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#i do wish i had taken a better picture of the block before printing it 20+ times bc there’s a lot of excess ink on it now

nancypullen · 2 years

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Still Nesting

“The power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes a home happy and a life lovely.” - Louisa May Alcott I believe every word of that. Nothing in your home needs to be HGTV worthy or expensive to make the space pretty and the occupants happy. I’m a big fan of foraging for items and either transforming them or using them as is to perk up a room. I’m a Goodwill fairy godmother. I love finding something old and unwanted and turning it into something delightful. But that’s not what this post is about. This is about laundry. Well, my laundry space. I no longer have a laundry room, I now have a laundry closet. That’s not a complaint. It’s in the hallway right outside the upstairs master bedroom which means it’s about six steps away from our closet. So convenient! I’m happy with that. The previous owners sold the washer and dryer with the house, and although they’re mismatched, they work perfectly so it’s fine. Not pretty, but fine. I loved my laundry room in Mt. Juliet, not because it was a room, but because it was pretty. A sunny window with lace curtains, shelves with lovely baskets organizing all the various stuff for keeping house, a happy green plant on the window sill, etc. I loved walking into that room, it made me smile. My very convenient but very plain laundry closet did not make me smile. So I decided to change that. There’s only so much you can do with that limited space, and you already know that I’m cheap frugal. But laundry is one of those never-ending chores and having a pretty space to work in just makes it more pleasant, right? I stared at the bare, utilitarian area and thought about how I could fluff it up for less than $20. I wish I’d taken a before photo, but I didn’t - so here’s a shot from the real estate ad before we bought the place.

I just realized that’s not the dryer we have. It went kaput and we had to buy a new one the first month we were here. Anyway, here it is now.

Is it perfect? No. Is it better? Heck, yeah! As soon as we moved in I’d had the mister lower that shelf because my little T-Rex arms couldn’t reach it. The laundry closet was also painted when the rest of the house got a fresh coat. Most of the stuff on the shelf I already had - the various jars, trays, the little wash/dry/fold/repeat blocks, etc. A lot of it was in my old laundry room.

I hot glued gingham ribbon on that ugly wire shelf for about $2.

Those jars were my flour and sugar jars. I filled them with my wool dryer balls, and a sack of clothes pins from the dollar store. We’re up to three dollars now.

I found the hen picture on Etsy and paid two dollars for the digital download, I printed it at Walgreen’s using a coupon and paid about seven dollars. We’ve reached the twelve dollar mark, this is when I start worrying that I’ll blow past my self-imposed twenty dollar limit.

I visited Goodwill hoping to find an old, ornate frame for the hen print. It could have any ugly picture in it, I just needed the frame. No luck. If it was the right size, it was ugly. If it was pretty it was the wrong size. So I settled. That frame will probably change at some point, but I picked it up for just three dollars and it was basic enough to not be offensive. Current total, fifteen dollars - yikes!

I knew that I wanted a potted plant on the left hand side, and that it needed a little height. Also, living in a laundry closet it would have to be fake. I found a few that were perfect, but I’m not paying thirty or forty bucks for a fake plant to sit over my dryer. Ridiculous. I improvised with some stuff I had around the house - a vase on a cake plate will do just fine.

I added a little nest that used to sit in a cabinet in the grandgirl’s room and a stem of fake greenery from Walmart ($2.25). Grand total for the upgrade was $17.25!

Not perfect, certainly not everyone’s taste, but it sure makes ME happy. I know which laundry closet I’d rather open and work in. “The ordinary arts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.” - Thomas More I still feel that you can cook a better meal in a kitchen that’s pretty, and the same is surely true for a laundry space. I mean, would you rather go to work in an office that’s dark, ugly, and depressing or would you prefer to walk into a bright, spiffy, happy place to do your work? It’s no different with domestic chores. Well, that’s how it is for me anyway. Every job I’ve ever had, whether my space was an airline locker or a desk in a school room, it was immediately decorated with little bits of things that made me feel joy. Little pictures, quotes, flowers, doodads...I nested. “We can’t control the way the world goes but we can make our little bit of it heaven on earth.” - Susan Branch Ever see anyone get so worked up over a laundry closet? Good thing that Mickey told me the garage is off limits. I’m just saying it’s got the perfect ceiling height for a great chandelier...

Signing off now. We’ve got a FUN weekend planned. We’re running into D.C. and have tickets to see Hamilton at the Kennedy Center! Aren’t we fancy? We’re staying in D.C. a couple of nights and will do strike a balance of museum visits and shopping. I hear the Fashion Centre at Pentagon City calling my name. I love that mall. Sephora, MAC, Nordstrom, Macy’s...what’s not to love? More later, pumpkins. Sending out love on this sunny September Saturday. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

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hes-writer · 4 years

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Favourite (2)

Summary: harry loves one of his children less

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 1804 words

A/N: y’all know I’ve been feeling sensitive about posting this piece so if you have any comments BE NICE BE NICE BE NICE 🥺

Part 1

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The events from the previous weeks rattled the Styles’ household. Caleb woke to a tense morning the next morning where his dad was nowhere to be seen and Beatrice was holed up in her room. Dinner was even more awkward when silence draped over their backs like a cold blanket. Y/N tried her best to continue a dwindling conversation but there was only so much she could say until Beatrice’s silence towards Harry’s questions started to suggest that she didn’t want to speak to her dad. The youngest daughter, Ruby, seemed to be the holy grail of each family dinner when she babbled about her day in pre-school.

Beatrice was set to leave home in exactly two days. Y/N could feel a sense of pride seeing her eldest leave the family home, setting off to university and becoming her own person. Y/N knew that Beatrice had a difficult time separating Beatrice, Harry Styles’ daughter, to just Beatrice. Y/N looked back to when Beatrice was younger--an unexpected surprise that she learned to love when she felt the first symptoms of morning sickness--how she was bound to change her and Harry’s life forever.

___

Y/N wasn’t sure if her brain blocked out the memories of Harry being hostile to their first child until recently; maybe it was a denial that there was no way Harry could blatantly show anything less than love for their child. But the more Y/N thought about Beatrice’s birthdays, recitals and school events; all she could see notice now was Harry’s distanced posture. His distraction when Beatrice performed on stage, the excuses when she had a dance recital, and unenthusiastic greeting of ‘happy birthday’.

Harry leaned his shoulder against the door frame of the barren room, observing the bed and bedside table as it was stripped bare of the flower-printed sheets, watching his wife flip through the photo album filled with Beatrice’s accomplishments. The parents could not help but let a wave of nostalgia wash over them. The lamp on the bedside table lit the entire room. The fairy lights that were hung on her wall were taken down a few days ago; one of the items that Beatrice packed last.

“She asked me to help her put the lights up,” Harry whispered, tracing his fingers over the cream walls, walking over to where Y/N sat on the mattress. “I told her I was busy and she did it by herself,”

Y/N sighed, lifting her head to direct Harry to the spot beside her, “I know,” She sunk with Harry’s weight at her side, his slouched shoulders further emphasizing his despondent mood. “We raised a good done, hm?”

Harry shook his head in disappointment, “No..not me,” His chest ached with missed opportunities to bond with his daughter; all because he couldn’t get over the fact that she came as a surprise. He was at the peak of his career and he wasn’t too glad that he was forced to push everything back--his album release, promo, and tour--to the next year all because of a child that he didn’t even plan on having in the first place.

In retrospect, Harry should have known better. He should have reacted like a mature adult, a father-to-be and became an actual dad to Beatrice instead of holding a grudge to an innocent little baby. He still had a successful career that he always dreamed of but he can never turn back time for all the shortcomings he had with his child.

Harry felt extremely guilty for missing Beatrice’s childhood, so he tried to compensate for the guilt looming over him by presenting his younger children the type of love that he failed to give her. How daft was he to not notice his actions would only push her away from him? That, to Beatrice, it was Harry’s way of highlighting the fact that he would never accept the way she was conceived?

“What’s this?” Harry mused, tilting his jaw on where her hand rested to keep the page bookmarked.

“Jus’ some pictures over the years. Wanna see?”

Here Harry was, flicking the glossy pages of an old photo album, looking at a dopey-smiled Beatrice on her first day of kindergarten. Her hair was in pigtails done by Harry that morning because Y/N had an early day at work. She was saddened that she couldn’t go but Harry reassured her that he will be there every step of the way. It was a half-lie. Harry dropped her off, took a quick picture and left the premises as soon as he could, missing the way his daughter’s eyes glazed over. Lips formed a pout and her tiny chin quivered as she watched her dad drive off in his black Range Rover.

The next photo was 7-year old Beatrice in her pink long sleeve and a wispy tutu wrapped around her waist. Her hair was pulled back in a ballerina bun; this time was done by Y/N if the slickness of her hairstyle was anything to go by. The left page was of Beatrice on the sidelines of the auditorium. The room was partially filled. Harry concluded that it was before the performance because of the dimple printed on her cheek since the right page showcased a sullen girl surrounded by her dance mates and their parents. Harry could remember Y/N’s frantic phone calls that night, asking ‘where are you?’ and ‘what time are you getting here?’ as the faint music blared through the speakers.

Harry gulped at the memory. He came home to find Beatrice asleep in her costume, a plastic tiara gripped in her hand. Y/N said that she wanted to give it to him. Beatrice could at least give him something from her performance because he didn’t make it.

Y/N’s phone buzzed in her pocket, halting Harry’s thoughts as she answered the call. She pointed towards the door, mouthing silently that she had to answer it. “It’s Beatrice,”

Harry’s brows perched on his forehead, nervousness filled his body at the sound of her name. He didn’t even make things right before she left; too afraid of rejection when he deserved it.

His fingers flicked through the pages. Beatrice’s piano recital.

She was fourteen at that time. Caleb was sat on the seat next to him while Ruby was being nursed in Y/N’s arms. Beatrice peeked through the curtains, wanting to make sure that her dad was planted in his seat. She was excited to showcase the skills she learned in the past year. She was hoping to impress Harry in musical terms when she won first place. Beatrice was sure of it! She practiced for long hours until her fingers were stiff from overuse. Her other tries to catch her dad’s attention garnered her little-to-no attention and this was her last idea.

Y/N gave her daughter a thumbs up as Beatrice walked towards the grand piano center stage.

Beatrice was in the middle of her piece when she heard her Caleb’s curious voice over the silent crowd, “Dad, where are you going?”

She looked up just in time to catch Harry’s emotionless eyes. His expression was painted in annoyance and his phone was clutched in his hand. Beatrice’s fingers jittered with a shaky breath, feeling her fingertips trace over the wrong keys and eventually stopping altogether. The crowd gasped, murmurs flittering in and out of her ears as she stared at her lap. She tried to compose herself, maybe even pick up where she left off and continue playing as if she didn’t stop. The show must go on, right?

When Beatrice gathered enough courage to continue, she took a deep breath and lifted her head towards where her family sat. She was certain that her dad took his seat again but she could not be more wrong. Beatrice was just barely able to see Harry’s blazer flapping as the door closed shut behind him.

“She ran off stage after that,” Caleb spoke from beside him. “Didn’t want mum around. She kept asking for you but you left or something,”

Harry closed his eyes tightly, tears dripping from the corners as he breathed out a sigh. He did. He left the building as soon as he could. The urgent phone call he received was from Jeff relaying that the media claimed to have found where his kids went to school. He couldn’t jeopardize their safety because of people wanting to meet him; because of him. There was no way he would let anything hurt his children.

“I know I haven’t been the best dad to your sister,” Harry shut the book softly, wrapping his arm around Caleb’s broad shoulders. “But I really do love her,”

Caleb’s curls tickled his ears as he nodded, “She knows,”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, “Really?”

“Yeah. Before she left, she was talking about everything she was gonna miss. She said she was going to miss you, even if you, and I quote, ‘might not miss her’,” Caleb formed his fingers into bunny ears.

Harry desperately wished that he was brave enough to fix his mistakes. A simple, wholehearted talk with Beatrice might’ve been all he needed to start mending his relationship with her. But he stood back like a coward; hiding from his own daughter because of an irrational fear of rejection. Instead, he walked by her room, door left wide open as Beatrice gathered clothes from her closet to pack in the next box. Each time he would pass by the hallway to his and Y/N’s room, more of her items would be packed up, taped and ready to go. Packed boxes slowly filled the hallway and her closet emptied as her clothing was folded in an organized manner.

First, it was her desk. Her pens and notebooks leaving the cluttered space empty. Then, it was her hangers stripped off her dresses, jackets and coats. Her shoes were the next to go, leaving more space in the downstairs closet by the door until only one pair remained unpacked; the one she used to walk out of their house. Next, it was her dresser packed with moisturizers and makeup closed tightly to prevent spillage. Beatrice peeled off her duvet and bedsheets to wash the night before she left, opting to sleep next to Ruby on her final night at home.

One image that he kept reeling in his head like a film projector was Beatrice climbing the metal steps of the ladder from the garage. She placed it sturdy on the floor before she stretched her hands to unhook the fairy lights from the wall. Unlike before where Beatrice knocked on his office door, hesitantly asking for help to put up the fairy lights--she didn’t ask for Harry’s help taking it down.

___

A/N: I know that a lot of people might've wanted a full circle ending where Harry apologizes but I'm pretty happy with this ending because it's open-ended.

___

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dakotacrisis · 3 years

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Cherry Blossoms

Coping with my mental health dip by writing something gay for my comfort pairing.

Marigami Hanahaki Disease AU because it is June and I just need some slightly angsty hurt/comfort goodness rn.

Read on AO3

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Spring was such a beautiful time of year. Probably Kagami’s favorite. All the snow melted and the cold went away and the world slowly started to come back to life. She loved spring in Japan. The whole town would be covered in beautiful pink cherry blossoms. Such a soft and comforting color. There was a reason it was used so much in shows when a character fell in love or started catching feelings for someone.

Kagami had gone most of her life without meeting anyway who made her world pink like in the shows. She was focused on her fencing and her school work. Love just wasn’t in the cards for her it seemed. Maybe when she attended university that would change but so far she was sixteen years old and still had yet to feel even a twinge of that warmth and flutter that seeing the cherry petals back home did.

That was until she moved to France with her mother. She met a boy who was nice and sweet and for the first time she thought that maybe love wasn’t pink and fluttery. Maybe love was golden and flowing, like a beam of sunlight touching the earth. That’s what being around this boy felt like. Adrien Agreste was his name. A nice boy with a nice face and a nice personality. He had friends that she got to meet that came with their own vivid colors. Soothing blue, fiery orange, mysterious indigo, calculating green, and bold red. They were all swell and Kagami liked spending time with them.

Kagami tried to make herself like Adrien more than she did. She wanted to like him so badly. She wanted to feel something more when she was with him. She really did. But that all went out the door one afternoon.

She was sitting with her new friends at a spot on a bridge, eating ice cream and people watching when someone’s phone beeped.

“That’s me,” Alya handed her ice cream to Kagami, “Can you hold that for a second? Thanks.” Kagami took the ice cream without question and watched as Alya’s face split into the biggest grin Kagami had ever seen. “No way! No way! No way!”

“What’s going on?” Nino, Alya’s boyfriend, asked.

“Guess who got home early from her visit to Shanghai?” Alya announced to the group.

The group immediately perked up and began talking excitedly. Now this was new. Who could they possibly be talking about? Kagami had heard nothing about anyone being in Shanghai.

“Is she coming out?” Adrien asked, “It feels like she’s been gone forever.”

“I just texted her our location, she’ll be here in a few minutes!” Alya bounced happily in her seat. “I cannot wait to see her again! It has been way too long!”

“Who are we talking about?” Kagami asked.

“Our friend, Marinette,” Adrien explained, “She spent the last couple months interning at her cousin’s fashion company in Shanghai.”

“We were expecting her home some time next month but apparently she was really missing home and all of us so she decided to come back early. This is so great that you finally get to meet her!” Alya said.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention a Marinette before. How come?” Kagami was a very good listener and she would have remembered someone bringing up a long-distance friend.

“Cause once we start talking about her we start missing her and then next thing you know we’re all over at her parent’s bakery eating our sorrows away.” Rose sighed, “She is probably the sweetest person ever so her absence these past couple of months have just been torture. Like a huge part of our lives has been missing.”

Wow. This Marinette was certainly getting built up to be larger than life. Kagami could only imagine what she was like in person. She stewed in her thoughts, listening to everyone’s chatter as she tried to picture what this Marinette girl would look like.

“There she is!” Alya bolted from her seat and ran down street to tackle a girl in a hug. Soon the others had followed suit and clamped onto the girl, effectively blocking her from Kagami’s view. They moved in a massive huddle back towards the benches they were occupying with all the excited squeeing and a bombardment of questions.

“We missed you so much!” she heard Mylene say, “And we have someone new to introduce you to. This is Kagami, a friend we made while you were in Shanghai.”

The crowd parted and Kagami’s world exploded into pink. Every shade of the rosy hue danced before her eyes as she gazed upon a petite Asian looking girl with shoulder length black hair, bright blue eyes, and wearing a simple pink sundress printed with butterflies. Her stomach started to flutter as if the butterflies on the girl’s dress had flown down her throat directly.

“Hello,” Marinette’s voice was like a sweet song that enraptured Kagami’s remaining senses, “It’s nice to meet you, Kagami. My name is Marinette.”

“You too,” Kagami muttered, unable to clear the tickle in her throat, “Nice to meet you too.”

Marinette nodded and was swept back into the conversation with her friends as they asked her what her stay in Shanghai was like. Kagami sat frozen on the bench as the swaths of pink cleared from her gaze. What had that been? In one instant she had been rendered completely dumbstruck by a girl she had just met. Was it because she was cute? Because she was. Marinette was a very pretty girl. Kagami understood what the others meant about a void in their lives with her absence. The girl positively radiated warmth and kindness out of her every pore. The days must seem dreary indeed without her around if this was Kagami’s initial reaction to meeting her.

The evening continued on as everyone caught up with Marinette. Kagami sat off to the sidelines not wanting to intrude on their time. It had been several months since they had seen her after all. Kagami wished that she had something to say to Marinette. But what was there? She didn’t know this girl from Eve. All she knew was that she simultaneously wanted to never be parted from her yet far away from her at the same time. She craved her attention but almost felt unworthy to be near her at the same time. It was a feeling Kagami was not used to.

Soon it was time for everyone to head home. Adrien offered Kagami a ride back to her house and they got into the car together. “So, what did you think of Marinette? You didn’t really talk to her much I noticed.”

“She’s…” Wonderful. Beautiful. Effervescent. An brilliant white swan among honking muddy geese. “She’s nice. I didn’t want to intrude while you all were catching up with her though.”

“I think you two would get along great. Next time we go out you should talk to her. We can even stop by her parent’s bakery tomorrow. I don’t think we’ve ever taken you before.”

“Bakery?”

“Yeah, the Dupain-Cheng Bakery near my school. It’s a great place to get pastries but it is too tempting to be good for your waist line if you know what I mean. Also, with Marinette gone it just bummed everyone out going in and knowing she wasn’t there. That’ll probably change now that she’s home though.”

They pulled up to Kagami’s house. She got out and wandered inside in a daze. She mindlessly kicked off her shoes at the door and went to her room to think over the evening. When she laid down for bed flashes of pink returned, surrounding a brilliant white smile and soft bluebell eyes.

The next day proved no better for her sudden predicament when Adrien dragged Kagami to the Dupain-Cheng Bakery for the first time. The entire bakery felt like an extension of Marinette. Sweetness and cheer filling every corner and when Marinette popped up behind the register in a cute apron and a handkerchief holding her hair back out of her face Kagami saw that same flurry of pink she had the day before.

“They got you working already?” Adrien joked with her. “You would think they’d give you a day off since you just got home.”

“You really think that? This is one of our busiest times of the year.” Marinette rolled her eyes, “I’d be more concerned if they didn’t drag me down here to help. Speaking of which, what can I get for you two today?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Well, with it being spring time we do have these new cherry love letters.” she pulled a tray of pastries out from the case. It was dough that had been folded to look like a letter with cherry filling stuffed inside and sealed with a little icing heart. “They’ve been going fast so if you want some you’d better grab one now.”

“Sounds delicious, we’ll take two.” Adrien said, clapping his hands together, “Kagami loves cherry desserts, isn’t that right?”

“Yeah…” Kagami mumbled. That tickle in her throat was back.

“A girl after my own heart, personally I like strawberries better but cherries are a very close second.” Marinette packed two of the love letters into a small pink box and handed it to Adrien. “You two have fun and come back again soon.”

“When does your shift end? Maybe we could hang out after.” Adrien suggested.

“I can’t really, I still have a ton of unpacking to do once I’m done helping out down here.”

“We can help you unpack.” the words flew out of Kagami’s mouth. “I mean...it would go faster with some help, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s very sweet of you, Kagami. If you two don’t mind it would be a big help and still give us the chance to hang out. I’m really interested in getting to know you a little more.” Marinette flashed her a smile that made Kagami’s knees weak.

This was ridiculous! How could one girl she barely knew have such a strong hold over her already? It was mind boggling. She practically had her own gravitational pull.

Adrien and Kagami left the bakery to walk around and eat their pastries while they waited for Marinette’s shift to end. Adrien commented on how it was so nice of Kagami to volunteer to help Marinette despite not really knowing her. Yep...just good old Kagami saying stuff before she thinks because she doesn’t know how to handle herself in front of the pretty girl that bathes her world in endless waves of sugar and pink. The cherry love letter in her hand almost seemed to mock her. Why couldn’t they have been regular turnovers? Why did they have to be called love letters of all things?

After a few hours Adrien got a text from Marinette that she was done and the two turned around to head back towards the bakery. Kagami seriously considered pretending to have a sudden appointment or practice to get out of going back which was not like her. She was Kagami Tsurugi for goodness sake! She didn’t run from a challenge! She faced all her problems head on and she did not hesitate for anything. Yet this freaking girl made her want to run and hide like a coward.

They made it back and Adrien lead them through a back door up a flight of stairs to the apartment above the bakery. Marinette greeted them just as cheerfully as she did when they walked into the bakery earlier. Kagami took a deep breath and braced herself as she entered her home. It was a fairly normal little house. Nothing too out of the ordinary. They walked up another set of stairs and through a trapdoor into what was Marinette’s room.

Kagami almost fainted. It wasn’t just that Marinette herself made everything around her look pink and sweet but that was what her entire room looked like. Everything was pink from the walls to the furniture to the wastepaper basket. At least when she was around Marinette the pink faded away into background noise after a while. Here it felt like Kagami was trapped with these weird feeling she had been experiencing since she first met the girl.

“I really appreciate you guys coming over to help, everything is a bit of a mess right now.” She sighed at the clothes tossed over the chaise and spilling out of her luggage. “Oh! Before I forget! Adrien, I got you a little souvenir while I was in Shanghai.” Marinette rifled through her luggage and pulled out a little black kitty plush with a green collar and bell. “Isn’t this just the cutest thing ever? There was a little corner shop near my cousin’s office building that sold hand made plushies and I just had to pick some up.”

“He’s adorable!” Adrien took the kitten with glee, “Thank you!”

“I figured you’d appreciate it since your dad won’t let you have an actual cat. I debated getting you a hamster one but there was only one and I’m sorry to say but I was selfish and wanted to keep her for my self.” She pulled out another plush of a tan and white hamster wearing a little red raincoat and hat. “Isn’t she just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

“I swear I’m gonna cry,” Adrien was not joking, he looked like he was close to real tears, “She’s so cute! Look at her little raincoat!”

“I know!” Marinette turned to Kagami, “I wish I had know that you were around, Kagami, or else I would have brought you a souvenir too.”

“Oh no, that’s fine,” Kagami waved it off, “You couldn’t have known so it really doesn’t matter.”

“Wait, I have just the thing,” Marinette started throwing her clothes around as she dug through more of her luggage and making more of a mess. “Here we are! You can have this!”

“Really, you don’t need to--”

“I insist,” Marinette held up a pink butterfly barrette and clipped it into Kagami’s hair, “I got a lot of free stuff just like it while interning for my cousin. And now we match!” she clipped a similar butterfly barrette into her own hair.

Kagami mumbled her thanks and spent the rest of the afternoon in silence whilst Adrien and Marinette did most of the talking. The three of them went about unpacking and putting stuff away where Marinette told them to. Every now and again they would try to pull Kagami into their conversation but she was finding it increasingly harder to find her tongue in this scenario. At one point Adrien excused himself to use the bathroom leaving the two girls alone.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Marinette said after Adrien had left. Kagami looked across at her in surprise. Marinette spoke so calmly with a serene and understanding smile, “I get it. My friend Nathaneal was never much of a talker either. I still got to know a lot about him though through other means. Kinda like I’m doing with you. It’s sorta like a fun little game, deciphering someone’s personality from what they do rather than what they say.”

Kagami wasn’t sure what to say so she simply nodded and let Marinette keep talking.

“Like I can tell from the way you fold stuff that you are very neat and organized. You are dressed sharply like you want to impress people but the clothes are well loved so you find them comfortable and wear them more for yourself than you do anyone else. Your hair is short and neatly trimmed meaning you probably get it cut often so it stays salon fresh but also because you can’t stand it when it touches your shoulders. You don’t like distractions or having to worry about maintaining it during long days.” Marinette listed everything off as if it was common knowledge. Kagami could only stare both impressed and a little intimidated by her spot on assessment. She got all of that just from watching her for a couple hours?

“You also hum while you work and you smiled at the silly little souvenirs I brought back.” Marinette continued, “There’s not a whole lot I can gather from that I just thought it was cute.”

“You are a very perceptive person, aren’t you?” Kagami found something to say at long last.

“I like to think so. People express who they are through every little thing that they do and I find that kind of fascinating. When you take the time to watch someone you see all these little things that build up into the person as a whole. Eventually when you look at them you don’t see their face you just see them. Like their entire personality is written into the laugh lines and freckles on their face.”

“I get what you mean.” Kagami said, easing into the conversation the more she spoke, “It’s like how I felt when I met Adrien. When we met he was just the cute blonde boy with big green eyes but as time went on he transformed into this smart yet incredibly naive, pun-spewing dork.”

“That is an accurate summation of his character. Never have I met a boy that gets such immaculate grades but will walk face first into a pole he saw coming.” the girls laughed. When Adrien came back up he asked what was so funny which just made them chuckle more. They waved him off saying it was just a little girl talk and to not worry about it. Kagami loosened up a bit more, she still didn’t talk much but she didn’t feel like fleeing in a rush of nerves either.

When everything was done Adrien and Kagami left. Marinette had given Kagami her number before they had gone and told her to text her soon. Even her little sticky notes were cute. They were shaped like cherry blossoms.

“What did I tell you?” Adrien nudged her as they left, “You and Marinette got along just fine. Then again, it’s hard not to want to be her friend, isn’t it?”

Kagami glanced back at the house. Little fairy lights twinkling in the evening along Marinette’s balcony. She cleared her throat of the tickling feeling that had lodged there. “It surely is,”

---

(Next)

#miraculous ladybug #marigami #kagaminette #marinette dupain cheng #kagami tsurugi #hanahaki disease au

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susiequaz12 · 3 years

Text

Carrot Top 26- Self Betrayal

Here is part 26 of Andrew’s story, and Whumptober day 5. Carrot Boi’s masterlist is here, and his previous part is here. Prompt: Betrayal. This chapter is a bit long, it’s a little bit of a recap to all that happened, but still important to the story.

CW: bandages, unconscious whumpee, references to multiple past injuries, references to beatings, mentions of blood, possessive whumper, dehumanization.

- - -

Dr. Tusik and Justin had just finished bandaging up Andrew’s feet, when Ali and Mickie showed up into the room.

Mickie stood in the doorway, holding onto the door frame, while Ali cautiously approached the bed.

“How- how’s he doing?” She asked.

Tusik set down the roll of bandages in his hand.

“Better. Much better. We bandaged his back and his feet just fine and he’s getting an iv for some fluids right now.”

“He fell back sleep a few moments ago.” Justin added. “He’ll probably be fine, but he- he just seems so out of it-” There was a seeming hollowness to Justin’s face. A dissociation after seeing his injuries, or a mental block- to keep him from thinking about it all. He kept finding things to busy him as he spoke. Picking up a bandage and moving it around, putting random things away- “-It’s like he doesn’t know where he is, or what’s going on.”

“Justin is right.” Tusik nodded. “I’m afraid the bulk of his recovery is going to be mental. There’s only so many bandages and stitches we can use.”

Mickie stepped forward on shaky legs, her eyes not once moving off of her brother.

“Actually- we, we had an idea about that. About how to help.”

“Go on.” Tusik stated.

Mickie looked towards Ali as she began to explain.

“I’ve gone inside someone’s mind before. I can- sorta view their memories.” Justin came to stand near his girlfriend as she spoke, fiddling with her hands. “I don’t do it often because unless someone lets me, I have to force my way into their mind, and I- I don’t-” She breathed deeply. Justin reached down to squeeze her hand. “I don’t prefer to-But I could. With Andrew- for Andrew. I could go in his mind and be able to understand everything that happened.”

“Are you sure Vnuchka?” The Dr. set down the tool in his hand to face the girl. “You won’t overexert yourself? You’ve already done quite a bit of healing today.”

Ali returned the squeeze to Justin’s hand and nodded.

“I- I can do it. I have to.”

Mickie nodded. “Think about it anyways- Howe was useless. He didn’t know what happened, he just patched Andrew up. If he- when he wakes up- like, fully wakes up- he’s probably not going to be the same immediately.” Mickie took a step closer to the bed and reached out her hand, but quickly pulled it back. “He might have- have triggers, or stuff that bothers him, that’ll send him back there you know? It’ll- it’ll be better if we can know what happened so that we can be careful and avoid hurting him even more.”

“You’re saying he- he might have, what? PTSD?” Justin asked.

“It’s a very real possibility, Justin.” Tusik stated. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he developed at least a bit of trauma from all that he’s been through.”

“It’ll be better for him in the long run if at least one of us knows what happened.” Ali stated. “I can do it- I’ve got the strength still.”

“Alright.” Tusik said. “Go ahead, dear.”

Ali glanced around. “I’ll need everyone to leave, please.” Reluctantly, and after some pestering, Mickie and Justin left the room. “Tusik? You too?”

The old doctor tried to protest but Ali gave him a stern look. She needed to be alone. He could leave his patient for a few moments.

“Thank you.”

“Careful vnuchka. I’ll be right outside.”

Ali nodded, and then sat on the edge of the bed. He looked so incredibly still. She glanced above his head to the wall where all his memories and keepsakes were kept.

Posters from bands and musicals covered his walls, except for a section above the bed- that was plastered with millions of photos. Polaroids- paper cutouts, printed photos- the wall was covered with smiling faces of Ali, Justin, his mom- sisters, and everyone else he held dear. It was a menagerie of color and euphoria, plastered in a beautiful disarray. It was Andrew.

Ali took a closer look, and let her eyes linger on the memories.

There was that photo he’d taken of her covered in popcorn during their first movie night. She had woken up with kernels still in her hair the next morning- they were in seventh grade. A couple pictures of him and his sisters lined the walls. One of them he had Mickie on his back, and was holding Erika in his arms. They were all smiling.

And then there were those of all three of them. Him, Ali, and Justin. When Justin finally opened up to them and became more of a close friend during high school- That trip they took to the amusement park. Ali had a giant stuffed bear in her arms and a hat falling over her eyes, with a boy on either side of her, kissing her cheeks. The two of them had tried for hours competing to win her something from the carnival games. They finally decided to work together, and had stuffed themselves in a photo booth afterwards to document the event.

She wiped away a happy tear from the memory and pulled out her phone, a song coming to her mind.

It was one Andrew always sang. The notes resting easy in his voice, the melody fairly simple. He wasn’t an astounding singer, but he never sounded bad.

The first notes of the piano started echoing, the chords resonating around the room, and Ali breathed.

The moments when Ali had previously entered someone’s mind had been rare occasions. It had only been used in the past for interrogation, or during her training. Never for something this serious.

The room was clear. The noise of the piano cutting through the eerie silence, and she wished that she had kept everyone else in the room- but she could focus better this way.

He was so still- lying there on top of his blankets.

She tried not to look at him too much. She would be already seeing far more than she wanted to know.

She gently pulled herself up onto the bed next to him so they were laying side by side. Her mind instantly flashed to those nights in the summer in high school where they would lay like this and look at the stars.

She reached over and gently grabbed his frail hand in hers. His fingers were limp and cold, but she held tight. She tilted her head to the side until it was brushing up against his, and closed her eyes, right as the singer began to echo the words to the song.

Here I am, Here I am. And the light, is dying.

Ali felt guilt.

She felt Andrew’s guilt. And he felt terrible.

Ali would admit that he had said some hurtful things to her and Justin that night. But nothing felt worse than knowing they could’ve prevented what happened to him.

She could understand that he sincerely believed he had angered his friends, and that because of that, he deserved every single thing that happened to him.

That belief was prominent and clear throughout his whole captivity.

And then Ali felt dread.

That sinking feeling in your gut as something terrible happens, as you get in trouble, or in a situation more terrible than you thought.

Ali felt that pit in her stomach as Andrew was grabbed out of the alleyway. As he was shoved down, restrained, knocked unconscious, and dragged to the man they all hated the most.

Where are you? Where are you? Will you answer me?

And then there was anger.

As Andrew stood in front of that terrible man.

Anger, as he was beaten with a rod, and humiliated.

Ali watched, as Splice made him choose between his instruments of pain. She felt anger rise in herself as her friend was electrocuted. And then, as he was tied up and whipped. Even more, as Splice continued to utilize his library of torment, in just the first few hours of his arrival.

She felt the pain in her shoulders and neck, as he was stretched, and tied down in a torturous position, and left there.

She could feel in her chest as Andrew’s anger turned to confusion, which turned to fear, and then just the will to survive, and remember to breathe. But her anger remained.

That anger bubbled inside her like the blood that broke to the surface of his skin, bubbling, with every word that man spoke. Every touch, every glance, every weapon.

“I want to hear you beg.”

“You’re not that pathetic, are you?”

“You will listen, when I tell you to do something, understand?”

The anger grew inside of Ali as she felt, saw, and witnessed everything that happened to Andrew, but this was just the beginning.

All alone, in the quiet. And my ears, are thirsty.

For a brief spark, there was hope.

She witnessed as Andrew met the young doctor, and felt just a little safer with him.

But then that hope was crushed. Again, and again.

Ali seemed like she was sitting in the room with Andrew, where he lie on the bed next to Howe. But she was floating, just observing everything, helpless, as she watched and witnessed.

Splice approached Andrew where he lay, and she could feel the fear behind his eyes, but there was stubbornness etched onto his face.

She clenched her fists and bit into her cheeks as she tried to remain calm. She had to stay calm- or she would be forced out of Andrew’s mind. But it grew increasingly more difficult the more and more Splice taunted him.

“I gave you a gift. You need to respond politely. Come on now, use your manners.”

Andrew was screaming.

“What do you say?”

There were tears down his face.

He submitted.

And Ali felt betrayal.

She felt Andrew’s betrayal as he had turned against himself, and his desire to stay strong. But he had betrayed the one thing he had told himself he wouldn’t do. He no longer felt strong.

For your voice- for your voice Can you answer me?

The next events Ali witnessed were crushing- literally.

Her fists shook as he remained defiant, refusing to break. As his head was slammed into the table, blood pouring down his face.

He was grabbed and dragged outside, tied down onto a table.

Her head reeled as she tried to maintain the connection- her anger was growing.

“I will make you apologize.”

“Screw you.”

Andrew couldn’t breathe. Ali could feel the panic rising in his chest as he tried to flow the air through his lungs.

That panic lead to fear- which led to pain- which led to desperation.

And he betrayed himself once more.

If I try, maybe I can see your shadow In the sodium light that masquerades as moon If I try, I might take off like a sparrow And I'll travel along a guiding breeze

Three words echoed through his brain. It sounded like a megaphone, bouncing off of empty walls. The words reverberated through Ali’s mind. Each time they were repeated, she felt Andrew lose a little more of himself.

“I. Own. You.”

And the next words that repeated further solidified that in Andrew’s mind.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“What are you?”

“A tool. Used how you see fit.”

“Where, and when?”

“Here, and for forever.”

“And lastly, why?”

“Because I deserve it. Because I’m worthless.”

“That’s right. This is no longer your life- but mine.”

Very soon, very soon That's the sound of longing Are you there? Are you there? Will you answer me?

Ali was losing the connection. She had felt so angry and frustrated, and sad and disgusted, that she felt herself slipping from Andrew’s mind. The faint sound of a clarinet in the background echoed through the song, and she fought to keep the connection.

She could tell she was almost done- she just had to finish.

Andrew was collared, muzzled, beaten, bloody, and broken.

He had betrayed himself, and fully gave in.

The pain became too much, the constant battle between himself, and that man. So he gave up. And Ali could see him slowly becoming everything that Splice wanted him to be, doing everything he was asked, taking every punishment, submitting to every command.

“You can be good right?”

Andrew was nodding.

He was obeying, he was following, and he was slowly decaying.

In my dreams, my beloved lies beside me When the sun lights the room, I find it's only me Only me when the sun is gone.

The memories rushed by faster now. She could tell they were getting closer to the present.

Andrew was terrified. He was so scared, and in so much pain, and so exhausted, that when he finally saw his friends again, he didn’t recognize them.

Ali understood that he was so focused on avoiding pain, and being good, that he didn’t even comprehend his saving grace, as it stood before his eyes.

And then, when he was finally able to comprehend what happened, he was punished again. He was beaten bloody, he was branded, burned, scarred, and tortured. And he was led to believe that everyone he loved had died.

No wonder he had been so out of it, anytime he was awake for more than a moment he was confused. Or in disbelief or misunderstanding.

Because according to him, everyone was dead.

And he probably thought that he was too.

Only me. With the world all around me. When the sun and moon and stars are gone, what’s left is only you.

Ali had to fix this.

Her entire body was shaking, she had never stayed inside someone’s mind for so long before. She clenched her fists, focused her breathing, and projected her thoughts, forcing the truth into Andrew’s mind.

She echoed words and phrases of love, of peace, of safety, over and over again, until they were shouting louder than his own megaphone of pain. Until she was sure he could hear her.

You belong to yourself.

You are Andrew. A friend, a brother, and you are worthy of love, and peace.

You are safe, at home. And we will always be with you.

Because you deserve it. You are worthy, and you are more than a tool to be used.

Because we love you.

Andrew- we love you!

Will you answer me? Answer me.

- - -

@imagination1reality0 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @thehopelessopus @burtlederp @whump-me-all-night-long @yesthisiswhump

youtube

There’s the video of the song from this chapter. It’s called “Answer Me” from The Band’s Visit.

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #betrayed #oc #my ocs #whump #whumpwriting #unconscious whumpee #blood #restrained #torture #referenced injuries #superpower whump #Carrot Top #caretaker #just to reiterate Ali's words to all of you #you are worthy of love and peace

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spicysoftsweet · 3 years

Text

Chapter 12

Masterlist

Kumi stood at the kitchen sink, the sound of the running water over the dishes she was attempting to wash barely registering in her head. It wasn’t that she was thinking about anything else - the activity was mindless for her and her head was nearly blank. She stared outside the closed window above the kitchen sink, her hands still moving deftly as she rinsed plate after plate and set them aside to dry.

Outside was quiet and tonight, the sky was particularly bright and starry, and Kumi decided she liked living here.

The rural town, a drive out from bustling Kyoto, was quite peaceful, and while her and her grandmother lived in a more isolated region with the next house being at least a ten minute walk away, it wasn’t truly the countryside proper. She was thankful for this, once she’d awoken from her depressive episode where she’d lacked the will to even argue when her parents sent her away. The kids at school did look at her a little funny, few of them having seen a hafu before, but there wasn’t much difference from the behavior of the kids in Tokyo after a while.

Kumi also found that her initially stern looking grandmother was possibly the sweetest woman alive, pale as her mother and much smaller in height and frame as her. The old woman was also a very good listener and had been patient enough to hear her out once Kumi finally decided to talk, in sharp contrast with her parents who were now terrified to say anything, especially after her father had only said the wrong things initially.

Things were getting better, in some fashion. Kaksi had stopped calling her weeks ago so the guilt she felt any time she avoided the line was eased. She had almost lost her resolve when even Mitsuya called, but she was determined that the best way to heal would be to avoid anyone from back then. She longed to talk to Kaksi however, and she knew there was no one she’d meet that could replace that bond at her new school.

She was almost finished with her task when she noticed a small cockroach running along the outside of the windowsill, trying to make its way inside, attempting to shield itself from the growing winter cold. She found herself pausing and staring, not in fear but in fascination, until a memory came to mind.

“If you’re gonna ride on my bike, you’ll need to address it properly.” Baji told Kumi, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest but with a grin on his face.

“This is an inanimate object,” Kumi said, pressing her lips together. All she wanted was a ride home, and she’d already convinced herself that getting on this boy’s bike wouldn’t immediately cause her death but now that he was being silly about it, she was starting to have second thoughts. Maybe walking alone wouldn’t be so bad.

“Yeah, but it also has a name. Goki, like Gokiburi, you know.” He said, hopping over it with one leg, and letting it tilt. “If you’re gonna get on, you have to say ‘ Good evening, Gokiburi-san’ first, and then we can go to your house.”

Kumi readjusted her bookbag, looking at the space behind him on the bike, then at him. She shrugged.

“Go-ki-bu-ri?” she pronounced carefully, looking at him for approval and he nodded. She repeated the words he’d asked her to say with a bow, and Baji stifled a laugh.

She pouted.

“Hey, did you make me say something stupid?”

“No, of course not,” he replied, reaching out a hand behind him to help her up. It was her first time on his bike, and she did find that her heart pounded once she’d settled onto the seat.

“Please go slowly,” she pleaded, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine.”

Kumi tried to resist the urge to cling to the boy too hard once the engine started, anticipating that he’d speed off to scare her, but instead he was considerate, moving slowly in the direction of her place. Once her heart rate slowed to normal, she felt the need to start a conversation, and she said the name again.

“Go-ki-bu-ri. Gokiburi. Goki… buri.”

“Huh?” Baji asked, eyes still facing the front.

“It sounds cute,” she admitted, with a chuckle.

He laughed.

“Oh really? Now that I think of it, it reminds me of you.”

Baji’s back tensed, perhaps anticipating a slap, but Kumi’s cheeks warmed up instead. She had no idea what a gokiburi was, and Baji only realized once she grew quiet and they’d arrived at her place that she had no understanding of the mean joke he had just made.

His own cheeks reddened, once she thanked him sincerely for the ride, flustered once he realized she’d taken his roast as a compliment. He didn’t have the heart to explain himself now, especially when it occurred to him that she was pretty when she smiled.

“I… uh, no problem!”

It was only the next day when Kaksi said bluntly, “he said you looked like a cockroach,” that he received that slap for real.

Kumi continued to watch the cockroach march along, until it was out of view, unsure whether to smile or cry.

---

As the end of her last year in middle school approached, Kaksi figured that she had no use in making new friends, so she drowned her troubles with studying, doing her best to enter a high school where she would be sure she’ll never see any Toman member again. Unfortunately, that was not what she truly desired.

Kaksi wanted her friends back - she wanted Baji to push her a little too hard when they would fight, she wanted Kumi to give her that annoyed look when she would tease her too much, she wanted to hear Mikey laugh and smile with his eyes and she wanted Kazutora to push her gently when she wanted to play on the swings nearby.

These were the thoughts that plagued her mind each time she would find herself crying by herself. She knew she wouldn’t feel this way forever, however. Nothing lasted, after all. She had learned that fact rather brutally. Yet sometimes it felt like none of her wounds were healing and one of the people she missed the most taunted her.

If there was someone that she had trouble imagining her life without, it would be Kazutora. Having known him since childhood, Kaksi figured he would always be by her side but she had been wrong and while his absence hurt, she had started to get used to it. Her most recent good memories with Kazutora dating back to before Shinichiro’s death, she couldn’t ignore the gap that was separating them anymore.

Kaksi would keep her promise and welcome Kazutora back in ten years, but the one that she wanted to see right now was Mikey. She felt a little guilty at that realization but there was no escaping those emotions anymore. While Kazutora was gone, it was Mikey that would have her on the back of his bike, it was him that would listen to her talk and it was him that made her laugh and while she was sorry that it had appeared to him that he was Kazutora’s placeholder, he was so much more than that.

She wished he knew that, she wished he believed that. Even though she had spent most of her time burying this love, Kaksi could never pretend like Mikey meant nothing to her. Sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she had returned Mikey’s feelings because she did love him so much, she hoped he would come back to her one day.

Unfortunately, she never saw his CB250T in front of her apartment block again or his face. Faster than she had anticipated she had graduated middle school and was getting ready to start a new chapter of her life. She was satisfied with the high school she was able to enter, she couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t see any familiar faces until her first day but she figured that even if she did she could ignore them.

Once she had started school again, she was relieved to not have seen any Toman member she had ever been close to and had decided it was time for her to make new friends. But that turned out to be way harder than anticipated when only one week into the school year, rumors had started to spread about her boyfriend.

The worst thing about what she would hear was that it was too close to the truth for her to even argue. So she kept quiet when girls would mutter about Kazutora’s crimes whenever they saw Kaksi’s face. She did manage to always get paired up with someone when group work was unavoidable but she quickly learned that those who paid attention to her only cared about the grades she could earn them.

It was lonely but not that bad Kaksi convinced herself. By the middle of the school year, no one would look at her in contempt when she would have lunch by herself and that felt good enough. Those she would be nice to also started returning the favour and while she didn’t exactly have any friends, it started to be more bearable. Now she did still wonder about how Kumi, Chifuyu and Mikey were doing but she doubted her memory would ever erase any of the people she had loved and still loved and she was fine with that, most days.

There was one time though that she started sobbing uncontrollably. Frustrated by her homework, Kaksi had hurriedly and violently started to empty her desk’s drawers, looking for an old lesson she swore she had kept somewhere. Instead of what she was looking for, it was old pictures that had slipped from the pages of one of the many unused journals she owned. She had sighed picking them up without initially realizing what they were.

Once her brown eyes had focused on the faces printed on the paper, she wasn’t able to stop her tears. She wanted to smile, those pictures represented happy memories, after all, but she only grew nostalgic looking at Kumi’s cute smile, Mikey’s grimace, Baji’s frown and all the other Toman members she had once called her friends’ faces.

Once she had calmed herself down she had put those pictures away safely, somewhere it wouldn’t be disturbed again. Then she had gotten back to her math problem, tears all dried up. She still missed her friends and she wondered if they did too but maybe she was having a harder time moving on than they were, she wasn’t sure.

Either way, time always proved to be the solution to what she felt and suddenly she had finished her first year of high school. Things were moving by quickly and Kaksi had a pretty clear idea of what she wanted to do. She would be going to college after graduating and studying psychology, hoping she could pursue a career in that field eventually.

Her second year of high school seemed to be more interesting than the first one and she found it funny to discover all those new faces as the first years appeared. She wondered if what was told about her would spread to them too, she was unsure and she didn’t really care, having confirmed to quite a few people that her boyfriend was in fact in jail and they should probably not stay close to her (jokingly, although everyone took her seriously).

One person, however, started having lunch at her table every day. Kaksi assumed she was a first-year, not having seen her face before. She had wide blue eyes and white medium length hair. She was also much shorter than Kaksi and while she looked intimidating, it only made her prettier to Kaksi.

She hadn’t expected the girl to ever talk to her and especially not to say what she did, but Kaksi would learn fast that this new face was full of surprises.

“I love your hairstyle,” she said with a smile, the serious facade she wore seconds ago completely disappearing.

Kaksi’s eyes widened slightly. While they looked nothing alike, the girl had a very similar smile to Mikey’s.

“Thanks.”

“You should bring me with you next time you cut your hair,” she added, cheerfully.

Kaksi chuckled but agreed, having just met Senju Akashi.

---

Senju knew what loneliness felt like, being in the position she was in from such a young age she figured being close to anyone could only bring her trouble. So she spent her time with her brother and older men that shared her objectives. Still, she remained a fifteen year old even though she was on her way to be the leader of a growing gang very soon.

This was why when she noticed Kaksi wandering the hallways by herself and eating alone, her curiosity was picked. Senju didn’t want to ask her if the rumours were true but as they made a habit of sharing lunch together she eventually learned a few things about Kaksi.

From the way she subtly clung to her, Senju could tell she had been longing for someone to talk to and so did Senju. Yet there was a certain distance she wanted to keep with her new friend, not because she didn’t want her to get closer but rather because she didn’t want her to get hurt. It felt strange to Senju how quickly she found herself caring about the brunette.

“I can help you with this if you want,” Kaksi suggested, looking at the biology lesson Senju failed to understand despite reading and rereading.

“You’re a savior! Are you free this afternoon after school?”

Kaksi was about to agree when she remembered she had cram school on Wednesday afternoons. She shook her head.

“But I could pass by your place once I’m done,” she told her.

This wouldn’t do. Senju refused politely, making up a quick excuse but Kaksi pointed out regardless that her test was tomorrow morning and if she wanted help last minute this was her only solution. The brunette wouldn’t have insisted if this was the first time Senju had been reticent about having Kaksi over at her place. She didn’t know anything about the Akashi household after all, but Senju had a strange presence.

She was skilled at getting close to Kaksi just enough for her to not doubt their friendship but she was also distant enough that Kaksi started to wonder if maybe she was misinterpreting something. Despite anticipating that asking Senju to come over to her place instead wouldn’t change anything she asked her regardless but all that she earned was another excuse as well as her friend suddenly remembering she had something urgent to pick up now.

Kaksi sighed, left alone, watching the short girl walk away. Ever since they had met, Senju wouldn’t leave her alone but the minute she would want to see her in other settings than school, her friend would grow distant. Now that she thought about it, Senju never actually went to the hairdresser with Kaksi, she went by herself and had told her she had done it on a whim.

This had bothered Kaksi enough to notice it but she decided to stay quiet. Senju was still the light that had emerged in the darkness that was Kaksi’s loneliness and if she desired to keep her at a distance for a moment then so be it. Besides, this took nothing away from the joys of having someone to count on again.

---

“I figured you were too pretty to be single,” Senju told her, nonchalantly. “But I did not expect any of the things you told me.”

They both laughed, back rested against the wall of one of the high school buildings.

“I guess that was a lot for middle schoolers,” Kaksi said, with a sad smile, the memories of what she had just explained to Senju still haunting her.

Senju’s blue eyes stared at her friend for a moment. She felt bad for what Kaksi had to endure but she felt even worse for hiding what she kept. For someone who had paid the price of knowing people this involved in the sad reality of what it meant to be a delinquent, it felt unfair to Senju to ever think about telling Kaksi the truth about who she was.

She wondered what her friend would think if she was to find out, she would probably be terrified and angry but Senju had no intention of ever leaving Kaksi. She would escape death just to be able to laugh and share snacks with her.

Senju’s hand found Kaksi’s cold one and held it gently before resting her head against her shoulder.

“I can’t believe you had to deal with all that.”

“I’m sorry,” Kaksi said, with a small smile. “This got depressing really fast.”

She was surprised that talking about the events that had unfolded almost two years ago didn’t make her cry. Back then it felt like overcoming her feelings were impossible but so many things had changed since. Still, Kaksi could never pretend that her scars didn’t hurt anymore but having met Senju she felt like maybe it was time for her to finally move on.

Senju didn’t say anything, getting up instead and extending her arms to help Kaksi stand up too.

“Let’s go get boba after school,” Senju suggested, smiling and holding both of Kaksi’s hands. “My treat after making you sad.”

Kaksi’s eyes widened slightly, this was the first time Senju had proposed meeting outside of school.

“Sure,” she agreed, smiling back and excited to see her after class.

This was something Senju had wanted to avoid, the fear of involving people she cared about with her life as a gang leader and she should have felt bad for putting Kaksi at risk even if it was a little bit but she just wanted a friend so badly. She wanted to go to the movies with Kaksi, go shopping with her, try new restaurants with her and have sleepovers with her. Those were all normal things Senju desired and for the first time, someone could give it to her and not just anyone.

Kaksi could feel her cold hands getting warmer thanks to Senju’s. They parted ways as the bell rang but soon they were reunited again and as they walked down the streets together, Senju found it to be incredibly addictive, maybe as much as Kaksi did too, hand in hers again as if she never left and never would.

---

It was endearing to watch but it remained bittersweet. When Mikey chanced upon the girl he used to love, three years after telling her he didn’t want her in his life anymore, he felt a strange sensation. His heart, which barely ever manifested now, fluttered for the first time in a while, reminding him that despite his feelings fading with time, some things would permanently leave their traces on him.

Kaksi had changed slightly, her hair appeared wavier with new bangs which Mikey thought suited her. She also looked a little more mature and he wondered if she’d grown taller too. He couldn’t be sure as he watched her sitting on the terrace of a coffee shop with an unfamiliar person who he assumed was her friend.

Her smile remained the same as she laughed at what the white haired-girl in front of her said. Mikey knew he should probably not stand there and stare but he couldn’t help it. It had been so long since he had seen her and the memory of her had never disappeared, remaining in the back of his mind.

He wasn’t sure if she had stopped talking to the other Toman members she used to be close with since Mikey would never talk about her but he figured she did. He had stopped seeing her pretty abruptly after all and he wasn’t even sure what her plans would be once she would graduate high school at the end of the school year.

He felt a little jealous about her friend, whoever this girl was she made Kaksi happy, happier than he had ever done. This was what he wished for, for her to move on from the troubles he could only bring to her. So he was relieved that after all, he did manage to keep her safe. Even though it hurt to know he could never be someone important in her life again.

Things had changed for the worst for Mikey but they had changed for the best for Kaksi and while he still missed her terribly he knew things were better this way. Even if Mikey would remain a bystander in her life forever it didn’t matter as long as she was happy and safe. Little did Mikey know though that trouble could never stay too further away from Kaksi.

So it was without knowing who was Kaksi’s innocent friend that Mikey walked away eventually, not sure he would ever see her again but hoping he would not, as staying away from him was more of a blessing than anything else. Then when he was gone it felt like his heart had grown cold once again.

Senju clenched her knuckles, sitting on the couch of the room she used as her office when she needed to talk business with her clients. She had been careless and she wondered what her next move should be. Her brother sat next to her, taking a sip of whiskey from the cold glass in his hands. He didn’t say anything, knowing that pointing out his little sister’s mistakes now would anger her more than anything.

“She’s just my friend,” she said, talking to herself, more than to Takeomi. “She has no business with any of this.”

“But she would have been a good target if you hadn’t anticipated this.”

Senju chuckled but rage overtook her. Whoever they were, this person that thought targeting Kaksi as revenge for whatever dirty business Brahman was involved, they were fucking stupid and would be easy work for Senju. Still, this entire situation was not supposed to happen at all. She knew that trying to rival Toman and having Brahman endorse various crimes would earn her many enemies but still, she had hoped no one would ever think about hurting the one she loved.

She was going to keep Kaksi safe and had already tightened her security but this still didn’t solve her main issue. Senju needed to tell her the truth. She had thought about it for a long time, and as her guilt built up and her fear increased she had found herself going out of her way to protect her, and this was exactly how she had come to learn someone thought of Kaksi as an easy target.

While Senju was confident that this would not happen again, she knew she had been selfish and if she had been any less careful, this could have cost her the life of an innocent person she cared deeply about. It was sickening, to say the least, and she realised it was terribly unfair to Kaksi. Senju was almost sure that once her secret would be unveiled that Kaksi would understandably part ways with her.

Her friend would be starting college soon anyways she thought, maybe this was the right time to tell her. Senju hoped that not seeing Kaksi would make it easier for her to move on once she would decide a relationship wasn’t worth continuing with her. This brought tears to her eyes as she barely slept that night but she couldn’t lie to her best friend forever.

---

“So you lied to me?” Kaksi barked at her.

The truth that Senju had just revealed to her on this Thursday afternoon felt like another knife sinking in her heart. Not only was her friend lying to her ever since they had met but she was also the head of an infamous gang, competing with Toman in the underground world.

“I was just trying to protect you.”

This was another lie. No, Senju had just been selfish and they both knew it.

“You knew how badly I needed to get away from all this,” Kaksi said, her brown eyes filled with tears.

She was right but Senju hadn’t anticipated that she would have grown that attached to this girl she meant to only share lunch with. By the time Kaksi had told her about her painful past they were already too close for Senju to even imagine how she would feel if she was to lose her.

“I’m sorry,” was all Senju could say as she watched her friend cry for the first time. “I fucked up.”

Kaksi stayed quiet for a moment. She couldn’t believe that even after all this time she could never really get rid of the ghosts of her past. No matter who she loved they always somehow found themselves involved in things Kaksi could never control. She didn’t want to try to understand why a person as kind and sweet as Senju would spend her life covered in blood.

There were a hundred peer-reviewed papers on the risks of delinquency she could easily dig up if she wanted to but as she was faced with her best friend’s betrayal she decided that it didn’t matter. Whatever reasons Senju would give her, it would never make up for her broken trust and heart. So, filled with anger and sadness, she asked the girl to never speak to her again.

Senju didn’t even want to argue with her; these were the expected consequences of her mistakes. So she left without a word, closing Kaksi’s door behind her, a few tears rolling down her cheeks. She wished that things were less complicated but as Brahman’s leader, this wasn’t a position she wanted to leave. She had grown up thinking that it was normal to live against the laws. She wished she could blame Takeomi for raising her this way but Senju knew she could only blame herself.

Kaksi and her were far too different after all and she didn’t want her friend to understand her, she didn’t think there was anything to understand. While it hurt to walk away from the only person she could say she trusted entirely with her heart and soul, there wasn’t anything she could do except comply with Kaksi’s wishes and not hold onto the past years spent by her side.

---

As usual, Kaksi found that drowning her troubles with keeping her mind busy worked. Not spending any more time with Senju she used her free time to study harder as the anxiety of graduation approached along with the tiring process she would have to go through to be accepted into one of the universities she wished to enter.

As she went through her notes for the hundredth time she wondered why even Senju would bother with school if she planned on spending her life making money through drugs, assault and prostitution. She doubted she would ever get an answer and she realised it didn’t really matter, she didn’t think she knew or understood Senju that much after all.

She missed her though and she loved her, so much that she wondered how bad morally it would be to make up with her and how dangerous exactly was it to stay in her close circle. This was all irrational thinking, she knew and she would benefit a lot if she used that energy to learn her physics lesson instead but Kaksi was tired of losing people she cared about.

Which was worse? Dying prematurely but surrounded by the people she loved or dying old but lonely? She wanted to believe that it was bad luck that had her meet the wrong people but what if she just could never run away from what she longed to escape? Maybe Kumi had made the right decision leaving Tokyo and maybe she should do the same but leaving was unlike her, wasn’t it?

She knew she was wrong for thinking this way but how would Senju ever move on from all this if no outside forces pulled her out of it? Kaksi was aware that wanting to stay by Senju’s side hoping that she would leave behind the path she had currently chosen was a waste of time but she was an idealist and way more optimistic than she thought she was.

Or maybe loneliness was that scary, she didn’t really know. What she did know though was that Senju wanted her by her side, unlike everyone else she had never wanted to leave her behind. Even if it was selfish in a way, it felt good to know that someone needed Kaksi as much as she needed them. Still hesitant, she gave the situation more thought.

Senju felt like she couldn’t even look at Kaksi when she walked down the hallways and the fact that the girl would pass by as if she had never even known her made it all the more painful. Both of them sat by themselves and ate lunch separately again. They both realized their separation was dreadfully obvious since multiple people would ask them why they weren’t seen together anymore.

Kaksi would tell them this was none of their business while Senju told them to get lost. Soon she started wondering why she even bothered attending high school anymore - she had already chosen the path she would be taking as early as her first year and if Kaksi wasn’t going to help her out with her biology classes then she had no interest in spending any more time around these people.

She wondered if Kaksi would care if she dropped out of high school now but she realised she should not think about her friend at all. Even though it was impossible when she would see her face every day. So she made her decision and stopped attending school. Once Kaksi noticed, she worried about Senju but she figured this was none of her business. Part of her was scared that something bad had happened and she thought about texting her but she figured that if that was the case, she would rather not know.

They both ached from the separation regardless. Senju felt like she was always on edge and all the little things that once brought her joy became boring to her but that might have been because Kaksi made everything better. Senju was shocked by all the pieces of herself that Kaksi had left in her life.

As Senju brushed her hair while getting ready to sleep, she found the cherry-scented lip balm Kaksi wore hidden in the drawer of her vanity. She picked it up and smiled before applying it to her lips, she ran her tongue over them slowly, enjoying the sweet taste. It tasted better on Kaksi’s lips though, she remembered. The memory saddened her and yet she couldn’t help thinking about her first sleepover at Kaksi’s place.

Only the orange light from the lamp on her bedside table was on as they laid next to each other in bed. They had started play-fighting when Kaksi touched Senju’s bare legs with her cold feet but being much stronger than her friend Senju had managed to overpower her and remained on top, hugging her tightly instead.

She remembered they had talked about nothing and everything while she listened to her heartbeat. Back then Kaksi had thought she had never held another girl this close to her, even when she would hug Kumi it felt different but maybe it was because she was a few years older now, she didn’t really know. What she did know was that it was enjoyable.

Eventually, Senju had gotten slightly annoyed when Kaksi mentioned Kazutora again, but she figured it was normal to feel that way about him considering how he had hurt Kaksi and that despite that she had promised to wait for him until his sentence would be over. She didn’t say anything though, instead listening to her friend’s soft voice.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait until Kazutora’s out,” she had said.

Senju had rolled her eyes at that sentence, thankful that Kaksi couldn’t see her expression from the position they were in.

“You’re seriously not going to date or do anything at all with anyone until he’s out?” Senju had asked, hiding her annoyance as best as she could.

“I guess so.”

“You know seven years is a long time and there’s a lot of cute guys out there to make out with.”

Kaksi had chuckled then.

“Kazutora’s cuter,” she had joked.

“As cute as me?” Senju had asked teasingly, looking up at Kaksi this time.

“Okay, maybe not as cute as you but unlike him, you don’t want to kiss me.”

“Who said that?” Senju had replied, thinking she wouldn’t mind if they kissed once or maybe more now than she thought about it again.

It wasn’t visible but that comment had the heat spread over Kaksi’s features and as much as she wanted to ignore it she knew this was not a response she would have towards any of her friends, no this feeling was too familiar. Kaksi hadn’t said anything and Senju thought she should be filling the silence.

“I’ll kiss you if you want,” she told her, smiling.

And so they kissed. It was Senju’s first, slow and soft. Her lips pressed against Kaksi’s shyly and she worried for a second about how she would feel if her friend pulled away but she didn’t. Kaksi’s hand held Senju’s face instead and she kissed her back tenderly, her tongue meeting hers soon. This wasn’t an innocent kiss, both of them knew but never addressed it. They didn’t have to, they were as close as ever and cared about each other.

They hadn’t kissed again after that night though Senju wished they had, she wasn’t sure Kaksi did, however. Despite that moment they had shared, she would still talk about Kazutora and all the plans she had for the two of them. Senju hadn’t expected her to forget Kazutora after one kiss but she wished Kaksi was a little more realistic sometimes.

But it didn’t matter anymore, Kazutora was more likely to kiss Kaksi than Senju would ever again now and that thought sickened her. Senju rolled over under her bedsheets and considered she should get rid of the small things that reminded her of Kaksi. Even though she wasn’t sure this would help in any way.

---

The spring of the year 2008 marked the beginning of a new chapter in Kaksi’s life. As she woke up by herself in her newly rented apartment, a few minutes from her campus she wondered how Kumi was doing. She had stopped trying to reach her years ago but not thinking about her was almost impossible. She should be a college freshman like her now, probably attending a prestigious university.

For a moment Kaksi wondered if Kumi would ever return to Tokyo and if she had made the right decision not following through with her college applications to other parts of Japan. Despite the fresh smell of change and flowers blooming outside, she couldn’t help feeling like she was heading nowhere.

Kaksi hadn’t talked to Senju in months and she wondered if moving out from her parents' house had been a good idea after all as the weight of loneliness never really disappeared. She quickly got invested in her classes though, finding her field of study very interesting and fulfilling although she did struggle a little bit with adapting to her new lifestyle. She did not make any friends that semester, finding the number of people attending her classes a little too intimidating but maybe she was just too fragile still to try again.

On her way back home one afternoon she had decided to treat herself to coffee and some pastries, heading to the nearest bakery. It was a pet shop however that had caught her attention while she made her way over there. She stared through the glass windows and smiled at the sight of a few puppies, energetically playing with each other.

“An archaeologist?” he asked. “What even is that?”

Kazutora chuckled as a frown appeared on Kaksi’s face.

“Are you serious?” she asked, disappointed by Baji’s answer. “It’s a scientist who studies history by digging up human remains and artefacts.”

“Boring!” he complained, rolling his eyes at her. “Sounds like something you would enjoy.”

Kaksi’s eyes widened slightly before hitting his arm but Baji laughed as a response.

“Well I want to be a pet shop owner!” he said with a wide smile. “Pets love me. What about you, Kazutora?”

Kazutora stayed quiet for a moment, realizing he had never really thought about that question before.

“I don’t know.”

“You should work at my pet shop then!” Baji suggested excitedly as if he had been suddenly struck by the greatest idea.

Kazutora laughed.

“Seems like a good plan.”

Kaksi’s eyes filled with tears as the memory replayed in her mind and she decided it was time for her to move. She barely ate the chocolate muffin she had bought and drank her coffee once it was completely cold once she was home. It had been a long time since she had seen Baji and Kazutora but not long enough for her to contain her feelings it seemed.

She should pay Baji a visit, she decided. She would go tomorrow afternoon with some flowers. The last time she had visited his grave was on his birthday last year but she figured she should tell him that after all, she had decided to not pursue her studies with the goal of becoming an archaeologist. It was a little sad how the three of them would not achieve what they had talked about back when the days were simpler.

---

Kaksi was happy to see Baji’s grave wasn’t without flowers when she arrived. Even though they were dried up now, it seemed like someone had dropped him some not too long ago. She placed the new ones she had just bought over the dead ones and sat in front of his grave, a sad smile on her lips. As she usually did when she visited, Kaksi talked to Baji.

“I started college,” she told him. “I decided I’d study psychology though not anthropology.”

She paused for a moment as if she was waiting for an answer.

“I’m not sure you would find this less boring though,” she joked, smiling.

Kaksi filled the silence with a few more sentences and stopped once tears started rolling down her cheeks. She dried them off quickly before standing up and bidding goodbye to Baji. She really could never seem to stop crying when she would come to visit him. She left with a smile regardless but it faded quickly once her eyes landed on the man heading in her direction only a few meters away.

His green eyes widened at the sight of Kaksi and he stopped in his tracks. He didn’t think he would see her here or at all. Both of them stared at each other for a moment before breaking eye contact and starting to walk again in the direction they were headed. Chifuyu wondered if he should stop and talk to her as he approached and the same question clouded her mind.

They had both subconsciously agreed to stop midway between Baji’s grave and the exit of the cemetery. Chifuyu was hesitant to speak but he gave her a small smile. She had changed, he had noticed. She looked healthy but he couldn’t tell if she was happy or not, her brown eyes unreadable to him. Kaksi wanted to compliment his own hairstyle change but she didn’t say anything except for a polite greeting.

“It’s been a while,” Kaksi added, hesitant.

“Yeah.”

Chifuyu rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He hoped she was doing good but he didn’t think it would be wise to catch up with Kaksi.

“I hope you’re doing well, Chifuyu,” she said with a little smile, not waiting for his answer before walking away.

He murmured a little thanks and you too and even though he wanted to talk to her, Chifuyu walked towards Baji’s grave instead. Kaksi could feel a new wave of tears washing over her and she decided to sit on an empty bench she had spotted on her way home. She missed all of them so much still and the fear of never getting over these feelings took over her once again.

At that moment she knew what she had to do. She needed to see her again, she didn’t think she could stand eating by herself again tonight. Kaksi took out her phone and dialled Senju’s number. When Kaksi’s named appeared on her screen, Senju almost dropped her phone. She picked up as quickly as she could and wondered if she was dreaming for a moment. She didn’t excuse herself as she ran out of her office, leaving her brother behind.

“Kaksi?” she said, in a small voice.

She could hear the girl sniffle at the other end of the line and Senju worried for a moment.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kaksi replied, her voice trembling. “I just miss you.”

Senju’s blue eyes automatically filled with tears at those words.

“I miss you too.”

Kaksi smiled.

“Do you think we could meet soon?”

“We can meet now,” Senju replied. “Where are you?”

The brunette chuckled before sharing her location with her friend. Senju didn’t think twice before heading out to meet Kaksi. So she did miss Senju as much as she missed her but was that really enough for her to be forgiven? Senju was scared that her friend had only called her in a moment of weakness and she would lose her again somehow but as she appeared at the crossroads where Kaksi stood she figured it didn’t matter if she could be reunited with her even for a short moment.

Her friend smiled at her, her nose and eyes still red from crying. Senju walked over to her as quickly as she could and it was arms wide open that she welcomed her, embracing her tightly. Senju held her just as tightly, her face resting against her chest. They stood on the sidewalk like this for a moment. Then as Kaksi was reminded of how comforting Senju’s warmth felt, she decided she couldn’t afford to lose her again.

#baji x oc #kazutora x oc #tokyorev #off target effects #collab fic #mae.writing #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers imagine #tokyo revengers #longfic

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harrywritingsbyme · 4 years

Note

and the prompt i’m talking about is: he said he needed space, went on vacation but misses y/n too much and has to come back as soon as he can to make it up for her

Space

A/N: I think I almost cried writing this.

“I think I just need a little space. I need some time to figure out some things.” You weren’t expecting Harry to say this. It came so left field, you couldn’t even process it. You didn’t think your Saturday was going to be like this. You thought you were going to spend the day with Harry and be the happy couple you thought you guys were. But instead, you’re quietly sitting next to Harry, wishing he would drive faster so you could get back home already. After taking what felt like an eternity, you and Harry finally pulled up in front of your building. You don’t utter a single word to him, already knowing that if you did, you were going to burst into tears.

“I love y-“ before he could even finish his sentence the passenger side door closes, leaving him alone, giving him the space he thought he needed. Harry decides to wait for you to get inside before driving away. The entire ride back home was silent. For the rest of the day all Harry could think about was how your face fell when he told you that he needed space. The way your eyes glossed over and your whole demeanor just changed in an instant. He tried to push those thoughts away but he just couldn’t. Everywhere his mind went, you were there.

When he went to open his phone, he saw your smiling face on his lock screen. Instantly becoming deflated when he thought about how you looked in the picture versus when he last saw you. When he went into his office to book his trip, there you were, a picture of you on his desk, and a photo of the both of you together on the large screen in front of him. He really didn’t know why he was feeling so bad, he was the one who asked for some space. He was the one who needed to get some things together. Harry felt like he wanted to cry, he wanted to just get into bed and just cry himself to sleep.

You on the other hand did just that. Once you got inside, you decided to have a lazy day. You gathered up a the snacks you could find in your cabinets and you just sat in front of the tv. You did everything in your power to block out Harry. And you did a pretty good job at doing it until you went to bed. You were about to turn out the lamp on your bedside table when your eyes flashed to the picture of you and Harry next to it. You feel the tears coming so you quickly turn out the light, letting the darkness of your room consume you. The tears began to seep out of the corners of your eyes. You try to wipe them away, but they just keep coming. You do eventually fall asleep, being too tired to cry anymore.

For the next two days, you and Harry had no contact with each other. You went about your normal routine and Harry, deciding to take a break and go on a solo vacation. He left the day after your rather short conversation, deciding to just go and figure himself out. When he stepped off of the plane, his thoughts immediately went to you. Thinking about how you would have absolutely loved it there. During the whole ride to his hotel, he thought about how you would have enjoyed soaking up the sun at the different beaches he drove by. When he got to his room, he saw the balcony with a table and two chairs, facing out towards a view that neither of you would have thought to be real; he thought of the two of you spending your mornings in your plush bathrobes eating breakfast together. Everywhere he turned, he saw you. Harry then drops his bags by his feet and falls face first onto the bed.

“What am I even doing here” Harry groans into the sheets. He didn’t even know what he was doing. He traveled alone before, but never like this. He never traveled alone without a purpose. When he went to Japan, he wanted to write and get inspired. He didn’t push you away in the process. He didn’t leave without saying goodbye. He actually tried to bring you with him. Harry thought he needed space, he thought he needed some time by himself to process and reflect. What he thought he needed, he did need. He needed some alone time, some time to process and reflect. Where he went wrong, was in the way he went about getting it. In gaining alone time, he ended up being alone. Instead of taking in the beautiful scenery outside and enjoying this ‘needed’ vacation, Harry was face down in the pillows crying. He stayed like this for another hour, finally deciding to get up and put himself together. By this time, the sun was already setting. He stayed in his room for the rest of the night, deciding on ordering in and going out the following day.

The next morning Harry woke up, feeling better than he did the night before. He decided to go down and sit by the pool, wanting to get some fresh air and relax. In the short timespan of about an hour he’d taken about six pictures with fans, and at the end all of them asking him the same question “Where’s y/n?” All to which Harry responded with a simple she couldn’t make it, hiding the real reason why you weren’t there. He decides that it was time to go back to his room. While in the elevator up, Harry realizes that it wasn’t time to just go back to his room, it was time to go back home. As much as he wished he could finish out the trip, he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t go another day without making things right with you. Once in his room, Harry went straight to his laptop and moved his ticket up to late that afternoon, giving him time to pack up and check out of the hotel.

He didn’t even pack, he just threw this things into his luggage and closed it up, making his way back down to the main lobby to check out and wait for his car arrive. When the car arrived, he threw himself and his luggage in. When he made it to the airport, he sat anxiously in the terminal, waiting for his flight to begin boarding. From the time he got to the airport, to the time he sat down in his seat on the plane, all Harry thought about was what to say to you. The plane ride whizzed by and the next thing he knew, he was in front of your door. Luggage by his feet, a bag of groceries in one hand, and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in another. He checked the time and he knew that he had some time before you got home from work. He uses the key that you gave him and he lets himself in. Harry drops his luggage by the door and makes his way into your kitchen. He grabs a vase and prepares the flowers, arranging them perfectly on the counter. He then starts to cook your favorite dish, hoping that his efforts would make up for his previous actions.

You walk down the hallway to your apartment and when you get in front of your door, you hear some muffled rustling behind it. You push your key into the lock and you open the door. When you walk in, you’re immediately smell all the ingredients of your favorite food, and you see a Mickey Mouse printed suitcase next to a pair of white vans neatly tucked into the corner by the door. You place your keys in the bowl next to Harrys and you place your shoes next to his. You then walk into the kitchen and you immediately see the flowers Harry bought for you on the counter, and you instantly start to tear up. Harry then turns around to see you staring at the flowers with glossy eyes.

“I’m so sorry y/n” is all he says. You don’t say anything to him. You move around the small island and you wrap your arms around him, resting your head onto his chest. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you tightly against him. You both cry silently in each other’s arms, every once in a while one of you break the silence with a sniffle.

“I take it your vacation wasn’t that fun” you mumble lifting your head up to look at him.

“It’ll never be fun without you there” Harry looks down at you, unwrapping and arm from around you to cup your now tear stained cheek. “I’m so sorry baby. The last thing I want is space from you, and I hate the fact that I made you feel like I needed space from you. I love you so much.” He sighs.

“I love you too” you send him a soft smile and you reach up to kiss him. You both pull away when you hear the oven beep behind you. Harry puts the pan on top of the stove into the oven and he starts to clean up.

“If it makes you feel any better, I had a miserable time.”

“It does” you curtly reply. You hear him chuckle behind you and it brings a smile to your face.

Maybe Harry could finish he rest if his trip. Just this time, you’ll be right by his side.

Masterlist

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raging-violets · 3 years

Text

ShadowStar: Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It’d been a week and there was no sign on the horizon that they were going to get back to their Earth anytime soon. Barry did everything he could to try and re-create the circumstances that had sent them from their Earth to…whatever Earth they were on. However, he quickly realized pushing himself wasn’t going to do anything to help their plight. If they were going to figure out how to get back, it would take time to do so.

So, to Brady’s mild horror, they settled into Blue Valley, Nebraska. Found a house to rent (it seemed that the Nash name still meant a lot while on another Earth), went out and got some new clothes, started to acclimate. And Brady was bored. There was nothing to do in Blue Valley; sure, it was picturesque, sure he knew there was barely a chance to getting back to the life they knew. But he missed his friends, missed his old life. Wondered and worried about what would happen the longer they were gone.

Nevertheless, he knew he didn’t have a choice but to sit and wait. It wasn’t like Cadence hadn’t tried to teleport back to the other Earth, her powers hadn’t worked to get them though, either. As if there was some sort of block that was keeping her from moving. Brady’s own powers, his phasing powers, weren’t strong enough to get him to another Earth, even before being stuck there.

So, he took to figuring out what it was that Blue Valley had to offer while his parents went to crate a life for them. And there was nothing. Blue Valley was as much of a ‘normal’, ‘picturesque’ town as anyone could say it was. Like living the ‘American Dream’ as he’d heard in many history classes. There was one movie theater, one drive-in, a few restaurants, a few stores. Nothing that would have a bunch of teenagers so entertained. He bet there were a lot of house parties with no supervision.

Not that it was a problem, Barry always seemed to be uneasy when it came to Brady going to parties. (Probably because Barry hadn’t been to many when he was a teen). But Brady was fifteen and needed to find some creative outlet to handle his boredom that didn’t include his powers and being found out as a meta.

Too bad he didn’t have any friends or parties to go to.

So, for that week, he moped around the house, finding what was new on the Earth they were stuck on. (Apparently, the Kardashians weren’t famous on that Earth, and that was alright with him). He was about to start another day on the computer and play video games when he saw a sheet of paper sitting at his spot at the kitchen table.

He picked it up and lifted an eyebrow toward his mother, who bustled around the kitchen making breakfast. He snorted quietly and asked, brandishing the sheet, “You enrolled me into school here?”

“Yep,” Cadence replied, popping the ‘p’ on the single syllable word. She lifted her gaze, noticing her son still staring at him and asked with a chuckle, “What did you think you were going to do? Stay home and play video games all day?” Cadence gave Brady a sharp look when his eyebrows rose. “You’re not staying home and playing video games all day.”

Brady scowled, mostly annoyed she’d managed to read his mind, as she did practically every day. (Enough so he was starting to wonder if she managed to manifest it with her meta abilities. But he hadn’t known any other firestarters to be able to do that). “There’s such a thing as homeschooling,” he pointed out.

Cadence smirked, folding her arms. “Do you want to try and sit still as Barry tries to explain your lessons to you?”

Brady’s upper lip cured. Yeah, that was a stupid idea. Barry could hardly keep from rambling when he didn’t know something. And when he did… “What about online school?”

“You need the social interaction.”

Brady snorted. “Is that what people told you when you were pregnant with me?”

Cadence pretended to think. Her words dripped with sarcasm when she finally responded. “Well, I know you didn’t have ears by that point, so you probably couldn’t hear it when people called me a slut and a whore and said I threw away my future.” Cadence smirked. “You know I don’t care much for other people’s opinions on how I raise you.”

“How about my opinions on how you raise me?”

“Don’t be such a teenager, Brady.”

“I can’t help it.” He smiled.

Cadence smiled back. “It’s called getting acclimated.”

“It’s called being forced to go to school against my will.” Brady watched as his mom left the kitchen and went to the living room where Barry sat in front of his laptop, staring intently at it. He followed her. She sat next to huer husband, who barely reacted when she joined him. “I’m sure there’re laws about that.”

“Not as bad as the laws of me not sending you to school.” Cadence’s voice turned firm. “Nice try, bud. You’re going to Blue Valley High.”

“But…” Brady’s words died on his lips as he sighed, unsure of how to explain that if they got ‘acclimated’, it meant they were staying.

Though, he was sure from the look on his mother’s face she already knew that. His mom and Barry didn’t fight much, they’d gotten better with their communication over the years. But even Brady couldn’t ignore the low rumblings of their argument from the night before when they thought he’d been asleep.

Blue Valley High it is.

Besides, he didn’t quite know what was worse, the idea of having to deal with the social hierarchy of high school or the try to figure out what was keeping them stuck on another Earth.

Either option didn’t seem very fun.

Courtney couldn’t get out of Pat’s car fast enough. She was practically clawing at the doors when Mike went on and on about his boredom and not liking Blue Valley High. Became even worse with the sound of his chomping and chewing on his breakfast burrito, gabbing all the way while dropping him off at the Middle School. And even that was marginally better than having to deal with if she let her mom drive her to school.

It’d be nothing but reassurances of being the new kid isn’t so bad. That Blue Valley High was great. That she had all those wonderful memories of going there herself. Ugh. The very last thing Courtney wanted or needed.

So, when Pat’s car pulled up at the front of the school, Courtney clambered out as quickly as she could. Fast enough she could breathe a sigh of relief. But not so fast that she wasn’t able to escape Pat’s attempt at talking to her. At trying to be a father-figure to her. She tried tuning him out, texting her friends from home.

But he talked and talked. Something about him moving around a lot, his father having been in the army, him having not many friends. Something. She wasn’t paying much attention. Well, enough attention to tell him to leave her alone and that she was talking to someone.

He respected her wishes for silence…until he gave her a hearty, “Hey, have a super great day!” the second she got out the car.

Courtney cringed, shoulders coming up to her ears when she saw all eyes turn her way in a brief, sweeping glance. Dismissive. She slammed the door behind her, wondering if anyone hard that embarrassing display of affection. When it appeared that no one was paying too close attention to her, she sighed, shoulders slumping as she relaxed. Okay. Good.

First impression wasn’t ruined yet.

She could do this.

She could handle it.

She could…find her way to the main office…maybe.

Courtney’s eyes trailed over the students that walked in front of her, streaming into the school. Studied their flannels, long sleeves, hoodies, long pants…all so different from California. Back home, she’d still be wearing her shorts and crop tops, the weather wouldn’t have turned even remotely cold. Now, she was in a green jacket, a white t-shirt with a cherry print on the front (her favorite shirt, actually), and a pair of blue jeans.

She looked…like she fit in.

With a light sigh, Courtney walked into Blue Valley High, eyes scanning the faces and places as she went. Finally, she went into what looked like the correct office; there were lines of students sitting on a stool to get their pictures taken, and others that appeared they were being given their schedules. The second Courtney stepped through the door, she was swept through line after line, giving her name after a slight hesitation.

A paper was thrust in her hands, which she quickly glanced over, before a fast-moving, teacher ushered her toward the stool where everyone was getting their pictures taken. Her eyebrows came together when she noticed a spot missing. Something she’d looked over time and time again on the school’s website, the only thing that was keeping her hope alive about having to move.

“Uh, excuse me?” She asked tentatively. “I think there might’ve been a mistake with my schedule. I was supposed to have been signed up for gymnastics.”

The teacher gently shook her head. “Sweetie, we don’t have a gymnastics team here.”

Then what was it that she was looking at time and time again? With girls who were so bendy Courtney didn’t know where their tops started and their bottoms ended. They were definitely more flexible than she was, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t get there. Did she imagine all of that in her wish to stay in California?

“But it was on your website!” Courtney exclaimed. She followed the teacher’s instruction once more, perching on the stool, dropping her backpack to the floor. “Blue Valley High has a gymnastics team!”

“And we did…last year.” The teacher waver for Courtney to stop slouching as she ducked behind a computer. “But the academic and athletic programs have been recalibrated by the American Dream for optimal participation by the students and the faculty.”

Courtney lifted an eyebrow. “I…have no idea what any of that means.”

“There are plenty other after school activities,” the teacher said. She set her coffee mug down and moved to stand behind the camera, readying it. Her eyes lit up seconds later. “How about cheerleading? That’s basically gymnastics! Plus, boys love cheerleaders.”

Courtney couldn’t help the face she made. Boys love cheerleaders? Is she serious? The thought barely crossed her mind before a blinding flash went off in her face. And seconds before she heard a light snickering behind her that made her realize someone had heard and was…laughing at her?

Annoyed, Courtney looked over her shoulder to see a boy about her age; shaggy blonde-brown hair that fell into blue-green eyes. Eyes that appeared to shine with as much mirth as the side of his turned-up mouth showed. There wasn’t anything too remarkable about him, he wore the same as any boy her age; gray t-shirt under a black button down and jeans, a bag slung over his shoulder. The disinterested look that any teenager would have, flickered through his eyes.

He noticed her look his way and lifted an eyebrow. Courtney rolled her eyes and turned away. She got up from the stool, curled her upper lip at her new photo ID, and stuck it in her pocket. She swung out into the crowded hallway once more, nearly leaping out of her skin when a girl with white-black hair and a curly haired girl suddenly appeared behind her.

“Hey new girl!” The white-black haired girl said with ease.

“Hi…” Courtney said slowly. Her eyes shifted over the two. Clearly, they were the two popular girls, or else the first one was, and her curly haired friend was her sidekick. Why else would she quicken her pace to try and keep pace with the other two.

“I’m Cindy.” The girl smiled the tiniest bit. “This is Jenny.”

“Courtney,” She introduced herself, still watching the two closely. She blinked in surprise when Cindy shrugged and gave a quick, “I know,” in response. As if she actually did know. And…how could she have known?

“So you’re from California?” Jenny asked.

Courtney’s eyes shifted back and forth. How’d they know that? Duh, Courtney, you’re new. People try to figure these things out all the time. They like to know everything about the new kid. “Yeah…”

“So, we should all hang out.” Cindy said it so finitely, so definitely that Courtney couldn’t help but feel a little kick of excitement. Maybe this was it. Maybe she was going to be able to make friends in that…slow paced hell hole sooner than she thought.

“Uh, yeah, sure!”

“Cool, I’ll text you.”

“My number is—”

“—I already have it—”

Courtney blinked in surprise, once again. Knowing where she was from, that wasn’t hard. Anyone who looked at her car’s license plate, they would’ve seen they were from California. And Blue Valley would’ve been slow enough that people would pay close attention—especially with how many people continued to wave at them. (No one was that nice!). “—How do you have my—”

“—don’t worry about it!” Cindy waved her off. Then, seconds later, she was back to her perky self and said, “Hey, you should try out for cheerleading, I’m team captain and I’m looking for a new second. I need someone who can do the splits.”

“Thanks.” Courtney sighed, feeling the annoyance shoot through her stomach once more. “But, cheerleading’s not really my thing…” She trailed off the second Cindy stopped walking. There wasn’t any outward change with Cindy, but there seemed to be a sudden chill that hung through the air. Hung between them.

A glacier that slowly but surely rocked the waves and wedged its way between them.

“Wait, so…you don’t want to hang out?” Cindy asked. Courtney thought for a moment, trying to figure out what it was that she’d said to make things get ruined so quickly. Just when she was about to turn things around. “What? No, that’s…that’s not what I was saying—”

“—So then I’ll text you!” Cindy smiled then it immediately dropped. She tipped her head to the side. Her eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, flashed briefly. “Or, maybe not! Bye!”

Courtney sighed, watching her walk away. Her shoulders slumped, the weight of her sliding backpack nearly knocking her to the ground as she did so. She slung it back up her shoulder and gasped, nearly knocking into the guy who had just been laughing at her.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

“No problem.” He waved her off, still going down the hallway. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

Courtney’s eyebrows furrowed. She watched him as he walked by, looked at her bag, then back to him. Her eyes narrowed.

Was it her imagination…or did the bag pass through him?

Calm down, Courtney. This place is weird, but not that weird.

When the day ended, Courtney wanted nothing more than to text her friends about everything that happened. But they were in California time and who knew how long it would take for them to respond. First there was Pat being cringey, then there was no gymnastics team, then Cindy picked her up and dropped her off before she could even begin to have friends. Then there was the incident at lunch…where she was trying to help the girl at her lunch table from being slut shamed and bullied from the jerks in the letterman jackets.

He’d tried to take her phone and…Courtney had never been one to sit back and let people be bullied. So…she grabbed her phone back and shoved him…and landed in detention for it. Who got detention just for shoving someone? And her phone was taken away because of it, where it sat on the teacher’s desk as punishment. Like that was supposed to be a big thing, that they couldn’t hold onto their phones for a few hours. But…it just reminded her of how little she had to hold onto, for excitement and things to look forward to.

And, finally, when she was let out of detention, she’d missed the bus. All she could do was watch as it slowly drove out of sight. With no way of knowing how he was going to get home. And the last thing she was going to do was call Pat to drive her home, where she’d have to deal with his trying to be ‘father of the year’ and pry into her life. Couldn’t he be like all the other normal fathers and leave her alone and make her mom deal with everything? And stop being so…bumbling?

Well, I guess that is like all other fathers, Courtney reminded herself. You just really wouldn’t know. Reaching up, she used both hands to brush her hair back from her face while letting out the biggest sigh she could muster. Turning, she looked back to the school, wondering if there was going to be another bus coming. Her eyes leveled and, within seconds, she recognized the boy lounging on the steps in front of her, watching her curiously.

The same one she’d seen all day; the one who laughed at her, who she’d hit with her backpack, who’d been nearby in the cafeteria when she shoved that bully and there he was after school!

All at once, Courtney felt all the day’s frustrations hit her. “Who are you?” She demanded. “Why are you stalking me?” Courtney demanded. He looked startled for a moment, then annoyed. Courtney frowned, noticing he didn’t answer her questions. “What is your name?”

“Brady Nash,” he replied, continuing to lounge on the steps, legs stretched out. He worked a yo-yo in his hand, shooting it straight out in front of him then back into his palm without looking. He shot it in an around the world motion then looked back up at her. “And I’m not stalking you. I think they have new students have similar schedules.”

For a moment, Courtney felt her cheeks flush. That’d make sense. “You’re new, too?”

Brady made what was a cross between a smirk and a snort. She was starting to hate that. “I’m always new.”

Tag List: @darknightfrombeyond @hogwarts-is-my-wonderland @foxesandmagic @ben-bcrnes @witchofinterest @jerigoats @perfectlystiles @itsjustgracy @codenamekryptonite @ochub @ocappreciationtag @arrowverseocs

#ocappreciationtag #arrowverseocs #star girl #the flash #crossover #courtney whitmore #oc: brady nash #shadowstar #fic: shadow star #chapter update #by: riley

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analogicisms · 4 years

Text

Music & Poetry - Chapter One

Summary: Popular-but-not-really-famous lyricist Virgil Quinn meets an attractive poet named Logan who claims to hate music. Virgil, who believes lyrics to be every bit the poetry as the kind found in books and anthologies and inspirational posters, feels the need to prove to Logan wrong.

Ship: Analogical (with others in the background)

Rating & Warnings: PG 13.

Chapters: 1 - 2

AO3: Chapter One

Thanks to @romantichopelessly for betaing and to @sunshineandteddybears and @paperghastly for pre-reading.

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Chapter One

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♞ LOGAN ♞

Logan sighed as he checked his phone for the second time in two minutes. He was standing outside of the main hall of the university where he would be speaking on that day. Due to his need for extensive planning, however, he was nearly two hours early for when he was required to be there.

He considered checking in with the dean of the school but knew that many people felt inconvenienced by those who arrived more than an hour early. Typically, Logan didn’t care too much about inconveniencing others with early arrivals, but Thomas Sanders, the dean of the school, was not just some man who had invited him to speak at this year’s graduation. Thomas was also a very dear friend of his, and Logan would hate to add any undue anxiety onto the man’s already burdened shoulders.

Sighing again, Logan considered the time once more before opening Google Maps and searching for nearby cafes.

Of course, Logan thought as his eyes took in the ten plus pins indicating Starbucks Coffee shops in the area. It was not that Logan was a coffee snob, though his best friend Roman would disagree, he was simply a man who knew what he liked, and Starbucks was awful in terms of taste compared to value. In his opinion, of course—although anyone who disagreed was an idiot.

Scrolling down to the list, his gaze was caught by the third listing. The Bumble Bean. Logan hummed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the pun. It was, after all, better than the alternative.

He noted the letter corresponded with the shop before consulting the map. Clicking on the name of the cafe, it popped up on the map and Logan clicked its little pin. The shop’s information appeared in a little bubble, including the business hours and, more importantly, the distance from his current location.

A block and a half away. Not bad for a walk, especially considering the suit he wore. Decision made, Logan set down his messenger bag long enough to pull off the suit jacket. Lifting his bag from the ground, he draped his jacket over the bag and shouldered the strap once more.

A quick click of the directions link on Google Maps and he was on his way.

☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆

💀 VIRGIL 💀

Virgil leaned back in the leather armchair he occupied, covering a yawn with his arm.

“Don’t start with that now, ViVi.”

Virgil grinned as he looked up at the barista who also happened to be his best friend.

“Sorry, Pat.”

Patton Hart was five foot four inches of adorable from the top of his curls to his white chucks with rainbow cat faces printed on the material. He also had the endearing habit of worrying for his friends. Especially Virgil.

“Late night again?” Patton asked, brows furrowing in concern behind oversized glasses with gold round frames. Virgil nodded. “Sleep is important, kiddo.”

Anyone who overheard the conversation would likely wonder why Patton—who easily looked younger than Virgil, though they were actually the same age—was calling him kiddo, but Virgil had come to accept that as just Patton being Patton. He was definitely a mom and dad friend.

Virgil sighed. “Yeah.” He brought a hand to his eyes, closing them to rub at the lids before offering Patton a winning smile. “These lyrics won’t write themselves.”

Patton pursed his lips as he set Virgil’s black coffee down on a coaster. Once he’d straightened up, hands were fisted and rested on hips. Virgil tried his best to hold back a grin, but the other looked too adorable like that and so he failed. Miserably.

“It’s not funny, Virgil. One of these days, you’re gonna wish you’d listened to dear ol’ Patton.”

“And when that day comes, I will gladly accept your ‘I told you so’. Unfortunately, I’m a night owl and my brain works best in the dead of night.”

Patton tutted but said nothing else on the matter. “Don’t forget, its drinks night tonight. Emile will be late but I should be able to close up a little early so I’ll be there at ten.”

Virgil nodded. “Alright. Honestly, though, I don’t know why I even go. Ever since you two started dating, I feel like such a third wheel. Are you sure you two just don’t want the time to yourself? You and I could always catch up later.”

“Nonsense. Emile is as much your friend as he is mine, boyfriend or not. And, I don’t want to hear another word about it, mister.”

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, mom.”

“Good. Now, drink your coffee before it gets cold.” He glanced up at the front and gave a start. “Oops, gotta get back to work. I’ll try to chat when the rush ends.”

Virgil waved him off. “Sure thing, buddy. Talk to you later.”

Watching Patton make his way behind the counter, Virgil let his gaze wander to take in the other patrons of the little cafe. A smile slipped onto his lips as he remembered the day three years ago when Patton rushed up to him before blurting out his idea for a bookstore coffee house. Virgil had never seen his best friend so excited about anything in his life, which was saying a lot considering Patton’s default setting was excited.

It had taken a lot of work and Virgil had put a lot of money into the place—an investment, he had told Patton when the other tried to refuse—but the struggle had paid off in the end. The Bumble Bean had quickly become one of the hot spots in town, especially for students at the local university and high schools. Virgil was proud of his friend and never missed a chance to tell him, either.

The gentle, light sound of the bell on the door sounded and Virgil idly glanced in that direction.

Oh. My. God.

A man who looked not much older than Virgil--but dressed in way nicer clothes than Virgil had ever owned--stepped inside and looked around before heading toward the counter. Virgil watched him as he made his way across the café, his eyes taking in the man's face as his own heated up considerably.

Gay panic is real.

Virgil quickly looked away, busying himself with drinking his coffee. Unfortunately, due to his preoccupied brain, he had forgotten that coffee was generally very hot, and burned his tongue.

“Fuck.” He swore under his breath, tongue now numb and raw. Setting the cup down, Virgil glanced at the man from the corner of his eye.

I’m gay. I am so fucking gay.

Virgil watched as the man stepped up to the counter after the last customer finished paying. He found himself wondering what kind of drink the man would order, mentally reminding himself to ask Patton later. Watching Patton help the man, Virgil guessed at what kind of job the man had.

A businessman… then again, those pants are fitted as fuck… lawyer, maybe? Or CEO of some Fortune 500…

Pursing his lips, Virgil shook his head. The man didn’t look like a slimy, two-timing, grubby-handed snake. It was possible he was dressed for a specific event. The suit aside, Virgil would guess a professor, or a scientist even. There was no way he would be able to guess correctly, he decided. No point trying.

Turning his attention to his coffee, Virgil was momentarily distracted by the sound of feedback coming from the front. A stage was set up on the opposite side of the entrance, a young guy around Virgil’s age if not younger moving the stool closer to the microphone already present. There was a guitar in his other hand and a smile slipped onto Virgil’s face.

Virgil Quinn was a college student at the local university but he was also a well-known lyricist. Well, well-known was a little generous considering most people weren’t really interested in lyricists so much as the band or artist themselves. Most lyricists were annoyed by that fact but not Virgil. He liked being famous without actually being famous.

Unlike the bands that sang his songs, Virgil could go where he liked, when he liked, with no concern for his safety or his privacy. Even on the rare occasion, a fan did care about the person who wrote the songs, his work was still appreciated and loved from afar. His pictures weren’t the ones being plastered online, on busses, on television ads, and so on. He had more Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube followers than the average person and he was relatively “known”, but definitely not enough that it made much difference to his daily life.

That was exactly how Virgil preferred it.

“Do you mind?”

Virgil’s attention had been successfully distracted enough that he hadn’t noticed anyone come up.

“Mind?” Virgil’s indifferent attitude quickly turned shy and awkward as he turned to look at the person who asked the question. The gorgeous Mr. Maybe-A-Scientist.

“I’d like to claim that chair over there but I’ll need to get past you to get there. If you don’t mind.”

Virgil seized up before mentally reminding himself that this was just another guy. Another human being. He could play it cool.

Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Don’t blush.

Virgil glanced at the chair before looking back up at the man. He cleared his throat and stood up.

In the brief few seconds that past between them as Virgil stood so he could shift out of the man’s way, Virgil became certain of a handful of things.

First, the man with his dark gray, nearly black eyes could not be a CEO or lawyer. While his eyes held a certain level of cold, there was far too much feeling in them. Too much depth. Second, the man was at least a head shorter than him but there was no way Virgil would have known if he hadn’t stood up. The confidence the man held about him was absolutely admirable. Virgil would have been worried the man was arrogant or, worse, a narcissist but he seemed far too polite and formal. Instead of self-importance, it was an air of near indifference that radiated from him.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah. No sweat.”

Virgil could have mentally kicked himself. No sweat? Seriously? This man was obviously a man that existed off of intellectual knowledge and discourse. The best he could come up with was no sweat?

Virgil watched the other’s face, certain to see some sort of sign of dismissal but it never came. Instead, the man raised a brow and a second later, his lips quirked upwards. It was slight. So slight that Virgil wasn’t even certain he truly saw it. That was until the man spoke again.

“I still need to get by you, I’m afraid.”

Was that amusement Virgil heard laced ever so subtly throughout the carefully chosen words? Virgil glanced at where he stood and swore under his breath. He was an absolute idiot. One thing was certain, however, as Virgil finally moved out of the other’s way. There was a definite spark of amusement in the man’s eyes and voice when he glanced back to thank him, before moving on to the armchair just on the other side of the coffee table.

Virgil blushed, quickly sitting once more and trying his best to melt into the couch. Not possible, of course, but he had to give himself props for trying. Deciding he had done enough damage to their interaction, Virgil turned his attention back to the stage where the young man with the guitar was now engaging the patrons sat around the stage.

As the singer started playing and fading into his song, Virgil almost forgot about Mr. Sexy Scientist. No, who was he kidding. There was no way he could actually forget about him. Not with him being so damn attractive. Not with him being so damn close. But, his focus was preoccupied just enough to take his mind off the man, if only for the moment.

That was, until a sound escaped the man, pulling Virgil’s attention back to him once more. Why is he so good looking? Life hated him. That was all there was to it. Putting such a gorgeous, put together man at arms reach only for Virgil to not have any chance in hell with him. The sound that left the man, however, had Virgil’s curiosity piqued. It was definitely a scoff that he had heard come from the well dressed man.

“Not a fan of this kind of music?” Virgil asked, before he could think better of it. He took note that the other had pulled out a book and was presumably reading it. He didn’t even look up at Virgil when answered his question.

“Not a fan of music, actually.”

Virgil raised a brow. There was no way he had heard correctly. “Sorry, what now?”

The man looked up this time, a wry sort of expression on his face. It was the look of someone who had had this conversation on more than one occasion and didn’t find it any more enjoyable than he had the first time. Virgil felt bad, but only a little. He was more curious and so offered an apologetic shrug, but continued to look at the man expectantly.

The man sighed, marking the page he had been reading with a finger and set the book in his lap. His eyes found Virgil’s and it was all he could do to not look away. Swallowing hard, Virgil waited to hear what the man was about to say.

“I’m just not a fan of any type of music. It’s just… not my thing. I guess, classical counts as music and I do enjoy that when I am writing but in the general view of what is music these days, I really can’t say any of it has my appreciation.”

Virgil frowned. How sad to not like any music. The man looked ready to return to his book but Virgil found himself not wanting the conversation to end just yet. Grasping for something to talk about, he took note of what the man had said.

“Writing?”

The man nodded. He continued to watch Virgil but was obviously not about to offer any further information without being prompted.

Just my luck. The most gorgeous man walks into my life and unwittingly challenges all my anxieties.

“What do you write?”

Maybe he was an author?

“I’m a poet.” Suddenly a hand was offered to him from across the coffee table. Virgil took it at the last minute, shaking it and trying hard not to focus on the fact that they were technically holding hands. Too soon, the man pulled his hand back. “Logan Wright. I don’t expect you’ve heard of me but you’ve most likely come across a few of my poems. They’ve been used in various media.”

Virgil could only nod, unsure of what to say. A poet! Not only that but a poet who doesn't like music. As a lyricist, Virgil was of the belief that lyrics were poetry put to notes in order to make a song—to make music.

The man went back to his book and Virgil watched him for a few moments before letting his attention return to the performer. The guy was not the best singer ever but played the guitar like a boss. Still, Virgil could hear the potential and knew well that this man could have a musical career hands down as long as he kept at it. The biggest draw to a singer like this one was that the words could be felt with his voice. That was a quality that so many singers didn’t have but the very quality that proved Virgil’s belief.

He knew he shouldn’t care. He knew well that the likelihood of him ever seeing this man—Logan—again was slim to none. Yet, he couldn’t keep his attention from returning to the man. Every few glances, he would see the other wince or grimace. Virgil wanted to feel offended on the singer’s behalf but instead, he just felt pity for Logan.

The time soon came when Logan stood and asked by him once again. This time Virgil was quick to stand and smiled shyly.

“Hope you have a good day.”

Wow, could I be any more lame?

The man smiled, however, and nodded. “Likewise.”

Virgil then watched him as he headed out of the shop and back into the world.

A few seconds passed, Virgil wishing he had asked for his number or something. Not only that, but the knowledge that the man was missing out on something that was inspiration for millions of people… that just didn’t sit right with him. If only he could spend a few days with Logan… show him what he was missing out on. Prove to him that not all music was bad and so much of it told a story.

Fuck.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Virgil rushed through the shop and out the door. He glanced in the direction the man had gone, his eyes falling on his retreating back.

“Logan!” he called out. The man stopped and turned, tilting his head in a cute manner. Virgil didn’t focus on that, instead starting toward him as the man started back, distance closing between them.

“Can I help you?”

Virgil blushed, suddenly unsure of himself. Was what he was about to propose stupid? Whatever. He would never know until he tried.

“Give me a week.”

Logan snorted. “I’m sorry, give you what?”

Virgil blushed and rushed on. “I mean… in there. What you said about music? Give me a week to prove you wrong.”

Logan blinked and slowly smirked. “And what makes you think I’ll even be here a week?”

That stopped Virgil in his tracks. It never even occurred to him that the man was out of town. He felt himself frowning and was about to apologize when the man spoke up again.

“I mean, I will be, as it turns out, but it is intriguing for you to just assume so. Still, your proposal has me curious. I don’t know exactly how you plan to change my mind, but I do like experiments as much as the next scholar. I do have somewhere to be at the present, but if you give me your number, I will text you.”

In the next moments, Virgil gave Logan his number and watched as he walked away. He had no idea how he had managed it, but now that was the least of his worries.

Virgil now had just under seven days to change the mind of a very hot, intelligent, and opinionated poet.

To say he had his work cut out for him was definitely an understatement.

☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆

Disclaimer: The author does not own Sanders Sides or any of the characters found therein. They are also not affiliated with Thomas Sanders, Joan Stokes, or the Thomas Sanders team. Only the complete story as it is written is the property of the author and is not to be copied or reposted without express permission from the author.

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aloysiavirgata · 4 years

Text

Petrichor

Title: Petrichor

Rating: Explicit

Summary: He could tell her that her prefrontal cortex was the revelation to the thief on the cross.

Spoilers: Early S7

Author’s Notes:This is a casefile inspired by many things. The Season 7 timeline is a mess, I don’t know what else to say about that.

Early November in the temperate mountain valleys of southern Appalachia. The ground is carpet-soft with plush moss, and the hidden pools are still riotous with life. Ree needed only a pullover that morning, her doll Cordelia peering out of an old tote-bag stuffed with scraps of bread and feed corn. Her mother sent a lunch for her too, tucked in with her books and binoculars and a thermos of hot chocolate.

Ree in faded jeans and a lavender sweater picking her way over rocks and pine needles and fallen leaves, watching for the birds she can name and trying to mimic their calls. She points them out to Cordelia, who stares solemnly with blue-glass eyes. There are foxes, but they hide still. Ree dreams of befriending them. She can lure some of the deer within twenty feet now, and wishes she were Fern Arable, from Charlotte’s Web.

She takes a right instead of her customary left, wanting to test her new binoculars from a different vantage point. She skips over tree roots and rocks like a mountain goat, scarcely needing to look at the ground to keep her footing. The path curves sharply for a hundred feet before Ree finds herself at the edge of a wide pond, dense with duckweed. It is bordered with stands of ancient pine, with mossy boulders and half-sunken logs furred with algae. The silence is deep, but not frightening. It feels holy, like church. Godlight filters through the evergreens, the color of new peas. Somewhere, not far, falling water.

“Ohhhh,” Ree whispers to Cordelia. The beauty makes her chest hurt a little. She fumbles in the bag for her binoculars, laying Cordelia on a rock. Bread crusts and pencil ends spill from a loose seam. A rattle of deer corn on the stone.

Binoculars in place, Ree spots a heron across the pond, squirrels peeping from between the gold and red leaves of elm and sugarberry. She recognizes a deer she’s seen many times before, with a wide white blaze down her nose. Sudden movement catches her eye - a slim figure with long hair moving among the trees. Ree adjusts her lenses but cannot focus properly; the figure is blurred, always moving among the evergreen boughs.

The heron again. Squirrels. The deer now much closer. Then a pale ankle, a woman’s laugh.

“Helloooooooo,” Ree calls, braver than she feels. “I’m just lookin’ at birds and stuff! I’ll go if you want.”

Silence.

She chews her lip, uncertain. The woods don’t belong to anybody on paper, but there are chancy folk out here with their own laws. “Cordelia?” she whispers. “What do we do?”

Cordelia offers no opinion. Ree grabs a handful of corn and climbs onto a flat boulder. Just beside it is a little patch of grass, and she hopes the doe will come into it.

The laugh again and this time it’s much closer, just to her left. Were those fingers at her neck? Ree turns to look but tunnel vision sets in, the binoculars slapping hard against her chest when she drops them. The strap twists at her throat and she gasps, her hands springing open in surprise. She slips on the fallen corn and goes down hard on her spine against the rock.

The deer steps into the glade, her unusual face cautious but curious. She knows Ree will not make sudden movements like the others do.

Ree, dazed, watched the deer nibble the corn with her velvet lips. She tries to sit up, but it’s like her brain will not connect to her body. Her feet seem very far away.

Something pulls her hair and she manages a thin cry of pain. She’s freezing suddenly, the world glassy and distorted. Ree opens her mouth to call for help but she can’t; the greenness of the glade is in her throat now, and behind her eyes and inside her blood. The laugh again, so pretty, and then long arms are wrapped around her and Ree thanks Baby Jesus for saving her but oh!

Such teeth.

***

A quick glance in the rearview confirms once more that his hair’s pretty well grown back from the surprise birthday neurosurgery, and at thirty-eight such victories cannot be taken for granted. He tries to peer around the tight curve along the mountain road, but can make out only shadows. The bag of sunflower seeds ran dry twenty minutes ago, but he’s got a couple more in the trunk.

Beside him comes a rustle of paper. Scully’s printed out directions from MapQuest, checking off turns like a shopping list. “Still another three miles before the access road,” she says, not looking up from her trim navy-blue lap. She takes a sip of coffee.

Mulder coughs, says nothing. Things aren’t strained exactly, it’s not that. It’s more a liminal space. Everything’s fine, he tells himself. Everything’s fine.

He checks his hair again.

***

The town is shabby but proud; the roads are clean and there are no cars propped up on the trimmed lawns. On this block a hardware store, a stone church, a fire station, and a bakery. Despite the Fannie Flagg charm, Mulder expects the local homeowners are dying for a Wal-Mart and a McDonald’s. There’s a billboard advertising a newly opened Cracker Barrel, which must count as progress to some.

The Ross home is a small, weatherbeaten clapboard in a stretch of small, weatherbeaten clapboards. Many of the houses have elaborate neo-classical porticoes taller than the actual roof. At the Rosses’, the mailbox is shaped like a dog, with a moveable tail instead of a flag. There are purple balloons hanging limply from its neck. Mulder noses the Crown Vic up the cracked asphalt of the driveway, engaging the parking brake before turning the engine off.

Scully gathers their files, straightens the picture of Rhiannon Ross paperclipped to the manila envelope. Her little face is joyful in the school photograph. She wears a sweater with purple hearts and has sun-bronzed skin. Her big hazel eyes are laughing, framed by golden braids.

“You ready?” he asks Scully.

She sighs. “Are we ever, with kids?”

“Nope.” Mulder straightens his tie. So strange to do these little rituals again, to convey authority and professionalism through a strip of ornamental fabric.

“You sure you’re okay?” Scully asks him again, fussing with a Post-It. “You know I still don’t think you should have been cleared for this, Mulder. You’re scarcely three weeks past severe trauma, and you haven’t even been back to the office.” She looks up, concern furrowing her brow.

He could tell her that when the gyre widened and spun out, it was she who held the center for him. He could tell her that the cool silver stream of her unvoiced voice stemmed the hellish tide of thoughts and premonition that threatened to drown his sentient mind. He could tell her that her prefrontal cortex was the revelation to the thief on the cross.

Instead he crunches on a peppermint LifeSaver, washing it down with the rest of his cold coffee. “I get in the most trouble when I’m left to my own devices. You should be glad for a federally mandated excuse to keep an eye on me.”

She smiles at that. “Fair enough.”

They leave the stale air of the car for the fresh autumn breezes of northeast Alabama, the air so crisp it tastes like spring water. Mulder, a devout New Englander, is wary of the South, but cannot deny this to be a beautiful patch of it.

He puts his jacket on as Scully clips several paces ahead of him, bandbox fresh as always. He joins her on the little porch, and the front door opens before they have a chance to knock. Before them is a lanky blonde woman in worn jeans and a striped blouse. The shadows around her eyes look like bruises, lips papery and dry. For 26 years, these mothers have always been his mother, their homes his house in Chilmark.

“Y’all the FBI people?” she asks. Despite her stretchy vowels, brittle tension suffuses her voice.

“Yes ma’am,” Scully says. They display their badges for her perusal.

The woman nods, then ushers them in. She gestures to a floral couch, taking the chintz armchair across from it. Mulder settles at one end of the couch while Scully, less leggy, perches at the edge of the other. She is a slim smudge in the pastel room.

“I’m Iona Ross,” their host begins, rubbing a chewed thumbnail across raw knuckles. “I’m Ree’s mama.”

Behind her, on the wall, are family photographs. Ree has three older brothers. The largest photograph shows the four children arranged on a park bench, smiling in white shirts and blue jeans. Ree is missing her two front teeth.

A man enters the room, rawboned, with the same wheat colored hair as his wife. He’s got on a gray sweater beneath Carhartt overalls and carries a coffee tray. He has big hands with ropy tendons standing out, and it's clear he’s not used to playing host. His face is haggard.

“This is my husband Wyatt,” Iona says, as he puts the tray on the small table between her and the couch.

Mulder looks at the pristine coffee cups and saucers. He guesses this is their wedding china, only brought out for “best.” That it will be carefully placed back into a breakfront after hand-washing.

Wyatt sits in a blue La-Z-Boy, relieved to be finished with his task. “They told us y’all were the best ones to find Ree,” he says in a choppy voice. He reaches out to grip his wife’s hand.

Mulder, as he always does, longs for this to be true. “I can promise you there is no one at the FBI who will work harder for you,” he says.

Scully smiles sadly in his peripheral vision. “We have the police report, Mr. and Mrs. Ross. But it’s always better if you can walk us through the events yourself.”

“Iona and Wyatt, please,” Wyatt says. “Anyhow, it was Sunday morning and Ree had just got new binoculars for her birthday on Saturday. She, uh, she’s nine now. Real smart little thing, likes nature and all, really likes birds.” His voice breaks. He scrubs at his face with his hands.

Iona takes over, voice raw but steady. “Well, she packed up her little bag with some bird food you know, and her binoculars and some nature books and all. Her doll Cordelia of course, and I made a lunch. She’ll go out for hours in the woods. And whatever, uh, happened it was before she ate ‘cause all the food was there.”

Mulder glances at his notes, just to look at something other than Iona’s desperate face. “The police report says her doll and her bag were found by a pond with the lunch still inside, but her binoculars were missing. The items were found Monday morning by a search party. That’s correct?”

“Yes sir,” Iona replies. “And there was algae all over Cordelia and the bag and the food, even though it was still wrapped up. It was even in the hot chocolate in the thermos.” She looks eagerly from Mulder to Scully. “Y’all think that means something, the algae being on closed-up food? I never heard of it. Maybe it’s like a, whaddya call it, an MO.”

“Unusual details are always good details,” Scully says in her gentle way. “Unusual facts can certainly help narrow things down, Mis- Iona.” She leans forward now, palms splayed over her sharp knees. “I know this next question is painful, but I do need to ask. It says that the pond was searched and that neither Ree nor any of her clothing have been found. But, from the photographs, it seems like there’s a bit of debris in the pond. Logs and large rocks, mostly, and lots of algae and duckweed. Is there any chance that Ree would have gone into it on her own?”

Wyatt gets to his feet. “She ain’t stupid,” he snaps, pacing. “She didn’t do nothing wrong, and despite what you may think, we’re not backwoods morons too ignorant to raise children.” His pain seeps a dark aura into the air, ink through clear water. “Our other three are still fine, you notice. Police report say that?”

“We don’t doubt you at all, sir,” Mulder says. “No one is trying to blame Ree or your family for her disappearance. Agent Scully and I just have to review all lines of questioning to make sure the police have done everything they can thus far. We want to make sure we’re starting from a helpful place as we take over the investigation.”

Wyatt leans against the wall, looking hollow. “Jenny Greenteeth,” he mutters.

Iona, with shaking hands, pours four cups of coffee. “Wyatt,” she hisses. “Not now.”

“Jenny Greenteeth?” Scully repeats, writing it down. “Is that som-”

“It’s an old story,” Mulder says, surprised. “A nursery bogey.”

He is met by three blank stares.

“A nursery bogey is a story created by adults with the specific goal of making children avoid certain behaviors, or to encourage generally good behavior,” Mulder says. He is intrigued by Wyatt invoking the name. “The Namahage of Japan, the Scottish bodach, Russia’s Baba Yaga - all of these legends are about mythical beings who will in some way harm misbehaving children. Sometimes they get specific. Jenny Greenteeth, like the kappa and bunyip, is said to snatch children who venture to close to dangerous water.”

Wyatt is staring at him. “How’d you know all that?”

Mulder spreads his hands in a vague gesture. “These kinds of stories have always interested me.” He feels it best not to elaborate.

“He’s an internationally recognized expert,” Scully chimes in, rather generously. “Can you tell us why you mentioned this particular legend?”

“Don’t mind him,” Iona says, passing around the coffee. “We’re just both about to fall to pieces.”

Wyatt scowls. “I’m telling you,” he says stubbornly. “It’s her.”

Mulder adds cream to his coffee and takes a sip. It’s worlds better than the gas station dregs he just finished. “I know the story of Jenny Greenteeth comes from the north of England and from Scotland. This area has a big Scots-Irish influence, doesn’t it?”

“Yessir. There’s a big Scottish festival hereabouts, and both our families are Scottish from way back. Ree’s named after my Granny Rhiannon. You think that means something?” Iona’s voice is strained, hungry for any morsel.

Mulder shakes his head. “No, not necessarily. Probably not, and I apologize for getting off topic. Wyatt, tell me more about this, uh, theory you’ve got.” He finishes the coffee in a long gulp.

Wyatt rubs his face. “Well, listen. I know how it sounds to me, and I reckon it sounds even crazier to y’all. But growing up around here, every kid knows about the little pools in these hollers. Real deep ponds will spring up practically overnight, I guess ‘cause the ground is weak from all the mining. In the spring you get these real fast streams from the snow runoff. So kids run wild through the woods but they know to be careful. All the meemaws tell ‘em if they aren’t careful, Jenny Greenteeth’ll grab ‘em at the water. She’s got, you know, long black hair and real long arms and green teeth.” He shrugs, a bit sheepish.

“And you think this, uh, this creature took Rhiannon?” Scully asks, managing to sound both compassionate and deadpan at the same time.

Iona and Wyatt exchange a glance.

“Well, there’s a bit more than that,” Iona says, turning her mug in her hands. “Over the summer a woman moved in out in the woods. She, uh, took over some old hunter’s shack not real far from where Ree went missing. Her name’s Tallulah Church. She’s real tall and skinny, probably at least six feet, and I’ll be damned but she’s got green teeth.”

“Green teeth,” Mulder repeats, intrigued. He glances at Scully, who’s scribbling.

“Pale green like jade,” Wyatt says, warming up to his subject. “The kids are all scared of her, call her Jenny Greenteeth ‘cause they know the story. They say the dogs won’t go around there even.”

“A few hunting dogs have gone missing up that way,” Iona adds, her reluctance clearly fading. “Tallulah comes into town every month or so in her station wagon, gets some supplies, then rattles back up into the mountains. She seems okay I guess, just never really talks to nobody.”

“She gives every kid around here the evil eye,” Wyatt asserts, returning to his recliner. “She’s bad news. There’s things going on with her.”

Iona shoots him a hard look. “I’m sure the FBI isn’t interested in a bunch of mountain superstition.”

Scully pipes up. “When you say there are things going on with her, is there anything specific you can point to? Anything stand out in your memory?”

A glance between Wyatt and Iona. “Just gives me a bad feeling,” Wyatt says. “You ever meet people like that?”

Mulder is curious as to what they won’t tell him, but decides not to create conflict just yet. These things always out themselves, but for now it’s clear he’s learned all he can.

He exchanges a quick nod with Scully, who has already closed her notebook. “Wyatt, Iona, we’re going to do our best to find out what happened to Ree. It sounds like talking to Tallulah Church may be a good start. If she lives nearby she may have seen something or someone involved in the disappearance.”

Wyatt snorts. “The police already talked to her. Doesn’t know a thing, they say. Search parties are still out though, and we’re heading out again when we’re done here.”

Scully gets to her feet, and Mulder follows. “Thank you for talking to us,” Scully says. “We’ll review all of this information and be in touch as we can. We’ll let you get back to the search.”

The Rosses rise, hands are shaken. Iona runs her fingers through her hair before crossing her arms tightly back across her chest. “Please bring her home,” she says. “Even - even if…” She trails off, weeping.

Wyatt draws her close, and Mulder and Scully slip past them, barely noticed.

***

It’s just past six by the time they get to their motel, but the sky is black. The parking lot gravel smatters against the fenders as Mulder parks in front of the little office. He gets out to contemplate a luggage cart when Scully emerges. She promptly turns her ankle on the uneven ground, but Mulder manages to grab her by the upper arm before she falls.

“You okay?”

She stares up at him, her breath quick.

Scully glances at his hand and he remembers to let go. She looks away, tests her footing on the gravel. “I’m good,” she says. “I’m fine.”

“Scully fine, or regular fine?”

She smooths her jacket. “How’s your cranium?”

Mulder goes to the office at that, and retrieves their room keys from the drowsy clerk. A part of him hopes the reservation got messed up, that there’s only one room. But both are available, a queen en suite for each. They’re on the first floor around back, next door neighbors, the clerk says. Mulder swipes the bureau plastic and heads back out to Scully, who has found safer footing on the sidewalk.

He passes her the key. “You want to get some dinner? I saw a Cracker Barrel back yonder.” He drawls for her amusement.

“Sure. I want to take a shower first though. Give you a call when I’m done?”

“Okay.”

He wants to kiss her but won’t. He wants to suggest a joint shower to conserve water, but won’t. Her eyes do a quick scan of his face, perhaps reading these thoughts. It would only be fair if she could, really.

Scully grabs her bag and heads to her room. He waits until her door clicks shut before heading to his own.

***

Mulder thought of Jenny Greenteeth in the shower, of skeletal arms grasping at him through the drain. It made the tops of his feet tingle, and he hurried out to towel off.

From what he’s read, Rhiannon Ross seems like a steady, responsible child, unlikely to go haring off through dangerous parts of the woods, or testing the limits of a slippery embankment. And the algae troubles him, the presence of it on her belongings.

Mulder dresses in jeans and a t-shirt, pulling a parka on for warmth. He forgot his hair gel, and his head looks a bit like a startled sea creature. Scully doubtless has something in her portable salon.

She meets him in front of the car, Scully-casual in grey slacks and a black sweater. Her hiking boots put her shoulders about level with his ribs, and he is reminded that the love of his life is built on a songbird’s frame. Mulder recalls the fine velveteen skin at her inner thigh, like the breast of a chickadee.

“Nice hair,” she says.

“Thanks, I’m trying to channel Lyle Lovett.” He strums an invisible guitar.

She slouches against the rough brick of the building, backlit by neon. At her feet are bunches of plastic flowers jammed into the white quartz around the ragged boxwood hedge. “So. Cracker Barrel, huh?”

“Sure, I figured we could sit in the rockers and talk about the old days. Those kids with their jazz and soda pop, am I right? Spit some chaw, vote Republican. Besides, it seems to be either that or a dubious establishment called A-1 Panda Kitchen. The diner closes at 7.”

Scully wrinkles her nose. “Cracker Barrel it is.”

***

There’s a MISSING! flier of Ree on the table, dog-eared and slipped into a plastic page protector. It’s sporting the same school photo from their dossiers. Mulder pushes it gently aside, feeling like he should apologize.

Scully frowns at the menu, taps at it with an immaculate fingernail. “I don’t see how anyone eats here regularly and lives long enough to reminisce about the old days in a rocker. Even the salad has fried chicken in it.”

He remembers when she would cheerfully put away a plate of ribs, but now she cares about fiber and antioxidants along with her tailoring. And her stupid bee pollen crap. “Aw, Scully, you’re citified. Surely you’ve got some kin in these parts. Hardy mountain folk descended from fleeing Irish potato farmers. You can hand le these vittles, little lady. It ain’t possum.” He considers the chicken-fried steak with interest. It comes with gravy.

“Stop talking like you’re on Hee-Haw.” She looks thoughtful. “I suppose there probably are distant cousins out this way, but none that I know of.”

He blows a straw wrapper past her shapely nose, which she ignores with practiced dignity.

“Pork tenderloin, that seems all right.” Scully closes her menu with an air of resignation. She does not like being fussy with her ordering.

The waitress comes by and he commits to the fried steak over Scully’s clear distaste.

“Re-myelinating,” he assures her, handing over the menu.

“That’s not-”

“Shhh.”

They amuse themselves with several rounds of a little peg game, and Mulder decides to purchase one before they leave.

“Mom was pretty calm there, don’t you think?” Mulder drums his fingers on the table. He doesn’t really suspect the parents, but the sad fact is that they’re most often the perpetrators. It at least bears discussing.

Scully shrugs. “Police don’t seem too concerned. Growing up in a house with four kids, I remember my mom keeping her cool in completely insane situations. Charlie had a compound fracture once, when my dad was away. His femur was poking out the front of his thigh, he was in shock, and mom just handled it like a skinned knee until the ambulance came.” She shakes her head, remembering.

“Must be a dominant trait.”

She squeezes lemon into her water, then picks out an errant seed. “Hardy mountain folk. So there’s no body in the pond, she probably wouldn’t have wandered off without her food and doll, and there’s no ransom demand or strange footprints at the site. So where the hell did she go, Mulder? Where’s Ree?”

“I think she was in the water at some point.”

Scully narrows her eyes, suspicious. She twirls a peg between her fingers. “At some point? Not terminally?”

“You know I hate to speculate, Scully,” he says, in tones of wounded innocence.

She snorts. “At last we come to Jenny Greenteeth.”

“It was Wyatt’s idea,” he reminds her, chewing his straw. He is excited by a new monster to mash with Scully.

“Sure, blame the other kid,” she says, with a kind of weary amusement.

“I’m withholding judgement until we talk to this Tallulah Church tomorrow. I’m interested in those teeth.”

“It’s always teeth with you,” she says. She captures two pegs, then looks up at him. She is well pleased with herself, smirky and bright-eyed.

He doesn’t want to say anything. He wants to find Ree, dead or alive, and go home. But he feels pretty sure he can’t do that until unburdened. Holman Hart’s repressed emotions may have controlled the weather, but Mulder knows his own can control the fate of this case. He brushes his fingers against her palm. “Scully.”

Her expression tightens, but she doesn’t respond.

“We have to talk this out.” He is concerned with where it may lead, but this particular truth is in her. He no longer doubts her feelings at this juncture, only her willingness to do anything more with them.

Scully sighs. She toys with a sugar packet. It amuses and aggravates him that she can pore over dead infants and handcuff mutants to her bathtub with little discomfiture, but talk about emotions and she squirms like a kid in church.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk out, really,” she says, terse.

She wouldn’t, of course she wouldn’t, and there are times he could wring her swan-like throat.

“Well, humor me then,” he says, with exaggerated patience. “Because you woke up in my bed two weeks ago wearing nothing but smudged makeup, and we’ve been avoiding any real mention of that. And now that I’m properly back to work, I’d kind of like to know what the hell we’re doing.”

She looks around, like anyone’s listening to two weary Feds on a Wednesday night. “I really don’t see any reason to have this conversation right now, Mulder.”

The waitress delivers their food and, sensing tension, scurries away.

In the past few weeks he’s thought back to that hellish summer when a bee had saved Scully from addressing the fact that she’d clearly been willing to jump his bones before skipping town. Well, anaphylaxis wasn’t going to rescue her this time. “Why are you being like this?” he asks, as though she’s ever different.

She leans forward, piqued. “Like what? Not wanting to talk about my… my… personal life in the middle of an Alabama Cracker Barrel while looking for a missing child?”

Her personal life, Jesus fucking Christ. “You’ve been avoiding me other than some medical check-ins since you left that morning, so I’m trying to figure out what happens now. Come on, Scully. It’s not like I left those underwear on the desk for you before we headed out here.”

She blushes, bless her, and talks to make him shut up. “I can tell you that I don’t regret what happened.” Scully applies herself to the tenderloin with an intensity usually reserved for the mysteriously deceased.

Mulder knows it’s the best he’s likely to get from her at the moment, that he’s pushing her to give him something he can’t even define. But he remembers with longing the intricate ocean of her thoughts, the fractal beauty of them as they wove into his own. He was still bathing in the quantum entanglement of her when she’d checked his pupils that evening, when he’d kissed her in the certainty that she’d drop both her little flashlight and her guard.

Scully had kissed him back like a mermaid with a half-drowned sailor.

He looks at her again, knows that he sees only the surface of her now. “Scully, I’m not asking you to go steady.”

She laughs a little at that, looks up at him with wary interest. “So what do you want, then?”

It’s a damned good question. He has general ideas of lying in bed with her while she declaims on the marvels of the quadrupole ion trap. He would like to map her freckles, like a star chart.

“For now I’m just glad to know you don’t regret it,” he hedges.

She searches the ceiling for inspiration before returning her cool gaze to him. “It was absurd of me to act like nothing happened, to treat you like any other patient since you weren’t back at work. It was easy to ignore what we… what happened. I’m sorry, Mulder.”

She still can’t say it, he notices. But it’s something. “Your other patients are dead, Scully. So I’m a special case no matter how you look at it.”

There is warmth in her eyes. “You really are,” she says.

***

Scully’s got their peg game in a Cracker Barrel bag on her lap. Mulder had wanted to stockpile cheese blocks and sausages against future car trips, but she had put her foot firmly down. “Do you think we’ll find her, Mulder? Her remains, probably, but still. It would be something for the family.”

He shrugs. It’s hard to separate hopes from expectations sometimes, especially in their line. “I really don’t know. We need to get a better look at the area she went missing, and I’m pretty curious about this Tallulah woman.”

“Children can have green teeth if their mothers took tetracycline during late pregnancy,” she tells him. “It crosses the placenta and binds to the calcium in the fetus’s developing teeth.”

He grins at her. “Only one alternate explanation? You’re slowing down in your old age, Scully.”

Scully bares her little fangs. “Neonatal hyperbilirubinemia.”

“Attagirl.”

***

He parks around back this time, right in front of their dreary rooms. “I figure we’ll head out around 9 or so tomorrow,” he says. “Let the air warm up a bit before we hit the woods.”

Scully nods, yawning. “Pond first, or Tallulah?”

He considers this. “I think it’s best if we have the lay of the land when we talk to her.”

“Okay.”

Mulder turns the car off, but they stay in their seats with the inertia of food and time difference and mental exhaustion. Even the lost children they manage to bring home are haunted afterwards. It’s hard to imagine a good outcome here.

Scully unbuckles her seatbelt, turns to him with sleepy eyes. She yawns again, then reaches out to muss his hair. “Come by in the morning,” she says. “I’ll help you out.”

She goes to her room then, the bag dangling from her fingertips. She doesn’t look back at him before she shuts the door.

***

He stretches out on the bedspread, mulling over her words at dinner, and annoyed at himself for the distraction from Ree Ross. What could he have expected from this, though? Scully’s not Diana. Scully wouldn’t flaunt their shared bed to other agents, wouldn’t drape herself over his desk while reading grimoires and classified documents. Christ, he could marry her and she’d probably think a wedding band was unprofessional at work, his uptight darling.

It’s strange for Diana to be dead. He’d stopped trusting her in the final hours of her life, but he didn’t want her dead. She was a rare and capable creature, however dangerous. She was solitary and sleek and fast.

He recalls the choices he’d made what she glided back into his life, her ruthless intellect and legs as long as a midwinter night. He recalls Scully’s face when he swore Diana was playing a long game, all for a nobler cause.

He recalls the dusky labyrinth of her mind and what he saw at the center of it; a beast slouching towards Bethlehem to be born.

***

Diana slips through his dreams again, but not in bridal white, not with the round belly of Taweret. She is dead, but not the dead of his other visions. She is weeks dead, greying and skeletal. He can see patches of bone through her ragged dress but her eyes, her eyes are vivid and whole and the color of cabochon emeralds. They are luminescent in the nightmare forest of his dream, beckoning him. It is a leafless forest, bleak, with bony-armed trees looming over him.

He finds her in a blackwater creek, standing in the middle of it as the water surges past her calves. She smiles at him with too many teeth. “Hello, Fox,” she says. She bats her lashes. “I apologize for my appearance, but they didn’t embalm.”

“Do you need help?” he asks her, casting about for a long branch.

She shakes her head, hair still lush and glossy. The water rises up her legs.

“Is this real? I mean, are you a ghost or is this all in my head?”

The water whips around her thighs. “What’s real?” she asks. “Perception is reality. If you believe it to be true, it’s true enough for government work.” Diana laughs at her own joke.

A white deer walks up to him, with softly furred antlers like fresh snow. It looks at him with black-irised eyes, wet and bottomless voids. There may be constellations in them. Mulder reaches out to stroke its muzzle as Diana looks on. The deer opens its mouth and dried corn comes pouring out.

The water swallows Diana then, before receding fully. She lies on the bank as he remembers her, whole and striking. Her dead eyes are their usual smoky blue, her dress no longer decomposed.

He wakes up when the ground swallows her.

***

Morning, bright and chilly in the mountains with light of a purity that never touches DC. He remembers a dream with Diana, with water and deer and a general sense of Jungian dystopia. It’s nice to see his subconscious branching out from its usual reruns of family fare.

Wary of fungal spores embedded in the matted carpet, he steps into his untied dress shoes and clomps to the bathroom wearing nothing else but his boxers. He brushes his teeth in the tiny sink, then wets his unruly hair.

There’s a knock at the door and he groans. “Just a minute!” he yells around the toothbrush. He hopes it’s someone with the extra towels he asked for.

Mulder clomps back towards the door and, lacking a peephole, he pops it open a fraction to accept his linens. Instead of the housekeeper he’d been expecting, he finds Scully kitted out for a hike, brandishing a canister of mousse.

Cold air sweeps in with her laugh.

“Good morning to you too,” he grouses, ushering her in. He secures the chain when he closes the door.

“Nice outfit,” she says brightly. “What’s with the shoes? Is this a formal hike? I wasn’t sure because you’re not wearing pants, but…”

He scowls, sitting on the bed. “You’re mighty chipper. I’m trying to avoid athlete’s foot, if you must know, and I couldn’t find my socks.”

Scully rummages through his bag for a pair of thick socks, which she tosses to him. She gestures at the bed. “May I?”

“Not if you’re going to be mean.” He kicks the shoes off and tugs the socks on.

Scully sits beside him, shaking the can of mousse. “Thought I could do your hair before we prank call some boys. French braid?”

Mulder stands to pull his jeans up, and the weight shift makes her bounce a little on the mattress. “Let me have that mousse.”

She gestures for his hand, then sprays a lilac-scented pouf into his cupped palm.

“Thanks,” he says, and scrunches it into his hair. He styles himself before the dresser mirror while she watches, amused.

“You left before my beauty regimen last time,” he remarks.

In the mirror, Scully shakes her head but doesn’t seem bothered. “I made some calls this morning about Tallulah Church. There’s no phone or plumbing up there, but the sheriff’s office said she’s usually right around her home. And the motel clerk drew me a map of how to get to the pond from the access road, then how to get to Tallulah’s.” She waves several crumpled papers.

He pulls a t-shirt over his head, then a fleece. “Aren’t you a busy little bee? Looks like someone’s getting her cartography badge this week.” Mulder returns to the bed to put his boots on.

“I’ve got evidence vials too,” she says, producing them from her pockets. “We’re going to find out what happened to Ree.” Her eyes are big and solemn.

Scully masquerades her tenderheartedness as honor, but Mulder didn’t need a God Module to know why she took that terrible dog in years ago. The depth of cold Dr. Scully’s compassion would shock their colleagues, and he likes this secret knowledge about her. Even Skinner, who reveres her only just below the Constitution, underestimates the fierceness of her empathy.

“What?” Scully asks.

Mulder cups her splendid jaw, thumb at her sphenoid bone. He kisses the space between her eyebrows, and she makes a small noise.

“We have to go,” she breathes, and is outside before he can stand.

***

Not a word about it in the car, just miles of silence broken only by Scully giving directions. The drive ends in a flat patch of dirt by the forest’s edge, a scrubby path poking out from the ferns and overhang.

“Our little forays into the forest never end well,” she observes. “But at least tick season is winding down. After you, Mulder.”

He pushes into the woods, holding branches back so Scully doesn’t get smacked in the head. “Been a while, though. We’re tougher now. We’re hardened woodspersons.”

“And I have a lighter,” she adds.

He grins. “Show off. Hey, how far is it?”

Scully consults her map. “Well, we’re coming at it from a different angle than Ree would have probably taken, but this is the most direct. Looks like maybe a hundred yards up ahead before it opens into a clearing.”

The path unfolds as she said, and suddenly a storybook pond is before him. Squirrels frisk in the branches and birds call to each other across the glen. The surface of the water is velvety with duckweed, like a perfectly clipped baseball field. Shafts of sunlight illuminate red and white mushrooms at the bases of oaks, the feathers of golden-green ferns. He sniffs the air, lush and tannic.

“Oh, wow,” Scully says, coming up behind him. “Mulder, this is unreal. It’s like a Waterhouse painting.”

They pick their way down to the edge of the pond, startling several fat bullfrogs and a garter snake. “Imagine being a kid here, Scully.”

She shakes her head, admiring. “It’s a Wonderland. I’d be out here all the time too.” Scully crosses her arms, staring upwards with a rapturous expression. “From what her dad said, Ree’s a lot like I was as a kid. I didn’t have my own binoculars though. Had to steal Bill’s.”

“Fuck Bill,” he says cheerfully. “You deserved them.”

They circle the perimeter, looking for...what? He never quite knows. The pond makes gentle rippling sounds as the local fauna heads for deeper water under his scrutiny.

Scully pauses at a section of churned-up dirt. She squats for a better view, pokes delicately at the earth. “They made a mess of this, Jesus. At least they had enough sense to band their shoes.” In the dirt, distinct tracks marked with horizontal rubber band lines around the soles distinguish the CSI team’s prints.

Mulder crouches bedside her, spots something golden half-buried in the soft ground. “Tweezers, Scully?”

She passes them over and from the ground he plucks a kernel of deer corn, half coated in dried algae. “Mulder, look. There are more of them, maybe twenty, all pushed in or smashed on this rock. And most of them have algae on them.” She frowns. “The footprints on the ground over it, they’re not marked and they’re too small for an adult.”

Sure enough, there’s a mess of kid-sized sneaker tracks all over where the greenish corn is, muddy smears on the rocks adjacent. They’re algae-covered as well, and too far from the water for such a coating. He stares, thinking.

Scully, meanwhile, is labeling tiny evidence jars in pencil, filling them with samples of algae and earth and corn. She finds the cap of a glittery marker. “Who processed this crime scene? Ray Charles?” She seals it up, tags it.

“No kidding. Hey, look. There’s a gap between those two big boulders over there. If you wanted to watch someone and hide, it would be a good spot. You think they searched it?”

She snorts with derision.

“Me too. I’m gonna go take a look. You stay here. Sit on that rock there, it’ll put you at about Ree’s height.”

Scully passes him a few vials and a pencil, settles on the rock. “I think this is where she left Cordelia, based on the photos, though they were mostly closeup. I don’t remember any good overviews.” Some algae remains on the rock, and Scully looks sad.

Mulder jogs around the pond as best he can, but the bracken is heavy and he has to climb over a few logs. Is it really so crazy to think Ree tripped and fell out here, slipped quietly into the pond and snagged on a submerged rock or branch? Lots of little nibbling things in the water; it happens.

His mind returns to the algae. But if Ree went in, how did it come out? Who stepped all over that deer corn?

He’s between the boulders now, with a clear view of Scully across the way. He walks a little grid by the boulder, looking for bits of trace evidence. Snagged hair, footprints, forgotten belongings, anxiously chewed nails. But there is nothing. Either he misjudged the hiding spot, or the perpetrator has been very mindful of Locard’s Exchange Principle

“SCULLY!” he calls, setting off flurries of birds.

“MULDER?” She scans the area where he’s hidden.

“CAN YOU SEE ME?”

“NO!”

He climbs up one of the rocks, waves to her. She waves back from her perch. From atop the boulder, he scans the ground below. There aren’t any footprints but, squinting, he can see trails of dried algae along the edge of the ferns, where the rocky area begins.

He calls Scully over, and she moves through the forest as lightly as the squirrels. He points at his finding when she arrives. “That’s weird, right?”

She scoops some up in a vial, the holds it to the light. “Maybe she was playing at the edge, got her hands dirty, went to wipe them, and slipped.”

Mulder shakes his head. “That doesn’t explain the algae on the unopened food, Scully.”

“It could have been simple contamination. Her parents say she’s out here all the time. If she uses the same thermos and bag, brings the same books and toys, it’s not exactly far fetched to think some of it remained from last time and grew in the sun. Busy mom with four kids, how thoroughly is she going to scrub everything down for a kid who’s always outside? Algae are extremely tenacious, and it was out here in the sun for about 26 hours.”

He gazes at the duckweed, lets his vision swim until everything is a green blur. “Maybe,” he says. “But I want to talk to Tallulah.”

“Greenteeth was my delight,” Scully sings, appallingly off-key. “Greenteeth was my heart of gold.”

“You’re a riot,” he says dryly. Delightedly.

“Exposure to copper or nickel,” Scully says, clambering over a log. “Septic cholestasis.”

He might marry her after all.

***

Tallulah’s little shack looks old as the mountains, with log walls and a shake roof. There’s a tiny porch tacked on the front, and a wall of firewood being gnawed by two spotted goats. They stare at Mulder with their rectangular-pupiled eyes.

He reaches out to pet them and startles when they bleat loudly at his overture. They scamper off behind the house.

Scully pokes the toe of her boot into a plastic bucket, rights it. “Her car seems to be here,” she observes, indicating a battered old Volvo wagon.

“A European car, no wonder everyone here hates her.”

Scully smirks.

They walk up to the house, Mulder withdrawing his identification. It generally gets a snappier reaction the further West and South it travels, but Mulder is also wary of a demented libertarian streak that runs through the country at odd intervals. Seams of it appear throughout Appalachia, and federal agents of various stripes have been fired on by feistier residents.

Scully, thankfully, is a quick draw and a dead shot.

They don’t get the chance to knock before a woman who must be Tallulah Church stands before them on the other side of the screen door. She’s close to Mulder’s height, thin to the point of emaciation, and pale enough to make Scully look freshly tanned. She has beautiful black hair to her waist, and eyes the color of ferns. They seem too bright in her gaunt, colorless face. She’s dressed in a Huck Finn ensemble of castoff men’s work clothing. On her hands are faded canvas gardening gloves.

Mulder shows her his badge and introduces them. Scully wordlessly displays her own identification.

Tallulah grins widely, her teeth perfect and straight and pearly green. “Well come on in,” she says, turning back into the house. Her feet clomp loudly in their heavy boots.

Mulder glances at Scully, who still seems taken aback by this gawky apparition. He holds the door open and they follow Tallulah into the house.

The little shack creaks with every step, and smells of woodsmoke and earth and herbs. The interior walls are the same weathered gray as the outside. The whole thing is just one room, with a bed in one corner and a kitchen consisting of a fireplace, a dry sink, and a table with several mismatched chairs. Tallulah is occupying a black metal one, and her impossibly long, thin limbs make Mulder think of Jack Skellington. He can’t tell if she’s twenty or fifty.

“Sit down, please,” she says. “The table’s not much but I reckon it would be weird to offer you the bed.” She smiles again. Her voice is as drawling as everyone else in town, but there’s something different about it, something strangely polished and almost British.

They take their seats. “Miss Church,” Scully begins.

“Tallulah, please.”

“Tallulah. Agent Mulder and I are investigating the disappearance of Rhiannon Ross. She went missing on Sunday morning. Given that you live not far from the area where her belongings were found, we wanted to ask you some questions.” Scully opens her file folder, pen poised like a hovering dragonfly.

Tallulah levels her remarkable eyes with Scully’s. “No ma’am. I know who Ree is, it’s a small town and she’s out here a lot, but I didn’t see her that day. Real nice little girl though. She feeds the deer sometimes.”

Mulder perks up. “Yeah? We saw some deer corn out where she went missing. Did you see her feeding them that morning?”

Tallulah sighs. “No, I’m sorry. As I’ve told the police, I didn’t see a bit of her on Sunday. Which is sort of odd itself, because she’d always be out on a day like that. Too shy to come up to the house, but she liked to watch the goats. They’re not even mine, but I leave them food and water, so we’re friends now.”

Behind her, on the dry sink, Mulder notices green smears of moss or mildew. Or algae.

“I know you’ve spoken to Sherriff McLeod already,” Scully continues. “So we appreciate your patience.”

“It’s a terrible thing for a child to go missing,” Tallulah says, shaking her head. “I wish I did have something to tell, but I just don’t. I’ve seen the search parties around - I guess they searched the pond.”

“You say you knew who Ree was because it’s a small town, but I got the sense you didn’t mingle much with the good townsfolk,” Mulder observes.

Tallulah chuckles at this. “No sir, not much, which suits them and me just fine.” She lifts her hands to eye level and wiggles her bony gloved fingers. “They think I’m spooky.”

Mulder smiles in spite of himself. “I know a little bit about that. So tell me, Tallulah, you from around here?”

She shakes her head. “Not from anywhere, really, but I was raised outside Savannah in a rich ladies’ orphanage. That’s why I sound like Dixie Carter.”

“An orphanage?” Scully repeats.

“Yes ma’am. I was left at the Baptist Ladies’ Home when I was a day or so old. Nothing with me but a plastic laundry basket and a gingham tablecloth. They said I was a frightful looking little thing.” She smiles ruefully, showing them her green teeth again.

Scully, true to form, tackles that bull head on. “Tallulah, I’m also a doctor, and I’m compelled to ask about your teeth. Do you know why they’re green?”

An expansive shrug. “Oh, the doctors that saw us there had all kinds of ideas of what was wrong with me, but I never got anything official. Marfan Syndrome, that was one.” She snorts. “‘Course, the other kids heard Martian and with the green teeth they decided I was an alien.”

“There’s a genetic test for it now,” Scully says. “You could find out for sure.”

Tallulah chuckles again. “Thanks, Doc, but it doesn’t matter much. I feel just fine. Always have, and I don’t plan to have any kids. I’m twenty-six and haven’t had anything worse than a cold.”

Mulder watches the Doc jot this down and he returns to the subject at hand. “So you moved here over the summer. Where’d you live before this?”

“Oh, gosh, just lots of tiny towns like this one. I find these empty little cabins, you know, and stay for a while. Then I move on when I get restless.”

“The Rosses said you come into town every so often to get supplies and gas. May I ask where you get the money for that?” Scully looks up to ask this.

Tallulah looks sly. “I don’t know that I want to discuss that with the FBI,” she says.

Mulder exchanges a glance with his fellow narc, who nods imperceptibly to any eye but his own. “We’re just here to find Rhiannon,” he reassures Tallulah. “Not do the DEA’s job for them. Neither Agent Scully nor I wish to fill out extra paperwork.”

Tallulah considers this, glancing between them. “Well,” she says at last. “I reckon you could say I’m real good with plants; I can coax anything to grow. And in boring little towns there’s, uh, a lot of people who like plants.”

Scully looks unimpressed by this attempt at euphemism. “Plants,” she repeats.

Tallulah shrugs. “I’ve said as much as I’m going to on that subject without a lawyer. But anyhow, what’s that got to do with Ree?”

“Just trying to get to know a bit about you,” Mulder says. “Sometimes we find witnesses have seen things they don’t even realize they’ve seen, and talking generally can help.”

“I know everything I’ve seen,” Tallulah asserts. “You live out here like this, you don’t miss much. It’s not like I have a lot to distract me.”

“What were you doing last Sunday morning, then?” Mulder asks.

She shrugs. “Woke up, ate, got dressed. Went over to the pump for some water.” She gestures at some distant point through the back wall. “Then I went looking for some mushrooms and things to eat. Eggs. Lots of greens out there.”

Scully narrows her eyes. “Ree was in the woods that morning too. You’re certain you didn’t see or hear anything?”

Tallulah scoffs. “The woods are pretty big. Might as well say we were both in Alabama.”

“Wyatt and Iona are under the impression that you don’t like children,” Scully says. “Have there been any particular incidents that would make them feel that way? Any encounters with Ree? It must have been irritating to have her running all over the edge of your property.”

“No, she’s all right and besides, it’s hardly my property. Scared of me like the rest of them, but all right. I like the way she is with animals, real gentle and all. Got a kind heart, that girl, and I wish more were like her. But here’s the plain facts. My mama didn’t want me, none of the parents who came to the Home wanted me, the other kids thought I was an alien, and I learned to just keep mostly to myself because I can take a hint. I go walking outside a lot, do some fishing in the little ponds and all, and that’s how I know who Ree is. You know the kids call me Jenny Greenteeth.”

“We’d heard that, yes,” Mulder says, feeling uncomfortably sorry for Tallulah. He knows empathizing with suspects is his weakness, and that it drives Scully up the wall.

“It’s not the first time, won't be the last. But I know Ree’s daddy thinks I hurt Ree. He’s pretty disapproving of my...plant business and I think he half believes that stupid old fairy tale.” She rolls her eyes.

“I saw you had a whole lot of firewood,” Mulder says, shifting gears. “You staying here all winter?”

“I never know, but I’d like to. Doubt I will though, with this, uh, situation.” She picks at her gloves. “People can start to get unkind.”

Mulder gestures to the dry sink. “Seems kind of damp. Looks like you have some mold or something growing over there.”

The three of them follow his finger with their eyes, where bright green streaks the wall and sink. Mulder sees that there is far more than he originally noticed, spread over much of the wall all the way to the bed.

“Oh, yeah, these places always are,” Tallulah says. “You can always find these old cabins if you look a little, but it’s hard to keep them snug. Part of why I move so much. They just sort of collapse around you.”

Mulder glances at Scully, and they agree in a blink.

“Well, I wouldn’t move any time soon, Tallulah,” Scully says in her Bad Cop way. “And I’d take a break from business until the situation - as you called it - is sorted out.”

Tallulah looks uncomfortable, but nods. “Yes ma’am.”

“Thanks for your time,” Mulder says. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

They rise from their rickety chairs and head out the front door. On his way past the bed, Mulder opens an evidence vial and scrapes it along the wall to gather a film of algae. If Tallulah notices, she doesn’t remark.

The sun feels over-bright after the dim cabin and, squinting, they pick their way carefully back to where they parked. One of the goats is on the hood of their rental.

Mulder is delighted by this, if only because he can write “GOAT ATTACK” on the return form. He hopes it will find its way across Kersh’s desk and make him chug Mylanta straight from the bottle.

Scully, far more vexed, begins throwing fallen pine cones at it.

“Nice arm,” Mulder says. “Try bringing your knee up next time.”

She glares at him, exasperated. “Where’s a chupacabra when you need one?”

***

They’re back at the Cracker Barrel, playing Pegs, with Ree’s flier propped up against the napkin dispenser. Scully is picking at an anemic salmon fillet, and eyeing Mulder’s chicken fried steak with disdain.

“You know you want a bite,” he says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy.

She looks irked. “I didn’t have time for a run this afternoon because I was on the phone with the eponymous Baptist Ladies.”

“I wasn’t going for leisure,” he says with an air of wounded dignity. “Talked to a lot of people while I was out and about. The crotchety old ladies on their porches love me, I’ll have you know. I’m charming, for a Yankee.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “They just thought you looked good in your running shorts.” She pauses, then looks mortified.

“Oh yeah? How about you; you think I look good in them?” She’s so easy to torment sometimes and besides, he’d kind of like to know.

“Your vanity needs no help from me,” she says primly. “So what did you hear?”

“Nothing official, of course, but there are rumors that the oldest Ross siblings, the twin boys, were getting weed from Tallulah, so Wyatt has it in for her.”

“Plants,” Scully corrects. “Geraniums, probably.”

“Doubtless. Some people think Ree stumbled onto Tallulah’s crop and Tallulah killed her, but given the fact that the geranium sales are an open secret, it’s pretty unlikely.”

“Plus I doubt Ree would know it if she saw it,” Scully adds.

“She might if her brothers are dope hounds with the reefer madness, Scully. Mary Jane. Grass. Wacky tobaccy. It’s ruining good Christian families.” He shakes his head somberly. “Ganja.”

“Devil’s lettuce,” Scully adds and, for whatever reason, this undoes them both and they dissolve into laughter.

This earns them startled glances from nearby patrons who seem to generally disapprove of their dark clothing and clandestine ways.

It feels incredible to laugh. Less than a month ago his head had been cracked open like an oyster while Scully and Diana played Spy vs. Spy. And here he was now in this awful little town, safely away from all major conspiracies, having had carnal knowledge of the enigmatic Dr. Scully, and he had just won at Pegs.

And Scully thinks he looked sexy in his shorts.

She is glaring at the peg board when he asks about her phone calls. “So what’d you learn, other than a tuna casserole recipe and how to tease your hair?”

“Weird stuff, your favorite.”

“Lay it on me, mama.”

Scully settles back in the booth. Delivering information is her comfort zone. “Well, Tallulah’s basic facts were right enough. She was left on the front steps of the Home in a white laundry basket. By the look of the umbilical stump, she wasn’t a hospital delivery. No one was ever able to identify her parents. But about a week before she appeared, a baby girl went missing from the Home. There were no signs of a break-in, and the baby never turned up. Everyone just assumed her parents had taken her back and the whole thing was swept under the rug.”

Some quick math, and Mulder realizes this wasn’t long before Samantha went missing. He frowns, and Scully’s expression makes it clear that she’s done the same calculation.

“It was April,” she offers gently. “In the South.”

“Go on.”

“The woman I spoke to said Tallulah did have lots of problems with other kids, but not just for her appearance. She did get teased for the teeth, but apparently she was an aggressive kid. Biting, pulling long hair. They went to the Y once a week for swimming lessons, and Tallulah would drag kids under the water under the guise of playing. She was banned from the pool eventually.”

“Jesus,” Mulder says. “Someone needed more time with Mr. Rogers.”

“Oh, is that how they addressed abandonment issues at Oxford, Dr. Mulder?” Scully asks, archly.

He grins. “Hey, the NHS budget isn’t unlimited. So how’d she end up here?”

“Well, apparently when a kid turns 18 they give them some money and set them up with a job in the community, which isn’t a bad situation. But Tallulah took off at 15, said she was sick of handouts. The Baptist Ladies put the word out, but Tallulah was good at hiding and was 19 before anyone found her. And only then by sheer accident - a former employee bumped into her in Macon, Georgia.”

“Were they able to tell you about her movements at all in the intervening decade? Places she’s lived?”

Scully shakes her head. “No, and there’s no records on her at all. No arrests for anything as minor as vagrancy or trespassing, much less dealing. Her fingerprints aren’t in the system. She’s like a ghost. I was going to call the sheriff’s office to ask about the weed, but I thought better of it. I don’t want to walk into anything unprepared.”

He sighs. “I’d like to look at missing child cases in the past ten years, ones where the kid went missing around freshwater. We’ll narrow it to prepubescent girls.”

She nods. “I’ll see what Danny can scrounge on ViCAP. The Baptist Home is supposed to be faxing Tallulah’s medical records, thin as they are, and I want to see what I can pull out. Oh, and here’s another thing. Marjorie - that’s the woman I spoke with - Marjorie said Tallulah was always going out at night to wander in the woods. Her bed and storage cabinet were always covered with green stains and - get this - what appeared to be gold dust. Her hair was wet and had algae in it, like she’d been swimming in a pond or lake. No matter what they did, she’d manage to get out. Eventually they gave up because she kept returning and it seemed to keep her violence down.”

Mulder considers this. He’s had an idea since yesterday that he’s been hesitant to voice, but what the hell? “I was thinking about her gloves when we visited this morning.”

Scully raises a non-committal eyebrow.

“Hear me out. All of Ree’s stuff was covered with algae, right? And there was algae where it shouldn’t be at the crime scene and all over Tallulah’s wall. She said she’s good with plants too, right? What if algae grows when she touches things? What if that’s why she was wearing gloves when we came by?”

Scully puts her fork down. “She’s an algae witch?”

He sighs. “I’m saying it’s maybe a...like a manifestation of something else. It’s something she can’t control.”

“Let me guess. You think the missing baby was taken by Tallulah’s unearthly mother and that Tallulah is actually a changeling left in her place. She’s from a race of some kind of evil water fairies, and has stolen Rhiannon Ross as her mother stole the other child twenty-six years ago.”

A slow smile spreads across Mulder’s face. “Scully, are you trying to get me back in bed?”

She reddens, rolls her eyes. “Textbooks could be written about your deviance.”

“Oh, no doubt. But details aside, you have to admit there are some weird details there.”

“All our cases have weird details. But the algae is notable. I’d like to take some samples from Tallulah’s cabin and compare it to the algae on Ree’s belongings. I’ll have to see what equipment the sheriff's office has. We’ll need to send some out for DNA testing to be sure, but I could at least do some microscopic analysis. It could place her at the scene.”

Mulder passes her the little vial he’d collected that morning. It’s fuller than he remembered.

“Sneak,” Scully says, approvingly, sipping at her Diet Coke.

“I know you like bad boys. Apropos of which, why do you think the sheriff has left Tallulah alone about this weed thing? I mean, this doesn’t seem like a hip and swinging town, does it?”

“I was wondering that too. And Wyatt never mentioned it either. I’m also wondering why, if we go with your hypothesis, Tallulah would steal a grade schooler rather than a baby. And Mulder, that cabin was one room. There’s nowhere she could have stashed a child. What’s more, shouldn’t some changeling child should have shown up by now? I mean, by your logic.”

Mulder wipes his plate with a roll. “I admit there are complex facets involved here,” he allows. He has ideas percolating, but they need more time to steep. “But whatever the reasons she may have had, there’s no one else who even seems remotely likely. No dubious strangers in town, no evidence of any kind at the crime scene. No one I talked to today indicated there were any grudges with the Rosses.”

Scully curls back into the corner of their booth, looking modish with her dark clothes and sleek hair. “I hate this,” she says. “Autopsies are so clear. Manner and mechanism. You just read the body and it tells a story. Sometimes it’s a challenge, but it’s always there. Missing persons are nightmarish, especially children.”

Mulder, as he is prone to do, thinks of Addie Sparks. “Missing still has hope, I guess.”

She looks chagrined. “I didn’t think, Mulder. I’m sorry.”

He hates that his missing sister has consumed her life too. Hell, Melissa was murdered and Scully’s moved on in a relatively healthy fashion. “No, don’t be. I just mean that there’s cruelty there, in that hope. Schroedinger’s crime, you know. That last heart of Roche’s is the end of someone’s hope, only they’ll never know.”

She reaches across the table to take his hand in hers. “The sense that an answer exists but isn’t knowable is a miserable feeling,” she says. “Especially if it’s an answer that could redefine one’s status quo if only it were revealed.”

He’s pretty sure she’s not talking about the case now, and traces her fingers with his thumb. “So you wanna kill this thing, then? Perform a post-mortem, write it up, and move on?” He doesn’t want this, but at least he’d know.

Scully draws infinite circles on his wrist with her nail, and gooseflesh rises over his body. “Hope doesn’t have to be painful,” she murmurs to the table. She looks up at him with her summer sky eyes in the fading autumn light.

Mulder’s heart squeezes hard, then expands. “It’s kept me going for a long time, even when it is,” he tells her.

She nods, lets go of him. “The motto of my first profession is hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae. But I tend to forget the maxim that should drive the second one.”

He has a flashback to scanning the plasma-vivid mind behind that perfect face. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Dum spiro spero,” she says.

“While I breathe, I hope.” He smiles.

They get the check and go to the car.

***

The drive holds the easy silence of a pizza hangover, the kind when they’re wiped out on Scully’s couch with half-eaten slices and paperwork on the coffee table and floor.

Scully has her feet propped up on the dash and her seat reclined. She has a manila folder on her face, her eyes closed.

He thinks, as he sometimes does of late, about what a shit he was to her after Philadelphia. He’s never asked if she knew then that she was dying, but he’s always suspected she must have.

All he’d known at the time was that she’d blown him off for a good-looking psychopath, let the man brand her like cattle, then poured her herself into his bed. He’d hated Jerse for the bruises on her face and body and psyche, but the man was under guard and therefore beyond his rage. He siphoned some of it onto Scully instead, for daring to need more than him and for seeking it. He wanted it to be about the desk because he could have given her the fucking desk. He could have easily fixed that without having to fix anything else between them. He could have kept going in a straight line instead of trying to make a map.

He thought of her in Jerse’s arms, in Jerse’s bed. Beaten by Jerse’s fists. He imagined the needle biting into the flawless canvas of her back and leaving that turning serpent there. He noticed that it went in a circle and at the time, he’d let that be about him too.

Later, when he understood that she was even more ephemeral than he feared, fits of self-pity left him wondering why she went for Jerse instead of him. Surely she knew he was available for emotionally destructive sex if that’s what she craved before dying.

But it turned out that sleeping with her had been like losing his virginity all over again. In twenty years or so, if they were still alive, he might find the balls to tell her that.

***

Scully yawns when he parks the car, batting the folder off her face. “I was awake,” she insists.

“Very convincing,” he assures her.

She swats his arm, straightens her seat. “I’m wondering if she was dealing elsewhere, maybe giving a kickback to LLE. Someone gets wind, she gets kicked out of town and moves along to another friendly hamlet. You know how these networks run.”

“Local law enforcement,” Mulder sighs. “The eternal bane of my existence. It would certainly explain a few things.”

“And if the Ross twins really are buying, you can see why Wyatt wouldn’t mention it to us. He can throw her under the bus without dragging his kids in too.”

Mulder rubs his eyes. “But how does it all come together? I mean let’s say Tallulah slides into these little towns, she deals to make ends meet. Pays some kickbacks. But why risk it on a serious crime like kidnaping or murder? This is the South, Scully. They do not fuck around, and kidnaping’s federal.”

She shakes her head, still frustrated. “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for Danny, I guess. I’ll leave him a message when I get back to my room. The internet connection out here is a nightmare, so maybe he can dig it up while I’m at the lab.”

Scully unbuckles her seatbelt, but makes no move to leave the car. She plays with the edge of the folder. “I know you said you weren’t looking to go steady, but now that I’ve put out I was hoping I could get your varsity jacket.”

He feels some of the tightness leave his neck at her willingness to play. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s a pretty sweet jacket. That’s more than a one-nighter. Maybe if you swing by in a cheerleader outfit I’d think about it.”

She looks up, smiling one of her rare smiles that show her teeth. “I think my mom still has my high school uniform in mothballs somewhere.”

He tosses his phone onto her lap. “Call. Now.”

Scully laughs her throaty, chuckly laugh. “Good night, Mulder,” she says, opening her door. “See you tomorrow.” She passes his phone back and slips into the dark.

He grins all the way to his room.

***

Diana comes to him again that night. He finds her at the edge of a meadow on a large rock, a vivid rainbow overhead. She wears a floor length evening gown of shimmering gold fabric, and her flesh is whole. She pats the rock, inviting him to sit.

“Hello, Fox.”

He scowls, sitting. “As a manifestation of my subconscious, you could have the decency not to call me Fox.”

She laughs. “As an alleged manifestation of your subconscious, maybe you just want to be acknowledged as a fox by a desirable woman. How is Agent Scully this evening?”

“Spare me. Nice dress, Diana.”

She stands up and twirls. The gown flares out from her graceful waist into a narrow bell. Her feet are bare. “It is, isn’t it? It’s cloth of gold. Very Eleanor of Aquitaine, I think.”

“Is it heavy?”

Diana sits back down. “Oh, yes. Terribly heavy. And costly.”

He rubs it between his fingers. The fabric is stiff and itchy, like tweed. “Well, nothing’s too expensive when you’re dead, I guess.”

“Not expensive. Costly,” she corrects.

He furrows his brow. “Okay. What’s the difference?”

She shrugs. “It’s just that the cheapest way to pay is usually money. Some things cost much more than money. Surely you know that by now. But there’s no need to be dour, Fox. It’s beautiful out, and look at the rainbow.”

He does. “Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers, and me,” he sings softly. Even in his dreams his voice is terrible.

Diana gets to her feet again, spinning in the grass. She starts to twirl faster, her hair whipping out around her. Her skin greys again, her face turning cadaverous, and little crawling things flying from her into the grass.

Mulder scuttles back from her on the rock, repulsed but captivated as she becomes a formless blur.

Then she stops, stares at him from her cavernous eye sockets. Her bony chest is panting.

“Diana?” he breathes.

She steps towards him and flickers back to her earlier smooth-skinned appearance.

Step.

Flicker.

Step.

Flicker.

He is transfixed.

“Is it real, or is it Memorex?” she muses.

Step.

Flicker.

He wakes up gasping before she can touch him.

***

He’d hoped this kind of shit would end with his neurosurgery, but apparently his subconscious is tenacious. Unless it’s not his subconscious, in which case he needs to get some tips from Scully, who sees an awful lot of ghosts for someone who doesn’t believe in them.

Yawning, he gets the in-room pot gurgling and clunking with whatever factory sweepings pass for coffee in the sticks. The room fills with an aroma reminiscent of burning tires.

A knock at the door distracts him and he opens it to find Scully holding two styrofoam cups steaming from their plastic lids. “Went for a quick run,” she says, stepping under his arm into the room.

He shuts the door.

“Mulder, prop that door open. It smells like wet asphalt in here.” She sets the cups down and turns the coffee pot off with a look of contempt.

“Ah, Scully,” he says, sipping from the cup marked M.

“You can take the car today,” she says. “Someone from the sheriff’s office is giving me a lift to the lab in Huntsville. It’s about an hour each way, so I doubt I’ll be back before dark. What are your plans?”

“I want to talk to Tallulah again,” he says.

“Watch out for those goats,” she warns darkly. “I think the little one cost us the deposit.”

“I’ll bring pine cones.”

Scully frowns, steps closer to him. “Mulder, you don’t look so good. Are you feeling alright? Maybe you should have them bring her into the station for questioning instead.”

He waves her off. “Bed’s not great,” he says. “I’m just tossing and turning some, but the coffee should perk me up.” He takes a large gulp. “Mmmm, perky.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re a liar, but if I try to actually examine you you’re just going to be cranky or perverted. At least make sure your phone’s charged so you can call me if you keel over or something.”

He pouts, preemptively deprived of the opportunity for a predictable playing doctor joke. Damn her. “You suck the fun out of everything,” he informs her, sitting on the bed.

She walks over to him, standing between his knees. She puts her empty coffee cup on the night stand, then grips his t-shirt with both hands.

He swallows.

“As your physician, I ask that you try not to die in a stupid and avoidable fashion,” Scully says. Her mouth is inches away. She shakes his shirt for good measure before leaving.

He goes to the shower and stays there for some time.

***

Mulder stops off at the farm store where Scully obtained the coffee. He selects a raspberry danish, then adds a loaf of fresh bread and some local milk in a quaint glass bottle.

“Five dollar deposit on the bottle,” the clerk informs him. Fahv dahlah dipawsit.

“What’s it made of, crystal?” he grouses, swiping his card.

“You that FBI guy?” the clerk asks suspiciously. “It’s pasteurized, it’s perfectly legal milk.You can test it.”

“It seems fine,” Mulder assures her. He’d had no idea that there was a black market in milk. He takes his bag and makes for the door.

“It’s not homogenized though,” she calls after him.

Mulder takes his unhomogenized, perfectly legal milk up into the mountains.

***

Tallulah’s chopping wood when he pulls up. She has on the same Carhartt overalls Wyatt did, and thick leather gloves this time. There are splinters and sawdust in her long braid. She’s not a bit beautiful, but has an appealing serenity.

“Hey,” Mulder says to the goats, who have come to sniff him. He scratches the big one behind the ears. The little one makes for the car.

Tallulah straightens up, wipes her wrist across her brow. “Mornin’, Agent Mulder. Where’s your partner?”

“She’s the science half of this outfit,” Mulder says. “She’s peering at things through microscopes and running them through unpronounceable equipment.”

“Like that algae you scraped off my wall?” Tallulah sounds amused.

“That would be one of the things, yes.”

She frowns thoughtfully. “You sure that doesn’t violate the Fourth Amendment?”

“California v. Greenwood says I can search your trash,” Mulder informs her. “Besides, you invited us in.”

“Like vampires,” Tallulah observes, and adds the split wood to her growing pile.

Mulder holds out the bag containing the bread and milk. He ate the danish on the way up. “Here,” he says.

She takes his offering and peers in. “What’s this?”

“Call it a belated housewarming gift,” he says.

Tallulah looks at him for a long moment. “You know, some of the old mountain women believe it’s wise to leave a little offering of such homey treats to the Good Folk. Oh, they go to church of a Sunday and preach the gospel just fine, but come Saturday night, there’s little biscuits and butter at the forest’s edge, wrapped all in leaves.”

“I heard something about that,” Mulder says. “I guess it’s like wearing suspenders and a belt.”

She wipes down her hatchet with a faded bandanna, then puts it in a little storage bin next to the house. “Funny what people believe, isn’t it?”

“Funny.” He doesn’t take his eyes off her, even when the little goat jumps on the hood of his car.

Tallulah opens the milk and takes a deep gulp of it from the bottle. “That’s very good,” she says. “Now your partner would roll her lovely eyes at such a thing as you’ve brought, but she’ll kneel for wafers and wine.”

Mulder doesn’t ask how Tallulah knows this. “There’s a five dollar deposit on the bottle,” he says. “All yours, since you’re out of business at the moment.”

She smiles greenly at him. “Come in, Agent Mulder.”

He follows her up the steps and into the cabin, looking at her round-bellied stove, the faded patchwork quilt on the narrow brass bed. Mulder sees the appeal of this simplicity, a pared down life to strip away all foolish distraction. He recognizes his own romanticization of it, a rich boy with summer homes and an Oxford education wanting to play at Saint Jerome. He also considers that the Unabomber went to Harvard and lived this way too. Minimalism may not be inherently enlightening.

Tallulah is sprawled in a chair, her steel-toed boots kicked off. Mulder sits at the table across from her, bread and milk between them. A ham and a cleaver are out as well.

“You hungry?” Tallulah asks. “That ham is from Sam Oakley out by the grain elevator. Just delicious.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Can she come back?” he asks, without preamble.

“Agent Scully? Any time she likes, though I’d ask for more of that milk if she does. I’ll pay you the deposit.”

Mulder senses a shift in her demeanor. She’s not the friendly, country orphan any longer. There’s mischief rising in her, something tart and maybe wicked. Her posture is languid rather than awkward now.

“You know what I mean, Tallulah.”

She works on loosening her braid. It’s hard in the thick gloves. “You mean Ree. You still think I know something about that.”

Mulder realizes that she is enjoying herself, remembers that the fay are supposed to love riddles and wordplay. “Well, we can talk about something else. I heard the Ross twins are customers of yours.”

She laughs. “The thing I absolutely love best about people is that they make rules to stop themselves doing everything they long for, then do it anyway while pointing their lying fingers at the next fellow for the same. I don’t really need the money, but I do think it’s funny to watch these fine upstanding people condemn me with one hand and pay me with the other. It’s pleasurable money to spend, and it passes the time.”

Mulder’s anarchic soul cannot deny the schadenfreude. “I notice you used third person instead of first.”

“I don’t make those kinds of rules. I just sell the devil’s lettuce to all comers without judgement. I do like to watch them chase themselves in circles, but I’m not a hypocrite.”

Devil’s lettuce. His neck prickles. “No? What are you then?”

She smiles, and her mouth has too many teeth in it. They seem very thin now. “I’m the apple in the Garden,” she says. “This realm has made nothing but trouble for my folk, and I like to pay back mischief as I can.”

Tallulah slowly takes her gloves off and balls her hands into fists. She opens them and pieces of gold ore are in them. Closes her fists, opens her fists. She pours the gold onto the table and the pieces are streaked with algae.

He stares, awed. Shaken.

Tallulah holds his gaze. “Do you want some of it, Agent Mulder? Everyone else does, and it only costs a little. Can you offer me a most beloved child? The ring finger of each hand? All the memories of your sister?”

“Where’s Ree?” he chokes out.

Tallulah continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “Maybe there’s something else you want? A love spell?” She winks a green eye. “But you don’t really need it. She wants this as much as you, Mulder. When you kissed her she felt only relief and lust in equal measure. My god, she rode you like it was the Kentucky Derby, skirt around her waist and her breasts tight to your chest.”

Tallulah reaches up to stroke his cheek and he jerks his head away, appalled.

“How do you know all of these things?” His voice is scarcely a whisper and his stomach is lurching.

“A little ghostie tells me,” she says, and mimes an hourglass woman in the air. “Don’t think she realizes she does it though.”

Fingers trembling, Mulder retrieves three iron nails from his pocket. He’d pried them out of the floor at the motel, and now he brandishes them, hoping. Dum spiro spero.

Tallulah looks at them and hisses. “Cold iron!” she shrieks. “It binds my magic!”

Then she snatches them from his hand and eats them, laughing.

He is too shocked to be frightened.

“Don’t feel bad,” Tallulah says, consolingly. “You’re not the first. Listen, you’ve looked through lots of one-way mirrors, right? Interrogating?”

He nods, not yet trusting himself to speak.

“Okay, well, imagine stacks of it. If you were standing on a tower of it, shiny side down, you could see to the bottom.”

Nods again.

“Attaboy. Now, if you were under that tower, looking up, you couldn’t see through up to the top. Hell, you wouldn’t even know there was a tower. One layer or a hundred would look the same. All you’d see was your own reality reflected back.”

Something is starting to coalesce in his brain. “You… your people are looking, uh, through to us, but we can’t perceive you.”

“Oh, looking down is much more accurate,” Tallulah assures him. “Like how you know ants exist and find them interesting, but they have no understanding that you exist because they’re tiny and stupid.” She looks smug and takes another drink of milk.

“Why are you telling me this?” He hates her, but he still wants her to talk.

She reaches across the table, caresses his hands with gentle fingers before he pulls them back. “Because no one will ever believe you and so it amuses me for you to know,” she says sweetly. “You can see up through the worlds piecemeal, I think. Bits of the whole, like the Louvre through a keyhole. Your partner will say this was a hallucination brought on by recent brain trauma. Your superiors will laugh at you - at least aliens are masculine and slightly scientifically respectable. But fairies? Oh, dear.”

For a fraction of a fraction of a second, she wears Diana’s skeletal face.

Mulder feels hot bile rise in his throat, but forces it down. “Where’s Ree?”

“The sheriffs in these silly towns never even remember our bargains, of course. They harass for my little game with the ganja, but then no one can recall why I’ve been picked up, and they apologize and I go. Some like babies, to start fresh, but not me. I like to know what I’m getting. I only take one a year, and they’re good ones. Sweet girls who love the woods and water. I was nineteen before I could make the gold come, so that’s only seven. You’ve seen worse then seven. Remember Roche, Mulder?” She changes her face to remind him.

The bile does come then, and he vomits on her floor.

“Rude,” she says mildly, and water pours from her fingers to wash it away and out the front door.

He fights nausea and dizziness. “Give them back. Give me Ree, Tallulah. Just let me take Ree home.” His hair is soaked with sweat and he’s terrified it will be Goldstein all over again. He pulls his gun anyway. Can she turn it on him like Pusher? Scully will be very angry with him if so.

Tallulah is unconcerned. “I don’t hurt them, you goose. I take them up through the looking-glass, so to speak. It’s beautiful there. It’s safe for them. They deserve better than to live with the people who look the other way for thirty pieces of gold. A bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, really. Or is it a Catch-22? I’m not much of a reader.”

“Ree,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. He puts his finger on the trigger.

Tallulah grabs the cleaver and chops her hand off. There’s no blood. “Shoot me,” she giggles, and he passes out.

***

It’s still light out when he awakens in his car, just past two-thirty by the dashboard clock. There’s a glass of sweet tea and a slab of pound cake on the console. Feel better, reads a note in a fine copperplate. Sorry for the shock. Had to run an errand, but you should eat and drink before you drive or you might crash. Don’t worry - there’s nothing wrong with it. But no need to die in a stupid and avoidable fashion. Thanks again for the gift. I might return the favor.

Mulder eats and drinks. He figures if her food is poisoned or enchanted, he’ll be spared explaining to the Rosses that their daughter was kidnapped through an interdimensional portal as a sacrifice to the greed of public officials and the amusement of a wicked fairy.

The cheapest way to pay is money.

The snack is revitalizing and he sits until he feels his blood sugar level out. He wonders if Tallulah would have killed him if he’d met her empty-handed. He wonders if Ree is really alive somewhere, or if it’s just a game.

A headache has begun pulsing deep in his temple, like the throbbing brain of IT on Camazotz. Mulder fumbles his sunglasses out of the glove box.

He puts them on, filtering out the worst of the light. He breathes through his nose, massages his temples like Scully used to do when her tumor became rowdy. He begins to relax, the nausea and pain subsiding. His eyes slide closed as he digests the morning’s events.

“I’m sorry,” Diana says, her hand on his thigh.

He sits bolt upright and she’s next to him, her long legs cramped in the Scully-configured seat.

“I’m not asleep,” he insists to both of them, looking wildly around. Tallulah’s house, the mountain, the forest - none of it has the surreality of a dream.

Diana strokes his cheek gently with her cool grey fingers. “I’m going now,” she says. “I thought I was helping, making it up to you after a last betrayal. But it turns out…” she shakes her head.

“Diana, wait. Are we here or am I sleeping? Do you know where Ree is?” He hears his own panic and fights it. “Diana, just help me find her. Don’t leave yet.”

She presses her lips to his temple, murmuring.

“Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow —

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;”

Agent Diana Fowley fades away then, into the quiet peace of nothingness.

Mulder never feels himself waken, never feels a shift in consciousness. She’s simply vanished and he’s alone to finish the rhyme.

“Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?”

***

His drive back has a frenzied, febrile quality with saturated colors and echoing sounds. He is sweat-soaked and shivering when he gets back to the motel.

Mulder kicks his boots off and crawls into the bed. He draws the covers up under under his chin and falls away into the dark.

***

He wakes to her light fingers smoothing hair from his forehead. The sky outside is dark and starry, but it’s not even seven.

Mulder blinks, confused. “Scully?”

She’s sitting at the edge of the bed, in her dark trousers and a grey top. Her face is serious. “Mulder, I’ve been trying to wake you for an hour. You were burning up, but the fever seems to have broken. Did something happen?”

Everything. “No. I think you were right. I just came back to work too soon.” He gives her what he hopes is an appealing look.

Scully smells a rat but doesn’t push. She presses her fingers to his wrist. “I want you on antibiotics. I’ll call the pharmacy in the morning. They closed at five.”

He nods. “What did you find on the algae?”

She strokes his hair again and he feels like purring. “Nothing much. There were a few different strains at the pond but only one in her house. And a common one at that. It’s no good for linkage, I’m afraid, though I had them run a couple other tests. Nothing in the medical records they sent either - she’s as healthy as she says.”

“Well, did you get anything from Danny on disappearances?”

She stops petting him to get up and retrieve a piece of folded paper from her jacket pocket. “I found a dozen that look possible, and six that match the details of this case pretty closely.”

He pats the blanket. “Come back and show me some more of that famous bedside manner.”

She snorts, but returns to her perch. “Here, look. I highlighted the six that look best. Called them too, and gave Tallulah’s name and description to LLE. None of them recognized the name or description.”

Of course, Mulder thinks. Of fucking course. “Betcha we’d get a different answer if we asked people who live there.”

Scully frowns. “What does that mean? You really think police departments from 6 towns are all embroiled in an elaborate web to protect a very low level weed dealer? Mulder, come on. I know you love a nice sexy conspiracy, but I think the best answer is that there’s some kind of drifter active in the area. I say we turn the whole thing over to NCMEC and go home. You look awful and there’s nothing else we can do here.”

He presses his hands to his face. Fuck, fuck. He looks back at Scully. “I mean this lovingly, but please do not say anything condescending until I finish my undoubtedly insane rambling, okay?”

She narrows her eyes. “I should have let you sleep.”

Mulder props himself up against the pillows. He’s still chilly. “Okay, so there’s this concept of something called the Teind. It’s um…shit.” He stares at the bathroom door for a moment.

“Mulder, when you’re hesitant to share a theory, it gives me grave concern.” She scoots higher on the bed, crosses her legs. “But go on. The Teind.”

“So the idea is that there are other worlds - other simultaneous realms - that are layered over this one. Like a multiverse, okay? Like Schrödinger. You love Schrödinger, right? And Brian Greene?”

She purses her lips.

Mulder barrels ahead. “Okay, so. So one of these realms is what is sometimes called Faerie, or Elfhame. And our world, the so-called Christian realm, is constantly encroaching on theirs. Every seven years the Lords of Elfhame must pay a tribute to the Lords of Hell. This tribute ensures that the Christian realm with not destroy Elfhame and that the Lords of Hell will keep the Christian realm in check. I think that’s what these seven girls are - I think they’re tributes, or possible tributes. Maybe there’s a big pool created, I don’t know.”

Scully says nothing and it makes him nervous.

“Scully?”

She flops back beside him on the bed, gazing at the ceiling. “It’s a prettier story than drowning or murder or sex trafficking,” she says. “I mean sure, it’s essentially a complex pagan mafia real estate kidnaping scam, but it’s still better.”

He pulls the blankets up to his chin.

Scully turns, props herself up on her side to look at him. “What in the hell did Tallulah say to you, Mulder? Because I have to say, this is pretty far down the garden path even for you.”

He wonders if it’s even worth it. “She was able to conjure objects, Scully. Gold in her bare hands.” He has enough sense not to mention the cleaver.

Scully scoffs. “My dad could pull a quarter out of my ear.”

“She said that LLE knew she was taking these girls and she gave them gold for looking away. That the weed thing was just for her amusement, stirring the pot. So to speak.” He grins at his own unintentional joke.

Scully scoots closer. “Mulder, what am I going to do with you? Don’t you think it’s much more likely that this woman is part of a larger drug and prostitution ring, tasked with procuring children for those up the chain? I believe there could be payoffs - small town cops are overworked and underpaid. But payments to the Lords of Hell? Realms? If she did show you gold, she was probably trying buy your silence as well but didn’t realize you’re too incorruptible to even notice, you stupid noble idiot.”

He feels oddly pleased by this assessment. “Well, can we at least agree that she probably is involved?”

Scully runs her finger down the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”

“And that whatever the source of funds, there are payoffs happening?”

She traces his eyes, his brows, his lashes. “Yes.”

“And that 1977’s Elvis in Concert is grievously underrated in terms of both quality and significance?”

She strokes the corner of his mouth. “Absolutely.”

If he does have a brain infection, he couldn’t care less if it means dying in bed like this. “Get under the covers,” he demands.

She sits up. “I’m afraid not.”

“No, Scully, we were doing great while you kept saying yes to everything I said. Let’s try again and get back in the groove - can we agree that Kate Capshaw in Temple of Doom was a tremendous step down from Karen Allen in Raiders?”

She smiles. “Not even negotiable. But really, I’ve got a fax coming in up at the office and you need to rest. If we get stuck here because you end up with some exotic encephalitis, so help me god.”

He takes her hand as she gets up. “So you’re really ready to hand this off?”

Scully sighs, squeezing his fingers. “Look, the fax I’m waiting on is from Danny. I asked for a ViCAP cross reference on any unsolved sexual assaults or attempted abductions that dovetail with those missing girls. If nothing else, I think there’s a real case there that needs to be put together. It was a good call, Mulder.”

“If I go to sleep like a good boy, will you let me have one more chance with Tallulah?” He bats his lashes at her.

“One More Chance With Tallulah sounds like a Barry Manilow song. I’ll tell you what - I’ll check on you later and if you still haven’t got a fever I’ll allow it.”

He crosses his heart and lets her go.

***

He dreams a memory.

Two weeks past, and he’s sprawled on his couch while Scully afflicts him with acts of medical science. She’s administering neurological tests, bruising him halfway to gangrene with a pressure cuff, and siphoning off enough blood to keep her bucktoothed sheriff happy.

“Scully,” he laments. “Your healing will be the death of me.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she says, with her usual bedside warmth. “You’re a week past a very serious brain trauma, and you refused to stay in the hospital because you’re an idiot. So you’ll put up with me and you’ll like it.”

He does like it. Looping into her mind with that fungus had been nothing like this. Her heart is an open wound that she constantly stitches back together to make it through another day. The amount of fight in her is enormous, and she channels into a broken and thankless world.

She loves him, and what surprises him is that it isn’t the inevitable pair-bonding of proximity and isolation. Scully thinks about that sticky June day in the hallway too. Finishes the thought, sometimes, pinned to the wall like a butterfly with his fingers in her hair.

Pretty hot, Scully.

She’s bent over him with her tiny flashlight to check his pupils and his tracking, a corner of her lower lip tucked behind her front teeth. She leans forward, her brow furrowed at some minute anomaly. He stares at the arabesque of her collarbones, the two lines that circle her white throat.

“Mulder, keep your eyes up,” she says in doctorly annoyance.

He does, and he doubts it takes psychic ability to read what’s onhis face

She runs her tongue over her top lip, and it’s like a circuit closes.

His hands are at the back of her neck, her waist, pulling her towards him as he sits up. He kisses her like should have ages ago, reckless and open-mouthed and decisive.

Scully drops the flashlight and kneels next to him on the sofa. She sips at his mouth with her cool little tongue, slides her fingers through his hair. She stops short at the bandage and pulls away. “Mulder,” she says, ashamed, and moves to get up.

He grabs her upper arm, far harder than he means to. She gasps, and not at all unhappily. He had not seen this in her directly, but he had suspected.

“Let me go,” she whispers. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You’re not well.”

She’s close enough for him to see her hard nipples through the silk, her dilated pupils. He keeps his eyes on hers while uncurling his fingers from her bicep.

She swallows.

He reaches out to undo the minuscule pearl buttons on her blouse. He’s always loved the high drama of women’s clothing, like a puzzle box.

Scully says his name again.

“Go,” he tells her, as her shirt falls open. He slips his hands under the fabric to plane her back and waist. He’d touched her here in Antarctica, but not like this. He tongues the tight stretch of her navel, breathes in the hot scent of the skin beneath her bra. It’s astringent with her tea-tree soap, sharp with her sweat.

She’s on her knees still, her fingers back at his stubbled jaw, his earlobes. She’s dipping her head to kiss his hair while she makes little animal noises.

“Go,” he repeats, and she doesn’t.

He unhooks her bra, a simple white satin affair, and she lets go of him long enough to pull it off with her shirt.

It is with difficulty that Mulder sits back to look at her. Her belly is flat and taut, her breasts full above them. They are lightly veined with the blue of her eyes, her nipples the color of late raspberries. Around them is the fine, crepey skin of her areolae, puckered tight. Her head is tipped forward, glorious flame of hair falling around her fine Roman face, full lips parted.

He’s hard to the point of pain.

Scully watches him watch her, reaches behind her back to unfasten her skirt. She laughs.

“What?”

“It’s stuck, Mulder. The zipper’s stuck.” She tugs more forcefully, her breasts shifting as she moves.

He half assumes this is the ghost of Ahab at work, denying the FBI the last vestige of his daughter. Mulder pulls at the zipper too, but it doesn’t budge.

Scully reaches under the hem of her skirt and works her stockings and underwear down. She tosses them away like snakeskin.

His cocks twitches in his jeans with seven years of potential energy. No pretending he hasn’t wanted her since she stripped down to her good-girl cotton panties in a panic, but it’s so much more now.

Pulls his shirt off, then tugs her onto his lap. She’s infertile and knows his medical records better than he does, but he asks anyway. “Condom?”

She shakes her head, runs her light hands over his chest. He could come from this alone, the weight of her bare ass on his lap and the sensory overload of breasts and hands and scent.

He groans when she sucks at the tender skin below his ear. “Scully, I’m pushing forty and I think it’s only fair to warn you that-“

She’s opened the fly of his jeans. Mulder raises his hips, Scully still on his lap, to work them down with his boxers. The cool air on his cock is torment.

Time slows, drips like honey, then stalls entirely. Scully’s eyes are wide, focused, as she moves herself over and around him. Her head rolls to the side, then forward. She sighs something blasphemous from flushed lips.

Mulder bites his tongue until it bleeds to ensure he’ll last longer than the average teenager. Perhaps her next thesis can be on the frictionless surface of her own body, the impossibly slick heat of it. He wants to taste her too, but that would require not being inside her and god help him, he hasn’t got the willpower for that right now.

Scully’s head is against his neck, panting humid nonsense into his ear while her breasts are flattened to his chest. He holds her at the hips, letting the sinuous flexion of her spine have its way with them both.

He’s embarrassingly close to ending this, and clenches his nails into his palm. Scully bites at his neck, his earlobe, and there’s no resolve left. He groans something mindless as he clutches her body, shudders and twitches as she squirms around him. Mulder holds her tight to his hips, grinding up into her with the kind of surging napalm pleasure he’d forgotten was possible. Her little bare feet squeeze his thighs, and the universe condenses to her hundred and ten pounds of exquisite physiology. His head falls to her chest and he slips out of her with a groan.

He could sleep for days, but instead reaches between them under her skirt to find her clitoris. She so wet his finger slips at first. Scully squeaks, a little chirp, and finds a rhythm with him that pleases her.

She arches her back away from him, her hips forward, and he is awed anew. Her hair tumbles between her shoulder blades, her breasts bouncing softly as he strokes her.

He says her name, sotto voce, and slips two fingers inside her. He shifts his thumb to her clitoris, presses his fingers to the ridged tissue of her g-spot. He writes his name there a dozen times.

She whimpers, and he leans forward to draw the hot little bud of her nipple into his mouth. He sucks at it, grazes it with his teeth. Scully comes with a gasp and falls against him, shuddering. She licks his neck, mouth on his ear and his lips.

He envelops her with his arms and draws the Navajo blanket around her narrow shoulders. He holds her, listening to her heart and lungs as they slow to normal. He smooths her tumbled hair.

She runs her fingers along his bandage again. “Are you okay?”

He has literally never felt better in his life. He feels like a lord of creation, like Adam striding through the Garden of Eden to survey his dominion. “I’m fine,” he says, in her snippy voice.

She laughs, burrowing closer. “You have a bed, don’t you?”

Mulder slips an arm under her legs and another behind her neck. He lifts her as he gets to his feet, carrying her like a bride. She’s such a central force in his life, the mass around which he orbits, that it is odd for her to be so light.

He kicks his bedroom door open and lays her out face-down on the comforter. “Let’s work on that skirt,” he says.

Somehow he’d forgotten about the tattoo. The burning red mouth that marked the beginning of their darkest times together, that portal to her lonely trip north. He pushes aside the memory of what he’d said, the photographic evidence that came home with her. There be dragons, the old maps say.

He kisses it and she flinches. He prays it isn’t shame. Or fear.

With careful maneuvering, he breaches the zipper and tugs the skirt away. She rolls to her back again, her body spilled across his dark blankets like a shaft of errant starlight. He is pleased to note she has eschewed the recent fashion for shaving oneself utterly bare.

He gets to his knees, pulls her to the edge of the mattress by her hard little ankles. She starts to speak, but he cannot hear once her thighs are tight against his ears.

In the morning, she will disappear with the dew.

***

Her cool palm on his cheek wakes him and it takes an unhappy second for the dream to snap away. He’s uncomfortably hard and rolls onto his side for some relief. It’s eight by the bedside clock.

“Hey,” she says, sitting down. “You okay?”

He clenches his left thigh until there’s pain, and it helps. She looks tired, he notices. Drawn and weary from too much bad coffee and too little proper sleep and feeding. He ought to make her take a vacation where she gets wrapped in seaweed and fed organic mangoes by beautiful castrati.

But for now, they’ll have to manage on motel moisturizer and takeout. “Do I smell pizza?”

“Indeed. Just wanted to see if the fever was gone first.” She squints at him. “You look a hell of a lot better. Did you take something? I might be able to hold off on the antibiotics; I know what they do to your stomach.”

He stretches. “Well, just in case, thanks for checking my forehead instead of going rectal,” he says. “Sometimes you have a slight sadistic side.”

“When was your last prostate exam?” she asks sweetly.

Mulder sits up. “I didn’t know that was your scene, but I’m open-minded. Let’s go.” He peels the covers back, feeling like he needs a long run to revive himself from the day. He hates being idle for so long, and his clothes feel stale.

Scully realizes she’s overplayed her hand and wrinkles her nose. “Let’s preserve the magic on that for now. You okay to get up, or should I bring the pizza here?”

He’s not freezing anymore, and his head isn’t throbbing. “I’ll get up,” he says. “I’m starting to

feel like one of those consumptive Victorian heroines.”

“Mmmm,” she says. “Maybe I should leech you and give you some cocaine for that.” Scully goes to the little table where the pizza box is sitting. She opens the lid, and hot greasy air wafts out.

Mulder gets up and walks over, scuffing his socks along the drab oatmeal carpet. He zaps her with his finger and she scowls.

“Ugh, go back to bed.”

He can’t help himself when she’s his favorite toy and part of his brain will always be an arrested 12 year old idiot. He flips the chair around to straddle it, resting his elbows across the back. ��What’s that, mushroom and pepper?”

“And pepperoni on half for you.” Scully disdains the greasier meats herself, but will treat him on occasion.

Mulder realizes he’s starving and rolls a piece up like a burrito, demolishing it in four bites before Scully’s done blotting the grease off of her own.

“I’m not performing the Heimlich maneuver if you choke on that,” she says, delicately peeling off two slices of pepperoni that have contaminated her mushrooms. She holds them out to him.

Mulder snaps them out of her fingers like a trained seal. He rolls another slice up, gesturing with it. “So I’m cleared to go nose about more tomorrow, right?”

She tweaks his nose with her oily fingertips. “You’re certainly equipped for it.”

“Right for the gut. We can’t all look like we were carved from marble, I’m afraid. You’ll have to deal with my hideous deformity as nature presents it, Roxanne.” He eats half his pizza, then wipes his face.

Scully finishes her slice. “Did she really show you gold this morning, Mulder?”

He nods, swallows. “Yep. And you said that woman you talked to told she’d show up after nights out streaked with algae and gold dust. Maybe she was, I don’t know, developing her powers. You said she was missing for a few years.”

She considers this. “I think indicates that she herself was being abused or exploited in some way from a young age, Mulder. I mean, if you can access it, unmarked gold is a nearly untraceable currency and good in any market. They start giving her little cuts, get her dealing in her teens to build trust and rapport with kids. It’s a trafficker’s dream.”

He hates that she’s not wrong, and it’s got nothing to with defending his theory. He’s got a reputation as a bleeding heart in many corners, but would happily support supplying child predators as involuntary organ donors. Punching Roche had been a career highlight.

“You have to concede that the linkage between fairies and gold goes way back.” Diana’s rainbow suddenly makes sense to him, and he feels stupid. “I mean, leprechauns, of course. And Rumplestiltskin - who wanted a baby in exchange for gold, I might point out. The original story of Cinderella features bewitched golden shoes instead of glass. Jack climbs the beanstalk for a golden harp and a golden harp and golden coins; there are dozens.”

She rolls her eyes. “Mulder, for heaven’s sake. These stories are all about wish fulfillment. And gold was the ultimate wish, it’s a universal currency. Of course if people are going to create stories about strange, powerful beings with the ability to fulfil desires, those desires will be about financial freedom. I’d say those tales represent far more about human longing than fairy powers.”

“I saw her do it,” he says, but doesn’t press the issue. “You hear from Danny?”

“Yeah, nothing. It’s like whomever took the girls vanished along with them. No reported drifters, no unfamiliar cars, no uptick in petty thefts or break-ins.”

Mulder jabs at the table with a finger. “It’s not a drifter, Scully. We agreed on that.”

“Right, but if it’s Tallulah, then these girls have to go somewhere. She has to be meeting someone, she can’t just - I don’t know - keep them in her little cabins like a stray dog indefinitely, then drive out of town in her Volvo.”

“Well, on that point I cannot argue. I’m going to talk to her tomorrow, see if there’s anything else she wants to unburden. We need to touch base with the Rosses too, I guess.” He eats her discarded crust.

“I can stop by while you’re charming precious metals out of Elfhame.” She’s looking up at him through her sooty end-of-day lashes, the tip of a pizza slice between her teeth.

His stomach flips. Leave it to Scully to arouse him at the weirdest possible times. “Scully, why’d you leave?” he asks, because he wants to know and because she let him put a chip in her neck, and because she smells like tea tree oil and jasmine, and because he made her drink sardine juice to save her life, and because she shot him once, and because she saved him after having his skull drilled into twice, and because she tastes like saltwater taffy and the sea.

She frowns. “Well, you had a fever, and I wanted to-”

“That morning,” he clarifies. “Why’d you go?”

She sighs. “I suppose I knew this was coming,” she says. “Of course you couldn’t possibly be a gentleman and mind your business about it.”

He’s stung until he sees the smile in her eyes. “I’m only a gentleman in the parlor,” he says. “This is most definitely a bedroom.”

Scully leans back in her chair, crossing her legs. “It’s what I did after Dallas, don’t you remember? It’s what I did to Jack Willis, it’s what I tried to do in Philadelphia that time. My journal to you, when I had cancer, it was just a long Dear John letter, Mulder. When I was in med school, there was this man…” she trails off, staring at the cheap tile ceiling.

Mulder tries to process this. “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself, Scully. You weren’t running after Dallas - they transferred you.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “That’s not what you said at the time. You said I was quitting. You said you would too, if I left.”

He winces inwardly at the memory of what he’d said. “Well yeah, but I was trying to guilt you into staying, so you have to cut me some slack.”

She laughs, throws a wadded-up napkin at him. “Is that all you were trying to do, Mulder? I remember something else, in the moment.”

He doesn’t tell her that he knows exactly how well she remembers. “You’re incredibly good looking,” he says, with an air of confession. “Sue me.”

She smiles, looking down at her hands. “Mulder, I left the way I did the other morning because I didn’t know how else to leave. I didn’t know what it meant, and I still don’t. Was I… were we supposed to eat breakfast in bed and clean our guns together?”

There’s something bitter in her voice that he sets aside for later. He reaches across the table to take her hands. “Scully, why does it have to be anything? We could have had some coffee, tracked down your underwear together. They’re still in my sock drawer, incidentally.”

She blushes and punches his arm for that.

He laughs. “But seriously. What good does it do to worry in advance about how things will go wrong? I mean, look at me. I’m a total fucking disaster by many metrics, but I get by. I wing it most of the time, sure, but I manage.”

Scully laughs, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Truly a ringing endorsement. But I don’t know what you expect me to say, Mulder. I was a physicist before I was a doctor, you know. So I guess I just leave before entropy can fully take over.”

“I know,” he says. “But you can’t fail at this. There’s no checklist. There’s no test to pass or form to fill out.”

She makes a noise of frustration. “Mulder, do you not understand that that’s exactly the part that’s impossible for me to handle? That I can’t ever know, empirically, if I’m doing all the things that...that...I’m supposed to?”

He stares at her in confusion. “That you’re supposed to? I don’t even know what that means. There’s no supposed to. You just do.” He says this with the confidence of a man whose six-month marriage hadn’t fallen apart, of a man who hadn’t had a one-night stand with a blood fetishist, or an extended disaster with a British sociopath.

Scully shakes her head. “I make lists and five year plans.”

He refrains from asking her how well that’s panned out. “Take your shirt off,” he says.

She freezes, startled. “Mulder, we’re on a case, I don’t-”

“Trust me,” he says, knowing she considers it the most dangerous phrase in his lexicon. “You’re stressed. You’re exhausted. I was going to rub your back.”

She smirks. “I think my mom fell for that and got pregnant with Charlie.”

“Indian Guide’s honor,” he says. “I’ll get the lotion from the bathroom.”

Scully eyes him suspiciously, but goes to the bed and smooths the blankets out.

He retrieves the little bottle of lotion and reads it. Scully will have to settle for “Alabaster Gardenia,” this evening. It occurs to him that Padgett would have referred to her as an alabaster gardenia and he rolls his eyes.

When he emerges, Scully is facedown on the bed, head on the pillow. Her smooth back is bare to the waist of her trousers, where the serpent lives, and her sock feet small and dark. Her shirt and bra are folded neatly on the night table, as though he is an actual masseuse.

Mulder straddles her hips, kneeling, and pours the lotion into his hands to warm it. Close up, he sees red marks from her bra straps on her shoulders and decides to start there.

“Wouldn’t this have been a nice morning?” he asks, working the lotion into her skin. “I could have done this for you. And with better lotion - you know I’m knowledgeable on the subject.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles into the pillow.

He feels deep, hard knots in her back and attacks them with his thumbs, following the muscles down the sides of her spine. He’s not sure it’s effective, but then Scully groans happily into the bedding.

He’s pleased, working back up to the delicate muscles of her neck and base of her ears. “Is this good?”

“Don’t stop.”

He refrains from innuendo, wanting to prove to her that this is about so much more than sex. He kneads the folded wings of her shoulder blades, her handspan waist. There is lotion on her trousers and in her hair, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind.

She’s dozy and pliant now, breathing slowly. He’ll pet her to sleep like this every night if it suits her, like a little feral cat.

“Mulder?”

“Hmmm?” He traces the tattoo again, trying to bond with it and love it because it’s part of her. The work is admittedly beautiful.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you when I left. I don’t know how to be easy with things like you are.” She turns on her side, an arm draped across her breasts.

“Well, one of us has to have a plan,” he says airily. “Poor Walter’s always been afraid of me corrupting you. I never felt like he was angry, you know? Just disappointed. My god, this would kill him.” He thinks Poor Walter might be more than a touch in love with her too, but keeps this to himself.

She turns fully onto her back now and, to his dismay, works herself under the sheets. “Well, Kersh just thinks you’re mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

“Put it on my tombstone.”

“Of course you’d take that as a compliment. Lord Byron was really awful, but at least we got Ada Lovelace out of him. Mulder, why are you pulling clothes out?”

He hunts for his favorite t-shirt amid the wreckage of his suitcase. “I’m going for a run. I’ll be up all night otherwise.”

Scully frowns disapprovingly. “You really shouldn’t after today, Mulder. Can you make it a casual jog, at least?”

“Brisk trot. Leisurely gallop.”

“It’s AMA,” she warns him, but doesn’t argue further.

Mulder changes quickly while she drowses, limbering himself against the night table where her clothing sits. He opens the door, and the night air is invigorating.

“Hey Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t promise you anything, but I want to try to...you know. This.”

“Okay,” he says, and hopes she’s too sleepy to hear the thickness in his voice.

***

She’s out cold when he gets back, occasional little Scully-snores in the silence. He rinses in the shower, making excessive noise to alert her to his presence.

Mulder dries off and wraps himself in the undersized motel towel, putting his shoes back on against the dubious carpet. He walks over to Scully and strokes her hair.

“Mmmfff,” she says, bleary-eyed. “Am I still here?”

He holds out her shirt. “You’ll want this before you head next door,” he says.

She blinks. “Okay.” Then she promptly falls back asleep.

Mulder is not one to beg. He pulls his boxers on, toes the shoes off, and climbs in next to her. He is delighted to find that she has kicked her socks and trousers off, now clad only in her little grey bikinis.

He strokes the violin curves of her, from her shoulder down the sweep of her waist to her thighs. She sighs in her sleep.

He knows Scully would explain that he’s evolutionarily primed to be attracted to her full breasts and rounded hips. She’d tell him about how pelvic girdle width is an advantageous adaptation for such a melon-headed species.

He’d counter with the Golden Ratio. Sometimes beauty is its own justification.

Mulder snuggles in next to her. If he dreams that night he doesn’t remember. And if she wakes, she doesn’t leave.

***

His alarm goes off at six. Scully is an immovable lump next to him under the bedding, her exposed hair the only sign that she isn’t a heap of pillows or an extra blanket. He strokes the fine vellum of her belly until she stirs. “Time to get up,” he murmurs.

She pokes her head above the comforter and looks at him, confused. “What time is it? Did I spend the night?”

He smoothes her hair back from her brow. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Scully sits up, holding the sheet to her chest with one hand. “Where are my clothes?” She feels around under the blankets with evident agitation.

Mulder points at the night table. “I put your shirt and bra there, but I don’t know about the pants and socks. You lost those while I was running, but I can give you a hand.”

She puts a hand to her forehead and looks tense. “This is what I was afraid of, Mulder. This… this chaos.”

He rubs her thigh and doesn’t laugh at her idea of chaos. Scully may sometimes think of him as a giant untrained Weimaraner who is either destroying her life or nosing her crotch, but he’s also got a DPhil from Oxford and occasionally he picks up on social cues. He moves the blankets around, keeping her covered, and eventually finds her belongings wadded up between the pillows.

“Here,” he says gently, and hands them to her.

She nods, biting her lip. “I need to go.”

“Okay,” he says, and doesn’t touch her. “I’m going to get in the shower. Come back over when you’re ready?”

Here smile is lukewarm, but present. “I’ll bring some coffee.”

Mulder tosses her the keys. “Get me one of those raspberry danishes too, if you don’t mind.”

He turns his back to give her privacy, then heads into the bathroom. He must have missed it yesterday, but sees that Scully’s left her little can of mousse on the sink for him. When they get home, he’s going to buy some of those velvet hangers she likes, to keep in his closet. He thinks of Ree, holding out dried corn for her deer.

They’ve spent so long in the dark together it’s daunting to walk into the light.

***

Mulder takes a scalding shower, burning sweat and dead skin directly from the pores. He scours himself like a penitent until the heat becomes nauseating. When he steps out onto the little rug, the air feels nearly Arctic, and it perks him up. He feels purified of something nameless.

Scully’s lilac mousse in his hair, and he’s back in a suit for seeing Tallulah today. He thinks it’s best to remind her that he has a badge and a gun. He tries not to think about her hand, for once hoping he had experienced a hallucination.

He sits on the bed to tie his shoes when Scully comes back in, carrying a paper bag. She’s got on last night’s clothes still, her hair tucked behind her ears.

“They were out of raspberry, but I got you blueberry. Me too, actually. They looked good.” She holds out the bag, fragrant with coffee.

“Keep the change,” he says, taking the bag from her with happy anticipation.

“You should be doing stand-up, really.” She joins him on the bed.

Mulder passes her food to her, wishing he could make a breakfast-in-bed quip without sounding desperate. “So what’s your game plan today, then?” he asks around a mouthful of pastry.

She licks blueberry filling off her thumb. “Back to the lab, then I’ll see after that. We grew some of the algae samples at different temperatures to see if that could explain it being in Ree’s thermos in particular.” She blinks. “Oh! That reminds me! The lady at the store said to tell you not to forget about your bottle deposit.”

“Thanks,” he says, hoping it doesn’t incite further questioning.

But no such luck with his inquisitive inamorata. “What bottle deposit?” she asks, puzzled.

He shifts, rolls his steaming cup between his palms. “Brought some groceries up with me to Tallulah’s yesterday. I figured it might grease the wheels a little.”

“Hmmm,” Scully says, and sips her coffee. “Well, it does sound like she had a lot to tell you. Anyway, I’ll be in Huntsville for the morning at least if you need me. Then I figured I’d - we’d, depending on your schedule - touch base with the Rosses, see if the search teams have found anything that hasn’t made its way to us.”

“Sounds good.” He brushes crumbs off his lap onto the floor, and supposes the mice will find them sumptuous.

Scully finishes her danish, clearly pondering something.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he offers.

Scully scoffs. “I’ll add it to my tip. I was just thinking; I did a little research while you were asleep yesterday. Apparently the term name Jenny Greenteeth applies not only to the creature in the legend, but has been generalized in some areas as a name for duckweed. In can make a pond surface look like inviting moss to walk on, like we saw down at the pond where Ree disappeared. Why not just...I don’t know. Why not just warn your kids about drowning instead of making up a - what did you call them?”

“Nursery bogey,” he replies. “The prevalent theory is that most kids will overestimate their abilities against natural dangers. They believe they can swim across a pond, or navigate through a forest, or climb a very tall tree. But if the supernatural is introduced, children are less likely to believe they can overcome the danger. So the deterrent is more effective.”

She shudders. “What a grim way to parent. Though I suppose it’s all just a variant on ‘don’t do that or you’ll die.’ And not so different from the Tooth Fairy or Santa, I guess.” Scully drinks her coffee, musing.

He considers this. He always found Santa creepy in a Panopticon way. “But Santa doesn’t provide a specific deterrent from naughtiness, only a reward for good.”

She sets her cup on the night table, presses her hands between her knees. “Well, there’s Krampus.”

Mulder loves the deranged chaotic energy of Krampus. “Krampus is good.”

“When I was taking German we were, you know, learning all the cultural bits of Germany. And Krampus is a companion of Saint Nicholas, which I thought was just terrible. Saint Nick gets all the credit for presents and just has Krampus do his dirty work.” She shakes her head at the treachery of Bavarian Santa.

He grins. “Santa’s that shitty friend who makes him carry out all the bullying so he can keep his hands clean and be teacher’s pet.”

“Ugh, I always hated that kid,” Scully says. She drinks her coffee, looking dark.

Mulder is joyful. Talking with her like this is the brightest spot in any day and he doesn’t want it to end. But there’s still a lost girl to find. “Well,” he says, slapping his thighs, “we’d best be off.”

She nods, serious again. “Depending on how the lab results look, we might be able to bring Tallulah in for questioning.”

He doubts it will do a particle of good, but they all need something to cling to. “Keep me posted.”

Scully reaches over to pat his hair. Heat radiates from her, and the warm cotton smell of her skin. Her coffee-and-danish breath is sweet in his mouth. “You can keep that mousse,” she says.

Mulder clears his throat. “I’m going to,” he assures her. “So much hold, but not sticky or stiff.”

She kisses him, close-mouthed, and flicks his ear before leaving.

***

The car shimmies up the unpaved road, rattling spent sunflower seeds in the empty Quik Mart cup. He grips the wheel against the uneven drive, against his anxiety over facing Tallulah again. Scully had come undone with Pfaster, her hard varnish becoming brittle and crumbling in the cold. Mulder fears Tallulah may leave him similarly disarmed.

He pulls up the last stretch of road to the meadow below the cabin, and stares in confusion. Instead of the weathered shack is a tangle of kudzu, ivy, strangler fig, and splintered planks. Mulder parks and slowly gets out of the car. He pushes his sunglasses up onto his forehead, picking his way up the path in gripless leather-bottomed dress shoes.

He crouches in the waist high grass, looking for...he’s not sure what. The floor of the cabin is utterly destroyed, existing only as a series of foot-long splinters. Large sections of the walls are collapsed inwards, algae-covered and snarled in woody vines. Tallulah’s few possessions, including her bed and kitchen furniture are gone. The big goat wanders over to chew on a section of the door.

Mulder stands again, circles the wreckage with his hands on his hips. “Son of a bitch,” he says, kicking at it. He puts his sunglasses back on and stares into the woods.

Typical, absolutely fucking typical. He wants somewhere to put his anger, somewhere righteous and useful, but there is nothing. He longs for the congested grittiness if DC, where he can yell at corrupt officials or aggressive drivers or at least a noisome pigeon. But here there is nothing except unspoiled beauty as far as the eye can see.

Looking back at the wreckage, he sees something glinting in the bright morning sun. He tugs at a swath of thorny vines hanging over the remains of the porch, and the milk bottle rolls out from beneath the greenery.

Mulder picks it up and sees a slip of paper inside. It slides out when he inverts the bottle. I guess we’re even, it reads, in a familiar hand.

He looks at the paper for a long time then, carefully, sets the bottle back on the ground. He begins running towards the tree line.

“Ree!” he calls. “RHIANNON!”

Birdsong and silence.

He shouts her name again and again, receiving no reply. Mulder stops to take in his surroundings, never once doubting his interpretation of the note. “REE!” he yells once more, and has only his echo for a reply.

He paces at the edge of the wood, looking, but there is nothing. Then, a hundred yards or so off, he sees a rock, like the one beneath Diana’s rainbow. He races towards it, loosening his tie.

She’s still when he gets to her, a small bundle wrapped in a quilt that Mulder recognizes instantly from Tallulah’s bed. He crouches beside the girl. Twigs and leaves are snarled in her cornsilk hair, and her face is hollow and dirty.

Mulder reaches out to touch her cheek. “Hey,” he whispers. “Rhiannon?”

She stirs slightly, then opens her eyes. They’re far greener than they looked in her school picture. He tells himself it’s the light

“Mama,” Rhiannon says. She reaches out a thin, filthy hand.

Mulder gathers her up in his arms, head tucked against his neck. She weighs next to nothing, and he wants to run but is afraid of internal injuries or losing his footing. He moves as quickly as he dares back to the car.

Ree whimpers softly the whole time, her dry little fingers clutching at his collar. She calls for her mother and father.

He comes to the ruined shack and wants to show it to the child, to ask her a hundred questions, but he passes it in silence and arrives at the car. Still holding Ree’s little body close, he opens the back door. She begins to cry and clutch at him when he tries to lay her down.

“Please,” she begs, he can feel his heart break anew when he pries her away, sobbing, onto the seat. Ree curls into the fetal position under the tattered quilt, mumbling to herself.

He’d have laid rubber if there were any road to lay it on when he peels off towards town. Steering with his knee, he fumbles for his phone to call Scully, but there’s no service. He swears, flooring the gas.

A thin, awful, wail from Ree and he thinks of Emily dying by inches, dragging Scully down with her to the grave again. Emily’s burning body in his arms, staring mutely at him with her mother’s eyes.

He squeals onto the main road, eliciting a chorus of angry horns, when he realizes he has no idea where a hospital is. Scully’s off in Huntsville and he isn’t qualified for anything beyond CPR.

Mulder remembers the fire station from when they first arrived, and runs several red lights to get to it. Someone throws a rock at the car, but it bounces away.

Ree wails again, sitting up to scrabble at the window. Mulder glances at her in the rear view as he swerves onto MacNeill Street. She is thinner than he realized, and very pale. He didn’t think to check her gums and wonders if she’s in shock.

He calls back a flurry of reassuring nonsense to her, but she seems not to hear him. “I’m with the FBI,” he repeats. “You’re safe, Ree.”

She claws at the glass, whimpering.

Mulder finally sees the fire station up ahead on the left. He swerves across oncoming traffic and pulls halfway into the engine bay, narrowly missing four guys cooking hotdogs on a flimsy portable grill. They rise, yelling and waving their arms.

He’s waving his badge when he gets out, shouting Ree’s name over their indignant bellowing.

“What the fuck do y-“

He opens the back door, catches Ree before she hits the ground. That’s all the conversation they need. The EMTs are yelling to one another, getting Ree in the ambulance, telling Mulder he’s a goddamn hero but he’d better get his fucking car out of the fucking way.

He backs out along the curb as the sirens scream. The ambulance howls past him, lights flashing, and disappears from view.

Mulder sits in his car for a moment, feeling strangely deflated. Then he gets his phone to call the sheriff with the good news.

***

Scully calls him from the hospital. She met the ambulance and the family there, figuring it was the easiest way to get the details for their report. Mulder is sprawled across the sagging expanse of his motel bed, propped up on one elbow. He is playing solitaire on his laptop as Scully fills him in.

“So anyway, she’d dehydrated and malnourished and had some bad bruises and scrapes, but nothing serious, which is impressive. They’re keeping her overnight at least for observation, but she seems fine, Mulder.”

He drags a queen of hearts across the screen. “Mmm. So is she talking yet?”

“Not much,” Scully says. “She’s still pretty freaked out. From the few things she has said, it sounds like she followed a deer into the woods and got lost. That’s why she didn’t have any of her things.”

In the background are the beeps and echoes of hospital noises. Mulder finds them strangely soothing. “Okay, so where’d her clothes go? Where’d she get that quilt?”

A frustrated noise from Scully. “Mulder, they’re doing their best to get her story, but she’s very traumatized right now; you should know that. Maybe she found the cabin all collapsed and dragged the blanket out. Maybe it’s a different blanket entirely - this one was pretty beaten up. There’s no sign of sexual or other physical trauma, that’s the main thing.”

He knows it’s the main thing, but still. Still. “Scully, you listed a bunch of conditions that would make your teeth green. Anything that does it to the eyes?”

“Mulder,” she says warningly. “Why?”

He rolls onto his back, abandoning the game. “When I found her, I noticed that -”

“No,” Scully says. “Absolutely not.” Her voice is hard.

Mulder closes his eyes. “Is it real, or is it Memorex?” he asks.

“Don’t you dare,” Scully says, her voice a hiss. “Mulder, go for a run or take a shower or make use of the lotion or whatever it is you need to get this out of your system, but I know what you’re thinking and I absolutely forbid you to say a solitary word on the subject.”

He can envision her pacing furiously, black and white and red against the soft hospital neutrals. He imagines holy rage on her Botticelli face. “I won’t say anything,” he promises her.

“Good,” she replies, mollified. “The family wants to thank you in person, if you’re game to head over. I’m hanging out for about another half hour to look at some test results.”

He really, really isn’t game to head over, because he’s afraid he will fail to keep his mouth shut. “Tell them I was recently diagnosed with cranial rectal inversion, and I’m afraid of exposing them to a flare-up,” he says.

“Hilarious. I’ll tell them you turned your ankle during your daring rescue and you’ve got it up on ice.”

Mulder knows the fib is for the family’s sake rather than his, but he’s still grateful. “How many Hail Marys is that lie gonna cost, Dana Katherine?”

“I got a special dispensation from the Holy See for matters involving you,” she says. “It’s like EZ Pass. I go into the confessional, show my badge, and the priest just tells me not to worry about it.”

He’s grinning. “Yeah? You think the Pope’ll write a note to Kersh for me?”

“Even the Holy Father has no oversight over Alvin Kersh. Mulder, I’ve got to run, but I’ll be back at the motel within two hours. Call around for a flight, would you? I really don’t want to spend another night at the motel. Everything feels sticky.”

He turns to his side and pulls his laptop over. “I’m on it,” he tells her.

She hangs up

“True enough for government work,” he says to no one.

***

Mulder goes for the run she suggested. His feet pound mindlessly against the pavement, past tidy lawns and mom-and-pop stores. He remembers the Samantha clones, the hive of identical girls who were in the world but not of it, and how he wanted to save just one of them. Scully would tell him that good works alone are not enough for salvation, that grace is required first. She might make a Catholic of him after all - he could use a little grace.

He glances through the window of the farm store and resists the urge to stop in. Past the church (CHRISTMAS BAZAAR BOOTHS STILL OPEN!) and two giggly teen girls. He’s coming up on the fire station when a hand claps him on the shoulder. He whirls around, reaches for the gun he didn’t bring.

“Whoa, hey, sorry,” says the guy who told him to move his fucking car earlier that day. “Just wanted to say thanks again.” The man’s about his age, more heavily muscled, and sporting a scruffy beard. His shirt reads VOLUNTEER FIREFIGHTER across the front.

Mulder holds his hands up in apology. “All good. I’m glad she’s home.”

“Owen Cylburn,” the man says, holding out a hand.

Mulder shakes it. “Mulder,” he says. “Agent Scully’s still at the hospital.”

Owen hooks his thumbs through his belt loops. “Yeah, I heard she was a doctor. Real nice of her to look in on our girl.”

“You family?”

“Naw, but I live a few houses down and she plays with my son Simon sometimes. It’s a small town, you know? Anyway, I heard she’s doing fine.” Owen looks like there’s more he wants to say.

“Anything else on your mind, Mr. Cylburn?” Mulder asks.

He looks sheepish. “Oh, uh. Well, I guess I heard some talk, you know, about whatsername up in that old shack? You don’t really think she was involved, do you? I mean, I checked in on her a couple times and all, made sure the stove was safe. She seems nice. Just sort of strange.”

Mulder considers this for a moment. “Even if she were, clearing her house of fire hazards doesn’t mean you were aiding and abetting, you know. You do anything else while you were up there?”

Owen’s face darkens. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I’m a happily marr-”

“Not what I meant. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Owen says, looking confused. “No, just the stove.”

Mulder tries again. “What I’m asking is, well, I heard some rumors too. That Tallulah was selling a little weed to supplement her income. Now listen, I’m not looking to hassle anybody. I’m a legalize it man myself, just trying to see if people were heading up there with any frequency to, uh, go shopping. And if they might have seen anything while they were there.”

“Ohhhh,” is the reply. “No, not my thing but I think I’m in the minority. I reckon she could blackmail half the upstanding members of the town if she wanted to, one way or another. Them or their spouses or their kids.” He shrugs. “It’s a dry town, so…”

Mulder nods. “I get it. Like I said, just trying to see if anyone might have been around, might have seen anything. But not trying to make a federal case of it.”

“Mighty decent of you. But anyhow, all’s well that ends well, I guess. My sister’s a nurse up at the hospital, she says Ree looks pretty good, all things considered.”

“Yeah, that’s what my partner said too. She’s a real pretty little girl, isn’t she? Golden hair, and those big green eyes.”

Owen frowns. “All the Rosses have that hair, but I don’t think she has green eyes.”

“My mistake,” Mulder says. “Anyhow, you have a good one.”

He jogs off, thinking.

***

Scully’s getting out of a patrol car when he returns. There’s a German Shepherd in the back seat, muzzle against the grating.

“This is K9 Officer Jangles,” Scully says, introducing Mulder to the dog. “She’s new.”

Officer Jangles sticks her head out of the open rear window. Her tail is wagging and her ridiculous ears are tilted against one another.

“Brought Jangles up to see Ree,” says the cop. “She’s my niece. Ree, I mean. My brother’s girl.” He has the blonde hair of his clan.

“How is she?”

“Pretty good,” Officer Ross says. “Starting to talk a little more.”

Mulder is genuinely glad to hear this and says so. “It’ll be nice to have your green-eyed lassie home, I’m sure.”

Scully kicks him hard in the shin with her deadly shoes. “Officer Ross, thanks for the lift. Agent Mulder and I have a lot of paperwork to take care of, so I hope you’ll excuse us.”

The officer nods. “I can’t thank you enough, none of us ever could. Can we call your boss for like, uh, a commendation or something?”

Scully smiles. “That’s very kind, sir, but we’re really just doing our job.”

“Alvin Kersh,” Mulder calls, as Scully hauls him into her room. “Extension 44-”

The door slams shut.

***

She punches him in the arm. “What is wrong with you?” she demands.

Mulder sits on her bed, which is identical to his. Her room smells nicer though, distinctly Scully-ish. “I’m sorry,” he says. He genuinely wishes he were different.

Scully sighs, rubbing her temples. She sits next to him. “I am covered in dog hair, I have listened to hours of conservative talk radio, and now you are in direct violation of the one thing I asked you not to do.” She leans over to sniff him. “And you smell like a stable.”

“I’m trying to keep my ass shapely,” he says. “I want to look sexy in my running shorts for you.”

She punches him again. “Go...go take a shower. I’ll call around for flights. Maybe we can get out of here tonight.”

“Done,” he says. “There aren’t any until tomorrow evening.”

Scully groans. “Please don’t tell me that. I need to get out of here. The water smells like pencil shavings, did you notice? Go shower though.”

Mulder turns and takes her hands. “I know that I am sweaty and disgusting but I think you’re going to want to hear me out before I go shower.”

“It better be good, Mulder, because you’re competing with Jangles right now.”

“So there’s a hotel near the airport with a day spa. It’s not exactly the Four Seasons, but the website looked pretty good. I thought we’d let Alvin spring for another night here, and we’ll luxuriate in Dead Sea mud.”

She laughs, crossing her arms. “Mulder, you can’t be serious.”

“I'm extremely serious. My treat. You know my policy on my father’s money.”

Scully rolls her eyes, mimes a little hand puppet with a talking mouth. “My paychecks are for living expenses, my inheritance is for my side projects.” She does a credible impression of his monotone.

“I’m glad at least some of what I say stuck with you. Seriously though, Scully. Let me do something nice for you.”

She considers this. “Mulder, your ‘side projects’ generally refer to subverting the government in some way or another. Are you trying to get me in bed again just to lob a stone in the eye of the government?”

“Yes,” he says. “You are my ultimate middle finger to The Man. That is literally my only motivation here. Come on, Scully. You once told Congress to go fuck itself - surely you’ve got room in your arsenal for a moisturizing salt scrub and Swedish massage.”

“We’re like Bonnie and Clyde,” she says, and bumps her shoulder against his. She’s right about the dog fur, he notes.

“Whaddya say?” he asks. It feels silly to have his heart in his throat over this, to worry that she’ll turn him down like a long-shot prom date. “Two empty hotel rooms in Hooterville on the federal dime while we sneak off to live it up on room service. You know you want to, Bonnie.”

Scully drops her chin for a second, then looks up at him, resigned. “What the hell, Clyde.”

He kisses her hair. “Attagirl. I’ll have you fully corrupted in no time. Soon you’ll be stealing office supplies and blowing off mandatory training seminars of your own volition”

She shakes her head, grinning. “Is this where you remind me that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step?”

He shakes his head. “No, this is where I point out that a journey of a thousand miles is pretty intimidating, so maybe starting with smaller day spa trips is more manageable. Hell, Scully. Even The Pretenders broke it into two five-hundred-mile walks.”

“Go take a shower,” she says.

***

When he comes out of the bathroom she’s sitting in his room with her luggage, looking like a waif at a train station.

“Jesus,” he says, flustered. “Glad I still had a few clean towels.” He rifles through his bag, looking for underwear. He wasn’t expecting an audience.

Scully looks politely away as he tugs them on. “I changed out of that be-dogged suit and figured I’d just pack up and we’d head out when you were ready. I already turned in my key.”

He notices now that she’s in a pair of leggings and a black sweater. Somehow she still looks chic. “You’re in quite a hurry to leave this charming hamlet,” he observes. “Or is it just the lure of the forbidden?”

“Mmmm, maybe both. Mostly it’s the lure of the sauna.”

“Fair.” He sniffs his jeans and, dismayed, pulls them on anyway. Fuck it, he’s a rich man. He’ll take them both shopping. Scully is an indulgence he’ll happily spend his father’s ill-gotten gains on. He’s long suspected some distant connection between his parents’ money and her chip; it would be poetic justice to spoil her.

She curls onto her side in the middle of the bed, watching him dress. “Mulder.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

When she’s ready, he knows. When she’s ready. Mulder ties his shoes, then retrieves her mousse from the bathroom. He styles his hair in the mirror above the dresser, waiting.

“Mulder.”

“Hmm?”

“When I was a kid, my Aunt Olive would tell us stories about this farm she grew up on outside Killarney. She lived with her grandparents, pretty staunch Catholics you know, but they believed in a lot of the old stories too.”

He’s listening attentively now, but she has a tendency to be skittish when discussing the intangible. He pulls a pair of tweezers out and plucks at imaginary stray hairs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. After milking, Aunt Olive knew to leave a bowl of milk out for the Tuatha de Dannan. And a slice of bread from the new loaves.” She pauses, thinking. “I mean, I don’t know that they actually believed it, but you know how these things are.”

“Belt and suspenders,” he says.

She chuckles. “Something like that, yeah. Anyway, Mulder, I was thinking about that milk bottle. And then I started thinking about my Aunt Olive’s stories. And I wondered if maybe you bought Tallulah some new milk and fresh bread.”

Mulder puts the tweezers down. He joins her on the bed, sitting in the curve made by her body. He pets her side, her shiny hair, and savors the sheer pleasure of touching her. “It wasn’t super new,” he says. “It was pasteurized.”

“Oh, Mulder,” Scully says. She rubs his thigh.

He stretches out onto the bed, facing her. She has aged with obscene grace. Distilled more than aged, really, he thinks. Refined to a more essential Scully-ness. “Sometimes all that people need is to be seen,” he says. “I figured even if she’s just some weird transient hillbilly who sells weed and tells horrifying lies, she might appreciate a snack.”

Scully smiles and scoots closer to him. She strokes the bridge of his nose. “Fox Mulder, you big softie.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Should I take that as a personal indictment?”

“You’re a riot.”

He strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I don’t know, when I was a kid I read To Kill A Mockingbird for school, and the part where Atticus said you had to walk around in someone’s skin to know them really resonated with me. I guess I wish I had been extended that courtesy.”

Scully smiles. “Mmm, I used to think about how I would have made Boo Radley come out.”

Mulder laughs, imagining a tiny, serious Scully laying artful traps. “Like Bugs Bunny?”

She laughs too. “Something like that, yeah. I guess I just connected with the idea of the unknown being concretely knowable if only the right methodology were applied.”

“Nerd,” he says.

“Always. You would have snuck into the house and said, ‘Hello, Mr. Radley. I’m Fox Mulder.’ No tricks for you.”

He probably would have, at that. “Yeah, but then comes my usual trouble. No evidence, no witnesses.”

She kisses him softly, bumping his nose with hers. “Maybe I need to walk around in your skin more. You say you got to walk around in my head.”

“I didn’t peek anywhere untoward,” he says, and wraps his arms around her.

She regards him seriously. “I trust you. But I do wonder what you saw. I’m not an angel, Mulder.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be.” He runs his thumb over her lips, and she nips at it. “You’re incandescent, Scully. Like a lighthouse at the edge of a vast, nighttime sea.”

She looks pleased and shy. “Well,” is all she says. “Well.” She tucks her head beneath his chin.

He holds her there, in this bland little room in the heart of nowhere. Her body is warm and compact and trusting, her fingers soft on his neck. She doesn’t always believe in his ideas, he knows, but she believes in him, and it’s more than enough.

Eventually he rouses her, the promise of more luxurious accommodations his only motivator for breaking this gentle peace. They gather their belongings and head to the car. The sky is purple and orange around them and ahead, an infinite sea of stars. He drives west, towards the setting sun. Scully takes his hand and smiles; a flame in the dark.

#xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #season 7 #casefile #My fic

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter one: double deuces

chapter one of book three, of course ;)

"tell me a story (will ya, will ya) a real good story (I won't leave till ya) spill your guts old man; leave out any secrets, hiding in the... any skeletons, and all your other sins any skeletons, in the closet! any skeletons, any misfortunes any skeletons, hiding in the closet! any skeletons, any skeletons in the closet!"

“Happy birthday, my dear friend.”

Aurora had taken Sam out to that Vietnamese restaurant for lunch on her birthday. Twenty two years old and she could feel the very essence of age over her head. In New York for two years and it all felt like a blur and the clear real thing all at the same time. In a year's time, she would be on the brink of her mid twenties: it all felt so ephemeral and so quick at the same time. It felt so odd to think that not even four years ago she was still in high school and she had gone into a strange brand new place in the meantime.

Four years felt like a lifetime ago, especially since she looked on at her black hair and she swore it was growing lighter over her temples. It could have just been the reflection of the glass in the mirror for all she knew, but when she went to brush her hair, she swore there were some light tendrils near the crown. As long as it didn't turn into a striking pearly white silver color, she knew she would be fine.

Aurora raised her white china tea cup for a toast to her. The soft aroma of the green tea comforted her, and she followed suit with her own cup.

Ever since she and Emile had gotten together, and ever since she had gotten that dress for Kirk's wedding the next weekend, Aurora had been dressing up more nicely: at the moment, she had a rich deep purple velvet sweater wrapped around her body and a little red rose tucked behind her ear. Despite the bitter New York cold, she started wearing more floral print tights to go with her skirts; Sam had to take a second look at her face to make out the sight of the black eye liner about the smooth edges of her eyes.

Sam herself meanwhile found herself drawn more to black—Aurora said it was because of her hanging out with Testament the past couple of weekends as well as Joey on certain days after school.

“I think it could also be because I'm in the arts,” she told her the day before. “Marla wears a bunch of black and Belinda has been wearing a lot of it, too.”

“Hangin' around the arts and hangin' out with a bunch of heavy metal dudes,” Aurora chuckled.

The art scene seemed so far away from her given she was a student and she even began to struggle with classes in recent days. Indeed, the thought of forfeiting college itself to live down in the real bohemian side of New York City was more tempting than ever to her. But she had nestled in the Bronx, three floors over Frank and down the block from Charlie and Marla. It was either pick up and go live alone in another part of town or stay there and continue to do what felt like spinning her wheels day in, day out. Sam tried to not let her thoughts cast a shadow on her own birthday, but she couldn't help but look at her own reflection in her tea cup and frown.

“Maybe it's all the doing stuff after school that's getting to you,” Aurora told her. “We haven't really seen Marla in the past few weeks.”

“No, we haven't,” Sam confessed as she gazed out the window at the snow drifts along the sidewalk.

“Well, if it's any comfort, I've been getting antsy myself,” Aurora said. “Emile wants me to move in with him but it's gonna be hard to do it especially if it's just him who's helping me with the move.”

“And you're going from Long Island up to the Bronx, too,” Sam added, “it was bad enough for me to get my bed up the stairs in that building.”

“It was tricky for me, too,” Aurora continued. “And you and I also moved across country, too.”

“And how—from around the same area, no less. Well, San Diego is way further south in comparison to Lake Elsinore, but it's near the same range, though.”

“It's all within range of L.A., that's for sure. L.A. and Riverside.”

“Hey, if Greg, Eric, and Louie can talk nonsense while they're in the studio, we can, too,” Sam pointed.

“Makes sense—Southern California exiles, the both of us.” Aurora raised her cup again to her and they clinked them together before they took a sip in unison.

“When's your birthday, by the way?” Sam asked her as she held her cup close to her mouth. “I can't remember if you told me or not.”

“May twenty ninth.”

“Oh, I see. I kept thinking it was in October for some reason.”

Aurora chuckled at that. “Well, I haven't really made it much of a point because my parents always treated birthdays different in comparison to that of American culture. I always wanted an American style birthday party growing up in San Diego but that's probably the one thing they brought over from the Korean peninsula is the way birthdays are treated.”

“And how's that?”

“When we reach a certain age, they have different celebrations for them. Like your first birthday is 'dol' or three hundred sixty five days since you were born, and that came from the fact Korea didn't have as good of protection on their newborns as we do here: so when you made it to your first birthday, it was significant. The family says a prayer for the kid and then they eat rice, seaweed soup, and rice cakes—my mom has a photo of me from my 'dol', I'll have to show it to you if and when we go out to San Diego together. They have cake and candles just like Americans, but the cake is far different—it's a lot more savory than it is sweet. And on New Year's, they eat a soup so they can finish up the age they are for the certain year. So you're actually considerably older on the peninsula than you are here. If you're ten years old, in Korea, you're considered eleven or twelve.”

“Wow.”

“And when you reach fifteen years of age, and you're female, you're considered an adult. That said, I'm glad I'm a born American because I can't imagine coming to New York City as a fifteen year old.”

“I can,” Sam said.

“You can?”

“As a boy.” She thought about Alex right then.

“Now, boys have to wait 'til they're twenty before they're considered adults.”

“So Alex would still be considered a boy right now?” she asked her. “Being eighteen?”

“Yes!” Aurora then burst out laughing and clapped her hands at that. “Oh, god, I just pictured him in the traditional horse hair hat that boys have to wear on their twentieth birthday, and I also just pictured him picking up a giant rock and lifting it over his head, too.”

“How giant are we talking, exactly?”

“One that dwarfs his entire body.” Aurora raised an eyebrow at that.

“I dunno, Aurora,” Sam confessed with a shake of her head, “—he's pretty thin but he's also got that little bit of baby fat left on him. He looks pretty soft.”

“Bet you he's way stronger than he looks.”

“Joey is,” Sam continued as she brought her cup back up to her lips.

“Joey is!”

“Mr. Hockey Player—yeah, that boy's tougher than nails.”

“Well—we are going to be in the Bay Area next weekend,” Aurora pointed out. “A whole weekend of doing stuff while Kirk and—Rebecca, I think is his fiancée's name?—while they're getting married. We all can just hang out and be a bunch of genuine friends together for a couple of days.”

Sam squinted her eyes at that.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked her in a low voice.

“You'll see. And maybe Exodus and Death Angel will want in on the fun, too. Fun with the 'little four'.” She flashed Sam a wink as she sipped from her tea once again. Right then, the sole waitress in the restaurant showed up at their table with their bowls of pho: chicken for Sam, vegetarian for Aurora. One more toast and they both dipped into their bowls of fresh hot soup.

At least that night she was to have cupcakes courtesy of Marla, forty dollars courtesy of Belinda, and a jovial phone call from her parents that night. Nothing more, nothing less, but at the same time, she wished for more and she knew that her flight back out to California that next Friday was the start of something for her. Something big and grand, like that next weekend in the Bay Area. It would take place on a day that wasn't her birthday, but it would be something.

Since it was Wednesday, after lunch, she headed back to school for the rest of the day and then back to her place in the Bronx. She stepped in through the front door: the first thing she noticed was the vase of yellow tulips on the table. They had lasted so long, and for so long in the heart of the first winter following Cliff's passing, but she noticed the wilt as it began to settle in on the yellow petals.

She would keep them there on the table until the pure yellow color vanished and they lost their smell, much like with the black hat Cliff had given her.

Sam took her seat on the couch with her drawing pad rested upon her lap. She was an artist in New York City, and yet she lived so far from the actual art scene. The boots still on her feet and yet she had no means as to how to look for it outside of her school work. Marla and Belinda had their way, for sure, but there had to be something more. There had to be, especially since she began to put her head down and put more work into her art for her classes. The struggle still came down on her, even as she gave her fish tails more scales and her humans more of a shading around their heads. It all seemed to slip away from the in between her fingers.

Everyone seemed to be doing better: her classmates received more praise, even Belinda who, at one point, admitted that graphites were a challenge for her as well. And yet, when Sam drew a self portrait surrounded by roses and water lilies, one of the comments Miss Estes left for her on the back side of the heavy grained paper was “lots of effort.”

She was eager for the flight out to the Bay Area by the time that early Friday morning rolled around, and she and Zelda were seated next to each other. She had packed that copy of Siddhartha with her but she had no idea as to when she would get to crack it open over the weekend.

Zelda had put on a plain white T shirt and fitted black jeans, and she had combed her short bob of black hair back for the flight. Apparently all she had packed with her were white shirts and black jeans.

“Don't you wanna look nice like at Cliff's memorial?” Sam asked her with a chuckle.

“I've got some suspenders and a tie to go with them,” Zelda replied. “It's a wedding for a friend of ours, and he said that we can wear whatever we like. So I told him that I'm gonna be full punk chick there. I'm guessing you'll be the artist?”

“Of course,” Sam replied, “the full black, baby.”

Zelda raised a hand to her for a high five and the light for the seat belts flickered on right then.

“I'll tell you this, Zelda,” Sam began.

“What's that?”

She peered over her shoulder to make sure Marla and Charlie paid no attention to them, given they were right across the aisle from them. Sam then gestured for Zelda to move in closer to her: beyond her and outside the window, she noticed the first few flurries of snow against the pane. She hoped they would take off soon.

“I'm getting kind of bored of New York,” she whispered to her.

“Really?” Zelda raised her eyebrows at her.

“Yeah. It's just—falling into the whole 'same old, same old' thing. I'm an artist, I should be able to go places with it all.”

“Absolutely, absolutely.”

“And I just—” Sam shook her head. “It's a great big city but I feel like there's nothing for me there anymore. Two years there and I'm not feeling it anymore. I'm glad we're going back out to the Bay Area for just this one weekend because I feel myself slowly going insane.”

“And why are you telling me this in a whisper?” Zelda asked her in a soft voice.

“Because—I don't know how to break it to Marla yet, or Belinda for that matter. Aurora kind of knows, but not in that sense, though. I made note of it to her but she didn't really suggest anything to me.”

“You can come to Providence,” Zelda suggested, “there's tons to do in Providence. Narragansett and Natick, too.”

“I guess what I'm trying to say is I feel trapped. Two years ago, I came here to the Northeast for a change of pace and it feels like it's trapped me sideways. There's no way out unless I really genuinely leave. The downside of course is—leaving you ladies behind and leaving Anthrax behind.”

“Yeah, and—we kinda like you, Sam. I do, especially. And I know Aurora does, too. And Marla.”

“Aurora is one of my best friends. Her and Frankie. They're my best friends. I don't know how I would handle leaving them both behind for a change of pace. I feel me and Marla drifting, if I'm honest. Can't really blame her, though—school's getting hard on her.”

“Well—whatever you do, Sam,” Zelda started again, “I'll support you on it. If nothing, you'll get the full support from me.”

“Thank you, Zelda. That—that means a lot to me.” Sam showed her a friendly smile.

Zelda shrugged. “I'm from Rhode Island,” she replied. “Moreover, I'm a punk rocker from Rhode Island. We look out for each other more so than these metal boys.”

They touched down in the Bay Area at five in the morning, and right as the sun began to rise right behind them. The thick fog surrounded the airport and Sam thought about the one and only Christmas she and Cliff spent together.

“Looks like San Francisco,” she muttered. “Feels like it, too.” She closed her eyes as they rolled up to the gate. She and Zelda stepped out of the airport first and she breathed in that marine air. She swore that New York was in fact her one true home, but there was just something about California that brought her more so into that feeling. That feeling that she needed to be there. All the fleeting thoughts led up to that moment there on the sidewalk.

Cliff's remains were not very far away from there, either.

She, Zelda, Marla, Aurora, and Belinda all stood at the curb as Charlie and Emile fetched their rental cars. All those men awaited them not too far from there, and Sam was eager to see Joey again given he flew in from Syracuse. That morning in which he and Belinda woke up before her and flirted with each other went through her mind every now and again. She never realized how much she wanted him until he put his arms around her and they locked eyes with each other. She needed to at the very least see him again: he also promised her a birthday gift.

Within time, Emile showed up with the little black car for himself and Aurora, while Charlie rolled up to the curb in a short dark green van. The four remaining girls piled inside away from the damp cold; Sam wanted to refer to him and Marla in the front seat as “Mom and Dad” again but she decided not to as she shivered under her jacket.

It wasn't New York, but Sam had forgotten how cold San Francisco could feel once the winter time set in.

“Okay, so we're going to a place called Marin Heights,” Charlie told them. “I think that's where the guys—Metallica—got the loft for us.”

“I've heard of it,” said Belinda from the middle seat.

“Me, too,” Sam added from the way back; Zelda huddled next to her and shook her head about. Sam had no idea as to why she didn't bring a jacket with her given it was winter in California. But instead, she peered out the small notch of a window to the Bay itself. She remembered that Testament were to film a music video out in Alcatraz, and those cold yellow lights from the island itself pierced through the foggy darkness. She wondered if they had finally wrapped up the recording of their first album since she wasn't able to sit in with them over the past couple of weeks because of school. She also wondered if she would receive any credit on it like with Stormtroopers of Death.

Charlie wound through the city until they reached the freeway, which in turn brought them up to Marin Heights, nestled back in the hills on the north side of town: they reached a switch back on the hillside so Sam was able to see the very top of the Golden Gate Bridge as it rose through the fog. The clouds themselves split apart so as to let the first rays of sunlight through and the metal of the bridge shone that bright amber color with the sunrise.

No wonder Cliff loved it there.

She sighed through her nose and turned her attention back to the road ahead of her as it turned away into the hills. Within time, they reached the top, and a small villa of little brick two story houses nestled back in the trees. She wondered if the wedding was going to be there as Charlie pulled up to the gravel driveway and stopped before the one closest to the street.

“I think this is us,” he informed them. “Or it might just be check in, I dunno.” He climbed out and then Sam and Zelda followed suit. The latter raised her lanky arms over her head and closed her eyes. Meanwhile, the former spotted a tall lanky boy with long black hair perched on a stone post on the other side of the driveway. He faced the other way but she knew those rich jet black curls anywhere.

“Joey?” she called out.

“Hm?” Zelda asked.

“Joey's over there.”

Zelda peeked around the rear end of the van and she nodded at her.

“Yeah, he is! Go get 'em!”

Sam then ducked around the end of the van and hurried over to him.

“Joey!” she called out. “Joey!”

He turned to face her with his eyebrows raised. He had lost a little weight so his waist was rather slim like Joey's, and the black hair dye held up, but she knew those deep eyes anywhere.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted him as she skidded to a stop before him.

“Hi,” Alex replied back to her with a thoughtful look on his face. “What's happening?”

“I thought you were Joey for a second.”

“You thought I was Joey?” he laughed at that.

“You have similar hair to each other.”

“His has more of a pile, though. Like right on top of his head. That big pile of ringlets atop his head.” He gestured to the crown of his head. “Even though I'm sitting down, I think he's a little bit shorter than me, too?”

“I think so?” Sam shifted her weight right there. Stray strands of his black hair lifted off of his shoulders in the wind and he ran his hand over the back of his head. He shivered from the feeling over his skin.

“God, it's cold out here,” he muttered as he adjusted his jacket.

“Yeah, it's pretty nippy. Not New York, but it's that California cold, though.”

“You know, both my parents are from New York,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Both obscenely smart Ivy League professors. They came out here before I was born to teach over at Berkeley.”

“Is that why you had the gray streak?” she asked him.

“Nah, I have no idea where that came from.” He shifted his weight yet again on that post. He seemed uncomfortable sitting there but Sam had no idea where to go right then. Charlie's voice behind her caught her ear and she peered over her shoulder at his talking to James.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Alex told her as he shifted his weight a fourth time. “Aurora told the five of us last week that it was her assistant's birthday and she didn't know what to get you.”

“Aw, thank you—it was back on the twenty first, though.”

“Happy belated,” he corrected himself, and she swore he winked at her. Someone called his name and he looked off to the distance.

“Hang on—” he said, and he darted past her towards Charlie.

“Sam?” Zelda called out to her, and she jogged back to her. Aurora had climbed out of Emile's car right next to them and she shivered inside of her windbreaker.

“What's up?”

“Apparently the wedding is today,” Aurora announced.

“Today?” Sam was stunned.

“Yeah. Three o'clock. I guess Kirk's lady couldn't wait for it a second longer so they're doing it today.”

“So we get a full weekend of good ol' fun,” Zelda added as she clasped her hands to her upper arms.

“Exactly!”

Sam turned her attention to Alex, who was talking to Charlie about something. His black hair twirled in the cold winter winds. Even from a distance, he had such a grave expression on his face that it made Sam think he was much older than in reality.

Belinda had the right idea: he was very precocious. But now she had a little bit of insight into the boy in that he was raised by intelligent parents. It was a start with Alex and she could only wonder from that point onward.

Aurora and Emile led her, Zelda, and Belinda into the cabin behind Charlie and Alex, and once they stepped inside of the cozy foyer, Zelda was eager to turn on the heater.

“Terrible idea not to pack a coat,” she muttered as she hurried down the front foyer in search of the thermostat, “terrible idea not to pack a coat!”

Sam and Belinda meanwhile took to the narrow stairwell in front of them, and they made their way up to that second level: to the right stood a couple of rooms, while to the left was the bathroom and two more rooms. The door at the far end stood slightly ajar, such that when they reached the top, they spotted that head of black curls outside the doorway.

“Hey, Joey,” Belinda greeted him. That lopsided grin and those big brown eyes returned the favor, and Sam's heart skipped a couple of beats at the sight of him. He didn't appear to be ready for a wedding at all with his plain white shirt, extra tight blue jeans, and ragged white socks.

“There are my girls,” he said as he padded closer to them.

“Oh deary me, you're gonna be down the hall from us?” Sam teased him.

“Yup, me, Frankie, and Charlie and Marla. We're gonna be all here at the end of the hall if you need anything.”

“You know the wedding is today right?” Belinda told him.

“Oh, shit, is it really?” Joey raised his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, Aurora just told us,” Sam added, and her heart sank at the thought of him barely being in the know of these things. “Three o'clock. So Bel and I are gonna get settled in and get dressed.”

“Oh, damn, thank you,” he told her, and his brown eyes sparkled at the sight of her. Cold as the earth and as engulfing as venom. He doubled back to his room and Sam pushed open the door in front of her. Inside stood a small bunk bed and a heavy wooden dresser underneath the window.

“Top or bottom?” she asked Belinda.

“You're older and got way more inside, so top,” she replied as she lay her purse down on the faded blue comforter upon the bottom bed. Even though they had plenty of time before the wedding, Sam wanted to clean up, and change her clothes and look her best. She hadn't been to a wedding in what felt like forever: there was one from when she was three years old, but she had no memory of it and she had no clue as to who even got eloped then, either.

Belinda offered to curl her hair and do it up extra nice, but she promised her there was very little to actually do up given her hair sat flat on her head. If only she could make curls into a crown like with Joey, but she had what she had in the form of a red wine colored dress and a thin black sweater over the top: the dress was a bit snug around her hips but she need not obsess over something as trivial as that when she remembered what Joey wanted to give her.

She was about to head on back inside of their room when she spotted him on the other side of the hallway with the five men from Death Angel, if she recalled correctly. Once again with the quintets and she would learn all of their names in the meantime. But he had a box wrapped in old faded red wrapping paper tucked under his arm and she hoped it wasn't just a wedding gift, especially since he still hadn't gotten dressed.

He laughed at something one of them said and he turned around.

“Oh, there you are!” he called out to her, and he scurried towards her. The tape on the edges of the box and the crooked look of the paper itself told her he wrapped it in a hurry, but she didn't mind at all once she slid her fingers under the edge of the paper closest to her. Careful not to tear it, she unwrapped it and lifted the lid. Inside was a pair of black leather gloves and a red and white knit scarf, the latter of which she ran her fingers over to find it softer than anything she had felt before. It was as soft as a cat.

“It's your own pair of gloves plus a scarf,” he declared. “I just think about how cold you always get upstate.” He shrugged at that.

“I love it, Joey! It's so soft.”

“It's cashmere.”

Sam gaped at him. “Cashmere,” she echoed him.

“Yeah—it was marked down, though. But it's cashmere. I wanted to give you something nice and good and good and nice.”

She slipped the gloves on and they fit around her fingers as if they were made for her. Joey offered to put the scarf around her neck; he stood before her, a country boy in a plain white shirt before a California girl in a dark red dress, and he wrapped the scarf around her.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered to her. “Happy birthday. Double deuces as of ten days ago!”

“Thank you—” She put her arms around him and she held him close. His slender little body was as soft as that scarf, and he smelled of fresh baked bread, something she would be willing to experience as long as he didn't have a drop of alcohol on hand.

Maybe there was in fact something more to life than being in that groove all the time. Maybe she could find a way to break out of her shell, and she could owe it all to him.

And she still hadn't told her parents about him.

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rae-is-typing · 4 years

Text

Scars

Original request from @sorrybutimtrying: Can you do one where Chris Evans or Paul Rudd meets a fan, sees her scars and tries to help her. Or something like that

Description: You win one of those contests where you and some other people get to meet and fraternize with a celebrity. This time, it’s Paul Rudd. He notices something you wished he hadn’t.

Characters: reader, original female and male characters (Sophia the Marvel person, Olivia the other teen girl, and a lot of unnamed men and women), Paul Rudd

Warnings: swearing, implied self-harm, self-harm scars, being sexually harassed at work, mentioned cat calling

Word count: 3.8k

See Ant-Man three weeks early, hang out with the one and only Paul Rudd, play laser tag, and pizza together on an all expenses paid trip to LA! Enter now! 12 lucky fans will be chosen. Entries close in three hours.

You take a moment to stop scrolling. Your heart speeds up; it always does when opportunities arise. You always apply, but you never win. Glancing at the clock, you see you still have ten minutes on break.

What the heck, might as well enter. There's nothing to lose.

Entering takes the rest of your break. You were asked questions, and had to enter your phone number and email address a few times. You submit your entry as soon as your break ended. Sighing, you push yourself to your feet. Back to serving customers and getting yelled at by your manager.

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

Life gets hard and you completely forget that you ever entered in the first place.

You aren't proud of what you do to cope. Hell, you've managed to stop doing it completely for a few months. But sometimes it's so hard. Too hard to do anything else.

You don't show off your scars. By sticking to long sleeve shirts, concealer, and strategically placed bracelets, you can easily make it seems like there are a few birthmarks on your wrists instead anything self-inflicted.

Unfortunately, you can't afford to see a professional. Both you and your mother are working multiple jobs so you can eat and have a place to live. Deep down, you know you should tell her. Deep down, you want to tell her. But you can't bring yourself to. It'll only stress her out. Between two jobs and going back to school to finish her degree, you don’t want to bring her more stress. But your always hopeful for the day where she'd be able to help you through your hard days.

Speaking of hard days, you hate being a waitress. You work in a particularly sleazy part of town where the guys like to call out anything resembling a female body. Walking down the street brings you one cat call after another, and waitressing isn't any better. You get called every pet name under the sun. Sweetie, babe, baby girl, jujubee. Someone even called you, a 16-year-old wearing some of the baggiest clothes imaginable, sugartits. Your manager had fun with him.

After getting home, you flop on your bed and fight the urge to cry. You made a whopping fifteen dollars in tips that night for working 4 hours, a customer yelled at you for giving them iced tea with ice in it, and a guy started following you home until he got bored. It was not a good night.

Then your phone starts to ring. Maroon 5 reverberates in your room, simultaneously annoying you and making you feel a tiny bit better. Without looking at the caller ID, you pick up the phone.

"Hello?" You ask, voice muffled by the pillow your head is still buried in.

"Hi there! I'm looking for a Y/N Y/L/N." A feminine voice chirps through the phone.

"Yeah, that's me." You roll onto your back so you can speak clearer.

"Great. My name is Sophia Ramsey, I'm the one organizing the event with Paul Rudd. I'm so excited to let you know that you won! You will be one of twelve to be flown out to LA to meet with him and spend the day with him."

A huge smile tugs at your lips, so much so your face starts to hurt. "What?" You laugh. "Are you serious?"

"I sure am! Some blank documents have been sent to the email you provided in your entry. I need you to fill them out and either fax them to the number listed on them, mail them to the address listed, or scan them and email them to that same email address."

"I-I can totally do that!"

"Now this event is an all expenses paid, so everything will be provided for you. You'll be flown out the day of and flown back home after it ends. It will be held June seventh."

"Thank you so much!"

She laughs at your enthusiasm. "Of course. Once we get those documents we will be organizing your flights. We will be in touch."

"Awesome, wonderful. Thanks so much!"

"You're so welcome. Bye bye now."

You pull the phone away from your ear, sporting a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat himself. You won! You won you won you won! You're going to meet one of your favorite actors!

You pull up your email on your phone immediately. Spotting the email, you skim through the PDFs quickly. Since you're a minor, there are a lot of things your mom has to sign.

I need to print these. You think, biting your lip. You don't want to wait for the next at school, you want to fill these out now. Grabbing your wallet and apartment keys, you run (yes, run) down to the library that's a few blocks away. A lot of students gather there for studying and the free wifi.

You wave at a few of your classmates, and they nod back. You print the documents off quickly, paying a small fee for the paper, and you run (yes, run) back home.

You bounce into your apartment, still giddy (and sweaty).

"Mom! Mom, you'll never guess what happened!" You exclaim upon seeing your mother sitting on the couch in the living room.

She looks up from the book she was reading with a tired smile. "What happened, sweetie?"

"Remember that thing I entered? That event Marvel was hosting?" You ask, vibrating with excitement.

"I do."

"I won! I won Mom! I get to meet Paul Rudd!"

A grin broke out on your mom's face. "Oh, Y/N, that's awesome."

"I know! I have to fill out these documents. Do we have somewhere we can fax things? Do you know how to fax? I don't know how to fax."

She laughs. "I'll teach you how to fax things, don't you worry."

------

You get everything taken care of the day after. After another call with Sophia, you manage scheduling flights and times for the drivers (you get a driver! how awesome!)

In the weeks leading up to the event, all your extra effort is put into a gift for Paul. You have a knack for art that you don't have much time for anymore. Between school and work, it's also hard to find energy to put into it.

However, you said 'screw school' and began an art project: a hand-drawn collage of all Paul Rudd's characters, including Ant-Man. It takes all the time leading up to the event, but you manage to make it look amazing. Along with the collage, you write him a letter. You don't believe it to be anything very special, but you hope he will appreciate it. You detail your own struggles and how much looking up to him has helped you.

Then the day comes.

You barely sleep at all the night before. Adrenaline and an unhealthy amount of caffeine replace any semblance of rest you may have gotten.

The driver arrives at your apartment at 4:30 AM to take you to the nearest airport. After triple checking your stuff and a quick goodbye with your mom, you're off.

The car is so nice. You have no idea what make or model it is, but you're sure it very expensive. The drive doesn't take a long time; the roads are practically empty and there is little traffic, which is great.

However, you're left on your own in the airport, which is not great. A lot of zombie-esque people are there, a few crying children, and some drug dogs even joined the party. You bite your lip, scratching at your concealed wrists. It's something you always do when you're nervous.

You don't have any bags other than a backpack, so you don't need to check anything. Looking around, you try to spot someone that looks like they know what they're doing. You eventually do, and follow them to security.

The line is long, and after moderate hassle with the agents, you're through and on the way to your gate. Once you get there, you closely examine your ticket. First class. Your eyebrows shoot up. The first time you're flying and you get first class. Damn. Okay, you'll take it.

The flight was good: no babies cried, the flight people were all super nice, and you even got the entire row to yourself.

After the flight, you're off to the venue. You meet your new driver at the exit and get to another very expensive looking car.

LA traffic is everything you've heard and more. The streets are packed, and it takes quite a while for you to get where you're supposed to be. But when you do, it is incredible.

The building is huge. It's wall to wall one way glass. The sun bounces off the silver accents, almost blinding you. Out of pure impulse, you take a picture. You almost don't believe that you're here.

After thanking the driver, you hop out of the car and walk into the glass building. The interior is even prettier.

It's clean, with dark oak floors and chairs and tables lining the wall. A small group of excited people are gathered by a longer table full of stuff. Your anxiety spikes. This is actually happening. You're going to meet one of your heroes and give him some of your art. This cannot be happening. You nails find your wrist again.

After making your way to the small group, they immediately welcome you into the circle. They each introduce themselves for probably the millionth time, and one of them informs you that everyone is here.

After a few minutes of pure small talk, a woman walks into the lobby area.

"Hi everyone!" You all turn to her. She's dressed in a red sleeveless blouse, black slacks and high heels. Her face is done up nicely, as is her hair. She stands proudly with a charismatic smile gracing her face."I'm Sophia, the manager of this event. I'm so excited to get started! First things first, we'll start with the meet and greet. Each one of you will get 15 minutes with Paul. After that, there'll be a few games of laser tag, and finally, the screening of the new Ant-Man movie! We at Marvel ask that you keep all the movie details to yourself so everyone can enjoy the movie when it comes out."

Murmurs of agreement spread through the room.

“If you all follow me, we can get started," Sophia leads the group to a different room. Paul is sitting at a table with an empty chair next to him.

Excitement spreads through you. He looks so much more real in person, as weird as that sounds. You bite your lip, keeping your mouth shut. Excited calls from the other fans make him smile widely.

You keep your place near the back, slowly building up courage and thinking out what you're going to say. You certainly don't want to look like an idiot when you meet one of your heroes.

"Nice bracelets." The voice of a girl pulls you from your thoughts.

"Oh, thank you." You say, turning to see her. She has short black hair, blue eyes and pale skin.

"Yeah. I love Panic! At the Disco. Their music is amazing."

"For real, they're so good!"

The two of you share small talk until it's her turn. For twelve people each getting fifteen minutes, time went by very fast. She talks to him excitedly, something that he reciprocates. Another wave of anxiety comes over you. Your heart speeds up, your hands get a little sweaty. Holy shit! You're actually meeting him.You fight the urge to scratch at your wrist.

Finally, it's your turn.

You go up to the table with an anxious smile on your face. He smiles back.

"Hi there!" He says. "I'm so glad you won."

"Thank you!" You say, sitting down in the chair. "I actually brought something."

"Oh thank you! That's awesome."

You pull out the small framed collage, placing it on the table with the enveloped letter on top. There's a small stack of stuff on the other side of him. He carefully sets the envelope to the side, now examining the poster.

"Wow! This is so good!" He exclaims. "Did you draw this?"

You can only nod shyly.

"This is great, really. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The two of you talk for the rest of the time. He signs a couple of things for you, and you take a few pictures. At the end, you want to take a funny selfie for your instagram. While taking the picture, your bracelets slide up your arm. Your heart stops for a split second when you see a fresher scar. You pull back the bracelets immediately, and play it off as soon as possible.

But it was too late, Paul saw some of the scars. His face falls into something more solemn, concerned almost. He opens his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted.

"Alright everyone! It is time to move on to the next event."

Paul put a smile on his face, but he gave you a worried glance at you while he stood up. He walks by Sophia as you're led through the building. The interior continued to take your breath away. Postmodern design flooded your sight as everyone crams into an elevator.

You're taken up a few floors and the elevator opens to a small room with vests and guns attached to said vests. A blank scoreboard hangs proudly above everything. You glance around. Everyone is sporting grins.

"Let's do girls against boys!" Olivia, the girl you were talking to before, exclaims.

"You sure?" One of the guys pipes up. "I think there are more guys than girls,"

"There's like one more guy. We should do at least one battle of the sexes." She grins.

"I'm cool with it," A woman in her mid twenties smirks.

"Me too," You shrug. More murmurs of agreement spread through the group.

“Alright, suit up everyone. Girls will be red and boys will be green." Sophia says.

"I will leave you to Ralph, he is our resident lazer tag expert."

"Alright everyone, your goal is to destroy the other team’s base. You do that by destroying the power supply in the deepest part of the opposing team’s base. It looks like a dinosaur egg off of Jurassic Park, and it lights up. I have a few ground rules. No fighting, no sprinting, no food or drink near the equipment. But most importantly, have fun! There are large towers on each side where you have to charge your gun. Your vest will beep at you when you need to recharge. Good luck. Boys, enter to the left, girls on your right." With Ralph ending his spiel, everyone hustles into the room.

You follow behind one of your teammates to the back of the base. The room is absolutely massive. There's a large structure running through the middle of the floor with at least four sets of stairs. The supporting poles are lit up by green and red lights. You clutch your gun to your chest. It's not the very first time you're playing laser tag, but it is the first time in a long while.

You go off on your own, jogging up the stairs on the large structure. You speed walk quietly, ducking behind large foam covers that were spread sporadically throughout the entire floor when you suspect one of the boys had spotted you.You climb to the top. You hold your gun by your thigh, keeping your finger on the trigger. Slowly walking in circles, you try to spot the egg like power supply that Ralph had described on the ground below.

Suddenly, someone bumped into you. You jump, barely holding back a yelp.

"Oh, my god. I’m so sorry." Olivia quickly apologized. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, you just scared the shit out of me though," You laugh.

"I'm sorry... Y/N, right?"

"Yeah yeah yeah, and you're Olivia, right?"

"Mhm, what are you looking for?"

"I'm trying to find the power supply."

"Same girl. I think I saw it over there." She says, gesturing to your left. "But I'm not sure."

"Let's go check it out."

The two of you venture to the left, moving as quickly and quietly as before. Soon enough, you're able to spot the power supply through the guard rails. Only one guy is standing guard. You share a small low-five and split up to attack it.

Olivia jogs down the stairs to ground level and you go to the second floor for better range.

You crouch close to the floor, poking your gun through the guard rails and wait until you see Olivia come up behind the guard and start shooting. You join her immediately, and together you almost destroy it. However, your gun runs out of charge.

Cursing under your breath, you jog as fast as you can (almost running) down to a charging base, where you run into Olivia again.

"Dude, that was fucking crazy." She laughs. "We almost had them."

Laughing breathlessly, you agree. "For real though. We got them this time. Same plan?"

"Hell yeah,"

"What plan?" A new voice cuts in. The woman in her mid twenties pops up out of nowhere.

"We found their supply. I went low and she went to the second floor. If we have one more person, I think we got this. We'll have to hurry though."

A grin spreads on the woman's face. "Let's do it. I'll head to the first floor on the other side."

The three of you jog together back to the same place as before. You show the woman where to go, then you leave to go up one floor.

Once again, you start to shoot when Olivia does. The woman joins in soon after.

You hear the guards frustrated cries as he tries to fend off all three of you at once. A few of the other guys come running back, but it was too late. Girls won!

You laugh, throwing your hands up. "Hell yeah!"

Olivia cheers, and the woman whoops. The lights come on, making you wince.

"Game over. Red team has claimed their victory! Congratulations, ladies!" Ralph's voice comes over intercoms you didn't know were there.

You make your way down to ground level, meeting up with the other women. You congratulate each other.

"Let's do it again! Same team?”

The lot of you end up playing three more games: girls vs. boys, old people vs. young people, and Paul vs. Everyone else. Boys won, young people won, and the last one was a tie. (You and Olivia ended up teaming up with Paul anyways, but no one else needs to know that.)

After that, everyone was crammed into an elevator yet again. This time smelling a lot less pleasant after running and sneaking around.

All of you are lead to another floor. This one resembled a movie theater more than anything else. A huge table of food is set up in front of the door to the screening room.

Everyone begins to get their dinner, most of them being hungry from the hour and a half spent running around in the dark shooting at each other.

Before you could grab a plate, however, someone places a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see Paul standing behind you.

You smile up at him. "Hi."

"Hey. I wanna talk to you, could we step out?" That look of concern from before is etched onto his face.

"Sure," You say, the slightest bit of hesitation seeping into your voice. You step into a smaller, unoccupied corner of the hall. Before you can ask any questions, he starts speaking.

"Look, I don't know your situation, I don't know you, and I don't know what you've been through, but I saw your wrist. I know what it's like to be low, and I just wanted to tell you that it gets better. Everything is going to work the way it's meant to. Everything is going to be okay. And if you need help, don't be afraid to ask. Mental pain is just as serious and debilitating as physical pain is. I hate to see anyone go through this, especially my fans."

Tears prick at you eyes at his words. No one has ever taken you aside and spoken to you like this before. All the anxiety and trepidation leaves your body, and your left with this warmth and reassurance.

You can only bite your lip and nod. He smiles again and opens his arms. You hug briefly before leaving the corner and getting your food.

Everything after that is all smiles and laughter. The food is some of the best you've ever had; they certainly spared no expense.

The movie is incredible. You have no doubt in your mind that you'll save your tips and take your mom to see it one night after it comes out.

Truth be told, you're sad this is over. You want to do more with everyone, but you're so undeniably grateful that you got this opportunity. More pictures are taken, social media is exchanged, and soon you're all on your separate ways home.

When you get home, you pass out on your face, shoes barely kicked off your feet. You never expected to wake up to what you did though.

A DM from Paul Rudd.

Hey Y/N! It was so nice meeting you! I'm so glad you had the opportunity to attend the event. It's always so wonderful to spend time with fans. I wanted to tell you that your collage is amazing! You have a real knack for art. You should definitely keep it up if you can. Thank you for sharing your story in the letter. It really moved me. I also wanted to let you know one last time that things do get better, things do improve. Stay strong for yourself and your future. You got this.

#paul rudd x reader #paul rudd x teen!reader #marvel rpf #paul rudd #teen!reader #marvel #ant-man #ant-man x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfic #avengers cast x teen!reader #avengers cast x reader

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Next Caller Pt 50

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 – Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 - Pt 16 - Pt 17 - Pt 18 - Pt 19 - Pt 20 - Pt 21 - Pt 22 - Pt 23 - Pt 24 - Pt 25 - Pt 26 - Pt 27 - Pt 28 - Pt 29 - Pt 30 - Pt 31 - Pt 32 - Pt 33 - Pt 34 - Pt 35 - Pt 36 - Pt 37 - Pt 38 - Pt 39 - Pt 40 - Pt 41 - Pt 42 - Pt 43 - Pt 44 - Pt 45 - Pt 46 - Pt 47 - Pt 48 - Pt 49 -

To the sound of the broadcast of the news you started on the next batch of dough. On top of a heat resistant set of wood blocks you laid over your counters you left the hot trays of bread to cool while you started to mix the next bowls worth. Gritty the mixture slowly turned to the supple dough you needed to the opening monologue breaking to, ‘And on our top story for the day the opening of Clustered Anchors in Erebor came with the weight of another stunning opening, that of the official claiming of Thorin Durin.’

Frerin came into the kitchen while Thorin changed Billi, smirking as you muttered, “Claiming,”

‘The eldest son of Thrain son of Thror attended the opening of the show as an official announcement of their status as a couple. From the cast to the few people they did come into contact with all said they were incredibly affectionate and spoke of plans afterwards. This morning we have received notice of the official statement the Durins have printed on their family website and no doubt official portraits will surely follow for the stunningly betrothed couple, yes betrothed, their portraits no doubt will be taken or available soon. Although the news of the status was far from surprising if you had taken notice of a certain piece of jewelry the young Durin was sporting.’

You rolled your eyes leaving the dough to rise in taking out one roll to cook another leaving the hot one to cool. “By the size alone they will be commenting on their suspicions of an engagement due to a proposal worthy stone from you.”

Softly you sighed out, “Technically we are engaged. Just shredding hairs.”

Frerin chuckled at Thorin’s entrance asking, “Who is shredding hairs? Sounds painful.” Letting out a gasping smile at Billi’s reach up to grab his braid in his beard to admire the bead securing the end of it before awkward tries to grab his mustache shifting his upper lip through his adoring stare at his niece.

Frerin chuckled out, “Your Mafioso here was commenting that your betrothal already constitutes engagement based on the news’ comments on your ring.”

Thorin hummed out, “Better to give them more announcements to wait on.”

The sound of brakes squeaking had Frerin checking the door and calling back, “Expecting a delivery?”

Thorin hurried to the door joining him, “Ooh, that would be the beds.” Easing Billi into the playpen on the way. Huffs and puffs sounded through your mixing up some muffin and brownie mix while chatting to the girl, the mix was added to your second oven with timer set to bring out after another loaf was ready to be finished off.

“And in related news, Wolsey is here!!” An excited squeal cane from the news anchors who delved more into the arrival of the second bout of stickers related to the Bunny Show. “The dynamic lovers are now a duo, our Countess can now be displayed with her cumbersome Prince Charming. Last month the Countess stickers were the first glimpse into the world of his addictive show and everyone was boots over beard for the impossible stunner selling out in a matter of hours, creating a backlist of orders that is still holding and gradually shipping copies to loves of our Grand Lady of Mischief. And now we get to see the fella who had her begrudgingly offered attentions focused on him for so long until the stars aligned and courtship ensued. I am not alone in shrieking once we got a good glimpse of the golden haired Dwarf.”

Frerin with a grin came back into view eyeing Billi now nodding off in her pop up crib you were keeping an eye on as you bustled around prepping your treats and odd bowl of lemons you had gathered from the greenhouse the day before. “Making brownies now? And muffins?”

“Nice to get it all done at once.”

Two trays of muffins were eased into the one to the sound of the door again turning Thorin with a curious furrow of his brows. “Jaqi, they need you to sign.”

Out you came and smiled accepting the pad and stylus from the Elf who said, “Three packages for you today Miss Pear.”

“Three,” You muttered to yourself glancing at the duo in the back of the shipping van who unloaded a wooden carrier for a painting followed by a trunk they carefully moved into the front hall with a medium sized box on top. The trio nodded heir heads wishing you all a good day and turned back to their van as Frerin closed the door to Thorin returning with a box cutter he passed to you.

Starting with the box you gasped at the beyond fluffy fake panda fur blanket you giggled folding back up to our back into the box for later as you eyed the envelope that was on top of it in Frerin’s hand. At your approval he opened it and showed you the simple note reading simply ‘Welcome Home’ signed clearly by Thranduil, Amrod and Amras. With the note was the key to the painting case and the trunk locks the brothers unlocked to find a stunning decorative vase you agreed to move to the living room and a medium sized painting of a scenic landscape with playing sheep you smiled and took to lean against the wall of the living room bare of decorations where the image could be hung high enough the be viewed properly. Most the other rooms curved on the walls bare enough for the painting that size and with a smirk at your pleased expression of the gift Thorin hummed, “I’ll break out the stud finder to hang it tomorrow for you.”

“Thank you,” You said and turned to hurry back to answer another timer for one of your treats in the kitchen as trunk and case were taken to the garage and the blanket to your room to be draped over your bed later. Back he went to your side to hear with Frerin more about the brothers who had gifted you the decorations and their significance. Though their hand made declaration had them all the more grateful and understanding of their importance to you. Priceless gifts from equally as talented friends who always hoped to help you decorate your well deserved home one day. The doorbell however at the timer for the brownies pulled him away again with a scowl and grumbled argument against being pulled away at his try to inch closer to steal a kiss on your cheek.

“Twelve pounds a piece! Dam and Dwarrow!” Dwalin exclaimed loud enough past Thorin’s shoulder letting you know while you stored the last of your bread, muffins and brownies. Into the entrance hall he came pausing at the large box left by the door asking as Bilbo and Frodo hurried in towards the incredible smells coming from the kitchen. “What’s with the box cousin?”

Thorin said, “Ah, that’s one of the bed kits for the orange and white room.”

Dwalin asked, “Here?”

Thorin nodded, “We’d need room to build in there. Not much give if we packed them all in. Two are stacked as the other is off by itself.”

Dwalin looked from his cousin to the box making Thorin grin knowing he was feeling the same urge to build it as he and Frerin had upon passing the kit that just drew the eye in the mostly assembled home.

Bilbo grinned seeing the bread tucked into the tiered bread boxes then shifted his eyes to the lemon slices coated in honey and sugar lying in a clear pan. “Are those lemons?”

“Yes, do you need lemons, my tree is just exploding with them.”

“Don’t use them often, however, what are you making with this?”

“I have some lime left too that I’m letting cool in the fridge freshly crushed that I will layer with cherry drizzle and peach peels.” His eyes narrowed and you grinned saying, “You add them to little cucumber crackers, have to freeze it first, it’s like an ice cream brittle.”

Frerin’s eyes narrowed asking, “Who taught you that?”

“I assume it’s an Elf thing if you haven’t heard of it. Cirdan’s Naneth taught me.”

Thorin entered the room with a grin coming to bring out the lime he helped you to layer with the peach peels in the other bowl you then added to the freezer. His relative’s curious glances had him saying, “It will be lovely, now, Mafioso, since we are greater in number and require distraction how about we crack open one of those bed kits? Hmm?”

Kili walked in grinning as Fili asked, “What are we building?” Gladly making room for Mal between them who grinned at you.

“Alright, since you outnumber me.” That was your reply and leading the way you found the toolbox beside the first kit Thorin grinned brightly at you having been caught at his obvious wish to sneak time to break this kit open anyways with or without you. “Oh,” the kit was unpacked with all supplies organized by lettered sticker and size, certain to leave brackets and the screws and nails in their lettered bags inside the ring of wood for easier access.

“Oh?” The others parroted back and you glanced up, “It’s in Avari...” looking up at the doorway you asked Roac from his dangle in the doorway arch asking, “Could you ask Kuu here? He knows Avari better than I do.” Sighing as you recounted the countless nature shows he absorbed in the language you had been trying to learn to share that time with him.

The Dwarves couldn’t help but grin at the thought of being led in this project by a great owl but smiled openly at his eager perch off to the side grinning at the booklet propped up so you could see the pictures and he could read the words. Tangled in holds to keep the halfway assembled platform frame backs began to clench and limbs tremble as he read, “Firmly lodge squirrel into each corner faucet.”

Heads turned to the bird as you said, “I am fairly certain that rune is not squirrel. I promise you it’s not.”

“No, it says clearly, squirrel and faucet, the latter however I am doubting. Hmm.” With feathers fluffing up his body turned with head straightening up from its sideways bend in a trot to the door. “I will fetch my translation guide.”

Once clear of the door the others chuckled at your mutter of, “It’s not squirrel...” Resting your forehead on the wood plank you were holding up. On Fili’s right as he kept his corner steady for Kili to add whatever the non squirrel part into the non faucet part to latch all four panels together to form a sturdy base the middle panels would be screwed into separating the cubbies for storage underneath the bed to go with the smaller ones around the edges of the cushioned headboards.

“It is not squirrel,” he replied once open translation dictionary was laid out beside the booklet and you rolled your eyes to yourself out of his view hearing him flip the page to double check faucet as well before the project could carry on. “Secure the screw into the locked brackets.”

Glancing at the bird you heard Kili ask, “Which screw? There’s twelve types.”

Kuu grinned with head tilted over the booklet and read the letters off for which end of the bed they were going in. Chuckles were muffled from those around you and the project continued. Until with a deep sigh all heads turned to the next kit as Kuu excitedly moved his things on top of the completed bed to be out of the way for the next tricky kit. Having ended the first where more than a few of you had been pinched or bitten by one piece or another with more than enough bruises to spare and Thorin with two fingers taped together in what would begin to be a trend among the group.

Home and ready to greet their clan the twins to Balin and his wife’s the whole clan was gathered. Your group being last after having finished off the final fourth bed now marked off your list just waiting for the mattresses and to be made. Not far away the walk didn’t take long and with presents in hand Thorin led the way proud to have your braid, his ring and the first couple gift from the pair of you to go with the treats you had brought. All eagerly claimed at the door with Thorin first to be lured over to his cousins’ youngest their elder sister smiled and waved to. You however smiled speaking to Gorgo in her elated sharing of news on a cousin of theirs, “All us expecting have gotten extra testing and one of her cousins has the same condition they found and she is having a precautionary c-section as well in a week, very near to the end of her term as well.”

“Oh-,”

Her hand claimed yours through her smile, “Now we know, it’s a genetic condition that in a few months a small procedure can correct to prevent this again, they have a blood test for it and without pregnancy it is easier to treat for those who do have it from her line. Doctors don’t normally test for it that is how it was missed all this time in their clan. Please don’t worry, a big fuss won’t be made, but when you are ready for pebbles of your own we will all hope to be as supportive as you have been to us, one Amad to another.”

Dis by her side smiled seeing Thorin halfway pouting after his turn in greeting the non giggling duo and moved to speak with their parents stealing a glance back to you sharing the details on the ring the couple had spotted. Nodding her head she said, “Your turn, if they don’t giggle the couple chooses by default.”

Across the room you went to the bassinet holding the contently grunting twins whose eyes came to focus on you as you came to stand over them, “Well look at you two. Clever little Lark and a coy little Fox.” Fast and shrill the pair shrieked out in unison for the start of a trio of giggles at your hand lowering to tap the soles of their raised feet with toes wiggling. Both boy and girl fully expecting the attention to them as everyone else had given the customary swipe of fingers along the bottom of their feet in the Hobbitish welcome.

All around you however smiles spread at the highly acceptable choice of their godmother with a slightly confused Frerin behind you who was chosen as godfather at the next set of silence splitting giggles while you moved to Thorin’s side. The elder brother however chuckled easing his arm around your back leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead and grin at his younger brother saying, “Bout time you gained a giggle.”

Balin chuckled as his wife said to you, “The pair of you will suit out twins nicely. How did you guess their animal guides?”

“Feeling, bit like a dream,”

That made her grin spread, “Your Hobbit is showing,” making you grin to yourself.

Balin however said, “Fine gift you made my cousin.”

“Thank you, call me selfish but I’d have hated for Thorin to lose himself, me and his bond with all of you.”

That had Balin and his wife looking to Thorin who flashed a grin saying, “Ones betrothed to Vanyar trade gifts or the Blue Moon makes them lose themselves, their Ones and to their kin. Like our Donkey Days.”

That had you grin sheepishly, “Though ours tend to be more foreboding.”

Thorin, “It’s to honor Varda sparing a pair of lovers set apart by distance who risk meeting under the Blue Moon sleeping in the forest holding hands under a sheet of woven clover, it’s a beautiful story.” He said peering at you sweetly a moment then to his smiling cousins again.

Balin, “Very beautiful. Though Gran nearly had a heart palpitation seeing that ring.”

“I know it’s big, it has to be a size proportionate to my wealth. And I had the emerald and galvorn and ithildin in my trunks.”

Balin’s wife chuckled, “They are lovely choices.”

“Well if you need any gems I got some.” Making her chuckle again with Balin.

At least until she opened the gifts and let out soft gasps at the blankets decorated with foxes and larks with a fox and lark stuffie to go with each perfect for each of them she hugged you both in thanks. Gifts they were tucked in with at their naptime, which came fairly soon at their yawn that rippled through the household ushering everyone out with respectful nods nice and quiet to not disturb the duo with Frerin gladly taking up Billi accepting another night in charge of his niece to let the babies still get adjusted to being home. Mal and the boys under Dwalin and Bilbo’s watch were off to a film on an impromptu date night under supervision to a cgi kid friendly film they and Frodo had been waiting to see easing its approval by all.

Beside you however Gorgo stole a chance to sneak a few pictures of the carrier you had made for your first draft having already taken pictures of the leather bindings you had done for the movements as a set. “We just want to be sure to honor the full setup you have to be true to the series. Are your other drafts bound similarly?”

“Second and third, yes. Haven’t gotten to the etchings yet, I usually wait until then to bind them. But I had an idea for the spines especially that they would form a picture after the first novel.”

Gorgo, “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

“Though there are a few symbols pertaining to Durin I’d need clearance on first to be certain they are fine.”

Thorin beside you said, “Of course we would love to approve them. There aren’t many that would be restricted from use pertaining to Durin for the public.”

“Not truly for restricted reasons, more like a spell check of sorts on his runes I used for one of his titles.” Making Thorin chuckle, “There’s one title I keep inversing and I can’t seem to keep it straight in my head when writing it as you read it out of order.”

Gorgo grumbled, “That one-,”

And Thorin chuckled out, “Each Dwarf Father has their own jumbled title, others get those mixed all the time.”

“Well I know I got it right in the book, just, on it.”

Gorgo grinned, “We will gladly check any of those issues for you that you might feel timid on.”

“There is one when I was writing it none of the Dwarves got on Ruun, it’s a pun but obviously it went over their heads.”

Thorin, “In Khuzdul?” You nodded and he said, “Yes, Khuzdul has rules on puns.”

“Well I’m not taking it out,” making him chuckle again, “Part of the point it’s in there, Bunny tells it to Durin and it flies over his head and he gets into this huge argument over the logic of it until the Countess gestures it was a pun then he stops laughs then silence.”

Gorgo giggled out, “Oh that is painful, please tell me that is close to the courting.”

“It’s actually closer to the fifth try for him to propose.”

Thorin whispered, “Fifth-,” smoothing his fingers over his mouth.

Gorgo however asked, “Does he succeed?”

“No, there’s an emergency he gets called away.” Making them both groan until you said, “But I can say he doesn’t see her apparent proposal coming.”

Thorin, “Ok, I’ll bite, how so?”

“She tackles him from off the top of a cupboard.” Caught in his throat his chuckles began to Gorgo’s loud laugh just imagining how relieved the First Woken Dwarf would feel after a proposal of that caliber after so much struggle. “Though she doesn’t really understand what she did.”

Thorin chuckled out, “Oh I don’t question that a moment.”

His fingers wiping around his eye made you smirk and say, “I think you guys will like it regardless of the struggle.”

Gorgo nodded then asked in a moment of stoic resolve, “If this is, Bunny, meant to be his final wife in his last two lives, how will that come into the story?”

“That, um, that you might not like. Bunny has her fea stolen and he has to travel to the Halls of Mandos to find her.” Dropping their grins, “It gets, a bit dark, but there’s some meaning behind it.”

Thorin, “How did you think of that?” He asked making your eyes narrow as if you had found some semblance of truth to that fact.

Shrugging your shoulders you said, “There was a Kurdu fable with a sort of similar notion to it. Should I change it?”

The both of them said, “No!”

And Thorin cleared his throat to say, “One of Durin’s journeys, that fable, it talks about his child, though the notion is similar, a test of faith and bonds. That one fable has never been touched on in any adaptation of his lifetimes,”

“Oh,” you said softly.

Gorgo said, “This tale, from what you’ve shared of Durin so far he needs this test. This is one of the truest versions to his being that we’ve come across, that is why people love it. We have to see him at his highest in this imagined flying shark craft of yours to the lowest when he is scouring for the lost soul of the one he cherishes most.”

“No pressure there then,” you murmured and he took your hands.

“No one else has the words, has ever been able to grasp who he was to the core and show that to those who don’t understand our culture and traditions and still get the point across. It doesn’t need to be accurate but the very essence of the Father of the Longbeard Clan is that he would sacrifice all to scour the Halls of Mandos to retrieve his cherished one. He needs that struggle or he is hollow, that drive and urge that we all feel for our Ones. That message is so hard to convey to non-Dwarves so it is often skipped over for more lighthearted topics. We are steadfast, hewn from the living stone, we never falter, he never did. And he prevailed and Mahal sent them back home once his fight was through.”

“Well Mahal’s not in it, it does involve him throwing his crown at a kraken though.” Making Thorin’s grin split wider in his try not to laugh at how you would drag the devastated King to that possible try to uplift the depressing slump to the tale. “There’s a lot of symbolism, and a lot to sort of let your mind interpret on its own. And there’s sort of an unspoken uncertainty how they get back, but they are.”

Gorgo, “Which would be accurate, because Mandos has to protect the paths back from his halls.” She smirked asking, “Mandos doesn’t send them back?”

You shook your head, “They hatch out of fake giant eggs giant eagles fly off with from a fire.” Making Thorin turn to rub his face with shoulders shaking to keep from laughing, “I don’t try to make it a comedy or funny at all but my friends have read it and they always laugh because, I guess it’s just a release?”

Thorin, “It will be more than worth it.”

“Oh, how does your clan see using a beard as a weapon?” That had their brows inch up, “See when he finds her his beard has grown like two feet and he braids it in two and ends them with metal balls and he sort of spins them around and uses them as weapons of sorts to hit people in the face.”

“Oh that is brilliant,” Thorin muttered under his breath.

Gorgo, “Where were you growing up? That would have been awesome to have on one of our programs! Every pebble would want to dress up as them on our mask day.”

“So not offensive?”

“No!” they both said.

Thorin chuckled out, “We’ve even had clans hide little compartments in their beards for snacks or notes or even spare trinkets and gold. It all depends on the Dwarf. And that sounds so bad ass for Durin.”

“Okay, then in the future be prepared to have me ask about a legal pad worth of questions on this stuff.”

Gorgo, “We will answer anything you need.” She said finishing her task to photograph the carrier with and without the three movements inside then at the chiming of her phone she was off to head home with Gloin at his having finished helping to settle Billi in at Frerin’s for the evening. Leaving just you and Thorin who helped you delve into more fables that were also centered or based on Durin in hopes of granting you more to draw from if need be.

Soup and grilled cheese was your send off for an early dinner that once settled on the table Thorin hummed out, “My family loved the ring, and seeing my braid in your hair.” He paused a moment then said, “I forgot to put my sheets in the dryer.”

That had you giggle and teased, “You know, the barrel method is fool proof against that.”

He smirked and excused himself to shift the sheets then return, lingering at your side as you peered up at him to cup your cheek and lean in to plant his lips on yours in a warm lingering kiss. Softly his thumb trailed against your cheek as his eyes met yours again, only for a moment though before his theft of a second brief press of his lips to yours. Almost regrettably he lowered his hand to sit back in his former place keeping his eyes on yours making you ask, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m thinking of how to ask if I could sleep in yours tonight.” That made you smirk and he rumbled lowly, “And I am conceding I would not have missed this step with a barrel method. It has its plusses.”

That had you giggling softly, “There’s always a spot in mine for cuddling if you need it, tons of blankets too.”

“Thank you, for conceding on the mattresses and bed frames. How is Kuu handling the busy day?”

“Good, really glad to have helped. Rarely gets to practice Avari. He loved it, being part of a team actually. Do you think mint would be okay for the portrait?”

“To wear? You would look lovely in mint for it.”

“I figured it would either be that or my yellow dress, but I was going to wear my hair down and it might clash.”

“Wear whatever color you choose.”

The ladies mentioned I might not wear the navy.”

“No, they would suggest against that, did not go well for Amad choosing against her clan colors, at least until they heard her Gran made the dress for her before she passed. Choose what color you wish.”

“Well I would wear the silver one I got but I think it might be a bit too, flashy. Or should I go flashy?”

“Choose the mint. I have a mint tie, to go with my navy suit.” He hummed out making you grin again, “The bright colors will pop against our flock, what do you think about in the greenhouse for that picture? So Darling won’t have to leave her nest?”

“If you like, I’m not very good at all this. I think Naneth would like one of us in the greenhouse, Cirdan mentioned maybe the fireplace in the living room. Some of the portraits in the atrium are personal so not there.”

“I understand that, I noticed her signature on a few of them, and that piano alone, can’t photograph that.” Your eyes hovered over his and he said, “Bad omens to photograph singing stone instruments in the house outside of family photo albums, and never when not played. If there’s anything you have rules like that on let me know. Amad most likely will want the typical armchair or couch pictures everyone does with one of our flock for a more personal one to share of our little household.” Making you giggle at his own chuckle, “Respectfully excluding the back yard of course.”

“Yes, Hector is not fond of pictures, and his mate might eat one of the strangers,” making him chuckle again. “They are warming up to us though, and babies, they liked having Frodo and Billi here.”

“Twins will be over soon enough for them to fawn over, we are on the sitting list as you remember, top of it thanks to those giggles.”

“So soft,” he heard you sigh through the hall while readying for bed. His smile cemented in place from the time he entered the room eyeing you nestling under the new fake panda fur blanket lying across the bed claiming your spot right in the middle of the monster of a bed leaving plenty for him to join you in. Though right where he wanted was cuddled up to you and adamantly secured his own soft spot in a clear relent to being your pillow as well only pleasing him all the more knowing he’d wake with you across his chest again.

Pt 51

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455, @xxbyimm (Hobbit x oc)

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78, @pastelhexmaniac

x Thorin – @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @queenoferebor

#Giggle Party #Building Beds #Owl's in Charge #Twins #Family get togethers #Bonding #Thorin x Reader OC #Modern AU

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official-archivist-keith · 4 years

Text

Keith sat down with the paper and the statement before turning on the tape recorder. He took a breath, he was starving... hopefully this would help.

"Statement of Sunil Maraj regarding their work as a security guard and the disappearance of their co-worker, Samson Stiller. Original statement given 3rd April, 2011. Audio recording by Keith Kogane, the Archivist.

Statement begins."

"So I lost my job last week. I mean, I quit, they didn’t fire me or nothing. But you know how like sometimes you quit because you want to, and sometimes you quit because you’ve got to? Well, this was the second, although I’m not gonna pretend I’m not glad to see the back of the place.

It’s ‘cause I kept asking about Samson, you know? And what I saw. And they really, really don’t want me to make a stink about that. Because if he just disappeared one day, didn’t come into work, that’s fine - I mean, not fine for his family, obviously, or the police who have to find him, but fine for the company. If he disappeared at work, though - if what I think happened is even close to what actually happened - then that’s real bad news for them, and opens them up to all sorts of lawsuits and liability.

I mean, it’s fine, I can get other jobs, and it’s not like I really want to be working there after what happened, but I just wish someone would take it seriously. It’s messed up, and I’m having a real hard time getting out of my head.

So, I work security right? Used to be, a company or shop would have its own little security force they put together, did all the in-store and CCTV vigilance stuff. These days, it’s all centralized, though. You tend to have a building or a shopping central contract all the security work out to a single company, who’ll then cover all the businesses or shops. It’s easier, from a centralizing point of view, and cheaper, if that’s what the owners like.

But it does mean that there tends to be a lot less stability and how it’s all structured, personnel-wise, at least. If you’re lucky, you’ll be assigned to a post and stay there for years, getting to know the place, the systems, your co-workers. If you’re unlucky, or there’s contract difficulties, you could easily end up moving through two or three different places in as many months.

That was kind of the case for me and Samson. We were the odd men out in a lot of ways. We’d originally been brought in for a big corporate office block near Liverpool Street, but there’d been some problem and the whole place had to be closed up for months. Samson said they found asbestos, I heard it was a lease issue, but it doesn’t really matter. Point is, they hired us for a job that no longer existed.

I expected they’d just get rid of us, but I mean to their credit, they did try to do right. They did their best to fit us in with other security teams: I mean, over the last two years we did a couple of data centers, a digital marketing hub - whatever that is - three different office buildings near Kings Cross… trouble was, every time, almost as soon as we got there, there’d be some personnel changes, or expiring contracts, or some other trouble, and generally, as the last in the door, we were the first to get reassigned. Started to feel a bit like we were cursed, you know?

Samson took it harder than I did. I mean, I’m young, my mum’s got a flat in Hackney, and to be honest, most of my evenings are out with friends or in with black ops, so the moving around was pretty much fine with me. Sam had a three-year-old, though, and lived way down in Morden, so being thrown from one post to another all the time was really kind of getting to him. He tried to talk to me about it a few times, but honestly, we weren’t that close. Or rather, we were close because we’d always worked together, but we didn’t have a huge amount in common. I mean, I tried to talk to him about football for a while, but I think he could tell I was talking out of my ass. Anyway, point is, when we were reassigned to a shopping centre in Stratford, he wasn’t in a great place.

Now, I’m not sure I can legally name the shopping center I was working in to you guys, but let’s just say it wasn’t the Westfield. It was old, clearly been around decades, and the security systems really showed it. I mean, one of the shops still had the original alarms from the late 70s, and plenty of them still had cameras that recorded to VHS, for God’s sake.

The security office was a mess. The company I worked for - again, dunno if I can legally say them, but you can look it up, you know - they have a package where they replace all your equipment and systems with the stuff we use. It’s not cheap, but it’s worth it, if only because we all know exactly how to use that stuff.

Whoever was running this shopping center had very much not opted for that particular contract. I mean, the teams before us had made a valiant effort to centralize and integrate all the feeds and setups into just the one control room, but… damn, that place was a mess. Flat screens, next to banks of old CRT monitors that some of the cameras had to feed into, next to racks of channel banks, and a few actual, honest-to-god computers, that tried their best to wrestle everything into something that was almost usable.

I found it properly overwhelming, didn’t like the place at all. But Sam actually seemed to get on with it pretty well almost from the get-go. He’d apparently been an engineer back in the day, and something about all those old surveillance systems, all tied together, all wrapping into and around each other like some weird nest of cameras… it seemed to really appeal to him. The first week he was there he spent almost the entire time playing with the system and the wiring… left me to do most of the other work on my own. Well, I mean… there were the other guys working there, of course, but even the ones who’d been there awhile started to get the picture and gave Samson a bit of a wide berth after a few days.

He really did seem to get the place in a bit better order. I mean, some of it, only he really understood, but soon enough it actually made sense - what we were watching and when - and he managed to get rid of some of the delay, so that we even managed to catch a couple of shoplifters.

There was only one piece of equipment that seemed to give him any trouble. It was this old Tecton multicamera recorder from the late 80s, managed the feeds for one of the various budget shoe shops that lined the promenade.

It didn’t seem all that complicated when you just looked at it, but trying to use it was an absolute nightmare. None the buttons seemed to do exactly what you wanted them to do, and there were all sorts of sequences where pressing a button, holding a button, pressing it three times, all that - they’d all do really different things.

Sam spent almost a whole month wrestling with it, before he finally cracked and he asked Dave - the bearded old guy who we all sort of assumed had been there the longest? - whether they still had any of the old operating manuals.

I remember the smell of dust when Dave went and cracked open the filing cabinet in the back room, before waving his arms in the direction of the drawer and shrugging. I mean, I’d have just left it, obviously, but I think Samson was taking the whole knowing how the system works thing as like - a point of pride? Something he could salvage from the whole situation. Just a way of getting some control over his life, you know?

So he found the manual. More of a pamphlet, really. Can’t have been more than ten pages of A5 in the whole thing, yellowed and water-damaged. Well-used, though. Someone had even put their name in the front, like they were afraid people were gonna steal a manky instruction book.

Still, Sam just couldn’t put it down. I mean, it was like 10 in the morning when we finally found it, and when I went in at 2:00 to see if he’d taken his lunch break yet, he was still sat there, just staring at it. I mean, I’m not a fast reader, or anything but that’s a lot, right?

And like - okay, so this is the part that you’re definitely gonna think I’m having a joke with you, but I’m honestly not, I’m dead serious. Because I saw some of the pages over his shoulder, and on one of them there was, there was a picture of me.

Like, a black-and-white photo of my face. I didn’t get a good look, but it certainly wasn’t one that I remember having taken. Not that would make it any less weird for it to be printed in an old CCTV manual from back when I was doing nappies. And I’m not making it up, I swear.

Then Samson turned, and he looked at me, and I don’t know, I got real spooked. His eyes were all - messed up. Like, weird. And glassy. It was really, really freaky, and I just turned and I got out of there. That wasn’t the end of it, though. If it had been then sure, maybe I write it off as a weird dream, where I was tired or whatever, but no. Because from that point, on Samson just gets creepier.

For a start, he’s always at work. I mean, we’re not always on the same shift, so it takes me a while to notice, but when I ask him about it, he just says that our schedules must have synced up weird. But whenever I arrived, there he was, staring at the monitors, watching all the people come and go, his eyes wide like he was drinking it all in. And whenever I was there late, and it was my turn to close up, he’d always say that he was happy to do it, say I could head off a few minutes early.

So, I never actually saw him leave. I tried to stay once, said I needed to do it myself, but he just got real quiet, like… real quiet, and stared at me.

The bank of monitors was behind him, and I’m just trying to come up with something to say, get him to talk to me… and one by one, they began to just wink off, turning dark.

And I got this feeling, deep in my gut, that if that last monitor turned off, then something really bad was gonna happen to me. It was one of the old CRT sets, big, and bulky, and the picture on it was never that clear, but for a moment it looked like it was me on there. Staring right back at myself as the screens slowly went black, getting closer and closer. The face on the monitor looked absolutely terrified, and I was starting to feel it myself.

So I just tried to smile, told him not to worry about it, and I headed out as quick as I could. My legs were shaking so hard I almost fell on the way out.

Then there were the actual cameras. I mean, you work in a shopping center, obviously you do a bunch of shopping there. I used to get my lunch, for one, and usually pick up any of the essentials I needed. Sometimes, if I was feeling hard done by and it was payday, I might buy myself a new shirt, or a game, or something.

And obviously, because I work security, I know where all the cameras are. where they cover, even how they move. A lot of them are completely static, just pointing at one place. But gradually, I start to notice something when I’m shopping. It’s like a tickling, creeping sensation all over the back of my neck. Like I’m being watched.

So I start to keep an eye on the cameras when I’m in the shops, and you know what, I’m right. They’re following me. Whenever I look at them - doesn’t matter where it was they were meant to be aimed - they’re always focused right on me.

I keep staring at them, moving around, and they just shift to keep the lens pointed at me. But they’re not articulated, they don’t have any motor or swivel mount they just… move. Pointed right at me.

One time, when no one in the store was looking, I threw a can of deodorant at one of them. Hit it square on. Samson wore sunglasses for the next two days, and when I caught a glimpse of him without them, there was a crack right down the center of his eye.

I tried to talk to the others. I’m pretty sure that they were getting similar weirdness from them. they were all jumpy and nervous those last few months. But I was known as Sam’s friend. We’d come in together and everyone just assumed we were close. When I started to ask about it, about what was going on, they just clammed up like I was trying to get them in trouble. My nerves were all shot to hell.

I wasn’t in work the week he disappeared. I’d called in with a bullshit stomach thing. I just needed a break, some time to get my head right. It was almost working, you know? A little distance, a little space to relax. I was starting to feel good.

Then I got the call from Dave. He was frantic.

I couldn’t make out half of what he was saying over the bad line, but he kept saying Samson’s name. Asking me if I “knew,” if he’d “told me.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but he kept screaming at me. He kept saying, I must know, he must have told me what was going on. He kept saying, “what do we do with his eyes?”

I mean, I didn’t know what the hell to say, I just went quiet listening to Dave as he started sobbing down the phone

“He won’t stop,” he said. “We can’t get rid of his face.”

I hung up. And Dave was gone when I went back in. A bunch of them were, all quit suddenly. I wanted to check in with them, find out what happened, but we’d never really been friends, and I didn’t know any of their details.

I never saw Samson again, either. Though, I did find his old work shirt in the back. It was torn to shreds, wrapped around that old instruction manual. I put it back in the filing cabinet, and I threw the shirt away.

I tried to stick around, to do my job, but I was asking too many questions for the folks upstairs, I think. I wanted to know why Samson hadn’t signed out of the building before he disappeared. Why, no matter who tried to reset the system, it always logged back in as him.

Why, whenever I was watching the monitors alone, I’d see him on that old CRT screen. Staring right back at me. Quietly calling for me to join him."

"Statement ends." Keith let out an exhale, "Much better..."

@zombieapocalypsekeith

#SORRY THIS IS SO LONG

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slothgiirl · 4 years

Text

shadowplay part 14

You’re going to miss LA. You think to yourself as you hoist your bag out the uber, considerably heavier than when you arrived a little under a week ago.

“I’ve got it love,” Alex grins, not waiting for your response, before taking the bag right out of your hands, clad in a jacket like the sun wasn’t shining high in the sky.

“I had it.”

“Yeah well,” he smiles, taking a moment to plant a kiss against your lips, “I’ve got it.”

You roll your eyes, leading the way into the airport, but can’t help the smile that grows on your lips. The warmth in your chest has nothing todo with the california sun, leaving you bubbly as fuck, the same way you’ve felt this whole week with Alex.

Even rock stars have to wait their turn to grab their tickets before having to go through the very unsexy security.

Standing in line, the airports ac cranked up like crazy, you’re glad to be wearing one of Alex’s jackets. “ feel like a glorified coat hanger,” you tell him, “just here to keep your jacket from being ruined during the flight.”

Alex chuckles, “but you're much better company.”

“True,” you giggle, “can’t say the same for you though. It’s no fun getting tipsy while you're holding your own like a proper james bond.” Thinking back on the many drinking games you'd taken part of during the last week. Zack had been a surprising lightweight.

“Well-,”

Whatever he was about to say is lost. The sound of cameras clicking, a flash temporarily blinding your eyes. As a man urgently says, “Alex is this your new girlfriend!”

A camera clicks again.

“Alex! Look over here,” the man cries out.

You wish you had Alex's sunglass wearing habit, as you blink rapidly, trying to recover from the blinding flashes suddenly assaulting you.

One man becomes two becomes three. All jockeying for his attention. “Alex are you working on the new album!”

“Sweetheart, look over here!”

“Is she your new girlfriend!”

“When's the new album out!”

The people around you, who moments ago hadn't cared, look over, whispering under their breath. You don't know how celebrities like Kim Kardashian can deal with the media circus that surrounds their lives constantly you think as you try and ignore the flashes continuing to go off. Ignoring them like you would the pointed looks of your profs as you struggled to stay awake during seven in the morning lectures.

Alex, sensing your unease, slips his hand into yours, squeezing your hand in his tightly as he pulls you along up to the self check-ins.

It's easier to block them out when you're busy concentrating on printing your tickets.

“I swear my passport was just here,” you mutter. Your purse wasn't even that big. How could it have gotten lost.

Alex smirks, unable to help himself as he teases you, “should've given your passport to me love.”

You snort. “My passport picture should be kept between me and this unfortunate machine.” You had tried to bleach your hair blonde, but had only achieved a horrid orange color that you'd dyed back to black the next day.

You pull out the elusive passport, but Alex nabs it from your hands before you can scan it into the machine.

He looks down with a ridiculously sappy smile, “you look beautiful as ever.”

“Oh you're so full of shit,” you snipe back.

Alex chuckles, the machine finally printing your tickets, before leaning in and kissing you again, taking you bottom lip between his lips, for just a moment too long for such a public place.

You flush crimson, but can't make yourself look away from Alex; the man you've grown so fond of.

He'd never been this open and at ease of PDA back when you had been faking a relationship for his benefit. It makes you really wonder how his friends had bought it.

A crease forms between his brows, “don't mind the paps love. ‘s better if you just ignore ‘em.” There's a certain stiffness to his shoulders that hadn't been there moments ago too.

The paps bother him too. You're surprised he isn't used to it. Then again, he hadn't even spared them so much as a glance.

Understanding dawns on you, he was worried about how you'd react now that you'd both just decided to start dating. Alex doesn't want them to put you off.

You shake your head as you both make your way to TSA, Alex still holding your hand, keeping you close to him. “I was just thinking how I'd be a terrible paparazzi. They'd send me out to chase Britney Spears and I'd be like but what if she doesn't want to be bothered right now.”

He laughs as you step on the escalator up and leave the paps behind.

You're in the cab back from the airport as your phone buzzes, finally off from airplane mode. Ten different texts from your mum asking if you landed okay. All the work emails you put off in the states. And Sam sent you a million screenshots of you and Alex in the airport earlier with the text: i'm now celebrity adjacent and i WILL name drop.

You laugh, having expected nothing less from her.

“What,” Alex asks lazily, cigarette in hand, both the cabs windows down.

“Just Sam being Sam.” You reply.

He nods, becoming incredibly serious, too serious to be sincere, “she's your Matthew.”

“Well you're not wrong.” Sam was that close to you. “We're going house hunting tomorrow...later today. I hate jet lag.”

Alex grins. “Why don't you just move in with me,” he says simply, as though it's not a loaded question. As though it's really that easy.

Sending you through eighty five degrees of: you haven't told your parents, they're going to freak, you just started dating, too fast, you're parents were going to absolutely murder him because everyone in your family had been convinced you were going to die an old spinster by now.

“We just started dating,” you say instead.

Alex shoots you a puzzled look. “Technically it's been six months.”

“Stick to being clever in writing Alex,” you reply. “this has been on my to do list for a year now.” You have been saving up money and building credit for ages now.

“Okay so maybe it's been a week,” he shrugs, flicking the cigarette ash into the street, “but it feels like forever.”

You snort, your cheeks heating up all over again. You hadn't felt this happy with a man in ages. “Nice try but the answer’s still no.”

“Can I at least come with,” he pouts.

“No,” you laugh, “Sams going to want all the gossip as soon as I see her. Who else is going to tell her that Breanna really thinks rice crackers and peanut butter are a snack!”

“Don't be so hard on her.”

“You didn't have any either,” you counter. “I can understand someone eating healthy, I dunno if I've ever made a dress larger than a size 6, but I draw the line at trying to pretend kale chips taste good.”

“I hate peanut butter,” he answers, the laugh clear in his voice. “sticks to the roof of my mouth.”

“She also told me about this app that fakes plastic surgery for editing,” you add, “made me feel like an old woman. Only just discovered filters.” You really didn't use instagram for much more than following some writers and designers you admire.

“She hogged you all week,” Alex groans at the memory. Breanna telling you where to squat so her legs would look longer, her camera in your hands.

“It was fun. She's a hell of a hiker,” you admit. She'd been able to walk and talk easily, lugging around her camera with her, while the boys jammed out back at the cabin.

“Miles won't walk more than a block before whining. Ya sure I can’t go with you and Sam? I've gotten very used to having you around all the time”

“You can help me move in,” you tease.

“Oi!”

You lean in close to his ear, “promise I'll make it worth your time,” you practically purr, barely managing to keep from laughing.

Alex's cigarette falls out of his hand.

He turns to you fully, his hand cupping your cheek, a glint in his eye as the sun sets over London, “I'll hold you too it.”

You beat Alex to the bags, having learned by now that he wasn't about to let you pay. Which was for the best. But you could at the very least carry your own bag up the stairs to your flat.

“I've got it,” you shut him down, keeping a hand outstretched, so he doesn't just take the bag from your hand.

“Alright alright,” Alex laughs, following you up to your flat.

You were glad that he was staying. You had also gotten used to waking up to him every morning. To making out in bed first thing. Or lounging around on your phone as Alex tuned his guitar.

It had been that way for a while if you were being honest with yourself.

Alex had carved out a place in your life long before he'd kissed you and told you he loved you.

Saying you had only been dating for a week meant nothing when you were already sure of the depth of your feelings for him.

“ ‘s it alright if I stay over,” Alex asks softly, leaning against the door while you search for your keys, looking just as hopeful and earnest as he had so long ago when drunk, when he'd tried to kiss you then.

You stick the key in the door, before turning to meet the warmth of his brown eyes, and kissing him for all the times you'd wanted to before: kissing him just because you can. You can't imagine ever being sick of the feel of his lips against yours. “Stay as long as you like.”

The door clicks open.

“All that's good,” Alex smiles, “I already ordered breakfast… ‘fink it's closer to lunch by now.”

“Oh thank god,” you reply, abandoning your bag next to the door and sinking into your sofa, stretching out all the kinks in your neck from having sat on a plane for the last nine hours. “I was just thinking how I was going to have to run to the grocery store.”

“We can go after.” Alex says, kicking off his shoes, and laying down next to you.

You giggle, scooting over as much as you can do there's room. Both of you are slight, so it's not hard to curl up on the sofa without feeling squished together. You relax against Alex, happy to waste your last hours of vacation with him.

#Alex Turner #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #alex turner x reader #Shadowplay #we in the last few rounds now

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harderbetterfasterstarker · 4 years

Text

as though nothing could fall

hey so y’all know how i wrote a fic and was like, nah i’ll probably never get around to writing these random other fluffy interludes...? guess who had a bad day and wrote a fluffy interlude??? spoiler alert it’s me. you can also read it on ao3 here. if you haven’t read as if even now first, you should.

“I guess I’m glad we’re on the same page, but I just—no matter how I think about it, I’m not ready yet for the world to know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. And if it comes out that Peter Parker is dating Tony Stark, the world is definitely going to start looking into everything about me. I mean, and that’s fair, because how on earth is a kid from Queens going to get to date Iron-Man?”

Tony had gone to kiss to the top of Peter’s head, but barely a second later Peter was shooting up to a sitting position. “Tony, I have either the best idea in the world or the worst.”

Tony swallows, his mouth suddenly dry and his fingers desperate for a machine to tear into to stop the racing in his mind.

It’s not that the assembled reporters have made him nervous—he’s decades past being bothered by reporters—or that the fight with the Doombots was particularly difficult—he and Peter had it handled before Rhodey could even get suited up and out to the city, leading to a complaint about having to turn around halfway through his trip.

This was Peter’s idea, he tells himself, pasting a press-ready grin on his face as the reporters swarm closer, barking out first questions about the Doombots, which he handles calmly (if flippantly) before they get to the real meat of what they’d like to talk about.

He and Peter and Pepper had sat down and talked it out, calmly, rationally, like adults—a new experience for Tony. Agent May had been hanging around the kitchen with Sam Wilson, both of them pretending like they weren’t there to play mediator if things went poorly, but, amazingly, they hadn’t. They’d discussed living arrangements—Georgia for Pepper, New York for Tony and Peter—and Morgan—weeks in Georgia with Pepper, weekends with Tony and Peter, at least until summer, when they could alternate more freely—and then the big question. It was the inverse of colloquially popping the big one, and Tony couldn’t think of anything more ironic than the fact that deciding to ask Pepper to marry him had been an impulse decision brought on by nothing more than the fact that he had a press conference arranged and Peter had turned him down, and the question of their divorce was talked over and through and under and upside down until Tony knew every facet of every argument. Pepper made it clear she’d do whatever the group thought was best, but, Pep, always a smart PR girl, pointed out that keeping up the charade of a marriage gave Tony (and by extension Peter) cover, time to figure themselves out without the creeping inquiries of the press. Peter had said he understood, but Tony had been able to see something go dull in the kid’s eyes at that. He’d felt the same lurking coldness in his gut. It made sense, but something about it didn’t feel right. He wanted to give Peter everything he was capable of giving, no strings, no illusions, no facades.

So he’d said divorce, and now the papers were filed and the split, being amicable, was final, and here’s Tony, standing on the corner of the street three blocks from Madison Square Garden, kicking a Doombot and hoping Peter’s certain. Because as soon as the divorce was announced, the press had been a nightmare, all speculation over what Tony must have done for Pepper to leave, practically salivating over the expected return of his salacious playboy days, already rumoring which barely legal model or heiress they’d see on his arm next, and Tony could see the way it affected Peter. No matter how much time Tony spent showering him with affection, breakfast in bed and gifts and lazy weekends where they just got to touch, for as long as they needed, it hurt Peter to go get coffee with his friends and see The Daily Bugle’s headlines screaming about Tony’s impending bachelorhood. He’d admitted as much to Tony, finally, late one night when they were both on the couch in the lab, when heated kisses had, instead of escalating, devolved into soft, exploratory ones, lazy and loving, no pressure of a next step, just enjoyment of each other, of finally having each other.

“It’s not that I don’t—I know that you love me, Tony, and I know it’s all stupid press stuff, but—I just want people to know, you know? That you’re mine. I know it’s possessive, and silly, and immature—”

Tony had shushed Peter with a kiss. “None of the above, kid. Maybe a tad possessive, but I don’t have any room to talk on that one.”

Peter had just sighed, collapsing to rest his head on Tony’s chest at that. “I guess I’m glad we’re on the same page, but I just—no matter how I think about it, I’m not ready yet for the world to know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. And if it comes out that Peter Parker is dating Tony Stark, the world is definitely going to start looking into everything about me. I mean, and that’s fair, because how on earth is a kid from Queens going to get to date Iron-Man?”

Tony had gone to kiss to the top of Peter’s head, but barely a second later Peter was shooting up to a sitting position. “Tony, I have either the best idea in the world or the worst.”

Tony’s reminiscing is cut short as he finally gets the question he’s been waiting for.

“So, Mr. Stark, now that your divorce is final, how do you feel about going back to being America’s most eligible bachelor? Any plans for your new bachelorhood?” The question comes from a put-together looking man, only Tony’s trained eye noticing the just slightly too much hair product, slightly too ostentatious suit that the man wears like he’s uncomfortable in it but wants everyone around him to think is his standard. Tony hears FRIDAY’s input in his earpiece—Matthew Clark, fresh out of UPenn, reporter at one of those men’s magazines that print paleo recipes next to cheap pick up artist techniques and one good music review and call it journalism.

Tony grins—perfect.

“Well, Mr. Clark, that’s a great question. You know, speaking of bachelorhood…” He pauses, watching as the assembled reporters crowd in closer, waiting for Tony to continue.

He keeps pausing.

Clears his throat. “Speaking of bachelorhood,” he says again, slightly louder, and a few seconds later there’s a loud clang as a webbed-up Doombot drops to the asphalt next to him, followed by a panting Peter, in full Iron Spider suit.

“Sorry, sorry, we missed one!” Peter says, standing up and nudging the Doombot behind him with one foot, cringing at the way the reporters are scrambling over each other to scoot back. “Uh, hi, I’m—uh—I’m Spider-Man.”

Tony almost wishes he still had the helmet up, if only because he knows that the rapid-fire clicks of the cameras are certainly catching the dopey-eyed look of affection on his face—he’s seen it in pictures before, ones Pep and Rhodey have taken and showed him, knows to associate with the warm, sparkly sensation, better than the best champagne, in his gut that only Peter seems to be able to bring out in him.

He doesn’t realize he’s hesitating until he glances over and sees Peter give him a nod—small, subtle, but undeniable—and then he’s turning back to the crowd.

“You guys probably already know this guy—Spider-Man. You know, or, if you don’t, you should know, that he’s been around for a while, keeping this city safe. You might even know that he took a… leave of absence,” Tony’s voice goes thin, only finding strength when he glances to the side to see Peter giving him a thumbs up behind his back, “during the Blip.”

“What you guys don’t know is that Spider-Man was in space with me, fighting to save the universe, before the Blip. What you don’t know is that he was in the fight afterward, too, saving the world again. What you don’t know is that Spider-Man saved my life, during that fight. You don’t know that I wouldn’t be here today without him. You don’t know that, despite the fact that I’ve been doing this hero thing for a few years longer than him, he’s the one who taught me what being a hero really means. You don’t know that, for a lot of people, when they think of a hero they think of Iron Man, but when I think of a hero, a real hero, I can only picture him.”

Tony’s fighting not to get choked up, so he doesn’t register that Peter’s moved closer, is reaching out for him, until he’s turning to take Peter’s hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because it is, and the whispers of the reporters are escalating, into a clamorous rustling that seems to fade away as he pulls Peter closer, reaches down to pull the cowl up just enough to show the bottom of Peter’s face, lips he’d know anywhere, over years and across galaxies.

“So, yeah, speaking of bachelorhood—fuck bachelorhood,” he says, and then pulls Peter against him, kissing him slow and soft and trying to pour every ounce of love and pride into it. He can hear the journalists gasping, sound level beginning to rise as they try to push closer, yell out questions, but he’s lost in Peter, and he can feel the kid against him, pushing closer, so—well, he’d planned to at least answer a couple of follow-up questions, and Pep will be mad, but he pulls away just long enough to say, “Gotta jet,” to the gaping crowd, and then take off with Peter in his arms.

It’s only 10am the next morning, and Tony already wants a drink. He’d tried to stay away, but found it impossible—impulse control has never been his strong suit—so he’s got a screen up in the living room, watching the talking heads screaming, all of them about them, so, by extension, about Peter.

“Our next guest is here to discuss the ethics of superheroes dating—” “Spider-Man hasn’t even signed the Sokovia Accords, and yet—” “—don’t even know who he is, and we’re expected to—” “—mean, how do we know they wouldn’t risk civilian lives to save each other? Why should we—” “—against God’s wishes, alien invasions are a punishment for our sins—” “—Stark Industries stock dropping sharply after Tony Stark’s surprise announcement—” “—discuss what this split means for the Stark-Potts partnership that has served Stark Industries for years—” “—Stark senile? How do we know what injuries he sustained during the battles?—” “—listen, Meredith, I just think if you have a kid, you can’t be selfish like that—”

The noise stops, and Tony looks behind him to see Peter standing there, remote in hand, arms crossed and frowning.

“That stuff’ll rot your brain, Tony.”

Tony huffs a little laugh, but the amusement fades quickly as his brain goes back to replaying all of the things he’d heard.

“I just—did we do the right thing? I never wanted any of that for you.”

Peter sighs, and comes around the couch to sit next to Tony, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder and pulling out his phone.

“Tony—it was my call. I knew what I was getting into. And besides, it’s not my fault you’re only watching the old man media.”

Tony opens his mouth to retort, but then Peter’s got Tumblr open, scrolling through and showing him—photos of the two of them, at the press conference and before, even from the ferry fiasco years ago, filled with ecstatic comments and hearts, a long post from someone who said they’d never come out to their parents because they thought their dad would think being gay meant being weak and effeminate until Iron Man showed you could love other men and be strong, other posts from all over the world, about seeing and feeling seen, about being inspired by their story, and Tony doesn’t even realize he’s taken the phone from Peter until he notices it’s shaking a little bit in his hands.

Peter plants a soft kiss on his cheek. “C’mon, there’s one more thing I think you should see.”

He pulls Tony off the couch, shrugs on an oversized hoodie and a baseball cap and throws the same to Tony. Tony follows, because it’s Peter, and because he loves him, until they’re around the corner from the tower, looking at the side of a building, with tourists crowded around taking pictures on the sidewalk across the street from it. Tony knows the place, knows that it used to be the site of one of the murals of Iron Man that had sprung up after the battle upstate against Thanos, when it got out what Tony had done, had nearly sacrificed, to save them all.

Now, Iron Man is still on the mural, but Spider-Man is there too, and instead of Tony looking out at the world, he’s looking at Spider-Man as if he’s his whole world. Somehow the artist has managed to capture that exact starry-eyed look Tony knows he always gets around Peter, has managed to capture the devotion and strength in the way that Peter rests his hand on the back of Tony’s neck, the curve of his gentle smile with half the cowl pulled up. And the words of thanks that used to be there are are gone. Instead, there are tags of all different colors and styles underneath it—“love is love”, “New York’s finest”, “from Stonewall to Stark Tower”—and, right at the top, in big, block letters—“we could be heroes”.

He squeezes Peter’s hand tightly, turns to him, and finds Peter already there, ballcap turned around and leaning up to meet him in a kiss, soft and hopeful and new, like spring in the tired old winter of Tony’s heart, against the backdrop of the mural.

That’s the picture that makes the front page of the Saturday New York Times.

#starker #starker fic #fluff #so much fucking fluff

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