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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

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"Clueless" *Part 2*

I feel bad because I actually have more of this written but if it doesn't end on a cliffhanger, what's the fun in that?

(y'all I can't help but add Tai gifs I'm sorry it's so appropriate 🤣)

Tag List:

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@wanniiieeee

@milkshqke

@aprildecker-blog

@word-scribbless

@objection-argumentative

@gibbs274

@stars-in-the-skies-world

Part 1

Part 3

---------------------

Rafael walked out onto the massive deck of the house. It housed a giant cabana lined with benches and pillows, complete with a tiki bar. Surprisingly it had not been overtaken by the party...yet.

You followed him into the cabana, where he promptly went behind the bar and fixed himself a scotch.

“What are you drinking?” He asked you.

You didn’t really drink a lot, but you didn’t want to look like a pansy. You racked your brain trying to remember any kind of drink you remembered seeing in movies.

“I’ll have a jack and coke,” You smiled nervously. He nodded and obliged, handing you the drink. You looked at it for a moment; it looked like a normal soda, how bad could that be? You took a big swig.

You were wrong-- it is VERY bad.

You almost choked as the burn of the whiskey fell down your throat, you looked around for napkins or something, praying to God this wasn’t how you were going to die-- trying and failing at impressing the most gorgeous man you’d seen in your life.

“Oh god, honey are you ok?” Rafael grabbed a water bottle and handed it to you. You grabbed it from him and chugged it quickly. Finally after a minute, you could breathe again and fully embrace the humiliation of what had just transpired. You didn’t want to look at him, you must have looked like an idiot choking on a cocktail like a prude. Ariel had taken you to enough parties in college, why hadn’t you practiced this before?

“Yeah I’m fine…” You muttered, staring into the deck floor.

“...Maybe light on the jack?” You could hear the smile in his voice. You looked up to see him holding another coke, with the Jack Daniels bottle in his hand. He ever so lightly splashed some whiskey into the glass and handed it to you. You sipped it this time, barely tasting the alcohol.

“...Thanks,” You smiled nervously, feeling your cheeks burn hotter by the second. Either you were the lightest lightweight on earth, or he made you nervous. You were pretty sure it was both.

“Not much of a drinker, are you?” He kept smiling at you as you shook your head NO.

“...Curiouser and curiouser,” He chuckled as he came back around the bar with his drink and nodded towards the pillowed benches. You followed and sat beside him on one, curling up your knees beside you like a mermaid tail.

“...What is?” You gave him a questionable look, waiting for an insult.

“You and Ariel’s relationship,” He gestured towards the house. “You don’t drink, you don’t party, you’re clearly WAY more intelligent,”

“...I know, she’s so awesome and I’m just--” You started to degrade yourself with a sad smile while pushing strands of hair behind your ear nervously.

“No no no,” He stopped you mid sentence, taking your hand. “Actually I was implying the opposite,”

Now you looked at him in even more confusion.

“I was going to say you’re way too good for her,” He finished with that amazing smile still on his lips.

You felt yourself go light headed; you seriously could not be this sensitive to alcohol, could you? You’d drank before, wine and champagne and what not. Even some jello shots at a few parties, where you couldn’t taste the alcohol at all. THAT was a bad night. But it couldn’t be the alcohol making you feel this way-- it had to be him.

“OH, um--” You snapped your hand back instinctively, any form of social intimacy freaked you out. But you instantly regretted it, missing the feeling of his warm skin on yours. So you fought your neurotic brain and moved it back forward slightly, where your fingers were still touching.

“No, um-- Ariel’s right,” You continued. “She saved me,”

“I highly doubt Ariel’s saved anyone in her life,”

“Hey! That’s my best friend you’re talking about!”

“....Sorry,” He apologized. “I just don’t see what you see, apparently,”

“She has a huge heart, really,” He gave you a skeptical look. “Really!” You insisted.

“Look-- When I got accepted to Harvard, I didn’t know that my scholarship only accounted for the tuition, NOTHING else. So I didn’t-- I hadn’t saved anything for loding,” You sipped your coke as you continued. “So, I begged the housing department for ANY kind of room they could give me, I even offered to sleep in the janitor’s closet!”

A laugh from Rafael caused you to stop talking and look down at the floor, instantly embarrassed again at your sad sack of a life. Instantly Rafael went for your hand again but paused, noting your uneasiness from before.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you,” He apologized. No one had ever cared enough to keep apologizing for YOUR lack of self esteem issues, flinching anytime anyone even coughed on you in an aggressive manner.

“No no, it’s fine, I just--” You now placed your hand over his, a feat in your social anxiety ridden brain. “It’s me, it’s not you,” You tried not to stare at your hands touching, but inside you were so proud of yourself and so happy to have his hand touching yours again, it was actually comforting.

“Anyway, um so--” You bit your lip nervously. “So I was just about to-- I don’t even know what, find a homeless shelter or a bridge, I guess,”

Rafael smiled in amusement and chuckled slightly, checking to make sure you weren’t thrown off by it again. You smiled and laughed at the thought of you dragging everything you owned to a bridge on campus to set up camp.

“But Ariel saw me, and took pity on me I guess?” You shrugged. You really weren’t sure of the thought process that went through Ariel’s head that night, you were just so grateful she had been there.

“She asked me if I had a place to stay and I said no, so she told me that she had a suite all to herself and that she really didn’t do well by herself and that she had just been heading to the housing department to ask for a roommate,” You smiled at the memory.

You weren’t entirely sure how true it was at the time, but knowing her as well as you do now, you knew she did NOT do well by herself. She was confident and full of self esteem to everyone else in the public, but when it was just the two of you she seemed almost...sad, most of the time. Like being happy was just the dress she put on to wear in the world.

“....I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Rafael said softly, now slightly regretting how snarky he was towards her most of the time.

“And now I know why,” You gestured towards the house. “That thing about her mom not wanting to ‘deal’ with her, I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have my parents,”

“Yeah, my mami and abuela are the two most important people in my life,” He nodded in agreement. “And Ariel...well, as far as I know, she’s never had a ‘dad’ stick, and her mom is just…” He paused. “Not really interested in her daughter,” He added with a sad shrug.

“...Your dad didn’t stick either? You asked cautiously, hoping you weren't prying.

“My dad…” He chuckled sarcastically. “My dad was...let’s just say life actually got better when he left,” He looked down. You saw pain and shame in his eyes, and you instantly empathized.

Not so much with the dad thing, but that constant nagging of shame and hurt. Which was totally unnecessary because you actually had the most loving family in the world, which only made you feel more guilt and shame, because you couldn’t appreciate it the way you were “supposed” to. It was just the way you were wired, and they understood that. But it didn’t help sway your guilt.

“He shacked up with Ariel’s mom for a few months and then took off with a LOT of her money,” He clenched his fists of the thought of the trail of destruction his father seemed to always leave behind.

“Luckily, Ariel’s mother didn’t associate myself with that asshole, although I’m pretty sure it’s because she wanted to replace him with me,” He shuddered at the memory of the several times Ariel’s mom had tried to “seduce” him when he was younger.

“Oh God,” You inadvertently made a grossed out face. The offended look on his face instantly made you panic. "Not like, you're gross. Just...she's gross. Hitting on a kid like that,"

"Oh I was ummm.." he chuckled nervously, looking towards the ocean. "I wasn't a kid per say," he coughed awkwardly.

"....How old were you?"

"I think I had just started at my first practice," he avoided the question. "She has a thing for lawyers. Probably becauses around them so often, always divorcing husbands,"

"So like, 28. And her mom was on husb--" You tried doing the math yourself.

"...I'm 15 years older than Ariel," He answered your mental question.

"Oh well, I mean that's cool," You smiled awkwardly. You failed to mention that you had graduated a year early in high school, so you were two years YOUNGER than Ariel.

"Uh huh," he raised an eyebrow with a chuckle.

"I get along with older people anyway," you said, than backpedaled immediately."I MEAN, not that you're old, just--"

"OldER," He kept his amused look at your faltering.

"I'm sorry, I wish I could blame this on the alcohol but I'm just…" you sighed. "Not made to interact with Humans,"

"Aw hey now come on," he punched your shoulder like a kid. "You're doing great, it's really cute," he smiled then realized what HE had just said, and backpedaled.

"I mean, endearing," he found a more suitable word, trying to hide the fact that he was probably a little buzzed and more attracted to you than he probably should be. However he noted the somewhat disappointed look you had when he corrected himself.

"You're probably the first person to think so,"

"Except Ariel, right?"

"She tolerates it, she definitely doesn't think it's 'cute'. She's tried to 'fix' me since we met,"

"Seriously?" "Who does she think she is--?" He started to get up like he was going to give her a "talking to".

"No no no, it's fine Rafael really," You stood up quickly and pulled on his arm gently, making him turn around quickly. You wondered if he had just felt that….reaction between you.

You were far too intellectual to believe in trivial things that people spoke about like a "spark", but in that moment you had to think to yourself maybe they had a point.

"Right, sorry," he nodded and quickly sat down. "I may be a little more buzzed than I thought,"

"No that was really sweet, honestly," you smiled softly. "I probably didn't explain it well," "She just wants the best for me,"

"You're perfect the way you are, Y/N," "I mean, you seem like a good kid,"

"Kid?" You were suddenly offended, though you weren't sure why. You'd always been thought of as a child, being younger than your peers most of your life. Always in higher classes in high school, younger than your college classmates. It had never bothered you before, not once.

But when Rafael called you a "kid", it felt like a gut punch, which made you feel even worse. You just met this guy, what was wrong with you?

"Person," he corrected himself. "I meant person," but the damage was done.

"....I should go check on Ariel, make sure she didn't get herself in a 'situation'," you turned to walk back into the house.

"Hey no wait Y/N, I thought we were--" He started to go after you but you put your hand up.

"No, really. I probably shouldn't have left her alone in the first place," You didn't even grab your drink you just waved your hands dismissively and disappeared back into the party before he could say anything else.

“....I guess I’ll sleep in my car,” He muttered to himself as he headed back around the house.

-----

The next morning Rafael had to leave early to get back to the city, but he had texted Ariel.

"Tell Y/N I'm sorry, and tell her if she has any questions about law to text me anytime, day or night,"

"What did that dick do to you?" She stomped into her bedroom, where you were sleeping.

"What? Your bro-- Rafael? Nothing! He didn't do anything!" Your head snapped up instantly awake.

"Well what's he apologizing for?" She held out her phone; you didn’t have your contacts in so you couldn’t read it.

"...For calling me a kid," You shrugged sadly.

"Oh. Well you ARE a kid, sweets" Ariel instantly dropped her anger into her happy self, patting you on the head like a dog.

"No I'm not…." You muttered. "Did he say anything else?"

Ariel didn't like the idea of that pompous prick getting his claws in you, she didn't like it one bit.

"Nope," she lied.

"Oh," you replied sadly.

"Oh please don't tell me you care what what that bonehead thinks" she scoffed. "He thinks he's some 'big deal' because he has a fancy title,"

"No he doesn't," You instantly defended him, though you weren’t sure why. Weren’t you mad at him? No, actually you were kicking yourself for taking it so hard and just leaving him on the beach. You could have stayed there talking to him all night.

"Oh no, he got to you didn't you?" She acted concerned. "ugh I knew it, I should have warned you,"

"Warned me?" You looked at her confused.

"Yeah, it's what he does," she continued to lie. "He likes to seduce my friends for sport," She continued to spin a web of deceit.

"I...I don't believe you," You mumbled. You had never dared to even slightly disagree with Ariel, terrified anything would set her off and she’d “disown” you.

"Excuse me?” Her head whipped around.

"I don't believe you," you repeated. Her eyes widened with shock at your defiance. She almost lost it on you, before realizing honey worked better than vinegar.

"Honey, think about it," She came around and sit next to you on the bed. "He reeled you in and then called you 'kid'. Probably because you started making heart eyes at him, right?"

"I don't, it wasn't--" You tried recalling every single detail of the interaction.

"See? He just likes the sport of getting women to fawn over him and then move on,"

"But then why did he apologize?" You pointed out, still not sure of her accusations.

"Probably because you're my best friend and he knew I'd kick his ass for hurting your feelings,"

"But--" You were sure it had been YOU who walked away from HIM. But...he didn’t come after you. Maybe he was satisfied with making you upset?

"He didn't ask me to give you his number," she flat out lied. "He obviously didn't want any more contact with you sweetie,"

She had a point. She smiled in victory when she saw the determination and hope in your eyes dissolve into sadness.

"I'm sorry, honey, I should have warned you," she feigned sympathy, pulling you into a tight hug. "Now let's get that skeezer out of your mind," she grabbed your hand and pulled you away.

------

A few days later

Rafael was bewildered that you hadn't contacted him. Did he imagine the connection you two seemed to have? Was he more intoxicated than he thought? No, that wasnt possible. Had he really hurt you that much by calling you a kid? And if so, why? Did you feel something that would hate for you to see her as a kid?

He decided to text Ariel.

"Hey...did you tell Y/N what I said?"

"Yes. She said to fuck off. You must have really pissed her off BRO."

That didn't seem right. That didn't even sound like something you'd say. It sounded like something his evil stepsister would say.

"Did she say that or did you say that?"

"Stay away from my friends, and get your own you perv,"

He knew it. She probably didn't even give you his number. “Oh god,” he thought. What if she hadn't said anything at ALL?

He needed a plan.

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu

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lihikainanea · 4 years

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Could we please have some angst?? Maybe Bill was spotted out with a beautiful actress or his ex, but Tiger wasn’t aware of that meeting which breaks her heart because she thinks that their thing is probably going to end now that Bill is interested in going out someone else.

oh fuck, my poor wee heart.

I’ll bet it kind of happens when he’s away too, right?

Follow me down this angsty rabbit hole. Let’s go with the ex theory. The Case of The Ex (where my early 2000s kids at? Anyone?). Maybe it’s one of those terrible ex’s too. I low key kind of love Alexis Knapp--girl’s got some fucking edge to her, something just a little insane--but apparently she’s the one he was talking about when he referenced some seriously fucked up, dangerous relationship in a few interviews. Which isn’t cool--but let’s go with something like that. Maybe it was when Bill was in his early 20′s, there’s still a lot you learn about yourself in that time and you get into bad relationships. Damaging relationships. You’re still figuring yourself out, still figuring out this whole adulthood thing, and you’re bound to make mistakes. I don't think anyone can be faulted for being a shitty person on some level in their early 20s, and for some reason I think Bill might have been a big time shitty dude.

But look--his ex is some big time actress. Beautiful, by all accounts. Maybe their relationship was pretty hyped by the press too--the paps would legitimately follow them, mostly for her, whether or not they were called. And tiger’s at home, missing her big dude, catching up on trashy reality TV and that’s when she starts to see it--pictures. A picture of him, hugging her. Laughing. A lot of pictures.

And what tiger doesn’t know is that Bill was out to dinner that night, a cast dinner, and his ex happened to be at the restaurant. What tiger doesn’t know is Bill’s blood ran cold when he saw her, he tried to avoid her, did anything he could to just leave before she saw him--but it didn’t work. What tiger doesn’t know is that Bill cringed, gritted his teeth, tried to step away from the hug but the girl flung herself at him with too much enthusiasm. Tiger didn’t see his grimace, didn’t see that the hug lasted barely a nano second before he pulled away and stepped back from her. Tiger didn’t see his eyes noticing the paps in the bushes, tiger didn’t see that that’s what made him force a smile. Tiger didn’t see that the entire interaction lasted about 4 seconds.

And tiger didn’t hear the conversation, didn’t hear the girl tell Bill that they should reconnect, go for dinner while he’s in town.

Most importantly, tiger didn’t hear Bill’s venomous response.

“No,” he deadpanned, “And get fucked.”

Tiger didn’t see him walk away and not even spare the girl a glance.

Tiger only saw the pictures.

And listen, I talk a lot about tiger wallowing in her own emotions, becoming a martyr. But let’s talk about tiger’s fire here. Because she’s still her, she’s still every bit the terrifying ball of fury that Bill fell in love with, and the one thing that will get tiger’s blood boiling every fucking time is competition. And women don’t compete with women--that’s lame. But tiger only ever HEARD of this girl from Bill, knew how she hurt him, knew the kind of hell he fought through, and this girl is now thousands of miles away putting her hands on what is tiger’s.

Tiger wants to kill them both. And she doesn’t even bother taking a few calming breaths before she calls him--is it a FaceTime? Oh, it’s a FaceTime. She wants to see his face while she destroys him.

And he answers--happy and cherubic, a big smile on his face.

“Hi kid,” he says cheerfully.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she seethes.

Bill is confused.

“You tall fucking fuck,” she says, “Fuck you, you seriously think that--”

“Whoa, kid,” he grimaces, “Easy on the fucks.”

“Easy?” she spits, “Oh, okay. Let’s talk easy.”

And I’ll bet she just goes off. And somewhere in there, Bill finally figures out what’s going on. Because in between all the fucks, she relays the story as she knows it--just you know, it’s a much more elaborate version than what actually happened. And Bill? Ohhh, tiger’s anger is revving him up. But it’s revving up every single dominant trait in him, and all he’s trying to do is get to a place quiet enough where he can snap back--put her in her place the way she’s practically begging for it, and not be heard. He finally ducks away somewhere isolated.

“Enough,” he interrupts her, “You really think this is the way it’s gonna go, kid?”

“You’re the one who--”

“Listen to me,” he hisses, “Tiger, there is going to be a boarding pass in your email in the next hour. If you want to come at me like this, then you can fucking do it to my face.”

“Fuck you,” she spits, “I’m not fucking--”

“You’re getting on the plane, tiger,” he snaps.

“Fucking make me.”

“Fucking try me, kid,” he growls.

She hangs up. The boarding pass comes in 10 minutes later, without a note. And later on that night, before bed, Bill calls her again--because he won’t ever let her go to bed without calling her, but tiger is MUCH more petty and she lets it go to voicemail.

“If you’re not in my hotel room tomorrow night, you’re in big, big trouble kid,” his velvety smooth voice threatens, “Goodnight, I love you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And she almost doesn't do it. She almost stays home--but her only motivation is that she wants to look at him, wants to stand there in front of him and rip him apart for this.

And Bill’s not stupid either--he recognizes her anger, but he also recognizes its true form. Insecurity. Vulnerability. (And it’s not ever an excuse to yell, but tiger isn’t yelling at HIM. She’s also not calling him names, because that’s never okay.)

And ohhhh boy, when tiger gets to the hotel room the next day, Bill is just waiting for her. Already nursing his third glass of scotch, tiger opens the door and unceremoniously throws her bag to the floor. Whips her jacket off, slams it on the bed.

“You want to talk, bud?” she snaps, “Let’s fucking talk.”

“Oh no no, kid,” Bill says with mock amusement, “You seemed to have so much to say to me yesterday, so you’ll be doing the talking.”

But look, tiger is just...tiger is a little less bold when she’s there in front of him--just like Bill knew she would be. She’s a little less courageous, like he knew she would be. And the power dynamic is shifting again, back to its natural state when it comes to these two, and both can feel it. Bill stands then, draws up to his full height. He walks slowly towards her, glaring her down the whole time, and suddenly tiger is losing her nerve in a big way. He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of her, glowering down at her, their chests touching.

“Talk,” he demands. Tiger swallows hard, tries to grasp on to any ounce of anger that is rapidly leaving her body.

“She--”

“Who?” Bill snaps. Tiger makes a frustrated noise.

“You know who,” she says, shoving at his chest and turning away--but he grabs her elbow, whips her back around to face him.

“Who, tiger?” he asks harshly.

“Her,” she barks out, “Your ex.”

“What about her?” he says.

“The two of you,” tiger tries to keep her tone harsh, accusatory, angry--but it’s not working.

“What about it?”

“Fucking having dinner like old times, eh?” she snaps and shoves him away, but Bill’s not having it. He regains his footing and slams her back into the wall, grabbing her face in his hand.

“What did you see?” he asks. Tiger tries to shake out of his grip but it’s too tight.

“The two of you,” she snarls, “At dinner, having a great time.”

Bill jams his knee between hers, pinning her.

“What did you see?” he demands again.

“You and her,” she says, “In love like you used to be, you fucking--”

“Tiger,” he snaps, “I don’t give a shit what you think happened. What did you see?”

He’s trying to get a point across. Trying to make her realize that her mind filled in a million blanks for her, and blew this entire thing way out of proportion.

“Photos,” she says, and her answer this time is much gentler, “Photos of you and her. You were laughing, and you hugged her.”

He steps away from her then, shoves down on her shoulders to put her on her knees.

“No,” she fights back, swats him away. But he overpowers her, hooks a foot behind hers so she falls in a heap, and he grabs her face in his hands. He looks angry, he looks like a man on fire, and his grip is harsh.

“Four seconds,” he growls, “That entire interaction lasted four seconds. I wasn’t at dinner with her, I was at dinner with the cast and she happened to be at the same restaurant.”

Tiger swallows hard, but he’s not letting up. She reaches a hand up to try and touch him in some way--his chest, his arm, but he smacks it away and grabs her face again.

“Look at me,” he demands, “I didn’t hug her. She saw the paparazzi and went for it--I tried to step back, step out of the way, but she lunged. I laughed to not cause more of a scene, tiger.”

His eyes are unblinking, intense as they bore into hers.

“And when she asked to see me again, you know what I told her? I told her to get fucked, tiger. I don’t ever want to see her again,” he says.

Tiger stays silent, tries to hold his gaze.

“Four seconds,” he repeats.

He lets her go then, releases his grip on her face and stands back up. He goes to pour another scotch, but when tiger puts a foot on the floor to stand he snaps his fingers at her.

“No no, you can go ahead and stay like that for awhile,” he says. But tiger can’t.

“Yellow,” she mumbles, and Bill turns to her immediately. He softens, walking over to help her stand and she keeps her hands on his arms so he stays close.

“Is that really what happened?” she asks lowly, “That’s all?”

“That’s all, kid,” he says.

“I thought that...” she pauses, takes a deep breath, “I thought that you maybe started to want...something else. Someone else.”

“I don’t,” he says softly.

“I thought that maybe we were...that this was done.”

“It’s not.”

“I thought that maybe you didn’t want me anymore,” she says, and it breaks his heart. He ducks his head, bending to catch her gaze.

“I do,” he says, stroking his thumb across her cheek.

“And god she’s such an asshole,” tiger says, and Bill chuckles at that.

“She is,” he agrees, but then he takes her face gently in his hands again and gives her a sweet kiss.

“You, kid,” he says simply.

Tiger sighs, nodding as she pulls him in for another kiss.

#angst #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill

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mosylufanfic · 4 years

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You’ve Got Mail

This is for the second day of Killervibe week, the Meet Cute theme! Based on something that happened to a Facebook connection of mine, although as far as I know it didn’t turn out this cute.

You’ve Got Mail

The first note was stuck to Caitlin’s door with a piece of scotch tape. She frowned and unfolded it, wondering if the new neighbor already had a problem with her erratic hours.

Hi! (read the computer-printed note)

I just moved into 202 and wanted to introduce myself to all my neighbors. I'm Cisco Ramon and I'm starting my Masters' in electrical engineering at the university. Normally I'd knock and say hi but this whole quarantine thing kinda keeps me from doing that. :(

I speak English and Spanish and a little bit of Klingon. I cook sometimes but mostly get too much takeout so any good restaurant recommendations are welcome! I like tinkering and video games and SF/F books and movies and shows, like you couldn't tell from the Klingon. I have a cat named Buttercup who is a giant butt and I love him. If you see him outside, I’d really appreciate it if you called or texted because he's not an outdoor kitty.

He'd added a picture of the cat, staring menacingly at the camera as if promising that anyone who tried to pet him would lose a finger. Caitlin smiled in spite of herself.

Hope you have a great day! Cisco Ramon, Apt 202

He'd also added his phone number.

Caitlin read it through a couple of times before looking across the courtyard and up a floor at 202. It being 11:30 at night, the door was shut tight. There was a muted bluish flicker in one of the windows, like he was watching TV. It would be rude to knock on his door at this time of night.

Also, they were all practicing social distancing right now.

Caitlin was a champ at social distancing. She could social-distance on Olympic levels.

She went into her apartment, shutting the door behind her.

***

On her way to the hospital the next morning, she left a plastic container full of cookies on the mat of 202. There was a note carefully taped to the top.

Thank you for your nice note. Here are some cookies to welcome you to the building. They're chocolate chip. If you can't eat them, it's okay to throw them away. I've been baking a lot in quarantine.

She was halfway to the hospital when she realized she hadn't put her name or apartment number on the note. So for all Cisco Ramon knew, some anonymous benefactor had dropped cookies on his doorstep.

She sighed. She really was bad at this, just like Jay had said.

***

There was another note on her door when she got back home, this one hand-written in a sprawling, jagged scrawl.

Hello Cookie Queen!

I hope I'm not creeping you out or anything. I saw you through the window, leaving the cookies this morning, but I didn't want to freak you out by opening up the door right away.

They were delicious. I will happily eat any baked goods that you want to get rid of. That's not a beg, by the way. I can make my own cookies, once I find a good grocery store. (Any recommendations?) Just if you're the kind of person who likes to make entire batches and then has to eat them for the next three weeks, I can help with that. I don't have any allergies or anything.

Anyway I think I've weirded you out enough for one note.

Cisco

***

Hi Cisco

My name is Caitlin Snow and you already know my apartment number. The grocery store I like is the Safeway at the corner of Livingston and Bellmore because they are very firm about masks and disinfecting right now, much better than the Kroger. Also closer. There's a Taco Galaxy across the street from them that delivers until midnight and I like their chicken taco salad.

She stared at the note for a few minutes, then wondered if he would think she was saying a Mexican place because he was clearly Latino. She crossed out and substituted The Golden Wok on Bellmore delivers, and they do a good sweet and sour chicken.

I am a first-year resident so my hours are kind of strange but please let me know if I can ever help out with anything.

Caitlin, Apt 106

She chewed her lip for a moment, then added to the last paragraph before the sign-off, I wasn't weirded out.

Then she wrote it out in pen on a clean sheet of paper and found another plastic container to fill with butterscotch oatmeal cookies.

***

Hi Caitlin!

Nice to have a name and stop calling you Cookie Queen. Unless you want me to continue calling you Cookie Queen, that's okay too. Thank you for the second batch! Just as delish.

I took your tip about the grocery store and stocked up. Also got green pepper beef at the Golden Wok. Nom, nom, nom! Any ruling on the Taco Galaxy across from Safeway?

I'm major impressed with the residency thing btw. Are you doing okay? Is your ICU totally packed? I have a sewing machine because I do cosplay but obvi no cons right now, so I've been making masks and stuff too. Do you need any?

Cisco

***

Cisco,

We're doing okay right now. I'm not treating many COVID cases personally because I'm in my first year, but everybody is doing more than they would have normally. If you have extra cloth masks, I know some shelters and the local food bank are distributing them.

I like the chicken taco salad at Taco Galaxy.

She paused, studying the note. She wanted to continue this conversation. She liked him - his warmth and his humor. Maybe she should start texting him. She had his phone number, after all. Or would that be weird?

She wrote down, Where did you move from?

Caitlin

***

They traded notes back and forth, at least once a day but more often twice. Their correspondence ranged from the mundane - he'd moved from Coast City, she had come here from Gotham - to the personal - neither of them had very good relationships with their families - to the downright philosophical.

I dunno, he wrote one rainy day, I feel like the people who say this is God's punishment or whatever are totally getting God wrong. Like I don't believe in God anymore but if I still did, I don't think I'd believe in that kind of God.

A virus is a virus, she wrote back. There's debate about whether a virus really counts as alive or not, but it's just doing what all life does. The pandemic is definitely down to human hubris and selfishness and shortsightedness. No need for divine punishment. And I don't believe in that kind of God either.

At work, she would mentally compose parts of her next letter during her rare free moments, and every time something funny or strange or horrible happened at the hospital, she found herself telling him about it. No names, of course, because of HIPAA, but writing them down helped her work them out.

The day he mentioned his most recent ex, she caught her breath, a strange flutter in her stomach.

She did a number on me, I'm telling you. It's weird because I do think she liked me, maybe as much as I liked her. It's just she was in some bad stuff with her brother, and she wasn't really interested in getting out. When I realized that she was using me to help him out, I was done. Probably way after I should've been, but that was the last straw. I'm not saying that breakup was why I picked CCU for grad school and moved here two months early but I'm not NOT saying that.

She lay on her couch reading the note over again. His tone was cheerful, as it usually was, but she could almost feel the regret and self-recrimination behind it.

Also, did this mean he was single? He hadn't wrapped it up with any other mention of someone else he was dating now.

I know what that's like, she wrote back. My most recent ex was -

She lifted her pen and stared at the paper. How to describe Jay?

My breakup with my ex was pretty bad too. You just start to doubt everything that you ever thought or felt. Like, is this real or is this another time bomb he put in your head?

God RIGHT he wrote back. The good exes leave nice little presents for you in your head. You think of them because you see a movie they liked or something they used to wear and it just makes you smile. But the bad ones leave freaking land mines and time bombs.

***

More than once, she arrived home to find a bag of takeout or a tupperware full of some recipe he'd tried out. His tastes were a little more adventurous than hers, but she willingly ate whatever he left. Knowing somebody was thinking about her was as nourishing as the meal.

And some of it was really good.

She kept baking, leaving cookies and bread and other treats at his doorstep. Sometimes she experimented, too.

One day as the first leaves were turning, she left a jar with a note taped to the top. I decided to try something. Let me know if Buttercup likes these.

She got a reply within hours.

Buttercup would like to formally request to move into your apartment now, because I'm a terrible kitty papa and never thought of making him treats. Also I'm very cruel because I won't let him eat the entire jar no matter how much he yells. You are a genius.

She laughed and wrote back, Obviously you're an excellent kitty papa because you love Buttercup very much. It was a pretty simple recipe. I'll attach it for you so you can make your own. I'm glad he likes them.

She didn't see a reply on her door that night. This wasn't unprecedented, though it was unusual, and she found herself cycling through a few anxious loops of what-if - what if he was sick? what if he had nothing more to say to her? what if it had been just too weird for her to make treats for his cat? what if he was talking to someone else now?

But the next day when she went out to get her mail, she found a note tucked into her screen door. She grabbed it and opened it up.

Hey I realize this is kind of a weird question since we've been passing notes all this time, but would you be okay with texting? Or FaceTiming or WhatsApp or something? I don't know if you kept my number but here it is again anyway.

She read the short note through a couple of times, trying to identify the feeling bubbling up in her stomach.

She did like writing the letters. There was something so calming and old-fashioned about sitting down with paper and pen and writing everything out that was on her mind. And getting a letter back felt like a present.

But on the other hand, this felt like a step toward something . . . new. Something more. Closer.

She looked up at 202. A curtain twitched, and she caught her breath. Cisco leaned against the glass, spotted her, and lifted his hand in a wave.

She waved back.

She'd seen him a couple of times, leaving something at her door or going to grab his mail. She liked his face and his smile, what she'd seen of them.

He saw the note in her hand. That much was obvious. Even from here, he looked a little nervous. Or maybe that was her, projecting.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped in his number. He looked away from the window, reached out to grab something, and lifted his phone to his ear.

"Hi," she said shyly. "It's Caitlin."

His smile spread over his face, big enough to bathe her in warmth from one floor and a whole courtyard away. "Hi, Caitlin," he said. "Cisco here."

She smiled back. "So. How's your day going?"

It would be a long time before they actually got to meet in person, without a mask. But she was looking forward to it.

FINIS

#Caitlin Snow #Cisco Ramon #killervibe #killervibeweek20 #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #current events #neighbors AU #quarantine AU #fluffy fluff #the flash

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fuckingthefictional · 4 years

Text

Cross my heart- Part 15

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OFC, John Shelby (platonic) x OFC

Warnings: Talk of sexual assault, semi smut.

A/N: Enjoy a long ass chapter, that hasn’t been proofread and it probably crap!

Previous//Next

“What the fuck do you mean she was attacked?”

“John calm down.”

“No I will not fucking ‘calm down’!”

“John your shouting isn’t helping the situation at all.”

“But Pol-“

“Don’t ‘but Pol’ me John, that girl was attacked and nearly raped! Your shouting is not helping the situation one bloody bit.”

Eliza listened from her spot on the sofa, her body ached and her memories were still intense and raw from the previous night.

Her eyes felt heavy and she felt bleary. Eliza wanted nothing more than to sink into the cushions of the sofa and just disappear.

There was a great deal of pacing coming from the kitchen, which she assumed could only be John’s.

Eliza wished she could’ve told him in a normal way, like she did with all her troubles- over a glass of scotch. That he didn’t discover the events of the night before in such a horrible way.

Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, her entire body felt as if it were in shackles. Like she had her hands tired- as if there was no escape from this dark backstreet

She could feel ever grope, every unwanted kiss, she could hear every single taint and harsh laughter.

She felt cold and exposed where her clothes had been forcibly removed and the fearful tremble in her body refused to go away.

It felt as if she was helpless, there was nothing she could do. Like she was watching herself be pushed around and assaulted in the most cruel ways from the outside.

And then he came, cigarette burning and the soft glow of the ashy embers as they were flicked off onto the mud caked floor.

The man who had a red right hand in his pocket and a peaky cap perched on his head and she could see the blades tucked away, still glinting occasionally in the soft glow of the nicotine filled stick.

At long last she felt her knees hit the floor, as she simultaneously heard begging and screams of pain. Her hands were stained in blood and the screams got louder and louder until they just...stopped.

“Liza?” A frantic voice was calling to her, she felt like she was being shaken, “Liza wake up!”

She woke with a start, shooting up and rocking back and forth. Eliza felt someone attempt to hold her, but after the previous night she attempted mercilessly to escape whoever was touching her. She thrashed and tried to break free, but they held on.

Eliza was sure she was crying now, her voice croaked and cracked as she attempted to cry out in some sort of attempt at being rescued.

A small part of Eliza’s mind knew she was safe, that nobody was trying to hurt her. In any other situation she would relax into the embrace and find comfort. But this- this was to much to handle.

“Let her go Johnny boy-“

“Tom what the fuck is going on?”

“I’ll explain in a minute- just go through to the kitchen, aye an’ I’ll sort this.”

“Yer out ‘yer mind if yer think I’m leaving her here with you.”

There was a small pause, before the sound of retreating footsteps were heard by Eliza.

“Liza, open yer eyes for me.”

She slowly cracked open an eyelid, almost afraid of what she might find. Her vision was blurred as she burst into floods of tears at the sight of Tommy kneeled besides her.

“I- I thought-“ Eliza tried to explain, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“You are safe.” Tommy couldn’t express the words hard enough it seemed, his gaze pierced into Eliza. He continued on leaning closer to prove is point, “I will keep you safe, my family will make sure you’re safe- I never want ye’ to live in fear Liza.”

Eliza just nodded, tears soaking his shoulder as he gently combed through a few stray locks of her hair.

She could feel gentle lips brush her forehead, a huge contrast to the violating ones that she had been forced to receive the night before.

“I just need time.” Eliza tried to reassure herself, “the wound will heal with time.”

“An’ I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise you that much.”

“Just don’t go breaking my heart along the way.”

“As long as you don’t hurt mine either.”

Life was a struggle to get back to normal for Eliza, she went back to work a few days after the bruises had healed up.

Routine practically kept her sane the following weeks after the incident.

She’d wake up at six in the morning, fix Harry his breakfast and then meet Tommy outside the Garrison for seven. He would then walk her to the schoolhouse and wait with Eliza in her classroom until the children started to line up outside- she’d teach for the day and then be picked up by Tommy or John (and occasionally Arthur) where they’d walk back to watery lane and Eliza would stay until it nine helping with homework and bedtime routines. After a long day she’d walk with the Peaky men back to the Garrison where she’d go on shift.

By the end of the day Eliza usually felt exhausted enough to close her eyes without fearing the makeshift movie full of her past memories.

Routine worked.

Until Tommy showed up at Eliza’s window on a Sunny Sunday. Sunday’s were the day that Eliza allowed her routine to include a lie in, so she could relax and recover before Monday came around.

But of course Tommy kept tapping on the glass panes of her window.

Eliza wanted to do nothing but turn over and stuff her head into her pillows- but she knew Tommy was incessant and would stop until she payed him attention.

So she rolled out of bed and unlatched the window, pushing it open slightly before making her way back to her bed and sliding under the warm covers.

“Liza?”

She grumbled in response.

“Ive got a surprise for you.”

“Is the surprise letting me sleep for another hour?” Eliza grumbled groggily, “because that would be appreciated.”

She could practically see his smirk in her mind, there was a small chuckle from behind and then Eliza felt the covers be ripped away from her body.

“Tommy!” She shot up, to see him stood above her with a smile on his face. Eliza liked seeing him happy.

“Get up, we’re goin’ out.”

Eliza sighed, “Fine.”

“Where are we going?”

They had been driving for what felt like hours, Tommy had driven them out of the city- and Eliza could admit that it felt good to get fresh air and not be inhaling the heavy black smoke.

Eliza felt free, like she was in the rolling fields that her childhood town in Ireland held.

Away from Birmingham she felt as if she could leave behind her problems, and focus on some of the finer details in life.

Like the dewy grass, or the way the wind brushed against her skin, or how Tommy’s hands would occasionally tap against the steering wheel, or how his eyes would light up more every time they passed a horse in a field.

Eventually Tommy parked at their supposed final destination, it wasn’t much- a field and paddock which held a few horses, and a stable with what appeared to be a riders hut attached to it.

“Where are we?” Eliza was lost in her own befuddlement.

“My stables.” He replied striking up a cigarette.

“But I thought you had a stable in Small Heath?”

“If you mean Uncle Charlie’s boat yard, then yes- but technically it’s not mine.” Tommy opened his side of the car door, before jogging round and opening Eliza’s side too, “Besides, I prefer it when the horses have a bit of fresh air- Small Heath don’t do their lungs any good.”

Eliza smiled at that comment. She’d gathered that Tommy had a soft spot for animals, especially horses.

“Let me rephrase my original question then.” Eliza giggled, “Why are we ‘ere?”

The young man stopped in his tracks, “To ride of course.” He began to walk besides her, linking there arms together, “Yer told me that you’d ride when you were in Ireland, growing up- that yer missed it.”

Her heart swelled at the fact that Tommy had remembered that conversation. Eliza found herself struggling to form proper sentences, so instead she just nodded in awe.

“Now come on pretty girl, the longer we talk ‘ere- the less ridin’ time we’ll have.”

Eliza raises a brow and smirked, she leaned in as their noses brushed slightly. She could’ve sworn she heard Tommy’s breath stop.

With a final breath she steadied herself, “Race you!” She screamed sprinting away as quickly as her skirts allowed her to.

Tommy looked dumbfounded for a second before he also took off running, chasing after her trying to reach the fence first.

It made him smile, seeing how childish and free Eliza could act.

Tommy was a damn good businessman- but if he knew one thing, it was that he was willing to follow Eliza to the end of the world.

When he was around Eliza, Grace was forgotten in his mind.

When Eliza was around, he felt a genuine happiness that he hadn’t felt since before the war.

“Hurry up old man!” Eliza called playfully from the top of the terrain, Tommy shook his head a laugh escaping his lips.

“I am not an old man, you cheeky little-“ he cut himself off, “I’m not even thirty yet!”

“Old.” She retorted back still laughing heartily.

“Liza you’re 3 years younger than me- you’re ‘old’ too.” Tommy bargained.

“Are you calling me old Mr Shelby?” Eliza teased

“Polly raised me to never call a lady old.” Tommy replied, it was true- he remembered when he called his teacher old and Polly came marching into the school and smacked him right around the head. It was clear that he hadn’t done it again.

He looked across to see Eliza gazing wistfully at the horses in the paddock.

“I’ve got the perfect horse for you to ride.”

Eliza turned to him, her interest clearly peaked, “A dappled grey mare.”

Tommy could see her eyes scan across the field, trying to find the horse he’d just mentioned. When she did, she gasped and began to walk over to the gate.

He followed behind her, watching as Eliza’s steps became more springy as she got more excited. Eliza’s laughter consumed the air as she reached her hand out to pat the horses nose.

Tommy hovered behind her, his breath lingered near her neck.

“You need a hand getting up?”

Eliza just nodded as he helped lift her body off of the floor, his calloused hands grazed her waist.

“Thanks.”

“No problem pretty girl.”

“Thank you for today Tommy- I’m thankful, really.”

Tommy stepped forward, tucking a few stray hairs behind her ears. They had ridden for a few hours and had just finished putting the horses back into the stables.

They were both mucky and had thin layers of sweat coating their skin.

“No issue at all Liza.”

“There must be a way I can repay you.” She was stood in front of him now, even closer than before.

“Well,” Tommy licked his lips, brushing against the younger woman’s face, “there is one thing you could do.”

Their gaze lingered on each other, before the tension became too much and they met in a hot searing kiss.

Tommy walked them back towards the support beams as he continued to kiss Eliza with as much passion as he could muster.

Eliza was tugging and grasping at his hair as their lips moved together in tandem.

“jump.” Tommy breathed as he braced her body against his as her hips clashed up against his groin.

It caused them both to moan with pleasure, as Eliza rolled her hips against his again and Tommy planted hot kisses across her chest.

They began to shed clothes as they navigated through the stables and to the pile of hay in the corner.

Curses and pants could be heard throughout the area.

However before it progressed Tommy had stopped, “Liza...are you sure you want this?” He felt like he was pushing her.

But Eliza just caressed the sides of his face, and sweetly pecked his lips with her own, “I need to feel like I’m back in control- there’s nobody else who could take care of me in this way, except for you Tommy.” She pressed their lips together again, “So for the love of God- fuck me already!”

TAGLIST:

@peachy-aisha @marvelschriss @eternallyvenus @captivatedbycillianmurphy @annabethgranger123 @shadow-of-wonder

#peaky fookin blinders #peakyblinders #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #cross my heart

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nancythebisexualslutwheeler · 4 years

Text

I’m Coming Home to You

Please read this and validate me.. I wrote this monster in like three hours. XX T

Part One Part Two

He texts Eddie probably too soon. He’s barely folded himself into an uncomfortable seat to wait for the airplane and he only forces himself to send a text to Sarah, before he sends one to Eddie.

From your number: One step closer to home man!

His phone chirps nearly instantly,

From Edward Kaspbrak: I’m glad. Are you in pain?

Physical? Absolutely not. Mental anguish that Eddie thinks he’s playing a game with him because he couldn’t man up and kiss him back? Um, yes.

From your number: I’m fine. Can’t wait to get back home and hit the booze though.

From Edward Kaspbrak: No plane drinking for you?

From your number: And end up crying into the lap of a random stranger? No thanks.

From Edward Kaspbrak: I offered to go with you. You played yourself.

He sends the shrugging emoji and Richie bursts into laughter.

From your number: I’m scared.

From Edward Kaspbrak: I know. Doesn’t mean I love you any less.

Richie’s heart pounds. This is what he means. He can’t do this, he can’t. Their chance is over. They could have had so much, everything. High school and college and they could have gotten married dammit. But nope. Now he’s middle aged and the thought of Eddie saying those words directly to his face, makes him want to vomit.

He puts Eddie on do not disturb, thinks better of it and then powers down the entire phone. He’s having difficulty breathing, and he’s convinced it’s not all entirely his lung.

Richie takes three weeks off to recover, reschedules eight shows and loses about ten grand. His ankle is healed, as well as his head but his lung still hurts if he moves too quickly and he still has this disgusting scar on his face. That’s gonna cost a pretty penny to fix.

He flies out to New York to see Sarah for a few days, and he’s been keeping regular contact with the Losers.

Him and Eddie are.. well. They talk on the phone. Every night. Eddie’s healing up, back to work- analyzing risks- or whatever that bullshit meant. Plugging along with his divorce from Myra. Begging Richie to see him.

Richie avoided it at all costs, terrified of seeing him. So he rambled about his day, his new set, everything.

Richie’s a touch nervous about his show. He’s been laying lower than low since his accident, making extremely sure no one saw him before he was damn well ready.

And apparently that time was gone because he’d no more than ordered his iced latte when some teenager who in all reality is a little too young to be watching his sets, asks for a picture.

It takes him over an hour to get out of the small coffee shop, and that’s only because a manager comes out, pissed.

He doesn’t even want his watered down latte any longer. He angrily throws the coffee into a nearby garbage can and rests heavily against the wall of the building. If even that little interaction was too much, how was he going to get through an entire set tonight?

His phone rings and he has every intention of letting it go to voicemail, until he sees it’s his manager, Steve.

“Hey-o.”

“Rich man, what the fuck were you thinking?! You want to get attacked or something?!”

“I’m barely famous,” Richie says flippantly, hoping he’s not going to get actually yelled at because he can not handle that right now.

“You’re a fucking bum from Maine who somehow got signed with the top comedian company and was promised two back to back tours before you even took pen to paper. Not to mention you nearly died Richie.”

He’s getting sick of hearing those words come out of Steve, and his wife’s mouth. The first entire week he’d been back, he’d stayed with them. He’d gained like fifteen pounds from all the home cooked meals. He’d taken a bubble bath. With epsom salt. So he knows how Steve feels about his accident, he does.

“I just wanted to be normal. For once.” Richie admits quietly.

Steve laughs lightly,

“Me too. Maybe if you were normal, it wouldn’t be so hard being your manager.”

Richie knows it’s a joke, but the sudden thought that Steve wouldn’t want to manage him anymore. His wife is Christian, they have a daughter for Christ’s sake... they don’t need Richie being a bad influence. God, he was just going to get up there and make jokes without any care for anyone else. Not Steve. Not.. he who must not be named. (Okay this isn’t fucking Harry Potter, pull it together Rich.)

“Hey Steve?”

“Yes o favorite client of mine.”

“I made a new set.”

“I know. I am thrilled.”

“Well you may want to taper that back a little.”

“Rich? Is this one of your moments? Do I need to amp you up? Do we need to play Beyoncé?”

Richie is going to kill him. He doesn’t know how to do this. Come out. This is a problem for thirteen year old girls who realized they liked the taste of their best friends lip gloss during practice kissing rather than a boy’s bad breath during real kissing.

“Um, some of my jokes revolve around a guy.”

“Oh cool. You know, you’re not as ugly as you think, but the crowd does go wild for that self hate shit, mainly because your photo of you shirtless at the pool on Instagram got flagged as inappropriate content because people kept commenting “daddy” under it. It’s funny Rich.”

Richie had forgotten about that. He’d thought it was a joke, and he’d sat up drinking beer and eating pizza with his beard Natalie as she insisted, no, he was daddy material. Natalie was a twenty seven year old from fucking Wisconsin of all places and played a ditzy granddaughter on a soap opera that Richie, being the terrible boyfriend he is, has never seen. She wouldn’t know daddy material if it slapped her in the face. She insists she does. But it’s kind of like the way she insists she's slept with Liam Hemsworth. Her beautiful blue eyes beg you to believe her, but she can’t keep the smirk off of her lips.

“No, I mean. Fuck Steve, you know you’re like a brother to me,”

Steve cackles,

“Damn, this is how you treat your family?”

“Ask my sister because the answer most definitely is yes. Anyway, the joke is about me liking a guy.”

There’s a pause,

“Um, Rich my dude. There’s a word for that and it’s called homophobia.”

Richie grunts and balls his free fist at his side,

“No like, I like a guy. For real.”

There’s a pause,

“Is something wrong with Natalie?”

“No, no no! Oh god Natalie. I have to tell her. Oh god, I can’t go on tonight. I can’t.” He says pathetically. Desperately.

“I understand this is a crisis situation, I do, but we’ve got a baby on the way, and this show is raking in like a quarter of a mill so, you’re going on.”

“A baby? Oh wow!”

Something Richie will never have. Wait. Where did that come from? Does he want kids?

“Richie, shut up. Okay, I’m only going to ask once, are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Richie hesitates. He wonders if Natalie will still want to be friends.

“If you think this will ruin her career, we’re not doing it.”

“Other than that?”

Richie presses his thumbs against his eyelids in concentration.

“Yes.”

It’s barely a whisper.

“I’ll take care of everything.”

“Steve-“

“Everything. Be at the studio at 5.”

“But I don’t go on til 8.”

“Richie, be there on time I swear to god.”

Richie shows up around 6:30. He hasn’t heard from Natalie or Steve, so they can’t be too pissed.

He’d had to shower twice. He’d talked to Mike on the phone. He’d texted Eddie about twice before he got nervous. He’s tired and crabby and this is not the way he’s supposed to be starting his first show back. Not by a long shot.

So the first thing he does is ask the first person he sees for some scotch. Steve might kill him but he needs to be at least tipsy to make it through this one.

He’d thought he was ready, but maybe he wasn’t. He’s not ready to face Steve’s inevitable wrath, or at least annoyance, so he ducks into the dressing room.

To his dismay, Natalie is in there, talking to his hairstylist Maggie. She stands up immediately and she’s got her wide smile on and she hugs him tightly and kisses his cheek instead of his lips,

“You’re late.”

“Sue me.”

She snorts, “I have a lot of reasons too, so I’d shut up. Anyway, I have dinner for you.”

“Dinner?”

“I’m not just a pretty face you know.” And she hands him a Tupperware container.

He hasn’t seen Tupperware in like 15 years. He laughs and she rolls her eyes,

“Come on, there’s a microwave over here.”

She places her hand on the small of his back, perhaps more out of muscle memory and she leads him into the small kitchenette, taking back the Tupperware before heating the food.

“So? This is interesting.”

“You can’t be.. surprised.” He says, even though that’s a straight lie.

“I assumed all men in their forties had issues getting it up, even when a pair of perfect tits in their face.”

He knows she’s kidding. He does, and it’s not even the first time she’d given it back as good as she got but he suddenly feels like crying. She must sense this immediately because Natalie is amazing like that, and she’s wrapping her arms around him. He cries into her chest like a fucking child. They only pull away after the microwave beeps for like the millionth time.

“Oh honey. It’s going to be okay.”

“How are you going to be?”

“Oh you’re cutting me a check. Steve promised.”

“You should be cutting me a check princess. I know your contract just got renewed.”

“You’re making nearly 25k... tonight.”

“Snooping are we?”

She shoves the Tupperware at him,

“Eat your dinner.”

“Natalie, are we still, gonna be friends I mean?” He asks sheepishly.

She made him chicken, potatoes and green beans. He knows everything is homemade. She hated the chemicals in the fake meat he ate. Hey, he was gonna die for a lot of other shit, and probably first. The environment was worth it. Okay not time for a fucking rant right now.

“Honey, we’re family.”

There’s a knock on the door,

“Rich? I’ve got the fucking liquor you ordered.” Steve says, handing him the bottle. “Do not get too wasted.”

Richie gets like.. half a shot too wasted. He’s buzzing. He’s flushed and warm and his hands are sweaty and Natalie isn’t fawning all over him like she usually does and he is stressed. He’s alone. He wants to message Eddie but he pussies out.

When he goes out, the screams are deafening. Once he gets the mic in his hand, he’s flying. He goes on about the nasty gash on his face, hobbling around with a twisted rib and how his crazy, lazy, halfway drunk ass is going to be an uncle. The jokes flow easily, even if he didn’t plan on saying it, and suddenly he has the terrible thought, shrugs and hopes that Sarah has already told her baby daddy.

And then he gets into it.

“So I know you’re all dying to know what the hell happened. I wish I could say that it was some badass like, car robbery. But it was just a straight up mugging. The thing is that I was with my friends, right? I know that’s shocking, hardy har har. But I’m with some friends, and I have this one friend. Her name is Bev, she’s gorgeous, and a bad ass through and through, strongest person I know, my bad, I’m exposing myself a bit too much, I am a heartless prick, I promise.

“But we’re at a bar, and some skeeze, no a real dick, I mean it. Takes her purse. Is this fucking 1992? Who steals a purse? Now, I’ve got a shit ton of liquor in me, but suddenly I’m running. And it’s cold, we’re in Maine and it’s winter And I’m freezing my balls off. And I’ve almost got him, I did track in high school, yeah yeah I don’t look like I can run from here to backstage, I get it.”

The crowd roars.

“The point is, I’m almost on him. This motherfucker pulls out a knife. Now, I know this doesn’t sound funny but listen, number one, Bev is a fucking receptionist at a dental office, she’s not even raking in the dollars. Trust me, I’ve paid her rent a few times,” he straight up hasn’t and even though he thinks it’s funny ,he shouts out a quick, “love you Bev!”

“Anyway, the guy pulls out a knife and goes insane. I thought this beer belly would protect me, but alas,” his voice is getting sad, so he pulls it together, “Anyway. The first of my friends to find me is someone I’m close to right. My first love. And I’m bleeding out on the cold cement, for real, Natalie, though she could have given me some tips on how to handle it so beautifully, but my first love’s in front of me and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

“So I’m going on and on and throwing around big words that my man child ass doesn’t know the meaning of, like love and forever, and he’s staring at me like the idiot I am, and I promise there’s a point to this joke, and the joke is that once again, Richie fumbled. Good old Rich just lost it. So the fuck up you see right here, it turns out I’m actually this way in real life. So please remember what an absolute goof I am, especially next time you want to stalk me at fucking Dunn Brothers, and fuck up my oat milk latte, which is an extra ninety cents by the way, please remember that I’m a big dork,”

Suddenly there’s a commotion in the crowd and some guy is standing on his chair and Richie’s never wanted to die more,

“Did you say a guy?” He shouts.

It’s silent, before he nods slightly,

“Yes I did. I’m a big ol-“ he doesn’t even know what fucked up thing he’s going to say, when the crowd erupts into applause.

And he’s sure that some people left, or there’s comments, but the applause is all he needs. He is a slut for validation after all. Thank you love language quiz. Words of affirmation baby!

The rest of the set goes great and he’s still properly buzzed when he steps off stage. Steve is clapping him on the shoulder, even though he’s on the phone and then Richie’s rushed backstage and handed water and there’s. He squeezes the water bottle too tight and it explodes all over him. It’s freezing, even though he feels warm and before he’s thinking about it, he’s yanking off his shirts and suddenly someone’s handing him a towel and he hears a dog whistle. He’s about to tell Natalie to fuck off, when he sees who she’s standing by.

There. In the flesh, is Eddie Kaspbrak. He looks good, dammit. A maroon sweater and tight black jeans. His cheeks are flushed and he’s holding his black jacket in his arms.

“No one took his coat?” Richie yanks it out of his hands and throws it somewhere. “Where’s everybody else?”

He looks confused,

“What do you mean?”

“Impromptu Loser’s trip to my show. Is Bev pissed about the rent thing because I swear-“

Natalie sips at some cocktail awkwardly and Eddie swallows hard,

“Um, it’s just me.”

Richie halts. He sees someone off the scene - he knows these people’s names- he swears, it’s just dark. But he gestures for the booze again. Eddie came to see him. For his first show. Oh god. Eddie heard him go on about his jawline for Christ’s sake and now. He looks like a deer in headlights. The scotch is thrust into his hands and he takes three long pulls before doing anything.

The worst part is Eddie is just chilling. Kicking it, while Richie has this internal meltdown which he knows is showing on his face. He doesn’t know what to do so he all but thrusts the liquor at Eddie, grabs Natalie’s arm and storms off.

“What am I gonna do? Shit he’s here, he’s here.”

“You knew he was gonna hear the sketch anyway, why does it matter?”

“Because I’m drunk. I acted like a lovesick fool. My dad bod is exposed. What am I gonna do?! And be serious. There’s only room for one funny one in this relationship.”

She smiles,

“Good thing it’s me, my darling. Talk to him. He seems cool.”

“You talked to him?!”

“Uh yeah. He’s been back here since about half way through the set. Barged right back here. Lucky I recognized the name.”

He stares and she sighs,

“You’ve been saying his name in your sleep. Ever since the accident.”

“Oh god. You probably think I’m pathetic.”

“Not pathetic, in love.”

“In love? But I’m, we don’t know each other. We haven’t kept in touch in years.”

“Love doesn’t fade with age sweetie.”

“Oh stop being reasonable! I understand you just got a new gay best friend, but be logical.”

She snorts,

“Trust me, no one wants to go shopping with you. I am being logical. That man is head over heels for you. And you’re head over heels for him. Now do something about it before I kick your ass.”

“Your shoes are too expensive.”

“What am I gonna do? Talk about my feelings?”

She shakes her head quickly,

“Oh god no. Who knows what would come out. Just, ya know, go seduce him, with all of this.”

If it were anyone else he’d think they were kidding, but the have had sex dozens of times and so he knows she can’t be joking too much. His insecure ass isn’t that desperate so he keeps his mouth shut. She touches his shoulder,

“Go out there and kiss him. Just kiss him.”

He stares and she whacks his arm,

“And keep your mouth shut. No jokes.”

“What if he tries to slip in a little tongue?” He wags his eyebrows.

“You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”

“Eddie thinks so,” he says quickly, before he can stop himself.

Natalie grins,

“By the grace of god he does. Now go kiss him dammit!”

He strides out of the room, not paying any attention to if she’s following him, but he bets she is, as if she’d miss this. Eddie is looking flushed and cradling the scotch bottle like a pacifier and all Richie does is take it out of his hand and set it down quickly. Eddie stares. Eddie’s here. Eddie came here. To California. To see his set. He’d paid to see Richie. He remembers to ask Steve about a refund, vaguely of course, before he’s fitting a hand around Eddie’s jaw, Eddie’s beautiful jaw and ducking in to kiss him.

There’s no symphony or choir that starts singing but his heart does feel about three sizes too big like that Dr.Seuss book, and Eddie kisses him back so softly, as if he’s going to break. More likely that he’ll pull away, but Richie can’t imagine. Pulling away from this magical kiss. Eddie’s tongue licks tentatively at his lips and Richie opens his mouth immediately in a grin.

He hears a dog whistle and an “Atta boy!” And wow he hates his team so much. They’re getting fired, the whole lot of them.

Things must get a little heated because he hears the sharp clearing of a throat,

“I can get you out the back way,” says Steve, sheepishly.

Except Steve, Steve can stay.

Richie is being handed a clean, dry shirt from someone, he’d forgotten, that wouldn’t be a good look, and then he takes Eddie’s hand. Firmly. It’s a good hand.

“You ready to get out of here?”

“After you,” Eddie says, squeezing back.

“Why not after you? You’re the one with the ass that won’t quit.”

“You’re the one paying for this Lyft so you’re going first.”

“Hm, expensive date. Am I going to get into your pants later at least?”

Eddie scoffs,

“Do you ever stop?”

Richie halts,

“Actually no. Is that a deal breaker, because-“

Eddie shakes his head quickly,

“No. No. I love it. I love you.”

Richie’s head swirls,

“Um. I’m not ready.”

He knows he’d brought this up. His secret had started it, but, the last person he’d said I love you to was Sarah. And he most certainly was not in love with Sarah.

“It’s okay. I just don’t want there to be any confusion on how I feel. I love you Richie.”

Eddie squeezes his hand as a black car pulls up in front of them.

“Damn that was fast.”

“Oh Edward, bold of you to assume I don’t have my own car.”

“Don’t call me that! God, you really are famous.”

“A little bit,” he says in a singsong voice, opening the door for Eddie.

“Shut up dick.”

“Hey, your face will look good in paper print, I think.”

Richie slides in the car next to Eddie,

“Your face would look good-

“Where Eddie?” He dares, “where?”

“You know what, your... mom. It’s unfair, I haven’t worked on my insults in thirty years, you’re over here being a professional cornball.”

Richie snorts,

“Not my problem. Cause I can go all night baby.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow,

“Can you now?”

There’s a cough from the front seat,

“Sorry Carl. I’ll tell my friend to simmer down, there are innocents around.”

“You know I can hear you starting it Richie. Right?”

“Carl, you wound me. How can you think that I would have such a dirty mind?”

“Where are we going sir?”

He makes a puking noise,

“Sir.. gross. Just home.”

“Sounds good sir,” Carl says once more to be a dick.

“I like the sound of that,” Eddie teases, “Sir.”

“Oh hell no. First of all, fuck off. Second of all, you’d be referring to me as sir under entirely different circumstances.”

Eddie’s face flames,

“Natalie didn’t say you were this insane.”

“Natalie, Angel, light of my life, would never betray me like that. What did she tell you?”

Eddie mimes zipping his lips,

“Secrets, secrets.”

“I don’t think you’re meant to be friends with my ex.”

Eddie pales slightly at that and Richie wonders if he made it too weird.

“I mean, she’s my best friend too so,”

“No no, it’s fine, I just never thought of it like that. Oh god? That’s my competition? Teenie bopper soap star with a great rack?”

Richie stiffens at hearing Natalie being reduced to that, but he hears what Eddie is saying,

“There’s no competition Eds. Never been one.”

Eddie looks up at him and smiles softly. Richie leans in for a kiss. It gets a little heated and Richie tries to stretch out so Eddie can lay beside him, but Eddie kicks Carl’s chair and there’s a very judgmental stare coming from the rear view mirror,

“Mr.Tozier, there’s a reason I don’t drive preteens anymore.”

“Fine, fine, can you speed up then?”

“I am happily going the five over the speed limit you usually request.”

“If I pay you extra can you make it ten?”

He hesitates like he wouldn’t do it for free, before grinning,

“3%?”

“Done.”

The car speeds a little faster and luckily Eddie’s short enough to crunch his legs up on the seat so that he can lay on Richie’s chest. He feels good. He feels real. He feels promised.

#reddie #reddie fan fiction #richie tozier #Eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #it 2019 #please validate me #my writing #long post

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thestorytellerofkpop · 6 years

Text

Formidable

Summary: Life isn’t what it’s always made out to be. Everyone goes through adversity, and sometimes there isn’t anyone there to help pick you up when you’re at your lowest points. Thank god Namjoon was there to take interest and help you to your feet.

Word Count: 2328

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, divorce, break-ups, and over-drinking. There’s angst, people.

“Life is wonderful!”

Namjoon looked up from his phone to search for the source of that voice. It was eight in the morning, he didn’t have his coffee yet, and the sudden yelling out into the drizzling Monday morning air caught his attention. He was just on his way to work; he cleaned at his friend, Yoongi’s, bar in the mornings after the weekend crowd shuffled through, and honestly, anything that could save him a few minutes from cleaning up drunken shit off the floor was as good a distraction as any.

“Wonderful!” the voice yelled out again, and Namjoon located the source of the yelling. He saw you, stumbling in the street, in front of on-going traffic. The cars honked at you to get out of the way and Namjoon noticed your hand shooting high in the air, middle finger up for the world to see. He heard you laugh as you stumbled out of the road, towards the small trolley platform in the middle of the square. Namjoon followed you, waiting patiently at the crosswalk to cross as he watched you yell at the trolley-goers about how life was oh so wonderful.

But you didn’t look wonderful, to be quite honest you looked pathetic. The black jacket you held over your shoulder waved at him through the rainy wind as you stumbled towards the ground, right onto the ledge of the trolley-tracks. Finally he could cross. Namjoon hurried over towards you, you looked like you hit the ground pretty hard, but another person beat him to your aid, a woman.

“Oh, thanks babe. Oops, I mean, ma’am.” the slur was obvious in your voice as the woman helped you up onto your feet. Namjoon approached the two of you and he could see the obvious relief in the woman’s eyes that he was there to help her.

“They just fell out of nowhere, honestly I’m not sure what to do.” the woman looked up at Namjoon, practically begging to take you out of her hands. Namjoon allowed the woman to drape your arm over his shoulder, and when your head lolled onto his chest he could smell the liquor in your breath.

“Thank you.” the woman told Namjoon with a sigh of relief before scurrying off in her little black heels.

“Hey come back!” you yelled to the woman and Namjoon took it as his cue to leave, dragging you through the rain towards the bar as you yelled in drunken slurs.

“Just five minutes to talk is all I want, I didn’t insult you! I’m polite, respectful, and just pissed off!” Namjoon huffed in annoyance as he adjusted his grip on you.

“Quiet down will you? People are staring.” Namjoon mumbled to you, but you ignored him, letting out your drunken anger onto the world.

“And what’s up with all of you, looking at me like I’m some sort of monkey on display?! Yeah, cause all the rest of you are just saints, right? But you’re just a bunch of monkeys like the rest of us! Give me a baby monkey and I promise, when I raise him he’ll be fucking wonderful!” Namjoon managed to shove you into the bar and quickly close the door behind him as you ended your last statement, huffing in relief.

He turned and saw Yoongi staring at him in disbelief from behind the bar, his hand paused from where he was wiping glasses. His eyes darted between you and Namjoon, and when he saw his friend shake his head Yoongi just sighed and beckoned you to come in.

“Sit.” he commanded, and even though Namjoon knew you were still hammered from the night before, you followed Yoongi’s orders well, plopping onto the barstool in front of him. Namjoon sat next to you, removing his damp jacket and placing it on top of the bar counter.

“Scotch or bourbon?”

“Surprise me.” Namjoon winked at Yoongi. Yoongi glowered at him in disgust.

Namjoon watched as Yoongi made the drinks for you and him, his eyes occasionally flickering over to yours. He could see the soberness coming back into your eyes, and his own scrunched in pain at the sorrow he saw lining your irises.

“For you, Namjoon.” Yoongi placed a glass in front of Namjoon and golden amber sparkled back at him. “And for our lovely visitor, my own take on a Bloody Mary, it’ll cure any hangover you may have, doll.” Yoongi winked at you before going back to his original task, allowing the silence to grow between the sips you and Namjoon took.

“You don’t wanna talk with someone like me, hmm?” Namjoon looked up when you finally spoke, finishing off his glass before placing it back on the counter, Yoongi naturally coming back to fill it again.

“Quite the opposite in fact. You’re just really out of it at the present time.” Namjoon chuckled.

“Is that because of all the yelling and drunken mannerisms? I’m not normally like that, I promise, I’m just so-”

“Pissed, we know, I heard you from outside.” Yoongi butted in with a chuckle, and when Namjoon saw you hang your head in shame he gave his elder a glare. Yoongi raised his hands in defense and resumed his wiping.

“I don’t mean to pry, but since I practically saved you from the rain and the assholes of the world, can I ask why you were walking drunkenly through the streets?” Namjoon was always straight to the point.

“I can’t have a baby. Wait-I promise it’s not like that...that came out wrong...” you sighed at the two men’s shocked expressions, taking a deep breath before speaking again.

“So it’s obvious I’m an older person, and-”

“If you’re old then we’re ancient, sweetheart.” Namjoon cut you off and smirked over the rim of his glass.

“How old are ya, doll?” Yoongi asked.

“Turning thirty in September.”

“Nonsense, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.” Namjoon winked and he reveled in the blush on your cheeks, but he didn’t keep his hopes up, it could’ve been from the vodka in your drink.

“And you are...?” Namjoon sighed at your question and placed down his glass.

“Thirty-five.”

“Thirty-seven.” Yoongi piped up.

“Anyways, you were saying?” Namjoon pressed you further. You took another swallow of your drink before continuing.

“If only you’d seen me yesterday, I was so wonderful. Not like this at all.” you paused, and Namjoon could see the reminiscing in your eyes from the past twenty-four hours.

“I had a fiancé, his name was Jungkook. He was so wonderful, but to him, I was just pathetic. He was this bright young thing, only twenty-five. I met him in my final year of college when he was a freshman.” you sighed as Namjoon saw tears fill your eyes. Yoongi whistled low between his teeth.

“A natural cougar aren’tcha?” Yoongi snickered and Namjoon’s glare sent him scurrying underneath the counter.

“Go on...”

“Y/N.” you finished for him. Namjoon smiled, and placed his hand over yours that was resting on the bar.

“Go on, Y/N.”

“He seemed really happy to be engaged, he would always admire his ring on his hand when he thought I wasn't looking. At least I thought it was admiration and happiness, but I guess my mind got carried away in the thoughts of my own joy.” you paused, fiddling with the straw in your glass. You looked up and met Namjoon’s eyes and he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

“It was never enough for him. My love. My hands could've held his entire world, could’ve held all the stars in the universe, but it was never enough for him.” you felt the tears well-up in your eyes and you had to blink rapidly to prevent them from falling.

Yoongi’s low whistle broke the mounting tension and when you met his gaze, you could see the empathy in his eyes.

“You, my dear, need something stronger.” Yoongi took the half drunk glass away, rushing to bring you something to numb the internal pain you felt. You looked back at Namjoon’s cool eyes, his calm and comforting gaze easing your heart.

“My love was never enough for him, so he went and sought the affection from another, someone much younger and more fertile than me.” you watched Yoongi place a new glass in front of you, this time, the same color as Namjoon’s drink sparkled back at you.

“If he would’ve told me, things might have been different. If his friend, Jimin, hadn't told me what was going on things would still be wonderful. I would still be engaged, hoping to start a family with him, maybe even adopt. If he had just told me, I think things would've been okay. But I had to find out through his friend; about his affair, about his unborn child that she was carrying.” you scowled at the fine wood grains of the bar in front of you and removed your hand from Namjoon’s to take a drink.

Yoongi shot a glance at Namjoon, his eyebrows raised. Namjoon just stared back, calm as ever, and gave Yoongi a nod. Yoongi pursed his lips and shrugged, his head shaking slightly as he resumed his work. Namjoon watched your now empty hand fall back on the counter and reveled in your weak smile when he reached out and took your hold once again.

“Once I found out about his affair, I actually found the woman, last night.” you paused at Yoongi’s dramatic gasp and chuckled softly.

“I got drunk, then I approached her. She had to have only been twenty or so, I called her a little girl, a kid. And I told her, if her boyfriend or husband cheats on her, it’s because she’s getting old. When she becomes a pain in her child’s eyes, it’ll be because she doesn't want to be a granny. She was all red in face, so confused and innocent. I left and drank more somewhere else. I called Jungkook, yelled, screamed at him through the phone but he didn't care, he just took it. That only made me more pissed, that five years and an engagement were wasted on him who didn't even care. All because I was older, and not giving him a child.” you finished with a loud breath of air and suddenly the bar was too quiet.

“All I wanted was to settle down.” Namjoon could barely hear the words fall past your lips, but the impact they had still pierced his heart.

“Young guys like him can’t dream of settling down, even if he did agree to marry you, it would've been much longer until he would actually go through with it.” Yoongi commented.

“As much as I hate to admit it, but Yoongi is right sweetheart.” Namjoon toyed with your fingers and you watched his long digits tangle with yours. “Men have major commitment issues. Well, some of them at least.” you chuckled when Yoongi smacked his towel against Namjoon’s shoulder, scowling at him.

“Yoongi and I have both been through divorces.” and suddenly, it was your turn to feel sympathy build in your heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s what my wife wanted, at least. She didn’t cheat, or make me unhappy, but she just fell out of love. And who was I to continue to keep her with a man she didn’t want anymore?” Namjoon smiled at you, staring at your conjoined fingers.

“My ex husband...he had an affair with another man. I knew because when we got our annual tests, he had contracted HIV, while I was clean. I had wondered why he didn't want to sex with me anymore, but I never thought that it would've resulted from cheating. Even though I was the one who filed for divorce, I think I was more hurt than he was.” Yoongi bit his lip and sighed, turning his back to you and Namjoon to rearrange the numerous bottles of alcohol on the bar shelves.

“If anything, Jungkook is missing out.” you turned to focus back on Namjoon.

“What?”

“Jungkook is missing out, allowing someone like you to get away from him.” Namjoon smiled again and this time you saw a dimple appear on his cheek. His fingers continued their previous actions, watching them with a pointed gaze.

“How can you even say that, you know nothing about me. All you know is that I’m a worthless drunk.”

Namjoon’s eyes suddenly looked up at yours, and you felt bare and raw underneath his gaze. Namjoon brought your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“I see more than that. I see someone who loves, and loves hard. I see someone who tries to overcome adversity alone, one of the hardest things to do in the world. I see a young person with so much self doubt about themselves, and yet they aren’t afraid to tell the entire world about how they feel. I see someone who needs someone to lean on, and I would love to be that person for you, Y/N.”

“My god, how are you single?” you groaned, letting your head fall against the bar with a loud bang.

Yoongi and Namjoon both laughed and Namjoon ran one hand through your hair.

“I don't wanna pick you up, I swear.” Namjoon teased, “I’ve been single since forever.”

“Doll, I’ve never seen Namjoon so whipped before.” Yoongi chuckled and it was his turn to back away in fear when Namjoon threw his coat at the older man.

“In all seriousness though, I really want to help you and get to know you better. I know you need more time to get over Jungkook and the life you had to leave behind, but if you need anything, a place to stay, someone to help you move, I’ll be here. Every morning actually.” he chuckled and smiled when you brought your head back up to look at him, nodding it slightly.

“I’d like that, Namjoon.”

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genericdelusion · 5 years

Photo

Part of the short story series “Trust No One” by GenericDelusion

Disclaimer: All persons and events are pure fiction, and bare no relation to living or deceased persons, nor to real events. This is pure fiction.

The rain was getting heavier the further south he went. What started as a light drizzle when he left the capital two hours ago, had turned into a a steady rain. Although it was only 4pm before he reached the southern city of Sparta, it was already getting dark and the rain didn't help either.

Without running into any slow traffic and with good travelling conditions, home was still about an hour away – if he headed straight south. But with the weather forecast predicting extremely heavy rain further south, and the good possibility that the southern tips of the Taygetos Mountains would be covered with snow making the roads hard to travel at normal speed, it would probably be faster and safer to go east to Kalamata, and then head south to Areopolis. Either way, he didn't expect to be home for about two hours still.

Driving, his mind wandered over the last couple of years and how he had ended up here.

Although John had live in Greece for nearly 2 years now, he still missed living in the USA. But with the sudden death of his wife, a change was needed. It didn't help with the investigations into his businesses by the FBI. He chose Greece for two main reasons. One being that his late wife was Greek Cypriot and thus his basic knowledge of the language, and secondly, because it was somewhere the FBI would not look for him. Their focus would be in the USA and maybe Cyprus, but not Greece. With a change of name thrown in, and the isolation of where he lived, he was well protected for now.

The other had to do with his personal private interests. His trip to Athens was more than just a business trip. Despite all the fun he had, and the prize he was taking home which was secured in the boot of his Mercedes Benz, he still ached for more fun. As he thought about the weekend, he absent mindedly drove through Sparta and head south instead of west towards Kalamata, which was he intended route. By the time he realised, he was already out of the ancient city and approaching the regional army base.

The rain had got heavier, a sign of things he hoped would not be the theme for the rest of the trip. Traffic heading south was light but the ferocity of the rain forced him to slow down, barely able to see more than a couple of hundred metres ahead of him. As he approached the bus stop outside the army base, he could see only one person standing there. The guy had stuck out his arm at him, attempting to hitch hike a lift home.

John slowed down and seeing the young soldier, pulled over whilst winding down his window.

The solider ran up to him. A quick assessment put the soldier in his very early 20s, around 170cm tall, athletic build, with brown eyes and hair.

“I'm heading to Areopolis. Where you heading son?” John asked.

“Gythion.” replied the soldier, with a begging look in his eyes.

“Hop in. You can put your bag in the back seat” replied John as he remotely unlocked the doors.

With his bag in the back seat, the soldier jumped into the passenger front seat, buckled up before turning to John.

I'm Christos, thanks for the lift” he said.

“John, nice to meet you” he replied in his best Greek. “been waiting long at the bus stop?”

“Yeah. The fucking bus passed early, so I missed it by 5 minutes, and the next one isn't for at least another hour.”

John looked at his watch. “Its 4.15pm, the bus normally passed through here at 4.15pm so it must have been early” he said.

“The wanker bus driver is always doing this to us. Every bloody week, he comes past 5 to 10 minutes early” Christos replied.

“Well, you're lucky I passed by and saw you, or you could be waiting a while with this weather. Anyway, I do need to go to Geraki on the way to drop off some stuff to a client of mine. Hope you don't mind” John said.

Christos shook his head indicating it wasn't an issue. A lift with a slight detour was better than hanging around at the bus stop for the next bus, especially with this rain.

Sparta to Geraki was only 39 km but with the current rain, which was getting heavier by the minute, and driving at a slow 40km/hr, it would be about an hour. The conversation between them had died down as John focused on the road.

By the time they had reached Geraki, Christos had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. John pulled up at his client's home, got the small parcel from the back seat, and ran to the door. Handing the parcel over to his client's wife, he ran back to his car, getting only slightly drenched. Once in the warmth of his car, he looked at Christos who was still sleeping, oblivious to their stop.

John looked at Christos, and realised how angelic he looked as he slept with his mouth slightly open. He could feel himself getting aroused, but this was not the time or place, especially when they were still in front of his client's home. He reached to the back seat and pulled out his thermo which was filled with coffee. He poured some into his travel cup and placed it into his car's dashboard cup holder.

He reached into his inside jacket pocket, found the two tablets that he had there, and dropped them into the thermo, before sealing it again and putting it in the back seat. With that done, he pulled away from his client's driveway, and headed towards Skala which was 25km away and the town before Gythion.

Christos finally awoke about 10km out of Skala, surveyed the area to get his bearings.

“We're about 10km from Skala” John said without prompting.

“Are we stopping there or driving right through” Christos asked.

“Straight through, so you should be home in about 40 minutes or so” Replied John as he reached for his coffee and sipped some. “If you want a coffee, there's a spare cup on the back seat along with the thermo. Help yourself”.

Christos looked at the back and saw it, and reached for them saying “thanks”. He poured some and took a tentative sip. The coffee was warm, not as hot as he normally liked it but good enough to quench his thirst.

“I've had my quota for the trip, so if you want, you can finish the rest” John said, seeing Christos down the last drop in his cup. He poured the remaining half cup of coffee and downed it pretty much in one gulp.

“Thanks. Didn't realise how thirsty I was” said Christos. John simply smiled as he swerved to avoid hitting a cat that was crossing the road. Stupid animals he thought. No one in the right minds would be out in this weather, but then he had no affinity to cats and would have had no qualms running it over had the roads not been so wet and dangerous to drive on.

Christos was quiet as they reached Skala, and by the time they had passed through the town, he was asleep again. John smiled at his passenger and with his right hand, reached out and gave him a gentle shake. Christos didn't respond and continued to sleep. The tablets had kicked in and would keep him sleeping for the new few hours.

They reach Areopolis about 30 minutes later, and the rain had eased since leaving Skala. He proceeded south of the town which he called home. When he had first moved here, he had bought one of the old abandoned Mani towers about 20 km south of the town. Isolated and accessible by a small dirt road, it was an area where no-one, even the locals, didn't venture to. The rugged mountains of Mani were inhospitable at the best of times, and in winter only those living in the region travelled there.

John parked the car as close to the front door of his second home, as was possible. With the open fireplace lit, he emptied the back seat and the boot of its contents taking his prize from Athens up to the second floor, before returning to carry Christos inside.

He lifted the young soldier and carried him into the lounge, placing him on the couch still drugged and asleep.

He looked at the young man for a few minutes, before pouring himself a scotch. Drink in hand, he locked the front door before heading up to the second floor.

The Mani tower he had bought was three levels. The ground floor he had converted into a kitchen, bathroom and lounge. The second floor was was his entertainment are, and the first floor was his sleeping quarters. The fireplace downstairs was already warming up the entire place, although it would be a couple of hours before all three floors were warm enough to walk around without a jacket on.

John changed into something more comfortable, a pair of jeans, sneakers and a hoodie, before heading down to the ground floor. Christos was still asleep on the couch. John reached over and gave him a gentle shake. Christos moved and slightly opened his eyes, still drugged. John reached out and lifted him up.

“Come on, think you need to lay down” he said, as he lifted Christos up on to his feet. With one arm over his shoulder and another around his waist, John led Christos up the flight of stairs to the first level, and laid him down on the bed. He pulled the quilt aside, before undressing Christos down to his underwear, before laying him in the bed, covering him with the quilt.

He looked at the sleeping young soldier. He would be so much fun to have around. But first, John needed a shower, to freshen up after the long trip home, and to have a bite to eat.

After a hot shower and some pasta for dinner, John locked the front door, turned off the lights and headed upstairs. He locked the door that connected the stairwell to the ground floor, and headed up to the second floor, where he switched off the light and locked the door as well. Although he knew no-one would be coming up to his place, he always felt more secure knowing every door was locked knowing anyone trying to get in – or out – would have a difficult time doing so.

With the place locked and secured, he went back down to the first floor.

Christos was still sleeping, the drugs would wear off in about an hour or so, but till then, he would sleep through practically anything.

John undressed down to his underwear, laying his clothes on the chair, neatly folded. He opened the top draw of his dressing table and pulled out his night pack, placing it on the bedside unit next to his bed. Locking the door, he turned the lights off and crawled into bed next to Christos.

Laying there, he could feel the warmth of Christos' body next to his, which despite being tired, aroused him no end.

John rolled onto his side so as to face Christos. His left hand begun caressing Christos' body, pinching his nipples and then running his hand down his naked body. He begun to massage Christos' cock slowly, and he felt Christos getting aroused as well. As he played with Christos' erection, Christos begun to moan gently. Still drugged, Christos subconsciously moved his hand down to his cock, trying to push away John's hand. John took Christos' hand, and held it down on the mattress.

Rolling over, John kneeled between Christos' legs, and with both his hands holding Christos' hands down, begun to suck Christos' erect cock. Christos continued to moan and as John continued to suck the young cock, Christos begun to struggle to break free from John's hands. The drugs were beginning to wear off.

John stopped, leaned over and opened his night pack, pulled out two sets of handcuffs and quickly handcuffed young Christos' hands to the metal framed bed-head, who by now had stopped moaning and was still sleeping although his eyes were moving under his closed eyelids. John knew he would be awake soon.

Once Christos was secured with the handcuffs, John then pulled Christos' underwear off completely and threw them on the floor

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tinuviel-undomiel · 7 years

Text

A Night to Remember: The Death of Dreams

So sorry it took so long to update this story, but I hope everyone enjoys it. Shout outs to @emospritelet who has been begging for this one and @standbyyourmantis who is now a character in this story, LOL.

Also found on ff.net and ao3.

The only sound in the office was the ticking of a clock, whiling away the time until the session was over and Gold was released. He was so tired of this therapy. Progress was painfully slow and worse, the nightmares had increased. Now it was nearly every night that he woke up in a panic, thinking he was drowning in the endless, icy sea. And, as always, his blue-eyed angel was always just out of reach as he sank into oblivion.

“I’m not sure why I keep doing this,” he said under his breath.

“We are making progress,” Hopper said, “I know it seems slow, but you don’t always want to rush these things.”

“Yes, I have managed to remember leaving my hotel room to board the ship after months of therapy. Perhaps in a year I’ll remember going up the gangplank.”

“It won’t be quite that long,” the good doctor assured him with his trademark, patient smile, “Once we start the flow of memories, they will come much easier.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Gold said. He drummed his fingers on the side of the chaise, eyeing at the clock on the wall.

“You don’t appear to be happy with that,” Hopper said.

“Well, the memories are of a terrible tragedy, forgive me for not leaping for joy at the prospect.” Hopper let out an “hmm,” before jotting something down in his journal. “What is it?” Gold asked him.

“Pardon?”

“I know you’re thinking of something, just tell me what it is.”

Hopper let out a chuckle. “I’m afraid that is supposed to be your job.”

“Well I know you have your own opinion on something about me and I’d rather know what you are thinking.”

Hopper closed his journal and set it aside on the table. “Well, to be honest, I am wondering how dedicated you are to obtaining these locked memories.”

Gold sat up, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning towards him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, even I will admit that these memories are undoubtedly painful,” Hopper said, “Most people would shy away from such things.”

“You’re saying that I’m afraid to remember,” Gold said.

“It is possible.”

“So now I’m a coward,” he growled. He leapt to his feet, reaching for his coat and his cane.

Hopper jumped up too and raised one hand towards him. “No, that isn’t what I am saying.”

“Then please, tell me what you really meant,” he hissed at the man.

“Robert, I’ve only read the newspapers and I myself had a nightmare about that horrible night,” Hopper told him, “I truly cannot imagine what it would have been like to have lived it. I’m certain I wouldn’t want to remember any of it.”

Gold twirled his hand in his hand, watching the tip spin around on the floor. “So what you’re saying is that it is normal.”

“Of course it is, it would be entirely abnormal if you weren’t afraid.” Hopper took a few steps towards him. “Robert, I know you have been pressured to never show fear since you were a child, but it’s okay to be afraid sometimes. It’s okay to be afraid of these memories.

“It’s…it’s not just the memories,” he admitted, still staring at the floor. “The nightmares are getting worse.”

“I had a feeling they would,” Hopper said, “The closer you get the remembering, the more your mind will rebel. The nightmares are a manifestation of your fears.”

“So once I remember, they will stop?” He looked up for the first time. If that were the case, he would gladly sit on that couch and let Hopper bring him back to that horrid night. Anything to get the nightmares to end.

Hopper slowly shook his head. “I wish that were true.” Gold looked back at the floor, twirling his cane again. “You will probably always suffer from nightmares, but they will lessen with time. I think once you remember what happened on that ship, you won’t be as afraid of them anymore.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he muttered.

“How about we cut this session short today,” Hopper said, “We can resume your progress next week. We don’t want to rush these things and I certainly want you to be prepared for it.”

Gold wasn’t interested in rushing things. He didn’t entirely know what he was being prepared for; he didn’t really want to know. What he did know for sure was every time he thought about what happened that night, ever time he even tried to remember, he could feel his heart racing inside of his chest and cold sweat beading out on his forehead.

The trip to New York had taken a considerable hit on Belle’s meager savings. Still, on the train she had managed to make friends with a Mrs. Elizabeth Mantis who had agreed to let her stay with them for a little while, so that was one weight off of her shoulders. Still, there was a lot she had to do. She needed to figure out how to tell Bailey that she was carrying his father’s child. Would he believe her? The ring would be of some proof, so hopefully he would. However, there was still the issue of actually finding a way to meet him. Would he let her in if she told him she had something important to tell him about his father?

At least Mr. and Mrs. Mantis had understood, not even batting an eye over her condition. She had given Elizabeth a shortened version of what had happened. The young woman had declared it all, “wildly romantic”, like something from a Victorian novel.

The getting to New York was the easy part; the difficult job still lay ahead. Robert had never told her his address, but it wasn’t so difficult to find. She knew some of the upper class neighborhoods thanks to her time spent with Cora and Regina. Mr. Mantis had a friend who worked taxicab who she managed to cajole the location out of. He was even kind enough to give her a lift to the home.

She stood outside, looking up at the mansion. This was where Robert had lived, where she had hoped to make a home with him. If the Titanic hadn’t sank, would they be here now? Would they be married? Belle shut her eyes for a moment, thinking about all that they could have had. She could see him sitting beside her on the sofa as she read a book, drinking his scotch and reading his paper. They could talk about names for the baby over breakfast; go shopping for the nursery together. At night, he would hold her close, keeping one hand over her growing belly so he could feel their child move.

Tears spilled down her cheeks just as the baby kicked inside of her. There were so many things they could have done together, a life they could have had if he hadn’t died. It was time to tell Bae everything that had happened. She had faith that he would be a good brother to her child. It wasn’t the life she could have had with Robert, but at least she would still be a part of the life he had left behind.

Belle brushed her cheeks with her sleeve and pushed open the gate, slipping inside. The front was empty as it was too grey and cold for gardeners to be out. Someone would be home, even if she had to wait before the master of the home returned. She rang the bell at the front door and waited.

There was a long moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps coming towards her. The large wooden door opened at the hand of a very imposing butler. He had oiled grey hair and a perfectly groomed mustache covered his upper lip. “Can I help you, miss?” he asked her.

“I…uh…I need to speak with Mr. Gold,” she said.

The butler’s grey eyes took in the top of her ratty hat, her fraying coat and wool skirt. “Do you have an appointment with him?” he asked. He knew the answer was bound to be no.

“I have something important to tell him.”

“Well I’m afraid he is not here at the moment. We do not know the exact time to expect him.”

“May I wait then?” she asked, “Please? It’s very important that I see him.”

“Gordon?” a woman’s voice called out, “Who is it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t rightfully know, Miss Swan. Someone who wants to see Mr. Gold.”

A pretty woman with blond hair, uncommonly unpinned and hanging loose around her shoulders, appeared at the butler’s side. It took a moment for Belle to recognize her last name. Emma Swan, the woman Robert said was being courted by his son. Miss Swan was staring at her like she was a parasite instead of a person.

“What do you want?” Miss Swan demanded.

“I…I need to see Mr. Gold.”

“Why? What do you want with him?”

“I…” The coat managed to hide her condition fairly well, something she was grateful for. She couldn’t tell Emma that she was pregnant with her suitor’s half-sibling. “I know some…personal information about the sinking of the Titanic, actually I—.”

“Not this again,” Emma said with a sigh, “Look, you’re the fifth person to come here saying you know something about the sinking.”

“What?” Belle asked.

“Look, he is trying to heal, we all are, and you people aren’t helping him. Let the poor man be. Go bother someone else for a story, but you’re not welcome here.”

Emma slammed the heavy door shut, leaving Belle standing on the threshold alone. She shuffled away, swallowing back her tears until she was off Robert’s property. There was a gentle nudge in her belly, like her baby was trying to offer her what meager comfort it could. “I won’t give up, darling,” she said, patting her belly as her eyes glistened, “I’ll just have to find another way.”

Even though her money was dwindling, Belle went to the automat for lunch where she even indulged in a cherry pie to settle her sweet tooth and cheer her up a bit. She realized that poor Neal was undoubtedly still mourning the loss of his father. She hadn’t thought of people coming to his home to try and tell him some lies about the sinking, no doubt hoping for a bit of money in exchange for some story. Now she was faced with the very real possibility that he wouldn’t believe her if she told him everything. The only proof she had was Robert’s ring. Would that be enough to convince him that she was telling the truth about her romance with Robert? If it wasn’t…she couldn’t think about that. She may shatter completely if she did.

She returned to her new friends’ house two nickels poorer and definitely disheartened. She couldn’t give up, but she needed to reassess her plans on how to talk to Bailey Gold about it. It started raining halfway there, so she walked in dripping and feeling just as good as she looked.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Mantis said, “You must be freezing.” She quickly helped Belle peel off her ragged coat. She settled her onto their settee by the fire with a blanket. She left and returned with some tea and cookies for Belle. “Here, this will warm you up.”

“Thank you,” she said, “but you needn’t go through all of this trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth said, “I need a break from my article anyways.”

Belle couldn’t help but envy this woman. She had grown up in luxury, but once it was gone she had few skills to support herself. Meanwhile, Elizabeth wrote for a ladies journal and her husband was a grocer. Even though they didn’t have much, they knew how to make themselves comfortable with what they had.

“So how did your business go?” Elizabeth asked over her own cup of tea.

Belle stared into her cup. “Not every well.”

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, but thank you. I’m going to try again though.”

“That’s the spirit,” Elizabeth said with a smile, “It’s the twentieth century. We ladies can do anything as long as we don’t give up.”

Belle smiled back at her. She reminded her of her Aunt Lydia, strong and determined to prove that women could conquer the world.

The door opened again and Mr. Mantis swept into the room looking just as drenched as Belle. “The whole city may be underwater by morning,” he announced, putting away his coat and hat before taking a seat beside his wife.

“How was your day?” she asked him.

“Good. The store is busy now that Gold opened up the factory.”

Belle swallowed her cookie. “Gold? As in Robert Gold?”

“Yes, he opened the factory last month, brought in a lot of work for the people here.”

“But…Robert Gold,” Belle said, fighting back tears, “He died. You must mean his son.”

“No, no, he’s quite alive. It was in all the papers.”

“What?” Belle gasped out.

“That’s right,” Elizabeth said, “He survived the sinking just like you did, Belle. He was terribly ill though so he was assumed to be dead, but he actually survived.”

“And doing quite well if the factory is any indication,” Mr. Mantis said.

“He’s alive,” Belle whispered.

“Yes, though they say he has no memory of the voyage.”

Her heart lurched in her chest. “No memory?”

Mr. Mantis nodded again. “Suffered a blow to the head or something. I don’t know the particulars.”

Elizabeth tilted her head to the side. “Belle, you look awfully pale. Are you feeling alright?”

Belle didn’t know how to answer. Her mind was buzzing while her heart hammered against her ribs. Alive. Robert was alive.

Robert was alive!

Tears pricked at her eyes as she climbed shakily to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I…I think I need to lie down for a few moments.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, no, I just need to rest, but thank you.”

Belle quickly hurried to her borrowed room, finally letting the tears fall. She smiled into her pillow, squeezing it to her chest. “He’s alive,” she whispered to her no one, one hand rubbing at her belly, “He’s alive.”

But he didn’t remember.

That cold truth flooded through her mirth. Robert didn’t remember her. He didn’t remember what they had together. What if he refused to believe her?

Belle pulled the chain out from under her dress and pressed it to her heart. She still had to try. She loved him and he was alive. She was going to find a way to tell him everything that happened between them and how much she loved him. Elizabeth and Aunt Lydia were right, this was their century and she was going to get what she wanted.

———————————————————————————————————————

It was cold, so cold that it felt like needles were piercing every inch of Gold’s skin. He could hear screaming, groaning, cries of mercy though none of it would be answered. The water was thicker than churned butter. He didn’t know what he was trying to do, why he was fighting this losing battle, but he couldn’t give up. There was something waiting for him, something…

The air he breathed hurt his lungs, but he had to endure it. He kept bumping into people, but when he looked into their faces, they were dead. Some looked asleep except they were as white as snow, but others were frozen in their final wails for life. He could still hear screaming, but every person he found was already gone. Was he the last soul alive?

Still, he kept moving, kept swimming through the thick, painful water. Each breath froze him even more. Each new scream pierced through his mind. Each face was dead and cold. When would he join them? But he carried, on, kept fighting but he didn’t even know what he was fighting for.

Was he looking for someone? Yes, that was it. There was someone he needed to find, someone very important to him. But it was so cold, seeping even the memory of warmth out of him.

His shoulder brushed up against someone else in the water. Some part of him wanted to turn away, what was the point since clearly he was the only person left alive, but the need to see, to find this other person, the hope that couldn’t be denied that maybe he was wrong, won him over. It took an effort to turn, his strength nearly gone, but finally he saw that it was a young man facedown in the water.

Gold couldn’t stop looking at the man. There was something about him that was familiar, something he felt he should see. He wanted to lift up his head, but he had no strength left. Instead, he just bobbed around waiting for something to happen. Maybe he was simply waiting to die.

There must have been a wave that rolled by because the man’s head suddenly tipped back, giving Gold a clear, horrifying view of his face.

“Bae?” he gasped out.

His son, his precious baby boy, was as pale as fresh snow. His eyes were shut forever. Tiny crystals of ice were dusted along his eyebrows and frosted into his hair.

“No!” he shouted, trying to reach for his son, but his arms refused to move. “No, Bae, no! No!”

“Bae!” Gold woke up screaming his son’s name. His heart was pounding into his chest so hard he thought it would burst out. Sweat had soaked through his pajamas and into the sheets. He leapt out of his bed, limping badly. His knee screamed in pain, but he didn’t feel it. He wrenched the door to his bedroom open and grappled his way into the hall.

“Papa?” he heard Bae ask from behind his bedroom door. Gold tried to turn the handle, but his hands were shaking too much to get a grip on it. His son finished the job for him. “Papa, what’s—?”

Gold sobbed out his name and pulled his son into his chest. He did nothing to hide his tears. The image of his son, frozen in the water, was burned into his mind. He wasn’t sure he could ever close his eyes again without seeing it.

Bae gently pushed him away, but his father refused to let go of his shoulders. He couldn’t stop the sobs even if he wanted to. “Papa, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“I can’t do it!” he cried out, “I’m sorry, son, but I can’t!” Gold felt his bad knee give away and he let himself go. Bae managed to keep him from falling hard, gently helping his father down to the ground. All the while, Gold couldn’t stop weeping, his heart still remembering the pain of his son’s death in his dreams.

Bae didn’t say anything else; just let his father keep a death grip on him. He wanted to say something, to tell him that everything would be fine, but he wasn’t sure he would believe him. So he just held him for the rest of the night, until his father stopped crying like a helpless child.

There really was only one option left for Belle and it certainly wasn’t one she expected to ever take. She hadn’t been to her cousin Cora’s house since they had left for Europe last year. It was a beautiful Tudor mansion, full of priceless antiques and carefully tended gardens. Belle had been too afraid to touch a thing in the place before; certain if she smudged anything she would never hear the end of it. This was her last hope. If she couldn’t get Cora or Regina to help her, than she had no way of meeting Robert and explaining everything that they had shared.

Belle did her best to wash up first at the Mantis’ house, but she knew she still looked ragged and out of place with the class she’d been born into. At six months pregnant, her condition was very much noticeable, even if she wore larger clothes. She gritted her teeth at the thought of Cora seeing her like this. She wasn’t ashamed that she was pregnant, but she knew her cousin would love seeing her brought down so low. Cora would probably want to cast her out, but Regina… Yes, Regina would help her. They hadn’t started out as friends, but their clandestine loves had brought them together.

As she walked down the block to Cora’s home, Belle thought about poor Daniel. She remembered how hurt Regina was on the Carpathia when she learned he was gone. He had been such a gentle, kind man. Regina must still miss him terribly. She just had to help her. If their positions were reversed, Belle would do everything she could to help her friend.

It took a moment for the housekeeper to recognize Belle, but she was kind enough to fetch her a cup of hot tea once she did. Belle sat in the receiving room, cradling the cup in her hand to savor the warmth. There was a plate of sandwiches too and it took all she had to remember her manners and eat them with dainty bites instead of wolfing down the whole plate. Three were gone when the door opened. Cora breezed in first, wearing a deep red dress and matching lip paint. Regina was behind her in black. Cora’s dark eyes slowly took in Belle’s rumpled hair, the worn, frayed dress, and her scuffed shoes. She smiled at her gleefully. “Belle, darling, this is quite a surprise.”

Belle stood up, her dress straightening over the curve of her stomach. Regina let out a gasp, but Cora managed to hold her composure together. For a moment, only a moment, her eyes flashed with something bitter. Her smile fell away. “Quite a surprise indeed.”

“I need your help,” Belle said.

“Clearly, but I’m not sure what I can do for you. I can’t wish that away.” Cora waved her hand towards her belly.

Belle rubbed at her stomach, glaring at her. “It’s Robert’s child.”

That same bitterness flickered in her eyes, but other than that Cora didn’t budge an inch. Regina was a different story. Her chin dropped to her chest. “Gold? Why aren’t you with him then?”

“He doesn’t know,” Belle said, “I didn’t know he was alive. After the sinking…I just didn’t want to hear anything about it. I had no idea he survived until two days ago.”

Cora shook her head. “Well, this is indeed quite a pickle you are in. Why haven’t you just told him yourself?”

“I tried, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

“I suppose that isn’t so surprising considering you look like you were born in a gutter.”

It took everything Belle had to swallow back her pride there. She had to think of her child and, besides this wasn’t about Cora really. It was Regina who she had her hopes pinned on.

“Please,” Belle begged, looking at Regina, “Please, you have to talk to Robert. You don’t have to tell him about the baby, just get him to come see me. I know he doesn’t remember me, but if I can just explain everything to him, then I’m sure he can help me.”

“And why should he believe you?” Cora asked.

Belle reached under her coat, fingering for the chain around her neck. She pulled it out to show her the gold ring with the glassy blue stone. “He gave me this on the Titanic. He said it was important to him. He’ll have to at least listen to me when he sees I have this.”

Cora eyed the ring like it was a poisonous dart. It was the only link she had to Robert aside from the child she carried. He had to know that something had happened between them. This was her only chance to see Robert and finally find that happy ending she thought had sunk into the ocean along with fifteen hundred innocent lives.

Cora quietly walked over and poured herself a cup of tea and then sat on the couch. Regina followed her mother to the couch but did not take her own cup. Belle remained standing, just watching as her older cousin quietly sipped her tea.

“What if he doesn’t want to listen?” Cora asked her.

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t he?”

“You’re right that he didn’t remember you,” Cora said, “but that was months ago, dear, he remembers everything now. Including the fact that you were supposed to be getting married.”

Robert remembered? If that was true, then why hadn’t he come for her? He knew about her engagement and how she didn’t want it. Certainly Gaston wouldn’t have stopped him.

“You’re lying,” Belle said flatly. That was the only explanation.

“I’m not,” she insisted, “He realized that you needed to be with someone closer to your own age. He told me that what you two had on the Titanic was special, but nearly dying made him see that you deserved more than him.”

A knot formed in the pit of Belle’s stomach, no in her very heart. Something in those words sounded like Robert. Hadn’t he worried about the age difference between them? Perhaps after he recovered he had doubted what they had. Perhaps hearing she was engaged had made him question if he was the right choice for her.

No, she couldn’t accept that. She could still remember his words. “Four days is not enough time, but know that I have loved you for four lifetimes in those days.” Robert couldn’t have just set all of that aside. She couldn’t believe it.

“No,” she said, blinking back furious tears, “No I will never believe that. You are just a cruel, heartless woman, just like he said. I never should have come here.”

Belle completely ignored all of the manners and customs she’d been taught as a child. She didn’t thank Cora or even bid her goodbye, just marched past them intent towards the door. She would find some other way to talk to Robert. Perhaps she could send him a letter. There had to be some other way.

“Belle. Belle wait!” she heard Regina call after her.

Regina. This was her salvation, her chance to finally get to Robert. Her heart leapt in her chest. She hastily swiped back the few angry tears that had spilled down her cheeks, and turned around to see her cousin.

“Please,” she whispered to Regina, “You have to help me. I know you can. Just tell Robert that I need to speak with him.”

“Belle,” she said quietly, “I can’t do that.”

“Please, you have to,” she begged.

“No, you don’t understand…my mother…she didn’t lie.”

It felt like a bullet struck her straight into her heart. It was a pain she hadn’t felt since she was told Robert was dead. No, no, this just couldn’t be possible. Belle didn’t realize she’d said that out loud, shaking her head at Regina. “I don’t believe you.”

“Belle, I’m sorry,” Regina said calmly, “I did tell you before on the Titanic that you couldn’t be sure of him. I even told you about his history with my mother.”

“Are you saying he’s back together with her?” Belle asked, “I can’t believe that. He couldn’t stand her.”

“That night changed a lot of things,” Regina said, “I know it changed me. Can you say it couldn’t have changed him?”

There was no denying that possibility. The whole world had shattered when that ship went down. Slowly, things were rebuilding, but no one was the same. They never could be the way they were before. But this…could it really be true?

Tears spilled down Belle’s cheeks. “Why are you saying this?” she whispered.

Regina ducked her head slightly. “Because it’s the truth. Why would I lie to you about this?”

There it was, the one thing Belle couldn’t deny. Regina had no reason to make any of this up, nothing to gain by lying to her. But that meant….

Everything inside of Belle broke again, just like it did in April. The pain in her heart ripped through her, sobs breaking out of her throat like a wild animal loosed from its cage. Regina pulled her into her arms and let her soak her blouse with her tears. It felt like she was loosing Robert all over again. Could he really have let all that they’d meant to each other just slip away? Had it really been all in her head?

“Regina,” Belle said through her sobs, “I don’t know what to do. Should I see him? Should I tell him?”

“No,” Regina said right away, “He’s moved on with his life and you should too. You should leave town, find some place where no one knows about you. You can start a new life with your baby, maybe even meet someone else.”

Belle couldn’t imagine anything like that happening, not while her heart was freshly broken. She only really had one option left now, and Regina was right, she needed to leave the city and find a safe place to stay until the baby was born.

“Wait a moment,” Regina said, hurrying around the corner and out of sight. She came back a few minutes later with a few bills. “It’s not a lot,” Regina said sadly, “But I hope it helps.”

It stung her pride, but Belle didn’t have any alternative than to swallow the bitter sting and accept the money. “Thank you,” she said after a shaky breath, “You have been so unbelievably kind, Regina.”

She glanced away for a moment and nodded once. “Take care of yourself, Belle.”

“I will.” It was all she could do now.

Belle walked away from her cousin and all of her dreams that were shattered in that house. It felt like she was adrift on the Atlantic again, just waiting for someone to save her. There was no ship coming this time, no one to help her now. She was truly on her own now.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Regina stood there after the door shut behind Belle, watching to see if she would turn back. A lot was rolling through her, the fire of anger most of all, and the bitter taste of guilt beneath all of that which she was trying to ignore.

A clapping sounded behind her, and she squeezed her eyes shut before she turned around to face her mother. Cora was giving her that devious grin Regina had seen all of her life. “That was quite a performance,” her mother complimented her, “I admit some surprise. I didn’t expect you to back me up on this.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Oh I’m sure you didn’t. Care to tell me why though? I thought you liked Belle.”

“I do,” Regina said.

“Then why did you lie to her like that and send her out with only some money and not on her way to Robert’s house?”

The fire in her heart blazed to life again at the mention of Gold. “Daniel is dead because of him,” Regina hissed out, “He convinced him not to get on the lifeboat. If he hadn’t done that, Daniel would still be alive.”

They were supposed to be married now, living in the country with a horse farm. They would have been spending their days riding together, and their nights curled up by the fire. They were supposed to have children, grandchildren, everything. But Daniel was gone. She didn’t even have a body to bury, just a cold stone to mark his memory in the local churchyard.

“Why should Gold get everything I’ll never have?” she growled, tears spilling down her cheeks, “He let Daniel die. He should have died out there too. Well, he’ll never have this at least.”

Regina hoped he would never find Belle or her baby. One day he could remember, but he’d never know what happened to them or where they were. That was a sweet thought indeed.

Dr. Hopper had only just returned from lunch when the door to his office burst open. He blinked in astonishment at the sight of Robert Gold. Considering how their sessions had gone so far, it was certainly a surprise to see him.

“Robert, I thought our session wasn’t until tomorrow. Is something wrong? Can I help you?”

“You can take me off of your schedule,” Gold told him, “I won’t be returning here.”

“What? But, you have been doing so well.”

“I thank you for your concern, but I don’t feel like I am,” Gold told him tightly, “Every night, I’m afraid of what I’ll dream, what new horror I will experience.”

“I warned you that you could experience nightmares because of this,” Hopper reminded him, “It’s your mind’s way of protecting you from remembering what you experienced, but the trauma is still there whether you remember it or not.”

“So why do I have to remember?” Gold questioned him, his grip tightening on his cane. “The more I remember, the worse the nightmares get. I can’t sleep at night, doctor. I can’t function like this. Why do I even want to remember that night? I don’t want to relive seeing people drown or freeze to death. I don’t want to remember how I nearly died.”

“But Robert,” Hopper said, trying to be as rational as possible, “the trauma won’t go away, you’re right, but you have to face it in order to overcome it. Doing nothing could harm you even more.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Gold said, “Thank you for your time, Dr. Hopper, but I just can’t do this anymore.”

Mr. Gold turned towards the door and Archie could already see another soul lost about to enter the world again. It had happened before, a patient quitting too soon. It never ended well.

“Robert, please,” Archie called out to him, “You said there was something important you thought was missing, something you needed to remember. The woman you see in your dreams, she could be a part of that. Don’t you want to find out?”

Gold turned back from the door to look at him, but the answer was clear on his face. “You said you didn’t think she was real,” Gold said calmly, “To be honest, I can’t imagine anything important from that voyage that would be worth remembering. I’d rather pretend that none of it ever happened.”

Gold turned back to the door and opened it, quietly shutting it behind him. Archie didn’t stop him this time.

#a night to remember #tinny writes fics #rumbelle #rumbelle fic

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lotus0kid · 7 years

Note

Rumbelle meet at a grief support group.

OUaT: Anniversary Fic the 6th

((Warning: dead parent talk. The book featured at the end is by Pat Thomas.))

Gold finishes updating his account book and checks hiswatch. He pulls on his coat and gloves, andgoes to his car. He takes a deliberate wrongturn out of town, then doubles back to continue on to the next little patch ofcivilization along the Maine coast. Hisprecautions eat into his time cushion so he only has a few minutes to limp intothe brightly-lit community center and down the hall to an all-purposeroom. A sign taped to the room’s doorreads: “PARENTAL LOSS GRIEF GROUP 7PM TO 9PM”.

He sees the usual attendees have all arrived, getting cupsof water or a cookie from a tray set on a table pushed against one wall. There are some new faces, including one hecan’t help giving a second glance- a young woman talking with Dr. Hopper. The fluorescent lights catch on her richbrown hair and sky blue eyes. Gold quicklytrains his gaze on the floor, reminding himself firmly this isn’t a bloodyspeed-dating event. He takes off hisgloves, tucking them in a pocket before laying his coat across the back of a foldingchair among the ones arranged in a circle. He sits with his cane leaning against his thigh and waits for everyoneelse to take their places.

Once the group is settled, with the young woman choosing thechair directly across from Gold, Dr. Hopper greets them in his soft, carefulvoice, “Hello, everyone. I’m glad to seeyou all. Tonight, we’ll start out bysharing our loss. Anyone who wants tospeak is more than welcome. If you’renew and aren’t ready to share, listening is perfectly fine. Aaron, would you like to go first?”

A corner of Gold’s mouth curls up. “He starts with me because what happened wasso bad it makes everyone else feel better.”

Faint laughter floats up from the circle, most of it uncomfortable,but Gold notices genuine amusement on the young woman’s face.

“It’s not a competition, Aaron,” Hopper gently chides him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, “Well, all right then. Up to the age of nine, I lived with myfather. And I loved him, the way a dogloves a cruel master. Even after heabandoned me, I still had to teach myself to hate him. Then- let’s see, about six months back- heshows up. I’ve done well in life, nothanks to him, of course I assumed he’d heard and was after money. He says he’s sick. I don’t believe him. I tell him to fuck off, that he had hischance to be a dad and he gave it up, I didn’t owe him anything. A little while later, a doctor rings me. Says my father’s dying. Somehow, I still think it’s a trick, ascam. That’s all my father was good at,after all. Another week goes by, and hecomes back again. And I tell him to fuckoff again. He begs me to listen, forgivehim before it’s too late. I don’t doeither. I shove him away. And he… He just collapses, like he’s made of paper. And he died, there in my front hall.”

The image of the man who once seemed like a titan now lyingin a crumpled heap on the floor is burned into Gold’s mind. He lets himself stare at it for a silentmoment.

“I didn’t expect to feel much about it. He was a bastard, who lived like a teenagerinstead of a man. It’s only surprisinghe made it as long as he did. But Ican’t…” He coughs against his tightening throat. “I can’t let it go. I can’t let him go. Still a little dog, running after his master.”

His gaze wanders to the young woman, morbidly curious abouther reaction to his tale of woe. Hefinds her looking back steadily, a pure beacon of sympathy. He looks away.

“Thank you for sharing, Aaron,” Hopper says, “It’s importantto remember that the relationship you had with your parent is complicated,sometimes it can be more negative than positive. Their death amplifies a lot of the feelingsthat are part of that relationship. Andit takes time to process. Who else wouldlike to share?”

Hopper’s words are more for the new people than Gold- theyaren’t anything he hasn’t heard already. Processing, that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. Like if he puts the pieces of his grief inthe right order, it will slot into his brain somewhere in the back where hewon’t have to think about it anymore. Itseems as much shite as it did when he first heard it. And yet, even he knows coming here is betterthan sitting alone in his big house, emptying bottles of scotch. Or nearly breaking down in the middle ofcollecting rent from Michael Tillman when his son ran into the room to askabout dinner.

He has to deal with this, process it. At least beforehis own son’s semi-annual visit. Milahcan’t find out how unstable Gold’s become or she might take him back to courtto steal even more custody. And probablymore alimony, to pay the nannies who actually raise Neal while she sails offwith Jones again.

The meeting continues, with more sad stories shared and inthe second half a discussion of the values passed along by the dearlydeparted. Gold stays silent during this,as does the young woman. She doesn’t saya word the whole meeting, but gives everyone her earnest attention.

Gold leaves as soon as the meeting ends, his mind the usualmess of muddy emotions and no answers. He’s halfway down the hall when someone calls, “Aaron?”

He pauses and turns, and no one but the young woman jogstoward him, gorgeous hair bouncing on her shoulders. It’s such an arresting sight it takes far toolong for him to say, “Yes?”

“These fell out of your pocket,” she replies in a charmingAustralian accent while holding out his gloves.

“Oh, right, thank you.” Gold takes the gloves, half embarrassed and half glad for hiserror. “You, ah- you’re new to thegroup, aren’t you?”

She bites her lower lip for a tantalizing instant. “Yeah, I am. I’m Belle.”

Belle. Beautiful. Of course. “Hello, Belle. Sorry for… whatever brought you here.”

She winces and he kicks himself. “Thanks. Anyway, um, I’ve got to go.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Goodnight.”

“G’night.” She whipsaround and jogs back down the hall.

“Well done,” Gold grumbles at himself. Not that he expected her to fall into hisarms, but he could at least not shine a spotlight on her trauma. He escapes from the community center and backto his car, pressing the gas to get back to Storybrooke as quickly as possible.

—

Belle is at the next meeting, and this time Hopper asks herto share. Her eyes widen and he seems asecond away from letting her off the hook, but she says, “Okay. I can… I can try.”

“Thank you, Belle.”

“Well, um… Hi, everyone. Uh, so, a little while ago…” She stops and frowns at her lap. Hopper again seems about to move on, but she speaks again, forcing thewords out, “My mother was very important to me. She was my best friend. She waseverything I wanted to be. She wassmart. And kind. And… and so brave. She did what she wanted with her life. So, um… We were in the car together. Idon’t even remember where we were going. There was an accident, and we went off the road, into a river. My mum got me out, but she didn’t makeit. And now it’s like… Everything Ido- it’s all about her. If I’m not… IfI don’t do something worthwhile, then it’s like… what was the point of losingher?” Belle swallows hard, blinks awaytears. “So yeah. That’s about it.”

Gold feels a sting in his own eyes, despite how little hecan relate to her story. Malcolm Goldisn’t worth mourning, which makes his grief all the more irritating. But for him to die saving Gold- he’s not surehow Belle lives with the pressure. Hewatches her grab one of the readily-available tissues and blow her nose. Above the white wad, her eyes dart to Goldand away before he can arrange his features into any kind of warm and caringconfiguration. Tonight after sharingpersonal stories the group discusses setting up small memorials at home, anactivity Gold will not be taking part in. He thinks Belle might be in danger of devoting her entire living spaceto honoring her mother, if she isn’t careful.

Somehow as the meeting breaks up Gold finds himself holdingthe door for Belle. And, even moreimplausibly, she falls into step with him on the way out of the communitycenter.

“Can I tell you something?” she murmurs.

“Uh, what?” he suavely responds.

“I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to be getting out ofthese meetings. I don’t feelbetter. I really hope I don’t have totell the whole story again. Just layingit all out like that is not my favorite thing to do.”

“That might be the point of it though,” Gold offers, “Likegoing up in tall buildings when you’re afraid of heights. If you… let yourself feel the grief againand again, maybe it starts to hurt less.”

“Is that how it’s been for you?” Belle asks, looking at himwith worried wrinkles set in her forehead.

“I said ‘maybe,’ didn’t I?” he quips, then sighs, “It’sgoing to be hard for a while. You’veonly been to two meetings. Give yourselftime to…”

“To ‘process’?” she says with a cocked eyebrow.

Gold can’t help chuckling. “Yeah, whatever that means.”

Belle giggles, and Gold feels like Prince Charming. “Really though, how are you dealing withthings? It sounds like it was prettyintense, what you went through.”

Gold tries not to gape at her, the first person to actuallycare about his well-being, aside from Neal. He half-shrugs. “I take it oneday at a time, I suppose. Try to focuson the good things. Give myselfsomething to look forward to.” Neal’supcoming visit is the one shining light on Gold’s horizon.

“Right, right…” Belle murmurs with an odd hunger in hereyes.

“Anyway, um, I have to go. Good night.”

She blinks and steps back, “Oh, yeah, okay. Good night.”

“See you at the next meeting?”

Her mouth twists into a smile. “Sure.”

Gold returns to his car with a fluttery feeling in hisstomach he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

—

As twisted as it is, Gold is actually eager to go to thenext meeting. He takes the direct routefrom Storybrooke, breaking his pattern of disguising his destination. Just once won’t hurt. People can’t be that interested in spying onthe town’s miserly beast of a landlord. He’s probably been overly paranoid from the start.

He spots Belle on her mobile outside the community center onhis way in. When he gives her a wave asshe looks up, she stuffs the device into her coat pocket and smiles wide. “Hey, it’s good to see you.”

A tiny pulse of heat thrums through his veins. “And you. Shall we?”

“I guess so.”

After the attendees are given the chance to tell theirstories, the discussion moves to the recent events in their lives they wishthey could share with the people they’ve lost.

“I wish…” Gold starts, hardly realizing he’s spoken whenthe words come out. The group’s focuscomes to him, and the weight of their expectant silence has him looking only atBelle. Speaking only to her. “I wish my father had known about myson. Not met him, he- he didn’t belongaround children. But… I love Neal so much. I would do anything for him. I don’t know, maybe I just want to gloatabout it. That I’m a better dad than him. Or I try to be, at least. It isn’t easy, I can say that. But I’ll never run, like he did.”

“Thank you, Aaron,” Hopper says, “I’m sure all of theparents here know how healing it can be to spend time with their children. But I’d advise you all to be careful not to suppressyour grief for the sake of them. Deathis a part of life. Someday they’ll loseyou too. It’s important to set anexample of how to grieve in a healthy way. It may be one of the most important lessons you’ll teach your children.”

Somehow that never occurred to Gold, that the day is comingwhen he will leave Neal. Not in the sameway he was left, but just as permanently. The immutable fact chills him, and he knows his dread is plain on hisface from the concern Belle is beaming at him. The meeting ends soon after, but Gold stays seated while everyone elsestands and prepares to go. He just needsa moment alone to think, and he decides he shouldn’t be driving a car when ithappens.

Belle lags behind though she’s put on her coat, and he can’ttell if he’s glad for it or not as she wanders over to his chair and asks, “Hey, are you okay?”

Gold’s muddy mess of emotions only allows him to shrug.

“Do you want to talk about it? Come on, we can go-” She’s interrupted by a buzz from herpocket. He watches her take her mobileout, and her eyes widen as she looks at the screen, jumping from it to Gold andback. “Oh, um, excuse me, I’ll just be aminute…”

Gold frowns as she all but bolts from the room. Fresh worry finds him over what might be thematter with Belle. She didn’t speakthroughout the meeting, hardly seemed engaged at all until Gold’s littlespeech. He finds himself standing,shrugging into his coat, and nodding to Hopper before leaving the room. He spots Belle with the mobile held to herear as she pushes through the community center’s main entrance doors.

He follows, trailing her several steps down the sidewalk, movingjust close enough to hear her say, “Sure, Mum, that sounds fine.”

Gold freezes. Atfirst he’s nearly convinced he misheard, that she couldn’t possibly be talkingto her mother.

“Five o’clock, yes, Dad already told me. I’ll be there. Okay, love you too, Mum. Bye.”

Still he’s willing to believe the poisonous thoughtsswirling in his head are just his trusty paranoia. But then Belle puts the mobile away and turnsaround. The guilt that fills her face atthe sight of him floods Gold with anger. “What is this?” he growls.

“I, um… please, j-just let me explain,” Belle stammers.

“Why are you here? Aside from Hopper you never spoke to anyone but me. Why? Who else have you been talking to? Is it Regina?” The illustriousMayor Mills has been digging for information on Gold’s father since theambulance left his house. Gold’s spenthalf a fortune burying Malcolm’s host of indiscretions. He never thought she’d stoop so low as tosend a spy into a grief support meeting.

“I don’t know who Regina is, I swear. I… I’m a writer.”

The non sequitur is just enough to interrupt Gold’s mountingrage. “What the hell are you talkingabout?”

“I write. Books. Look, I didn’t lie. My mother died saving me from a sinking car. It was in the news, you can look it up. Her name was Colette French. It happened in Melbourne on Septembertenth-” She pauses, shame writhing onher face, “1992.”

The meeting is only for the recently bereaved. It’s not impossible Hopper made an exception,but everything about Belle in this moment says he has no idea. “If that’s true, who were you just talkingto?”

“My stepmother, Elisa. She’s been as good as my mum for the last fifteen years, so that’s whatI call her.”

“Convenient,” Gold snaps, “And none of that explains whyyou’re here.”

Belle heaves a breath, eyes briefly slipping shut inanguish. “I’m writing a book. And… it involves a character losingsomeone. I- I know, I could’ve justdrawn on my own experience. But I was soyoung when it happened. And I needed adifferent perspective. A man’sperspective, on losing his father. Afather who had left him.”

Gold gapes at her, violation roaring through him. “So, that was it. The only reason you spoke to me. To find out what it’s like when a man’sworthless father drops dead on his door step. What the hell is wrong withyou?”

Shoulders hunched with misery, Belle mutters into her chest,“It has to be perfect.”

Gold sneers, “Ah, right, for your poor sainted hero mum, eh?”

Belle’s eyes jump to him and flash with anger as she bitesout, “Don’t.”

“Oh, excuse me,” he simpers, “Do you not like people tomention her? At least not while you’re busycannibalizing their grief for the sake of entertainment.”

Misery rushes back into her face. “I’m sorry. I won’t write it. I promise I won’t.”

“That is for goddamn certain. If I ever hear of you publishing a book, youcan at least count on making one sale. I’ll read every bloody word, and if it sounds even remotely likeanything I’ve said, I will ruinyou. Is that clear?”

She nods at her shoes. “Very.”

“Wonderful. Solong.” He stalks past her, taking deepbreaths to clear his mind for the drive home.

Well, so much for his adventure in grief counseling. Looks like he’s back to downing scotchalone. That’ll have to do.

—

Gold smiles wide as an airport attendant leads Neal intoBaggage Claim.

“Papa!” the boy cries and races to close the distancebetween them and throw himself into Gold’s arms. He only staggers slightly on his bad leg,which is impressive considering how much bigger Neal is than the last time Goldsaw him.

“Hello, son, did you have a good trip?” he murmurs into Neal’s hair.

“It took forever! Can we go home?”

“Of course.”

A few hours later, they’re in Gold’s house sharing a pizzaand catching up. Neal’s told him justabout everything there is to know about the third grade. Gold has devoured every word and eagerlyasks, “What else?”

“Uh, well- oh!” Theboy’s face lights up and he bounds off to where his backpack rests against thesofa. He digs in it for a bit and runsback. “Look, I got another Giddy book.”

“Did you?” Gold iswell-versed in the Giddy series Nealhas been reading over the last few months. He can name all the characters and settings and he’s been spoiled forevery plot twist. However, he was notaware until this moment of the author’s name. Belle French glares up athim from the book’s vibrant cover. Withhis emotions threatening to swirl into another muddy mess, he shoves it alldown and plasters on another smile for Neal. “What’s Giddy up to this time, huh?”

“Well, I don’t know everything yet, because I just started. Hey, did you know the writer lives near here?”

“I do now.”

“And, did you know? Sometimeswriters go places and they’ll sign your book for you.”

“That they do.”

“If the Giddy ladysigns books somewhere, can we go?”

Gold would rather set his own hair on fire. “Of course we can.”

After Neal goes to sleep, Gold reads the book from cover tocover. Of course it was probably wellinto production before he even met Belle, but he has to be sure. Also, for kid-lit, it’s actually quite good,damn it all. He finds himself staring atthe photo of her on the back. The muddymess rears up again, and now, alone in the dark, he lets it claim him for awhile.

He’s painfully aware of Belle’s unexpected and unwantedpresence in his life for the next several months as Neal continues to plowthrough her Giddy books. At the end of every update Neal gives him, hereminds Gold to take him to a signing, if there is one. And, to Gold’s dismay, one August afternoonNeal informs him that such an event is happening, right nearby. “Mom said I can’t go. But can I mail you my books to getsigned? Pleeeaaase?”

“Sure, all right,” Gold says through a tight smile. He reminds himself to expect an invoice fromMilah for the shipping.

“Yay! Thank you,thank you, thank you!” Gold basks inNeal’s joy for as long as he can before the dread kicks in.

No matter. Once Nealgives him the time and place, he vows to go and get it done. It’s not like he needs to have a three-hourchat with Belle. Just in and out. Short and sweet. Maybe he’ll get lucky and there won’t be apersonalized signing, just a stack of autographed copies of the new productshe’s out hawking. He’ll buy whatever itis for Neal and call it a day.

He does his best not to even think about it until the lastpossible moment. Which is why he’scaught unawares by the fact that it isn’t a new Giddy book Belle’s written. It’s something else. Somethingcalled I Miss You. It’s a book for kids Neal’s age oryounger. It’s bright and colorful, andit describes what death is and what happens when a loved one dies. Feeling slightly dazed, Gold gravitates tothe rows of folding chairs set before a small lectern and sits down in theback.

With a tall stack of Giddybooks on his knee, Gold watches as Storybrooke Public Library’s managerintroduces Belle to the audience. Shecomes to the lectern holding a copy of IMiss You and gives everyone a smile which falters the second her eyes landon Gold. Her gaze drops briefly and sheswallows behind a frown. Then she setsthe book on the lectern and opens it. “Thanks for having me here today. I hope you like the book. I Miss You, by Belle French, illustratedby Leslie Harker.” She begins to read, “Everyday someone is born. And every daysomeone dies…”

The book is written simply and clearly. It assures children that death is natural, asis their varied reactions to it. Thatthey don’t need to blame themselves when it happens. It presents questions that invite children toshare their feelings and experiences when a death occurs. It’s not perfect. It’s gentle, and it’s beautiful.

She takes a few questions afterwards. “What inspired you to write this?” someoneasks.

“Well, mainly… this is the book I wish I’d had when I lostmy mother as a child. I’ve been, um,processing that lately. And it just feltlike something I had to do.”

Signed copies are available as a gift in exchange for adonation to the library. Gold takes twoand hands the manager a substantial check. “You can have them personalized if you want, sir,” the manager says,gesturing to where Belle is sitting behind a table.

Gold hefts the Giddystack and his copies of I Miss Youunder his free arm, mentally recites his vow, and gets in the growing queue. His heart thuds a little harder as everyperson ahead of him has their moment with Belle and departs. When he finally stands before her, sheventures the tiniest, wariest smile and murmurs, “Hey.”

“My son loves your books,” he states.

He sets the stack in front of Belle, who scans it up anddown with raised eyebrows. “I suppose hedoes. His name is Neal, right?”

Gold can’t imagine why she remembers, and he almost wants tobe angry she does. “It is.”

It takes several minutes that Gold spends in silence andmore than mild discomfort, but eventually Belle writes a unique message forNeal in every book. She pushes the stackback to him, eyes focused on it while she says, “Thank you for coming, Aaron. It means a lot.”

He could snarl that it wasn’t his choice, he’s only here forNeal, he couldn’t care less about her or her books. Instead he returns the stack to its placeunder his arm and gives her a nod. “Goodnight, Belle.”

The next day he’s preparing the books to be shipped back toNeal, idly flipping through I Miss Youonce again when he lands on the dedication page. It simply reads, “To Colette, Moe, Elisa, andAaron.”

He takes a deep breath around his aching heart, and finishesboxing up the books. A week later, hesits on his sofa and cradles his mobile to his ear. “Hello, son, did the books arrive?”

“Yeah! I can’tbelieve she signed all of them. That’s so cool!”

“And you got an extra, didn’t you? Miss French’s brand new book.”

“Uh huh. ‘I MissYou.’ It’s not a Giddy book.”

“No, it isn’t. I gota copy for myself too. I’d like to readit with you, if you’re interested.”

“Okay, I guess. Why?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something. Or, someone. His name was Malcolm. He was myfather, your grandfather. He passed awaya little while ago. I know you didn’tknow him. To be honest, I didn’t knowhim very well either. But I wanted toread this book and talk with you about it. Is that all right?”

“Sure, Papa. Let’sread.”

Gold settles against the sofa, and opens the book. “Every day someone is born. And every day someone dies.”

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #fanfiction #once upon a time #applejackcat

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actuallyknowntobequitevexing · 7 years

Text

Dean / New Feelings

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"I can't believe you dragged me into this." Dean huffed, putting the car in park and staring at the fancy dining hall in front of you two.

"Look, you agreed to it, now let's get it over with." you said firmly. You didn't want to be there either, but you felt obligated. It was your friend Abbie's birthday tonight, and her parents were throwing her an extravagant, over-the-top party, as usual. You hadn't been to one of her parties in years (because you absolutely hated them), but you decided to come to this one because it was her 21st birthday. Plus, she really needed you there; you were the only person who she could complain about the party to.

You didn't want to seem like an outcasted loser who's been hunting monsters and hasn't lived a normal life in almost four years, so you begged Dean to come with you. People who went to your high school would be there, and you wanted to seem like you were succeeding in life. The last thing you wanted was to be talked about.

"This dinner that you're paying for better be freaking worth it." Dean grumbled. He shut off the engine and got out of the car. You followed suit, readjusting your new (and really fucking expensive) red floor-length dress. You were annoyed that you had to buy a really nice dress for the occasion, but you couldn't deny that you felt sexy in it.

You and Dean walked up the steps to the dining hall. "Just, be nice, Dean. Please." you plead to him.

"I'll try my best. You know I hate these things." Dean stepped forward and opened the door for you, catching you off-guard. The gesture was simple, but it made your heart flutter.

Wait, what the fuck? you think. That was weird. Why did I feel that?

You've never had feelings for Dean before, but you couldn't ignore the giddy, girlish feeling you felt just now.

Pushing the thought aside, you walk into the dining hall. Dean steps by your side, looking just as horrified as you do. Everything was white. The walls, the tables, the decorations, the food, the lights - everything. The dark wooden floor was the only contrast to the blindingly bright room.

You and Dean share a nervous look. He offers his arm to you, and you snake your arm around his. You two start walking through the elegant crowd, populated with people who were dressed a billion times nicer than you two. You felt like you shouldn't even be near such expensive clothing and jewelry. You were careful to not bump into anyone, in fear of ruining someone's dress or drawing attention to yourself.

"So, am I your boyfriend, your friend, your second cousin, what?" Dean asks quietly.

You hadn't thought about that. "Uhm, I guess-"

"(Y/N)!!!" a shrill voice exclaims. Mary, a girl from your high school, runs up to you, bouncing gleefully with (what seems like) feigned delight. She grabs you in an embrace, and you're stunned but awkwardly hug back. "Oh, darling, how are you? It's been so long!"

Mary annoyed the hell out of you. She was one of those girls who thinks that everybody likes her and wants to be her friend. You're pretty sure you've spoke to her, like, twice in your entire high school career, so you're not sure why she's acting all buddy-buddy with you now.

You smile politely and say, "I'm good-"

Mary cuts you off, as if you weren't saying anything. "And, who is this handsome man on your arm?" She pushes a finger against Dean's chest, teasingly.

Dean looks uncomfortable but answers, "I'm (Y/N)'s boyfriend."

Okay, well, this is happening now.

"Oh, how lovely!" Mary exclaims. She leans over to you and whispers, "Nice job, (Y/N)."

You smile nervously. "Thanks. He sure is a looker." You nudge his side.

Dean and Mary laugh uncomfortably.

Uhg, way to go, (Y/N).

"Well, it's great to see you again, (Y/N). We definitely need to catch up sometime over dinner! I'll bring my hubby, and you can bring your man, too." Mary's white teeth are starting to blind you.

"For sure!" you exclaim excitedly. As she turns and walks away, you mutter to Dean, "That's never gonna fucking happen."

He smiles, laughing softly. You notice that he's staring at you weirdly.

"What are you looking at?" you question, raising an eyebrow.

Dean opens his mouth and quickly closes it, like he's just realized what he was doing. "I've just never seen you in a dress before. And all this," He gestures vaguely to your face, "stuff."

"Makeup?" you laugh. He nods, and you roll your eyes. "I wear makeup, Dean."

"Yeah but not like," He gestures to your face again, "this."

"You need to cool it with," You gesture to his face, "this, or I'll smack the crap out of you, got it?"

Dean nods and straightens his posture up, getting back into his role as "your boyfriend". You two walk over to the bar and Dean orders two glasses of Scotch. You gladly down your entire glass, wanting this night to be over. Dean chuckled at you, calmly downing his glass, too.

Someone bumps your shoulder rather roughly, pushing past you to get to the bar. You turn to glare at the person, but realize that it's Abbie.

"Give me the strongest thing you got." she desperately begs the bartender, both arms extended on the bar dramatically.

You roll your eyes at her, poking her side. "Hey, there's people standing here, you know."

Her head whips around and she seems to have just realized that she had pushed past a person. "Oh my god, (Y/N)." She threw her arms around you, leaning her weight against you exasperatedly. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm about to blow my fucking brains out. Seriously, my mom won't stop talking and talking and talking and constantly nagging me about my posture and how I'm acting and my dad is trying to get me internships at all these fancy colleges that I don't really want and-" Her posture immediately straightens, releasing you from her hug. She had just noticed that Dean was standing next to you. She tucked a stray piece of hair under her bangs, bringing her lips inwards, obviously embarrassed.

"Hi." She smiles at him, trying to act as if she didn't just have a pity fit in front of him. She tugs your arm and asks quietly, "Who's this?"

You feel secondhand embarrassment for her, but just laugh because Dean was, luckily for her, not another stuck-up attendee of her party. "This is Dean. My friend."

"Boyfriend." Dean whispers quickly, trying to remind you of your feigned relationship.

You put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay, this is my friend Abbie. She knows we aren't dating."

At your last statement, Abbie raises her eyebrow at you challengingly, as if saying, "Are you sure about that?" You roll your eyes and nod slightly, trying to keep this exchange away from Dean's attention.

"Interesting," she almost whispers. You can see the wheels turning in her head, trying to come up with some elaborate backstory between you and Dean and catch you in a lie. She smiles pleasantly again, takes Dean's hand, and shakes it politely. "Well, Dean, it was very nice to meet you. (Y/N), we'll be talking later. I hope you two enjoy the party." She wiggles her eyebrows teasingly at you, grabs her drink from the bar, and walks away.

You close your eyes, sighing at the thought of having to defend your and Dean's platonic relationship when you talk again with Abbie.

"Well, she seems like a hoot." Dean says, trying to edge you even more. You jab your elbow into his side, and he chuckles, amused at your discomfort at this gathering.

For the next hour or so, you two mingle with most of the party, though most of the interactions were against your will. You and Dean were devestatingly bored with the party, but, every time you tried to leave, another person would come up to start a conversation. Most of them were people who went to your high school, interested in recounting all of their achievements and, ultimately, just hearing themselves talk. You were polite and friendly, and Dean mostly remained quiet. Sometimes, however, he would snake his hand around your hip while you were mid-conversation. His touch never ceased to startle you, and you secretly wished he would touch you more...

What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Thinking.

You shook off any romantic, dreamy thoughts regarding Dean, and tried to focus on faking your way through this party. Dean was only making it more difficult whenever his large, warm hand would find its way to your hip or your lower back. You were sure he was doing this to just add credibility to your two's "relationship", but you couldn't stop thinking about him, and how you never wanted him to leave your side.

At one point during the night, you and Dean wound up talking to a really nice elderly married couple. They looked to be in their sixties, and their names were Sarah and David. While David and Dean began talking about classic cars and rock music, Sarah leaned closer to you, placing her hand on your knee. "So, (Y/N), how did you and Dean meet?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and happiness. You could tell she was a romantic.

Well, you couldn't tell her how you and Dean really met, so you decided to tell her the watered-down version. "I was caught up in some trouble a few years ago. I was going down a really dangerous path."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, (Y/N)," A look of worry washed over her face. "I'm glad you're okay now."

"Well, truthfully, I probably wouldn't be okay right now if I hadn't met Dean. He saved me one night when I was in in really deep trouble, and we became really good friends after that. Me, him, and his brother. They've become my family, and I'm really grateful for them." You smiled at your words because you had never acknowledged how much you loved the Winchester brothers until that point. You raised your eyes to look at Dean. He caught your glance, giving you an adorable closed-mouth smile before returning to his conversation with David.

You feel a rush of heat inflame your cheeks, and you turn back to see a smiling Sarah. She gave you such a knowing look, like everything just fit into place in the matter of just a small exchange. She touched your knee once more and said quietly, "Hold on to each other."

You smile once more at her, and she joins Dean and David's conversation, leaving you to your thoughts.

Does Sarah see something that I don't?

You pushed away those thoughts once more, and tried to concentrate on their conversation.

About an hour later, you and Dean decided to call it quits. You both told Sarah and David goodbye and thanked them for the company, then you found Abbie to tell her you were leaving. She reminded you of the conversation she wanted to have with you, and you promised her you would call her soon. You wished her a happy birthday, hugged her goodbye, and made your way to Dean's car.

You two drove in a sleepy yet comfortable silence. You knew you were definitely going to bed as soon as your head hit the pillow. In your sleepy haze, you lazily touched Dean's knee and said, "Thank you for coming with me. I hope you weren't as miserable as you expected to be."

He smiled and reached over to grab your hand, resting them on your leg. "I had fun." He glanced over at you, absolutely melting your heart. His thumb rubbed back and forth on your hand, soothing you and making you sleepier.

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