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derpinathebrave · 1 year

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Finders Keepers - IceMav SpyAu Part 1 - Finding

READ ON AO3

So I got the brain rot again! We were talking SpyAu and IceMav dads on the discord and now this. Don't take it too seriously, this is 100% just me dicking around and making myself happy.

SUMMARY: “Don’t get attached, Mitchell,” Ice said, mumbling soft enough that the kid wouldn’t hear but the words were piped through the earpiece to Mav.

Maverick gave him a look of mild disinterest before returning his attention to the kid. Just because Ice was a cold-hearted bastard, didn’t mean Maverick had to be. There was nothing wrong with being kind to a child that they had rescued from a house of traffickers. It wasn’t like he was about to adopt it...

TAGS: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, OC Child Character, Ron "Slider" Kerner, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw, Bill "Cougar" Cortell, Mike "Viper" Metcalf, Rick "Jester" Heatherly, Fluff, Family Fluff, Literally found family, MavDad, IcePops, SpyAU, Very Mild Violence, Spycraft innacuracies, Mild mentions of human trafficking, Selective Mutism, No Beta we die like goose.

WORDS: 7808

PART 1 - PART 2

Minor Content Warning: NPC death, mild violence, minor mentions of trafficking, minor mentions of kidnapping.

There was a lingering smell of smoke, ash and charred flesh in the air. Mav had thought that after ten years of doing this, he would be used to it. Now he was starting to suspect it wasn’t something you got used to.

With a sweep of his eyes he scanned the room. From the busted window he had come through, across the shattered television and half-broken half-burned pinewood dresser, to the other side of the room where the bed was spattered with blood and still smouldering a little. Mav used one of the pillows to beat the embers out. There was no movement. The body at his feet thoroughly incapacitated.

“Mav, why do I smell smoke?” Ice’s voice cut into his head through the earpiece.

“Not your concern, Iceman,” Mav replied, tossing the cushion down and pulling his shotgun back to his shoulder.

“You loaded incendiaries, didn’t you?”

Maverick could practically see the scolding expression on Ice’s face. He rolled his eyes as he carefully picked his way across the room the the door opposite.

“That’s none of your concern either,” Maverick said quietly.

He stepped around the doorframe, clearing the room shotgun-first. It was a hall. He had stepped into it near the end. To his left he could see the darkness of stairs descending. To the right were more doors. Four more, to be exact. All of them closed.

Mav paused, listening. There was a shuffling and a rapidly muffled voice. Both noises gone too quick for him to nail down which door they were behind. All he could gather was it was the opposite side to where he was lingering.

He stepped into the hall heading for the next door, only a few paces from him.

“It concerns me if the house burns down around my ears,” Ice said after a long pause, sounding slightly more strained this time.

“Relax,” Mav said, barely moving his lips as he spoke in an effort to stay undetected as he sassed Ice back. “I put out the fires I start. Mostly.”

“Minsk.”

It took more than a little effort for him to suppress the startled laugh that threatened. Mav placed his ear to the door and listened. Silence. He pushed the handle down and pushed it in, whipping the shotgun into place and stepping back and to the side.

Nothing happened. It was a bathroom. An empty bathroom.

“I said ‘mostly’,” Mav replied.

He stepped back into the hall.

There was the distinct pop of a suppressed gunshot beneath him. Another two followed it in quick succession. Mav paused. Waiting to hear anything else.

After a long silence, Mav continued down the hall. He paused at the next door.

A creak of wood was the only warning he got.

The door exploded outward in a spray of woodchips.

Mav dove to one side, tucking and rolling. His gun was back up and pointed at the destroyed door before he really caught up to what had happened.

The hinges screamed as the wrecked door was opened. Mav took a long, slow breath in. His eyes were locked to the edge of the doorframe.

The black barrel of a shotgun appeared first. It was swiftly followed by the man wielding it.

Maverick didn’t think. He pulled the trigger.

Fire spattered across the man’s chest and the rest of the hall.

There was a startled shriek, there always was. The man dropped his gun, frantically slapping at the flames on his clothes.

Mav pulled his pistol out, shooting to kill. The gun was back in his holster before the body hit the floor. He stepped forward, still leading with the shotgun. He checked the room quickly, finding it empty.

With that done he turned to the body and muffled the flames with the hall rug.

“Ground floor, clear,” Ice spoke into his head again.

“Two rooms to go,” Mav said, straightening and heading into the cleared room. He stepped onto the creaky floorboard that had saved his life and smiled a little.

“I’ll head up.”

The room was another bedroom. It was easy to clear as it was bereft of any real furniture. There was no bedframe, only a single mattress on the floor and the remnants of takeaway food. A closet door set into the wall on the right.

Maverick stilled. There was one other thing in the room. A set of shackles. The chain was looped around the bars of the radiator on the wall, the cuffs empty on the mattress.

“Ice,” Mav said, staying quiet. “Remind me what we were sent in here to retrieve.”

There was an irritated sigh before Ice replied. “We’re looking for a hard-drive of names and locations.”

Mav turned to face the closet door. His gut began a distracting churn but he pushed it away.

Ice was still speaking, “The agency got word this was a subsect of the trafficking ring we’ve been hunting for the better part of six months. Do you actually listen when we’re being briefed, or do you just wing everything you do?” Ice’s voice was snarky.

“Thank you, asshole,” Mav remained solemn, unable to rise to Ice’s bait. He approached the closet door. Each step was slow and measured.

He slung the shotgun onto his back and unholstered the pistol.

The faintest sound of a whimper reached him.

Maverick winced. He lifted the pistol and pulled the closet open.

A body crashed into his middle.

Mav went over backward. His training kicked in as he hit the floor. He used the backward momentum to pull the body off him and tumbled it into the far wall.

There was a pathetic noise of pain.

Mav scrambled back to his feet, his shotgun in his grip again.

Movement in his peripheral caught him. Mav spun, aiming.

Ice, tall, broad and blond, glared back down the sights of his Ruger.

They turned simultaneously. The body was still crumpled on the floor against the wall. It resembled a bundle of rags more than a body. If he hadn’t felt the force of it and the bony protrusions, he wouldn’t have recognised it as human.

He bent and retrieved his fallen pistol. Ice’s weapon now trained on the lump of clothes.

“The other two rooms aren’t clear,” Mav said, slinging the shotgun behind him again.

Ice disappeared without a word.

With a silent sigh, Mav approached the body. He squatted down a few feet from it, pistol casually aimed with one hand as he placed his elbows on his knees.

“Alright,” he said, voice tired. “That wasn’t enough to knock you out, I know you’re faking.”

Nothing happened. He watched, a wry smile on his face as he noticed the rags rise and fall with breath. Maverick reached out and nudged the closest bit he could. It felt like an arm underneath the folds of grey knit.

“House is clear. I found the drive,” Ice reported.

Mav nudged the body again. “C’mon, let’s hurry this up.” He sighed shortly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I might even get you out of here. But you have to cooperate.”

The mass of grey shifted. A small, grubby face peeked out from between the arm Mav had poked and what was clearly a hood of a sweatshirt four sizes too big. Brown eyes, wide with fear, locked into his own. The limbs shifted, curling tight and shrinking the size of the human to almost tiny.

His heart stammered and slammed hard into his sternum. This wasn’t just a trafficking victim. This was a kid. He bit into his inner lip. What the hell was he supposed to do now? This was not how it was supposed to go.

“Hi there,” he said after a long moment. “You ready to get out of here?”

“They aren’t the mission, Mav.” Ice cut through his uncertainty with one sentence.

“Fuck the mission, Ice,” Mav snapped, sliding his eyes away from the kid. He holstered his pistol. “I’m not leaving them here.”

He glanced back to find the kid pulling the hood back over them.

“Hey, no, don’t hide. We have to go,” Mav said, softening his tone once more.

Footsteps announced the arrival of Ice. Mav glanced up long enough to find an exasperated expression on the other man. He turned back to his quarry with a small smile.

“I’m going to have to pick you up if you won’t walk yourself,” Mav said, still gentle.

His heart hammered again. He had no idea what he was doing. Somehow having Ice watching him was only making him more aware of that fact.

There was a long pause. He was about to give up and man-handle the kid out, when the legs unfolded once more and the face appeared among the grey fabric again.

“Ready to go?” Mav smiled with relief.

The eyes snapped to Ice. They were still wide with fear.

Mav could understand. Ice was nothing short of intimidating. His black turtleneck straining over his broad chest and muscled arms. He was still wearing his pissy expression and hadn’t holstered his pistol. There was a back-up strapped to his thigh over his cargo pants and his combat boots were laced with military precision to mid-shin.

“Don’t mind him,” Mav’s smiile grew. “He’s not as scary as he thinks he is.”

Ice rolled his eyes but kept his reply to himself.

The brown eyes found Mav’s again.

He held his hand out. “Ready to go?”

He was given a small nod. Good enough for him. He reached out and pulled the small body to its feet. There was a small squeak of surprise and then silence.

“Can you walk?” Mav asked, astounded at how little they weighed.

Another nod.

“Good.” Mav nodded to Ice.

The other agent turned on his heel, raising his gun once more and leading the way out of the room.

Mav took a single step, watching closely as his new charge stumbled and sprawled onto the floor. He winced.

“Alright, I’m going to carry you. Just until we’re out and in the car, OK?” Mav said gently. He bent and scooped the kid up. The pants dangled almost a foot beyond the end of their legs and the hoodie rucked up unevenly, everything was far too big.

He tossed them a little, resettling his grip more securely. With another small squeak, the face turned and buried itself into his shoulder. Mav ignored the odd sense of affection it gave him. He followed Ice out into the hall.

They remained quiet, moving swiftly down the stairs and through the ground floor. There were three bodies sprawled on the floor. Mav was glad that his charge had elected to hide their face.

Mav was growing increasingly alarmed at how little the child in his arms weighed. It barely affected his ability to keep up with Ice as they jogged across the lawn and down to the back street where they had left their vehicle. Ice pulled the door open without a word, waving Mav in.

He considered depositing the kid and climbing into the front, but at the last moment, he simply climbed into the SUV child and all. Ice swung the door shut behind him.

“Alright, we’re safe,” Mav whispered. “We’re safe now.”

Ice climbed into the drivers seat, still conspicuously silent. As they set off, Ice driving quick and clean, Mav attempted to put the kid back down on the seat beside him. Small, strong hands had laced themselves into his webbing though, and they were resisting fiercely. He gave up with barely a fight. Instead he shifted the shotgun out from behind his back and leaned more comfortably into the seat. His arm came naturally back around his charge, holding them to his chest once more.

“What’s the plan here, Maverick?” Ice said at last. There was a brittle edge to his voice and Mav felt the kid tense against him.

“Calm down, Ice,” Mav said, voice even. “You aren’t helping by being pissy.”

There was a strangled noise of anger from the front seat but Ice remained silent once more.

“You’re alright, don’t worry about him,” Mav mumbled down at the kid.

He was rewarded with the small face appearing once more, staring up at him. Now he wasn’t trying to get them out of a potentially hostile situation, Mav could spend some time looking. The face was small, a pointed chin, grubby cheeks with a dusting of freckles underneath and a mess of mousy brown hair that looked long enough to brush their chin.

“I’m Mav, by the way,” he said with another smile. “What’s your name?”

The little mouth opened, revealing white, straight teeth. No sound came out and the lips snapped shut once more.

Unconsciously, he gave the kid a squeeze of affection. “That’s alright, take your time.”

He looked up to find Ice watching him through the rearview mirror.

“Don’t get attached, Mitchell,” Ice said, mumbling soft enough that the kid wouldn’t hear but the words were piped through the earpiece to Mav.

Things weren’t quite so simple. Maverick sighed as he sat on the hospital bed, the kid still clinging to his chest. Nothing ever was simple, he should know that by now.

Ice had disappeared to report and debrief as soon as they had made it back. Mav, unable to detach his passenger, had headed to medical. Dr Bill “Cougar” Cortel was standing across from them, arms crossed and a slightly bemused look on his face.

“I really need to put you down, kid,” Mav tried for the third time. “The doc just needs to make sure you aren’t hurt and that you don’t need anything.”

The little hands on his webbing tightened again. Mav sighed and shook his head at Cougar.

“That’s alright,” Courgar shrugged. “I’ll just try again in a while.” He shook his head a little before wandering off to sit at his desk and tap rapidly on the computer.

“I’m not going anywhere, kid,” Mav mumbled. “I’ll be right here. I won’t leave you. I’ll even hold your hand while the doc does his thing.”

He felt the kid twitch but not relent.

“I’m just worried you’re hurt. Can you just help me out this one time? Let the doc look you over for me?” It was a gamble, who was he to this kid, what right did he have to ask for anything, but he was running out of ideas. Not to mention time before Jester stormed into medical and ordered him to report in.

There was a small sigh and the fingers loosened off. Mav slid the kid off his lap and onto the bed beside him instead.

“Cougar,” Mav called, excitement obvious.

The doctor was back in a heartbeat, stethoscope already in his ears.

Mav looked away as Cougar did his examination, attempting to give them a little privacy. They were mostly done when the door to the infirmary opened and noise arrived.

“Shit, it’s true!” Slider boomed, laughing loudly.

The kid let out a muffled sound of fear and leaped straight back into Mav’s chest. Bony knees caught him in the stomach and he grunted with pain. Without hesitation he wrapped his arms back around the kid.

“Slider,” Cougar snapped, frowning at the taller man. “This is an infirmary, not a circus. Shut up.”

Slider was still chortling, eyes taking in the scene. He finally settled down, wiping at his eyes a little.

“Sorry, doc, I had to come and see if it was true. The infamous Maverick suckered in by a sprog,” Slider grinned, still laughing a little.

“Did you see Ice?” Mav asked, exasperation clear in his tone.

“I did,” he said. “He passed the drive off to Goose already. We should have everything extracted by tomorrow morning. And you need to get your ass up to Viper’s office and report.”

“I kind of cant now.” Mav nodded, gesturing the best he could to the kid on his chest. “Thanks to you and your natural ability to scare children.”

Slider laughed again, the insult rolling right off his too-wide shoulders.

“Go away, Kerner,” Cougar sighed, looking up from a folder. “I need to get this kid into come clean clothes and maybe even a shower. You aren’t helping.”

“Sure thing, doc,” Slider shook his head a little as he looked at Mav once more. “Have fun, Mav.” It was meant as a playful jab, but Mav found himself more defensive than usual.

Sure, they were a group of hardened spies that were tasked with grisly jobs more often than not, but that didn’t mean they had to be heartless. He was allowed to enjoy playing the hero for a while. He was allowed to want to do a good deed.

With Slider gone it took another fifteen minutes of gentle coaxing and blatant bribery to get the kid back off Mav’s lap and into the small shower cubicle on their own. Mav stood outside the door, chattering away so the kid could hear him the whole time. He stared hard at the ceiling as he spoke, desperate to avoid seeing the way Cougar was shaking with laughter in his peripherals. He was starting to become concerned that Cougar would throw a rib out when the door finally opened again.

Now that they were showered and dressed in better fitting clothes (the smallest scrubs they had, cut down to fit), they looked less scrawny. Their hair hung to the jaw and was cut straight with a flat fringe over their forehead. The freckles on their cheeks now much more obvious.

“Alright, I just need to ask a few questions,” Cougar said from his seat at the desk, his voice a little hoarse from stifling his laughter. “Can you answer a few easy questions for me?”

The kid nodded.

“Are you a girl or a boy?” Cougar tried.

There was silence. The kid backed up until they were leaning into Maverick heavily.

“That’s alright, you’ll find your voice again. How about for now you just nod or shake your head,” Cougar was smiling but Mav could see the tension around his eyes and lips. None of them were prepared to deal with kids.

The kid nodded.

“Are you a girl?” Cougar paused.

Another nod.

“OK.” He made a note. “Do you know how old you are?”

Another nod.

“Show me?”

Slowly, hands shaking a little, she raised her hands to show 10 fingers.

“Ten?”

Nod.

“OK. Do you know where your parents are?”

Automatically, Mav placed his hands on her shoulders and held her tight against him.

She shook her head before turning and burying her face in his stomach.

The door of the infirmary slammed open. Mav had her in his arms in an instant. He should probably be concerned how attached he had already become, but he was ready to take a bullet to protect this little girl.

“Mitchell!” Jester didn’t raise his voice but you could always tell when he was shouting at you. “Get your ass up to the office and report, immediately.”

“Respectfully, sir, I can’t at the moment.” Mav snapped to attention, arms holding his girl to his chest. “As soon as I am able, I will report.”

Jester’s mouth fell open before he snapped it shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then spoke again.

“Maverick, stop playing around down here and get up to the fucking office,” Jester said.

“Unless I can take her with me, sir, I cant.” Maverick’s heart thudded once before he settled himself into the detatched place of his brain that he always retreated to when he was doing stupid, risky things.

There was a pregnant pause. Jester opened his mouth. Mav watched him gulping in a lungful of air, about to let loose properly, when Ice stepped into the infirmary as well.

“I’ll take her, Maverick,” Ice said, voice calm despite the electric feeling of tension in the air. “Give her to me, go report, then you can come back and get her.”

Mav glanced at Jester. The man’s jaw was shut but ticcing with effort as he waited for a response.

“Will you go to Ice for a while?” Mav asked, mumbling to the girl.

She stared at him, terror in her eyes again and skin pale beneath the freckles.

Ice walked over, movement slow and measured. He paused a few feet away and folded his arms behind his back.

“You know Ice, he helped get you out,” Mav tried, ignoring the other men watching him like hawks. “I’d trust him with you.”

The fear softened a little.

“I won’t be long. Maybe half an hour. You can stand half an hour with Ice, right?”

She bit her lip a little. Maverick felt like an asshole but forged on.

“I know he’s a mean looking bastard, but really, he’s a softie. He’ll probably even let you hold his hand if you’re scared.”

Maverick might have heard the small scoff from Ice and the snort from Jester, except he was completely enraptured by the girl in his arms. Her brown eyes were flooding with tears but she gave a shaky nod.

“Brave girl,” he whispered to her and gave her a squeeze. “I promise I’ll be as fast as I can, and I’ll come straight back.”

She slithered out of his arms and onto her feet. Mav took her hand, small in his. He was convinced she was still too small for a ten year old.

He jerked his head at Ice, signalling him to approach.

“Squat down, asshole, you’re too tall,” Maverick muttered as Ice towered over the girl.

“Fuck you,” Ice snuck out the corner of his mouth before he obliged. He gave a terse smile and held his hand out to her, palm up.

Hands shaking again, the girl folded her fingers around his palm and held on. Ice’s smile shifted to genuine and he huffed a little.

Mav gave her skinny shoulder a squeeze before he stepped around them and headed for the door.

A small squeak made him turn back as he made it to the door. She was reaching for his with her free hand, face twisted with pain.

“I’ll be back, honey, just half an hour. Stay with Ice,” Mav said, his own heart breaking a little.

The last thing he saw was Ice folding himself onto the floor in a tailor seat and the girl clinging to his hand.

The trip up to Viper’s office was torture. Jester was hot on his heels, clearly concerned that Maverick would turn-tail and go back to his girl. He wouldn’t. He knew his duty. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t counting down the minutes until he could.

Viper’s office was near the top floor, a beautiful view of the city lights in the heavily reinforced windows. Everything was dark wood and green suede leather, luxury and expensive without being ostentatious. The man himself was willowy, with an impressive moustache that was a little more salt than pepper and chill eyes. Eyes that locked onto Mav with radar precision as he entered the room.

Jester moved to stand to one side, his usual position as the agents reported, were briefed or reprimanded. Maverick almost smiled, he was probably about to get all three in one go.

“Good of you to fit me into your schedule, Mitchell,” Viper said, voice dry as the desert.

“I apologise, sir.” Maverick pulled his shoulders back. “I had a situation I couldn’t abandon.”

There was a ghost of a smile beneath the moustache for a bare instant. Viper gave a slow nod and folded himself into his desk chair. He gave a languid motion with one hand, inviting Mav to begin.

With more brevity than usual, Mav recounted his part of the mission. Going in the upper window, dispatching two enemies, finding a small child in a closet with evidence of kidnapping, convincing the child to leave with them while Ice completed the mission. The last 45 minutes of the infirmary.

Viper listened without expression. None of it surprised him, Ice had already told him most of it.

Maverick fell silent. He itched to get out of there, checking the clock swiftly. He had fifteen minutes before he was a liar.

The silence dragged. Viper was sitting, a finger stroking his moustache idly.

The seconds ticked by. Maverick’s itching increased. He fought the urge to squirm.

“So,” Viper began at last. “Now we have a charge that, by all accounts, is unreasonably attached to you.”

There was another silence. Maverick didn’t bother filling it.

“We will need to contact a foster service, it’s currently Saturday night. I doubt any action will be taken until at least Monday.” Viper fixed his grey eyes onto Maverick’s. “Are you prepared to take responsibility for this child until that time? You won’t be sent on assignment until this matter is resolved.”

He almost laughed. He could tell they were testing him. Maverick was the cockiest, most outspoken agent in the company. He knew he was. He lived for the job like no other. With the exception of Iceman. He knew they expected him to cave at the idea of having no assignments. At the idea of Ice getting ahead of him in their stupid competition of who was the best agent. But he didn’t care.

The appeal of a silly competition paled next to the appeal of seeing if he could make that little girl smile, laugh or even talk. From the second Slider had scared her back into his arms, Maverick wanted nothing else but to climb that new mountain.

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

There was a choked off noise of surprise from Jester. Viper’s expression didn’t shift, but Maverick thought, just for a second, he saw a flare of pride in his eyes. It might have been wishful thinking though.

“Fine,” Viper said, curt, “see to your charge. You’ll be provided a safehouse, we will be in touch with details from the foster home. You are dismissed agent.”

Maverick nodded to them both and strode from the office without a backward glance. He had 4 minutes to get downstairs.

He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, urging the elevator to move faster, when the doors opened to reveal Goose. Mav smiled, feeling it tight and abnormal on his face.

“Hey Mav,” Goose said in his easy way. He stepped into the elevator and pressed for the doors to close. “How’s the kid?”

Of course he had already heard. The gossip in this place moved faster than Mach 10. If it was anyone else, Maverick would have lied, but this was Goose. His recruiter. His best friend. A man that had his own wife and kid. If anyone was going to get it, Goose was

“She’s half-starved and completely terrified,” Mav sagged a little. “She won’t even speak. All she seems able to do is squeak.”

“She’ll be OK,” Goose patted him on the shoulder, rubbing his upper arm a little. “Kids are tough. They bounce back better than we do.”

“You sure?” Mav’s brow peaked and furrowed with fear. “What if I fuck her up more?”

Goose laughed. He dragged Mav into a proper hug, slapping him on the back firmly before releasing him.

“Yeah, that fear never fades. But you’ll do fine,” Goose said, grinning. “Just call me or Carole if you get really stuck.”

A small kernel of anxiety shrivelled and died in Mav’s chest. It was only one less thing to worry about but he was grateful nonetheless.

“Thank you,” Mav smiled.

The elevator doors opened again. Mav checked his watch. He had 45 seconds.

He took off at a dead sprint, vaguely aware of Goose calling his name with a laugh.

He skidded to a stop in the middle of the infirmary, out of breath from his bolt through the hallways.

The girl was sitting in Ice’s lap, his hand still in hers and his sleeve pulled up to expose his watch. She snapped her eyes to Mav, a powerful frown on her brow.

Maverick laughed between gasping breaths. “I have fifteen seconds left,” he argued with her glare.

“By my watch you’re fifteen seconds late,” Ice said mildly. His blue eyes were dancing.

“Your watch is wrong,” Mav complained.

“Excuses, excuses,” Ice tutted.

“Shut up, Kazansky.” Mav turned to where Cougar was snickering quietly at his desk. “Is she all good to go, Cougar?”

After a moment to compose himself, Cougar cleared his throat and nodded. “We did a few more tests while you were gone. She needs a decent meal and some fluids but not badly enough that I want to give her the trauma of an IV.” Cougar stood he waved Mav over.

With a smile at the girl, still ensconced in Ice’s lap, Mav moved to stand at the desk with Cougar.

“She hasn’t been assaulted, Mav,” Cougar said quietly, his face turned away from the pair on the floor. “She let me ask her a few questions while you were gone. She didn’t speak. But she let me know they didn’t assault her.”

Another seed of anxiety shrivelled and died. Maverick almost fainted from relief.

“She does have a few bruises that are healing. Some newer than others. But mostly she’s just starved and traumatised,” Cougar sighed. “Just. As if that isn’t awful in and of itself.”

“Thanks, Cougar,” Mav said, voice a little rough. “Its better than I expected.”

“Yeah,” Cougar sighed again and gave a nod. “Alright. That’s all. You can take her now.”

Mav smiled. The anxiety he was nursing flooded higher, battling for dominance over a warm happiness that took him by surprise. He was terrified. This was all too fast. He was delighted. There was something special about this fierce little girl.

He turned back to her with a smile.

“Alright, kid, doc says we can go.” Mav walked over and bobbed down to speak to her face to face. He realised now he had seen Goose do this with Bradley. His confidence grew just a little. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded, eyes growing wide again.

“We’re going to a safehouse. You and me,” he said, holding out his hand.

After a pause, a small wrinkle appeared in between her brows.

“What’s the worry?” Mav asked, voice gentle. “I’ll be right there with you the whole time. They’re working on finding your parents. You’ll be safe.”

The wrinkle didn’t move. She pulled Ice’s hand to her chest and clung tighter.

He would be lying if he said that didn’t hurt a little. He had only been 15 seconds late and she already preferred Ice? As if Mav didn’t feel completely out-done by Ice in all other aspects, even his kid preferred Ice.

“I mean, we can ask Viper if you can go with Ice, but it’s already set up for it to be me,” Mav said, attempting to hide his hurt.

Her small hand reached out and tangled into Mav’s webbing. She looked at him, then at Ice, then back to him again. The same concerned expression on her face.

Oh. Maverick grinned his shit-eating grin. She didn’t want to replace him. She wanted to take Ice with them.

That sparked a fresh cacophany of emotions in Mav. He would love to fuck with Ice, take him out of assignments so their score would remain stagnant, he would love to watch the tall, blond idiot attempt to relate to a child. But he also didn’t particularly want to live in a safehouse with Ice and a ten year old. He didn’t really want Ice to see him out of his agency persona. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to see Ice out of his persona. The idea was a little frightening, but Mav wasn’t quite sure why.

“You want Ice to come too?” Mav clarified with her.

She nodded, face flattening out of the fear.

“I’m not sure—“ Ice started but immediately stopped when she turned to gaze up at him.

Maverick pressed his lips tight together, biting down on his laughter.

“Well, I think that’s decided. Let’s go, I’m tired.” Mav straightened and stretched.

There was a heavy sigh but Ice stood, carrying the girl on his hip with ease. She had slung her arm around Ice’s shoulder and gripped the fabric of his turtleneck tight. Maverick allowed himself one smile at the picture they made before he turned and led the way toward the exits.

Getting her into the car in the garage was an exercise in patience. She was still clinging to Ice with fierce determination and despite his repeated attempts to pry her off, the girl would shimmy around like a monkey and find a new hand hold. It probably would have been easier if Maverick had actually helped. Instead Mav stood back and giggled like an idiot the entire time.

With a ten year old half-choking him from behind and bony ankles digging into his hipbone, Ice gave up. He heaved a sigh and looked over his shoulder at his passenger. She was scowling at him.

“Alright,” he said, scowling right back, “you win. Come here so we can get in the car.” Ice patted his chest with one hand.

Her eyes turned suspicious but after a moment she levered herself around his torso. Ice wrapped his arms around her and climbed into the backseat. Maverick swung the door shut behind them without a word.

With Mav driving, Ice and the kid in the backseat, they pulled out of the garage. Ice checked his watch. It was close to 2am and he was beginning to feel it. His eyes were itchy and tired, his body beginning to protest the various spikes of adrenaline and activity he had forced it through for the day.

“What food do you like, sweetheart?” Maverick asked, eyes flickering to them in the rearview mirror.

Ice watched as her mouth opened, eyebrows crowding down over her eyes in a frown. Nothing came out. She closed her mouth again and he felt more than heard the small sigh of frustration.

Without thinking, Ice rubbed slow circles on her back. She pressed her cheek into his chest.

“That’s OK,” Ice mumbled to her. “It’ll come back when you’re ready.”

When he looked up, Mav was watching with concern through the mirror. Ice gave a subtle shake of his head.

“How about this, if you want pizza raise Ice’s right hand. If you want burgers, raise Ice’s left hand.” Maverick’s voice was cheery, no sense of frustration at all.

Her small strong hands gripped his right arm and lifted it. Ice couldn’t stop the flare of tenderness it caused in him. He was beginning to understand why Mav was ready to lay his career on the line for this kid.

“Pizza it is,” Mav said happily.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Ice watched the city lights slide by the window, one arm still encircling the girl and the other still clutched in her hands.

It was just for that night. Ice had a life and a job to get back to beyond this. He was only here because it was easier to go along with this kid than fight. He sighed internally at that thought. He was more than proficient at hand to hand combat, he was exceptional at shooting and tactical analysis. He could pick almost any lock, if given enough time he could crack a safe, he could even, with help he’d admit, hack into simple security systems. The one thing he couldn't do, apparently, was say no to this kid.

They had to stop to get the pizza. It was spy-craft 101 to avoid giving a safehouse location to anyone, even a pizza delivery guy. As Mav got out to go and order, the girl set up a fuss. A quick series of squeaking noises sounding and she began to thrash around. There was more than one near-miss of him getting nutted as the kid attempted to keep sight of Mav. She wouldn’t stop until Ice pushed the door open and called Mav back to the car.

With a confused face that quickly jumped to guilt, Mav jogged back to them. As he did, the girl settled down immediately.

“Sorry,” he smiled at her kindly. “I have to go and order. Stay here with Ice. I’ll come back and wait with you guys, OK?”

She was frowning again but gave a slow nod anyway. Mav reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze. It seemed to help her relax back down against Ice once more. In turn, Ice relaxed back into the seat.

They sat in comfortable silence. Both gazing out the window at the pizza place across the carpark. Mav returned relatively quickly, the line probably wasn’t huge at 2am. He passed a bottle of water to the kid.

“Drink, kiddo,” he said, a distinctly paternal tone in his voice.

She hesitated.

“Just three mouthfuls and I’ll be satisfied.”

Ice was surprised at how effortless it seemed to be for Maverick. How did he know how to do this?

The little girl unscrewed the bottle and took three obvious sips. Mav beamed at her. Ice gave her an encouraging squeeze as well. The affection was contagious.

They waited in silence. Mav leaning against the car in the opening of the back door. Slowly, eyes darting from Mav and out to the carpark and back, the kid sipped more water. Ice didn’t know shit about kids, but he was going to take that as a good sign.

This time, Mav turned and let her know he was leaving before he went to collect their food. There was no fight or noises of distress. She simply clung onto Ice a little harder until Maverick returned. And if that made Ice’s heart melt a little more, then that was just between him and whatever power observed the universe.

The safe house was standard fare. A small house in a quiet suburb. Someone from the agency kept the lawn clipped and the cupboards stocked. Mav pulled into the garage and the three of them waited until the door was closed before they made a move. It wasn’t that they felt pursued or unsafe, it was merely habit.

When they stepped into the house, Ice moved to lower the girl to the floor but she let out a loud squeak.

“OK,” Ice sighed and pulled her back onto his hip again. “But you can’t stay here forever. I’m going to need the bathroom eventually.”

Her look was somewhere between annoyed and expressionless. Ice shot her a teasing smile.

“How about this, squeaker, I’ll walk the house with you while Mav gets the food ready. When we’re done, you have some time on on your own. Once you’ve eaten you can use me as a jungle-gym again.” Ice attempted to hold onto his fraying patience.

There was a long moment, her brown eyes pensive as she considered his offer. After a short sigh she gave a nod. Ice nodded back.

He carried her through the house. It was small. An open plan kitchen, dining and living area, a bathroom and two bedrooms and a patio out the back. He crossed each bedroom and opened the wardrobes to let her see they were empty of anything but spare clothing and equipment.

They were back in the kitchen as Maverick was placing plates of pizza on the bench. Ice stopped at one of the stools.

“We had a deal,” Ice said, eyes firm. “Sit on your own stool and eat.”

He waited, watching her closely. It took a long moment but she gave a nod and released her deathgrip on his shoulders. Ice set her down on the stool. He backed away with measured steps. When she didn’t begin thrashing and squeaking once more, he let his shoulders sink a little.

Maverick pushed a plate of pizza in front of her. He stood on the opposite side of the bench, munching away at his own piece. Ice, a churning uncomfortable sensation in his stomach, stepped to the end of the bench and snagged his own piece to eat. He didn’t particularly want to play happy family. He wanted to go home to his own bed.

All it took was another look into those brown eyes and Ice was gone again. Yeah, he didn’t want to be there. But he wasn’t about to be anywhere else if she needed him.

With food finished the kid stood, hopped precariously from one stool to the other and then onto the bench proper. Ice had his mouth open to scold her for acting like a delinquent when Maverick let out a loud laugh and plucked her up easily. He cradled her into his chest with a practised ease. It was hard to think she wasn’t actually Mav’s daughter with the way he had taken to her so quickly.

“Alright, you,” Mav said, wandering out of the kitchen area. “It’s time to sleep.”

Ice busied himself with packing the left over food into one box and stowing it in the fridge. He could hear Mav mumbling away from the lounge area. When he turned back, the pair of them had disappeared. Ice felt a weird surge of panic before he heard Maverick’s voice again and it settled once more.

They were on the couch. Mav was tucked up between the arm of the lounge and the back, his feet on the floor, his girl was snuggled into his chest, her knees hooked over Mav’s thigh. Ice couldn’t stifle his smile. He was still smiling as Mav’s eyes opened and looked up at him.

“Do me a favour, Ice?” Maverick said, his eyes soft and happy.

“Depends,” Ice smiled back in spite of himself.

“Can you take my boots off? I forgot.”

Ice rolled his eyes, biting back a nasty refusal. He bent and unlaced Mav’s boots with quick movements. With the laces loose he pulled them off and set them by the couch. As Ice looked up he found Mav looking back once more. Another swoopy sensation of delight hit him.

“There,” Ice said and cleared his throat. “I’m going to shower and change. And then I’m going to sleep.”

“Sure,” Mav nodded. His green eyes were yet to leave Ice’s. The longer they stayed the warmer Ice was feeling.

Stiff and awkward, Ice straightened and marched off to the bathroom.

The one special talent Ice had that he hadn’t worked his ass off to attain was his ability to sleep anywhere. He showered, changed, climbed into one of the beds and dropped off almost immediately. He dreamed, as always, of colours that were too bright and loud. The pressure of a crimson, the weight of a purple, the violence of a yellow, all the colours and actions of his dreams assaulting him as he slept.

He woke with a low groan of discomfort. His head spinning and the ghost of an ache threatening his forehead. If he laid there and ignored it, it would be a pounding misery by breakfast. Ice heaved himself up and shuffled to the kitchen.

Maverick was passed out on the couch, his arms hanging limp either side of the kid. She was sprawled on him, face finally slackened out of the perpetual fear. Ice shook his head at them and carried on to search the cabinets for the first-aid kit.

With two pain pills swallowed down, Ice did a better inventory of their supplies. He made a small list of what needed replacing and what they needed to source all together. With that finished, he made some coffee, collected a cleaning kit from the bedroom, and padded past the sleepers onto the back patio.

Ice spread pieces of his Ruger out onto the rickety outdoor table. Working with methodical precision, he disassembled the gun and began the calming process of cleaning it.

Somewhere around when he was oiling the barrel, the kid appeared in the frame of the back door. Ice gave her a smile before returning to what he was doing. She approached him, eyes scanning the whole area and his face on repeat. Her eyes flickered over the pieces of pistol as she came to a stop beside his elbow.

Ice paused to look at her once more. She tugged at his elbow before climbing beneath it and into his lap. Ice chuckled, powerless to stop her.

“Did you sleep OK?” He asked, returning to his task once she was settled.

She gave him a nod.

“Good.”

They sat in companionable silence. Ice could feel her watching his hands. Her own reaching up onto the table before retreating again. On the third appearance of her hands Ice set the frame of the pistol down. He wiped his hands off and set the box of bullets out of her reach.

“Alright,” he said, voice quiet. “First we need to make sure our magazine is empty.”

With more patience than anyone had ever bothered to give him, Ice went through all the pieces of his gun. He named them, explained what they did and where they went. He let her touch them, feel their weight and showed her where they would connect back into the other pieces.

He loved his Ruger. It often felt like a puzzle-box he had become an expert at. Slider thought he was crazy; the mess of pieces it became when he had to clean it, the fact that at times Ice needed to hit it with a hammer to reassemble it, the fact that if you missed one small step the gun would be irreparable. But that was why they were best friends, Slider liked his guns big and simple. Ice preferred something more subtle.

When he was finished labelling and explaining, he walked her through the assembly. Mumbling the steps and instructions as he worked. With the whole thing back together, he looked down at her.

She was staring up at him with a rapt expression. He smiled, and gave her a quick hug. The bubbling relief at seeing something other than fear and sadness in her eyes was a heady thing.

“You want to try?” Ice asked.

He was given the most enthusiastic nod he had seen yet.

“Alright, then I’ll teach you how to take it apart too.”

And he did.

#icemav #top gun #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #an oc child character #ron slider kerner #nick goose bradshaw #bill cougar cortell #mavdad #found family #fluff #fanfiction #spyau

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 3 years

Text

Take My Hand (Part Seven)

Summary: from one proposal to another - you don’t know whose hand you want to take - until you do.

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 8,649

Song: I thought of you (all the things that will be lost now) / In the cracks of light (can we just get a pause?) / I dreamed of you (to be certain we'll be tall again) (evermore by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, swearing, SO MUCH ANGST, i’m so sorry, like seriously i’m sorry “sightless in a savage land” (22x04) is used as background (but i also f*cked with the timeline to make things easier for me), also the v*rus doesn’t exist b/c i don’t want to live in reality.

A/N: ok, the penultimate part - the last part before the two endings. it’s been a long journey, but we’re here! thank you to those who have stuck with the series and have reblogged and commented!! as always, thank you to @laneygthememequeen and @bucky-of-the-opera for being the best beta readers! i don’t know when i’ll get the endings out because school starts for me this week, but they will be out soon enough! :)

The rest of the juror selection process felt like white noise after that. An arduous several hour process only made more difficult by Rafael’s nitpicking, probing, and constant objections to jurors — it felt like a punishment.

But you could only guess for who.

One of twelve jurors picked.

Rafael hadn’t even looked at you since you left chambers, but the glowering he gave Sonny wasn’t something that you envied. The man who had a million comebacks for everything on any given day hadn’t spared you a word the entire process, even as you two worked to examine the jurors together — with you pointing out possible problems or points of issue with each one, he managed to take your advice without speaking a word to you.

And it was killing you.

Three of twelve jurors picked.

But it wasn’t the fact that he was ignoring you, it was the fact you deserved it. You were unprofessional, you were secretive, and you hurt him in the process — the cherry on top.

Why hadn’t you told him? His eyes were everywhere but you, his hands careful not to brush against yours, and his lips a thin line. He still oozes charm as he spoke to the jurors, his patented smile — the same smile that you would tease him about — his courtroom smile, no more than a painted smile on the clown made to elicit the response he wanted. And one that he could hide behind from you.

You could feel Sonny’s gaze prickling the back of your neck, and you knew that he knew — he knew you hadn’t told Rafael. It was obvious — you could see Rafael still — his head snapping to you, his slow realization, the shock, and the quiet resignation that sunk into a sinking silence between you two.

And you still hadn’t brought yourself to look at Sonny.

Six of twelve jurors picked.

As the judge adjourned you for lunch, Rafael nearly fled the courtroom, and you went after him, following him out of the double doors, and you heard Sonny call after you, but you couldn’t — not now.

You wanted to fix this — you needed to fix this.

How ironic, you thought, following him out the courtroom and down the corridor towards the stairwell, skipping the elevator altogether, you were doing the one thing he never did — following him when he left.

Well to his credit, he did — the stairwell door nearly shutting behind him, but you barely catch it with your hands — but it was too late.

But you hoped it wasn’t too late now, as the stairwell door swings shut behind you with a resounding thud.

“Rafael,” you call him, his steps echoing in the empty stairwell, along with your voice. But he doesn’t listen — he doesn’t want to listen, but you’re following him — and if he knows one thing is that you’re stubborn, and he knows that well.

“Rafael please, let me just explain—”

“Explain what?” he whirls on you, “what is there to explain?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”

“Sorry?” he repeats, his voice reverberating, “you’re sorry — for not disclosing to me that you’re in a relationship with Carisi?” His name comes out dismissively — the same way when he was nothing but a green detective shadowing you two — but he was so much more — so much more.

Your voice rises. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to make me look like a fool in front of your boyfriend in chambers,” he cuts you off, “is that why you were pushing the deal so much? Wanted Carisi to have a slam dunk?”

And now you’re angry, “Don’t you accuse me of impropriety—”

“You sure make a habit of it—”

You scoff, “And you don’t?” and the anger simmers a moment — the exhaustion from the proceedings and the day hitting you at once. You speak, your words tempered, “I did what I had to — I told our client about my relationship — I disclosed to him and the judge in a timely manner—”

“So, you told everyone but me,” he’s shaking his head, turning away, “As a professional courtesy,” his words are quiet, stony faced, fingers clenched into fists, “you could have told me that you were sleeping with our adversary in this case,” but the facade flickers, and you see the cracks in the veneer, “but more than that, after everything we’ve been through—”

Your anger wavers, “I wanted to tell you when I dropped off the files, it just—”

“Was the wrong time?” he chuckles bitterly, stepping away, “isn’t it always when it’s us?”

Your chest squeezes, “Rafael, I didn’t want to hurt you, it just happened and I’m sorry—”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he continues to walk down the steps, and you follow, calling after him.

“What about the case?” and he pauses.

“Mr. Davis and Judge Harper have no issue, neither do I,” he’s rubbing at his temples, adding, “but I catch even a hint of impropriety—”

“You won’t,” and he turns, his gaze undeniably sad, his lips in a thin line.

“I better not,” But still, the guilt sits on your chest, and you say his name again, leaving your lips before you realize— and he shakes his head, “you left last time — and I didn’t stop you — for years,” he continues down the steps, “let me have thirty minutes at least.”

And the stairwell doors shut.

~~~

You hadn’t told him.

Sonny knew that.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out — Rafael was a brilliant prosecutor, but his poker face often showed his hand. And here it did too — he had feelings for you.

He knew that too.

He knew it because he had been there. He had been the guy waiting in the wings before, he had been the guy sneaking glances, the guy who wished you looked at him — and was disappointed when you didn’t.

And that was the same look Rafael had — the same Sonny had when you had kissed him all those years ago, wishing he were Rafael.

But you didn’t see it, did you? And he glances at your empty seat after you had left after Rafael, even after he called after you, before picking up his briefcase and leaving the courtroom for lunch —

Or maybe you just didn't want to.

“Sonny,” and you find him by the elevators, as you head out from the stairwell, “can we talk?”

“What’s there to talk about?” he pushes the call button, “you didn’t tell Rafael, did you?”

And you’re twisting your lips, “No, when I went to tell him—” the elevator doors ding, and the two of you step in, “his mother was there—”

Sonny wrinkles his brow, “At his office?”

“Well, his mother’s moving to Florida, and so kind of is his office at the moment,” and he can tell you’re nervous, fidgeting in place as you tell him, “he asked me to drop off files — we got interrupted right as I was about to—”

“And you couldn’t have told him this weekend?” he licks his lips, as your gaze drops to the floor, “I’m just wondering...if there’s some other reason you don’t want to tell him.”

You blink, “What other reason would there be?” And he sighs, as the elevator doors ding and he steps through them, you’re still following him, your hand brushing his wrist. And he stops, as your eyes soften, “I don’t love Rafael — I love you.”

And he wants to ask — then why couldn’t you look at him in court? Why did you follow Rafael out? Why did he always feel like he was your second choice.

But he doesn’t ask. He asks something else —

“Then why won’t you move in with me?” and a voice is whispering that your hesitation is enough, that he shows he wasn’t enough, that you two together were never enough — but he doesn’t want to believe it.

Because he wants to believe that his love is enough.

“Sonny, I want to move in with you, I do—” and he knew enough to know a ‘but’ was coming, “but not yet,” and he can’t help but let his face crumble, “but soon. I promise. I just—”

“You need time,” and he didn’t push you — he couldn’t push you — because he didn’t want to lose you, “but I can’t wait forever, doll,” and he couldn’t — not when he wanted so much more, not when he wanted you for the rest of your lives, and he didn’t know if you wanted the same.

“I know, I would never do that to you,” but you were — even as you leaned up to kiss him, he wondered for the first time, how many more times would he get to do that?

After juror selection, you and Rafael had left to go prep for opening arguments, while he was left to stew in his office — spotting a text from you that you would be running late, as was per usual. It had become the norm — working late hours with Rafael Barba — and would he ever stop feeling caught under Barba’s shadow? Even now, a year into this job, when he was in front of his mentor, he still felt like the same greenhorn detective he was when first came in — brash, thoughtless, headstrong — but you had seen past that, hadn’t you?

His chest burning, he reached for the bottle of pepto-bismol tucked away in his desk. You saw his potential, and you still saw it now — but he couldn’t have you by his side now, he couldn’t ask for your support in this case — he downs far too much of the bottle — not when you were too busy standing by his.

And there’s a knock at his door, “How’d it go at voir dire?” Amanda stood in his doorway, as he swallowed, the medicine as disgustingly sweet as Rafael had been today.

“It was the Rafael Barba show, charming and cherry-picking jurors for straight hours,” he could remember his smarmy smile from today — he was in his element, as always. And despite having the skills and the experience, the one thing Sonny couldn’t quite master was his same kind of charm — and you were surely evidence of that, weren’t you?

“Yeah, he was always a dog with a bone,” Amanda sighs.

Sonny laughs, picking up the witness list he had been combing through, “Yeah. I'm looking at his witness list, and he tracked down Ajay's other foster kids, ACS employees, V.A. shrinks. How big of a staff does he have?”

He knew he had your firm’s investigators — but even this much, this was something more than investigators could do — this was police work — the kind of work someone did when they were close to the case.

And Amanda steps forward, sitting, pursing her lips, “I probably shouldn't tell you this…”

“About you and Fin helping him out?” she doesn’t have words, and he knew he was right, and he thinks of Fin on the witness list — “I don't want to know—”

“I am not helping him out,” Amanda clarifies defensively.

“It's fine,” he didn’t need her to draw a line in the sand — it was easier to justify it, it was easier than hearing an apology, it was easier than hearing that his team had chosen Barba over him, “Barba was here before me, Fin was your first partner—”

You knew Rafael first, you loved him before you loved him.

It was easy to explain it away. It was easier than hearing where their loyalties actually lie.

He would always be the odd man out, wouldn’t he? Passed around from precinct to precinct, until he found himself here, but even still, always overshadowed — by Amaro, by Rollins, by Barba. He would always be the newbie, instead of the experienced pro.

He would always be “Carisi,” not “Sonny.”

“That doesn't mean I'm more loyal to them than I am to you,” she pauses, before adding, “You should know that it wasn't Liv's intention to undercut you.”

“Oh, no?” Sonny raises an eyebrow, “Are you gonna tell me that Fin brought Barba in?” And Amanda only shifts in her seat, hand rubbing her neck, until Sonny sighs, “what’s done is done — but I had thought the team would have my back—”

“They do but—”

“There shouldn’t be a ‘but,’” he sighs, “Amanda, I’m having to fight a one person war over a man who shot another in broad daylight—”

“He was abusing her daughter—”

“We hadn’t proved it yet!” Sonny sighs, leaning back in his chair, “there’s a reason they say innocent until proven guilty — we can’t give people a license to kill. Especially not now.” The concept of a white man shooting and killing a person of color and getting off without jail time did not sit well with him. Either way, he wouldn’t be the one to hand people licenses to kill — not without a fight.

“I know that,” Amanda raises her hands, “I do —- but Liv and Fin just want to help Davis and they thought Barba was the best way to do that,” and she doesn’t miss how his brow furrows, “is something else going on?”

And he wants to tell her — tell her about you and Rafael, about how Liv’s stunt may cost him his relationship and his case, how he didn’t know how you felt anymore, and he didn’t know what to do.

But he doesn’t, he only sighs, “I just would like to feel like someone is on my side,”

And then Amanda asks about you, “Have you talked to—”

“We’re both working the case—” he shakes his head, “Client privilege and the code of professional responsibility makes it difficult to talk about this.”

“You can still talk about everything else,” and he almost gives a bitter chuckle — before pulling the ring box from his pocket and placing it on the desk.

“Not everything,” as Amanda stares at the ring box, mouth ajar, as he lifts his gaze to meet her’s, “I’ve wanted to ask — for months,”

Amanda’s blinking, clearing her throat, “What’s stopping you?”

And he could feel his heart crack with the truth of his answer, “I don’t know if it will be a yes.”

And after Amanda left, and he sat in the quiet of his office, he wondered if he would ever be good enough — good enough prosecutor, good enough advocate, good enough boyfriend —-

And your text comes through: Headed back to your place, bringing dinner! And then another: don’t worry I didn’t cook :) And he glances at the picture of the two of you on his desk, before rising to leave —

Good enough for you.

He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

If Rafael knew one thing well, it was disappointment — and it was so simple to be disappointed in others. Was that why he had become a prosecutor? To point out the flaws in a person, to pin them in place with their worst actions at the lowest point of their life and hold them accountable? His eyes flicker to you, it was easier than seeing the humanity in others — to look past their flaws for something more that was there — and then fight for it.

Because when you fought for it, there was always a chance you would be the one to get hurt.

Why did he let his mother get his hopes up?

When he first saw you at Rikers, he had resigned himself to being your friend, to being a colleague — because he didn’t think he deserved more, and he didn’t. And it was enough — until it wasn’t.

And he could think about all the things he did wrong — over and over, wishing for another chance, but that wouldn’t change the fact you were in love with someone else.

He snuck at a glance at you — you sat, legs crossed in your suit. Even in the late hours of the night, how had you managed to look so effortlessly good? Even after listening to him practice far too many versions of his opening argument, you sat pen pressed to your lips, lost in thought.

Even with his silent treatment, you had insisted on working on this — until you both got it right. You had mostly taken to shouting suggestions from the gallery — body language, wording — not that he had bothered to acknowledge you. He crossed out what he just wrote, before sighing and rising to his feet, and now he decided to take a completely different tact.

He faces the empty jury panel, beginning to speak.

“I consider myself a nice guy,” you snort, as Rafael’s head snaps to you raises an eyebrow at you, “what?”

“Is that we’re going with?” you hide your smirk behind your notepad, “didn’t know we could lie under a court of law.”

And he’s crossing his arms, “I do consider myself to be nice,” and you’re raising an eyebrow now, “you don’t?”

“You’re the one who told our first victim together that she wouldn’t like you after this,” you had started the Twenty Five Acts case almost as soon as Rafael did — pulled in from a different department to help with the case, but you ended up finding your home there — your gaze raises to meet Rafael — for a time, “and now you think you’re nice?”

And he’s huffing, “Are you sure you aren’t letting your personal experience color your opinion?”

“Well, it sure isn’t helping,” and his eyes narrow, before snapping back to his notes, “come on, Rafael, you won’t even hold a conversation with me — the only way you’re talking to me is if I get a rise out of you.”

“We’re lucky you’re so good at that,” and you scoff, setting your pad down in your lap, before fixing him in place with your narrowed eyes.

“Is this what it’s going to be like?” you echo his own words to you, “are you going to act like this throughout the rest of the trial?” and he doesn’t deign to reply to you, scribbling a note in his legal pad, “should I recuse myself from the case?”

“No,” he glances up, and you cross your arms.

“Then what?” and his lips are a tight line, “I get it, Rafael — I hurt you by not telling you about Sonny — and I’m sorry, but,” he sees you frown out of the corner of his eye, “did you not expect me to move on?”

“That isn’t what I’m upset about—”

How could he? How could he when you deserved so much more than him? And maybe that was the reason he wasted his chance with you — he was too busy pushing you away to see that.

Just like he was now.

You push yourself from the chair, the chair scraping against the floor, “Then what is it?”

And his gaze snaps to yours, and his anger deflates when he sees the hurt in your eyes, “I’m sorry,” he sighs, shaking his head, “I’m happy for you — I am—”

“You have a funny way of showing it,”

“I’m sorry, it just,” he can’t tell you how he feels — it’s not fair to you or to Carisi, “just caught me off guard. I just—” he purses his lips, “I don’t like when people hide things from me.” especially you.

But he doesn’t add that.

“I know, and I should have told you from the start — everything just happened so quickly,” you lean against the railing of the gallery, “It was just...really hard to tell you.”

And he’s stepping toward you, hands in his pockets, “Why?”

You give a terse chuckle, “Why do you think?”

Now he’s leaning next to you, “Well like you said, why wouldn’t I expect you to have moved on?” and your eyes can’t quite meet his, “afraid to rub salt in the wound?”

You roll your eyes, “If I can remind you, the wound was mostly your fault,”

“‘Mostly’ is a gift,” you laugh, and he bites back a smile, “do you think...it could have worked out between us?”

“Rafael—”

“I know you’re with Carisi,” the words sting as he says them, before he’s standing up — stupid question — “I just wanted to know, you don’t have to—”

“I loved you,” you admit, and he pauses, glancing back at you. You’re biting your lip, “I would have married you — if you asked me back then.”

He smiles sadly, “And by the time I did, it was—”

“Too late,” you both finish, your gazes dropping to the floor. And he allowed himself to wonder a moment — what if it had worked out? Where would they be now? Would they have a home? A family? A kid? Maybe he would be in private practice, like you — spending his weekends with you instead of an empty apartment. Maybe you both would be in New York, maybe you’d be in the suburbs. But you’d be together.

But you weren’t.

“When did you and Carisi start—” and you tilt your head.

“Is this appropriate—” you start, gesturing between the two of you, and he snorts.

“Is any of this appropriate?” and he didn’t know why he was asking — it would be better not to know, it would be easier not to know, “were you with him when I left New York?” but he still wanted to know.

“No,” your eyes are fixed to the floor, “I hadn’t even spoken to him in years,” and you add, “it was after he started at the D.A.’s office — a few months after. I had to settle a case in Manhattan and he was handling it.”

“So you’ve been together…?”

“It’s been about two years,” and he feels the pain leak into his chest — and now it would be him you would be coming home to, you that he would be walking down the aisle, you that he would be starting a family with.

But two years is a long time without an engagement.

You cross your arms — he notes the absence of an engagement ring on your finger — and he wonders if you were so in love, why weren’t you engaged by now? “We should get back to work,” you say, and he clicks his tongue, glancing at his watch.

“It’s late,” he tilts his head, “we should call it a night.”

“Shit, it is,” you sigh, grabbing your coat and your bag, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Raf.”

His lips upturns at the sound of his nickname on your lips, and he can’t help, but call after you — he needs to know, “You’re happy with him, right?”

Your lips curve into a smile, “I am, I really am.”

And he knows he really can’t tell you how he feels — so he smiles, “Good night.”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” you close the door behind you, tossing your keys and purse on the table, and kicking off your shoes, “Practicing openings ran late—” you cut yourself off, finding Sonny asleep on the couch, case file in hand.

His head lolled back against the couch, the file slipping down his side, and a half eaten dinner plate on his coffee table in front of him, the TV still on. You shut your mouth, smiling at the sight — before you pulled off your jacket, and hanging it up in the bedroom, before you found your way back to him.

“Sonny,” you murmur in his ear, pressing a kiss to his temple, “wake up,” And he’s mumbling your name in his sleep, eyes fluttering, “come on, let’s get you to bed.”

And after some coercion, he’s stumbling to his feet, warm fingers interlaced with yours as you lead him into bed, his eyes barely open, and he’s slipping into bed, under the covers, but his hand still won’t let you.

He mumbles something under his breath, “What did you say?”

“Don’t go,” he murmurs again, tugging you gently, until you’re sitting at his side, and he sighs, “don’t leave, sweetheart. Not yet.”

And your gaze softens, as his eyes flutter closed, running your fingers through his hair, “I won’t, Sonny.”

And he’s asleep, his quiet breaths filling your ears, and you get a text — phone vibrating in your pocket: Finally worked out the opening. I’ll show you tomorrow.

And Rafael adds: Unless you have a moment right now?

You glance at Sonny, asleep, before slipping your hand from his and switching the lamp off, closing the bedroom door behind you.

Yeah. I have a minute.

~~~

Sonny awakens at the sound of his alarm ringing. He groans quietly, blindly reaching for it, before shutting it off. And he turns, reaching for you, to find no one beside him. He blinks the sleep from his eyes to find only your pillow. He checks his phone — Had to head in early to speak to my client — I’ll be home for dinner at eight this time, I promise. Love you!

He frowns, rubbing his eyes, how many times did it make it that week?

He sits up, stretching, he had barely seen you — between work at the firm and work on the Davis case, he hadn’t seen you in a solid week.

But you have seen Barba every day of the week now.

He didn’t think of himself as jealous — no, he knew his place and he trusted his partner. And he knew you would never cheat, at least, not physically.

But it wasn’t you he didn’t trust.

Barba was a friend, a mentor, but he was also your ex. The very same that had broken your heart, the very same you had fallen in love with, the very same that you probably would have married in a heartbeat.

So why not Sonny?

He knew Barba had made you afraid of commitment — tentative to get your heart broken again, hesitant to take that step off a cliff where you couldn’t see the bottom — but he would catch you, he would always catch you.

He stares at your messages, so why didn’t you?

Might run a little late — Rafael wants to prep a witness again.

And he locks his phone.

Maybe he already knew the answer.

“Yet another late night,” you groan, looking at the time, stretching out on your couch, “how does this keep happening?”

“We’re both workaholics and enablers,” Rafael replies, putting away some of the case materials, “plus I’m more productive working here than my mother’s kitchen table.”

More or less, his eyes found their way to you as they always did — at least the view was much better.

You snort, gesturing, “My office thanks you,” before you think, “you know I could get you an elevator fob, a temporary one, so you could work the case here.”

Rafael pauses, furrowing his brow, “And that’s okay with your partners?”

“Well they want a win, so,” you sit up, rising from the sofa, glancing over at him, “they’ll be fine,” and he’s raising an eyebrow, and you can’t help but slowly smile, as you walk across the office, “well, they told me all things go well — I may be making partner after all.”

“You’ll be a partner?” and you nod, as he beams, “congratulations,” he moves forward, but hesitates — instead offering you his hand, and you roll your eyes, taking his hand and pulling him into a hug. And he stiffens, but tentatively melts into — “I’m really proud of you — you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” you reply softly, your arms resting loosely around his shoulders,

And he pulls away, lips curved upwards, “Thank me? I should be thanking you for all the work you’ve put in—”

“No, no,” you bite your lip, “I meant for everything — you helped me become the attorney I am today — you guided me, and,” your eyes meet his gaze, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“In more than one way,” he gives a bitter chuckle, pulling away, stepping back. He had driven you from work — it was your choice, but what other choice did he leave you? It was either move on or spend days working with the man who broke your heart.

“Raf—” you start.

“I did apologize for what I did, but—”

“You did and—”

“But I don’t know how to make it up to you,” he presses his lips together, arms crossed over his chest, “in a way, I don’t think I ever can. I just—” he shakes his head,

“Raf,” you shrug, “I really wanted to hate you,” and a huff of a laugh escapes your lips, “you didn’t make it that hard,” a mournful smile on his lips, “but I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to,” you tilt your head, “I loved you — I couldn’t find it in me to hate you — even when I thought I did, even when I said no to you — I didn’t hate you — I couldn’t. You made mistakes and you apologized,” and you add with a sigh, “it’s also really hard to hate you.”

“Really?” a half smile on his lips.

“At least for me,” stepping forward, “must be something wrong with me — physically, psychologically, something,”

He scoffs, biting back a smile, “I hear Liv knows a good F.B.I. psychiatrist,”

“I’ll have to ask her about it,” you snort, “where’s this coming from anyway?”

“I treated you so terribly over Carisi,” he says softly, “when I treated you worse when we were together—” and you waver, “I just — I’m sorry — you deserve more than that,” you deserve more than me, he thinks, and you have it.

“We both made mistakes,” you tilt your head, “don’t you think it’s more important what comes after?”

“And what is that?”

You roll your eyes, “Friendship? Camaraderie? Maybe even a little honesty?”

“Well, you know lawyers love to lie,” he steps forward.

You raise an eyebrow, “Are you lying about something?”

Only my feelings — but what else was new? “Nothing important,” he smiles, grabbing his coat, and he bites his lip, glancing at the time — 9:37 PM, “do you have time for a celebratory drink for your promotion?” and you frown, “unless you have plans?”

And you glance at him and your phone and back, before nodding, “I got time.”

“Have you asked—”

“Not yet, Ma,” Sonny sighs, glancing at his casework, before leaning back in his chair, the stress crawling up his already stiff shoulders. And this phone call did little to alleviate his stress, “We’ve both been so busy with this case—”

“Too busy to talk about marriage?” it added to it, and he’s rubbing his temples, regretting ever asking for his grandmother’s ring to propose, “Dom, don’t let this one get away because you’re too afraid—”

And he’s covering his mouth, fingers squeezing his phone, “I know—”

He knows, but do you?

“You’re good for each other — we’ve seen it for ourselves,” he could hear his mother smile, “it’s so rare that you find someone that your sisters actually like, not to mention your father — that man—” his stomach is sinking, and cuts herself off, “what are you waiting for, Dominick?”

He was waiting for you to love him enough.

“Ma—”

“You love—” He’s always loved you more than enough.

“Of course I do, but—”

“But nothing!” she huffs, “you should propose tonight over dinner, I got the perfect recipe for you to cook, it will—”

“I can’t!” he finally snaps, frustration boiling over, “I can’t because I haven’t even gotten an answer about moving in—” and his anger simmers into sadness, voice breaking, “so how can I ask for marriage, when—” when he’s not even sure if you love him anymore?

“Dominick,” his mother’s voice would break his heart, if it already wasn’t broken, “if you’re unhappy, you have to say something, you can’t let it go on,” her words are soft, but firm, “you don’t deserve to have your heart wasted — you’re too good for that, my sweet son.”

He clears his throat, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, “I have to go, Ma,”

“Ok,” she says with reluctance, “call me later this week?”

“I will,” and then he adds, “and Ma? I love you.”

“I love you too,” and she hangs up, as he sets his phone down, seeing his lock screen — a picture of him kissing your cheek at lunch, a few days before the case. And he’s staring at your smile, your lips, the way you were looking at him instead of the camera — and he locks the screen.

He needed to tell you.

The door clicks shut — the fourth time in a row you had been late. Sonny sits, eyes forward on the T.V., arms crossed against his chest, not bothering to look over.

“Hey,” you begin, “sorry I’m late, I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies tersely, and he doesn’t want to fight — he doesn’t — he’s too tired to fight, before clicking off the T.V., “I’m used to it.”

And you blink, “Sonny—”

“It’s what? The eighth time or ninth time?” he’s sighing, “if that’s not a pattern—”

“And this isn’t court,” you are walking towards him, setting down your things, “I’m sorry this case has been taking so much of my time— our time—” you correct yourself, “but it’s almost over — you know that, we’re working the same case.”

“Except I’m not the one who is constantly at the office,” he’s sipping at his drink.

“Because my side of the case is harder — you know the facts,” you cross your arms, “we have to be creative — we don’t have the government’s disposal at our fingertips—”

“That would be true, if Liv and Fin didn’t help Barba find and track down witnesses,” he raises his eyebrows at you, as you blink, “yeah I knew about that.”

“I didn’t know—”

“And it’s one thing to feel like your team is not on your side,” his chest squeezes, finally meeting your gaze, “but when it’s you—”

“Sonny, this is my case, it’s professional. It has nothing to do with us,” you find your way to his side, but he’s pulling away from you.

“It is when you’re using this case to push me away,” he says quietly, and he tries to see past your glassy eyes, “you’re never home, you’re always at the office, we never see each other—”

“It’s just—”

“It’s not work,” he almost laughed out of frustration, his heart no longer cracked but flooding, sinking beneath his own pain, and he could barely see the surface, “this has been happening even before.”

“What are—”

“Why won’t you move in with me?” he can’t afford to avoid it any longer — the question burning on his tongue so long that it had branded the words across his flesh. The one question he knew that could pull this whole thing apart, but he needed to ask because he needed to know whether it would.

And he’d fall with it, if he had to.

“Sonny,” you’re staring at him, “I—”

“We’ve been dating for two years,” each word scrapes against the lump in his throat — each syllable only pain and hurt, “I have tried to be a good boyfriend, patient and loving — I love you, I’ve loved you since I met you—”

“I know, Sonny,” your voice breaks.

“And I can’t wait any longer for your answer,” he’s risen to his feet now, “I need to know.”

“I’m just not ready—”

“Will you ever be ready?” and he knows the answer, and he’s known the answer — he just couldn’t bring himself to ask it, but your silence is the answer he needs. And he’s turning away from you, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sonny—” And he’s grabbing his things — his coat and his bag, but you’re at his side, fingers brushing his arm, “please—”

And he turns, pulling your hand away from him, “Have you ever asked yourself why you can’t move in with me?” and you blink, “it’s because of him.”

And he doesn’t need to explain who that is, “It’s not—”

“I’m tired,” he cuts you off, turning away from you, “I’m tired of being your second choice, okay?” The words leave his lips and he’s almost as struck by them as you, and in a second, he’s pulling you aside into an empty conference room, the door clicking behind him, “I don’t want to live in his shadow anymore—”

“Sonny—”

“And not just with you,” he knew Fin, Rollins, and Liv were helping him — despite their orders, despite their loyalty to the state of New York, and despite their loyalty to him. And you — every late night, every glance in court, everything that existed between you two — he trusted you, he did, but he didn’t trust your feelings, “I can’t do it.”

You’re at his side again, fingers plying at his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you, “I want you to move in, please, I—”

“I don’t want to just move in anymore,” he sighs, it wasn’t enough — not anymore, “we’re past that, I’m past that.”

“I—” and he pulls the ring box from his pocket, and your head snaps to it.

“I want to marry you, sweetheart,” his voice softens, fingernails digging into the velvet, “I want to be with you forever — I want to have a family, children, a home—I want to give you everything,” and tears are slipping down your cheeks now, “but not if you can’t give me everything too.”

And he wanted your everything — more than anything — he wanted to share it with you, to know you like he knew himself. And maybe he never would — but he would spend a lifetime trying to — and wasn’t that what loving someone was?

And he knew you loved him — but was it enough?

“Sonny, I—” you can’t believe it — it’s written clear across your face, and he knows — his stomach sinking — you hadn’t thought about this, had you? Not like he did, “I—”

“I think we need some time,” and he’s stepping away, “I need some time—”

“Sonny, please I don’t—” and you’re taking steps in tandem, until he allows you to touch him — but it doesn’t bring him peace, only pain.

And he kisses you because he can’t help it, not when you’re crying and he’s the cause — you pull him in, a meteor that can’t pull out of your orbit, and his kiss is soft and hard — jaw clenched, even as he melts into your touch, until you break apart, only your brows brushing in quiet of your breaths.

Until he’s pulling away.

“Think about it, okay?” he tucks the ring box back into his pocket, “because I have, and I—” and he swallows, “I can’t anymore.”

“How long do you need?” you ask quietly, as he steps towards the door, his fingers brushing against the doorknob, as he looks over his shoulder at you, standing.

And he smiles sadly, “That’s up to you,” and as the door shuts behind him, he knows that you know what he means — he needs an answer, and he hopes you give the one he wants.

Otherwise — he rests his head on your shut door, eyes stinging with tears — he’s not coming back at all.

You can’t sleep. An understatement.

You hadn’t slept in two nights — you couldn’t. Each time you’d toss and turn until you gave up, turning on your side and scrolling mindlessly through whatever app you found amenable — anything to not think, anything to not see Sonny’s face staring at you looking for an answer you didn’t have, anything to not hate yourself for not having the answer.

You hated yourself. Another understatement.

You turned on your back, staring at the ceiling — how could you do this to Sonny? What was wrong with you? He was perfect — loving, caring, sweet — and all he wanted was a future with you.

The very thing you were afraid of.

But why? You squeeze your eyes shut, but the thought wriggles its way to the forefront of your mind — Why were you so afraid?

You sigh, glancing at the empty space next to you, rolling over to Sonny’s pillow — it still smelled like him, his shampoo, the unique scent that you couldn’t quite pin down, but that was him all the same. Tears sting at your eyes, and you throw off your covers, sitting up — you couldn’t stay here.

You pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a jacket — sparing one more glance at your bedroom — not right now.

You don’t know where to go — you don’t feel like eating, you don’t feel like sleeping, so where else do you go?

You go to work.

The office building is unlocked from the outside — relatively deserted, except for the security guard that sat at the desk, who nodded at you as you entered — bleary eyed. You slip into the elevator, scanning your elevator fob and hitting the right floor, a shaky breath as the doors shut behind you — but you can’t cry, not in the elevator of your workplace, not when you’re on camera, not when you don’t deserve to.

Not when it was you who had done the hurting this time.

The elevator dings, letting you off on your floor — and you step off to an empty floor. The lights have long ago dimmed, as you scan your fob and open the glass doors to the offices. You spare at the glance at the partners’ offices — the lights shut. And you sigh, you hadn’t even told Sonny about the potential offer — you were going to wait until it was confirmed.

And now, you arrived at your office opening the door, would you ever get the chance?

You jump when you hear your name, head whipping up, heart in your throat, when you spot Rafael sitting on your couch, “Hey,” he blinks, “sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” and you furrow your brow, “I was practicing my closing.”

“How—” and you remember the temporary key fob you had made for him— and you shake your head, “no I’m sorry too, I just needed—” you swallow the truth, “I just—” but you can’t bring yourself to lie, choking on your own words. And then he asks the one question that he shouldn’t —

“Are you okay?”

And you’re crying, tears slipping down your face, and you don’t know how but he’s holding you now, your tears staining his button up, buried in his shoulder, “I’m sorry— I—”

He shushes you gently, “It’s okay, don’t apologize,” and you both stand there for a few minutes, until your sobs finally quiet, an empty feeling in stirring in your chest, and he’s running tentative fingers through your hair, “I feel like I can count the number of times you’ve cried in front of me on my fingers,”

You give a watery chuckle, “I don’t like crying in front of other people,”

“Who does?” he replies drily, and you laugh, shaking your head, before resting your forehead against his shoulder a moment.

“This is such a mess,” you whisper, before you’re pulling away, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t say sorry,” he shakes his head, as you sniff, wiping your tears, before jerking his head towards the couch, the two of you sitting, and he’s handing you bottled water. You take a few mournful sips, before screwing the cap on, “what happened?”

“I really fucked things up with Sonny — I—” your voice broke, “you should have seen him — he was—”

“It’s okay, slow down,” he tells you softly, “What happened?” and you’re silent a moment, “unless you don’t want to—”

“Sonny — he proposed,” the last words come out a whisper, and Rafael blinks, “sort of, it was an argument.”

“Because you didn’t say yes?” and you’re shaking your head.

“Because he thought I never would,” you squeeze your eyes shut, covering your face, “I don’t know what to do,”

“I think the obvious question to ask is, do you want to marry him?” and you don’t know how to answer that.

“I’ve never married someone before,” a tear slips down your face and he’s handing a tissue, “how do you know?”

“It’s a feeling,” he shrugs, “it’s the same as love — you feel it,”

You blink away tears, meeting his gaze, the question leaves your lips before you could stop it, “How did you know?” and you shake your head again, cheeks burning with shame, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“I knew too late,” his gaze dropping to his lap, “but I knew I wanted to marry you. I knew my days were happier with you, I know that I wanted to see you every day that you were gone, I know I thought about you almost every day, I know I regret every decision that drove you away,” and his eyes meet yours again — shining with something you knew all too well, “and I still do.”

More tears falling — but maybe for another reason now, “Raf—”

“I would kill for a second chance,” and then he gives a bitter chuckle, “no pun intended, or malicious intent for that matter,” he adds, making you huff, “but I would. I made so many mistakes with you because I was afraid — because I thought you would fall out of love with me when you saw me,”

“But I always saw you, Rafael,” your hand finds his, “I did.”

“I know,” he says softly, “but what’s stopping you? Is it fear? Or is it something else? Or…”

Or someone else.

The words were unspoken, but the implication hung between the two of you, and he whispered your name, but you’re shaking your head, “Rafael, I can’t—”

And you couldn’t — this wasn’t what you came for, this wasn’t supposed to happen. And you were supposed to say no, you were supposed to pull away, you were supposed to love Sonny — and you do, you do, but you can’t pull away.

Not when you have feelings for Rafael too.

“I know,” he whispers back, “but I can’t lie to you anymore — I can’t lie to myself,” he smiles sadly, “I love you,” the words echo in your fresh tears spill from your eyes. His fingers brushing a falling tear away, nearly just by the tips of his fingers, and your breath is shaky, as he smiles, “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

“Ever?” you repeat, and he laughs, a warm sound that lingers.

“Ever,” he sighs, “I didn’t want to hurt you or Carisi — I want the best for you, but I need you to know, if…”

If he was the one stopping you from saying yes.

“I know,” you whisper back — and you want to say more, but your words elude you. Your chest squeezes, and you wonder if he’s stolen your breath too, because he’s surely stolen your words— “but…”

“But,” he nods sadly, but you still didn’t know.

But the moment too eludes you when his phone rings, the two of you leaning away, blinking, as he reaches for his cellphone, as you wipe your tears away. He writes off whatever the message is, tucking his phone away, as you get to your feet, “I need time to think,”

“Of course,” he clears his throat, a beautiful blush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I know,” you shake your head, glancing at your phone, seeing Sonny’s face on your lockscreen, before you pocket it, “I just—”

“I know,” he says, tilting his head, “are you okay?”

And you shake your head, “No,” and you sigh, a weight sitting on your chest — the weight of a decision you didn’t know you would have to make, but you did, and you would, “but I will be.”

And you would be — as you stepped out of your office, rubbing your eyes — maybe once you slept on it.

~~~

And sleep you do, but it is one that is dreamless, but not thoughtless.

No, your thoughts swirl throughout your subconscious the entire night. You dream of Rafael, just as you dream of Sonny.

And as soon it seemed you fell asleep, you woke up to your cell phone going off — the verdict was in.

Even as you walk into the courtroom, you don’t know who to choose. You hadn’t spoken since that night at the office — to either of them. You arrive earlier than the others, Rafael and Sonny absent from their respective tables, and the officers choose then to bring in your client to your side.

“Mr. Davis—”

“Please call me Mickey,” he offers a weak smile, “I told you that from the start.”

“Sorry, Mickey,” you correct yourself, “I would ask how you’re feeling, but well—”

He huffed a laugh, “Nervous, for one, but,” his eyes fall back to the empty jury box, “I have to trust in the system don’t I? Same as everyone else.”

And you glance behind you, noticing the absence of anyone behind him, “Did you not ask anyone to come?”

And he sighs, “My daughter, but,” he glances sadly behind him, “she hadn’t come — not yet at least,” and he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, “wife’s gone as you know — and well,” he pulls a picture of his daughter from his pocket, “who else would you want by your side at the worst moment of your life?”

The double doors behind you creak open, and Sonny enters, walking past you without a glance, And who would you want?

And only a few moments later, Rafael arrives too, finding his place beside you and Mickey, and you allow them to speak, his hand clapping to Mickey’s shoulder.

None of you really knew how the jury would rule on this one. And you wondered — who was it that you would want beside you at your worst moments? Who would you want behind you, whispering comforts in your ear, who would want to love you, even at the lowest point of your life?

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” and the jury rises, the foreman handing the verdict to the judge, before handing it back, “have you reached a decision?”

And you glance between Rafael and Sonny — you were on trial, whose hand would you want to hold?

“We have, Your Honor,” and you know what your answer is now, “we find the defendant—”

Guilty of Manslaughter Two — the same deal that you and Rafael had turned down at the start of this — ironic, you think, glancing at the two of them — back right where you started.

You pack up your things as Rafael slips out early, as you quietly discuss sentencing with Mickey, before setting up another meeting with him about the hearing. And Sonny’s leaving too — catching a glimpse of both of them leaving — and now you knew your answer, as you begin to walk towards them—

You knew whose hand you wanted to hold.

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korkrunchcereal · 5 years

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WoW Q & A

We’ve seen more choices/player agency this expansion. How important is it to the team that these player agency choices happen for both factions, and how important to have repercussions?

Can only happen if there are repercussions. Not worth it otherwise. Have to be careful with the amount done and what’s chosen. Do I want to back the banshee queen or Saurfang? Interesting choice. Testing the waters with this.

METZEN! - When is the Horde getting its true Warchief back?

May be a job oppportunity coming up for a new Warchief. If so, we’ll call you.

20% auction fee hurting players. Did you have other ideas for it, and when will it be removed if so?

Only applies to select stackable trade goods. It’s a bandaid, would require a fundamental rework of the auction system. Limit to amount of population is collapse of the AH. Working on it.

Will the items in WoW classic be put in as tmog for the live WoW? For unobtainable items.

Important to keep the ecosystems separate. Separate the two completely. Playing classic BECAUSE you want to play classic.

Update on Class Relics?

Miiiight have jumped the gun. Tried to infuse it into a few systems since that time. Difficult to actually put in. Actively working on it. Prob see in heritage armor / individual armor as opposed to wholesale solution.

Character progression, specifically leveling not rewarding. Wouldn’t it be better to implement a level squish? More rewarding feeling.

Not satisfied with what lvling has turned into. A level squish is a big ordeal, and some psychological concern. Agreed that something needs to change. It’s not attainable to keep upping level without adding reward behind it.

What steps to address toxicity in public chat channels?

Values: Everyone have a good time. Better to lose the negative person then the group they’re affecting. Listen to reports, not always good at telling you they are. Lot of behind of scenes work to investigate. Going to be instituting technology in other blizz games to handle such. Much more thoughtful and better, but active.

Why is there so much RNG in the game, and do you have plans to move away from the amount of RNG?

A concern heard often. Completely deterministic. Had to get a drop, and grind certain emblems/badges in the past. Could mark on a calendar when you get pieces. No excitement or reward on the way. Not the world they want to do, but the flipside is nothing is predictable/certain. Been part of WoW. Putting in small fixes, but swung too far in pure randomness. Working towards a middle ground.

Smart loot system on mythic caches?

Def. randomness feeling there. A fix for azerite system was on M+ system. Would be great to have streak breaking protection, not so much bad luck support. Example: You get boots, don’t get another pair.

Information on future of Azerite gear? How does team see azerite gear improving and evolving?

Tides of Vengeance gets improvements rolled out. Multiple choices in outer rings of azerite. 3x as many pieces of gear that has trait you want. Continue to add new traits, replacing lack luster ones. Continue to do that through BfA. Beyond ToV, looking at ways to improve system. More depth and choices in Heart of Azeroth similar to artifact weapons.

Are you going to pull more things off of GCD?

Looking at offensive CDs, example of monks having around 10 abilities off the GCD. Pulled way way back, took feedback and put things back off GCD. ToV, ignore pain off GCD. Pretty satisfied with offensive CD of it. Don’t think taking off GCD fixes issues of needing to press 3 buttons to deal dmg. Reduce the buttons / need to push that many. Movement is big focus. Taking Movement abilities off GCD in ToV.

Color wheel/dye?

Comes up frequently. Big answer: Not for everything existing. Tinting contradicts how blizzard paints its armor. Very similar to oil painting. Going back to do everything would have to change all colors to grey, then doing color shifting. BC tried tinting, “clown era”. System would have to be isolated; one armor system so they can hand craft each color.

Took off niche abilities over time. If it resulted in homogenization of abilities, would you go back to MoP style?

Look at those abilities separately. Not averse to adding abilities where it makes sense. Mist and WoD abilities/talents were just used to shore up weaknesses. Would rather focus on strengths and give class identity. Feeling of “Man im glad we have an X” instead of “one of 6 specs to fill a hole.”

With CRZ and phasing off for classic WoW, how will you handle servers in classic with low pop realms / caps?

Not always seeing each other in the classic beta. Sharding at the moment, but demo is every char in the exact point in the world so without sharding would be broken. Some casual players, some hardcore. Concern is what will it do to realm communities, especially as realm populations fall over time? Using sharding in very limited ways. Understands its antithesis of classic, but necessary. First few weeks, plan to use limited sharding to beat initial launch problems. Further on, healthy population and single world.

Mechagon announced. Goblins and Gnomes; any development of background of Gallywix. How has being part of the larger horde affected him as a leader? Is he just a 2 dimensional money grubbing character? Any development of Gallywix and his attachment to his people?

3 dimensional money grubbing character. When pleasure palace can become pleasure palace, really experience goblins as they are meant to be; skyscrapers etc. Until then, we’ll look into it.

If we’re getting Azshara, will we get the cannon?

We’re gonna fire that cannon.

Can tmog restrictions be lifted / more freedom?

Kind of a one way street at the moment. Loosening some restrictions, notably heritage armor. Heritage armor the example. Tides of Vengeance: Can tmog over fist weapons with 1 handed. Can’t fix wands, wands are weird.

Differentiating between Sylvanas and Garrosh?

Stories not done. Much left to discover and explore. If I was Sylvanas and looking at Garrosh, i’d say Garrosh is an amateur.

Set up as Horde vs. Alliance. Warfronts, Island expeditions. Why if we’re in either one, are PvP talents not activated?

Because you’re not fighting other players.

Announcement of BG’s with island AI. Will PvP talents activate then?

Not sure. Probably turn on talents because PvP brawl. AI is literal reconstruction of players; frost mage using actual player abilities.

Do you encourage island expeditions to level?

yes. Buffed exp. Account bound unlock flight path item in Tides of Vengeance.

Will there be revamped M+ keystone leaderboard?

Sort of. Leaderboard still functions as a leaderboard. Challenge is only window of character progression. By Tides of Vengeance, add to the armory profile to see best times of week/season.

Low performing specs get bad reputation that persists long after buff. Anything to buff shamans, spriests and ferals?

Yes. If you keep getting turned down, you don’t have fun and you’re justified in blaming blizzard. Have to overbuff sometimes to get them better attention.

Any plans/considerations to bring back tier sets/gear related to give definition of class identity?

Trying something different in BfA. Gives a chance to get a set of gear that feels like that raid; naga raid give naga aesthetic gear. Class themed armor sets prob come back in the future. For now, cool to see varying designs.

Classic: Staying on patch forever, or eventually get its expansions?

Right now, focus on restoring classic WoW. Once it’s out next summer, go from there.

#Blizzcon 2018 #World of Warcraft

44 notes · View notes

ishunter798 · 3 years

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Baldur's Gate Download Mac

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Baldur's Gate

4.5 / 5 - 8 votes

Download extras files Manual, map and refcard available

Description of Baldur's Gate Windows

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Siana

A dark, slender figure enters. Shafts of daylight flow into the room until the door closes once more with a loud bang. The room is so crowded that making one's way is a delicate task. Commoners run about to and fro, maidens carry large trays with slopping liquid and the noise is almost unbearable. The floors creak, glasses clink together in toasts and patrons scream for ale. The stranger emerges from the crush by a table and sitting herself down glances at the door. The air about her seems to crackle with a form of electricity, she seems almost ethereal, although human.

Moments later, more adventurers arrive. The locals become nervous as the tension in the room rises. A half-crazed warrior speaks, with his sword swung over his back, to a small, furry creature (is it a hamster?) and makes his way to the strangers table. As they begin to converse in low tones, another woman makes her way across the room from the bar. Standing nearby, in a booming voice she speaks to the stranger, 'Siana, isn't it? There is no doubt, you fit the description,' and promptly draws her sword.

The Sword Coast

Welcome to the most addictive realm in the universe: The Sword Coast of Forgotten Realms. How many thousands of people out there have wasted many an hour with paper and pen, or in titles like Pools of Radience, Eye of the Beholder , or any number of campaigns or computer games involving The Forgotten Realms? O.K. don't scream yes all at once! :-). How long have we waited for something new? Something to come along and fill that craving ache that the Dungeon Master can no longer fill because they burned out 10 years ago after running games for 10 more? How long, I say, how LONG? Yes! I hear you, you are shouting across the globe, TOO LONG! How did we all hear that? Easily, by the number of copies grabbed up and off the shelves of the one game to promise it to you once again. Really the first game to sell like seriously tasty hot-cakes. Interplay couldn't burn them fast enough and those who had them were the envy of every group of gaming friends across the world. I still to this day play on a mud located in Finland, there was NOTHING but ' BG ' chat on the wizard channel. What day are you on? Where is that blasted magic ring? I just found Volo, damn that Captain. I just got to Cloakwood!!! Talk about community addiction, no one could stop playing. Even here at GDR almost every editor is playing Baldur's Gate and cannot stop. Is it worthy? Hell yes, how can the whole world be wrong!? But really, let's have a look.

Single Player Mode

My kingdom for Multiplayer! Single player mode in Baldur's Gate is fun, and tough. But it's not as good as multiplayer and there are a few reasons for this, which I will explain presently. Single-player mode allows you to play through the story with one character which you create at the beginning. Your character may then form a party by including NPCs found in the game or just go it alone. Yes, the game is even solvable with a single character, but so far (or as far as I know) only by one particular class. In general, players will instead group with mages, thieves, clerics or whoever else turns their fancy. Each NPC has their own personality, while one may be sniveling and insecure, the other might be half-crazed. A spectrum from good to evil in all the neutral, lawful and chaotic combinations ensures the traditional AD&D; variety.

Single-player mode does have its charms. Creating your character in the traditional way by choosing race, class (dual and multi-classes available), gender, abilities, alignment, proficiencies and spells to start with. You must also select your name and portrait, and your icon appearance and roll for your stats. If you've played any of the old Forgotten Realms CRPGs you will feel right at home with this. Most of the AD&D; 2nd Edition rules are adhered to, with slight changes documented to make the transition to computer game. Bioware have done an excellent job of this, and it may come as a shock to those less familiar with the rules, since progression is slower and more subtle than in other computer games which are loosely related, such as Daggerfall where progression was quite easy.

Once character generation is complete, you begin your story in the town of Candlekeep. 'This citadel of learning stands on a volcanic crag, overlooking the sea.' From the opening animation of a Vader like character beating and torturing a poor knight, you do know that something evil has begun a campaign of some sort along the Sword Coast. In Candlekeep, you learn that you are the ward of Gorion, that you know nothing about your past, and that your peaceful life in Candlekeep, where books are a ticket into the gates, is threatened by some mysterious danger. It is this danger which drives you and Gorion from Candlekeep and onto a journey which will take you across the wilderness and through the towns between Baldur's Gate in the north and Arm in the south.

Go for the eyes Boo!

The story then in Baldur's Gate takes precedent. That is, you eventually progress toward solving the mysteries behind the danger threatening you. There are however, numerous side quests to follow, items to search for and monsters to destroy. Each area is a large 2D map which you can either spend time clearing or move directly through to get to your next destination. A large overview map is used to select the area you want to go to, and time is added (such as 4 days) to the overall game when you move from one city to the next. Sometimes you may be waylaid by monsters or bandits, and this might occur at a map which you normally cannot select.

Communication with characters is the main source of information and story progression. You often can choose a way to role-play through talking to NPCs and it may even affect your reputation. Reputation is related to alignment (if you are evil and doing nice deeds and improve your reputation you may loose your evil party members who think that's a toss). When playing single-player mode, it can be difficult in beginning to sort out a party. You are presented with NPCs of various alignments and skills and must compile a group that will live (literally. Ed) with each other. Since there are not so many in the beginning it can be tough going, especially if you are a mage (generally weak and cannot wear armor) and really need those extra members to survive. If the NPCs do not get along, eventually they will leave or attack you. Even still, I managed to keep good, neutral and evil aligned characters together by playing a lawful evil character and travelling both by day some of the time and by night the rest. They bitched and moaned and were nasty to each other, but with a medium reputation (of 10) it seemed to work.

This is one of the drawbacks of single-player mode however, you really are stuck with whoever you find, rather than creating your own party. In some sense though, this was humorous because they behaved in ways which were totally unexpected and added to the sense of being on a journey. At the same time, it meant that they were not my ideal type of group.

Although it wasn't my group, the role-playing aspect in single-player mode was much more rich. For one game (I have two running), I have the Ranger Chaotic Good leader grouped with Imoen, Neutral Good Thief NPC (childhood friend to my character). They were joined in the woods by a Chaotic Evil Necro and a Neutral Evil Thief. They stayed grouped from the woods to The Friendly Arm. Then, after grouping with the two friends of Gorion in the Arm, we went upstairs and I let the evil thief try to steal first from a chest, he was unsuccessful with lock picking, then attempt a pick-pocket from a noble. Well, the noble caught him and a fight ensued...the characters started shooting arrows at all the nobles. After firing arrows and killing the nobles the characters all started talking. The good chars said, 'I dont think I like how this group is being run!' The evil necro said,' Oh, for the first time this group is becoming palatable!' :-). Anyway, more than half were pissed off and wanted to break group. Worse yet, since Rangers are meant to be doers of good deeds, immediately the reputation changed and my character lost her Ranger status. So, role-playing with NPCs really works.

Bring me some ale!

As you travel, you enter taverns, private houses, farms, woods and meadows. These rooms and outdoor areas are beautifully rendered and are the most unusual to date, absolutely fascinating. Looking sketched or painted, these maps have shadows which change over time, and eventually become dark as day turns to night. Rain or light snow falls and crystal clear rivers are filled with small stones and approachable islands. Your characters move with distinct behaviours and certain terrains, such as mountains and cliffs, are impassable. Actually this provided some problems with path-finding, which has recently been addressed in a beta patch. Both interior and outdoor scenes are augmented by excellent sounds of people moving, shouting, doors opening and closing or birds and animals moving about. The wind rustles, a monster cries, it's all in a days work on the road.

101 Kobolds

Combat in Baldur's Gate is different from its predecessors, as it is in real-time. The combat method is based on AD&D; rules adjusted to real-time, so instead of a 60 second initiative period, each character is given 6 seconds. The speed with which a character attacks is a number between 1/10 and 10/10ths time per round and the initiative is decided by a combination of rolled factors: ability, situation, and chance. Whether a character has a successful attack still depends on their THAC0 (To Hit Armour Class 0) and their attack roll. Critical hits and misses are decided by the attack roll, 20 or 1, respectively. Strength, dexterity, modifiers and weapons all affect attacks. Casting is treated in a similar way, although spells must be previously memorized (rather than being based on the mana of the caster) and can be disrupted in combat if the caster is hit.

This real-time aspect to AD&D; combat takes some getting used to, actually most everyone I know uses either the selection of different types of auto-pause (such as pause after every round for each character) or the space-bar to pause combat. I initially started out with autopause and then switched to space-bar. The reason is that combat is too difficult to control real-time. Firstly, although you control each of the NPCs as well as your character, to play without pause requires using the A.I. scripts provided or making your own. A.I. has 3 different settings for each class, for instance you can play your mage defensive or aggressive. The problem I had with scripts was that they did not control the characters well enough. I often found my mad necromancer in the middle of combat, after he had fired off all of his spells using his piercing weapon. Meanwhile, the warriors ran off, chasing their fleeing opponents, only to run into a nest of new monsters. This led to the group breaking up, and often added too many enemies to the battle at once.

Therefore in single-player mode, I resorted to pause and handled all of the combat on my own. Grouping archers and mages to the back, warriors and thieves at the front. Handling each fired spell, and every attack. Archery was a wonderful tool, and one of my main combat methods. But another problem I had was that archers, when in heavy combat against a large number of monsters, would use up the 3x20 arrows in quivers and then require changes. In single-player going to the inventory window of the interface immediately causes the real-time combat to begin again (a choice Bioware made in order to simulate a change of weapon in combat) and thus things were running in the background behind the inventory screen (which I could not see) while I clumsily made the change to add arrows. Some of the reason for this is that monsters will 're-pop' in an area (pop up again) after you have killed the first batch. This means that you can continue fighting all day, not that realistic and one of the niggles.

On the other hand, Bioware have provided some excellent options settings to ease the difficulty of real-time combat. Almost every spell and action can be mapped to keys using a convenient set of configuration windows so customizing your combat is not uncomfortable.

Finally, this group is becoming palatable

Despite the niggles mentioned above, single-player mode is a more challenging way to play Baldur's Gate. By sticking it out through the first stages, I learned the interface and created my own ways to deal with situations and my NPCs. As the story progressed, and the more involved I became, then the more trouble I had giving up characters that I had gotten used to for new members that came along. It's actually better to make some tough choices early since the characters which join your party gain experience, and therefore levels, along with your main character, building up their powers over time to help with the more troublesome events that come much later in the game.

Aleya

Journal Entry: Day 77, Hour 12 (17 Flamerule, 1368)

It was about noon when my companions and I set up camp in the Cloakwood Forest, giving me my first opportunity to update my journal since leaving Beregost. Strange monsters and human bandits beset the road to this beautiful place and my companions and I are weary from the seemingly endless battles. It is a rare pleasure to be able to stop and enjoy the beauty of nature.

I have to admit that I would have never dreamed myself living this type of life. How could I have predicted it when I was growing up amongst the serenity of the books at Candlekeep? Now my old friends and I are being hunted for reasons I'm not sure of, my foster father slain by a mysterious armored figure. Gorion believed too fervently in the need for the powers of good to prevail, but he was a caring and generous man. Why he or I would have enemies this powerful is a mystery to me. Well, at least I have the comfort of my friends who I have grown up with and trust completely. It would have been much harder had I needed to rely on the strangers I have met in my journeys.

Something out there is tipping the balance of power to the side of evil. I understand the need for evil in this world, but this lack of balance is forcing me to have to tip the scales back through good deeds and heroic actions. To be honest, though, I would much rather stay here with my fellow druids in Cloakwood. It would be wonderful to disappear into these woods and not return to the mess that is human civilization, but I feel something stronger calling me. These strange dreams I have been having would indicate that there is something lurking just over the horizon that I haven't grasped yet. Perhaps I will learn more when I find that mine and talk to whoever is in charge there. Perhaps.

Multiplayer

This game was so big it took two of us to review it - Karen focused on playing the game through in single player mode, and I played the multiplayer mode with my husband over my home LAN. Interestingly enough, Karen and I had two different experiences playing the game although we both shared the same addiction to it. Let's face it, this game is nothing short of incredible. I generally don't play games like these through again, but as I write this, I'm on my fourth full game of Baldur's Gate and still enjoying it as much as I did the first time through.

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While some of the issues Karen had with the single player mode were resolved by multiplayer gameplay, I didn't see some of the interesting NPC features she would have been able to see. Creating six custom characters definitely has its merits, such as being able to create the exact type of characters you want rather than hoping the game will supply them for you. However, doing so prevents the player from seeing the interactions that take place between the NPCs in your party and other characters in the game world. Each NPC has his/her own unique personality and history that affects the way some quests are solved and can even influence the flow of the storyline.

Custom characters do not have much of a personality, nor do they have any sort of history aside from 'you were a friend of the main character at Candlekeep'. These custom created characters are not as likely to break and attack the party for acting outside of their alignment as NPCs are. My husband controlled both a neutral evil Thief and a lawful good Paladin; he enjoyed sneaking away from the rest of the party to take his characters on house raids in the major towns while I wasn't paying attention. Granted, he left the Paladin in the living room while the Thief roamed the house and stole things - but I still would think that a character with a lawful good alignment would have a problem breaking into houses. Nor would a Paladin really be able to tolerate being grouped with an evil character in the first place. These differences aside, the story line and subquest structure of both single player and multiplayer is exactly the same.

Multiplayer mode allows far greater control over the characters, which is why many players chose to play the game in this mode instead of single player. Each player in the game session controls a certain number of characters, and to make up for the fact that there can be up to six people playing the game at once, the game does allow you to enter the Inventory screen while paused. This complete control over the characters meant that I never had to worry about auto-pausing the game in battles as Karen did to ensure my characters were doing the right things. I never ran out of arrows, potions, or anything else. However, I did notice that the character scripts still had an effect if you chose to set them; when I set my fighter to aggressive I had a much harder time controlling him, as he tended to run and attack anything the instant it turned into an enemy. Unfortunately, this meant that if I accidentally made townspeople angry he would generally kill them before I had even realized what happened - but this was easily fixed by turning off the scripts.

Lots of Options

Baldur's Gate offers an amazing amount of control over how the game is played in a game session. It is very easy to set up a multiplayer game, and just as easy to join one in progress over the Internet or LAN. Each game can be protected using a password to keep unwanted players from joining. The player on the server machine (or the 'leader') has the power to decide - on a per player basis at any point during the game - whether or not the other players have the ability to modify characters, spend gold, initiate dialog, view other character records, leave an area, pause the game, or modify permissions.

The leader has the power to kick other players from the multiplayer session instantly or decide, using the Character Arbitration screen, which player controls which character(s). Because of the fluidity of multiplayer game play, characters can be added, deleted, or reassigned during game play on the fly. At any point during the game, the leader can completely change the dynamics of the party, deleting all the old characters and creating completely new ones if he so desires - although any party manipulations mid-game like this drop the party reputation back to 10 or 11. The leader also dictates how player import works. One can choose to import a character into a game with all experience and items, with experience only, or at with no items or experience.

The fact that characters can be imported and exported with full items at any point in the game helps protect players against player killing - the leader can either revert back to a saved game or you can just import your character back in. An added bonus to this import/export option is that it also allows for some interesting cloning experiments in terms of both player characters and items. Just as a test of the import process (it isn't considered 'cheating' when done as an experiment, right?) I managed to clone in five copies of my fighter for an extremely tough battle. I dismissed the other five people from the party temporarily, then had them rejoin after I sent the five 'clones' into battle to be killed. By cloning the fighter, I not only duplicated him but also any items the he was holding when I exported him. I could pick these items up from the bodies of the dead 'clones' and redistribute them within my party, allowing my characters to be equipped with multiple copies of very rare magical items.

The game is designed to run in asynchronous mode, which means that not all computers will show the exact same events on the screen. While this is good in terms of latency issues, it is a little disconcerting during the gameplay. It seemed that whatever appeared on my machine (the server) was 'reality' and whatever appeared on my husband's computer was not. There were many times either my characters or his got killed because of this; to him it looked like the monsters were across the screen, or not there at all, when in reality they were right in the middle of the party. We even had a couple instances where his characters appeared in impossible places, such as trapped behind walls, when the computers would readjust what was on both our screens.

What's that Icon Mean?

The interface is one that takes a lot of time to get used to and has a high initial learning curve. There are several icons surrounding the main game screen, and as is sometimes the problem with icons, they aren't always intuitive. For instance, a mask appears for the thief's 'unlock/disarm trap/pickpocket' button, which doesn't make me think of any of those. Because of these icons, I had to keep the manual handy to keep track of all the different icons and options throughout the game.

In general, the icons along the side are the game management icons, allowing the player access to the character screens, inventories, map, journal, and game options. The character portraits are along the opposite side. These can be moved around at will, including putting new characters into the 'main character' slot. Players can chat amongst themselves using the dialog box, which can be expanded to be bigger or smaller, depending on the amount of conversation occurring. Game text, battle statistics, and conversation with NPCs also appears in this box.

The icons at the bottom for quick items, weapons, and abilities can be confusing at first, as the icons that appear differ depending on the character type. For instance, the screenshot above is taken with my druid character highlighted, so her bar contains spells, items, and two weapons. The thief's bar would contain different icons to represent his ability to hide in shadows, find traps, and disarm/unlock. The fighter's icons are different, as are the mage's, and so on.

For the most part, the game does an excellent job of providing alternate ways to know icons aside from digging out the manual or quick reference guide. Either a mouse click or leaving the mouse over an icon brings up descriptive text about the icon, spell, ability, or item. One other thing Baldur's Gate does very well is map areas and document major and minor quest information in the journal. I did not have to keep manual notes at all, which is a first.

The Game Bible ... er, Manual

A game this large and with so much to learn in order to play it needs a manual that is equally as large, and the one that ships with the game is the size of a short novel - 159 pages of very important information. I must have read through it about three times! I have some experience with playing AD&D; games, so I had a basic knowledge of the character classes, alignments, and spells. This manual, however, greatly enhanced my knowledge of how things worked in the AD&D; world, and contained any piece of relevant information that might be needed to play the game. I always had it on hand when I played the game, and I found myself referring to it quite often. However, I wish it had contained more in-depth information about the pros and cons of the different races and classes. I found myself having to ask friends who used to Dungeon Master in the AD&D; pen and paper days for clarification instead.

However, with as much helpful information this manual contained, I don't think it was laid out in such a manner as to be helpful to new players. The information about character races, alignments, and classes was contained in the middle of the manual under a section about AD&D; Rules. Normally character creation information is at the front. The description about how the statistics for each attribute (such as intelligence, etc) actually affect the character is at the very back of the manual under a totally different section. The manual does have both an index at the back and a table of contents, but these still did not seem to cut down on the amount of time I, and others I know, had to search through the manual for information. I still managed to go almost 75% of the way through the game without knowing how to disarm traps or that I could set spells up in the quick use slots because I somehow overlooked that information in the manual.

Also, not many people even like to have to read a manual, not to mention one this long. Anyone who does not read the manual is at a disadvantage unless they know something about AD&D; rules. The quick reference guide is wonderful for mapping icons to meanings, but does not get into character limitations or detailed spell information. Even if one knows the rules and just uses the quick reference guide, there is a good chance that you will miss a key game option or feature.

The Battle Ends - For Now

Journal Entry: Day 130, Hour 10 (9 Eleint, 1368)

My quest has ended, although I am too weary from battle to recount all the details. Suffice to say my quest was difficult and lengthy, but one the gods surely enjoyed. The ending of my saga seemed somehow anticlimactic given all that I had been through, but I can definitely live with that! I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed my adventures, and for some reason, I feel as if this journey was only the beginning of more to come. I will welcome the challenge, and am looking forward to where the fates may take me.

Review By GamesDomain

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Captures and Snapshots

Screenshots from MobyGames.com

Comments and reviews

Jayzer2020-04-290 point

Game has been re-abandoned on GOG in favor of the Enhanced Edition by BeamDog.

Write a comment

Share your gamer memories, give useful links or comment anything you'd like. This game is no longer abandonware, we won't put it back online.

Buy Baldur's Gate

Baldur's Gate is available for a small price on the following websites, and is no longer abandonware. GoG.com provides the best release and does not include DRM, please buy from them! You can read our online store guide .

Game Extras and Resources

Some of these file may not be included in the game stores. For Baldur's Gate, we have the following files:

Other Releases

Baldur's Gate was also released on the following systems:

Mac

Year:2000

Publisher:Graphsim Entertainment Inc.

Developer:BioWare Corporation

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Baldur's Gate

4.5 / 5 - 8 votes

Download extras files Manual, map and refcard available

Baldur's Gate Download Mac Iso

Description of Baldur's Gate Windows

Read Full Review

Siana

The Sword Coast

Single Player Mode

Go for the eyes Boo!

Bring me some ale!

101 Kobolds

Finally, this group is becoming palatable

Aleya

Journal Entry: Day 77, Hour 12 (17 Flamerule, 1368)

Multiplayer

Lots of Options

What's that Icon Mean?

The Game Bible ... er, Manual

The Battle Ends - For Now

Journal Entry: Day 130, Hour 10 (9 Eleint, 1368)

Review By GamesDomain

External links

Captures and Snapshots

Screenshots from MobyGames.com

Comments and reviews

Jayzer2020-04-290 point

Game has been re-abandoned on GOG in favor of the Enhanced Edition by BeamDog.

Write a comment

Share your gamer memories, give useful links or comment anything you'd like. This game is no longer abandonware, we won't put it back online.

Buy Baldur's Gate

Game Extras and Resources

Download Baldur's Gate 2

Some of these file may not be included in the game stores. For Baldur's Gate, we have the following files:

Other Releases

Baldur's Gate Free Download

Baldur's Gate was also released on the following systems:

Mac

Year:2000

Publisher:Graphsim Entertainment Inc.

Developer:BioWare Corporation

Similar games

Fellow retro gamers also downloaded these games:

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hannibalcreative · 7 years

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Hannibal Creative’s #EatTheRare Fic Roundup

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Special Dreams by Edge_sama

Summary: Set after the kiss scene from Fromage (S1E8). Both Will and Alana felt their decision to have a professional relationship was a good one, but they couldn't help but think in each other after that kiss.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Will Graham, Alana Bloom

Willana

Waste a Moment by 11Mydesign11 and Destinyawakened

Summary: Nigel wakes in the United States in a hospital bed. The FBI want answers for a few things, but Nigel's more interested in the guy down the hall with a smile carved into his belly.

Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Alana Bloom, Nigel

Will Graham/Nigel

Hunting Scene by Cinnamaldeide

Summary: Their light steps betrayed the solitary nature of their selective pack, which likewise included no more than two individuals; much like a lone predator instructing its progeny.

Mature

No Archive Warnings Apply

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Garrett Jacob Hobbs

Gen ( no pairings)

Where Is It? by TigerPrawn and victorine

Summary: Hugh takes revenge when he sees Mads is sharing clothes with other co-stars. Well, if Mads is going to wear Ben's jacket instead of his cute leather one, Hugh will just keep the damn thing!! Part of the Mad Bear & Little Pup Madancy AU Series - Neither Mads or Hugh are married but have been in a secret casual relationship since King Arthur. As both their careers were taking off they didn't want it all foreshadowed by a relationship and the celeb gossip that goes with it. Both remain single and they see each other when they can on and off over the years. Feels and hilarity ensue.

Mature

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Hugh Dancy, Mads Mikkelsen

Madancy

More Interesting Than the Average Conference by hchannibloom (bleepin_ufo)

Summary: Bedelia Du Maurier attends a conference and chances upon a bright, delicious young Alana Bloom

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alana Bloom, Bedelia du Maurier

Bloomdelia (Alana Bloom/Bedelia Du Maurier)

A Necessary Lie by starkaryen, FlyingRotten

Summary: Adam Towers is investigating what could be the article of the year if the rumors about Evelio Thanatos' experiments happen to be true. What he didn't expect, though, was to find a distraction in the Thanatos house, but that's exactly what he finds in Elias... Or, at least, that's what he thinks.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Adam Towers, Elias

Basic Chickens

A Flexible Arrangement by Hannibalsimagopurplesocrates

Summary: Allan is trying to rebuild his life on his return from the Hague and has been told he needs to take yoga classes as part of his anger management. Begrudgingly he agrees but soon is distracted by a man wearing pink shorts who seems even more broken that he is. Allan needs to know more about this ellusive man but can't seem to catch him to talk to him. That is until they crash into each other and have no choice but to get to know each other.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Lucas, Allan Fischer

Allan Fischer x Lucas

And So the Flamingo Fell in Love With the Wolf by CarpeDiemForLife

Summary: When Chilton shows up on Will's doorstep, bloodied and desperate, Will has every intention of turning him over to the FBI. But then he hears something that changes his mind. Canon divergence 2x07. My take on what could have happened if Will had chosen to harbor Chilton rather than call Jack.

Teen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Will Graham, Frederick Chilton

Chilly Willy

Once upon a dream by 11Mydesign11 and You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am

Summary: A young pop star - Prince Charmont - is being stalked by a dangerous, threatening fan, and is compelled to hire a personal bodyguard, a well respected man named Draco. As they get to know each other, sparks fly, and the hunt is on for Char's stalker.

Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Charmont, Draco

Clash Enchanted

One Night in Miami by vix_spes

Summary: Being back in Miami was hardly how Luke had envisaged it but a mysterious man in black might just turn things around.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Le Chiffre, Luke Brandon

Le Chiffre x Luke Brandon

A certain liquidity of the eye by levi163

Summary: War is not the place for love, and yet, a gaze held a moment too long changes everything.

Gen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett, Citron/Jørgen Haagen Schmith

Lonely Soldiers

Lead Me Home by Firuflies and starkaryen

Summary: After the difficulties both Lucas and Joe had to overcome in their past, they decide it's time for a new beginning. It turns out, they end up teaching in the same school in Copenhagen.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Lucas, Joe Connor

Luconnor

The Overthrown Prince by AlexandraCole

Summary: Amidst the civil war in Kyrria, Prince Char is captured and taken prisoner in a foreign land. He knows he will have to escape if he is ever to return to Frell and reclaim his throne, but his only hope is a child and a mute, one-eyed man Char isn’t sure he can trust.

Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Charmont, One Eye

Valhalla Enchanted (Charmont/One Eye)

Time and Death by FrostyLee

Summary: More talks of death and time, maybe something in between.

Unrated

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Hannibal Lecter, Lee Fallon

Lee Fallon/Hannibal Lecter

The Fair Lady's Game by shiphitsthefan

Summary: Dr Hannibal Lecter has enjoyed a casual long-distance relationship with Bedelia Du Maurier for years. As an opera diva and popular starlet, Bedelia’s rendezvous with him are typically short, whirlwind affairs. Hannibal fell in love with Bedelia the first day they met, but respects her wish to remain an independent woman, though it pains him to do so. Only Hannibal’s friend and adventuring companion, consulting detective William Graham, can solve the case for romance. His methods for doing so, however, remain as unusual as ever.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Abigail Hobbs, Bedelia du Maurier, Jack Crawford, Chiyoh

Bedannibal

Infamous by Ruby BakeNeko

Summary: Nigel is at a bar, looking for someone to pick up. He meets Will, a man who is both antagonistic and irresistible. Unbeknownst to Nigel, he looks a lot like someone Will knows.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Will Graham, Nigel

DogsDogs (Will x Nigel)

Putting the Pieces Back Together by vix-spex

Summary: A year ago, Lucas built a new life for himself away from Denmark. The start of the new school year brings him something that he hadn't realised he wanted.

Gen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Lucas, Joe Connor

Luconnor

Of magic and love by FhimeChan

Summary: A normal wednesday afternoon in the life of Char and Draco. Since they live in an enchanted kingdom, how can a day pass without a magical emergency?

Gen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Charmont, Draco

Clash Enchanted

A fleeting taste of freedom by hchannibloom (bleepin_ufo)

Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world, Hannibal and Alana are left alone. They decide to take a few precious moments of freedom.

Explicit

Major Character Death

Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom

Hannibloom

Death and Time by FrostyLee

Summary: Talks of teacups and time were over, now there needs to be talks of death and time.

Teen

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Lee Fallon, Tobias Budge, Cathy Jamison

Hannibal Lecter/Lee Fallon

Thunder Follows Lightning by QueenofLit

Summary: Gideon is speaking words his soul knows. Instead of moving to speak of Alana Bloom, however, he mentions Garret Jacob Hobbs. Will's life shatters to pieces as the waves rear up in response to the ferocity of lightning's strike, but warm hands lead him up and away to safety in the clouds of the storm. He can hear the thunder of an oncoming storm, and it is soothing to know that the lightning will never leave him.

Unrated

No Archive Warnings Apply, Dubious consent

Will Graham, Abel Gideon

Will Graham/Abel Gideon

stay with me under these waves tonight by MargaretKire

Summary: Elias responds to a desperate mayday during a storm. He finds a ship-wrecked Adam.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Adam Towers, Elias

Basic Chickens

Ghosts of the past by hchannibloom

Summary: After the events at the Verger Estate, Alana reflects on her relationship with Hannibal.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom, Margot Verger

Hannibloom

Map of the Problematique by 11Mydesign11, Destinyawakened and Identically_Different

Summary: Lucas is on the hunt for a new life in California, what he doesn't expect to find is an Omega who pulls so hard at his heartstrings that he can't live without him, even through the ups and downs, and the trials of trust.

Explicit

Major Character Death, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics

Lee Fallon, Lucas

BearHunt

Better Things by whatkindofcrazy

Summary:

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Tonny, Roberto Bellini

Toberto

Craving by hannibalsbattlebot

Summary: "You realize those candidates thought we were having an affair. Why didn't we?" "You were already having an affair." This fic assumes that the affair Hannibal was already having was with Donald Suttcliffe. It explores a possible past which may have lead to them working together to deceive Will Graham about his encephalitis. Donald Suttcliffe and Hannibal Lecter meet in medical school and have a long tangled relationship which leads them to the scene in Suttcliffe's office in Buffet Froid

Mature

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Hannibal Lecter, Donald Sutcliffe

Hannibal Lecter/Donald Sutcliffe

Pumpkin Spice by Llewcie

Summary: Le Chiffre is in need of a bodyguard. No, not that bodyguard.

Teen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Le Chiffre, Buddy Wittenborn

Royale Evening (Le Chiffre/Buddy)

Moonlight by starkaryen

Summary: Char decided to go on a little trip with the royal doctor, Johann.

Gen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Johann Struensee, Charmont

Charmont/Johann Struensee

Leaf Piles by Llewcie

Summary: Lucas takes his new dog for a walk. She's not as good on a leash as she could be, and she gets away from him, right into his cute neighbour's newly raked leaf piles.

Teen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Lucas, Joe Connor

Luconnor

#Hannictober: Pumpkin Spice by shiphitsthefan

Summary: #Hannictober: Pumpkin Spice [Bedelia/Will/Hannibal college AU]

Unrated

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Bedelia du Maurier

Bedannigram (Bedelia x Will x Hannibal)

Luck Against Wisdom by creepypastaprimavera

Summary: When her son asks for a bedtime story, Alana adapts a Jewish folktale to tell the story of how she met Margot.

Teen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alana Bloom, Margot Verger

Marlana

Pile of Leaves by shiphitsthefan

Summary: Bedelia/Will/Hannibal college/dancer AU

Gen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Bedelia du Maurier

Bedannibal, Willdelia, Bedannigram

#eattherare #fic #roundups

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resplendentgoldenwings · 7 years

Text

All That Remains, Chapter 8, Six Weeks

rating: teen

characters/pairings: Iris West, Francine West, Cisco Ramone, WestAllen

warnings: grief, suicidal ideation

summary: Iris struggles through her first month without Barry, all the while unaware of a little surprise that Barry has left her. angst, h/c

beta: asexual-fandom-queen

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Six Weeks

Iris surveyed Barry's apartment. It wasn't like the cozy two bedroom place she shared with her best friend, Linda. Barry's place was spacious with hardwood floors, recessed studio lights, bay windows, two bedrooms and a nice long hall. Light and air flowed through it making it an easy, cheerful place to be in.

It was beautiful she'd helped Barry with some of the decorating, creating a whole pin board of ideas when working on her thesis got to be too much, helping him select plants, art and rugs. Iris felt as comfortable here as she felt in her own place, even now.

Now she surveyed the space considering the chores that needed to be done.

There was a stack of mail, about a week's worth, sitting on the table next to the door; his answering machine flashed seven messages -only Barry Allen had a home phone and an answering machine in 2015 and his plants needed watering. She kept her eyes away from the mantle and the far living room wall. Both were decorated with pictures of them, pictures of a life that was over.

After the wake, Linda had brought her here. Drunk and exhausted Iris had collapsed into Barry's bed, falling asleep in seconds. She'd woken to a dry mouth, headache, a glass of water and two aspirins on the bedside table. She'd gulped down the water, taken the aspirins and listened to the sound of Linda getting ready for work.

When the other woman had knocked on the bedroom door, Iris had feigned sleep until she left.

Linda was already doing plenty by staying here at Barry's, with her. She didn't want to distract the fledgling journalist from work as well, the other woman hadn't even completed a full year at CCPN. Iris didn't want her best friend worrying or distracted at work, not at her dream job.

Iris picked up the stack of mail. Electric bill, gas bill, phone bill, junk, junk, she froze at the next:

A large, thick, creamy colored envelope addressed with a fancy curling script and wedding bells, addressed to Mr.Barry Allen and Ms.Iris West. The return address brought a lump to her throat: Canon Photographers. Her hands started to shake, and she dropped the envelope into the wastebasket.

She knew there were appointments that would have to canceled, but she couldn't deal with that now.

Instead, she hit the play button his answering machine.

"Hi, this message is for Mr. Barry Allen, I'm calling from the Garfield Conservatory. You contacted us about hosting your wedding on May 12th, 2016-" Iris hit the fast forward button as tears sprang to her eyes. She sighed with relief when the next message was about a dental appointment; she could call and cancel that. She wrote down the number, and the third message started. Another wedding photographer, the message was short, finished before she could hit fast forward. The fourth was also about the wedding, as was the fifth and the sixth and even the seventh.

Iris found herself rooted to the spot, listening as friendly, chipper people offered to help arrange a future that no longer existed. Listened as she started to tremble, as her grief surged, heart breaking with this fresh reminder of future charred beyond recognition in a matter of hours. Each message calling up the agony sitting just below the surface of a skin stretched too thin. Pulling at her until it poured forth in a keening wail.

They had both been eager to plan the wedding. The date, that was easy, May 12th the date of their prom, their first kiss, the day she'd confessed she still loved him seven years later and he said he'd still felt the same. The day they'd come back to this very same apartment and made love for the first time, the day he proposed. The perfect date for a spring wedding.

"Oh God." Why had they waited so long? Why had she ever thought it was ok to delay until after college? She could have switched schools, canceled her gap year, finished grad school faster. Why had she ever waited? Why had she ever believed she had time?

"Oh, Barry."

She sobbed his name and sank to floor, one word expressing so much grief,

Francine came by with lunch and found Iris asleep on the floor exhausted by her misery. She let her mother coax her into eating a meal she barely tasted and then bed. The last thing she heard as she drifted into sleep was her mother's voice, heavy with sadness as she made the first of many phone calls.

The next, two weeks passed in a haze of grief. She spent more time alone in Barry's apartment than any of her family and friends wanted. She couldn't work. The thought of her meta-human blog her ill. She couldn't imagine putting together a pitch, contacting magazine publishers or looking for story ideas. Her mind couldn't fathom it. After a week she tried going to Jitters for work, but Barry's ghost was there waiting for her.

She could see him, sitting at his favorite table, savoring the warmth of the late afternoon sun on a fall day as it warmed his lean frame, a Flash and apple turnover sitting on the table before him. The same Barry she had always known, long and lean with the same dark hair and green eyes, but a man rather than a boy, handsome and charming, her man.

Barry's ghost was everywhere in Jitters. She couldn't just curl up with her memories and let them hurt her if she was there to work. Iris never made it past the front door.

She'd never known that a life could be completely consumed by pain. She'd scoffed at the idea of dying from heartbreak, but when you woke sick and crying every morning spent the day holding back tears, went to bed the same and woke to do it all again, well it didn't seem so impossible.

She wore his favorite pullover, slept in sheets rapidly losing the mingling of their two scents, and tried not to cry. Linda spent the nights there with her, being a true best friend and Wally came to visit during the day when he could, Joe came by in the evenings.

At the end of two weeks, Henry came and packed up Barry's things. Iris wanted to help, but she couldn't. It had been Barry's apartment, but their home as a couple.

They'd first made love in his apartment. She could still recall his lips, his touch, the flush of heat through her body as his hands moved over her skin, the unexpected, but not unpleasant stretch of him inside and the way her pleasure had rung through the halls unmatched by anything she'd experience before enriched -not by any special expertise, but by the depth of feeling they had for each other.

On Saturday mornings they cuddled on his couch and plotted their future together. In the evenings after a long day at Jitters she'd be at the kitchen table writing pitches for articles. When she felt too tired, too drained to write Barry was there to keep her company or bring her a cup of coffee to keep her going. "The world news Iris West's voice." He'd said that to her after a series of especially painful rejections.

They'd spent a weekend in his kitchen making ravioli from scratch, pasta and all. It hadn't been perfect, but it had been made with love.

She could sit at his dining room table, close her eyes and see his warm smile, eyes crinkling at the corners with happiness. There had been times when she'd teased him about the crow's feet destined to grow around those eyes, but she loved that smile.

She couldn't help Henry pull it all apart.

So instead Henry sent several boxes of Barry's thing to the apartment she shared with Linda.

Francine came by daily, made sure she ate and showered and she did eat and shower because she didn't want her mother to fuss. She watched What Dreams May Come and cried. She watched The Constant Gardener and felt a cathartic longing when Justin Quayle was finally executed by the same men who'd murdered his wife. She watched Singing in the Rain hoping to feel Barry's presence and was angry when she didn't.

Iris fought with her mother that day.

She uploaded every picture of Barry from her phone to her computer, sent them to the drug store to be printed with duplicate copies. She backed up every picture she had of him or the two of them together to an external hard drive. She had four voicemails from him, Iris recorded them into one long message and played them on loop until she fell asleep at night. She did all this while wearing his favorite shirt and wrapped in his too big bathrobe though his scent had long since faded from them.

When she went to the drug store to pick up her pictures, Iris dressed in all black –not that it meant anything anymore- and glared at everyone who spoke to her or looked at her.

The cashier at the drugstore, a cheerful young woman with a pleasant smile, commented that the guy in her pictures was cute and asked if Barry was her fiance.

"He's dead," Iris growled before snatching her pictures and felt some satisfaction at the devastation on her face. She tried to take off her engagement ring, put it on a chain when she got home, but couldn't.

She spent a lot of time asleep and chalked it up to depression.

She spoke to her family and friends, but they all seemed so unbothered Iris kept her misery to herself. She talked to Henry and sometimes her mother. Henry, because he was about as miserable as she was and she couldn't bring him down any further. She talked to her mother because well, her mother was a therapist and had been depressed for years herself.

She received a card from Malcolm after two weeks telling her to hang in there, and he called her once a week just to see how she was. He didn't try to pressure her into doing anything or being anyway. He just checked on her, it was nice. She didn't mind talking to him about Barry. He and Barry had been casual acquaintances. She couldn't hurt him with her memories, unlike Wally who thought of Barry like a brother or Joe who'd been delighted when they'd learned that Barry would officially become a part of their family.

A 30,000 check came from the life insurance company. Francine paid her bills out of it.

Cisco appeared on doorstep. His hair lank, face gaunt, circles under his eyes -heavy and black, mouth a tight miserable line. Guilt surged, he'd meant what he'd said when he called Barry best friend. He'd found some of Barry's things at the lab and decided to bring them over.

She invited him to have a seat, talk to her about Barry. Listened to him talk about The Flash and enjoyed it, memories that weren't hers, memories that didn’t hurt.

"He was my good friend," Cisco finished.

"Best friend," she corrected gently and was surprised to see him smile. "Caitlin really was just trying to help wasn't she?"

Iris looked away as she asked that.

"Yeah. Barry would be in a lot of pain sometimes, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, lacerations. He wasn't in any danger, but it was hard to watch-"

"-I remember."

And she did, Barry unexpectedly insisting that they stay in some nights, or cuddling up to him only to have him wince away and blame any injury on clumsiness. She'd almost started to worry and then it mysteriously it stopped.

Guilt washed over her.

"I owe Caitlin an apology."

"She'll understand."

She wrote Caitlin a long email apologizing for taking her anger out on the other woman.

Caitlin wrote back: 'My fiance died in the particle accelerator accident. I know how hard it is, I know how you feel.'

The guilt she'd been feeling surged at that response. Caitlin had known Barry for two years, been his main doctor during the coma, she would never hurt Barry. Cisco and Caitlin really did just want to help. The guilt was a pleasant distraction from her grief and Iris started planning something she could do to thank the two scientist.

At the end of that first month, Iris looked at herself in the mirror and saw her chin and cheekbones standing out at sharp angles, her color ashen, and hair that looked like straw. She'd been sleeping too much, not eating enough, not exercising and not getting enough sunlight.

She considered doing a face mask, deep conditioning her hair, taking a walk. She looked like she was falling apart. No wonder her mother came to see her every day.

Iris told herself to shower, dress, do that face mask and a miserable angry part of demanded to know why and then proceeded to tear through every answer that she had. Reminding her that there was no point, that nothing felt good or right anymore. Barry was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. Making herself look perfect wouldn't bring Barry back, just like it hadn't helped her mother when she was a kid. Barry would always be dead and she would always be miserable.

By the time that miserable angry part of her was done Iris was crying as if she'd only just found out. She put on Barry's favorite top, wrapped herself in his robe, plugged in her earbuds crawled into bed and put on her recording of his voice.

She tried it again in two weeks and actually managed to eat breakfast, which she threw-up. The same thing happened the next day and the day after that. The third day she threw up her lunch too. When she heaved up the breakfast bar Linda coaxed her into eating on the fourth morning the other woman looked at her with worried frown.

"Iris, I don't know how else to say this so I'm just going to spit it out. Are you pregnant?"

"What?"

"You've been throwing up, you're tired all the time and you look terrible."

"Gee thanks. I'm just nauseated from not eating right."

"You haven't been in our stash." The two friends shared a collection of sanitary napkins, tampons, and panty liners, Linda was right she hadn't been in it. Barry had been gone for more than a month and she hadn't had a period.

"I'm stressed, stress changes your period."

Linda took a deep breath.

"Let me see your phone."

It took them several minutes to find her mobile. She'd let the battery run down and misplaced the charger. Linda went into the living room and plugged it in there setting it down on the coffee table.

"Linda I'm sure it's nothing. I don't want you to be late for work." Iris sat down on the couch, and Linda sat down beside her.

"I already told them I was coming in late today."

"Alright," Iris said with a sigh.

"I know how unhappy you are. I see it, but if you are pregnant you have to face it sooner or later and sooner is always better than late with pregnancy"

"Except I'm not. We were always careful; we always used condoms."

"You know condoms aren't 100% and I know you aren't on the pill."

"Well, we didn't just use condoms. I tracked my period; we didn't, you know, have intercourse if I could get pregnant."

"Never, not even once?"

"No, we-"

-Except for May 12th, the day Barry proposed had fallen into that fertile period. She'd wanted him so badly. They'd used condoms, but as Linda had pointed out, they weren't 100%.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Iris pressed her fingers to her lips.

"What is it?"

"My period was already a few days late, before- before everything. I-I just forgot about it."

Linda put an arm around her shoulders, and they both stared at her phone waiting. When that first sliver of red showed in the battery, Linda snatched up the phone powering it on, and Iris gripped her friend's arm.

It had been a month and a half since Barry...and she had already been late. That was two and half-months. Stress didn't do that.

She thought back over the past six weeks, the morning nausea, the constant state of exhaustion, her breast- she touched them gently now over her shirt- they were tender...Iris felt a strange crawling sensation in the back of her head, and her shoulders began to rise, meeting the heavy sense of dread settling over her.

Her phone finished booting, and she watched Linda's thumb come down on the little flower icon for the period tracker.

"76 days late."

Iris felt her eyes go wide and then she started to cry. Linda's arms came around her around her.

"It will be ok. We're going to take care of you."

At that moment Iris West felt many things, but none of them was ok.

A/N- Alright so we’re finally gettng to the meat of part one. I’m super excited about the remaining chapters.

Thanks everyone for reading. Please take a moment to comment and if you like this fic give it a reblog.

#The Flash #WestAllen fanfiction #Iris West #Barry Allen #WestAllen #AGDoren writes #All That Remains

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