#these two destroyed my sabbatic pause
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#I was sober from this shit#platonic shit is my drug#I can't :(#mind-blowing level of cuteness#these two destroyed my sabbatic pause#i'm training for next lokius and ineffable husbands#don't taunte me now#platonic friendship#gay#Morpheus#hob#hob gadling#the sandman#sandman#sandman 1x06#wonderful episode#it reminds me of good omens 1x03#100 years#immortality#friendship#new inn#you are late#dreamling
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A Lesson in Vulnerability
Was going for smut, ended up with the feels. Please enjoy(?) another rough, unedited post, including baby's first lemon in a decade.
Prompt “Of course deacon has a lot of disguises. One for each personality.”
Rating: 18+
“I’ve never met someone who has so many clothes. Except, you know, me.”
Galatea huffed a laugh. “What, you’re not the only one that has a different disguise for each personality?”
Meeting her eyes through their reflections distorted by the cracked full length mirror, Deacon placed his hand over his heart.
“You wound me. But seriously, did you swipe a whole Fallon’s store?”
Rolling her eyes at him, Galatea responded, “Is that where you got yours from?”
Deacon had never met a person who could transform herself quite like Galatea, who could change her whole being to attract or deflect attention as needed. With her hair up and under a hat, shoulders slumped in a man’s shirt and slacks, she was utterly unremarkable. Just another grimy wastelander, trying to eke a living before the rads, raiders, or bigots dug you an early grave. With a little lipstick and dark curls around her face, she was a bombshell come to life, a pre-war Aphrodite in a wiggle dress and heels. A magnet with a dimmer switch, pushing and pulling those in her wake. A human chameleon, no face change needed.
If he could choose a favourite (and he knew he had no right to), he’d probably say this incarnation was his. In her tiny green Goodneighbor apartment, with her shoes and jeans kicked off, analysing every item in her wardrobe before lovingly folding them, packing the chosen items into their shared duffle bag. She had kicked her shoes and jeans off as soon as she walked in the door, her makeup nearly worn off from the days travel back north. Even after a two week sabbatical, the closest thing to R&R he could offer, she still cackled with a nervous energy, a soft but increasing hum indistinguishable to those who didn’t know her.
It felt almost domestic, a wink of his long-forgotten earlier life. A false intimacy between two liars and secret keepers, ignoring the gulf that still existed between them despite the stings and firefights and sex.
But if he was about to put both of them in just stupid amounts of danger, he would take it greedily.
Galatea scrunched her nose at an old fisherman’s sweater, throwing into the bag before picking up a modest evening dress. She whistled at Deacon to pause shaving the two week’s growth from his face, holding it up to his mirrored eyeline.
“Do you think Mags would like this? Or is it not,” Galatea mimed a triangle from her collarbones to sternum, “enough?”
“Probably a little conservative for her.”
“All good, I’ll send it to Piper then. Unless,” she smirked, “you were planning to gender bend again next time you face swap?”
He snickered at her, bringing the straight razor back to his jaw. “‘Fraid I don’t have the decolletage for that doll, I’d never do it justice. Why, would you like that?”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “It wouldn’t be my first rodeo with a woman.”
Temporarily stunned, Deacon gulped as the blood left his head and headed south, earning a dirty barked laugh from Galatea.
“Oh, now you’ve nicked yourself, you degenerate. Mind out of the gutter.”
She threw him a face cloth from across the room, before dragging one of the two dining chairs across the room to the small basin and mirror before straddling it backwards. Pushing her two long braids towards her back, she looked up at the older man expectedly.
“Go on then.”
“Beg pardon?” She kept staring. “If you’re after a steam and shave, you might be knocking on the door. I gotta tell ya, if that’s your stubble, you’ve gotta teach me how to get such a close shave.”
For the first time in the months they worked together, Galatea’s voice wobbled.
“Cut my hair please.”
Deacon frowned down at her. “Are you sure?” When she nodded, he added, “why are you so nervous? I’ve seen you destroy coursers and super mutants practically laughing.”
Huffing slightly, she undid the buttons of her shirt. For a minute, he was momentarily lost for words. He had always been aware of the mottled skin that ran from the edge of the left-hand edge of her jaw down. Had wondered once or twice if the reason she always wore a high neck or scarf was to hide it, perhaps selfishly wondering if it made her too recognisable to go undercover with him. Each button she undid revealed a greater expanse of burnt flesh, melting into the soft cognac of her untouched skin and disappearing underneath the worn bra she wore. Galatea’s eyes flicked down to it.
“Well, there’s no use hiding it now, and it’s not like I’ll have time to do this mop.”
Deacon nodded, gulping. “Where, ah.. How long do you want it?”
“Whatever, so long as I can still tie it back.”
Flicking open the mounted first aid kit, he grabbed out the rusted scissors, before carefully lining up the two plaits and snipping them in line with her scarred chin. Galatea’s eyes dropped to her lap, murmuring.
“I can’t believe you convinced me to infiltrate the Brotherhood of Steel.”
Deacon scoffed, fervently lining up the dark layers of her locks to make sure they’re even.
“I can’t believe Des thought we were the ones to do it.”
“Mmm. I mean, are you even able to still pass the fitness test, old man?”
Deacon pulled a face in the mirror, moving around to tame the waves around her face. “Careful with the guy whose cutting your hair, sweetheart.” Galatea gently slapped his arm in response.
“I swear to God, if you give me a hack job and I need to get a buzz cut, I will utter your recall code.”
A slightly awkward, but common silence fell between them. Deacon cleared his throat, pushing the edges of her shirt down her shoulders so he could blow off the stray hairs around her neck.
“I, uh, was wondering what you had hiding under there. Got to admit, slightly disappointed it wasn’t the Death Bunnies chest piece I was imagining.”
Galatea choked a hint of a laugh, betrayed by the wobble of her voice, pretty mouth hiding behind her fist.
“Trust me, even this,” she motioned to her chest, “would be preferable to tattoo Deak.”
Resting his hands on her neck, he gave her hair a final appraisal, catching the tremble as she swallowed. Meeting her glassy eyes in the mirror, he lifted her head up to meet his.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re offended about the Death Bunnies tattoo. I told ya, I’m happy to be matchies if you are.”
She didn’t answer, shaking her head.
“Is it about this?”
“It’s stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head once more. “I should be used to it by now, but it still bothers me. It’s a reminder that this is real, and that I can’t go back.”
Staring into his glasses, she added, “Do you ever cling to the old parts of yourself, Deak?”
Galatea had a habit of getting of close, of nearly drawing the parts of him he kept buried deep to the surface. A pandora’s box of ugly truths that would mark him as a sinner even to the faithless. He could offer no words of comfort without incinerating them both.
So when she leaned into the fire, he responded with igniting the only common ground they both held.
Sliding one hand to trace her jaw, the other hand’s finger tips traced the edges where her smooth skin turned rough. These fingers were replaced with his lips, chaste at first before her breath hitched. He mouthed at her neck, wishing his tongue and teeth could heal the residual sting. She rolled her neck at his touch, lips catching the hand on her jaw and sucking the fingers there.
Deacon knelt in front of her, continuing his ministrations down her breasts and abs, roughly pulling at her shirt and bra to continue his pilgrimage along the mottled cognac. Galatea melted in the chair, sliding forward as he lifted her hips to pull off the unneeded garments, along with her faded, once pretty underwear. He ran a thumb down along her heat, and the egotist inside him cheered at the wet dripping from her lips.
“Spread your legs for me,” he growled, nipping at the strong thighs. “I want you to watch yourself.”
It was an undeserved gift to watch this woman above him, undulating and moaning as he mouthed her cunt. Something only fitting for a man with a less blasphemous tongue than his. But they both worshipped at the altar of liars and cheats, and if there was one good deed within his power that could push him towards redemption, this would be it. To grant Galatea a taste of heaven, despite the purgatory she had wandered for years.
Jesus, he was getting sentimental in his old age.
Deacon fucked his tongue into her, lapping hungrily at the soft pink folds. She seldom came when he was inside her (something she assured him occurred with all previous partners), but her thighs shook around his shoulders, and damn it if he wasn’t going to try. He slipped one thick finger in, then a second, searching and crooking as he doubled his attention on her clit.
Galatea swore incoherently, a rambling rant of “ Deacon, fuck, Deacon!” as she gripped the arms of the chair. A broken sob ripped through her chest, and she slumped against him, roughly pushing him away while her breathing laboured. He could feel wet salty tears against his neck, and he held her face in his hands.
“Hey hey hey, shh. Galatea, it’s okay, okay? It’s okay.” He kissed her gently. “Was it too much?”
She nodded slowly, consciously trying to control her breathing.
“Just got a bit overstimulated. Give me a sec?” He nodded. He had been a tender man once, attentive, and he allowed the ghost of that man kiss her softly, letting her taste herself. She licked herself off his mouth, reaching towards his glasses as they bumped against the bridge of her nose.
“Take them off for me, Deak.”
A secret for a secret, a fair trade. He hesitated for a second, then let her remove them, her dark eyes analysing his face with the same intensity she held whenever she faced a new problem. It was a bit like staring into the sun. He wished it would burn him until there was nothing left but ash.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Pretty. I wouldn’t have guessed your eyes were blue.”
He groaned, silencing her compliment with a kiss before resting his forehead on hers.
“You were so fucking close.”
“I know.”
“You taste so fucking good. Tell me what you want. Anything.”
She kissed him again, hungrily, small hands gripping this throat. They could count on one hand the times he had kissed her before this, even if he had lost count of the times they had slept together before this. He moaned into her mouth, resulting in a breathless chuckle.
“I want you to fuck me.”
Deacon lifted her up roughly, carrying her to the bed. He was an older man, sore, with a crink in his back and knees that throbbed every time it rained. And yet, he bargained, he would take this small act of self-flagellation for the sweet prize it held. A little death, and, more importantly, his best agent at her best.
She giggled at his involuntary grunt of pain, and shooed the small calico kitten off of her bed Deacon stumbled towards. Pushing him back towards the pillows at the head, she straddled him. He felt thick, hot and throbbing beneath her, and distracted hands pulled off his jeans whilst he ripped his holey white t-shirt off. Licking her palm, she pumped him slowly, before lowering herself onto his cock and hissing at that sting. Even if she was no longer 210 years untouched, she still savoured the stretch, the feeling of him filling her. Deacon growled, gripping her hips and fighting the urge to fuck up into her. Grabbing her wrists in one hand, he moved them from where they covered her chest to grip the metal bed frame.
“No more hiding.” He used the other to roll her hips against his, steadying the jerky rhythm she was finding and meeting her thrust for thrust.
Galatea picked up her pace, rising and sinking, punctuating each snap of her hips with a breathy moan. Deacon busied his mouth on her chest, sucking and nipping at her full chest, tracing the small inked shapes and initials that littered over her ribs and arms. Galatea rode him wildly, intimately, containing none of the usual composure she usually held, even in their most perverse moments. He mouthed the S.A.M, italicised in black on her wrist, desperately trying to ignore the lick of fire in his filling his belly, racing Galatea to their release. She huffed desperately, ungracefully, as his fingers traced haphazard shapes around the bud between her thighs.
“Deaks, Deacon , I’m so close. So close.”
“I know baby, fuck. What do you need.”
She sobbed. “My name, please. Say it. My real one.”
Her cunt contracted around his cock, impossibly tight and deliciously hot, and he fucked up desperately into her, crushing her bodily to his chest. He could feel that familiar pull, stretching and teetering on the edge, and he sunk his teeth into her neck, bruising the unharmed side of her through
“Jesus, Gene. Imogene . I’m gonna, shit, I’m going to come!”
Galatea unravelled around him, sobbing, splendid and terrible in her climax. Deacon pushed her off him, letting her fall against the mattress and pumping himself as he spilled over his stomach and her thighs. He fell back against the mattress, breathing heavily, as his partner’s slowly steadied. Pushing the hair off from her face, he met her eyes, before wrapping a lazy arm low along her back. His muscles burned, and he longed to sleep. When was the last time he slept in a bed?
“You okay?”
Galatea nodded. “Yes.”
“Mmm.”
A beat of silence, then. “Deacon?”
“Mhmm?”
“Thanks.”
“S’all good.” He yawned, stretching his spare arm above his head. “Thanks for letting me see you naked.”
Gene slapped his aching abs. “Shut up and go to sleep.”
#gene grady#prompt#Fallout 4#deacon x sole survivor#deacon#nsft#FO4#sole survivor#female sole survivor
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The Slowest Burn: Prologue
Dr. Ethan Ramsey knew that Dr. Katherine Petrovic’s career was more important their non-relationship. They worked side by side, existing in their own world until once again, the two doctors are forced to face the inevitable.
Chapter: Prologue
Word Count: ~1200
Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC
Prologue
Dr. Naveen Banerji’s new corner office was lit by a substantial amount of natural light. Boston was experiencing a rare cloudless sunny day; a harsh contrast to the uncomfortable energy inside the room.
It was hard to believe that only a few hours ago, Ethan Ramsey had been in a state of bliss; his arms wrapped around the woman he loved before forcing himself out of bed to go to work. It was Katherine’s day off and she wanted to study in peace; in his corner drop-in tub, he deeply suspected.
“I’m so sorry Naveen,” Ethan breathed as he stood rooted in the doorway. The door clicked shut softly behind him, and yet, he found himself unable to move.
“This isn’t like you Ethan,” he murmured; although his voice was calm, it was laced with heavy disappointment.
“I know.”
“And how long has this been going on?”
Dr. Ethan Ramsey remained silent as he forced himself to take the seat opposite of his mentor. His boss. The man before him was closed off. Hurt. Naveen was hiding the brunt of his emotions because he trusted them, and he felt betrayed. After all they had been through together...
“It … it’s complicated,” he stated lamely.
“You’re a world-renowned diagnostician,” Naveen retorted sarcastically without missing a beat. There wasn’t anything humorous in his expression. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Fast.”
He took a deep breath and spread his hands on his thighs to steady himself. "Dr. Petrovic and I kissed in Miami. I wouldn't let it go any further. Her career… that is what is most important. You must understand this, Naveen?"
"That lasted for how long…?" Naveen leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. His decision to not discuss Katherine’s status had not gone overlooked.
Ethan paled.
He could see it in the way that he wouldn’t meet his gaze. In the way the tips of his fingers were white as they pressed into his elbows. The way his mouth pressed into a thin line.
Naveen had been sitting on this revelation for several hours, unsure of how to breach the ethics complaint brought against his diagnostics dream team. If he hadn’t seen the cellphone photo that accompanied it, he wouldn’t have thought it true. Dr. Ethan Ramsey respected hospital policy. Like he, Dr. Ramsey saw the promise that Dr. Katherine Petrovic held. Dr. Petrovic had a gifted mind and a knack for finding medical needles in metaphorical haystacks; she was everything they could hope for in the next generation of medical practitioners. Her compassion and empathy were beyond her years.
This time, an ethics violation like this one would cause her to lose her license for sure. She remained on thin ice with the rest of the hospital’s administration. Her leash was short. Ethan would never be able to live with himself if she were unable to practice medicine because of him. He hand picked her for a good reason.
There was something about Katherine Petrovic that enraptured him. That made him feel things that he thought he wasn’t capable of.
“Until I quit and she was placed on suspension,” he admitted, holding his gaze. “Do what you must to do, Naveen. But do it to me and keep Katherine out it. I will not allow her career to be destroyed because of me.”
“You love her,” was all he said.
It wasn’t a question.
There was no question.
Of course he loved her. Without a doubt, Ethan knew he was in love with Katherine. His love for her extended beyond reason. It frightened him how much he loved her.
“I didn’t believe it at first. I don’t think I would have if I hadn’t seen the photo.” Naveen found his answer in his silence. “You and Dr. Petrovic have always been nothing but professional- at times, uncomfortably so- in my presence since she joined the diagnostics team. Your work ethic in this hospital has become legendary in such a short period, and then at the same time, I’ve seen you let her shout at you, Ethan. I suppose that mystery has been solved now, hasn’t it?”
Ethan swallowed the lump forming in his throat. His temper and lack of patience was notorious. Dr. Ramsey was used to getting his way. ‘No’ was a word that barely existed in his vocabulary.
Nor did it exist in Katherine’s. That was evident throughout her intern year. For as long as he could remember, he had to be the one who remained in control. All of that changed the minute he placed his hand on hers to make an incision into a woman’s pleural cavity.
He pushed.
She pulled.
She gave.
He took.
Nobody ever dared to shout back at him. But Katherine did. She matched him, in every way.
“She is why you’ve been … different recently.” This time, it was a statement. There was no question.
Naveen Banerji’s mind was as sharp as it ever was. Nothing slipped by him.
They should have told him. From the very beginning, they should have. In the back of his mind, it was something that Ethan always knew.
“Yes.” He said quietly. It was hard to not think of her in this moment; in his mind’s eye, she was walking around his apartment in his shirt; a book in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other, completely at ease. Completely unaware as to what was unfolding at Edenbrook.
His mentor exhaled through his nose and Ethan flinched. He could feel the disappointment radiating off of him. “If this were anyone else, Ethan… I try to not show preferential treatment. But you are like my own son. The son I never had.” A flash of sadness crossed over his features as he leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk. Naveen paused, choosing his next words carefully. “But, on the other hand, I am your boss, and you are a doctor under my employment. The leader of my diagnostics team. You’ve been entrusted with the livelihoods of others. I realize that this is Katherine we’re talking about, but you do understand what the ramifications would have been if she reported you? This isn’t just about her career.”
“Yes sir. I understand,” replied Ethan evenly. “That’s why I’m taking full responsibility-”
“This isn’t about you taking responsibility!” Naveen cut in harshly. His brown eyes flashed dangerously. “You’ve jeopardized the entire integrity of the team. The hospital. You’ve broken my trust. If anyone else saw- if this had gone badly- Ethan... I expected more from you.”
‘I’m sorry’ would never be enough. “I know,” he said instead. He kept his eyes focused on the dark, antique wood of Naveen’s desk, the pool of shame in his stomach was filling at a rapid pace and Ethan felt like he was going to be sick. His mind was running a mile a minute. Up until recently, Naveen Banerji had been the only person in his life whose opinion mattered to him.
Naveen broke away and dropped his head into his hands and pushed his glasses up his forehead as he rubbed his eyes. “If this were anyone else, you do realize, you two would be fired without question?” He didn’t look up. His voice was muffled.
“I do.”
A heavy silence fell over the two men that lasted for several minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. Ethan couldn’t bring himself to look at the other man. Not yet.
“I had dinner with Christopher Daley last week,” Naveen began. “He’s beginning the process for next year’s guest lecturer and asked for my input.”
Christopher Daley was the Dean of Harvard Medical School.
“The Harvard Medical School’s guest lecturer position is lucrative and incredible honour. This would be an incredible opportunity for you to influence the next generation of medicine. It is a 16-month term. I will approve your sabbatical for the duration. This will give Dr. Petrovic time to finish her fellowship with diagnostics.”
Ethan hated teaching, but Naveen wasn’t wrong. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest. What was Naveen getting at? September was months away.
There was a sense of finality in Dr. Banerji’s tone and Dr. Ramsey was in no place to argue with him. What could he possibly say?
“I can’t allow Katherine to continue working with you in the meantime,” he said solemnly. Ethan snapped out of his stupor and swallowed, his blue eyes flashed in defense, but he could only bring himself to nod. “I can’t place her on administrative leave without arousing suspicion.”
He nodded in understanding. “I received an email for the AUSDEM Conference in Sydney. They’ve offered me a pass for the week if I fill in as a keynote speaker. I’ll let them know and book the fight.”
The Australasian Diagnostic Error in Medicine Conference had been after him for years. It would be the perfect cover to use to break her heart, and his.
#choices#choices stories you play#open heart#open heart fanfiction#ethan ramsey#ethan ramsey x mc#ethan ramsey fanfiction#open heart mc#naveen banerji
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Chiquitita - MCU AU fanfic - C27
Story summary: Something strange is happening. Someone from space has made their way to Earth, armed with a strange weapon. Targeting teenagers, their ray gun, when fired, turns the victim into a toddler. The Avengers set out to stop this, and find a way to reverse the effects. However, they don’t all come out of the battle unscathed.
Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26
Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.
Warnings/themes: de-aging, family stuff, corporal punishment (early chapters only), mental health stuff, hurt/comfort, hospital/medical stuff
Chapter 27 - Sick And Tired
-
Loki sat in the reading nook, little Peter fast asleep on his chest. Tony sat down beside him.
“You can’t stay in here all day”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Loki... You know he’s not got much time left as a toddler. Maybe we should let him go a bit mad, play with all his toys at once and stuff like that. I get he’s having a nap now, but you’ve just kinda been sat with him all day”
“We’ve been reading and doing his flashcards”
Tony sighed. “Give him to me”
“He’s comfortable”
Tony sighed again. He stayed quiet. For a moment, Loki did too.
“...You never even tried to understand”
“Loki, please”
Loki swallowed. “Jo Jo understands”
Tony sighed irritably. “Of course he agrees with you. He-”
“I said he understands” Loki interrupted. “Not that he agrees”
Tony took Peter from him and stood up, much to Loki’s dismay.
“Tony! Give him back”
“No. I want to hold him”
“You want to turn a gun on him too”
“Loki, you’re being deliberately awkward. The reversal gun isn’t like a gun gun. It’s gonna help him, not hurt him”
Peter squirmed in Tony’s arms as he woke up, whining.
“Hey, bambino. How are you doing?”
Peter looked up at Tony, and across at Loki. “Thirsty”
“Yeah? No problem, kiddo. Let’s go and get you a drink”
-
Loki sat down on the carpet, watching Peter playing with his trains.
“Hey, darling” he said gently.
“H’y da’y” Peter said indistinctly.
Loki looked at him. “What have you got in your mouth?”
Peter made a run for it, but Loki was fast, and caught him quickly. He forced Peter’s mouth open, retrieving the offending object.
“Is that- is that a circuit board?! TONY!!!”
Tony soon came into the room. “Yes?”
“What the hell is this?” Loki said, holding up the circuit board.
“Oh, I misplaced that earlier!” Tony said, taking it from him. “Thanks, honey. Where did you find it?”
“In our sons mouth”
“Oh” Tony laughed awkwardly. “Sorry”
“You can’t leave things like that lying around when we’ve got a toddler roaming about. You should know that by now”
“I’ve said sorry! Look, no harm done. No harm done, right, Peter?”
“No harm done!” Peter grinned.
Loki sighed and stood up, lifting Peter into his arms.
“Daddy! Put me down!” Peter protested.
“Why don’t we go and do some painting?” Loki suggested.
Peter immediately brightened. “Ok!”
“Oh Loki, come on!” Tony whined.
Loki ignored him, and swept out of the room.
-
Just as Tony expected, Peter was covered in paint when he went into the kitchen later that day.
“Brilliant”
“He’s wearing an apron, Anthony”
“I hope you haven’t got paint all over the breakfast bar”
“Cleverly observe the newspapers, darling”
“I painted a picture of my rocket!” Peter grinned. “And this is the ducks at the park, and this is us swimming, and this is me and mumma, and this is me with you and daddy!”
“Ooh, aren’t they lovely?” Tony said, looking at Peter’s paintings. “You’re quite the little artist, aren’t you?”
Peter giggled happily. Tony ruffled his hair.
“Well then, chick. I think you need to go and have a bath while I get tea ready”
“Oh” Peter looked at Loki. “Can I play with my toys?”
“You can play with your bath toys, yes” Loki said. “Take your apron off. We’d better do as we’re told”
Peter took his apron off and lay it down carefully on the table. He jumped down from his seat, blinking up at Loki.
“Bath time?”
Loki nodded and took his hand.
-
Loki took his time washing Peter, being as gentle and thorough as possible. Peter frowned. Loki wasn’t making eye contact and talking the way he usually did. Something was wrong.
“Daddy?”
Loki looked at him. “Yes, darling?”
“Are you sad?”
Loki paused. “Maybe a little bit”
“Why?”
“It’s not something I can explain to you. You don’t need to worry about me”
“Do you wanna play with my bath toys? They make me happy when I’m sad”
Loki smiled. “Yeah, let’s play with your toys. We just need to rinse your hair, and then we can play”
“My water wheel!” Peter said. “I want my water wheel!”
Loki finished rinsing him off and then found the water wheel, pressing it to the inside of the bath. He handed Peter a beaker to be getting on with, and found some of the best bath toys for Peter to play with. Peter hummed happily to himself, keeping the wheel turning with cupfuls of water. Loki lined a few boats up on the water and put a little rubber duck on each of them. He found the big duck that quacked when it hit the water, and floated it in the bath. Peter grinned and giggled. He kept pouring water over his water wheel, quacking away to himself, imitating the big duck. Loki stroked the boys wet hair gently.
“I love you”
“I love you too” Peter said, and continued quacking.
Loki looked at the tiny boy. He looked at his bright eyes and his little interested face. He looked at his little nose. He looked at him, and thought how tiny and perfect every part of him was. He looked at the little smile on the boys face.
“You are such a good boy, my little darling” he said gently. “You’re such a good boy”
“Can we go to the park tomorrow?”
“We’ll see” Loki sighed.
“What are we having for tea?”
“I don’t know. Other daddy is cooking”
Peter stopped quacking and dropped the beaker in the bath.
“Peter?”
“I heard something”
Loki listened, and heard footsteps. A moment or two later, Tony opened the bathroom door.
“Daddy!”
“Hey, chick” Tony said. He looked at Loki. “Tea’ll be ten minutes”
“Ok” Loki said. “We’ll be in soon”
Tony left, and Loki looked at Peter.
“Time to get out of the bath, chick” Loki said.
“Do I have to?”
“I’m afraid so. We need to get you dried and into your night clothes so we can go and have dinner” Loki said. “Ok?”
Peter looked at his toys, and reluctantly pulled the bath plug out. Loki carefully lifted him out of the bath and wrapped him up in a warm towel. He picked him up and cradled him close.
“Let’s get you sorted”
-
Loki and Tony let Peter stay up later than usual that night. After tea they went into the living room and put on a Wallace and Gromit DVD. Loki gave Peter a little bit of fizzy pop in his sippy cup as a special treat. Peter sat on the floor with his drink, rocking his baby doll in its cot with his foot and lining his little toy dinosaurs up on his legs. As usual, his rocket was under his arm.
Tony put an arm round Loki’s shoulders. “I love you, you know”
“I know” Loki said. He sighed. “I love you too. I just don’t like you right now”
Tony sighed. “I know”
“Do you remember that song on Oliver and Company that always made him cry?”
“Once Upon A Time In New York City” Tony nodded. “You put that film on when he was in such a bad way. It still makes him cry now. God, it makes me cry too. I honestly don’t know how we got through losing May. Seeing him cry just absolutely destroys me”
“You used to sing to him” Loki said. “When he was crying, you’d just sing to him. Your voice would crack, but you’d just about manage not to cry. Most of the time, anyway”
“We sent him to school way too soon” Tony said. “He wasn’t ready to go to school. He wasn’t ready for any of it. Do you ever think about how it would have worked out if we’d done things differently?”
Loki nodded. “We were both horrible to him at times throughout that year. I was horrible to him before I went on my sabbatical. You were horrible to him while I was away. We made so many mistakes. How could we expect to look after him when we were mourning so heavily too? Yes, we sent him to school too early. We did lots of things too early... It feels like a nightmare, doesn’t it? If you think back properly? God, it was horrendous. He was absolutely destroyed by what happened. We should have forced him to see a therapist straight away. We should have worked through it with him properly, professionally. Maybe things would have been better if we had”
“Maybe. But... Loki, I know we did so much wrong. But we did our best. We were in a horrible place. Like you say; we were mourning too. Both of us still had other commitments too. And then to suddenly have him full time, and for the worst possible reason? We did do our best, I know we did. We tried to keep him fed, and we kept him clean and dressed and we tried to be there for him whenever he needed us. Sure, there’s things we did that we shouldn’t’ve, and we didn’t address everything we should have, and not in the right way. But you know we did our best”
Loki looked at little Peter, who looked so contented and interested, watching the DVD.
“Do you ever think that our best wasn’t good enough?”
“It was all we had, Loki. We did the best that we could under those circumstances. He got better, didn’t he? He’ll never be the person he was before the accident, we know that. But he’s as good as he’s gonna get”
“It makes me feel sick” Loki said. “Thinking about the way he was, the way he was feeling. Doesn’t it you?”
“Loki...”
“I’m serious, Anthony. Just think about it for a minute. Think about him begging on his knees at May’s funeral, begging her not to leave him. Think about how angry he was in the days following, all of that shouting and screaming. Think about those depressing months that followed. Think about the fact that he was in tears far more often than he was out of them. Think about the day we found out what those kids at the first school had done to him. Think about the day he found out about us and May. Think about how scared he was that year. Think about-”
“Stop it” Tony said. “Please, just stop. I know it was horrible, I know it hurts, I know what it was like. But we got through it. It’s done, Loki. All of that is done with. It might have been hell on Earth, but it’s done with now. It’s all in the past. Peter’s better now”
“The toddler doesn’t remember any of that horrible stuff”
“Loki, don’t. You can’t keep saying this stuff. I love the toddler, I really do, but that doesn’t mean we should keep him this way”
“What if I don’t want teenage Peter any more?”
“Don’t say that. You don’t mean that”
“Don’t I?”
“No, you don’t!” Tony hissed. “...Do you remember the song from Tarzan I used to sing to him?”
Tears filled Loki’s eyes, and his face crumpled. He rested his head in his hand, half-covering his face.
“I can’t do this”
Tony held him tighter. “I used to sing it to you, too”
“Don’t do this”
“I love you, Loki. I love both of you so much. You’ve been great with the toddler, but you know we can’t keep him like this. We need to give our teenage son his life back. All the horrible memories, yes, but all the good ones too. Think about him laughing, Loki. Think about his smile, and his jokes, and the way it feels when he wriggles under your arm for a hug. Think about how excited he is when he tells us about his patrols or when he’s been round at one of the Bunnies places. Think about how proud we feel when we see him win his swim competitions... Remember the look on his face when we told him we wanted to adopt him”
Loki turned and buried his face in Tony’s chest. “I can’t let go of this little boy”
“It’s not goodbye. It’s just a flash, and then we’ll have a slightly heavier son to hold. The son we adopted. The one who called us dad first”
“You’ve been dad far longer than I have”
“That doesn’t make him any less your son. You know that” Tony rested his mouth against Loki’s head.
“You’ve always been his favourite. You always will be”
“He’s still your son too. You’re still daddy Loki... I know you’re scared”
Loki swallowed hard. “We’ve got the chance to give our son a life where he’s happy. This little boy is happy, he’s never been anything but happy. How can you think it’s wrong to give him this chance?”
“Would you give up your life for one where you’ve never been hurt?”
“He’s not giving up anything. He’s still got us”
“What about his friends? Loki, he doesn’t even remember May”
Loki just buried himself further into Tony’s chest and clung to him. Tony held him tight.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Loki didn’t say anything. Tony took a minute. He sighed, and spoke:
“I’m scared too”
-
Loki waited until Tony was fast asleep, and then snuck into Peter’s room. Much to his surprise, the toddler was awake. He was sat up in bed, holding his rocket in both hands and looking thoughtful.
“Hello, darling” Loki said gently. “Are you ok?”
“I woke up” Peter said. “Do you think daddy will make me a real rocket if I ask him to?”
Loki blinked hard to dry the tears that had welled in his eyes. He was glad of the night light, as the blue glow probably did a good job of hiding his emotions. He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“It’s late, my darling” he said. “I think you should try to go back to sleep”
“Oh” Peter said. “Ok. Are we going to the park tomorrow?”
Loki swallowed. “We’ll see”
Peter looked at his rocket and set it aside. He held his arms up to Loki.
“Sleepover?”
“What do you mean?” Loki asked, lifting the toddler into his arms and holding him close, breathing in his scent.
“You stay in my room tonight”
“Of course, if that’s what you want”
“Yep” Peter said. “My bed is enormous, so there’s room for you too!”
“So I see. Well then”
Loki pulled the covers back and climbed into bed. He set little Peter down on his back and gave him his rocket, and then lay down on his side beside him. Peter wriggled closer, pressing his side against Loki’s chest. Loki propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at the boy.
“Comfortable?”
“Mm” Peter nodded, hugging his rocket against his chest. “If we don’t go to the park tomorrow, can we go swimming instead?”
“We’ll see. You need to go to sleep now”
Loki stroked the boys fluffy hair gently. Peter looked up at him, yawning so that his nose wrinkled.
“I think you’re tired” Loki said gently.
He lay down properly, pulling the covers over them and putting an arm round Peter, holding him close.
“Goodnight, daddy”
“Goodnight, darling”
Peter closed his eyes and soon fell asleep. Loki stayed with him, listening to the soft sounds of him breathing, and stroking his hair and face gently. He could hear the clock ticking on the wall, and it made his heart thump harder still. He felt so sick. He kissed Peter’s cheek gently.
He couldn’t sleep for ages. For a long time he just lay there, holding Peter close, choking back tears, and wishing morning would never come.
*
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Tales of the Gloaming: prequel
This is no longer a prequel since the setting is being changed a lot on the deeper levels. I’ve done a lot of stories where magic and weird shit is hidden from the world, but this setting doesn’t lend itself to that. So the interation of it in this story no longer fits, even if the characters do :)
Honor roll student taking a two week sabbatical is nothing unusual. Bobby Davros was straight A’s, on the football and soccer teams. It wasn’t the new backpack or even the wary way he moved as much as the gleam in his eyes that let me know something was wrong.
I texted my sister to get back home and call in sick. Given the fact that our family can’t get sick, I get no reply except a text from my father asking if the situation is in hand. I check my credit on a family app on my burner phone, then the family credit. The internet has made us more powerful than most of our enemies grasp, but the modern world makes it harder to just kill people and bury their corpses.
Especially when I have no idea how deep the rot goes.
I slip into the nurses back office using the keycard he doesn’t know about, find the vials I left in the hidden fridge. I pull out three of the four, take a careful sniff. Pocket one, gulp two back. Every sense sharpens. I can smell my own fear. I breathe it it, let it go, head out and find Bobby.
I find him in the changing room at the gym, having a fight with one of the coaches.
“You need to shower before the game, same as every else,” Coach McPhail snarls. “Changing your locker without authorization is not permitted, nor is trying to keep a non-regulation medical bag with you during practise.”
“You can’t order me around!” Bobby steps toward McPhail. “This isn’t Vietnam or whoever you -.”
“Phil. I have this.”
McPhail looks at me, then nods.
Bobby Davros turns. Stares. Tries to remember my name. “Matt? Max? You’re not in any gym class.”
He reeks of garlic and incense.
“What’s in your bag, Bobby? Or do you think only you know?”
“What?” He visibly starts.
I give my ample belly a pat. “There are other ways of fighting monsters. Data trails. The dark web.”
The bag is small and new. He pulls two wooden stakes out. No shame, only the eagerness to meet another hunter of monsters. “Who do you serve?” he demands, eyes narrowing.
“Imbecile. You think that is knowledge to be shared?” I move faster than he can, one hand slamming his back into a cement wall, the other yanking out and breaking each stake. “What do you think happens to someone caught wandering a school with a hammer and stake? You think anyone is going to believe you about monsters that are not human, when there are too many human ones already?!”
“Learn to hide. Learn to watch. Learn to see,” I snap. “Carry silver on you. Keep a symbol of your god on hand. To destroy a monster is nothing. To find their nest is everything!”
“I – yes. I didn’t –.” He nods. Jerky, stunned, backing out and bolting from the room with his empty bag.
I sit down on the bench. Breathe. Look up only when McPhail walks back in.
“No body?”
“Confused him.” I stand. “Please tell me you have something to drink in your office.”
That wins a faint smile. His office is small, cramped, but under a pile of papers in a drawer is a small bottle and plastic glasses. I gulp back a shot of brandy, and a second until my fingers stop shaking.
“Max.” Phil McPhail pauses. “I admit I don’t know too much about your kind, But I didn’t think you could really do mind tricks?”
“We can’t. I just confused him. I don’t know where he went or what he was indoctrinated into. But having someone walking around looking for vampires to stake is bad for everyone in the gloaming, not just us. Helps that he wasn’t told much about the wider world. He might end up trying to kill a werewolf now.”
The coach sits back in his chair. “Nasty.”
“I have my moments.” I stand, take a few breaths. The taste of blood is almost gone. I feel a lot more human, stretch slowly afterwards. “Thank you for your aid.”
McPhail nods. I imagine he’ll be asking my uncle more questions later, but that business is between them. I walk out of the room and into the school. No one is paying me any attention, which is al. the attention I desire.
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Pride and Prejudice and Wrestling - Part 6
Characters: Seth Rollins x Reader, The gang from Raw
Summary: When a superstar Hollywood actress (The Reader), interacts with WWE Superstar Seth Rollins at Monday Night Raw, sparks fly. Can Rollins overcome his pride and convince the reader to take a chance on him when she’s still recovering from a nasty scandal caused by her cheating fiancé?
Warnings: Lots of flirting, angsty longing and maybe some bad words
Tags: @caramara3
Chapter 6
Three Weeks Later
“Are you sure you don’t want to do the movie? It’s a juicy role and could lead to some nice accolades during award season.”
My publicist Michelle swirled the striped straw in her unsweetened, locally sourced organic iced tea.
Michelle was a gem and a contradiction. She was always stylish but never in a Hollywood way. An older woman, she wore her chic hair in a long bob and took pride in the wide swaths of gray there when everyone was dying their hair blond to desperately keep looking like they were 27. She was a hard smoker but was refraining right now, even though we were in the open air, because I hated the smell.
She would scoff at my calling her motherly but she had been an incredible mentor to me. And, she had gotten me this far in my career in Hollywood. When I came here with $700 bucks in my pocket and no contacts, she had taken a chance on me, seeing something in me a lot of casting directors didn’t at the time. But her long term hunch paid off and she earned her money back in spades, 15% at a time.
“I am happy saying no to offers right now,” I replied, sipping from my Coke. The waitress seemed amazed it wasn’t Diet. “I want a sabbatical. Some time to sort myself out. A few months at most.”
We were eating lunch at a swanky New York City hotspot. And by eating lunch, I mean being seen eating lunch at a exclusive spot outdoors in Soho while I pushed a colorfully, exotic salad around my plate.
Wouldn’t Seth laugh at me about this while he ate some healthy meal he carted around the country with him while wrestling. He would probably call my fancy salad, food fit for a rabbit princess. Or I bet he was eating ice cream right now. Asshole. Secretly I was following him on his Instagram, and he wasn’t joking about ice cream being a guilty pleasure for him.
“But this movie stars Michael Fassbender. You always said you wanted to work with him.”
“I know. I just need a break.”
Michelle sighed. It was a passive aggressive sigh. “This is about your fiancé, right? You’re ex-fiancé. You got to get your head out your ass about that and keep moving forward honey. You are embarrassed to be seen out. We are out right now. Eating at this ridiculous restaurant so we can be seen and have paparazzi shots on all the blogs. I mean we could be at my house on the Island, eating juicy steaks.”
I laughed at that. Michelle was an amazing cook. It was something I wanted to learn to do. Maybe I would do it now. I had the time.
I pushed my plate with its exotic micro grain salad away from me. “I told you I don’t need paparazzi declarations of my happiness in photo form. Also, a steak sounds amazing. As does a rest right now.”
Michelle put her hands up in capitulation. “Okay, okay. Well I will hold down the fort until you come back.”
Suddenly I was relieved. I pushed my Coke away.
“I will let the producer know that it’s a no from you.” She tapped at her iPad. “I think that’s it.” She tapped and swiped some more at her tablet. “Last thing I need to do for you is just respond to WWE. They have been insanely persistent.”
I was motioning to the waitress for the check when Michelle spoke and I could have gotten whiplash when I heard the word, “WWE”.
“Wait. What?”
“The wrestling people. They have not stopped calling.”
My heart was hammering at that. My mouth went dry. “Uh, what did they want?” Did that sound casual? Oh God. I was losing it. Be calm. Surely Seth wouldn’t use such a formal way to contact me.
“First, they wanted a coordinated response about the elevator incident and l told them the same thing I told TMZ. No comment. Then they called with a job offer. Can you imagine? You with two Oscars, working for WWE! So I told them ‘no’.
“Oh. Well, maybe we should hear them out.” I sipped my Coke again. I shrugged my shoulders and tried to sound flippant, when I was really shaky and nervous inside. “Just to see what the offer is.”
Michelle gasped. She seemed apoplectic. She was literally clutching the pearl necklace that was draped around her neck in a triple strand. “You turn down a role that could win you a third Oscar but you are interested in a offer from a wrestling company?”
I shrugged again. “Could be fun during my sabbatical.”
Michelle shook her head. “A fun way to destroy your career. You can’t take this offer seriously, hon. You would be laughed out of Hollywood.”
“But it’s something different.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Damn it. This is about the elevator guy, isn’t it? He’s a wrestler. What was his name? Shane? Sean?
I rolled my eyes. She knew his name. “Seth. His name is Seth.”
“Yeah, and his dick must be magic if you are thinking about ruining everything you’ve worked for over this job.”
“You don’t even know what the job is? You turned it down without even telling me what it was. Surely they don’t want me to wrestle. Aren’t you curious about what it could be?”
“I don’t bother you with jobs that are a waste of your time,” she answered in a haughty tone.
“But the job might not be a waste of my time. It could be a good distraction.” I paused. “And yes, his dick was magic.”I was joking with Michelle but not really.
Finally Michelle looked impressed and she laughed. “Well that’s something. At least you are getting some dick. I told you that would do wonders after that debacle with that louse you were engaged to. Get back up on the horse and ride it all night and all that.”
“Like you know about all that. I think your wife would take umbrage with you riding other horses, Michelle.”
“Never you mind me and my fabulous love life, my dear. It’s your love life I’m concerned about. And I admit I’m confused. You told me nothing was going on there, with Sean after the elevator incident.”
I bit my lower lip. “Maybe I was wrong there. About … Seth.” More like maybe I couldn’t help touching my hand on the hot stove even though I knew it would burn me.
“Unfinished business?”
Sure. If unfinished business meant constantly thinking about him for three weeks and constantly wondering if I should have left him without a word.
So why was I considering whatever WWE was offering? Because I was hoping it was Seth behind all this. And what would that serve if he was behind it? We couldn’t enjoy anything long term? He wasn’t suited for it with all the cheating in his past. And short term? I was so confused. But I missed Seth. I just wanted the chance to be near him and get to know him better.
I was so lost in my own world I had forgotten Michelle and her question. “Yes. I guess there is something unfinished there,” I finally responded.
“All right, hon.” She covered my hand with hers. “I will set up a meeting.” She looked me in the eye. “I hope he’s worth it.”
I didn’t answer because I didn’t want to think about the answer.
Later that night, Michelle called me to say I had a meeting at WWE HQ in Connecticut to discuss this job proposition and a car would pick me up the next morning. Michelle, in showing her displeasure at the situation could only say that I had a meeting with a guy who had way too many “H”s in his myriad of names. That made me chuckle.
But there was nothing to chuckle about as I made my way into WWE headquarters. It was serious business, with everyone in their corporate attire. I don’t know why I felt there would be people running around power bombing coworkers at the water cooler but I was disappointed that folks there were just as normal and boring as people in any office building in America. At least I didn’t feel out of place in my black slacks and simple silk blouse.
There were some gorgeous replica championship belts on display in the impressive glass encased lobby though and some larger than life photos of the various superstars lining the walls of the hallways. I tried to hide a smile as I passed the life sized picture of Seth on the wall in his shiny black ring gear, hair wet and devious smirk on his handsome face. His hands were clasped together like he was up to no good. The sexy devil. Damn him.
Triple H greeted me warmly in his gigantic corporate office with its lovely view of a manmade lake behind him. Pictures of his kids and of course Stephanie lined his large oak desk.
Despite the hand cut Italian suit, and the charismatic charm of his demeanor, Triple H looked as if he could cast off that corporate veneer and unleash some violence when necessary. Which had been proven at many a PPV and even the most recent Mania against Seth. I know because I watched it. I had been watching a lot of Seth’s old matches recently. It was a poor stand-in for being near the real thing.
“Thank you for meeting me.” His voice was authoritative with just a hint of gravel but it was also charming and welcoming. “And for coming out here to Connecticut. I thought you might hear the pitch better if you see how we operate.”
I put my business mode smile on. “You have a very impressive operation here.”
“Thank you. We are very happy when we achieve our goal of putting smiles on people’s faces.”
I couldn’t help a little smirk. “Yes, and profits in shareholders bank accounts.”
“Exactly. That’s why you’re here.
“You think I can make a profit for WWE? I’m not a wrestler.”
“True. But you do have something we can let’s say, use to our advantage.”
I had to admit I was intrigued here.
“Your hosting Raw was very well received not just here in the States but also around the world. Your movies do extremely well internationally and you have a very loyal fanbase in those countries that the corporation is looking to expand in via our television presence. We thought it might be a good idea to have you be a part of Raw more often. You could be an “in” for new viewers in those countries. They know you and your brand. They would be interested in the show and what you are doing on it. That could expose the WWE brand to more people worldwide. More smiles on people’s faces.”
I took a moment to let all that soak in. Then I channeled Michelle’s skepticism again.
“It could also diminish my brand. My fans could become confused. I’m a actress one day, and on a wrestling show the next. Why should I do this?”
Michelle would be happy I was somehow channeling her so much.
Triple H got up and walked around his desk to lean against the front of it. He looked at me intently.
“I like to read people. Figure out how they tick and what works for them. It is a strategy that worked for me in the ring and in business.
“It’s no secret you have had a tough time in the press lately. I think you could use a break from Hollywood. I also heard you ‘clicked’ with many of our Superstars.”
I shook my head, disappointed in this line of conversation. Would he say this if I was a man? I couldn’t disguise the attitude in my voice. “You mean Seth.”
“I meant Sasha and Bayley but sure, Seth too.”
Okay. So I walked into that one. “I’m not saying I would do it but what would this job entail.”
Triple H tried to keep his victorious smile at a minimum.
“Something I think you will enjoy. You’re going to work with Seth. Creative has written a storyline where you are dating. I thought that would be easy for you two to pull off. It would sell better with the audience if you live that in and out of the ring. Travel together. Like a real couple. It would be for a couple months, three at most. All the way through Summer Slam.”
“So I’m what, Seth’s pretend girlfriend and his valet.” I remembered Seth’s harsh words to me that he didn’t need a valet. “I don’t think Seth will go for that.”
“Well why don’t we ask him.”
My heart skipped several beats.
My mouth went dry. “What? Seth. He’s here?”
“Yes. I thought it would be good to talk to you first before we all sat down together to discuss this. That is if you are interested. I don’t want to waste your time.”
Sly, sly man. They called him The Cerebral Assassin for a reason. I didn’t want to play all my cards right away so I tried to sound neutral.
“Sure. Why not, since I’m here and everything.”
Triple H led me through to the adjoining conference room. It was all shiny and modern and reminded me of a Bond villain’s lair. A wall of glass floor to ceiling windows took up one side with a view of the corporate park and the man made lake. Complete with geese.
And then there was Seth. He was standing, looking out the window. His hands shoved in the pants pockets of the immaculate black suit he wore. His hair pulled back in a low man bun. His dark hair seemed just a touch fuzzy at top and just a touch unruly still. Corporate Seth was not as comfortable as Tap Out sweatpants and baseball cap Seth.
He still looked amazing though. Sexy. Powerful. Immediately, I wanted him. My body responding to his presence in the most primal and basic ways, reminding me it had been three weeks since I was in his bed.
I smiled at him but Seth didn’t return that gesture. I swallowed hard. Something was wrong. He looked shocked to see me and just a touch unsure. So unlike himself compared to the cocky, over confident guy I met almost a month ago.
“I don’t think we need introductions. We all know each other,” Triple H announced. He sat at the head of the large conference table. The king on his throne. I sat across from Seth. He seemed a mile away sitting across the wide wooden expanse.
“So, Seth. I asked you to come by HQ today because Creative has a new storyline I think you would be very interested in. It involves this lady here.” Trips motioned to me.
“Now I know you will help me try and convince her to come on board with us and be a part of that storyline and our WWE family.”
“Okay,” Seth responded. He tapped his fingers on the table. “Creative don’t let go of their secrets easily or in advance so it must be big.”
Triple H grinned. “It is big, son.”
I was finally through with waiting. “Okay what are all the details?”
“A championship run for Seth. Multiple titles. And we are going to make our lovely guest here the new General Manager of Raw.”
I couldn’t help laughing out loud at that. If I had been drinking something it would have definitely been a spit take.
I touched my hand to my chest in disbelief. “Me. General Manager of Raw. I have no experience in wrestling. It’s crazy.”
Triple H nodded. “Yes. It’s so crazy it’s brilliant. No one will see that coming.”
I just blinked at the unbelievable news. Was this somehow a prank show? I hated practical jokes. “How? I mean in what world could I become General Manager?”
“Creative will figure out the details. The thing is this. If we have you and Seth date on the show, have that played outside the ring as well, the WWE universe will accept you and you will be over as we say.
“Plus, with you as GM, it will provide some interesting story plots. Part of Seth’s arc recently has been his redeeming himself from his time with me in The Authority where his title opportunities were handed to him. So what happens when it turns out his girlfriend is in charge and can hand him those opportunities again? Does he keep going on his own path as a face doing things the proper way or give in to those old heelish tendencies to take the easier path?”
I had to admit that did sound interesting. Seth, for his part was silent. Absorbing what was said. He was turning all the angles over in his head before he spoke. When he finally did he got to the point.
“Which titles?”
“Tag team with Dean leading into a battle between you two for the Intercontinental. If you win that you will be a Grand Champion. That’s exalted company as you know.”
I didn’t know what a Grand Champion was but Seth seemed to be satisfied. I realized how hard it was for him to be at the top of the company and have it all taken away due to your own body rebelling through injury. To find yourself having to fight your way back up the ladder. New contenders coming in everyday who were also fighting for your spot. It sounded a lot like Hollywood.
“And we have to date?” Seth asked, pointing to me.
Triple H nodded. “Oh yes. It’s integral to the storyline. Like I said, this story needs to stick inside and outside the ring. I think you two can do that. Unless there is a problem I am not aware of. Then we can call the whole thing off.”
Seth was silent again. I didn’t know what to say. What was wrong? Seth was cold, distant. He refused to look at me unless he absolutely had to out of politeness.
I tried to fill the gap of silence. “Well it does sound like a lot of work but I must admit I’m interested.”
Triple H was pleased. “Great. I must ask a really personal question then. You’re not seeing anyone currently? Someone who could blow this storyline up.”
Seth finally looked over at me. Even though he said nothing, I could tell he was interested in my answer.
“No. Maybe you should ask him,” I remarked pointing over to Seth across the conference table.
“I already know his situation. He’s clear. One more question for you my dear and I am afraid its even more personal than my first one. We can’t have you around the ring if you’re pregnant. So you would need to bow out now if that’s the case.”
Seth tilted his head. His eyes now showed expression. Curiosity.
I looked at Seth as I spoke. “No. I am not pregnant.”
Satisfied, Triple H motioned over to a leather folio. He passed it to me. “Inside is the contract. I don’t expect you to sign it right now but you can read it. I will have electronic copies sent to your agent and your legal team.”
I opened the folio. “I have some requirements.”
Seth scoffed but Triple H nodded. “Name them.”
“I get to approve all parts of any storyline I am a part of. I also control what I wear and how I look. My name and likeness will always belong to me.”
Triple H thought about it and then put his hand out for me to shake. “Deal.” He paused a moment. “I like you. You’re tough.”
I must admit I was proud to hear him say that.
“Aren’t you going to ask Seth here if he’s going to do this?”
Triple H looked at me as if this was a crazy question. “Seth is a company man. He will do the storyline. It’s you that has to make the decision if you will be involved and if the storyline goes forward.”
Ok. So no pressure. If I say no, I could stall Seth’s career.
Suddenly Seth spoke up. “Maybe we can have a moment alone, Hunter. To discuss all this.”
With a nod, Triple H left the conference room.
I could have sighed. Finally. Time alone with Seth. I had so many questions for him. Mundane stuff. How was he? Was he excited about the storyline? How should we play it? Whether this love story was going to really go on offscreen as well? Could it? Because if I was honest with myself, I wanted it to. Even if he broke my heart. Which, let’s face it was likely.
There was so much to talk about and this new life on the road would provide the perfect opportunity for all that. I was risking everything for this opportunity, but nothing in life is ever gained without risk.
I opened my mouth to start to put some of my jumbled thoughts into words when Seth cut me off with a wave of his hand.
“Look Princess, don’t say yes to this job if you’re not going to take it seriously. If you’re gonna leave in the middle of the storyline’s run because you can’t handle it or how grueling life is on the road. You need to tell Hunter ‘no’ right now.
“You have to make a lot of sacrifices in WWE. Something I’m sure you are not used to in Hollywood where your every want is spoon fed to you. There are no personal assistants on the road. You carry your own luggage. You take care of yourself and the people you are working with.”
The balloon of thoughts and hopes where Seth was concerned popped. How could he say this of me? I worked as hard as anyone on the set of my movies. I had a assistant but I could damn well live my life without him doing everything for me.
I crossed my arms over my chest in my seat, ready for a fight. Bring it on Kingslayer. “You don’t think I will work hard?”
He laughed. That horrible hyena laugh of his. “Princess, I know you are going to run when the going gets tough. That’s what you do isn’t it. I bet you think all this is a joke.”
He waved his arm around the room.
“Wrestling is as serious an art as your precious acting. I’ve dedicated my entire life to it. Twelve years I’ve thrown my body around in the ring to get to where I am today. I won’t have that ruined because you run out on all of us and this storyline. I won’t have you disappoint Hunter that way either. He doesn’t know what you’re like. I do.”
Each word, each accusation from his gorgeous pursed lips was a poison arrow to my body. My heart stammered in my chest. I had to drag myself to pull in air to breathe as I started to hyperventilate. This was a different Seth than the one I left in Miami.
I got up from my seat and went to his side of the table where he was still seated. The wall of glass behind him.
“Why are you being like this Seth? What exactly have I done to you? Spell it out.”
“I just see you for what you are. It took awhile. Too bad I didn’t see it sooner.”
Soon the penny dropped and I was furious once I made the connection. “You’re mad because you think I rejected you in Miami. Why? Because in your playboy mind you didn’t get to kick a clinging Hollywood starlet from your bed? And now your preciously fragile male ego can’t take it.”
I shook my head. Of course this was the outcome. Why should I believe I would ever have anything different where men and I were concerned. Seth was just living up to his reputation as a player now.
“I bet you still told it that way to your friends when you bragged about bedding me. I bet you told them I begged you to stay before you firmly put me out of your hotel room, like some discarded room service tray.”
I was so pissed off I could feel the energy of my anger shimmer through me. Growing in waves. I walked over to the window. Away from Seth so I couldn’t do him in with violence. How dare he be mad at me.
“Always the playboy aren’t you Seth. I should have listened to Finn. He warned me about you.”
That got a rise from Seth. Literally. He got up from his seat and stood in front of me at the window. He narrowed his eyes at me. His mouth a grim line. “Don’t you dare mention his name and compare him to me.”
I poked him in that solidly muscular chest of his. “Well too bad. Besides, you need to learn the lesson that everything isn’t about you, Seth. Even though you desperately want to ‘believe that’. Well, I don’t need you. You’re not some irresistible adonis.”
That is a damned lie, my body screamed as it responded to his sexual power on display just a touch in front of me, even as the words fell from my mouth.
I poked him in the chest again. Harder this time. “I don’t need you as a friend and I don’t need you in my bed.” Another god damn lie. “That’s something you should remember while we act out this farce for the cameras and the WWE universe.”
Seth was silent a moment. The smug, cocky grin on his face growing rapidly. “I don’t need a fuck buddy, Princess. I’ve got plenty of those in my phone’s contacts. All we have to do is try to be civil, try not to embarrass each other and stick to the storyline even outside the ring. That’s it.”
He paused before looking me up and down and shaking his head as if he was disgusted by what he saw.
“And you don’t have to worry about me making advances at you. You made it quite clear you had no desire to continue what started in Miami.”
He almost snorted in disgust. “You’re a Hollywood Princess.” He choked out the last word as if he didn’t even want it to pass his lips. “It’s quite a come down to find yourself waking up in bed next to what you considered a mere Iowa farm boy.”
I shook my head at that. “Seth stop.”
Something about these words seemed worse than his earlier taunts. They were twisting the knife he had already buried in my heart earlier. I was doing well in hiding my emotions but now the tears that were threatening to escape my eyes were very close to achieving their goal. And I would rather cut off my arm than have him see me wipe them away.
“No!” He answered defiantly, his voice grave. “You’re gonna hear what I have to say, Princess.”
“Okay Seth. So you want to do this now, do you? In this cold sterile conference room with a view of a fake corporate lake and people eating lunch on little picnic tables below us.”
Seth didn’t seem to care. “We don’t have to do anything. We are not going to do anything. We’re going to stick to the script and do what we are told. If Creative says I have to kiss you in public then I am going to pucker up with a smile and bear it the best I can because there is a title at stake, man. That is the only thing that matters here. The only thing that matters to me.”
There was nothing I could say to that. How could I counter his accusations when my only defense was something I could never tell him. Would never tell him after realizing how he felt about me just now.
That what we shared in Miami was more than just sex. That I knew I was losing my heart to him that very morning, after only one night, and I was terrified of being hurt.
But I was also being hurt now. Being near Seth, knowing that he hated me was killing me. All that bravado and ego he displayed inside the ring and out just masked a deep insecurity in him. I realized that now as he lashed out at me verbally. It made sense that he was always striving to prove himself, to be The Man. The Champ. To draw in all that energy from the WWE universe where they loved him or loved to hate him.
I wanted to reach out to him. To touch him. Wrap my arms around that muscular chest of his and hug him tight. I hurt him by leaving him without a word that morning in Miami, and I hated myself for that. But at that moment, after our wonderful night together, protecting my heart was key after my cheating fiancé.
Seth had been a cheating fiancé. I didn’t want to have him tell me it would be different with me this time. Only to find him awkwardly sexting some new girl from NXT or some beautiful WWE groupie who was hoping for a come up.
How could I just minutes ago have thought we could make this work and have a relationship? A real relationship. I must have been crazy.
And now we were going to pretend to be a couple for the cameras. Travel together, all the while pretending to be madly in love for three months . It would kill me.
But I realized in that moment that I had to do it. I understood how much Seth wanted that title shot. Just like how I desperately wanted a Oscar when I came to Hollywood. Winning two didn’t diminish that desire in me. It actually made me hungrier for it.
I understood how much Seth needed that title for his career and I would sacrifice some of my lauded Hollywood actress reputation to get that for him even though he hated me. I wanted him to have that success he worked so hard for and that was cruelly taken away after so many injuries.
That was love wasn’t it? That word I tried to banish but could not with Seth. Pretending to hate him and trying not to fall for him further would be the hardest acting role I ever had.
I couldn’t look at him when I spoke so I turned and looked out at the geese roaming the corporate park below us. “Right. Message received, Rollins. You want a pretend girlfriend then you got it, Seth. I will batt my eyelashes at you and hang off your arm and look up at you as if you set the moon and the stars for me. People will be envious of how much it looks like I love you.” Because I do love you. And you’re breaking my heart right now.
“They will think we are the luckiest couple in the world. And you will win that title Seth. Then maybe once you do, you can turn heel and ‘cheat’ on me with someone in the women’s division and that will end our storyline. And then you will be free of me.”
I could feel the heat of Seth’s gaze upon me but when I turned my attention to him, his normally expressive eyes seemed inscrutable. It was almost like he was looking through me.
“I know you hate me Seth. You have your reasons. I won’t argue that. I wounded your ego and hurt your pride in Miami but let’s just try and get through this okay.”
I turned to walk out the room but Seth stopped me. His hand snaked out to grab my hand. Not hard. His fingers just encircled my wrist. His thumb gently stroked my pulse. Inwardly I sighed. A natural reaction. Each touch was sheer heaven.
Seth’s voice was low, serious. “Why are you doing this? Joining Raw? You don’t have to do it. What’s in it for you?”
His face searched mine for an answer, there was something oddly hopeful in his dark eyes.
I couldn’t give him the truth. My truth. That would be my secret, always. So I lied. “For the publicity of course.”
His hand fell away. He didn’t have to say a word for me to feel his disgust.
–
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One
The soil was thick, and it when was dug into a good six or seven feet the gooey golden-orange that blanketed the planet’s surface turned red, and that soil was the most fertile soil ever discovered or created. It grew many of the plants found on Earth, grass and coniferous trees, berry bushes and yellow sunflowers, but all the plants grew larger, thicker, taller. Strawberries grew like oranges and oranges like melons. The grass was thick and had to be cut weekly to make sure it did not grow up past your chin. When men first pulled this red soil from the ground it seemed like an act of God showing mercy on a group of people who seemed hellbent on destroying the first land they were gifted. But then a year of shipping ship after ship of wild fruit and wheat back to Earth went by, and the soft golden soil hardened and red soil crumbled. Scientists scrambled to identify the cause, but seemed out of luck until it was pointed out that the season was a year-long; it had become winter.
Winter is a funny thing off of Earth. There is no soft snow to blanket your home in holiday preparation. There are no dangerous roads that make you curse out Mother Nature and beg yourself to stay in bed. Instead, the planet seems to pause, simply shut down and turn off for a year as a sabbatical. The soil freezes up and the air turns cold and dry. There is no wind nor tides, just an empty chilled wasteland.
On the complex, the winter is especially brutal. Men are found wasting time playing card games and betting dollars that have no value on our planet. We wake up late and go to bed early, only checking the soil every couple of days to see that yes, it was still infertile.
A year-long recession seems long, and I suppose in many ways it is, especially considering there is nowhere for us to go and not much for us to do. We still cook and clean, clock in on the ranches and check the soil. But the reward of work becomes lost and we all grow homesick, calling those back home to listen to stories about snowmen and cinnamon cookies.
And then one day one of us will finish his or her cup of coffee first, probably Georgia, and say that she’ll go out and check the soil, and an hour later she will come rushing back in the bunker with sun-kissed cheeks and a smile.
Winter always does end. On Earth, four months feels too long, and here a year-long winter is unbearable. But nothing will ever compare to the feeling of stepping outside and feeling the radiating warmth of the distant sun and feel the ground give a little in its plush fertility. We all stumble outside, acting as if it’s the first rain in centuries or years since we have seen daylight. We stretch and smile, clap one another on each other’s back and strip off our jackets.
“Time to get back to work,” Georgia will say, a thin smile on her stern face.
It’s days like this that make me not regret my choice to live here. When we all first got here I had been so doe-eyed and bushy tailed that I’d now like to give my old self a smack on the head (though those like Bo and Victor probably still see me as doe-eyed). It only took a year or two for this job to drain me. I remember sitting in the stuffy office of the director of Interplanet Environment Relations, palms sweating while signing paper after paper, most of which were safety releases (which I reckon did not make much sense because how was I going to sue them if I’m stranded here?). My mother’s warning voice kept edging into my periphery as I signed each page. “I just want what's best for you, Carter. Is this what you think the best choice is?”
But I had been so sure, that, without any doubt, this was what was best for me.
My leg had been bouncing and my head was spinning in a million different directions. I felt as if I should be conflicted over the matter. Mom always knew best so how could she be wrong about this? I had to have been in over my head, I was just a farm boy from Wisconsin, only getting hired because I had a degree and didn’t seem to mind signing away eight years of my life to a company I had no experience with.
It all makes sense now. The confidence I had when I made the decision always returned on this day. Five, almost six years of this work; this will be my third summer and I’ve never felt more sure about my decision all those years ago.
Georgia, with her tan features, looks right at home in the burnt landscape. She slung an arm across my shoulder and smiled.
“Ready to work?” She asked.
I lifted and straightened my hat, trying not to grin. “Oh, not really,” I shrugged.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“I call bullshit,” she snickered.
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Claims Adjustment
Martin Wright. Thirty-six years old. Six feet, two inches tall. Insurance adjuster.
Martin grew up in West Vancouver and went to high school at its reputed Rockridge Secondary. He moved to Toronto for university and graduated magna cum laude with a B.A. in European History from the University of Toronto. From there he got accepted to law school, also at U of T.
But in Law Martin found he couldn’t flourish the way he had in undergrad, at least not without greatly exerting himself. He discovered Adderall and Dexedrine and they helped him successfully regain his life-long position at the top of his class. He graduated three years later and had his pick of Toronto’s top law firms for articling positions. He chose Blake, Cassels and Graydon, LLP on account of the fact they had many international offices he could potentially work at.
Life as an articling lawyer presented another obstacle to Martin. The eighty-hour workweeks and pressures of office politics inspired him to binge-drink on the weekends. Alongside his colleagues and other affluent young professionals, he drowned his week’s stresses at various high-end bars, clubs, and restaurants on King Street, a popular playground for Toronto’s young elites. These all-night – sometimes all-day – drink-a-thons were well-supplied with cocaine to prevent everyone from succumbing to sleep deprivation.
Slowly, the weekends-exclusive activities spilled into weekdays. Martin started keeping a bottle of Glenfiddich 12 in the bottom of his desk, sipping its contents from a coffee mug in the evenings after the paralegals and support staff had gone home for the day. At some point mid-way thought his articling year, his nightly drinks began occupying so much of his attention he couldn’t concentrate on his work. To refocus his mind he brought a bag of blow to the office and took bumps in the bathroom stalls under the auditory-cover of toilets flushing. He thought no one was the wiser to his drinking and drug-use at work.
Then one day in January 2006, shortly after an especially depraved holiday party season and just over three months before the end of his articling year, he arrived at work to a note from one of his bosses on his desk. ‘Please see me as soon as you’re in. –Carl,’ it read.
He went to his boss’s office where the door was half-way open and Carl sat at his desk, his head lowered, working.
He tapped on the door his boss looked up. ‘Hi Carl,’ he said, ‘you wanted to see me?’
‘Martin,’ Carl said, glancing up briefly. ‘Come in.’
His boss picked up the phone on his desk and called human resources. ‘He’s here,’ he said into the phone then lowered it back into its cradle.
Carl resumed working and a minute later the HR manager who’d administered Martin’s hiring walked in the room carrying a large manila envelope. He closed the door behind him and handed the envelope to Martin. He leaned against the wall and raised his eyebrows at Martin.
Martin opened the envelope and saw the jewelry bag of coke he kept in the back of the top drawer of his desk. His heart stopped as he recognized the distinctive red hearts of the small plastic bag.
‘The cleaning staff found that in your desk last night,’ the HR manager said. ‘In the interests’ of the firm we won’t be contacting the police. But please pack up your personal belongings and be gone by noon. Your contract has been terminated with cause.’
Martin looked across the desk at Carl. ‘I can’t believe you advised me on how to advise my clients while you were high,’ Carl said. ‘Get the fuck out of my sight.’
He left his boss’s office with his head lowered and started back to his desk to pack up his things. He felt nauseous and looked around for the nearest waste-paper basket in case he threw up. Luckily he reached his desk and his Glenfiddich before he did. He took a long swig of scotch straight from the bottle and felt his heart-rate and stomach relax. He re-corked the bottle and put it in a banker’s box along with a framed photo of his parents and a few pens and notepads. He got his coat from the coat-rack and left.
With the right balance of stimulants and depressants, Martin weathered his dismissal from Blake’s reasonably well. He told his friends and family he was quitting law because his bosses were embezzling clients’ money and he couldn’t morally abide it. He said that the embezzlement was so pervasive in the profession that switching firms wasn’t an option either. His parents were concerned but they couldn’t object to his decision without sounding unethical themselves. Besides, they lived too far away to hold much sway over what he did or thought anyway. Martin’s friends were another story. His lawyer ones were insulted by his stated reason for quitting. They didn’t say anything to him about it, but they slowly stopped calling him.
It didn’t escape Martin’s notice that his social echelon was changing but it didn’t upset him too much either. The months following his dismissal from Blakes was the first extended period of his life that he was free from onerous mental work and responsibilities. He’d saved enough money from articling to live comfortably for six months unemployed provided he made some small lifestyle adjustments. He moved out of his spacious lakefront condo into a small apartment above a restaurant on Queen. The sacrifice wasn’t great considering his new area was Toronto’s epicenter of partying all nights of the week. He got wasted nearly every night over the summer and slept with a different girl each week. Being naturally confident and self-assured, he had no problem absorbing or deflecting the inevitable, ‘what do you do?’-questions that arose during his one night stands. His height, smile, and intelligence had always drawn admirers and he wasn’t going to let a small thing like his employment-status change that.
During his ‘sabbatical’, as he called it, he smoked pot and played video games to occupy his non-drinking hours. Eventually though, his savings got too low to afford the drinks and blow he used as a pretext to invite women back to his apartment, so he had to look for a job. Aaron Johnson, one of his less motivated friends from undergrad, worked as an insurance adjuster. He said that the work was a joke provided you were comfortable occasionally destroying people’s financial well-being. Martin admired Aaron’s carefree lifestyle and unfettered conscience so he agreed to an interview with his company. On top of the job’s relative ease and comparably high pay, the company’s offices were a short streetcar ride from his apartment. He was interviewed, received an offer, and accepted the job without much reflection.
Martin took his adjuster’s accreditation courses, got his adjuster’s license and soon became a star employee. His personable manner and legal background made customers almost grateful when he told them that they would not be paid out their full claims or perhaps anything. Within two years he was promoted to lead adjuster, all the while sleeping with dozens of women and getting thoroughly obliterated outside working hours.
Over this time Martin also stopped returning home very regularly. He told his parents that invitations to tropical locales or to Ontario cottage country prevented him and they accepted his behaviour as ‘letting off steam’ or ‘sowing his wild oats’.
Weeks turned to months, months to seasons, and seasons to years. Sooner than he’d expected Martin was thirty with no inclination to go home or get back into law. He’d had a few semi-serious relationships during this time but nothing longer than eight-to-ten months. He believed the women he got involved with liked him exclusively for his law degree and he’d put that part of his life behind him.
Youth and vitality were fast becoming aspects of Martin’s past as well. One night in bed with an early-twenties-first-job-out-of-university-girl, he couldn’t get an erection. He was humiliated and swore the girl to secrecy. He quickly started spending more nights in and investing more of his ego at work. Around the office he made drawn-out speeches about the art of adjustments to anyone who’d listen. He began to derive great pleasure from reprimanding his subordinates. He maligned them as if they were criminals in a courtroom when they under-performed. Most people who passed through the company’s doors were less educated and self-confident than he was so they were easy picking and helped maintain Martin’s sense of superiority despite his advancing age.
Around his thirty-second birthday Martin was invited to speak at the Ontario Insurance Adjusters Association’s annual meeting being held in Toronto at the Metro Convention Centre. He accepted gladly and delivered an impassioned treatise on the corrosive effects of insurance fraud on the global economy. Afterwards, amidst a swarm of congratulators, he saw one of his old law school classmates, Ed Sharpton. Ed cut a noticeable figure in his two thousand dollar Armani suit among the lesser paid insurance adjusters and managers surrounding him. ‘Martin? Martin Wright?’ Ed said as Martin’s congratulators began to thin out around him.
Martin’s performance high plummeted when he recognized his one-time classmate and equal. ‘Ed Sharpton!’ he said in fake exuberance. ‘What are you doing here? Looking to take out some malpractice insurance?’
‘Very funny, Martin. I just made partner at McCarthy’s actually. I’m well-covered.’
Martin’s mood plummeted further. ‘Fantastic. Congratulations,” he said.
Ed continued: ‘No, the reason I’m here is that the Association is a client of mine.’
‘Really? That’s great!’
There was a pause in conversation that neither of the men wanted to be the one to end. It was a engrained in lawyers in their educations not to elicit unnecessary conversation. ‘Everything can and will be used against you,’ the adage went.
Finally, Martin yielded to the social awkwardness. ‘Did you catch the speech?’ he said.
‘Yes, a little bit. You spoke well although I’m not terribly knowledgeable of the business-side of insurance, just the legal.’
Martin accepted the tepid compliment with a smile. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
There was another lull in dialogue. Martin couldn’t get a full read on Ed’s intentions in talking to him beneath his expensive suit and perpetual half-smile. Was he trying to rub his nose in the fact that he was richer and more powerful than him, or was he being genuinely friendly?
This time, Ed committed the lawyer’s sin of speaking first. ‘Well, good to see you, Martin.’ Then he added, ‘Glad to know we’re both flourishing.’
They shook hands and Ed left. As he did so, Martin burned with anger. He interpreted Ed’s final comment as facetious. Clearly he was not succeeding to the same degree as Ed. Why would he suggest otherwise if he wasn’t being sarcastic? Goddamn him. He’d trounced him in mock trials in law school and still could if he really wanted to, the bastard.
Luckily, another adjuster walked up to congratulate Martin on his speech and his resentment and bitterness lifted.
Martin couldn’t avoid his parents’ invitations home indefinitely. In the fall of his thirty-fifth year, he didn’t have a ready excuse when his mom called to invite him home for Christmas. ‘George and Bill and the kids want to see you,’ she said. As an additional spur to come home, she added, ‘Don’t you want to see them?’
‘Of course, Mom.’
‘Good. Then it’s settled.’
He drifted off, imagining the proposed family gathering. His mind searched for stories and anecdotes he could tell his relatives to prove he was living an exciting and valuable life.
‘Martin?’ his mom said on the other end of line.
‘Yes, Mom. I’ll be there for a few days at Christmas. Okay?’
‘Great. Thank you. We’ll to you talk soon about the details. Bye-bye, sweetheart.’
‘Bye, Mom.’
He hung up the phone angry. He hated seeing his brothers and their wives. His brothers treated him like a child. They subtly but surely reproached him for his irresponsible behaviour and causing of their parents to worry. His sisters-in-law, clearly well-appraised of all his wasted potential by their husbands, treated him like he was handicapped or ill. Their pity was less demeaning than his brothers’ scorn but not by much.
And yet both group’s attitudes towards him paled compared his father’s. At the end of every trip home, right as he was about to leave, his dad invited him into his home office for ‘a quick chat’, His office had a stained and varnished maple desk with matching, custom-built bookshelves. Professional honours and accolades covered every inch of the walls that weren’t occupied by leather-bound legal texts. Finally, and most triumphantly, there was a stunning view of English Bay and the Gulf Islands through the room’s large single-pane window. During their chats, Martin’s dad would invariably ask whether Martin was ready to move back to Vancouver and write the bar. ‘Why not exactly?’ always followed Martin’s response that he was not.
Martin tried to put his anxiety over going home out of his mind as best he could. He spent the fall in his usual routine of employee ridicule by day, Xbox and pot consumption by night. November and early December passed faster than he’d have liked and before he knew it he was a on a plane touching down in Vancouver readying himself to see his family for the first time in more than two and a half years.
The trip started out peacefully enough. He played with his nieces and nephews – all of whom he adored – and saw old friends from high school in the evenings. He got along well with his brothers and mom albeit they didn’t stray from surface level-conversations.
But then came the inevitable trip to his father’s office. The encounter proceeded according to their usual script except after ‘Why not exactly?’ Martin’s dad added, ‘You’re getting too old to be fooling around, you know. You have to accept the responsibility your upbringing and education require of you.‘
‘You mean turning a blind eye to corruption and malpractice?’ Martin refuted.
His dad frowned. ‘Oh, get off that, Martin. Nobody’s hands are clean in this world. What is the real reason you won’t live up to your potential? What are you afraid of?’
Martin was rarely on the back foot in any debate or conversation. Even his brothers’ attacks he could deflect with a joke, moral argument, or blank stare. But his father had provided all the best for him and Martin had tacitly agreed to repay him by mirroring his life’s choices and becoming rich and successful.
He considered telling him the truth, that he’d developed a near-physical dependency on drugs and alcohol, a fact that precluded him from being a high-performing professional and dependable family man, he thought.
But a combination of fear and pride stopped Martin from coming clean to his dad. He felt on the verge of a full emotional breakdown at the thought of telling the truth. ‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled in response.
His father sighed. ‘All right. See if you can figure it out, please.’ He paused and added, ‘you only get one life and it’s too short not to take seriously.’
‘I know, Dad. I will.’
Martin got up and left his dad’s office. A friend from high school came and picked him up and drove him to the airport. He boarded his flight back to Toronto and the plane taxied to the runway.
The plane took off and reached cruising altitude. As it did Martin began ordering beer after beer, drinking them down until he was tired enough to sleep.
On his thirty-fifth birthday Martin almost tried heroin. He didn’t like having large, boisterous gatherings to celebrate birthdays like he used to. On the contrary, he preferred to keep his advancing age quiet, especially since he’d begun hanging out with younger and younger people. He made his younger friends mostly through the customer service department at work. He found that his funny, cynical social persona went further within an age group that wasn’t beset with marriages, mortgages and children like his was.
The friend who tempted Martin to try heroin was Chelan Dermont, a twenty-five-year-old full-time partier and part-time musician. Chelan survived financially by bartending at a darkly-lit bar on Queen near Ossington and lived a few doors down above a burrito shop. Normally Martin would have been petrified at the thought of injecting himself with a notoriously addictive drug, but whatever his failings, Chelan wasn’t a stereotypical, decrepit-looking heroin user. He wore expensive clothes and slept with lots of girls.
On the night of his 35th birthday, Martin went to Chelan’s bar around 1 AM. He’d been too lonely to do nothing at all on his birthday. Plus he’d also taken the next day off of work in anticipation of being hungover and it would go to waste if he didn’t go out for at least a drink or two.
So Martin sat at Chelan’s bar drinking as he and Chelan traded gossip over their mutual friends. Chelan served other customers, and after the bar closed, the two of them went back to Chelan’s apartment for some bourbon and a joint.
Chelan’s apartment was sparsely furnished and the sink was full of dirty dishes. Martin told him it was his birthday as he sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Your birthday?’ Chelan said, standing at the sink cleaning a couple glasses for their drinks. ‘That calls for a celebration.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Have you ever tried H?’
Martin felt a shiver run through his body at the sound of Chelan’s last word. Coke had ceased to have much effect on him unless he took it in overdose-threatening amounts and he yearned for something to recreate the top-of-the-world sensation he’d felt the first few times he’d gotten high on it. ‘No, never been offered,’ he said. ‘’What’s it like?’ he added.
‘It’s pure bliss. Everything melts into a big warm bath and you can’t feel anything but happy. Poets and artists used to use similar stuff all the time. It’s only recently it’s become taboo.’
‘Wasn’t that opium?’ Martin thought but didn’t say. ‘Can I just take a bit?’ he said after the pause.
‘A bit’s all you need. I’ll go get my kit.’
But as Chelan went to his bedroom a wave of disgust washed over Martin. What was he doing in this drug-den looking for camaraderie with a near-teenager? He thought about his nieces and nephews and how he’d feel if they could see what he was doing. What if they winded up where he was some day? The oldest of them, Daniel, was already looking for alternative role models from his parents and Martin was bound to end up as an icon of sorts to him. Was this the sort of life he wanted him to lead? It was one thing to reject the status quo but another to obliterate it. Physical and mental health weren’t oppressive social constructions, they were decent, daily endeavours.
‘I forgot I have to get up early for work tomorrow!’ he yelled to Chelan as he got up from the kitchen table and walked towards the door.
He left the apartment quickly and walked out into the street. It had started snowing earlier in the night and everything outside was dusted with fluffy white powder. The sight reminded Martin of skiing at Whistler as a kid. They were fond memories; easy and happy times with his parents and brothers before everything had gotten so complicated so between them. Maybe he could recapture some of those moments if he moved back to Vancouver. He didn’t need to get back into law, he just needed to be close to the people he’d once loved and who’d once loved him. He resolved to stop looking at big picture problems and focus more on his health and spiritual wellbeing. His past mistakes might have led him astray but they were his and he wasn’t unhappy with who he was.
Martin walked home in the falling snow and the next day submitted an application to transfer to his company’s Vancouver office. His subordinates cheered when they heard the news but he couldn’t have cared less. His decision to transfer was the first break from his habitual ways of being in over a decade. The humble step produced a much less euphoric high than drugs but at least it was of his own creation.
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