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theseviolentdelightss · 6 years

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Counting Paths XIII

Series Summary: After a lifetime on the run from the Empire, Reader makes a move that could have drastic impacts for both friend and foe. A Reader insert/fanfic. Gifs belong to their respective owners.

Word Count: 4817

Author’s Note: This chapter was so much fun to work on. I loved including more dialogue and fleshing out these characters. Here’s to hoping y’all enjoy it! As always, much thanks for all the likes and reblogs.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI Part XII

You weren’t sure how you had expected this night to go. Successful at best, fatal at worse yet it somehow went beyond that. Into that shallow grey area that lay between. As you sat inside the cool cabin of Cassian’s U Wing, trying to catch your breath, you struggled to make sense of all that had happened. It was too much to process at once and left your bruised and bloody hands trembling.

Around you tired faces stared into thin air. Each of them, both familiar and foreign wore the same expression. A combination of joy and guilt that out of all the blasters fired and grenades thrown on this night none had found there way to any of you. Somehow managing to slip through nearly unharmed. Though something told you that the memories of this night weren’t likely to ever fade from your mind.

It had all started so simply. Both Cassian and yourself had made it through the damp tunnels and even slicker city streets of Nar Shaddah to find yourself outside a worn brick building in area 5.

“Fuck you weren’t lying when you said a couple dozen were you?” You half asked Cassian as the two of you carefully slid your way down the side of a neighboring building before coming to rest atop a piece of scaffolding.

Neither of you had spoken in nearly an hour. It was a tense uncomfortable quiet. Like a piece of clothing sewn on too tight. Leaving your heart fluttering uncomfortably in your chest as you tried to breathe.

Beneath you over a dozen men and women patrol the outside of the dimly lit building. It would seem that whoever convinced Cassian’s target to defect had done so at a cost. You had hunted down your fair share of rubes in your time. Idiots that blew all their credits and couldn’t pay when time came due but even they had some spine. Four guards was considered excessive for most people in such a position. To hire this many meant that Cassian’s target was seriously paranoid.

“Your fella nervous in the service?” You mutter with a wry smile. “Seems like a hell of a lot of people just for guard duty.”

“They’re not just guards.” Cassian spoke finally. His tone cool as he crouched down next to you. Concealing himself behind the scaffolding’s siding. The sound of his movements masked by the rain as it pelted loudly against the tarp above your heads.

“You been keeping secrets?” Your tone was guarded as you spoke. Preparing yourself for disappointment.

Cassian eyed you carefully, unsure how to approach the subject. Not wanting to anger you further by revealing more that he had kept from you.

Not that he wasn’t completely justified in doing so. It was his mission, his job as an intelligence officer, to keep things to himself. To hold onto the most valuable information till he could use it to his advantage. Keeping things from a partial recruit/partial prisoner of the Rebellion shouldn’t have been difficult. Yet as you held his gaze, a sea of emotions swirling within the hazel pools of your eyes, Cassian found it exceedingly difficult to not tell you everything.

He wanted to explain to you why there hadn’t been a chance for him to let you know he was leaving. His commanders had summoned him in the middle of the night and sent him off world immediately. Communications with anyone on Base One were strictly prohibited. So for two weeks the Captain remained radio silence. Typically it wasn’t the sort of thing that bothered him. It was part of the job yet each night he found himself reaching for his com link. Spinning it gently between his fingers. Aching to contact you, to tell you all that had happened. How he held his own against four bounty hunters during a bar fight in Arcadia and the truth of his mission target. Most of all he wanted to tell you how he had fought to bring you with him. How he had told his superiors that he could use the back up and it would be an excellent opportunity to have you back in the field.

Still they had refused, so he remained quiet. Shaking his head gently and ignoring the rain drops that fell from his hair as he did so.

Nodding slightly you turned your attention back to the guards. You knew Cassian was lying but pushed the thought to the back of your mind. Too busy counting heads, visible weapons, weak points, and anything that might help, to be bothered by the Captain’s continued dishonesty.

“Alright you stay here.” You whispered quietly. Reaching into your bag you quickly located your homemade silencer and screwed it onto your blaster’s barrel. “I’m gonna clear us a path.”

“The hell?” Cassian asked, his voice full of confusion and anger. He knew you were pissed at him but that didn’t excuse you getting yourself killed while he watched. “I know you’re mad at me for leaving but we’d have more of a chance if you let me help.”

“I am.” You snapped a little too harshly. “Look I heard you’re one of the best snipers in the Rebellion.”

Reaching into your bag you pulled out the various pieces of your rifle and began swiftly assembling them together.

“I know you’re used to a BlasTech A280 but this is similar.” You continued, jamming the stock in place before re-configuring your scope and handing it to Cassian. “Made it myself. It’s got a few mods, like that button.”

Inching closer your pointed to a small raised button near the trigger.

“This will allow you to lock onto multiple targets at a single time. No more than three.”

Cassian wasn’t sure what shocked him more, the pristine quality of a rifle you had made yourself or the blasé why in which you spoke of it. Pressing it into his hands as casually as if it were a scarf you knitted rather than an advanced mechanical weapons creation.

“Now you’re gonna wanna lean into that stock tight because it kicks a hell of a lot more than a regular blaster.”

For a moment Cassian became lost. His eyes no longer glued to the rifle in his hands but its maker instead. If you had this sort of skill set locked away he couldn’t help but wonder what else you may be a capable of. A prospect that both intrigued and unnerved him.

“What?” You asked, slightly bemused at the far off look on the Captain’s face. As if something had suddenly occurred to him that he wasn’t prepared to process.

“Nothing.” He replied, his gaze ripped away from you like a hand on a hot stove.

Sighing you dumped your bag at your feet, it would only weigh you down. Securing your weapons you glanced over the side of the scaffolding again. Trying to determine where to start.

“I’m gonna try to get the angle on them.” You finally said as you tucked the last of your grenades into your jacket pocket. Cassian watched silently, the rifle already pressed into his shoulder. Finger switching off the safety. It was obvious he was ready, though when his eyes found you they were filled with concern. A sight you hadn’t seen since the first day on Yavin when you awoke in the medbay.

Could it be that after all of his callousness and secrets that the Captain was actually concerned for your well being?

You warned yourself against thinking of such things. Attachments were a liability. You knew that all too well. The thought ran so commonly through your brain it may as well have been tattooed onto it. Still you couldn’t help the swell in your stomach. The rise in your heart rate.

Perhaps you had been wrong. Maybe Cassian did care after all.

“Look, I didn’t pack many power cells.” You began, wiping the rain from your forehead and the hair out of your face. “So if I get into trouble down there, you make every shot count alright?”

Cassian didn’t reply, he simply nodded before placing the rifle over the side of the scaffolding and pressing his eye into the scope.

Slowly you crept around him and pulled yourself over the side. It was a ways down but you were sure footed. You were just about to begin your decent when something held you in place. Watching Cassian as he stood still as a stone. His eyes already searching for targets. Ready for a fight.

“And Cass.” You called out quietly, just enough to catch his attention and turn towards you. “Thanks for not leaving.”

Before his lips could form a reply you were gone. Easing your way down the wet steel of the scaffolding before finally reaching the ground below.

Cassian had never seen you fight, not truly, not in the field at least. As the rain continued its unsteady rhythm above his head he kept his focus on you. Worried yet eager to see what you were capable of.

Simply put, you exceeded his expectations.

You moved through the shadows and clung behind barriers and doorways without detection. With steady, quiet feet you over powered your enemies. As soon as your arms coiled around their necks it was only a moment of resistance before they each eventually fell. Crumbling to the ground in a limp heap. Despite who they may have been you were sure to roll them onto their sides less death find them.

You already had enough red in your ledger.

Yet for all of your quick maneuvers it wasn’t long before the others began to catch on. Gradually stumbling upon their passed out allies and fanning out. Looking for whomever was responsible. With weapons drawn they searched for you.

Now it was Cassian’s time to shine. Scurrying across the open ground you found yourself face to face with four guards. Three of them dropped in an instant. Blanketing both you and the last remaining guard in the pink mist of their sudden deaths.

For a moment you faltered but a moment was all it took. The guard was on you in an instant. His first jab nearly broke your jaw, the second certainly broke your ribs. The cry that tore its way out from deep inside your lungs was a reflex. A gasp for air as the pain coursed through you. Emanating from your side in white hot jolts.

You didn’t hear the shot. Only felt the concussive force as the body on top of you was jerked suddenly back. This time more than blood rained down upon you and you had to rip off your hood just to wipe it away. Tossing it aside along with the reality of what you had just seen. Of what you had been only inches away from.

A life ended in a instant because of you.

By the time Cassian made his way down to you, you were able to ignore most of the pain. Tucking it away as you pulled yourself to your feet.

The hiss that escaped your lips should have given you away but Cassian didn’t seem to notice. You knew he almost certainly had but you were grateful he hadn’t said anything.

“Onward?” You asked with a forced grin, trying to hide the anguish on your face.

Hesitantly Cassian nodded, though he insisted he take point and that you cover your backs. Normally you may have argued but he was stronger than you, at least at the moment, and your pride wouldn’t keep you from getting killed.

Following his instruction you fell in line. Keeping pace with one another. Staying close and low, head constantly on a swivel.

Turns out the Captain was far lighter on his feet than you had suspected. Making quick work of the guards he overpowered before dumping them silently to the floor.

The two of you worked in perfect tandem. Fluid in your movements as you coordinated your attacks. Striking at the gaps in between armor. Taking cover when necessary. Providing suppressive fire as the other out flanked your enemies until eventually only the two of you were left.

Covered in blood, sweat, and blaster oil. The braids in your hair had came undone leaving you looking somewhat disheveled. Both Cassian and yourself sported freshly busted lips. Bright red and still bleeding. You hadn’t came out unscathed but you were still drawing breath.

The blaster bolt that rang over your head a second later very nearly changed that.

In the blink of an eye Cassian had grabbed you by the waist and thrown you down behind cover. The weight of his body fell heavy atop your back as he pressed his head as close to yours as possible. A covey of bolts rang above you. Chipping away at the stone barrier that stood between your physical well being and being blasted into oblivion.

Quickly you reached into your pocket and pulled out one of your grenades. Sliding it into Cassian’s hand you waited for the moment you felt his weight shift. Heard the snap of the pin being pulled. The ping ping of metal on concrete before the blast.

When it finally came you hardly felt it. Cassian’s body had covered yours entirely and sustained most of the impact. Shielding you from the shards of shrapnel that dug their way into his flesh. His arms cradled about your head as his palms pressed against your ears. Suppressing the ringing that always followed an explosive going off in close proximity.

“He’s running!” Cassian shouted, on his feet in an instant. Weapon drawn and in hot pursuit of his target. “Arrik get back here!”

At last Cassian called his target by his name. Placing all his anger into a single word. As he sprinted ahead of you, dodging bolts and leaping over tables you struggled to keep up. When you finally rounded the last doorway you found Cassian on the ground. His target beneath him as the two struggled for the man’s weapon.

Without a second thought you swung the full force of your foot into the man’s face and felt the teeth crack underneath. When he again reached for his weapon you kicked him a second time for good measure. Propelling his body sideways as blood and teeth burst from his mouth.

“Where is Roland?” You spat, squatting down as Cassian rolled the man over. Pressing his knee into the man’s spine Cassian held the barrel of his blaster at the base of the man’s skull. He had killed men with their own weapons before. The irony of it had been lost on him long ago.

“Fuck off!”

Sharing a quick glance with Cassian you gave him a slight nod. A silent agreement to take things how ever far need be. Quickly Cassian gripped the man’s right arm and stretched it out against the cold ground

“Where is Roland?” You pressed again.

“Suck my dick you stupid cunt!” He spat, blood covering your face for a third time. You calmly wiped it away, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm, but something inside Cassian snapped like a cheap lock.

In the blink of an eye Cassian held the man’s elbow firmly against the ground while jerking his wrist upwards in the opposite direction.

The sight alone was sickening but the sound of cracking bones made it even worse. Swallowing the lump in your throat you watch the man flail around widely as he cried out curses in a foreign language.

“Where.” You began, standing up straight.

“Is.” You continued, stepping closer. Raising your foot above the man’s broken arm.

“Roland?” You shouted, your foot coming down with the full weight of your body. Shattering what little bone still lay beneath.

“Third floor! Last door on the left!” He sobbed. The blood on his face mixing with salty tears. It never surprised you how quickly men could crumble. Toss their convictions to the wind.

With a quick glance in Cassian’s direction you disappeared back inside the building. Dashing down the various hallways. When you finally found the stairs you took them two at a time. You breath felt ragged in your chest and your side ached with every step but you ran with reckless abandon until you reached the last door on the left. Pressing the door open you were met with darkness.

“You better just fucking kill me. I ain’t telling you shit.” Roland’s gruff voice was like music to your ears. Reaching into your bag you pulled out a small glow rod and turned it on. Immediately illuminating the room.

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of Roland. His face a mangled mess of black and blue. Sticky blood clinging to his swollen skin. Tired feet pulled you forward until your arms had draped about him. Ignoring his grumbles as you squeezed him tightly.

“I was so worried. I thought you might be dead.” You breathed a sigh of relief as you spoke. The feeling of the crass pilots heartbeat against your chest.

“How the fuck did you manage to find me?” He asked, for all his cuts and bruises his personality appeared unaffected. “Stop hugging me dammit and get me out of these cuffs.”

“I’ll explain on the flight back.” You replied, making quick work of undoing Roland’s binds and helping him to his feet.

“What about that shit stain Arrik?” Roland asked, coughing into his hand as he limped at your side.

“Cassian’s got him out back. Hasn’t broken all his bones yet if you’d like to do the honors.” You laughed gently, the taste of copper slowly filling your mouth.

“Oh I’ve got an idea or two.”

Gradually the two of you found your way outside. Cassian no longer sat atop his former ally, instead he stood over him. His back against the wall as he cleaned his blaster. The man on the ground, the traitorous piece of trash, wouldn’t die from his wounds but seemed nearly on the verge of blacking out.

“Where are my guns Arrik?” Roland shouted, kicking the man roughly in the back. “Where are my fucking guns?”

“It’s complicated.” Arrik managed to gasp out.

It was an unsatisfactory reply by Roland’s standards and earned his former torturer another swift kick.

“I sold them.” He croaked out. Blood splattering the ground beneath him with every word. “I owed someone.”

“You owed the Rebellion.” Cassian said, pushing himself from his spot on the wall and coming to stand at Roland’s side.

“I’d say you bet on the wrong Fathier.” You added, a glimmer of sarcasm beneath your icy tone as you stepped closer to Roland. His legs shaking ever so slightly as he struggled to support himself.

“Just give me more time-“

“I might have if you hadn’t tried to fucking kill me!” Roland snapped, ripping the dried blood atop his busted lip and creating a new crimson stream that inched down his jaw. “Who has my guns?”

“The Whispers.” Arrik replied, utterly defeated. “I owed the Whispers.”

“What?” Roland and you asked in unison. Exchanging confused glances between one another.

“They’re aren’t many left.” Arrik continued frantically. The desperate attempts of a man who knows his end is near, but is unwilling to accept it. “Take me with you and we can get them back. We can wipe em all out. Take what we what.”

From out of the corner of your eye you spot Cassian passing his blaster into Roland’s hand. You know what’s coming next and even though you’d prefer to look away you won’t.

“Even for you Arrik.” Roland said, his eyes never once glancing down to the weapon in his hands. His fingers found the safety and trigger by memory. “That’s a stupid fucking idea.”

With three quick blasts Arrik met his end in a cold alley on Nar Shaddah. A sight better than scum like him deserved.

“Now what?” You asked calmly, craning your neck to look at the clouded sky over head. It would rain again soon. You could already feel the chill as the night grew colder. The hairs on the back of your neck rising like soldiers called to attention.

“We get our guns back.” Roland replied. His body may have been weak but his voice was strong. His will even more so.

“And how are you planning on doing that?” You asked, unsure if Roland was being serious or just loopy from all the hits it appeared he took to the face.

From out of the darkness a voice replied. “I may be able to help with that.”

Sighing you closed your eyes tightly. At your side both Cassian and Roland shifted, turning their bodies towards the sound while raising their weapons. Preparing themselves for whatever came next. You; however, remained fixed. Your feet un-moving as you pressed the space between your eyes firmly. Trying to will away the headache that had suddenly bloomed there.

From out of the shadows stepped the face of an old friend. A former ally you hadn’t expected to ever see again. Slowly you turned on your heel. Tossing on a fake smile that you had no intention of hiding.

“Hello Maiv.” Your voice was steady as you spoke. Not even the slightest of hints to the chaos that currently raged inside of you. A fire left to constantly simmer beneath the surface. Threatening at any moment to break free and wreak the havoc you felt on a daily basis.

Maiv’s carmel eyes were stern as she stepped closer. Careful to move slowly and prevent being surrounded. She was alone and you had two veteran Rebels at your side; albeit it was more like one and a half considering Roland’s current state.

“Its been a long time.” She said, shifting her weight and hissing through her teeth. From the looks of it she too had taken some form of a beating that night. Her lip, like your own, was busted and bloody. You took note of the fact that she seemed to keep her weight on her left leg while the sleeve of her right arm was darkened with blood.

“Wait you two know each other?” Cassian hurried to your side as he spoke. Pointing between yourself and Maiv.

“Its a long story.” You replied curtly, desperate to avoid countless explanations and turning your attention away from Cassian. Unfazed by the look of disappointment on his face. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t kept secrets from you. Stepping closer to your old friend you couldn’t help but notice the new scars she wore.

A line stretched down her forehead and split her eyebrow. Its color a slightly lighter shade than the dark skin around it. She had stopped tying her hair back and allowed it to grow naturally. Perhaps in an attempt to hide the burns on the side of her neck or simply to blend in with the crowd. Either way, it only made her stand out more. Maiv had always been a beauty; even so, her cheeks looked sunken and dark circles hung beneath her tired eyes. It had been less than a year since the two of you had seen each other last but it felt as if decades had passed.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, now holding her right arm gently as she looked you up in down. No doubt taking note of your Rebellion issued clothing and the splotches of blood that covered them.

“Businesses.” You replied sardonically, unsure of just how comfortable you felt; yet, unable to filter yourself. “You’re looking rough.”

“Said the kettle.” Maiv chuckled, a smile gracing her face for a moment before disappearing entirely. “Look I know why you’re here.”

“Then you know that the guns this idiot.” You stepped aside to reveal what was left of Arrik’s body. “Belong to the Rebellion and I want them back.”

“It doesn’t work like that Ash.” All the comfortable familiarity was gone from Maiv’s voice.

“The hell it doesn’t” You snapped, the pain surging through your body fueled your temper.

“Look.” She began, eyeing each of you carefully as she held up her hands. “I’ll get you your guns back-”

“Here it comes.” Roland shook his head as she spoke, earning himself a death glare from Maiv.

“But.” She enunciated mockingly. Leaning in Roland’s direction and rolling her eyes as she spoke before gradually returning her attention to you. “I need you to do something for me.”

“How many credits we talking?” You asked after only a moment of consideration. Money was always an easy out because everyone, no matter how noble, has their price.

“I don’t give a damn about credits.” She scoffed, taking you slightly off guard as she shook her head ever so slightly. Her eyes peering into your own. Pulling at the hatch in your mind where you had hidden away the memories of the past two decades.

Maiv knew without a doubt that you still considered her a friend. Even after all that had happened. More than that, Maiv knew your weakness: your allies. You had always been fiercely loyal and unwilling to bend when it came to the people you cared about. It was for this reason she knew you wouldn’t harm her. That in of itself was enough of a reason to trust you.

You had given her the benefit of the doubt and could only hope you wouldn’t come to regret it.

“I need something smuggled off world.” Maiv said, a faint hint of desperation to her tone. It may have gone unnoticed among the others but to you it rang loud and clear.

“I’m not running spice for you.” You exclaimed instantly. Shaking your head fervently while trying to push the memory of perhaps your worst job as a smuggler as far to the back of your mind as possible.

“It’s not spice!” She hissed.

Behind you came the distant sound of troopers. Faint orders being shouted through helmets and com links. Someone had undoubtedly reported all of the noise to the authorities. Both Cassian and yourself had equipped your weapons with silencers, and crude as they may be, they had worked well. Unfortunately stealth didn’t seem to be a prerogative of your now dead enemies. The sound of their weapons fire had echoed through out the sector. Truthfully you were surprised it had taken this long.

“Look I gotta move, ya in or ya out?” Maiv asked, walking backward towards the only visible exit.

A part of you told you to just cut your loses. Roland was alive and that was more than enough. Still, the idea of returning to Base One with a reclaimed weapons shipment appealed to your pride. If you really wanted the Rebellion to trust you, a gesture such as this should do the trick. That is assuming that don’t arrest you on sight for going AWOL the moment you land.

“Roland?” You glanced at the older man, awaiting his reply before planning your next move.

“I didn’t come this far and get my ass kicked just to come back empty handed.” He replied instantly, staggering forward with Cassian’s pistol gripped tightly beneath his fingers. “Follow the damn woman.”

The corners of your lips twisted into a half smile as the ragged pilot fell into line with Maiv. Passing you quickly as the voices in the distance moved closer. Turning to glance at Cassian you found him at your side. He had fared better than you;but, you had no doubt that he was in pain. His stoic expression hid it well but you had seen him take several blows over the course of the last hour.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Cassian muttered under his breath, his eyes following the silhouettes of Roland and Maiv into the darkness. Chuckling you stepped closer to the Captain until you were less than a foot apart.

“Nothing ventured.” You said, licking your thumb before leaning forward to wipe away the blood from Cassian’s lip. Again you felt it, that pull from before. The familiar tug at your heart that you had sworn to forever ignore. “Nothing gained.”

The words came out breathlessly, lingering in the small space between your’s and Cassian’s body. There was so much about the Captain you didn’t know and even less he knew of you. Even so, you smiled as you pulled him by the elbow. Content for now just to fight at his side.

#cassian andor imagine #cassian andor x reader #cassian imagine #cassian x reader #rogue one reader insert #rogue one fanfic #swfanfic #Counting Paths

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fucknobadtf2fanfiction · 7 years

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Meet the Apprentice chapters 1 - 2 (request)

As it happens, sometimes I get a random request from someone and if I have the time I'd be more than happy to help. Keep in mind for those who like pictures, I won’t be using reaction images because the hard drive with the hundreds of images has been lost.

Keep in mind not a revival but a small visit from the aunt everyone hates, nice to be back for even a moment. This is a reboot to a story someone submitted to me.

-mod m

Meet the Apprentice

Summary:

As the engine’s roar died, the driver’s door swung open and a woman stepped out. She raised one of her hands to shield her face from the sun, squinting up at the building. She shouldered a brown leather backpack and self-consciously straightened her pleated yellow dress. Taking a deep breath, she started across the parking lot towards the entrance, shifting the bridge of her glasses as she went.

(I'm bad at summaries and I don't want to spoil stuff but also I'm still working out the plot so I'm basically making this up as I go sorry!

It's kind of good that much I can tell you.)

Have confidence in yourself! People want to read a story with confidence, there’s no reason to apologize or let the audience know you’re just as clueless

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated, and if you have any questions, ask away! Have a good day! :)

Chapter 1

The sun sat high in the sky of New Mexico, glaring down on the drab orange landscape and forming shimmering heat waves on the dusty ground. Among the desert scene sat a large facility, a light gray building that had large air conditioners running all along its roof. Around it was a tall chain link fence that had large KEEP OUT signs bolted to it at intervals. As if the locals didn’t know enough to stay away.

The only openings in the fence were two narrow gaps, one along each short end of the rectangular compound, wide enough for your average pickup truck to fit through. Through each gap was a parking lot, and a metal sliding door entrance to the building. A multi-colored line ran horizontally along the outer walls, half of it red, the other blue. On the blue half, a slightly rusting 1959 Pontiac Bonneville made its way into the lot, pulling into one of the lopsided parking spaces. As the engine’s roar died, the driver’s door swung open and a woman stepped out. She raised one of her hands to shield her face from the sun, squinting up at the building. She shouldered a brown leather backpack and self-consciously straightened her pleated yellow dress. Taking a deep breath, she started across the parking lot towards the entrance, shifting the bridge of her glasses as she went.

A dress for battle maybe not so but a dress for heat and a simple outfit for simply arriving makes sense. ( pls don’t have her fight in a dress author I have high hopes )

Dust swirled around her ankles, and a warm breeze toyed with her pigtails as she walked up to the metal sliding door. Raising one pale, calloused hand, palm reddened by the heat, she knocked; a reverberating clang cut through the tranquil desert. As she waited for someone to answer, she examined the logo on the door. The door itself was painted blue, gray peeking out where the paint had peeled off the corrugated metal. A large white wrench had been stylistically painted on it, the lower half of the tool made up of the acronym “BLU”. The top half of a bolt was held between the teeth of the wrench, and in the middle of the bolt was a yellow and blue globe. Beneath all of this, in block letters, were the words “BUILDERS LEAGUE UNITED”.

Humming to herself, she wondered what she’d look like in an all blue uniform.

Suddenly, the door began to slide upwards, making a rattling noise that she could only associate with ball bearings, and she shook herself from her thoughts. In the doorway, illuminated by bright fluorescent lights, was a short, stocky man wearing overalls and a yellow hard hat. Around his neck was a pair of what appeared to be some form of welding goggles. His brown eyes were small and deeply set, and the skin around them was rather paler than the rest of his face, but nonetheless they shone brightly and had a warmth to them. The man that the kind eyes belonged to smiled at her brightly.

To be fair engineer's eyes are blue but that’s hardly something to get upset about

“Well, howdy there. My name is…well, we ain’t supposed to share our birth names, just our class names and any nicknames that come besides, but for simplicity’s sake let’s just call ‘em our names. Might as well be, I reckon, since we been using ‘em for so long. But as I was sayin’, th’name’s Engineer. If that’s too long for your fancy, you can call me Engie.”

it’s a thick accent but acceptable. It’s readable. Kudos

The woman nodded; she’d been informed of the “no-names” rule when she had been registered by Miss Pauling. The secretary had claimed that it was for “security’s” sake, but she assumed it was to stifle as many bonding opportunities as possible.

The man had extended a hand, so she shook it. His grip was firm

“My name is Sa-…sorry, I mean, Apprentice.” She replied sheepishly.

Engie just grinned at her. “That’s alright, it takes a bit to get used to it. Now come on in, it’s just about suppertime. Normally th’whole team don’t all sit in the rec room to eat, but since we’ve got a new recruit Miss Pauling had... suggested we use the time to get introduced, to save time later.”

Read: threatened. For some of them, at least.

But Apprentice nodded as she was led into the building. She sighed as a blast of cool air hit her. Engie led her down a long, gray hallway. There were doors leading off of it, all marked with signs. One read “BUNKS”, and a few others, “BATHROOMS”. Another large sliding door sat on the right, with a sign above it that read “RESPAWN”. She shuddered as she remembered the RESPAWN chip she still needed to have implanted.

Respawn chips give me so many memories of years ago when everyone played around with respawn ideas….. Even I have a fanfiction out that focuses the start of the respawn and before….

Engie pointed at the RESPAWN door. “Through there’d be your ammo lockers n’such, and then there’s another door in there leadin’ to the battlements. We’ll go over this tomorrow when y’all’re given the tour. We get Sundays off, o’course, and when we move to the next compound we get the whole weekend to get settled.”

Apprentice nodded again. She wasn’t much of a talker. The same could not be said for Engie, however, who was talking quite a bit, and the more he talked, the thicker his Texan accent grew. Most of it was just bits of random trivia about the facility and offhand comments about its name (“Ya ain’t gonna wonder why it’s called ‘Turbine’ once ya see the battlements, that’s for sure!”) and the team (“Y’all might think I’M talking much, but you just wait’ll you meet Scout! That boy could outtalk a lil yappin’ dog, I’ll tell ya that”).

Don't insult my baby!! He’s perf!!

He led her through a small kitchen (the sink was piled with dishes; covering the pile was a towel, and on it was a piece of paper, on it scrawled hasty note: Outta site, outta mind, Engie.)

The Texan snorted at this and muttered, “Darn it, Scout.”

He rolled his eyes at Apprentice. “That boy hates doin’ his share of the chores, ‘specially the dishes. And he can’t spell worth a darn, neither.”

I was trying to defend scouts education level but the only thing I could find was the track terrorizer and it was when he snuck into a high school track team at 23 hahaha [x]

Apprentice smiled at that and followed Engie through the kitchen doorway, into a room that was the dining room and rec room, according to the sign above it. She frowned a bit when she saw the sign; was everything here labelled?

There were eight men sitting in various places around the rec room, absorbed in their own activities. None of them noticed her walking in. Engie leaned towards her.

“I’m gonna go get the grub, now go’n get yourself settled.” He headed back into the kitchen.

Apprentice took a deep breath and walked forwards. She hated meeting new people, and always felt that they were judging her, that they thought she was weird. But as she got closer, she realized that she was probably one of the most normal ones there. One of them, a light-skinned man in a baggy fireproof suit, sat on the floor, criss-cross style, in front of a couch. He was shifting back and forth, a deceptively childish grin on his face, as he clicked a lighter on and off. His eyes shone bright with the reflection of the flame, but there was a fire to them that definitely wasn’t a reflection. She decided to steer clear of him for now, and looked around for a safer person to sit near. Unfortunately, none of the other options seemed to be very good.

I don’t like the whole showing pyro’s face thing, and if he had the mask on it would be impossible to see his eyes or skin. This is personal preference to me though, you do you, author.

On one of the three lumpy couches in the room sat a lanky man with thinning brown hair. A pair of yellow shooting glasses were pushed up onto his forehead, and he was sitting on far end of the couch closest to the wall. He was drinking coffee and reading Catch-22. He appeared calm, but the way his eyes were darting around the room and the way he seemed to be trying to collapse in on himself suggested that he wasn’t used to being around the rest of the team after matches.

Catch 22 came out in 1961 so that puts this storyline closer to the gravel war. The setting is important folks, +1 point for doing your research author. [x]

A bottle flew past her head, drawing her attention to the far end of the room, towards the dining table. Two of her teammates were in, from what she could see, a fight over a…cupcake. One of the men was wearing an overly large army helmet, and the other was a scrawny young man with buckteeth. He had a bloody nose, and the army guy was screaming something about “cupcake communists”. Sitting at the table was a black man wearing an eyepatch, who was laughing at the two so hard that he was punching the table. Also sitting at the table, watching the fight in disgust, was a rather short, skinny man wearing a ski mask and a suit. He was smoking a cigarette daintily.

He looked over at Apprentice, appraising her for a moment, before sniffing and turning back towards the fight (the army guy now had the skinny one in a headlock, which Skinny was valiantly trying to escape).

She glared at him. What was his problem? Rolling her eyes, she moved to the couch in the middle of the room, closest to the television set. Two other men were sitting on it. One of them was wearing round spectacles and reading a thick encyclopedia, titled Gray’s Anatomy. A glance over his shoulder showed her pictures of organs, scientifically labelled. She wrinkled her nose. The spectacled man acknowledged her with a nod, then returned to his book. He turned the page and laughed at something. She scooted a bit farther away from him. The man farthest from her was tall and muscular, with beady blue eyes. He was knitting what appeared to be a pair of gloves. She sat awkwardly on the edge of the couch, waiting for Engie to come back. She raised her arm to check her watch. Five o’ clock, exactly.

this is just as awkward as you can get, man.

A large hand tapped her elbow, and she turned in surprise to the large man at the end of the couch. He leaned across the man with the spectacles, who grimaced at him and leaned back.

“You are new recruit?” He asked. His Russian accent was prominent in those few words.

“Uh, yeah, I am. My name is Apprentice.” She awkwardly extended her hand. He shook it lightly.

“I am Heavy Weapons Guy. I have question for you: do you have woolen stockings?”

She scrunched up her face in confusion. “Umm…yes? It got pretty cold in Nebraska, so I have a couple of pairs. I brought ‘em just in case, but, uh, doesn’t seem like I’ll need ‘em.”

Heavy Weapons Guy simply shrugged. “It will get cold in the nights.”

Apprentice nodded slowly.

“Right, but, uh, wh-why did you want to know?” She tilted her head to the side, squinting at him.

“Wanted to know if Heavy would have to knit you some. I knit them for new people. Knitted them for Doktor”, he pointed to the man with the anatomy book, ”the little rabbit Scout,” he pointed to the boy fighting, who was still in the headlock and slowly turning blue, “and the Demoman.” he motioned to the man with the eyepatch. “But you do not need them, da?”

Apprentice twitched her shoulder. “Nah I guess not, huh?” She smiled at him.

“Pretty nice of ya, Heavy. I can call you that, right?”

Heavy nodded at her, and returned to his knitting. The “Doktor” leaned forwards again. He flipped another page, revealing a very realistic drawing of a transparent human body, with all of the organs, nerves, and skeletal system visible. He turned to Apprentice and grinned in a manic way.

see I hope there is more characterization to medic than just the body obsessed doctor jerk stereotype

“Zis is my favorite part!”

She stared at him for a second, then slowly nodded.

“That-that’s. Nice.”

He nodded his head feverishly, still grinning, still without blinking, then returned to the book. Just as she was wondering if she should maybe switch places, Engie came back into the room, holding a large cast-iron cooking pot. She stood up quickly and moved towards the table.

Finally.

Marking the end of chapter 1. The ONLY issue is the cold attitude of the team seemingly ignoring her. Now, this is all our creative differences, I would think a team would be a bit more attentive.

Still not a flaw, I'm finding no huge issues in the story of any canon characters or your own. ALSO, labeled is spelled like this <<

CHAPTER 2

As Apprentice walked towards the table, the scents of the meal began to waft towards her. Her stomach rumbled fiercely. Engie sat the tall pot onto an oven mitt sitting in the center of the table. He pulled a handkerchief from his overall pocket and wiped his hands, smiling. His face fell, however, when he noticed the cupcake on the table, and the two men fighting over it.

“Soldier! Scout! Quit roughhousin’! And Soldier, stop chokin’ that boy before ya send him to RESPAWN.” Engie barked. The two team members froze in their actions, Soldier dropping the Scout, who was gasping for breath. The Soldier saluted to Engie, crying, “YESSIR!” Engie just shook his head and headed towards the kitchen again.

“Ah’m goin’ to get the cornbread and corn. Demo, y’wanna help get the dishes?” The man with the eyepatch nodded, and stood up with a grunt and went with Engie towards the kitchen. Soldier dropped his hand from the salute position, then glanced at the cupcake that was still on the table. Scout, who was grumbling to himself as he stood up (“Coulda taken him, didn’t need Engie’s frigging help- “) noticed this, and jumped on the Soldier when he lunged for the pastry.

it’s trivial to fight over a cupcake b ut the more I think about it, the more I think... yes.. this does fit their personalities...

“Oh, no you don’t!” Scout yelled. The Soldier once again began to yell back, and the two continued to brawl. They hit the table, almost spilling the chili. After around a minute of this, Apprentice had decided that she’d had enough. She was hungry, in an unfamiliar environment, and all this yelling was giving her a headache. She was not happy, so she retaliated.

Apprentice stalked forwards, closing the gap of around seven feet between herself and her teammates.

“HEY!” She yelled to disorient them. They turned to her, startled, and before either of them could react, she grabbed Scout by the ear and dragged him away from Soldier, pushing aside the army man as she did so.

“Knock it off.” She growled. Scout, knocked her hand away, rubbing his ear. Soldier, on the other hand, looked stunned, then grinned proudly at her.

Scout sneered at her. “Don’t tell me what ta do, you ain’t my ma. Back off!”

Nothing like stopping little twink boy from fighting naked man

In all seriousness, this should mean our character has a fit physique, not being itty bitty tiny. Leme see those girls with muscles, author. It’s hard to be intimidating being small and tiny!

She sneered back at him fiercely. “YOU back off, or I’ll break your back.” Ignoring the Scout’s wounded expression, she grabbed the cupcake from the table and held it up to the two men. “This is what you’re fighting over, right?” She asked. The Scout nodded, and the Soldier yelled, “Affirmative!” Apprentice winced. Didn’t the guy have an inside voice? But she nodded in a way that suggested that she had firmly made up her mind about something. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Engie and Demoman had returned, bearing more food and table settings.

“Well then. You guys can’t fight over something that’s not here, can you?”

Scout and Soldier looked confused. Demoman and Engie were now watching the interactions unfold, Engie with some mild trepidation, Demoman with a grin on his face. Cigarettes had been watching out of the corner of his eyes with interest the whole time, and Catch-22 had gotten up to move to the table, but stood awkwardly near the couch while the scene played out. Heavy and the “Doktor” were still sitting, but began to get up as they noticed the arrival of food.

Scout put his hands on his hips and snorted. “Whaddaya mean, not here? Ya holdin’ it right in front of my friggin’ fa- “

Apprentice stopped him mid-sentence by taking a big bite out of the cupcake, and then subsequently finishing it in two more. The Scout looked hilariously affronted, and Soldier’s jaw dropped. Scout sat heavily in his chair to sulk, but Soldier got right up in her face, yelling.

“HOW DARE YOU EAT THAT CUPCAKE! I AM AN AMERICAN, AND I WILL NOT HAVE MY RIGHT TO CUPCAKES TAKEN BY YOU CUPCAKE COMMUNISTS!”

What I want to know is who baked said cupcakes . . .

Is engie the wife of the team

Spit flew from his mouth, smudging her glasses. She whipped them off, standing on her tip toes to look him directly in the eye (or as much as she could, with how low his helmet was). Her green eyes were wide and dangerously bright as her face reddened with anger.

“How about you get out of my face, you sociopathic sergeant! I’m American too, AND I HAVE THE RIGHT TO EAT THAT CUPCAKE!” She yelled back. She wiped her glasses off on the hem of her dress, shoved them back on her face and continued to glare the man down.

The Soldier, however, responded in a way that took her by surprise. He grinned and saluted her, relaxing his muscles a bit so that he wasn’t standing as stiff as a board.

“Ma’am, you are a true American woman! I salute you! You take this attitude to those cupcake communists and kick it right up their asses!” He then proceeded to fall into a chair.

more kudos for not making him a sexist bitch, author.

Apprentice lowered herself back onto the balls of her feet, anger being replaced with confusion. “Um…. thanks, I guess.”

Gr8 first impression apprentice i mean you’re just great at them lol

She turned to Engie, who simply shrugged at her, chuckling. The rest of the team sat down at the table as Demoman finished passing around dishes, and she could see that they had all found the scene to be hilarious. The only one who didn’t appear visibly amused was Cigarettes, who reluctantly put out the one he was smoking when he caught Engie’s glare. There was still an empty seat, but no one else seemed to notice, so she kept quiet. Once they were all seated, Engie clapped his hands together.

“Alrighty then! Now, firstly we’re gonna- hang on, where’s Pyro?” Engie looked around the room, spying him over on the floor by one of the couches, still flicking the lighter.

pyro being the team child isn’t my fav stereotype but i’ll take it

“Pyro,” he called, catching the attention of the man. “Suppertime.”

The Pyro grinned and jumped up, trotting to the table like a little kid. He took his seat and rested his chin on his hands, his elbows propped up on the edge of the table. He stared off into space, his eyes still open slightly more than normal.

“Now then,” Engie approved, nodding. “First, we’ve got some chili, cornbread, and corn on the cob. Ya don’t like it, don’t eat it, and you can go hungry till it’s your turn to cook. While y’all’re dishin’ yer food out, we’re gonna go ‘round the table clockwise and say our names, just so we all know ‘em. You can start.” He said, motioning towards Apprentice.

“Right. Yeah. Well, I’m Apprentice.”

The rest of the team scrambled for food (and so did she), and continued to divulge their class names.

“Scout, an’ I’m like da coolest- “

“Demoman, who thinks this boyo should quit kissin’ his own arse and let everyone go. An’ you can call me Demo, lass.” Apprentice decided that she liked him. He seemed fun, and had an interesting Scottish accent.

“I AM THE SOLDIER!"

“I am called ze Spy.” Said Cigarettes with a prominent French accent, raised eyebrows. He didn’t seem to be eating much.

“Medic!” She noticed he was still reading his book as he ate.

All i can see is medic exclaiming without moving his facial expression. One hand shoveling food, eyes locked onto a book in the other, screaming medic but not raising any eyebrows

“…...m’theSniper.” A quiet but harsh voice mumbled, coming from the shy man. He sounded…. British? Australian? Australian, she decided. Even though he seemed uncomfortable in his surroundings, he still had a sharp edge to him, something that seemed to say, “I might be nervous but if any of you make fun of me I’ll rip your heart out.” Not an easy thing to convey simply through body language and milliseconds of eye contact, but he was doing an excellent job at it.

sniper is so tsundere

half expecting a b-baka! in there

“Engie, as you know.”

“Pyro!” The man’s voice was rough and deep-throated, but still enthusiastic and almost juvenile. He was making statues out of his cornbread with one hand and twirling his dreadlocks in the other.

“Apprentice already knows Heavy.”

She nodded, and continued with her food, taking in the environment. The rest of the team was either eating in silence, or involved in conversation. The Scout had decided to confront the Soldier about the cupcake, claiming that it was unfair because he was American, too. The Soldier, however, seemed to be mostly ignoring him, choosing instead to “converse” with Demo, in the loosest use of the word. They seemed to be mostly yelling nonsense and laughing. Engie was having a quiet conversation with the Sniper, and the Spy had somehow managed to steal the Sniper’s book, and was currently flipping through it.

“So, uh, I didn’t mean it about earlier, ya know?” The Scout said, grinning at her, revealing his buck teeth. She understood why Heavy had called him a rabbit.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

He leaned back in his chair, putting one of his arms on the headrest of her chair. “Nah, I was just messin’ around is all! You’re pretty cool, ya know? And dat thing with the cupcake was pretty hilarious, acksually.”

“Actually.” She quietly corrected him.

He tilted his head to the side. “Huh? OH! Yeah, I know, it’s my freakin’ accent, ya know? And den my teeth ain’t helping much, so I gotta kinda speech imped’ment, I guess. But dat’s cool thatchya caught that, you must be pretty smart, huh?”

Giving scout a speech impediment is a pretty interesting thing. I don’t see many stories where scout actually has a speech impediment but I don’t like it when authors dumb down scout like he is a child.

My only advice is don’t make him dumb as a sack of dirt? Scout’s position requires him to be fast and smart about his moves, and he was pretty street smart since he grew up with all of his brothers… I'm sure he didn’t pay much attention in school but the boy has some skills and is smart in other areas in life.

“Yeah, I guess.” She squinted at him. “Sorry to ask, but are you trying to…. flirt with me? Or what is this?”

The Scout removed his arm from her chair and exaggerated a wounded expression. “What, a dude can’t just talk to a girl, huh? Nah, I know, my ma says I come off too strong but mosta the girls I evah talked to were the ones I was looking to date so ya know, that’s just kinda how I am now. But nah, you’re cute, I guess, but I’m holdin’ out for Miss P to start recipercatin’ my, y’now, feelings for her. Cuz she’s a classy lady, and waitin’ for her to change her mind’ll totally impress her!”

Apprentice shook her head, smiling. “If you say so.”

This chapter kind of ended abruptly, I had to check the source to make sure I didn’t forget to copy all of it.

I’d day first chapter was fine and ended on good terms but the second makes me think that there was more to real- maybe go into it more and end off of a cliff hanger and not in the middle of a conversation.

You usually end a chapter in the middle of a convo when person A drops an info bomb or something crucial to the plot, but simple chit chat makes it seem like you stopped writing and simply published without looking back. Either way, the ending is FINE, just my opinion.

If you publish anymore you’ll have to ask me directly to keep going on with a review but for now, this is my opinion for both chapters. Lack of words and comments = I had nothing bad to say. I had to search for ways to butt in so there weren't walls of only the story.

I think you’re on a good track, make sure to not make Apprentice a dainty flower and super small, UNLESS her position and role needs her to be small and nimble. Remember you can always make characters, small and nimble, but with visible muscle. Hope you don’t have her uniform as a dress, keep her hair up out of her face, don’t have characters idly fall in love unless you give it several chapters of development.

I think she’s going in strong leaving with a touch first impression. She’s not meek and it seems she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty. Keep going with this and you’re set. If you need any character development help or brainstorming or etc, feel free to message me. I’m always here, I'll even hand over my personal on request.

Thanks for submitting, hope to hear back on your thoughts.

-Mod M

#tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #mod m #team fortress 2 #team fortress 2 fanfiction #thanks for the submit #was a good read #really hope to hear back #this isnt me returning btw #;)

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Note

Loved how Jamie gave claire the medical book in the Boston story. Can we maybe see her starting to look at which one she wants to go to? Does she have her sights set on Harvard??

Flood my Mornings: The First Step

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment: Samhain (Jamie stumbles upon a new community)

November, 1950

{CEBF}

“Jamie?” I called urgently across the evening-shadowed house, rustling the pages on the rolltop. “Jamie? Did you move my essay?”

Ah yes, My Essay:

Why should you be admitted to Harvard University’s Program for Correspondent Students?

Well, you see, honorable gentlemen of the admissions committee, my applications for medical school a few years hence—even if not at Ivy League institutions— will need to look as goddamned impressive as can possibly be mustered, since they will almost certainly be reviewed by a panel of elderly male fuddy-duddies like yourselves.

Thus, having Harvard University on my CV (even if it’s only for these pre-requisite courses), will only serve to impress said fuddy-duddies, and as a female with a spotty-at-best record in formal education, I need all the bloody help I can get.

The almost-final draft of my personal statement had been more subtle, but it was God’s honest truth.

I’d been working incessantly on the damned thing for weeks, sleeping little and poorly from the stress. I’d downed more coffee than I’d previously have deemed safe for human beings, and was looking and feeling decidedly the worse for wear for it all.

Meanwhile, my sainted husband had tirelessly picked up my slack with the house and with Bree night after night as I hunched over the desk, scribbling and scratching out. This last week, in particular, he’d given me more than enough space, bless him, speaking softly, keeping Bree out of my hair, giving kisses, but not initiating sex, nor even the casual touches that were so much a part of our daily rhythm with one another. I knew he meant well by it—to allow me to focus my non-hospital- and non-sleep-hours upon the task at hand… but LORD, another part of me wished that he would just hoist me out of my chair, throw me onto the ground, and give me an hour’s rough relief from my own mind and Harvard blasted University! I didn’t hold it against him, of course, and it would be over soon, in any case, but his walking on eggshells around me was its own breed of stress.

‘Stress’—such a tiny word for so much inner turmoil. It wasn’t just the essay in front of me or the way my gut had felt all tied in knots for the past week; it was the entire trajectory of which this was only the first step: the prerequisite courses, the MCATs, applications, interviews, medical school, internship, residency, fellowship—the next decade or more of my life! So much would hinge on every single decision I made from here on out. I couldn’t afford any mistakes, starting with this bloody essay.

I had put the entire packet together last night in the Manila envelope: application, references, ESSAY. Stamps, on. Addresses, penned. Seal…well…left UN-sealed, because I wasn’t bloody ready. And good thing, too, for I’d spent my entire shift that day replaying the words in my mind, every phrase sounding wretched, every choice of words trite or cliché or childish, and screaming for another revision. I’d rushed home, called a ‘hello, darling,’ to Jamie, who was tucking Bree in for the night, and then gone directly to the rolltop, still in my coat and hat, to read it through again and exorcise this demon. Except my packet wasn’t there.

“Jamie??” I called again, louder, my anxiety mounting. I hissed at two sudden papercuts as I rummaged frantically again through the stack. “Darling? Did Penelope say anything about moving my—”

“Sassenach, keep your voice down, for God’s sake—” Jamie whispered loudly as he came around the living room door, looking harried. “Brianna’s only just gotten to sleep, lass!”

I lowered my voice but not my urgency, and I barely even looked up. “The envelope with my application and personal statement? Have you seen it? I swear, it was right on top of the stack with the blue folder here on the desk.”

“Oh, aye, I sent it in.”

“What?” I laughed weakly, still rummaging. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I did,” he said simply, “I mailed it in.”

I froze. And STARED at him. “What?”

“It was complete. The deadline was coming up in a few days; so,” he shrugged, ACTUALLY shrugged, “I mailed it in for ye.”

“It was NOT complete.”

The words came out low and lethal, and I could see Jamie’s shirt-too-tight-shrug that indicated he heard the danger in them. “Ye packed it all in the mailing envelope, no? It was ready to be submitted.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t ready to send it yet!”

He made a small sound of carefully-controlled exasperation. “Claire, mo chridhe, how should I have known th–”

“You should have asked! You should have called me at work to ASK!” I threw up my hands. “Not just assumed that I was ready to have it sent off without my permission!”

He squirmed perceptibly but wasn’t giving in. “Lass, you’ve been slaving over that essay for weeks. You’ve barely slept—You put it in the envelope, wi’ the address and stamps and everything. I read it again last night after ye went to bed and it was perfect.”

“It wasn’t—

The truth was that despite my obsessing over it, it HAD probably been as bloody close to perfect as I could get it. I’d double-checked and triple-checked and quadruple-checked; revised and wordsmithed it to within an inch of its life. But I’d wanted to wait ‘til the very last moment to send it in, to feel absolutely certain it was as good as I could make it; and having that control so unexpectedly pulled out from beneath me—

“—Even if it had been, Jamie, you still had no—NO—bloody right—”

He ran his hands back through his hair. “Sassenach, come now, it’s no’ as though—”

“Jamie, this isn’t a recipe I’m sending to a Ladies’ Magazine!” I didn’t know what to do with my hands but they gestured wildly in my livid rage and tears. “This is—was—Harvard!”

“I ken it IS Harvard,” he said pointedly, putting his hands firmly on my shoulders “—and I ken you’re going to be ACCEPTED there when they read your—”

“And what the hell would YOU know about it?” I snapped, perceiving only the hurt flashing across his face before I was down the hallway and into the bathroom, locking the door. I yanked the shower handle and sunk down against the tub, letting the water mask the sounds of my weeping.

A few minutes later, Jamie was knocking softly on the door.

“Sassenach?”

His voice was quiet, and, I thought, abashed. “Claire…? May I come in?”

I covered my mouth so he couldn’t hear me. I felt tears trickling over my hand but I wouldn’t open my eyes. It’s not the end of the world, Beauchamp.

Another knock.

A long silence.

“Lass….I’m sorry…”

He was leaning against the door, I thought.

“It was…an impulsive thing I did— I—” he sighed miserably. “—I thought better of it throughout the day, but…Christ, i’m sorry…It was foolish. I was wrong to do it…”

A long silence.

A long…long silence.

“I’m truly…truly sorry, Claire.”

I took a deep breath.

Then another.

Once more.

It would be alright. I hadn’t been ready, but the essay was fine. Jamie regretted what he’d done. It would be alright.

But I was too spent and too upset to consider opening the door.

{JF}

He HAD been wrong to do it—knew not ten minutes after the post had gone that he’d made a grave error in judgement. But the essay had been perfect, BRILLIANT, and Claire had been so plagued by self-doubt over it. It was as if she had placed her entire sense of her own worth upon success in this single endeavor, this single writing. He’d simply wished her to feel as if she had finally accomplished the thing, after such a harrowing period these last few weeks.

But she was completely right: what he wished her to feel was irrelevant, and he had betrayed her trust. She was well within her rights not to be ready to forgive him.

He waited more than an hour, until long after he’d heard her enter the bedroom; giving her the space she apparently wanted. At last, though, he entered the darkened room.

She was already in bed with her back turned to him. Asleep? He couldn’t tell—but even if she were awake, he didn’t expect her to speak until morning. He deserved her fury for at least that long.

He undressed and slipped quietly under the covers, taking care not to jostle her. Without really thinking about it, he mirrored her posture, coming to rest on his side, facing away from her.

He listened to the clock tick and tried to let it lull him to sleep.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

Four.

“Can’t you at least bring yourself to have sex with me?” Sharp. Wide awake. Dangerous.

Startled, he blurted, bewildered. “Bring myself—?”

He felt her bolt upright beside him, her hands slamming onto the bedspread. Her voice was still laced with anger, but desperate, forbye, and hurting. “Jamie, you haven’t touched me in a week! I need to—to feel close to—”

“You’ve never wished me to have ye during your courses before, Sassenach,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his face as he rolled onto his back. “Do ye really want to that badly tonight?” His ‘especially when you’re not too keen on me at the moment, in any case,’ was implied. He would serve her, of course, if she wished it, but–

“I’m not on my goddamned ‘courses,’ you absolute bastard!”

Jamie opened his mouth to fire back.

—but then, she gasped—

—a tiny sound, barely more than a sharp breath, really, but so deeply unlike Claire that—

He was on his knees beside her in an instant. She was kneeling on the mattress, too, clad in only her underclothes, both hands clapped over her mouth. “Oh, God,” she croaked between her fingers, her eyes wide and wide and wider.

“Mo ghraidh—?” He grappled for her face, pushing back the wildness of her hair to hold her between his hands. “Mo chridhe—? you're—?”

“Oh—God!” she said again, eyes brimming and hyper-focused upon nothing, her mouth gaping open and shut, “—I didn’t—I was so busy, I hadn’t been—No—” she moaned softly as he lifted her and gathered her, cradled her to him. Her body was rigid, pushing back, and her head shaking violently back and forth. “No,” she wept, “no, no, it’s—Jamie, it’s too soon.“ He could see her eyes sparkling with life through her tears, even as she tried to resist the truth. “We can’t—can’t know for certain—not yet.”

“Six days, Claire—” he gasped, his free hand roaming up her back to cup her cheek, hard. “One day—two days, maybe, but—SIX?”

She lowered her fingers tentatively to graze the natural curve of her belly. Jamie watched in a trance as her palm slowly came to lay flat against her skin. “Oh, God,” she whispered, swaying on her knees and leaning her forehead against his shoulder as her arms came around him. “Jamie…Jamie…”

He held her and rocked her (THEM!) and kissed her, crying, laughing—but then remembered—

“I'm—truly sorry about the application, mo nighean donn,” he choked out, feeling the guilt seize this moment of joy. “It was your task—your choice—It wasna my place at all to—”

“Forgiven,” she whispered, putting her fingers to his lips and shaking her head. “Forgiven…. And I’m sorry, too….for what I said—I didn’t mean—”

He kissed her, and she kissed him, and there was nothing except her arms; her fingers cupping the back of his head; the taste of her tears and his; her lips; her sweet voice, breaking. “Jamie...Jamie, I’m so—happy—”

He couldn’t say a word. He could only nod his head slowly over and over again, completely overcome, his shoulders shaking. His heart felt ready to burst as he watched his wife, her face shining, go softly to her back and reach up for him. “Come to me?”

And he came to her, made love to her—the only woman he’d ever had; the only one he would ever have in his lifetime.

And as he lay awake long after, holding her, cupping the bairn that slept within her, he prayed; but unlike the night more than two years ago when he’d held Brianna in this same fashion, heart breaking from despair and fear and the looming specter of death, his prayer this night was hopeful and strong.

Lord…that this child will be safe.

[next chapter: Eggs]

#Anonymous #;mod bonnie #flood my mornings

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