brought her some between calls. They remained professional and kept a strict boundary, but they could be seen entering and leaving the building holding hands and sharing a quick kiss in goodbye if one had to leave without the other.

So, whilst Lucy was still scared at what the future would hold, her excitement far outweighed it.

She counted herself pretty damn lucky.

#the rookie #chenford #tucy #tim bradford #lucy chen

55 notes · View notes

spacesuitsforemergency · 3 years

Text

Gracie’s Birth Day

A/N: Lol, the boys are absolutely useless and thank god Cora showed up when she did. And they refer to each other as girlfriends in this cause they get married later so yeah! Hope I got Cora’s character right!

“Dad, so help me god,” Lucy snapped as she glared up at her dad. “If you cook that chicken I’m going cook you.”

Remy glanced down at his very hostile and hormone filled daughter, who was sitting on the couch as he put away the groceries. He knew the smell of chicken specifically made her throw up, but damn.

“I won’t honey…Uh…is Cora coming over today?” He asked, deciding that wouldn’t be a question that would get her mad.

“Later. Right now she’s enjoying being able to walk without help.” Lucy grumbled. She wasn’t even mad at her girlfriend, just annoyed that walking was exhausting now with how big her belly was now. She was due to pop any day now, so she was very uncomfortable and irritated all the time rather than her usual sweet self.

Just then Eugene and Beau walked through the door, loudly arguing about something Lucy didn’t give two shits about to pay attention to. She rolled her eyes at their noise, but didn’t say anything as she went back to trying to read a new mother book that her dads had gotten her. She was right at the part about postpartum symptoms when she suddenly felt weird. Her stomach started to feel tight and started cramping, causing her to drop her book and gasp in pain at the sudden sharpness.

“Luc?” Eugene turned around to look at his sister, who was now doubled over (well, as best as she could with such a big stomach) in pain. “Oh my god. Are you leaking???”

“Honey? Are you okay?” Remy rushed over to her.

“I think…OW FUCK…I think it’s a contraction…”

“Oh shit. Oh damn. What do we do?” Beau started rambling. “Do we call an ambulance? No, we just drive you right? Do I need to call someone for you?”

“Hey!” Remy clapped for everyone’s attention. “Alright, I’m gonna get her into the car. Beau, go grab her duffel bag in her room. Eugene, call Kurt and tell him Willa needs to stay there with Anja for a bit. Then call Cora to let her know, and whoever else your sister wants.”

“I DON’T CARE JUST TAKE ME TO THE DAMN HOSPITAL.” Lucy shouted as the contraction started to calm down and she could relax.

After a chaotic trip to getting into the car, and of course a stupid traffic jam and having to wait for a room at the hospital, Lucy finally got into a delivery room and was now waiting for 1. Her girlfriend to show up and 2. For this baby to get out of her.

Beau was the only one panicking, he was constantly asking Lucy if she needed ice chips or anything, and he gasped at every time she got a contraction, which only stressed her out more so Remy took him out to the waiting room to find Raphael and wait for Cora. So meanwhile, Lucy got to spend some time with her brother.

“I wonder if you’ll still be fat afterwards.” Eugene snickered before dodging her hand to smack him.

“You’re so lucky I can’t get up on my own.” Lucy lightly laughed, still kinda in too much pain to laugh.

“Seriously though, how are you feeling?” He asked, sitting in the chair next to the bed.

“Uh, terrified? Exhausted already? Nervous?” Lucy scoffed. “I can’t do this. Are you kidding? How is this gonna come out of that?” She gestured to her stomach then…lower.

“Uhh…apparently y’all women stretch a lot down there, I don’t know.” Eugene shrugged, uncomfortable talking about a woman’s vagina during childbirth, let alone his sisters. “So uh, did you come up with any name ideas yet?”

“Yeah, I have a couple in mind.” She smiled.

“Lay them on me, I wanna vote.”

“Okay, Annie.”

“Are you raising a gun slinger? No.”

“Isabelle.”

“Too basic.”

“Monica.”

“She was the worst character on Friends.”

“Nathalie.”

“That’s cute.”

“Paulina.”

“Imagine being an adult named Paulina. Don’t do that to your daughter.”

“I’m sorry, who are you to tell me what I can name my child?”

“Well there’s only one problem, my dear sister. I didn’t hear a Eugenie or Eugenia in that list of options.”

“Cause it’s not one.”

“Uh! I will name one of my kids after you!”

“And that’s very sweet, but as much as I love the name Eugene, I don’t like Eugenia as much. It’ll be her middle name.”

“…it IS hard to live up to my fabtastic name.”

“Did you just say fab-OUCH.” Lucy winced at a contraction, and Eugene quickly grabbed the cold towel on the table and put it on her sweaty neck, and pet her hair to soothe her as best he could.

“Whatever you choose to name her, I am so excited to meet her.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and let her squeeze his hand in pain.

“I am too. Just wish it was under better…circumstances.” Lucy sighed as the contraction started to end and she leaned back into the bed. “God I’m so tired already.”

“LUCY?? LUCY?! LUCY!” A girl dressed in white and looking like she had just been put through a shredder ran into the room.

“Cora??? What happened to you?” Lucy stared at her frantic girlfriend.

“Was battling an Edward Scissorhands wannabe, doesn’t matter, my dear. How are you feeling? How far along are you?” She asked as she shoved Eugene aside and sat in his place, taking Lucy’s hand in hers and rubbing her thumb on the back of her hand.

“Uh, excuse you?” Eugene scoffed pettily, which both girls ignored.

“Okay, I guess. Nurse said I was dilated at 4 centimeters, so, almost halfway through that.” Lucy sighed. “But I’m so scared, I don’t know what to do with a baby!”

“Yes you do!” Cora laughed sweetly. “You read all those books, talked to Juliette, went to Lamaze classes, it’ll be okay. And I’m right here to help, darling.”

“Do you want ice chips, Luc?” Beau poked his head into the room.

“NO BEAU, IM FINE. I DON’T NEED YOUR DAMN ICE CHIPS.” Lucy yelled, annoyed that he was asking for the forty millionth time.

“You really should have some, dear, you need to stay hydrated.” Cora said softly.

“Okay.” Lucy tiredly smiled at her.

“What?!” Beau’s jaw dropped as Cora got up and took the cup of ice chips from him.

“Uh, Luc, I invited Ronan to come just so you know.” Eugene piped up, everyone ignoring Beau’s offended face as Cora helped Lucy eat some ice chips.

“Oh perfect, he’s probably gonna make a rap about this.” Lucy rolled her eyes and groaned. She did like Ronan, she really did, but the dude was a bit too much sometimes.

She whined in pain when another contraction washed over her, Cora rubbing her back and kissing her on the head to comfort her. Lucy shut her eyes and leaned into her girlfriend, nearly falling asleep once the contraction stopped.

A couple hours of waiting had passed, Lucy had just listened to her girlfriend talk about anything as she tried not to focus on all the pain. Her dads had dropped in a few times, Ronan had arrived and asked about a million questions that Lucy didn’t have the energy to answer, and Beau kept asking Cora if Lucy needed more damn ice chips. Then a nurse came in to check up on her, and said she was dilated at 9 centimeters and it was time to get the doctors and start the process of childbirth.

The doctors had tried to get everyone to leave the room, but Eugene threatened them until they let him, Ronan, Remy and Raphael stay with Lucy and Cora during this. As the doctors told Lucy to start pushing, each of her dads and brothers held one of her hands and she broke every single one of them in the first hour of pushing. She hasn’t broken Cora’s hand though, cause while she was in pain she didn’t want to hurt her so she was able to hold back as best she could.

“Honey, you have to breathe.” Cora whispered to her as she massaged Lucy’s shoulder with one hand.

“I am.” Lucy said, whilst not breathing.

“You have to keep pushing, Lucy.” The doctor delivering her baby told her.

“I can’t!” Lucy sobbed as she fell back into the bed, already so exhausted and in too much pain.

“You got this Lucy!” Ronan cheerleaded from the hallway.

“SHUT UP.” Lucy yelled at him, not in the mood for his shit.

“Darling, we need you to push, okay?” Cora encouraged, cupping her face gently. She looked into her girlfriends tired, scared and pain filled eyes, but hers remained calm and loving for her. “You’re doing amazingly, sweetie, you can do it.”

After a lot more pushing and a lot more cussing out Ronan and Eugene and a lot of support from her girlfriend, Lucy finally gave birth to her daughter. They quickly cleaned her off before handing her to Lucy, who immediately started crying with joy as she looked down at her baby. Cora also began to cry from joy beside her, reaching down and gently tucking the blanket around the tiny newborn as she rested her head against Lucy’s. Lucy didn’t even pay attention to doctors sewing her up, she didn’t even hardly notice since she was so overwhelmed with joy to care. After a few moments, the baby started to open her eyes and Lucy smiled as she looked into the black and red eyes of her baby.

“Hi, baby!” Lucy smiled even wider as tears poured down her face. “We’re your mama’s.”

#lora #lucy lebeau #gracie craddock lebeau #the lebeaus

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {10}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: pretty sure shit’s about to go down...we’ve reached the middle of this 20 chapter fic! thank you all for reading, reblogging, liking, etc. I thrive on your comments and excitement. x

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Aelin sat by Vaughan’s side, nearly nonstop, for two days. He was still breathing steadily, and the doctor said he should wake up, but it would be when he was ready, and he hadn’t yet, which only increased Aelin’s anxiety, and she could hardly take any more anxiety.

It was nearly nightfall on Saturday evening, and Aelin knew she should join the others for dinner, but she had no appetite. The others cared for Vaughan, too, of course, but Aelin was the one who felt responsible for what had happened, even though everyone had told her not to think such things.

She couldn’t help it, though.

Instead of joining the others for dinner, Aelin opened up the morning paper and began reading it aloud. Although Vaughan didn’t stir, she liked to think that he was listening and knew he liked to stay informed. Once she’d gotten through the paper, she set it on the nightstand and gave him the news from the house, too.

“Lysandra has been taking care of Aedion, and he seems to be healing quickly,” Aelin began, sitting back in her chair with her feet propped on the side of the mattress. “I think it’s because Lys is giving him extra attention, but she denies that theory.”

Vaughan’s chest slowly rose and fell.

“Speaking of lovers, Gav has been trying to avoid Natalia as much as possible, but she’s been seeking him out, I swear,” Aelin said, and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yesterday, she passed behind him and pinched his ass, and I have never seen Gavriel’s cheeks get so red.”

It was hilarious. Aelin had left Vaughan’s side to go get a glass of water before bed, and she passed by them the second it happened. Despite everything that was going on, Aelin nearly cried she was laughing so hard.

“Tomorrow is Sunday, though, so that’s shit,” Aelin went on, her smile fading. “I’m worried about them, especially since you won’t be there.” She shook her head, looking away from Vaughan to the open window and the sun sinking down beyond the distant hills. “But Ro is adamant that they must make their move, and as much as I hate it, I understand it. The quicker Maeve is defeated, the better.”

Aelin couldn’t bear losing anyone else. Elide’s death had been tragic, and although she kept telling herself that Vaughan would wake up, if this shit with Maeve continued on, they would only lose another one of their family, and that was not okay.

Aelin wished she knew where Maeve was hiding so she could put a bullet into the bitch’s head herself.

Unfortunately, though, that was impossible, because Rowan kept her completely out of the loop, and every time she tried to talk to him about it, she was only ignored.

She loved her husband, knew he was trying to protect her and their baby, but he was being a complete dick.

With a sigh, she looked back at Vaughan, picked up the book of poetry on his nightstand, and began reading, once more.

~~~~

Lorcan kissed Lucy’s head and laid her in the crib before walking to his adjoining room. He had rocked her to sleep, like Elide used to, and was surprised when she was snoring soundly five minutes later. He gave her one last look over his shoulder before he closed the door behind him.

The second he stepped into his room, he froze.

Natalia sat on the edge of his bed, reading a book.

He lifted a brow. “Get bored of Gavriel and want to fuck me, instead?”

Natalia’s eyes narrowed as she snapped her book shut. “No. You disgust me.”

“Damn, let me down easy, okay,” he muttered, plopping down in a wooden chair. As he untied his shoes, he asked, “What’s going on with you and Gav, anyways?”

She shrugged a shoulder as she said, “He is afraid to be with me, I am too much of a woman for him to handle.”

Lorcan laughed - a true, genuine laugh. “I could see that. You need a strong man, Natalia.”

Natalia hummed her agreement before asking, “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Lorcan took a moment to think about his answer. No, he wasn’t, because if he died, he’d be taken away from Lucy, leaving her orphaned. And yet, he was, because if he died, he’d be able to find his wife in the afterlife and kiss her, once again.

At last, he shrugged. “Is anyone ever really ready to walk into battle?”

Natalia’s lips thinned as she nodded. “I suppose that is a valid question.”

Lorcan nodded, taking a bottle of half-drunk whiskey from the table beside him and popping the top. “What do you think about America?”

Natalia froze, the question catching her off guard. “America?”

“Yeah,” Lorcan said. “I’ve been thinking that after this shit with Maeve is done, we could go there.”

Natalia hesitated. “To live there?”

Lorcan shrugged, taking a massive chug from the bottle. “Why not?”

“Because your life is here,” Natalia said, quietly. “Because your family is here.”

Lorcan set the glass bottle back on the table, a little too hard. “Elide is my family. Lucy is my family. One of them is dead, the other goes with me wherever I go.”

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Natalia’s eyes softened. “You want to run away.”

He wanted to snap, wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but she wasn’t, and she knew it, as did he. So, he shook his head, slowly, inspecting a loose floorboard a few feet away from his bare toes. “Everywhere I look, I see her. It doesn’t matter where I am, or who I’m with, everywhere I go in this fucking city, I see her.”

Natalia shifted on the edge of the bed before asking, “And that pains you?”

His eyes snapped to hers as his jaw hardened. “What the fuck do you mean? Of course it pains me! I lost my fucking wife, Natalia!”

If Natalia was surprised at his outburst, she didn’t show it. She simply said, “And I lost a friend, and Lucy lost a mother. I know that Elide was the love of your life, Lorcan, which is why it surprises me that you wish to leave this city behind, for it is one of the few things you have left of her.”

A moment of silence passed before Lorcan reached to grab the bottle, once again. As he put the cool glass to his lips, Natalia spat, “That’s right, numb your emotions with alcohol. That’ll help.”

He slowly took the bottle from his lips as he met Natalia’s cold stare. “Fuck you.”

Natalia’s shoulders tensed as she stood up, abruptly, and began to leave the room.

“Fuck,” Lorcan breathed, almost tempted to let her go, but he didn’t. “I’m sorry, okay? I just...I didn’t mean that.”

Natalia froze, but she didn’t turn around.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” Lorcan said, his voice growing quiet. “Yeah, I drink to numb it all, because the emotions are too much to handle, you know? No, I don’t know how to keep seeing her everywhere I look and realize that she’s not actually here, that she never will be again. And yes, sometimes that makes me want to run away and start over.”

For a moment, no one spoke, no one moved, but then Natalia slowly turned around to look at Lorcan. Her jaw was still rigid, her shoulders stiff, but her eyes were no longer cold.

In a quiet voice, she said, “Elide would not want you to run, Lorcan. She would want you to be near your family, those you love, those she loved...and she would want you to be happy.”

Lorcan quickly looked away so that she wouldn’t see how his eyes grew misty.

“It will take time,” Natalia said, turning her back to him, once more. “But, there is no shame in mourning, Lorcan.”

She was nearly out of his room when he called, “Natalia.”

She stopped, looking over her shoulder, waiting.

“You are my family, too,” he said, just in case she wasn’t aware.

She chuckled, but her eyes held a certain fondness as she said, “As you are mine.”

~~~~~

Lysandra kissed a sleeping Aedion on the forehead as she crept out of his bedroom and headed down to the kitchen. She couldn’t sleep, but figured a shot or two of whiskey would have her out in no time.

She was just around the corner when she heard a sudden clatter and froze. It was nearing midnight, and with everything going on, Lysandra’s mind immediately went to the worst case scenario. If it wasn’t for the f-fuck! that followed, Lysandra would have hauled ass the other direction.

She rounded the corner and found Rowan, eyelids drooped and his shirt half unbuttoned, sitting on the floor, his back leaned up against the cabinets with a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

Although he was less than ten feet away, he raised his hand high in the air and waved.

Lysandra just shook her head and crossed her arms. “What the hell are you doing, Ro?”

He blinked, then raised the nearly-empty bottle. “Drinking.”

“I see that,” Lysandra said, with a sigh. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs in bed with your wife?”

Rowan snorted. “Fuck no, she doesn’t want to be around me.”

His words were slurred, his cheeks flushed. Lysandra rubbed her temples as she said, “You’re even stupider when you’re drunk, you know that? All she wants is to be around you.”

“No, she wants to know what’s going on,” Rowan corrected, his long finger pointed in Lysandra’s direction. “She wants to be a part of this fucking war, and that’s not going to happen.”

“She feels like you’re keeping information-.”

“Obviously I’m keep-keeping information,” he said, blinking before he took another swig from the bottle. “The more information she knows, Lys, the more dangerous it is.”

“Aelin is tough-.”

“She’s carrying my fucking child.” The words came out hurried, quiet, and when Lysandra tried to meet his gaze, he quickly looked away. “Stay out of my marriage, Lys, and I won’t ask you about Ashryver, alright? Just...Just…”

“Just,” Lysandra repeated, voice full of sarcasm and venom, then kicked his boot. “Get up.”

“No,” he said, and downed the rest of the liquid from the bottle. “I’m content where I am.”

“Fuck, you’re pathetic,” Lysandra breathed, and reached down to tug on his arm. “Come on, you idiot, tomorrow is important and you need rest.”

He sighed, loudly and dramatically. “I can’t rest, Lys, I can’t fucking sleep!”

Lysandra froze and dropped his arm as his tone rang through the quiet kitchen. “Fine. Stay here, ignore your wife, be a dick.”

Lysandra went to take a step away, but then Rowan said, quietly, “I’m not a fucking dick, I’m trying to keep you all fucking safe. Pardon me if I need a fucking drink.”

With a defeated sigh, Lysandra slowly turned back around. He was a mess, dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair sticking up wildly, his close wrinkled. “What’s going on, Ro? You’ve been in plenty of shitty situations, and you’ve always kept yourself put together. You’re a fucking mess.”

“We’re all going to die,” he said, tossing his hands into the air. “Elide….now Vaughan is unconscious, and my wife blames herself, and nothing I say fucking helps. My wife, Lys, my pregnant wife came into the house two days ago covered in fucking blood, having just shot a man, because I wasn’t there to protect her. I have tried so damn hard to protect her, and all she does is get pissed at me for it.”

“Ro-.”

“Remember when we were kids?” Rowan asked, staring up at the ceiling. “When we were just two fucking kids, and the world wasn’t on my shoulders? When the most interesting thing to happen to us was you and me, sneaking around behind Clarisse’s back? Fuck.”

“It was never easy, Ro,” Lysandra whispered. “Our lives have never been easy.”

“No,” he agreed, “but everyone’s fate didn’t rest in my hands, either.”

Lysandra watched him for a moment. She could see the pain, the hurt, the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was because of that look, that heartbreak, that Lysandra reached out her hands and said, as gently as possible, “Come on, Ro. Let me walk you upstairs.”

For a second, he looked like he would protest, but then he took her hands and allowed her to help him up.

Gods, he was massive. Not only did he tower over her, but as drunk as he was, a lot of his weight fell into Lysandra, who barely stayed on her own two feet.

But his arms were around her, clearly leaning on her for support. After a few failed attempts, and a few stumbles where Rowan ended up on the ground, they finally found their groove and walked through the silent house. The stairs took the longest to conquer, but once they reached the second floor, his bedroom was only a short distance.

When they got to the door of the master bedroom, Rowan froze.

Lysandra saw the internal war going on within him, as she had a hundred times before.

“Just go lay with her, Ro,” she whispered. “Let her know that you love her.”

He nodded, nearly ready to fall over again, but then he let go of Lysandra and let himself inside. She was left alone in the hall, hurting for her best friend and for the boy that was now a man, the boy who was tossed into a world that he didn’t choose, a world that was eating him alive, slowly, day by day, hour by hour.

~~~~~

Maeve sat in the den of her little home on the outskirts of town, a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She had discarded her heels, but her stockings and day clothes remained. She longed to be in something more comfortable, but with Cairn there, that would be horribly inappropriate.

Although late, he had come to give her his daily report, as her second.

“And is there news on Vaughan?” she asked. It had been nearly all she’d thought about in two days, after her men returned saying that the quiet one had been injured. Her man, however, had been shot by Aelin Galathynius - Maeve had been keeping her out of it, because she was pregnant, but maybe she shouldn’t have been. If Rowan’s wife was dangerous, she should be added to the list, too.

“He still lives, as far as I know,” Cairn replied, sitting in the large armchair across from her, near the blazing fire.

Maeve hummed, unable to decide if that was a good thing or not. She had always been fond of Vaughan. Gavriel, too. “Very well. And how are things going for tomorrow?”

“Whitethorn wants to meet in a field beyond the city limits,” Cairn said. “As far as I know, we still have more men than they do, but we have to be weary of their gun supply. We’ve been trying to get a hold of new weapons, but in this city, that’s not easy, and having anything shipped in will take too long.”

Maeve sighed, running a hand through her dark, cropped hair. “They stole them from Arobynn, you can’t steal them back?”

“You make it sound like an easy task,” Cairn crooned.

“If I wanted easy shit done, I would do it myself,” Maeve snapped, bringing the cigarette to her lips. “If they have the guns, we need to have something over them, something in our favor aside from a few extra men.”

She stilled then, the idea popping into her mind with such clarity that she couldn’t help but laugh, softly, forcing Cairn to look at his leader as if she’d gone mad.

“I’ve got it,” she breathed. “Oh, I’ve fucking got it.”

Carin blinked. “Mind sharing or should I take a guess?”

“All in good time, my love,” she said, her grin wide, wicked as she leaned back into her chair and continued to indulge herself. “You and the boys take care of tomorrow, and I will make a plan for what comes after that.”

A cruel, wicked plan for her boys.

After all, it was what they deserved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@mariamuses @garnet-29 @writer-reader-traveller @rowaelin-cressworth @space-buns-arsinoe @negativenesta @empress-ofbloodshed @the-regal-warrior @starseternalnighttriumphant @westofmoon @sammyjojaaaa @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @carbconnoisseur @acer6437 @lorcansalvatearupmyheart @cool-ish-nerd @mynewdreamwasyou @mourning-razorlust @thespiritualrider @rowaelinforeverworld @didsomeonesayviolin @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks @queen-of-glass @the-dark-swan @http-itsrebecca @holdingon-21@babycardan @tswaney17 @mollycateoc @chemicha @bat-wing-rhys @exersize-me-i-dare-u @thespiritualrider @luna-the-little @morebooks-pls @shyvioletcat @hermajestyanna @a97girl @stardustsroses @queenofthemoon22 @alifletcher2012 @awkward-avocado-s @faerie-queen-fireheart @cwheart @lovemollywho @emilyrose111294 @nerdperson524 @sleeping-and-books @cursebreaker29 @flora-and-fae @feyrethedarklady @the-dark-swan @rowaelinforeverworld @sjmsstuff @januarystears @mis-lil-red @acourtofmoonlight @rowaelinforeverworld @courtofmaasdestruction @jjellybean @thewayshedreamed @wind-drinker @aelin-rowan-whitehorn @starseternalnighttriumphant @hurema @http-itsrebecca @lorcansalvatearupmyheart @cityofchelsea16 @januarystears @iliketoasterstrudels @lightitup-bryce @yikesitsmaddie @feyrethedarklady @i-love-all-books @keshavomit @sleeping-and-books @scarznstars @http-itsrebecca @cat5313 @moondancer-204 @booklover242 @belamoonbeam @they-call-me-cuatro @b00kworm @mu-si-ca-l @thegayerpotato @abraxos-is-toothless @keshavomit @musicdreamer003 @superspiritfestival @sailorsassley @mymultiversee @alxanxah @viviaannvu123 @mysweetvillain @theghostlyharrypooperfan @highqueenofelfhame @shyvioletcat @maastrash @the-third-me @rinad307

#tacmc ITBMW #the cadre #tog #fanfic #fanfiction #pb au #1920s au

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absent-angel · 4 years

Text

What’s in a Name

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Summary: The first time she sees him her home is on fire. [NaLu] [Fae AU] [@nalu-week 2020 Bonus Day: AU]

Read it on ff.net

AN: Well, I’m late per usual but it’s here! Also, I’m sorry but I don’t have the patience go through at search out all the italics tumblr doesn’t recognize, so if you want to read it as it was written please use the link. :)

Word Count: 6106

Warnings: Language

The first time she sees him, her home is on fire.

Flames are clawing up the walls, smoke blacking the ceiling. She coughs into the sleeve of her lace trimmed nightgown and tries to stifle her sobs long enough to scream for her mother. She is only ten years old, and the only thing she remembers from the fire safety course last year is to stop, drop, and roll. She's not on fire, but after a few moments of running aimlessly around her room and choking on smoke, she sinks to the ground anyway. It is easier to breathe down there. The room is filling with smoke and through the cackling and popping of the flames she can just barely make out the sound of the frantic voices of the staff on the other side of the wall.

Again, she screams for help but the smoke gags her. The air is so hot that she feels her lungs blister with every breath she takes. Most of her room has been engulfed, and the ceiling is starting to rain down blackened sheets of drywall—hitting the floor like a bomb. She knows she should move but she doesn't know where to go. Her bedroom door was long since engulfed by the greedy flames, and the only window is blocked - her pink velvet curtains have long since turned into two towering pillars of heat and flames. There isn't nearly enough room for her to get through. On her hands and knees she crawls under her bed, because it seems to be the only safe place left.

Her face shines with a mixture of sweat and tears as she presses her cheek against the wood floor. She gasps for breath, lungs burning for oxygen. The edges of her vision are starting to go black and she forces herself to take larger gulps of ash-laden air. When she calls out again her voice is dry and cracks with every syllable. Still, she forces the words out in a coughing wheeze. "Please! I don't—want to die!" More tears slip down her cheeks, she can almost feel them evaporating on her flushed skin. The voices on the other side of the wall have faded, and all she hears now is the hissing and popping as the fire consumes.

Her eyes, already burning from the heat and smoke, begin to feel heavy and she feels the overwhelming urge to sleep. Slowly, she blinks, and when her eyes reopen she sees something that wasn't there before. By the curtains she sees a man.

She should be suspicious of the fact that the smoldering heat and open flames seem to have no effect on him—but she isn't. With every last bit of strength, she tries to drag herself toward him. She only makes it to the foot of the bed. He doesn't see her, she knows he doesn't, because he is humming and eating the flames licking up her curtains. "Help," she pleas, but it is only a weak hiss of air passing her chapped lips.

His dark eyes snap to hers, an alarmed expression parting his lips, before her world fades to black.

A week later she wakes up surrounded by clean white floors and starched linens. There is a mask strapped to her face and wires taped to her skin, and dazedly realizes she is in a hospital. She expects her mother to be there, but it is Ms. Spetto that comes rushing to her bedside; tears following the deep wrinkles around her mouth as her time worn hands gently cup Lucy's cheeks. Her lips move around the same words, over and over again. By the fourth time she repeats it, Lucy is able to wade through the fog of painkillers enough to understand.

“I’m so sorry.”

Lucy is ten years old, and the day she wakes up—relieved to be alive—is the day she finds out her mother is dead.

The second time she sees him it is at Burning Man.

She is twenty-one and so out of her league, but a classmate convinced her to come along. She is angry and determined to rebel against her father in every way possible so she does. It takes her a day and five semi-permanent coloring kits to get her hair ready. Cana (her classmate) helps her dye some of the blonde strands into rainbow colored streaks. Lucy admits that she's concerned about the turn out at first, but now that she has the colored strands weaved into two French braids she is more than happy with her decision.

Everyone seems so bright and full of color, so full of life. She is lost in a sea of costumed bodies, sky high sculptures, cleverly modified "cars", friendly smiles, and booze. Lots of booze. The sun is mercilessly hot, and she knows that her shoulders will likely be burned even through her sunscreen (and the thick layer of dust she had accumulated from her traditional virgin roll in the dirt upon her arrival). It is nothing like she has ever experienced, and she is glad that Cana convinced her to come.

Her friend disappeared hours ago—Lucy assumes she is probably back in the tent doing she-doesn't-even-want-to-know-what with her boyfriend. She takes a drag of her beer and shivers when she finds it is still cold. The bikini top and shorts she is wearing do little to keep her warm, but she knows that once she joins the throng of dancers she will probably be wishing for the cold.

Night descends and people are lit up with any and every possible glow-in-the-dark accessory imaginable. The large sculptures dotting the desert are aglow with a mixture of Christmas lights and LEDs, but the one in front of her is a cacophony of large billowing flames that—if not for the smoke and heat—would almost look like clouds. Adrenaline pumps through her veins, quickening her pulse as she is torn between fear and awe and the towering flames. She has made sure to find a spot upwind to avoid the smoke, but she can still feel her breathing beginning to tighten. Her asthma doesn’t flare up often, but when it does smoke is usually the culprit; fitting since it was the burning air and toxic smoke she inhaled when she was ten that gave her the condition in the first place. She reaches for the inhaler she stacked in her front pocket—just to be safe.

Then she sees him.

He is everything she remembers and everything she has forgotten. He sits on the crude arm of the sculpture, grabbing handfuls of flames and slurping it up as if it were soup. She can’t hear anything over the music, but his leg swings idly to the beat and, somehow, she can almost hear him humming along.

Lucy goes still—frozen in a sea of moving bodies. A man next to her asks if she’s ok, but she barely registers it. By the time she does, he’s already laughing her off has having a good trip. She watches as he disappears into the crowd, hoping that when she looks the fire eating man will have disappeared.

He hasn’t.

He’s staring right at her, with those eyes she remembers most. The same startled expression parting his mouth; fire painting him in orange, red light.

Her inhaler drops. Lucy runs. Maybe she is on a bad trip—maybe someone put something in her drink—but she doesn’t care. Even if it isn’t real, it’s real to her. She doesn’t want to stare at the face that has haunted her for more than a decade. The face she has told no one about, because even as a ten year old she knew better than to believe in strange men that eat fire like it’s a meal.

Adrenaline is making her pulse race and her mind foggy. She should have ran back to her tent—Cana’s boyfriend being there or not—but instead she finds herself surrounded by cold, empty desert with the fire (and other people) at her back. The air she gulps down is cold, but she knows the goosebumps dotting her exposed skin are from far, far more than just the temperature. There are a hundred of things she should be worried about—snakes, coyotes, real men that might see her as an easy target—but all she can think of is dark eyes and flames and the wheezing in her chest.

She forces herself to stand upright, dutifully recalling her doctor’s instructions should she have an attack without her inhaler, and tries to calm her racing heart and reign in her short, gasping breaths. It’s just her mind playing tricks, she tells herself. Just childhood trauma coming back to haunt her. It was a big fire, she should have known it would trigger a reaction. Really, what had she expected? Only, each inhale of cold, dry air seems to only make the pain in her chest coil tighter; every breath shorter.

Suddenly the fire-eater is the least of her concerns. She has to turn around—has to find the spare inhaler she has stashed in her duffle bag. If she doesn’t—if she passes out, here, in the dark corner of desert—she won’t live to see the sunrise.

She turns, squeaking out a scream when she finds a face not a foot away from her’s. A face that, even in the darkness, she recognizes.

He tilts his head, brow furrowing as he watches her gasp. His hand wraps around her neck, too light to bruise but too firm for her to escape. Fear prompts her to claw at his hand, fighting against his hold, but then something strange happens.

The coil in her chest loosens, the whistle in her breathing stops. She can breathe.

Lucy’s heartbeat thunders in her ears, but as his hand retreats her breathing slows, deep and measured and so blessedly normal it’s shocking. She stumbles backward, tripping and falling on her bottom, but she is too numb to do anything else but stare. She doesn’t know what he did but she knows it saved her life, and she isn’t sure how she should process that. “How?” she asks, the word cutting through the silence.

He crouches down, head tilted and eyes curious. “You can see me?”

Lucy swallows, trembling. She doesn’t dare repeat her question. “Am I not supposed to?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he gives a small, perplexed shrug. “I don’t know. No one has before.”

“That’s a lie,” she murmurs, before she can think better of it. But he doesn’t seem offended. “I saw you. You were eating the curtains.”

He recoils, disgusted. “Gross! Who the hell would eat curtains?!”

“They were on fire,” she says, confidence growing the longer she sits there. He hasn’t hurt her—he’s never hurt her—and she gets the feeling that he never will. Why would he bother saving her otherwise? Her vision has begun to adjust to the dark, and he seems much less scary now that he’s more than a shadow. The pink hair helps too. “I was a little girl, and I saw you.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, seeming torn between awe and complete confusion. The way he looks at her is disconcerting… like he doesn’t know what she is, even though she’s the one that should be perplexed. “How’d you do that?”

Her shoulders lift into a weak shrug. Beneath her the ground is still relatively warm from soaking up the sun’s heat all day, but even that is rapidly leaving, and she shivers—teeth on the verge of chattering now that some of the adrenaline has waned. “I didn’t do anything,” she grumbles, sitting up and rubbing her arms with her palms. “You were just, there, and I saw you.”

Glancing at her hands, he frowns. “Why are you doing that?”

“What?”

“That thing with your hands. And the shaky thing.”

“Because I’m cold? It’s cold out here.”

“It is?” He looks around, as if temperature is something that can be seen instead of felt. “Huh. Guess I didn’t notice.” His feet lift, crossing underneath him, and it’s as if gravity has ceased to exist. Perhaps, for him, it never has. In the dark, his eyes burn inhumanly bright. “What’s your name?”

A warning trill traces her spine. Lucy doesn’t remember all of her mother’s teachings, but she remembers this: names have power. Back then it was merely a rule for storybooks; realms with magic and fae instead of electricity and cars. Still, her mother’s voice rings, clear as day, that one can never be too careful. “What’s yours?”

His grin is wide, almost approving, as he laces his fingers behind his head. “You know, you really are the only one that can see me. Do you see other things too?”

Lucy stares at him, a sudden swell of emotion stirring in her chest. “I thought I imagined you,” she says, barely above a whisper. “No one could tell me how I got out of the house. You... you did that, didn’t you? You saved me?”

He shifts, looking uncomfortable. Mouth parting, he’s on the verge of offering an answer when his body tenses—eyes snapping to the dying flames yards away. He frowns, looking genuinely disappointed. “Well, damn. Guess this is goodbye.”

Lucy shakes her head, “Wait! You didn’t answer—“

He flips something toward her: a coin, gold and glinting despite the darkness. Out of instinct, she catches it. The metal is inhumanly warm and unnaturally bright, and it momentarily shocks her into silence. When she looks up he is sending her a dimpled grin.

“Call me!”

Then, between one blink and the next, he’s gone; and Lucy wonders how she could possibly call when she doesn’t even know who or what he is.

The third time she sees him, her shoulders and cheeks are still burnt from the Nevada sun, but she is at least in the privacy of her own home.

Her father has always thrown money at problems to make them go away, and Lucy is no exception. It is easier for him to shower her with gifts through the mail than to shower her with time, and though it still sends a shot of bitterness through her heart she has learned to at least appreciate the practicality of his seemingly endless pocketbook. The cozy two-story Tudor style home he bought her, just around the corner from her college campus, is particularly well loved.

The wallpaper is old—some of it even original—and peeling in some places, and the oak floors speak back to her with every step, but she loves the warmth it provides; so unlike the cold, polished marble homes of her youth.

There are multiple fireplaces. Lucy has never used them, but she considers them thoughtfully now; despite it being the heat of summer. She rubs the coin between her fingers restlessly.

She lights a match—hesitating long enough to feel the heat brush her fingertips—before flicking it into the fireplace. The crumpled balls of paper take a moment to catch, but once it does the fire flares to life; the flames licking at the bricks. But nothing changes and she frowns—disappointed.

In her front pocket, the golden coin hums; emitting a heat she can feel even through the denim of her jeans. She pulls it out, stares at her reflection in the polished surface, and wonders. Her eyes flick to the fireplace, considering, and tosses the coin into the flames.

She stares, waiting for something (anything) to happen. After a few long seconds she begins to think nothing will, but then—between one blink and the next—he’s there, bouncing on the pads of his bare feet and a dimpled grin stretched ear to ear.

“Bout time! What took you so long?”

Lucy sits, practically falling into her favorite wingback chair, and stares up at him in disbelief. “I... can’t believe that worked.”

He links his hands over his head, stretching. Lucy tries not to notice the way his muscles flex beneath his open vest. Perhaps it was a mistake calling on him during the day. Between the harsh shadows the Burning Man fire cast and the desert darkness, she had failed to realize how inhumanly handsome he is.

A pink eyebrow raises questioningly. “Well, why wouldn’t it?”

Lucy flushes. She prays to whatever the hell god is listening that he didn’t notice her staring and forces herself to focus on the conversation instead of his pecs. “Why would it?!”

He opens his mouth, but whatever answer he was preparing to give her is cut off by the dimming flames in the hearth. “Don’t let it die!” he yelps, bordering on panic. “Throw something in there! Quick! If the fire dies, the door shuts!”

Hastily, she looks around for something to toss in but it wasn’t like she was prepared for any of this. She doesn’t buy firewood—why would she when this is the first time she’s ever dared to use her fireplace—and the crumpled pieces of paper she had lit were just junk mail. “I don’t have anything else!”

He growls, an inhuman sound for an inhuman man, and points to the stack of books on her side table. “There!”

Lucy blanches. “That’s my history textbook!”

“Who cares!? They got most of it wrong anyway!” he snaps. The last of the flames is retreating into the embers. “Hurry!”

It is a testament to her stress level that her sanity lapsed enough to throw her three-hundred dollar textbook to its fiery grave. She watches, gaping, as it catches—a whooshing pillar of ink fed flames.

Delighted, her guest tastes a sample and makes a face. “Geeze, did no one teach you how to build a fire? You kinda suck at this.”

Lucy’s face hardens. “I try to avoid it.”

“Why would you so that?! Fire is awesome! It cooks stuff and keeps people warm—“

“It killed my mother.”

His smile falls. “Oh.”

Silence presses down on them, so awkward it’s stifling. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she gathers her courage to ask the question that’s haunted her for years. “You were there,” Lucy whispers, her heart aching. “Why didn’t you save her too?”

He rubs the back of his neck, unable to meet her gaze, but there is an apology in his voice. “I can’t interact with people of this plane—I don’t really exist here.”

Lucy shakes her head. “But you saved me.”

Frowning, he crosses his arms over his chest. “Well yeah. Wasn’t going to leave ya there.”

She can’t tell if he’s being oblivious or stubborn, but her frustration rises regardless. “But I’m from this plane.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Of course I am!”

He doesn’t argue, but his stare is pointed. Knowing. When he shrugs it feels placating. “Ok.”

Lucy feels like it’s anything but, and when the fire starts to die she doesn’t feed it.

She doesn’t see him for another three months.

Honestly, she hadn’t planned on calling on him at all, but it’s Christmas Eve and all her friends have fled the campus and returned home for the holidays. Christmas is a holiday she hasn’t fully celebrated since her mother died. She remembers that the Heartfilia mansion used to be so lit up with lights and garlands it would glow from the street. Ms. Spetto liked to joke that it could probably be seen from the moon.

The fresh scent of pine and the magic of the holiday left with her mother, though, and her father has never so much as put a wreath up since. When Lucy was in the dorms she would try to add a bit of cheer, but it always paled in comparison to the grandness of her childhood memories. When she received the keys to her home, Lucy vowed to go all out come Christmas.

Garlands drape over the fireplace mantels and twine between the railings of the staircase. The Douglas fir she had to physically wrestle into submission sits—slightly leaning—in the corner of the living room, lit up in row upon row of white lights and branches heavy with the glass ornaments she found at the superstore around the corner. The fire is crackling merrily in the fireplace, and a mug of hot cocoa warms her palms.

It is all picture perfect—something straight off a holiday card.

It feels hollow. Forced.

Lonely.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, quelling its quivering. She doesn’t want to spend her Christmas alone; not again.

From the fireplace mantle, partially hidden behind the heavy garland, the gold coin winks at her. She stares at it until her cocoa grows cold; torn between the desire to fill the emptiness in her heart and being sensible enough to know better than to invite a strange being into her home (again) for no other reason than to have some company.

Lucy considers herself to be logical, for the most part, but right now she’s tired of putting responsibility first. Right now, she wants to take a page out of Cana’s book and just say fuck it.

She stands, making a beeline to the dining room and fishing out a bottle of Kahlua from the back of the alcohol cabinet. Dumping a generous amount into her (now cold) hot chocolate, she doesn’t even bother to stir before taking a several gulps. It slides down her throat, smooth and warm, before settling in her stomach. It feels like courage, or perhaps it’s simply recklessness. Either way, she takes the smooth faced coin from the mantle and tosses it into the fire before she can talk herself out of it.

He takes longer this time—a good three blinks—but when he arrives there is a holly crown weaved into his hair and a pink flush to his cheeks. His clothes are different from all the times before; finer. High collared and made from a golden material that reflects the flickering light of the fire. “Hey,” he breathes, an excited (relieved?) smile pulling at his lips. “I didn’t think you’d call.”

For a moment she can only gape at him; struck by how otherworldly—how Fae—he looks. “Um, I, well. I just thought... you know, it’s Christmas?” She pales, realization dawning as fast as her embarrassment. “Oh, but, you wouldn’t celebrate Christmas. Would you?”

The chuckle he gives is light, and blessedly unoffended. “Nah, can’t say I do.” He gestures to his clothing. “But we go all out for the Winter Solstice. So similar deal, right? With the whole eat, drink, and be merry and whatnot?”

Despite the alcohol making her thoughts fuzzy, Lucy has enough presence of mind to know better than to invite a conversation of religion with a near stranger (let alone a mythical being) so she nods. “Uh, yeah. I guess so.” Then it clicks, and she feels her face heat. “Oh, you were—did I interrupt the, uh, merrymaking?”

He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I was getting sick of seeing Ice Prick’s smug face anyway. He’s always an extra pain in the ass this time of year.”

She blinks, but decides she really doesn’t want to know. “Oh. Well then, um, would you like some hot cocoa?”

His answering smile is boundless; bright with an enthusiasm that Lucy knows is worthy of far more than what she’s offered.

For the remainder of winter break, Lucy lights a fire in the living room hearth every evening.

She never enjoys it alone.

Cana looks at her strangely when she returns from break, eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Lucy frowns, sitting in the seat beside her. The coffee shop is busy, but the line is mostly frantic to-go orders of students who hit the snooze one too many times. The sitting area is practically empty saved for two or three others. “I missed you too? How’s your dad?”

“Drunk,” Cana says without a beat, her lips thinning. “Seriously, though. What’d you do? Your aura is freaking me out.”

Lucy doesn’t typically put too much faith in the idea of psychics, but Cana’s has a history of being uncannily right about things she doesn’t have any business knowing. Also, she’s sorta made friends with a fae over Winter Break so who is she to judge? “What are you talking about?”

Cana rests her chin in her palm, a painted fingernail tapping thoughtfully against her cheek. “You’re... bright.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lucy tried to interpret Cana’s baffled expression. “And that’s...bad?”

The brunette snorts, taking a sip of her coffee. Her eyes continue to stare over the rim. “It’s fucking weird. I can’t read anything off you. It’s like staring straight at a lightbulb.”

Lucy doesn’t have an explanation—she’s not even sure she even understands—so offers a shrug and a sheepish smile. “Sorry?”

Cana hums, shaking her head. “It’s pretty,” she consoles, eyes tracing something Lucy can’t see. “But it’s fucking weird.”

“Why can I see you?” Lucy asks, staring up at the ceiling. The wood planks are unforgiving on her joints, but the warmth of the fire (and perhaps that glass of wine) has made her too sleepy to care. Monopoly money and plastic houses are scattered over her coffee table, a few of the paper bills littering the floor.

Her guest pauses in his inspection of the thimble, brow raised. “Why does anyone see anything?”

She huffs, eyelids heavy and words mumbled. “Why do you keep answering questions with more questions?”

His grin is crooked but soft. “Because I won’t lie to you.”

She hums sleepily, lids drifting shut. It feels good to rest her eyes. “You can tell me anything.”

They both know it’s the truth. Sometime in the last six months he has become one of her closest friend, her most trusted confidant. At least a couple nights a week, she calls on him. They play board games and watch movies—one night Lucy taught him how to bake chocolate chip cookies. He still hasn’t told her his name. Lucy hasn’t told him hers either.

The chuckle he gives is as warm as the fire at her back; his voice a promise. “Someday I will.”

Lucy is asleep before she can answer.

On the anniversary of her mother’s death, Lucy lights a candle.

She tries to sniff back the tears, but they press against the backs of her eyes—building in pressure until they spill over her lids. The tiny flame dances, moved by her uneven breaths. It hurts. Ten years later and it still hurts.

Legs weak, she sinks to the floor, hand over her aching chest as silent sobs wrack her body.

A hand rests against her back. Lucy doesn’t look to see who it belongs to— it’s too warm to be anyone but his. She curls into herself, unsure if she feels irritated by him coming uninvited (the candle, she thinks, it must have been the candle) or relieved that she doesn’t have to fall apart alone.

“I didn’t call you,” she tells him, voice cracking. The coin is in her front pocket, hidden and far from the open flame.

A callused knuckle brushes a tear from her eyes before it can fall. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “you did.”

She wipes her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. She still doesn’t understand, and she hates when he gives her these vague responses, but she’s in too much pain to fight for an answer. “But how’d you open the door? The coin—”

He offers a brittle smile. “There’s more than one way to pick a lock.”

His arms wrap around her, pulling her close until the heat of him surrounds her. It feels so good to be held—to be touched— something in her breaks and she releases a low, keening sob. His hold tightens, a hand reaching up to caress her hair. Lucy can feel his lips brush against her forehead, his words whispering across her skin. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

Her fingers grasp his clothing, and she inhales his spiced scent in between gasping breaths. She’s sorry too.

Wake up.

A kiss of warmth at her lips, magic in her lungs. Hands shake her. Rough. Begging.

Breathe. Come on, breathe.

Lucy opens her eyes with a gasp, ragged and raw. Pavement digs uncomfortably into her shoulder blades, and her chest aches with every inhale. Her vision is blurred, but she can make out his pink hair through the fog. One side of her face feels hot, and she rolls her head to the side to investigate.

Her home is on fire.

At first she thinks she’s only reliving her childhood nightmare, but the familiar man—fae—hovering over her grips her upper arms with a strength that is bruising. “You idiot,” he hisses. There are tears clinging, unspilled, at the corners of his eyes. “Why the hell didn’t you leave the ashes in the fireplace?!”

Lucy blinks, trying to clear the blurriness at the edge of her vision. “Ashes?” she echoes. She had cleaned those up, swept them into her trash can. The hearth was filthy from all his visits. “But they were cold.” She knows—she checked. It had been hours from when the fire died and his visit ended.

She can hear the piercing echo of sirens and knows they are for her.

His hands move, callused palms cupping her cheeks; so gently they tremble. “Idiot,” he repeats, softer this time. Almost an endearment. The piercing echo of sirens reach her ears, Lucy knows they are for her. He leans down till their foreheads touch, his breath warm against her lips. “Those ashes almost killed you,” he whispers, voice rough. “If you didn’t leave my coin downstairs—” he cuts off, cringing. “You weren’t breathing. When I pulled you out. You weren’t breathing.”

Lights, red and white, flash over her front yard. Someone with heavy steps and full fire gear runs toward her; shouting something Lucy can’t bother to make out. She’s too focused on the fear, the relief, in her friend’s dark eyes.

The fireman is kneeling beside her know, opposite of the fae that saved her. His fingers check her pulse as he speaks to her (Miss are you alright? Can you hear me? Does anything hurt?)

Lucy doesn’t answer, doesn’t even glance his way. To do so would mean breaking eye contact with her best friend, and right now his presence is offering her more comfort than any human could. “What’s your name?” she rasps, reaching for him.

“Natsu,” he answers, taking her hand in his. His fingers, callused and warm, trace her cheek, and Lucy knows that what he’s given her is far more than just a name. “It’s Natsu.”

She wants to thank him—for saving her, for his trust—but she’s being picked up, pulled away from him, and set in a stretcher. A mask is strapped over her face, IVs taped to her arm, and she fights to hold onto his hand. “No,” she mutters weakly, “No, I want to stay with him. Stop...”

They keep speaking to her, encouraging and emphatic, but they don’t listen to her requests. She struggles, gloved hands push her down, but then Natsu is there beside her—reaching between the bodies surrounding her to grasp her hand. “It’s ok,” he says. “It’s ok. Don’t fight them.”

She holds his hand with a white-knuckled grip, relieved that he doesn’t let her go as they load her into the ambulance. The paramedic puts a stethoscope to her chest, listening to her pulse, as the doors close. Beside him, Natsu kneels beside her, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “I’ll stay with you for as far as I can,” he promises. Lucy nods, but her eyes are starting to feel heavy.

He makes it four blocks, before a pained grimace overtakes his features. His lips part, probably trying to warn her, but he isn’t quick enough. He disappears, torn away from her by the boundaries of his magic, but when her fingers close she finds that he didn’t leave her empty handed. Sitting, comforting and warm, in her palm is a familiar gold coin.

Lucy closes her fingers around it, tests the taste of his name on her lips, and falls into sleep.

They discharge her after two days. The doctors tell her it’s a small miracle she escaped without any damage to her lungs, but Lucy knows better.

She’s breathing better than she has in the last decade—since before she survived the fire that took her mother. Natsu has given her more than his name, more than his kiss. When their lips touched, something in her awoke. She can feel it, even now, lazily curling around her soul—sleepy and languid; a cat in front of a warm hearth. It’s new but she knows, instinctively, that it is hers.

Long ago, her mother used to spin her stories of the Fae and their blood—how the magic often slept, hidden, in plain sight for generations before awakening.

Lucy knows why she can see Natsu; knows why he was able to save her.

She goes home; what’s left of it. Beyond the yellow caution taped perimeter is a charred skeleton of what used to be her house. Most of the walls have buckled, little more than piles of blackened brick and ash. Of all four fireplaces her home once boasted, only the one in the living room is recognizable. The stack is short, but after a bit of digging Lucy is able to find the hearth.

With soot blackened hands, she fishes her discharge papers from the plastic, hospital issued bag she was sent with and diligently crumbles each page until the hearth is full of her makeshift kindling and—gleaming on top—his coin. It won’t burn for long, she knows, but as she brings a lighter (her only purchase between the hospital and home) to the paper, she hopes it will be enough.

The moment the paper catches, she can feel his presence behind her—a subtle shift in the air, the spiced scent of magic. She faces him, heart fluttering in her chest.

His fingers brush over her eyelids, a soft smile curling his mouth. “You’re awake,” he murmurs, awe darkening his gaze. “You can see.”

“Yes,” she murmurs, holding his palm to her cheek. The calluses lining his fingers brush against her skin, warm and welcome, and she sighs—leaning into his touch. “I can see.”

His grin is interrupted by a shudder—so minute she would have never known if she weren’t holding his hand—and his eyes flick over to the fireplace. Lucy doesn’t need to look to know they are running out of time.

Quickly, before the fire goes out completely, she kisses him. Chaste, but branded with the heat of a promise. “Lucy,” she whispers against his lips. “My name is Lucy.”

Natsu sucks in a quick, startled breath and stares down at her as if she is something amazing. Slowly, his lips curl and his cheeks dimple—eyes lighting up. “Lucy,” he echoes—savoring each syllable as if they are the finest gift she could give him. Lucy suspects they might be.

He brushes a stray hair away from her face with a tenderness that makes her pulse flutter and her eyes close. When he kisses her, it is soft and unhurried despite the dying fire behind her. It feels like coming home. Her fingers grip his vest in what she knows is a vain effort to keep him beside her.

When he pulls away she opens her eyes, and finds the world different. There is stardust tangled in Natsu’s hair; magic in his smile. Where her blackened hearth once stood is a bridge made purely of light and something so other it makes her heart ache with the desire to touch it. “I thought it was a door?” she murmurs, entranced.

Natsu’s forehead rests against hers, his lips so close she can feel the force of his smile. “It was. Fire is my doorway, the coin I gave you is my key. But you, Luce... Don’t you see? You’re the bridge.” He kisses her temple. “You’re the best of both worlds.”

He steps away from her, hand held out in invitation. Framed by the bridge’s ethereal light, he looks every bit like a Fae from her childhood storybooks. “Come with me?”

When Lucy takes his hand, their fingers lace.

#Naluweek #nalu #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #my fanfiction

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scribbles97 · 3 years

Text

Half a Hope

Post Season 3 fic, based on a comment made by Colonel Casey in Break Out.

I make no apologies for where this ended.

@gumnut-logic thank you for the cheerleading as always!

They had seen each other in passing, she had been there when they had landed on the Island. Jeff’s first thought had been how old she had looked, but a glance in the elevator doors had reminded him of just how old he himself had gotten.

Val had smiled and waved, promised she would visit as soon as she had dealt with the Hood and his new team.

He had put it down to exhaustion that he was disappointed that she hadn’t stayed.

Then it had been forgotten about though, written out by time with his family and a move to hospital to ensure a proper recovery. Tests and reports had filled his days, discussions of what he had missed and what he had to face before normality would take over again. After eight years alone it was a lot to take in.

He wasn’t proud that he had once snapped at his mothers well meaning fussing.

He was grateful that she had at least understood.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, he looked forward to his moments of peace when everyone else had gone home. He appreciated the chance to simply switch off and block out everything around him. The doctors and nurses were done for the day, bland dinner served and pills dispensed, he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed for the evening.

The lightest of taps on the door was enough to draw his attention, pulling him back from the edge of relaxation.

“I can come back.”

She had whispered it, but compared to the noise of space, everything was loud.

“No,” He grunted, pushing himself upright in the bed against muscles that protested, “come in, Val, it’s good to see you.”

Her smile widened as she slipped quietly through the door, hesitating by it as she shook her head.

“It’s really you,” Whispered again, “you’re really home.”

He grinned back, “In the flesh.”

“Forgive me for being sceptical,” She shrugged, “It’s kind of been a while.”

“Too damn long,” He replied, resting his head back against the pillows, “Come and sit.”

She glanced over her shoulder, “The nurse sai--”

“Damn the nurses,” He waved her towards the seat again, “I know what I need, and it’s for you to tell me the unabridged versions of what I’ve missed.”

Even her laugh was quiet as she skirted the room, pulling the chair closer before she took a seat. Her eyes seemed brighter in the lights, her smile softened from the hard tight look she had thrown across the tarmac to him weeks ago. She was still noticeably older than he remembered, grey streaking her hair, and laugh lines creasing the corner of her eyes deeper than he remembered.

He couldn’t help but think how it suited her.

“So,” She murmured, crossing one leg over the other as she sat forward, “Where shall I start?”

They had talked for hours that first evening, and if it hadn’t been for the mental and physical exhaustion pulling him towards sleep, he was sure they wouldn’t have stopped. Her hand had been warm and comfortable on his shoulder before she had left, the first time she had dared to reach out to him.

Part of him didn’t want her to leave, her company easier than anybody else's.

Val didn’t fuss or fret, didn’t treat him like the old man he felt he was. She seemed to know though, just what he needed, how to speak in the low tones that didn’t disturb him, how to keep company without having to even say anything.

He loved his family, but they were all so eager to have him home, sometimes they seemed to forget and he had to remind them.

Val seemed constantly, acutely aware.

After the first night they had talked often. Everything and nothing coming to mind in equal measures. Some conversations were important, Janus trying to force Val out of her job and the boys into submission. Others were less so, simple time fillers when the silence was too much.

On the dark nights, when sleep wouldn’t come and his burdens were too heavy for his sons to shoulder, she was there. Occasionally in person, more often in text. She had put it down to being a light sleeper, used to being woken at the slightest call for her attention. He hadn’t questioned, simply grateful for the company and the outlet.

When he returned to the Island and was forced to watch in person as his son’s risked their lives time and again, she was there to reassure. There may have also been a degree of ass kicking when he had questioned himself and the organisation he had created. Her tongue was sharp as ever, not a single word minced over her thoughts on the topic.

She always had been damn good at setting him straight.

It was what she had done after Lucy. After he had all but abandoned his family and set himself on a downward spiral, Val had been the one to drag him back up and shove him down the path he needed to follow.

“What’s got you smiling?”

He shrugged, glancing down to his bourbon as he swirled it, the ice clinking on the sides of the glass. He didn’t drink much any more, more conscious of his declining health than he had ever been, but it had been a year since he had walked out of that hospital and he was sure the one drink was warranted.

“I owe you some thanks,” He sighed, drawing his gaze from the sun setting far on the horizon and back to her, “For keeping me going since I came home.”

Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments before she was looking away. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to notice how her jaw clenched and her own smile fell, but he did, and it worried him.

“Val?”

She didn’t look back, instead taking a sip of her drink, eyes fixed on the pool below the deck.

“Val.” He stated, frowning as he sat straighter.

Both of them knew the tone, each had spent enough time in the military to know when a statement was a command. Neither could ignore it.

Swallowing her drink she didn’t look back to him, “You said the same after Lucy died.”

The statement only confused him more.

“Val what--”

“Be quiet.”

He did as she asked, still frowning as he watched her. The trust was strong between both of them, and he knew better than to push. She would speak when she was ready.

Still, it made him worry. He couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been blunt with him, when her words hadn’t cut straight to the core of any issue. To see her so clearly conflicted seemed wrong.

She had told him to be quiet, but she hadn’t stopped him from reaching out to touch her arm where it rested outstretched towards him. Her breath sucked in sharply at his touch as she closed her eyes.

“All I needed was half a hope.”

Words no longer needed whispering for him, but it seemed it was all she could force out as her eyes snapped back to him.

There were tears there.

“They didn’t tell me.” She whispered with a shake of her head, “I was the last to find out you might be alive.”

This he hadn’t known.

Anger burned somewhere deep in him at the thought of her being in the dark.

“I thought you were dead, and I didn’t know what to do Jeff because I finally understood it all.”

The hand of the arm he had reached to twisted, taking his fingers and squeezing them tightly as she swallowed.

“I finally understood what you felt when you said a part of you had died with Lucy.”

His heart clenched at the thought, long buried feelings and emotions bubbling up. It was a time in his life he never would forget, the pain indescribable and most certainly not anything he would ever wish on another.

Val had watched him through it all, a quiet shoulder of support at the start when the ache of loss was at its worst.

Who had been there to support her?

“I would have done anything,” She continued softly, “if there had been the slightest indication that you could have been alive…”

Catching her hand in his before she could pull away, he held on tight. It was far too late, the damage already done and no doubt seared deep, but he was there.

“You couldn’t have known.” He murmured, “Val there was no possible way for you--”

“I should have!” She snapped, cutting him off as eyes glistening with unshed tears turned on him.

Colonel Evangeline Casey didn’t do scared.

Jeff could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her well and truly afraid.

It was undoubtedly what he was seeing in that moment though. Equal parts hurt and fear as she watched him, unable to look away.

“How?” He prompted softly, thumb smoothing calmly over the back of her hand, “How should you have known Val?”

She shrugged as she shook her head, eyes finally breaking away to look at his hand over hers.

Equally as soft, “Because it was you.”

Another question was on the tip of his tongue, desperate to figure out what had brought all of this on. She beat him to it though, the words coming tumbling as if the dam had broken.

“Because it was you and Lee and Lucy and me, and when Lucy was gone nothing seemed right any more. Lee couldn’t cope so he left the world behind, and then it was just us. You and me against whatever the world decided to throw at us after that, and the world threw some wicked curveballs.”

He could guess she wasn’t talking of the challenges of starting International Rescue.

“Because you’re you,” She shrugged, voice twisting tight with the words, “You were my best friend's husband, and then she was gone and hell it seemed so wrong. Who else did I have though? Nobody else seemed to get it like you always did, and part of me really hated you for that because it made everything so much more complicated. How could I really hate you though? You didn’t even know, and I knew, I always knew your heart would only ever belong to Lucy.”

The tears had tracked down her cheeks, barely visible in the soft dusk light. Jeff could see them though, them and all they stood for.

With a sniff, Val looked away, dipping her head as she closed her eyes and swallowed the last mouthful of her drink.

“Didn’t stop me though,” Her eyes darted back, holding his as she pursed her lips, “Didn’t stop me from loving you.”

TBC?

#thunderbirds are go #Thunderbirds 2015 #Thunderbirds Season 3 #Jeff Tracy #Colonel Casey #Scribbles Writes #thunderbirds fanfiction

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utterlyinevitable · 3 years

Note

Can u do a headcanon or fic as part 2 for that mc has a musical talent one where ethan gets a keyboard for her birthday?😊

For anon, @thegreentwin and @lucy-268 ❤

Read Part 1 here.

Music & Secrets (Part 2)

Ethan and Bryce arrived at Odette and the gang’s shabby, yet homely, garden apartment early. They came separately but showed up together. Well, actually, Ethan made it to the building’s front door 2 minutes before his gym acquaintance. The attending was struggling to type in the code, open the door, and balance the birthday gift all at once. Bryce noticed Ethan’s struggle and jogged to help him get through the front door, offering to share the weight of the juggled present teetering in his arms.

Ethan gratefully relented as the two most important men in Odette’s life navigated through the corridors to the familiar, ajar apartment door.

“Dirty 30!” Bryce exclaimed ceremoniously over the expertly wrapped package he helped Ethan haul into the apartment.

The roommates looked to Bryce, to Ethan, then down to the ridiculously long gift wrapped in duck egg blue and white stripped paper with a comically dainty bow placed in the uppermost corner.

“Why’s it so big!?” Elijah asked, deep brown eyes gleaming at the possibilities.

Bryce shrugged and plopped his side of the weighted rectangular object onto the scuffed wood floor carefully. He bounded over to the kitchen to peck Odette on the cheek and grab a beer from the fridge, making himself right at home like always.

Now left alone, hovering in the foyer, Ethan took to placing the package carefully against the wall, then busying himself by rubbing his palms down the front of his button down shirt to expel any creases. It’s not like he hasn’t interacted with this group of colleagues before - they’ve got to know one another rather well over the last two years - but there was something different about being one of the carefully selected individuals invited to their home for a party.

Not just any party.

Odette’s birthday party.

Never had they celebrated a milestone together before.

As Ethan shifted in place he wondered if he really should be here, if he should have really gotten such an ostentatious gift. She didn’t ask for it - what if it was a mistake?

Should’ve just gotten a card and some flowers. Lahela’s gift fit in the pocket of his jacket. That’s more representative of our friendship. Right?

Before Ethan could run a marathon of doubt Odette moved to greet him, eyeing the parcel resting to his right, then looking him up and down - noting how something about him was uncharacteristically shy. They - Odette, the gang, and Ethan - have worked together for over three years, at the very least they were all pub friends, there was no reason why he should feel so out of place in such a warm, loving, environment.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said softly with a private smile as soon she she was situated a mere two steps before him.

Just like the calming salt-filled breeze wafting off the Bay and up to his balcony, the air around Odette had Ethan’s rigid shoulders rounding, jaw loosening, entire body enraptured.

“I know.”

The corners of his mouth tugged upwards.

Their eyes - deep azure and sparking emerald - met, speaking volumes they wouldn’t dare say out loud. The animalistic side of him fought to ogle her in that new strappy turquoise dress that accentuated her long legs and curvy waist, fabric pleating effortlessly around her salaciously round hips, and - dear god - the bodice fitted all too well and Ethan would need to swallow the offending lump forming in his throat. The overbearing, and commanding part of Ethan Ramsey fixated on her naturally painted features, waiting for one of them to make the next move.

Sienna got there first, breaking the moment the two diagnosticians were having. “What is it!?”

Ethan took a half step back and made a motion to the present with an invitingly raised brow. Odette’s eyes glowed a shade of enticing light green Ethan had never seen before. That in itself was worth it; he convinced himself in that moment that her reaction to the actual object could not supersede the bemused and satisfied lightness he was feeling right now.

Odette couldn’t help herself. Her hands reached the paper even before her feet could follow. Dropping to her knees, filed nails tore the wrapping paper right off as unladylike as possible - not a single care for the purposefully chosen decoration.

She’d only gotten a fifth of the way through before she recognized the logo on the box underneath and froze in place.

No. It couldn’t be.

Odette’s neck craned ever so slowly, turning to Ethan who’s lips pulled into the most genuine smile she’s ever seen on him.

She had no words; mauve painted lips parted, only the most necessary of breaths leaving her lungs, emeralds glassing over. She knew Ethan was wealthy and enjoyed spending money on those in his life. But this was too much.

Much too much of a gift for a good friend.

Odette turned back to the most thoughtful gift she’s ever received. Her jaw slacked further and her big eyes barely blinked as she gawped at it.

“Shall I place this in your room?”

All Odette could do was nod.

Ethan helped her back onto her feet before lifting the package and making his way down the corridor he’d gotten accustomed to over the last few years. Late nights and nightcaps spent in the living room, and early mornings he’d stop by to force her out of bed for a case or to join him for the rest of his jog.

When he was out of sight and most certainly hearing range, the gaggle of doctors shared the exact same look. Sienna the only one to whisper-exclaim; “Oh my god!” through her grin.

Odette bit her lip, not sure of what to make of the moment. Her thoughts were blank, yet her chest was fluttering faster than she could keep count. She glanced between all her friends’ elated and encouraging faces for any semblance of the explanation she was too stunned to come up with. The only sentiment she found was an astounding wordless command: Go with him!

Odette rose her brows. Took a deep breath. Then turned on the balls of her bare feet, making her way to her bedroom where her dearest friend was waiting.

Before rounding the corner to her open bedroom, Odette took one more cleansing breath and shook her head. There was no reason to feel so discombobulated; this is Ethan!

They’ve been through so much and have become the closest of friends. Why is she getting knots in her stomach and a lightness in her chest at the thought of being alone with him right now?

When she entered, Ethan was sat at the edge of her bed, hunched over with forearms resting on his thighs, intently reading through the assembly instructions. His baby blues were squinted and she could pick out nearly all of the lines and divots usually carefully masked with his signature stoic expression. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself at the sight.

“You should start carrying your readers, old man.” He was only a few months shy of the big 4-0.

“I wouldn’t need to if they didn’t print it impossibly small.”

She sauntered over and gently snatched the booklet from his hands. Her eyes roamed over the packet. And of course;

“You’ve got a point.”

She handed the booklet back to him, her attention caught by the fully opened box propped up next to her pillows. The ivory-looking keys glittered back at her, and the fifteen year old prodigy she thought she’d long suppressed begged to break free.

Ethan couldn’t help but watch her ogle the object. Her freshly painted fingers barely grazing the keys as if she’s afraid or shocked or... he’s not really sure what to make of it. All he knew was that she was holding herself up straighter than five minutes ago.

“Is this the right one? The saleswoman said it’s the perfect compact option that doesn’t compromise on quality.”

There was a bated pause. Only a beat before she responded - thought he knew her well enough to know her mind was elsewhere than she’d let on.

“It’s perfect,” the words came out breathy. Odette tore her eyes from the piano to smile at him, “Just unexpected.”

The two of them spent the next forty minutes building the keyboard stand with the allen key Ethan absolutely detested, and the foldable stool she had to scower around for the tiny toolbox her older brother made sure she kept on hand. Then eventually they cleared some space from under her window so she could bask in the natural light while playing to her hearts content.

Ethan put on the final touches by pinning back her curtains for a better view of the small plot of greenery her bedroom was fortunate to overlook. He took a step back to be at her side. The two of them admiring how the dark colors of the keyboard contrasted with the whites of her minimal décor, yet looked so perfectly at home - like it was always meant to be there.

Like it was always meant to be in her life.

Funny how that thought crept up on him. It’s exactly how Ethan felt about Odette. He may have adamantly refused her friendship their first 15-months, but he always knew she was special. For a man that didn’t believe in higher powers, that .01% has come to accept his need for her in his life.

He’d never know she feels the same way about him.

With the grand gesture illuminated by the mid-autumn rays, Odette took a magnetic step forward. Sitting down on the stool, her hips wiggled in the seat to test out its comfort level. Satisfied, her fingers began hovering a waltz over the keys, still so hesitant to touch them. It’s been nearly a decade since she’s last let her emotions wistfully speak for her.

“Go on, try it out.” Ethan’s gentle baritone cadence urged, knowing she’s dying to without her having to say it. She had that look on her face that he knew all too well - that glassy, dazed expression that meant her mind was moving faster than her muscles could comprehend.

Odette’s front teeth sunk into her lip, angling herself away from him as much as possible and wishing she didn’t ask Sienna to put her hair into an artistic bun. This would be so much easier if her bleached blonde locks could curtain her from her onlooker.

Ethan stepped back to sit on her bed and give her space.

She took another breath. Shallower this time as the fear, excitement and desperation began to culminate in her fingertips.

The pad of her thumb grazed E, the ivory warm to the touch and the sensation not as distanced as she expected. Even though she hadn’t elicited a single sound from the instrument the key rang in her ears. Her other hand came into place. A single cord beckoned for her attention. Odette pressed lightly, enough for the note to sing from the speakers. Her lips turned upwards. Every new touch coaxed out such sounds that drowned out the rest of the world. Her eyes fluttered shut as the sounds began vibrating off her walls. This room never felt more like home.

And, soon, she began to play.

From memory.

The song she’d have ingrained within her bones forever - the song she demoed that led to her development and publishing deal.

A song Ethan couldn’t place. Didn’t know the tune. A crooked smirk was pulled from him at the thought of her writing something this beautiful. He’s been in awe of Odette Hall for as long as he’s known her, and watching her - getting to experience this secretive side of her - Ethan couldn’t find the appropriate phrase in his elaborate vocabulary to accurately explain just how awestruck he was right now. How he adored everything about her. How he couldn’t fathom never witnessing her play or never solving a case with her ever again.

And as he leaned back on her box spring bed, fingers fisting in the floral patterned duvet and his deep azure eyes hypnotized by his life’s most incredible surprise, he wanted to know so much more.

And as the melody reached the living room, the good-natured group of third-year residents conspired to set a plan in motion.

________________________________________

A/N: In this world, Ethan and MC aren’t and never have dated. Maybe in canon she was on the Raf route? idk. But E and MC have been strictly platonic for three years and the feelings have been growing. Hence the really thoughtful piano and why she trusts him with her secrets more than her friends. They’ve got an attachment and mild codependence brewing ☺

I’m not planning on making this a series but can be persuaded to do another part if y’all want 😅

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heavenlysan · 4 years

Text

Cruel Love 9

Words: 3,7k

Chapters:

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

(Y/N)'s POV

My choice was obvious.

Irene sent people to bring my car and all the things from my apartment, except for my papers about the case and my old phone since it was harder to hide in a car and it was dangerous to just leave those there.

I didn't say a word to her, I just went in and drove without a destination. Going back to the streets, my biggest fear in life was now my reality.

Everything vanished so quickly. Just a month ago I was helping a mother find her lost daughter and hugging her back when she was crying and thanking me for finding her. I felt so blessed for having a job that allowed me help people and I was thanking above for not being in hell anymore, just a few days ago I was in a planetarium with a man I barely knew talking about life and laughing and unexpectedly kissing him when he left me at my door, just two days ago I was feeling free and alive running in the rain and having sex with San enjoying myself but also admiring him while he was asleep and having all sort of unknown feelings when I was in his arms. Just a few hours ago I was laughing with a friend. But now there's nothing. Time felt so absurd.

I wanted to call San and confront him. He's the one who killed that man, this was all his fault but I lost the tiny paper with his phone on it. I drove for a few hours and then stopped a few blocks away from the bar since it was the only place I knew. I could only sobb. This is not real I kept repeating myself but looking at my surroundings and looking at my reflection in the driver's mirror, this was definitely real. My eyes were swollen and my head was hurting from crying so much I closed my eyes but did not sleep. I tried to clear up just how I felt but I cried to the point where there was not a single thought on my head.

I kept on working at the bar since the FBI cut the money they were giving me per week, the bar was the only thing that could help me to survive. But I looked like shit and nobody wanted to at least invite me drinks. I went to work every day hoping to see San I wanted to yell at him so bad but I didn't see him, two weeks passed and he was nowhere to be seen, I would constantly see Wooyoung and I wanted to approach him and ask him why San wasn't around but every time I tried to my legs would stop working and I'd walk away from him. Weeks passed and nothing I even started to worry what if something happened to him, what if he was just playing around and he just wanted sex those words were running in circles in my head I didn't even wanted to yell at him anymore I just wanted to see him again.

I wished I had spent more time with him and also wished I could remember the way to his home. I really needed to know where or how he was.

The only good thing about that bar was that I made a new friend, I grew closer with Lucy, she displayed a totally different image while working, the real Lucy was a bubbly and cheerful girl. Everyday she'd ask me if everything was okay in her words, you look like a puzzle that's missing a piece and I always lied with the same words what are you talking about I'm fine.

Since we couldn't meet each other at my ex apartment anymore Irene occasionally left different codes with secret messages on sticky notes on my car that at first glance looked like traffic tickets and it was always the same thing.

"Have you heard of him?"

"You're screwing up"

"If you don't get him soon we can sue you for breach of contract"

"Stop fooling around"

It was definitely way better than seeing her and yell at each other until getting tired.

A whole month passed, at the bar I was used to at least seeing Wooyoung around but recently not even him was showing up.

What if this what if that.

I just need to see him.

(San's POV)

The smell of smoke filled the house, the place was under attack and we needed to get out of here. There was only one man dumb enough to mess with me. That son of a bitch.

I ran through the long corridors of Hongjoong's house. The others following me closely as I lead the way I knew this place wasn't safe but he never hears what I say. I heard the others running behind me and Hongjoong clearing the back part as I cleared the front part. We couldn't use the front door since it was burning and falling apart, we needed a plan asap.

"Let's just use the window" Said Jongho.

I stopped to think about it for a moment, it's risky but we don't really have more options. Jumping to the balcony of the second floor and then to the trees is our only way out. I explained to them my plan and they agreed.

"I'll go first" I said as I made my way to the window. This was a huge risk one wrong move and it was over. Before jumping my princess and my loyal members crossed my mind.

I crouched into the window sill. Please let the others be safe. I jumped and I successfully made it to the second floor's balcony. I looked over at the tree that was about 3 feet away from the balcony, this was the serious part. But we didn't have much time and without hesitation I jumped, I managed to grab onto a branch. I climbed down and then jumped to the ground. I got only a few scratches on my face and my arms but nothing serious or painful.

While helping Yeosang who was the last I heard footsteps approaching us. We got on guard but the noise ceased. Yunho was the first one to lower his gun "Let's just go get the…" I heard gunshots and then Yunho fell on my arms, his face filled with pain and his back covered in blood.

"Lucca says hi" A man hiding in the bushes yelled.

"Go get that bitch but don't kill him I want to do it myself" I said as Jongho, Wooyoung and Mingi followed my instructions.

My attention was back to Yunho, the blood he was losing worried me we could lose him any second if we don't treat him on time, Seonghwa helped me to get him inside the car. We could've died as soon as we passed in front of Hongjoong's house but to our surprise there wasn't anyone there shooting or throwing Molotov cocktails anymore. The way home felt like a roller-coaster I'd see Yunho through the rear-view mirror every two minutes, Hongjoong kept talking to him to keep him awake and Yunho tried to answer all of it with his head thrown back in pain, my heart was beating faster and faster. I can't lose him, none of them I just can't.

I stopped the car in front of our house and Yeosang and Seonghwa got him carefully to the infirmary to treat his wounds. I felt useless, I'm their leader, I should protect all of them but this is not even the first time one of us gets hurt. I impatiently waited outside the infirmary for a few hours to get news from Yunho, why is this taking them so long?.

"I know that face" Hongjoong who was sitting in front of me said with his hands buried on his pockets "You're blaming yourself but this is not your fault, you always tell me to move in here but I never listen, blame me instead"

I didn't say anything this wasn't because Hongjoong's place was an easy target this was because I was unable to protect Yunho. The front door opened and I felt the weight on my shoulders vanishing a little they came back in one piece.

"You're gonna get mad" Said Wooyoung. "We got the guy but he's injured losing a lot of blood he could die any second, we already moved him to the basement so you better hurry"

"Did you ask him some questions?" Hongjoong interfered and Wooyoung tilted his head and squinted his eyes as I left them to hurry to the basement.

"We tried but that motherfucker didn't want to cooperate" I heard Mingi reply.

I went down the basement, Jongho was there too. That man didn't even need to be tied up, he was all fucked up and could barely move, I dragged a chair and sat in front of him.

"So you're one of Lucca's little toys?" I said but that bastard didn't even look at me, Jongho pulled his head up by his hair. "I'm talking, if you don't wanna die in a merciless way you better pay attention–"

"Lucca… he's closer… than you think he is and–" Heavily breathing he coughed leaving blood on his lips, I observed how he was slowly dying. "He's also stronger than you… think he is, his goal is displaying your head… in his leaving room… That's all I know man" He crawled, trying to get closer to me "But please don't kill me I—"

I laughed, this bitch is funny as fuck "Don't kill me? You hurted one of my members, you can thank Lucca for this" I pulled out my gun and I shot him right between his eyebrows, he didn't hesitate to shoot Yunho why should I show some kind of mercy?

"You know what to do with the body" I glanced at Jongho and I threw him my zippo before closing the door of the basement.

While walking through the hall I spotted Seonghwa sitting on the floor removing his gloves covered in blood. He looked exhausted.

"Before you say anything, he's fine we just have to wait for him to wake up" He says while looking up to meet my eyes. "I know you're the leader, but you're also young, you don't have to beat up yourself for this we've been through worse we're all gonna be fine"

"Yes as you said I'm the leader and…" I felt embarrassed and I slid my back on the wall till I reached the floor sitting next to him.

He shakes his head "We knew what we were getting ourselves into when we joined you, and none of us regret doing it, so please stop worrying" He suddenly pauses and looks at me scanning me whole. "I'm the one worried about you, have you been sleeping well? You look like shit"

"I'm doing alright" I say.

"No you're not and I think I know what's your problem"

"Well Doctor Park tell me what's my problem" I rest my head on the wall crossed armed paying attention to what he has to say.

"It's that girl"

"I'm not gonna have this conversation with you" I try to get up but he holds my arm.

"You looked like a totally different person when you were seeing her, you had a special sparkle in your eyes I never saw that look in your face not even when you were with—"

"Don't fucking finish that" I push his hand away from my arm.

"Okay whatever I'm sorry I won't bring it up again, but you know I'm right" He says with determination "But why did you stop seeing her?"

"She rightfully got mad at me" Looking away I say. "I gave her my number but she never called"

"And why didn't you call her?" He scoffs

"She didn't call me for a reason and I respect that I can't force her to love me back" Seonghwa looks at me with his eyes wide open and his mouth forming an O.

"So you love her" I realize way too late what I just said. Fuck. "I knew it" He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me.

"Well it's… The thing is… I don't know what I feel for her" I say quietly.

"You just said that you love her"

"I know what the fuck I just said it's just…" I try to find the right words but that's the thing about her, she leaves me speechless and breathless and I can't explain what my feelings are towards her. "It's complicated"

"One thing I know for sure is that she feels the same for you" I look at him ironically, I don't think that's the case but I keep listening "Don't look at me like that, I just know, when Wooyoung introduced her to me and I mentioned how nervous you were when you invited her dinner you should've seen her eyes and how they lightened up when I brought you up in our little convo, none a single person on earth can fake that"

"I've thought about it and it's better this way, my life is a big dangerous mess, I have people who's loyal to me in every corner of this city but I also have enemies in every corner, I don't want to bring her into my life and put her in danger just because I'm happy with her that'd be selfish, if something happened to her because of me…" I'm explaining but he interrupts me.

"Yeah but you don't get to decide that, it's her decision, I know she doesn't know everything about you but that one time when you first met her, you shot a man in front of her and according to what you said she didn't look remotely scared of you she even yelled at you she even agreed to go out with you" He sounds so enthusiastic about this but he suddenly pauses "You should go and see her"

"Right now?" I chuckle "I'm waiting for Yunho to wake up besides it's late she's probably working right now"

"Yunho is resting the more he sleeps the better" He rushes me to get up.

"What if she hates me"

"You respect her decision and come back here but you won't know if you don't try to see her" He's already pushing me to keep walking till we get to the door and even throws me my coat. "And yes I don't think he will but If Yunho wakes up earlier I'll call you right away"

"This is a bad idea" I try to get off this situation

"Just shut the fuck and go" He says while opening the door and pushes me out and before I get to say anything he slams the door.

Shit.

(Y/N POV)

I stared at my fake boss with pure anger disguised with a neutral expression, I truly want to punch him in the nose he's been yelling at me for an hour because I'm the only girl bringing the less money and I could understand that but he had the nerve to stare at my boobs the whole time I sat there in front of him in his office.

"I don't get rid of you just because even if you haven't brought that much money these last weeks you're the one who brought more money in one night this month" He finally looks me in the eyes.

He's talking about the night I met San when he paid for me to supposedly have sex with Wooyoung but it was actually just to get me out of here, after all the shit I went through that night he just wanted me to go home and that was a gesture I'll never forget.

"Are you paying attention?" He snaps his fingers in front of me and I nod "Besides tomorrow we have a special event and I need every single girl for a little something so please don't be late"

"Is that everything?" I ask as I get up from my seat, he just nods at me then makes a gesture with his hand.

While closing the door of the office I run into Lucy. "You're still here? it's almost 4am you always leave early" She tells me.

"I was about to leave when our boss called me to tell me about a special event" I explain while we both walk to the dressing rooms.

"Oh, yeah it's tomorrow it's not as special as it sounds it's just his brother's birthday, he's a creep a total pig and girl I see pigs every night but this man" She gags pretending to throw up "I would rather if you just stay at home"

"I can't he even told me to not be late" Lucy changes her dress for a clean one she usually stays for longer than I do, in the meantime I put on the hoodie that San lent me the last time I saw him on top of my dress and get ready to leave.

"Well I hope you get sick or something, I think you're too pure to meet that man" she says and I let out a loud laugh.

"Is he that bad?" She nods and the disgust on her face says everything.

"But enough of that even talking about him grosses me" She looks down at the hour on her phone "You should go now and get some sleep"

"I was going to wait a little the rain sounds heavy" I say and she just rolls her eyes and puts up my hoodie covering my head.

"That's even better if you get wet you might get sick"

I don't say anything, I just wave at her goodbye and leave to the parking lot. The rain catches me off guard, it's definitely more intense than I thought it was going to be. I run to the front part of the bar and on the corner of my eye I spot a familiar silhouette, but I keep walking, it's probably just my imagination at this point.

But what if…

I turn around and I see San he's walking to and fro like he is debating if he should get inside the bar or not. I freeze on my spot when our eyes meet each other, he's completely soaked for how long has he been waiting here in the rain?.

For the last month all I wanted was to have him in front of me so I could yell at him but now… I don't know a thing. I freeze even more when he starts walking toward me and my legs involuntarily do the same till we're face to face. He looks tired and his eyes look red and getting a little swollen… like he has been… crying. I suddenly get this overwhelming feeling and this enormous urge, I approach slowly to hug him tightly. My action takes him by surprise but fastly he wraps me with his arms as well resting his chin on my shoulder. I softly run my fingers through his hair as we get closer and closer.

I missed this…

"Why did you disappear?" I say in a whisper. I let go of our hold to make eye contact.

"I thought you didn't want to see me again" I shake my head slowly "You had all the right to get mad at me and… I'm sorry"

"I wanted to call you the next day you left me at my home but I lost your phone number" Then I finally remember why I wanted to see him "Actually something happened and we need to talk" He holds my hand and we walk to his car.

All this time all I wanted was to ask if he's the one who killed that man but after seeing his sincere eyes something deep inside of me tells me it wasn't him. But I still want to hear it from his lips.

"The last time I saw you… did you…" I struggle to get my words right.

"What is it princess?" He holds my hand with both of his leaving a tender kiss.

"The man you hit that day he's, he's dead" He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.

"I know I gained certain fame with my actions towards men that have hurt you but this time I promise you princess it wasn't me" That's all I wanted to hear "That day as I was hitting him you told me to stop and so I did and after that you told me to leave and so I did. If you had asked me to kill him I would've done it but you didn't so I forgot about him" Then who the fuck killed that man?

"I'm sorry for thinking it was you" He caresses my cheek and gets closer to me.

"It's okay princess" He says in a lower tone, we're so close and I feel my heart racing so fast God I missed that feeling. I meet his eyes, that gaze… Fuck, then stare at his lips, I end the distance between us with a lingering kiss.

But he stops it "There's something I need to tell you too" He rests his forehead on my mine "I like you princess, so much you have no idea but…" He looks troubled and hesitating.

"You can tell me anything"

"If we keep going forward you deserve to know the truth" He holds my hands again "I'm a Mafia leader and I'm not gonna lie to you, it's dangerous being around me and I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore"

San's words hit me like a truck, I got it, I did it, I gained his trust and got him to confess. But why do I feel like this doesn't matter anymore? Why do I feel even guilty about it?

"I don't know what to say to that"

"You just have to tell me if that scares you if it does I'll disappear from your life" I shook my head, it didn't scare me not even an ounce I've been around danger all my life "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure" I say while cupping his face with my hands and he rests on one and kisses my hand again.

The rain stops and I get an idea "Can I take you somewhere?" I say suddenly and he finally smiles.

I think that's what I missed the most, that beautiful dimpled smile.

"You want to drive?" I nod and we switch seats. "And where are you taking me?"

"You're gonna have to trust me"

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Silent VII

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Jeff Tracy, Scott Tracy, Grandma Tracy, Alan Tracy

This fic’s been a bit of an experiment, perhaps more so than the others, but I’ve still greatly enjoyed writing it and I hope you’re enjoyed reading it, too. I’ll be back with the fifth and final sense tomorrow, so see you then!

His return to Earth was nothing like the previous times. Triumph, shared laughter and in jokes with his best friend in the universe (barring the one he had married, of course) were barely a distant memory as the space shuttle docked and Jeff stumbled out of it with all the grace of a fawn on ice.

There was no-one to greet him. Another first, and for his final return from space, it was by far his worst. Lucille always knew when he was going to be home, and always made sure to be there – with their sons in tow if she could wrangle it. She wasn’t here this time, but he already knew that. His time on Alfie had been slashed short by a message trickled through the cosmos until it reached him.

Your wife’s dead.

Three words. Three horrible, horrible words. It was lucky that Lee had been there with him, for once the voice of reason that held him back from trying to space walk the whole way back to Earth himself. Most likely without his helmet, a forgotten piece of necessary equipment in the shock. Jeff had ended up sobbing in his friend’s arms for hours when it had properly sunk in.

Lucille was dead. His beautiful wife, the mother of his five precious sons, the most brilliant star he’d ever seen. Avalanche. Messages from Earth to the Moon tended to be direct and to the point. Less to get lost in translation that way, although Jeff wished it was just a mistranslation.

Your wife’s dead. Avalanche. Sons alive.

It was the last two words that had stopped him from walking outside without his helmet, regardless of Lee’s attempts to stop him. His boys, his five wonderful boys, had had their mother torn from them. Who was with them? Who was stopping Scott from playing parent more than he already did while their father was off gallivanting around in space? He’d promised Lucille this was the last time, that he was ready to settle down on Earth so that Alan, at least, could grow up with both his parents always around. She’d never begrudged him his adventures, but one son, she’d demanded. One son, he would watch grow up day by day, and not a couple of months a year.

So much for any of their sons growing up with both parents. At the sign that he’d be home indefinitely, the world had decided to strip their mother from them, instead. His poor, poor boys.

Were they injured? Alive left so much potential. Had they been caught in the avalanche as well? Swept down the mountainside and jumbled all the way into a hospital?

When had it happened? There was no date, no way of knowing how quickly he’d been informed – and it had been three weeks since the message got through before they could launch a shuttle to bring him home.

Thankfully, his superiors didn’t bother with the usual tedium of a debrief when he staggered into Earth and one G gravity again. They held him back only long enough for the mandatory physical assessment – “don’t terrify your kids by collapsing on them, Tracy,” – and hacked through all of the red tape until he was free to go, and then personally ensured he made it to his front door.

His mother’s car was on the drive. An old thing he was sure had been ancient when she’d first acquired it, long before Jeff had ever met Lucille, it gave him the breath of air he needed. Mom was here. His boys were alright. They had to be – she’d never leave any of them alone in a hospital. Whatever had happened, his sons hadn’t been abandoned.

What was the etiquette for arriving home after months away? Did he open the door and stroll straight in, or should he knock and announce his presence? It had never been a concern for him before, with Lucille always by his side when he came home, gripping his elbow as though he’d fall over if she didn’t personally hold him up.

Then again, he had, the first time.

He felt like he might again, and it was that thought that had him pushing the door open and stumbling through.

“Mom?” he called. The door was unlocked – she was definitely in. What day was it? It was early afternoon, but were the boys at school or was it a weekend?

“Dad?”

Well, that answered that question. He stumbled into the sitting room to meet startled blue eyes, inherited from the boy’s grandmother. Scott was sat on the couch, somewhat stiffly, with his laptop on his lap and headphones discarded carelessly on the cushions.

“Scott!” Unsteady on his feet, it was more of a controlled collapse than anything else onto the couch beside him, pulling his eldest into his arms. There was no protest, no squawk that he was too old for that – or even that his laptop had been dislodged by the sudden embrace. All the signs of a rebellious teenager starting to find his own place in the world that had been showing just before he’d left were gone, leaving behind a child.

“Dad,” Scott gasped into his crumpled shirt, hands balling into fists against his back as he returned the embrace almost as fiercely. “D-Dad.”

“I’m here,” he mumbled, resting his cheek on top of his son’s head and clutching him tightly, hearing quiet, desperate gasps. “Dad’s home.” There were tears in his eyes, prickling uncomfortably and spilling down his cheeks. He would have been embarrassed, normally, but Scott was sobbing into his chest as well, and they’d both lost someone they loved more than life itself.

He couldn’t help but notice, however, that the commotion they were making failed to draw any more young boys – or their grandmother – to the room. His mother hadn’t responded to his call, either.

“Where are your brothers?” he asked Scott after a moment. “And your grandmother?”

Scott drew back slowly, and Jeff loosened his hold enough that they could face each other properly, but didn’t let go entirely. His eldest didn’t fight for his freedom, and indeed still had his shirt in his fists.

“School,” he said. “It’s Wednesday, Dad. Grandma’s collecting Alan from playgroup.”

“I see,” he sighed, moving to pull him closer again before a thought struck him.

“If it’s a Wednesday, why aren’t you at school?”

Scott promptly buried his head in his shirt again, clinging to him with a fervour that unmistakably said I don’t want to talk about it.

Jeff let him keep his silence, instead shifting around until he had his eldest son firmly situated in his lap. Fourteen or not, he was still his son, and if he was out of school – no doubt his grandmother’s call – then there was something very wrong. Jeff only hoped it was the obvious, and not something else on top of Lucille’s death. For his part, Scott didn’t protest to being treated like a much younger child; if anything he clung even tighter.

The door opened and he turned his head to see his mother walking in, a small blond toddler with blue eyes at her heels. Little Alan had grown up so fast, just like all of his brothers before him.

“Jeff!” Gentle hands cupped his face, before pulling him – and consequently, the son on his lap – into an embrace. “Oh, Jeff.”

“Mom,” he choked out, vaguely noticing Scott wriggling free and slipping away. “Mom, I-”

She hushed him, stroking his hair as he tried and failed to stop more tears. He didn’t want to break down in front of two of his sons, but the dam had been once again breached and much like Scott had been sobbing into his chest minutes earlier, he sobbed into his mother’s shoulder.

There were no platitudes she could offer him, nor did she try. The relief at seeing two of his sons, and the implication that the other three were also unharmed, only went so far in easing the pain at Lucille’s loss.

Knowing that two of his sons were in the room helped him to regain control, if not composure, however. They needed him to be strong for them, so with some effort he pulled away from his mother and turned around to find that Scott had sat down on the floor next to Alan and was distracting him with a toy car.

“Scott didn’t say why he’s not at school,” he commented quietly, watching the pair of them. “Did something happen?”

His mother gave an unhappy sigh that immediately concerned him.

“I pulled him from campus classes for the time being,” she said. “He’s been enrolled in the online classes instead.” Jeff glanced over at the ignored laptop, tilted on its side, and saw something that looked like math.

“Why?”

“It took me five days to get here,” she confessed quietly, and Jeff swallowed. His boys had been alone for five days. He knew them well enough to know that Scott would have stepped up as parent, but he shouldn’t have had to. Not at fourteen. “A severe snow storm had me trapped, and when I finally got here I found out that Scott’s so-called friends-” she all but sneered the word “-had taken offence to him quitting the basketball team and instead of bothering to find out why, decided the mature thing to do was to take the aggressive approach.”

“What?” The word got strangled in his throat and came out as an enraged hoarse whisper rather than the shout it meant to be. It was still enough to catch Scott’s attention, although when the teenager realised they were looking at him he quickly turned his gaze back to Alan, who was making rocket noises to accompany his car. “He was being bullied? Straight after Luci-”

His voice choked up completely.

“I took the matter up with the principle,” she assured him. “All four boys responsible have been suspended and put on community service for a month. Mr Atkins made it clear that he takes bullying very seriously.” She sighed again, but there was an angry glint behind her purple glasses. “Scott is also housebound on doctor’s orders for at least another month.”

Jeff’s eyes widened and he focused on his son again, still distracting Alan even though it was clear he was listening to their conversation. He’d thought his sons had escaped injury, but was that not the case? How about the other three?

He asked as such, and got a sad smile.

“None of them were hurt in the avalanche,” she promised him. “They all walked away from that physically fine, if very shaken. No, it’s the fault of those horrible boys. Most of the bruising has faded, but he still has cracked ribs and mild internal bruising from their attacks.”

Jeff couldn’t listen to anything more, not then. He left his mother on the couch and stumbled down to the floor with his sons. Alan regarded him with wide eyes before scrambling into his lap, rocket-noise car abandoned, in search of a big hug, which Jeff was more than happy to provide.

Next to him, Scott was rigid again, and Jeff remembered enough of his own adventures with broken ribs to recognise the accompanying discomfort. He remembered the crushing hug he’d given the boy when he’d first seen him, and winced. Scott hadn’t made any attempt to stop him – had seemed desperate for the physical contact – but he must have been hurting.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, freeing one arm from Alan to carefully loop it around his eldest’s shoulders. “I’m sure you can call school a wrap for today.” Scott still didn’t meet his eyes, but leaned into his touch again.

“Thanks, Dad,” he mumbled.

“Dad!” Alan echoed, all toothy grin.

“Dad!” was the same call he got two hours later, when his final three boys came home and wasted no time in demanding a group hug, all of them noticeably mindful of Scott.

Dad. He still had that. His wife might be gone from the mortal plane – although he had no doubts that she’d be watching them from the stars – but he still had his sons, and he tightened his hold on all five of them.

As long as he had them, he could keep going.

Fin

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