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crinkled-emotions · 10 months

Note

OK ok ok ok I'm TRYING to remain calm over the puppy (lol not working)

It can me a prompt idea. I don't know if you're taking on requests still.....

Bradley's childhood dog that Mav had kept over the years passes away a couple of months after the mission and him and Mav making up so B did get some time with him. (Yeah the dog was a very good healthy boy that lived to about 20😅) And then I'm thinking maybe Hangster vibes, Jake buys him this puppy to cheer him up 😭😭🥰🥰

Quick little one while I work on the Slider fic from March (I know, I'm crying about it too, I am in the process of getting some shit sorted and I kept getting writer's block)

Funny story, my childhood dog was a mutt and he actually lived until he was seventeen. He survived being lost in Melbourne, a fight with a bulldog (which he actually won?) and being run over by a tractor. His name was Jack and I miss him sm but now I have Boss who is the biggest shithead ever (see: video of him yowling and then getting zoomies)

Brisket is... potentially the cutest puppy I've ever seen (I'm only saying that because I didn't know my dog until he was 6 months old lmao, I may continue to be biased) and I feel like he matches the shithead energy (affectionate) Glen has deep down... anyway! On to the fic!

CW: the passing of a beloved pet

"Holy shit, Jet's still here?!"

Bradley dumped his duffel bag on the floor and barrelled over to the dog asleep on Maverick's kitchen floor, gently kneeling and extending his hand first just in case the dog didn't recognise him. Instead of getting a growl or maybe even a head lift, the dog lazily thumped his tail and stretched out.

"Jet is nearly sixteen, his hearing is pretty much gone and before I left he walked into my leg."

Maverick's own luggage hit the floor and he made his way over, pressing a kiss to Rooster's hair and then heading for the kitchen. Jet's ears pricked up and he was gone in seconds, trotting off to follow Maverick in hopes of some kitchen scraps. Rooster trailed after him, taking a seat at the island and accepting the cheese sandwich passed to him. He pretended not to see the spare piece "dropped" to the floor where Jet was sitting at his godfather's feet.

"I didn't think he was still alive," Bradley murmured between bites of sandwich. Maverick hummed, reaching down to give the older dog a pat.

"Well, I'd say he knew you'd come home when you were ready, and he wanted to see that."

Maverick then glanced up at Rooster, and rounded the corner to hug him.

"Glad you're home, kid," he murmured.

"Thanks for letting me back in, Mav."

As per usual, Jake was wearing his usual shit-eating grin when Bradley got home, sitting on their couch with a book, the football on in the background and a beer in his lap. Peak Seresin behaviour.

"Hey, baby. How was Mav?"

"Uh, good, my dog from right before I left is still alive."

"Jet?"

Jake tossed the book to the coffee table, carefully putting his beer down to extend his arms to his boyfriend. They kissed and then Bradley flopped down beside him, taking the beer for himself.

"Yeah, did I ever tell you the story of Jet?"

"Getting childhood stories from you is like pulling teeth, Roos," Jake replied. That got him a glare, followed by an eye roll and then Bradley leaned into his side.

"So, my mom, she died when I was fifteen, right? And I wasn't coping all that hot. Mav was getting called away on deployments because he can't follow the rules and I think he worried that me staying with Ice all the time was displacing... so one night he comes home after work with this puppy. It pissed everywhere and I'm pretty sure he chewed at least three pairs of Mav's boots, but Jet was what I needed when talking to people or even thinking of going to a therapist would be enough to send me into a panic attack."

"I didn't know you were that anxious," Jake murmured, reaching over to push his fingers through Bradley's curls.

"I'm not; it was the grief and I was constantly moving between Mav's, Ice's, even Penny's, once, when Mav and Ice were in the shit together."

"I can't even imagine- wait... the Ice? As in Iceman?"

"Yes, Jake. Keep up, babe."

Sitting in Maverick's kitchen, there was silence. Jake, Bradley and Maverick were all in various positions, but Jake had a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder and Maverick was waiting for what he was thinking was going to be another fight.

"Was it quick?" Bradley asked quietly. Maverick nodded, eyes on the floor. Despite knowing he wasn't in trouble, the worst feeling in the world was Bradley being upset with him and Bradley was giving off those vibes.

"He went in his sleep, the vet said. It was age, he wasn't in pain."

"I need him," Bradley murmured. Jake rubbed between his shoulders, sighing as he turned to Maverick.

"Have you already buried him?"

"I was waiting for you two to get here."

Jet was gone. After sixteen years, he was gone. Bradley was staring at the island counter, brows furrowed, and he finally glanced up at Mav.

"Let's just do it now, what's another one to bury?"

"Roo-"

"-Bradley-"

He held up a hand, effectively stopping his boyfriend and godfather.

"No, let's just do it."

It had been a couple of months, and whilst he'd given Bradley some time to grieve, Jake was getting the itch to get him a little surprise... no, not the sexy surprise, hEY- get your head out of the gutter! Before Bradley found out Jet was still alive they'd been talking about getting a pet once they'd moved in together properly. Jake had been more or less living at Bradley's for almost a year, so when his lease came up for renewal he didn't hesitate to cancel it at Bradley's insistence that he move in for real. Jake was surprised at how much Jet's passing had affected his boyfriend, but he understood the underhanded grieving of his mother all over again that was associated with the pet. He didn't want to overstep, but- well. It just so happened a local shelter was having an adoption drive over the weekend while Bradley went to an event with Maverick for TOPGUN. Perfect timing, if you ask him.

"B, you home?"

"Here."

Bradley waved from the desk in the living area, huffing at the computer in front of him. He was working through some documents by the look on his face, and Jake cleared his throat as he knelt on the ground to put the item in his arms down.

"I, uh, went to the store."

"What, did you forget cheese again? You know how I feel about cheese."

"Yeah, I also know how your stomach feels about cheese. Admit you're lactose intolerant already."

Bradley closed the laptop and wheeled around before Jake was even slightly ready and immediately his eyebrows shot up.

"The store, huh?"

"I never said which store," Jake grinned. He glanced up at Bradley, sending him a cautious smile.

"This little guy doesn't have a name, and he's not to replace Jet, but I felt like the house had been a little too quiet lately- oof! Oh, okay, this is nice. Hey, can you hug the puppy too? I think he'd like that."

Bradley pulled away from Jake's shoulder to give him a kiss, and then knelt by the tiny puppy yapping at their feet.

"Hey, hey, shhhhhh..."

The dog darted around his feet before Bradley carefully caught him and lifted him to his chest, grimacing at the wet licks on his neck.

"The first time Mav ever picked up Jet, the dog pissed all down his shirt," he murmured, laughing to himself. Jake snorted, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Do you want to give him a name?"

"What do you think?"

"Well, you named Jet after your love for the air, so..."

Jake beamed.

"Oh, I think I know the perfect name."

"Oh my god, look at you! Hi Roo- gimme the puppy, holy shit!"

Phoenix darted around Rooster's offer of a hug when he opened the door, taking the puppy from his arms and giving kisses to his nose. The puppy yapped and his tail was wagging a million miles an hour at the excitement.

"B! Is that the dog again?"

Jake came down the stairs, rounding the corner to look for the puppy.

"Hey, Tooster! C'mere, dude!"

The puppy barker from Phoenix's arms. She couldn't help the way she gaped between her best friend and Hangman, before she smirked.

"Jake, you didn't."

"I did, but I'd like some clarification on what exactly I did."

"Rooster and Tooster?"

"He goes by Toaster a majority of the time, he burns energy and farts all the damn time so the house is full of hot air."

Phoenix stifled a snort, and then buried her face into the puppy's fur to stop laughing. Jake and Bradley exchanged a look, and then Bradley smacked his ass on his way to the kitchen.

"He loves cheese, and naps, and doing zoomies around Jake's feet in the kitchen."

"Ha, Roos, he's you."

"I'm not allowed to discuss the resemblance, I get sex-iled," Jake grumbled.

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takadasaiko · 4 years

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Spanning Years. Continents: Safe Place (Veronica Mars one-shot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: Veronica comes home to the apartment to find a sick Logan.

Safe Place

It was a welcome surprise to find the BMW convertible parked outside her apartment at that hour of the day, signalling that her boyfriend had - for once - been let off duty early. Even home from deployment he spent his days and sometimes into the nights down at the base in San Diego running test flights. Between that and her caseload they had been missing each other for the past week. One of them was asleep when the other got home and he was always out before she was awake. Unless she was out all night, which had been the case the night before.

But he was there and her case had wrapped up. Maybe, just maybe, they could steal a few minutes for themselves.

Veronica took the steps two at a time, her excitement building as she unlocked the front door and hoped he wasn't catching a few waves on his afternoon off. The sound of the shower running was a good sign, though, and she toed her boots off, ready to start stripping layers to offer to join him.

She had her shirt halfway over her head when she was startled by the wracking cough that came from the other side of the closed bathroom door. She tugged her shirt back into place and inched forward to listen. The water was still running, but it couldn't quite drown the sound out. She tapped on the door. "Logan? You okay, babe?"

The coughing stopped for a half a moment before it started back up again. Between the gasping breaths it sounded like he confirmed that he was, but it was anything but convincing. "Coming in," she warned and pushed the door open, grateful to find it unlocked at least.

Steam poured out of the newly opened door and she could see his silhouette on the other side of the shower curtain. "I'll be out in a sec," he offered, and while his voice sounded a little hoarse, the mere act of pulling in a breath to speak didn't send him coughing. She let it be. For now.

Veronica left the door cracked a little as she turned back towards the kitchen. She rummaged, undecided on the various ingredients that all seemed to require more effort than she was willing to put into it to make a late lunch or early dinner. Maybe it was a pizza kind of evening. She could live with that.

The water shut off in the bathroom and she listened to the sounds of Logan shuffling and cursing as he dropped something that clattered loudly to the bathroom floor. A small smile tugged at her lips. She hadn't been sure what it'd be like to have him there regularly after so long apart, but so far it had been… nice. They stumbled around each other from time to time, but he was always willing to listen to a vague rant about a case and she'd forgotten how good it felt to fall asleep curled up against him, even on the nights when one of them came in so much later than the other. There was never any need to try to figure out what "normal" was with him. They had seen each other at some of the best and worst moments in life. Where others knew pieces, she felt like he might be the one to know most of her. Maybe even all of her.

"I'm thinking takeout," Veronica called as she heard the door to the bathroom creak the rest of the way open. "Your call: pizza or Chinese? I'm leaning towards pizza, but if you can argue the point, I might be persuaded."

She waited a long moment without an answer and turned, finding the living room empty. Blonde brows drew together and she padded her way back to the bedroom where she found Logan flopped back on the bed in his boxers and a white t-shirt. He looked like he'd taken a seat on the edge and then just fallen back. His eyes were squeezed closed and the lines on his face deepened a little as he drew in careful, intentional breaths. He didn't seem to notice that she was there.

"Hey," she greeted softly so she wouldn't spook him.

A pair of soft, brown eyes pried open sluggishly. "Hey," he answered back, his voice raspy, the small word almost lost to a cough. He swallowed it though, struggling to breathe through it rather than give in. The whole exercise looked more painful than it was worth.

Veronica reached forward, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead before sliding down and flipping so her palm was against his warm cheek. He leaned into her touch and she frowned a little. "Sent you home sick, huh?"

Logan snorted softly and pulled away just a little. "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah, you look it. Peak physical condition there." She grinned at him and pressed a kiss to his warm forehead.

"I don't get sick." He curled his long legs up and rolled to his side so his back was to her.

"Then what do you call this?" she asked lightly.

He huffed and she rolled her eyes a little. Men were such babies when they got sick and she imagined this was just the tip of the iceberg with Logan Echolls. Now that she thought about it, in all the years she'd known him she didn't think she'd seen him sick. Hungover, definitely, and even injured, but never ill.

"It's just allergies," he grumbled into the bedspread, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Decide to get adventurous and have crab cakes for lunch?"

"That would have ended in a trip to the ER."

"Well that's the only allergies I've ever heard you talk about and I've known you since we were twelve. Wanna try again?"

She had been teasing, her tone playful, but he shot her a sharp, frustrated look. "Can't you just leave it?"

The snap caught her even more off guard and suddenly she felt her own walls going firmly into place. "Well, excuse me for worrying about you."

There was a flash of remorse in his eyes and he looked like he might say something, but pulled back last second, mumbling something she couldn't quite make out. She felt her temper flare. "Fine. Be an asshole about it."

Veronica turned on her heel. She was going to go pick up dinner. She needed a walk.

---------

Logan wasn't sure exactly how long he slept, just that he somehow felt worse when he coughed himself awake. The sun was dipping low outside of the bedroom window and he looked around, trying to pull together his blurry day.

When he had driven down to the base earlier that morning he'd been dragging, but considering the hours he'd put in that week it hadn't been a complete surprise. The final test flights were set for that afternoon, but by the time they were ready for him he was coughing and sneezing, his ears stopped up, and there was no way anyone with half a brain cell was going to put him in the cockpit of a multi-billion dollar aircraft. They'd sent him home and rescheduled for Monday.

Getting back to Neptune was kind of a blur. He remembered parking, he thought, and maybe a shower? Then Veronica had come home. That was right. He'd been a grade-a cranky asshole. He should probably apologize for that. Maybe do some groveling. He couldn't remember how bad it had been.

Logan sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed he hadn't even bothered to turn down before he'd fallen asleep. He stood carefully and tried to keep his balance as he eased himself over to the drawer that Veronica had given him right after she'd moved in. He didn't technicallylive here, even if he spent every night with her while he was in town, so the fact that he'd shown up just to snap at her and fall asleep probably hadn't won him any points.

He found a set of pajama pants and just about lost his balance trying to put them on. It left him winded and wanting to crawl right back into bed, but he steeled himself to follow the sound of the TV filtering in from the living room.

Veronica was stretched out on the couch in running shorts and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back and her makeup washed off. Balanced on one knee was a bowl of half eaten ice cream.

"Hey," he called out softly, the single word feeling like sandpaper against his throat.

She looked back at him. "Oh, I'm sorry, are we talking now? I got the craziest impression you just wanted to be left alone."

Logan cringed at her tone. "I'm kinda blurry on what I said, but I probably deserve that, huh?"

"Yep."

"Sorry. I'm kind of a dick when I'm sick."

"Oh, are you sick?"

He ducked his head a little and she relented, scooting over to open up some space on the couch. "If you promise not to sneeze in my ice cream I'll forgive you this once."

"Promise," he answered and shuffled over to sit heavily next to her. He couldn't get over how much energy getting from the bedroom to the couch seemed to expend.

Veronica nudged his leg with a bare foot. "You better be glad you're cute or it'd be easier to stay pissed at you."

"You've managed before," he chuckled, coughing hoarsely into the crook of his elbow.

When she didn't toss one back at him he looked over to find those clever blue eyes studying him. She tilted her head a little before leaning forward, depositing her bowl onto the coffee table and grabbing a pillow for her lap. "C'mere," she said, patting it.

"I don't want to get you sick too," he managed, even if the only thing he wanted to do was to curl up in her lap right then and there.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we share a 600 square foot apartment. You've already left your germs everywhere."

He huffed a laugh and gave in. As he sank into the pillow and Veronica's fingers started brushing idly through his shortly cropped hair, he finally felt himself start to relax.

"So what was all of that?" she asked after a long moment.

Brown eyes blinked heavily open. He hadn't even realized they'd closed. "Of what?"

"The whole I'm not sick bullshit."

He made a small sound and pushed back on the natural inclination to bury his reasons under anything that would distract from them. This was Veronica. She was safe. He trusted her. "I, uh-" he cleared his throat- "it's kinda stupid."

"So I'll tease you mercilessly for it. Just another Friday night at the Mars-Echolls household."

He tried to ignore the flutter he always felt in his chest when she referred to the apartment as theirsin any way. "When I was little Aaron had this big premiere. Lots of press that was expecting his perfect family to be there. Smiling and supportive," he sing-songed the last words with a flippant wave of his hand. Veronica continued running her fingers through his hair. "I got the flu. He told me I was faking it and that he wasn't going to let me get out of going. I threw up all over the limo right before they opened the door."

Veronica made a small sound. "Bet he didn't think you were faking it then."

"Yeah he did," Logan answered softly and he could practically feel the amusement drain from her.

"So you just push through it."

"Good thing is I don't get sick very often, but yeah. That's my go-to."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? Not your fault."

"No, but I'm sorry you went through that. That he did that to you, that he…" She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. "I knew, but I never told my dad. I should have."

"We were kids. Not your fault." He reached for her hand, pulling it around so he could press a kiss to it with chapped lips. "What're we watching?"

"The Big Lebowski," she answered, doing her best The Dude voice.

"You gonna quote the whole thing?"

"Wouldn't you be worried about me if I didn't?"

He smiled at that and settled in, her fingers still held between his own. It was strange, the idea that someone was not just willing but wanted to be there for him when he was sick. To do what they could to help him feel better. It made him vulnerable, he knew, but he trusted Veronica. She was his safe place, and he'd never loved anyone more than he loved her.

---------

Notes: I was already working on this story with the idea that Logan doesn't like to admit or accept help when he's sick because of something Aaron did when he was little when I ended up in a really interesting conversation over on a VM discord channel about the fact that both Duncan and Veronica knew that Aaron was abusing Logan and neither said anything to an adult. Was it their fault or was it not? Super interesting conversation and it's something that's been weighing on my mind for a couple of days, so it fit nicely into this story.

I kid you not, though, I started this thing maybe three different times and almost deleted the majority of what ended up staying. At the end, I feel like it came together nicely so I'm glad I didn't nuke it. Hope you guys enjoy!

#Veronica Mars #Logan Echolls #vmfanfic #vm fanfic #LoVe

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exoarcturus9 · 4 years

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Indebted 2/?

Slow-burn mirage/caustic fic.

Warning: Some blood and gore

(Part two was actually getting a little too long, so I’ve cut it into some more reasonable bite-sized pieces. Hopefully this one isn’t too short.)

(Part One)

They were following in the footsteps of several other squads, hoping to pick off any stragglers. The city structures that rose around them were eerily similar to the building Mirage and Caustic had hunkered down in weeks ago. But that was nearly the other side of the arena. The prefabricated buildings that filled the abandoned landscape were chosen for the speed of their deployment, rather than their unique aesthetic. Still, Mirage couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he could almost still feel the bruises on his chest, the sound of the explosion ringing in his ears. His grip on his gun tightened instinctively.

Silence had fallen over the hollow city, the fighting combatants having passed through briefly like a violent wave. The sound of gunfire and grenades had long since faded, the teams pressing forward to higher ground. Mirage’s teammates had split off, searching the neighbouring buildings. The radio in Mirage’s ear crackled occasionally when they spoke, but otherwise the silence felt deafening.

Rounding the corner of a stack of shipping crates, he took in the aftermath of what must have been an intense firefight. Bullet holes riddled the surroundings, but the epicentre of the destruction was a massive black scorch mark. An explosion of some kind had torn apart some of the equipment left behind, sending shrapnel flying outward to embed in the walls of the adjacent buildings. Yikes. As his eyes swept the scene, they stopped briefly on a small yellow and red object amongst the debris. Mirage felt a small twinge of recognition at the sight of it. A spent thermite grenade perhaps? He didn’t linger on it however, his gaze drawn to more pressing matters. Just beyond the radius of the blast, the ground was splashed with a wide arc of deep crimson blood.

Someone had clearly been caught in the explosion. Whoever it had been, they’d walked away, but just barely. Mirage followed their trail like a detective in a shitty noire film, noting where they had collapsed to the ground once, then twice, leaving smudged hand-prints in the slowly drying blood. Just ahead, the tracks led to the closed door of one of the smaller buildings. His quarry drew him forward enticingly. But was he the hunter or was the trail of blood simply the brilliant red strand of a snare? This has to be a trap, right? How much time had passed between this fight and now? More than likely, the injured party was either long gone or dead. Or both.

There were no windows on the sheer face of the building. Moving forward, focused now, Mirage tried to peer through the hazy glass panels of the metal door. The room on the other side was shrouded in darkness. Readying his weapon, he pressed a hand gently against the door, easing it open. Just above his fingers was another half-smeared hand-print, the blood already dark and flaking. Sunlight poured through the gap in the doorway, alighting across a grisly scene. As Mirage slid carefully into the room, he could just make out a figure sitting against the far wall. Looks like they didn’t make it.

His heart leapt to his throat however, when the figure moved, raising an arm. There was no weapon in their hand, but they gestured weakly to his left. When Mirage turned, his eyes starting to adjust to the dim lighting of the interior, he could see the bloated form of one of Caustic’s traps sitting just on the other side of the doorway. Ice ran through his veins. He turned back, already knowing what he’d see.

“Careful.” Caustic coughed weakly, the sound of his voice barely making it across the gap between them. Keeping his distance from the undisturbed trap, Mirage approached the wounded man. Somehow he managed to look even worse than he sounded. The trapper was a mess. Lacerations littered his chest and arms, but the worst of it was a gaping wound that split his abdomen, the loops of his intestines pressing through the seeping edges. Caustic cradled his exposed guts with a dripping hand, his face shiny with sweat and sickly pale. Mirage felt like his stomach was full of lead. To be honest, most of the injuries he saw in the arena weren’t quite so nauseating.

“You’re not looking so great there pal,” Mirage noted nervously as he edged closer. If Caustic had some hidden weapon or trick up his sleeve, the younger man couldn’t spot it. Careful? He was close enough now to hear the way Caustic’s breathing came ragged and wet, every inhale a monumental task.

“I was… foolish. Caught in the open – without my team,” Caustic managed to choke out. Mirage knelt in front of him, his gun lowered, but ready. Just in case. The trapper stared up at him, that faint hazy green glow to his eyes barely visible under his heavy eyelids. “I suppose I will have much to notate. If I… survive this.”

“Come on, don’t talk like that. Now I know it’s a little bit disheartening to not have yours truly on your team, but hey, I can’t be everywhere – oh wait,” Mirage tried to joke, giving Caustic a friendly – gentle – slap on the arm. For a second, he expected the trapper to grab his arm like he’d done to that other competitor, to grab his gun, to do something. Instead, Caustic broke into a quiet wheezing fit. It took him a second to realize that he was actually chuckling. It lasted only a few seconds before the man screwed his eyes closed again and groaned in pain, hands clutching at the wound on his stomach. Careful??? Mirage looked down at him, curiously. “Why did you warn me about the trap?”

Caustic didn’t reply immediately, looking away contemplatively – as if he hadn’t even considered why himself. When he spoke, his voice was steadier then before, but still weak.

“A favour for a favour. I felt indebted to you after the last time we worked together,” The trapper let their eyes meet again, his expression unreadable beyond his mask. “Consider us even. Now let me bleed out in peace.”

“What? N-no way, you being in my debt sounds great. Let’s roll that back a bit,” Mirage felt like laughing, but there was a waver to his voice now – a tight feeling in the back of his throat. Was that why he was being so nice? Pulling out his pack, he felt that creeping feeling of déjà vu again. Was this going to come full circle too? Another ambush, another fight? No, not this time. Mirage pulled his meagre medical supplies from his bag. He couldn’t spare much, but hopefully just enough. “Now this won’t stop you from passing out, but it should stop you from – y’know – not waking up at all.”

The younger man held out one of the smaller medical boxes, just the bare minimum, but better than nothing. Was this technically cheating? Probably. Caustic glanced at the offered supplies and then up at Mirage, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Suspicious. Nevertheless, he accepted with fumbling, blood-slick hands. For a moment, he fiddled with the latch on the container before his ghostly eyes darted up suddenly. There, again, was the maddeningly indecipherable look. Was he… concerned?

“You should leave, you’ve wasted… too much time here,” Caustic rasped, interrupted by a ragged trio of coughs. “Considering my current state, I doubt my team will come looking for me now, but still… it’s not safe here.”

“Yeah, you’re, uh, probably right. Gotta get back to… winning I guess,” Mirage felt a flutter in his chest, the twist of something in his guts. His hands were shaking ever so slightly, but he balled them into fists and rose, looking down at the crumpled, fading man. Was he worried about him? Why was he helping him? “I’ll see you on the other side. Don’t forget, you owe me, right big guy?”

Skirting the edge of the triggering radius for the gas trap by the door, Mirage glanced back at the trapper still sitting on the floor. He had pulled some of the supplies out of the kit, but he paused to watch the younger man slip toward the doorway, eyes shining in the darkness. Meeting his eyes again, Mirage felt like he was back behind that desk, head spinning, heart pounding. Scared? Excited?

“Thank you, Elliott.”

#apex legends #caustic #mirage #apex caustic #apex mirage #elliot witt #alexander nox #mirage x caustic #fic #my fics #caustage

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mikiri · 6 years

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How It Feels

Rating: G Pairings: Gen Summary: Keith gets back to base after a mission to find a pile of presents waiting for him on his bed. Their contents leave Keith feeling wanted. Notes: Is very soft and texture focused. A Keith Birthday fic, though late, but I finally had time. Season 4 spoilers. Gift fic for Elliot.

AO3

Keith stared blankly at the pile of gifts left on his bed. He had thought being in space would have prevented him from getting presents. Or that it would have been like last year, just him, the moon, Jack the rattlesnake and Cody the coyote. It was even more surprising that he’d gotten gifts even after leaving the castle to join the Blade of Marmora, he really hadn’t thought anyone would have gone through the effort to get a present to him, but apparently they had.

Keith took a deep, shaky breath as he sat down at the edge of the bed. He carefully picked up the smallest present that had been left on top, a plain black box with Galran writing on it. Keith opened the box, presumably form some of the Blade members, and found a set of gloves with retractable claws, and a card that he had to scan to read that said “So now even our smallest can have claws.” Keith frowned at the comment about his height but ignored it as he slid the gloves on. The fabric was soft and smooth, but he could feel the sturdiness. He twitched his fingertips to cause the claws to deploy, smiling at the smoothness of the deployment. If he hadn’t known there were claws, he wouldn’t have guessed there were just from the feel.

Keith twitched his fingers again to retract the blades and slid the gloves off before grabbing the next box. It was longer than the first and wrapped in sparkly paper, the tag hanging off it read “From: The Tailor To: Keith.” Presumably it was from Lance, he tried to find and edge of the wrapping but had little success. Eventually Keith gave up and just tore the paper off the box. The box itself was plain and white, so Keith slid the top off without much thought. Inside was a simple black and red striped scarf and a letter that rambled on for three pages. Keith set the letter aside to read later and reached in to feel the scarf. The scarf was surprisingly thick and plush feeling. Keith rubbed his cheek on the fabric for a moment, just enjoying the feel before wrapping it around his neck, making a mental note to at least wear the scarf in front of Lance to show he appreciated it.

The next box Keith grabbed was far heavier than the previous two and was a plain box that latched at the bottom until the previous two boxes. Keith pulled the box into his lap, balancing it carefully, before unlatching the top. He pulled the top off to reveal what looked like a small cake with the words “Happy Birthday Keith” written carefully in icing on the top. Keith assumed it was probably from Hunk, who he trusted with food, but space food was still always a little dangerous. Keith stuck a finger into the cake and licked the frosting off his finger. The frosting tasted almost like peanut butter, which he presumed Pidge had probably absconded all the leftover, and the cake itself was almost chocolate flavored, a little bitter, more like the dark chocolate of home, but still good. Keith carefully slid the lid back on and latched it so he could put it aside to enjoy after he’d opened the rest of the presents.

Keith surveyed the boxes left, a brightly wrapped one covered in bows, a smaller one wrapped simply in white paper, and a large black one with tape all over it. Keith considered his options then grabbed the one wrapped in white paper. Having learned from the last wrapped box, Keith tore straight through the paper and opened the box inside. The box contained a practical hair tie, a particularly fluffy red scrunchy, a soft bristled brush, a note and a short stack of datapads. The note indicated the box was from Allura and Coran, both seeming excited by the human tradition of gift giving to celebrate living another year. Allura had included the hair ties and brush for when he was working out, or if he had a diplomatic mission and needed his hair out of his face. Coran had included the datapads with a number of translated Altean myths, a compendium of animals they might run into, and then one was entirely full of stories Coran remembered from the days of the Old Paladins. Keith checked his watch to make sure he wasn’t going to be required anywhere soon, which he wasn’t, and then brushed his hair out carefully, enjoying the feel of the soft bristles brushing against his scalp. He brushed out his hair until it was shiny then tied it up with the scrunchy, which went exactly three times around his hair without pulling or tugging too much. Keith put the brush back in the box and moved it over to the side with the “things to do later” pile.

Keith hummed quietly to himself as he tried to decide which box to open next, the overly decorated box or the largest box. Eventually he decided to save the largest box for last and opened the brightly wrapped box covered in bows. This box, Keith was able to find and edge of the wrapping paper and carefully removed it from the box. The box was very square and rather heavy so Keith wasn’t sure what to expect. He thought it might be from Pidge so maybe she made him something? Opening the box he discovered it was a set of red headphones, a small orange data storage device, a smaller set of black headphones that would wrap around his ears, and a note with directions and well wishes. The note said that it was from Pidge, Hunk, and Matt who had apparently been found since he had left. The data device was apparently full of movies and music from Pidge’s computer as a reminder of Earth. The headphones could both plug in, the large ones were noise cancelling and the smaller ones were so he could take music to the training deck with him. Apparently Pidge had been working on making more headphones since Lance kept snitching hers and had finally had the time to do so. Apparently it was a prototype so if he had any problems he was supposed to contact them between mission. Keith slid the noise cancelling headphones on, the little background noise of the ship being silenced as he connected the headphones to the space mp3 player and put the music on random.

Keith stared at the final box as he bopped his head to the music. Eventually he reached forward, this was Shiro’s present, it had to be everyone else had already given him something. He surveyed the box with tape on it everywhere and decided it would be easier to just cut it. Carefully using his knife he cut the top off the box and placed both the knife and the top to the side. In the box was a giant plush comforter, when he ran his hands over it it felt similar to the scarf he was wearing, probably made with the same fabric. Keith picked it up and shoved his face in it, noting there seemed to be a certain level of weight to the comforter. Keith smiled, Shiro had provided him with a weighted blanket back on Earth ages ago, but it hadn’t made it to space so the new one was greatly appreciated.

Keith left the blanket in his lap while he investigated what else was in the box. There was a datapad with the Altean equivalent of a sticky note that said “watch me last” and a small box that rattled some when he shook it. Taking out the box, Keith inspected what else Shiro had seen fit to give him. The box was full of swatches of fabrics that mostly felt nice, there was one that Keith really didn’t like, it felt too scratchy against his skin, then there was Shiro’s class ring on the chain Keith had left it on when Shiro had given it to him back before Kerberos, the presence of which made Keith’s heart skip a beat. It was Shiro’s one real reminder of Earth, of before the alien war in space, before his kidnapping, when space was something shiny and new, waiting to be explored. Keith couldn’t imagine why Shiro had sent his class ring, it wasn’t like the reminder of the Garrison would bring Keith much comfort. Keith puzzled over it for a few seconds while the song moved to the next one and Keith dumped it all back into the smaller box. He put the small box back into the larger one and grabbed out the datapad before shoving the large box off the bed so he could lie down. Keith flopped onto his side, carefully avoiding the other boxes still on his bed and pulled the weighted blanket up over his shoulder. Relaxing he unplugged the headphones from the music player and plugged them into the datapad. There was a video queued up when he turned the pad on so he relaxed and watched.

The video was dark, there was some whispering before a voice clearly said, “Guys, guys, shhhh the video recording is started.” There was a little more shuffling before what seemed to be candles were lit, each of the Castle’s residents holding one, even Matt who looked scruffier than Keith remembered with the scar on his cheek. Hunk, the person at the beginning started again, “Hey, Keith! So, Shiro told us you didn’t get to celebrate your birthday back on Earth much, so we decided to do it out here in space. You being away with the Blade doing all the sneaky important things made our plans a bit harder, but we adapted.” Hunk paused and it looked like Pidge had jabbed him with an elbow. “Right. Anyways, so we sent all this stuff with Kolivan last mission we had in common, so hope you enjoy the Space Birthday Song.” Keith let out an amused snort at the name, Lance’s habit of just putting space in front of the word seemed infectious.

Shiro counted them in and started the song, “Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you.” Pidge joined in, voice clear, and the pair continued, “Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you.” Lance and Hunk joined in next, adding to the harmony effect, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you.” Matt, Allura, and Coran joined in last, “Happy birthday dear Kei-eith, happy birthday to you.” Suddenly Lance yelled, “Make a wish!”

There was a lot of yelling over each other but Keith knew he heard at least once, “Keith comes back okay!” Keith felt tears build up in his eyes that he tried to blink away. Then he head Matt’s voice call out, “Now blow out the candles!” The video descended into darkness again before someone turned the lights on.

Hunk wandered forward, presumably to turn off the camera, and Keith’s eyes were overflowing from the overwhelming amount of feelings he had right now. Right before the camera turned off he heard, “Happy birthday Keith, hope you come home soon. We’re waiting.” The screen turned off, its message given, and Keith curled up in a ball under his blanket sobbing, who knew you could miss a few people this much. Was this how Lance felt all the time when he said he was homesick? Could you feel homesick about missing people? Keith didn’t know the answer as he slowly slipped into an exhausted slumber, clinging to the pad like a teddy bear.

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