#will get around to the other teens prob tonight or tomorrow but for now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lalainajanes · 4 years

Note

for the prompt list: 12. “Welcome back. Now fucking help me.” / 1. Coworker AU / 16. "Sit in my lap" :D

Thank you! I was thinking the other day that I’ve never really done a musicians AU which is silly. So I made that happen here though it’s probs stretching “coworkers.”

The Beat Goes On

When Caroline steps on the bus, she stops immediately, only halfway up the steps. She surveys the scene – Kol, Marcel, Klaus, plus about a half dozen fans. Her eyes turn murderous. She hitches her bag higher on her shoulder, yanks her suitcase up the rest of the way, and storms through the living area. She’s whipped the curtain that hides their bunks closed behind her before Klaus can snag her attention.

A pity. He’d been hoping for her help.

He’s in no mood for company either. Partying all night is such a rockstar cliché – and completely unrealistic considering they need to be on the road in a few hours, then unloading their gear in the next city a few hours after that.

It’s their first headlining tour. They can’t quite afford a complete crew. It’s going well, with most shows sold out. They’ve had to put in a rush order for more merch. Klaus has high hopes the next outing will be a little more luxurious.

Higher hopes that one day they’ll have more than one bus. He’s willing to share with Caroline. Preferably something with an actual bedroom – not the claustrophobic stack of cots they’re currently enduring.

He can’t complain too much. Their current accommodations are far superior to the unreliable van and dingy motels they’d piled into on their first tour. They’d been the first of several supporting acts, had considered themselves lucky when they’d turned a profit by the end.

That profit had bought some decent recording equipment, the EP they’d put out after doing well on Spotify. A better tour had followed. Then another. Press, photoshoots. Then interest from a few labels.

Klaus has only spent a few nights of the last few years in his own bed. He has no regrets.

He sets his beer down, stands. Pretends not to notice when one of the women who’d been inching closer and closer swipes it immediately.

He’ll have to check eBay tomorrow. See what the going rate for his saliva is. He doesn’t bother to excuse himself.

Caroline’s stowing her belongings. Klaus would bet they have the cleanest tour bus in the history of the music industry. Caroline’s a bit of a psychotic neat freak. Over the years she has doled out vicious punishments when a “Close Cohabitation Survival Rule” (there’s an extensive list - laminated and prominently posted) is violated.

Kol had been the slowest to learn. To drive the lesson home, Caroline had snipped out the back pockets of every pair of trousers he’d packed. She’ then hidden all of his underwear. Had bribed, threatened or cajoled every man on tour not to offer a spare pair.

She’d timed it flawlessly, Kol hadn’t had time to run out to a shop, and they hadn’t been significant enough to have anyone they could send on an errand. Kol had done a show with his arse – clad only in a pair of Caroline’s lime green lace boy shorts, hanging out of a ruined pair of jeans. The pictures appeared online within minutes, Kol will likely be answering questions about his preference in underwear for the rest of his natural life.

Caroline’s plots had done the trick. Their belongings tend to stay organized, their floors are never sticky, and the bathroom is perfectly sanitary.

Her bunk’s curtain is closed, but Klaus sees a faint glow, knows she’s not asleep. He yanks the curtain aside.

He’s willing to risk stoking Caroline’s anger. He’s exceedingly good at soothing her.

Caroline glares and tries to pull the fabric out of Klaus’ grip. “Go away.”

He gauges how much she means it, finds little heat in her tone. And she shifts over willingly when he climbs in next to her, lifts her legs so he can curl his under them. Caroline had showered at the venue, had her hair braided and off her face. She wears an old pair of sweats (his) and a tank top. Klaus attempts to coax, “Come out and have a drink.”

Caroline’s nose wrinkles, “Pass.”

“One drink.”

“I’m tired. It’s crowded.”

Weak excuses. “You’ll miss the show.”

That piques her interest. Caroline hates to be out of the loop.

“What show?”

“Our lovely manager should arrive shortly, shouldn’t she? Why else would Kol have three girls who’s name’s he hasn’t bothered to learn draped all over him?”

She twists her head to stare at him, and Klaus is sorely tempted by how close her mouth is. It would be so easy to close the minuscule gap and press his lips to hers, to stroke the spot on her neck that always makes her eyes roll back and her hips shift close.

But they don’t do that anymore.

“Are you telling me,” Caroline says slowly, disbelief etched in every word. “That Kol’s concocted some teen soap style plot to make Bonnie jealous?”

“I did try to tell him it was unwise.” Though, if he’s honest, Klaus hadn’t tried that hard.

Caroline presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, a frustrated groan spilling from her throat. “I have been trying so hard to convince Bonnie he’s serious. He’s going to ruin all my hard work.”

“All the more reason for you to come out, hmm? Can’t have all of your most excellent matchmaking going to waste.”

He’s not even upset when she elbows him in the stomach because he knows he’s won. He slides out of the bunk, and Caroline twists, “I need to find my phone and stall Bon,” she mutters. Her tanktop slides up as she rummages through her blankets, and Klaus clasps his hands behind his back because the urge to run his hand over the smooth skin of her hip might be stronger than he is.

He has a plan, well thought out, and practically foolproof. He cannot rush. Caroline pauses when she notices Klaus watching, balances on her elbow, and shoves his shoulder with her free hand. “Get out there. Make sure no one does anything too stupid.”

“No promises.” Klaus knows better. He’s known Kol since birth. Reckless acts of stupidity are one of his brother’s specialties.

Caroline’s found her phone, has settled on her stomach. She’s frantically texting, so Klaus exits.

He immediately notes that several bottles of liquor have made their way out. That more people Klaus doesn’t recognize have joined them. Kol’s lost some clothing, has got one arm raised high, splashes of what Klaus is reasonably sure is bourbon splashing down, onto his bare chest.

It has all the makings of a disaster.

Unfortunately, for some reason, Caroline is slow to appear. Kol’s at his jittery, exuberant drunk stage, unable to sit still or focus on a topic for longer than a few moments. He’s telling stories that are only half true, gesturing wildly. A few of their visitors are enthralled. Marcel had slipped outside with a few people, Klaus hears his laugh drift in through the open door occasionally.

Two women have boxed him in. They don’t seem to mind that he has no interest in the conversation they insist on prolonging. They giggle delightedly at his clipped answers. Klaus has already taken photos, signed skin. Has his fingers crossed their not the type to rush off to a tattoo parlor.

When Caroline emerges from the back, Klaus has a moment of déjà vu. She barely notices Kol; her attention focused on him, and the people invading his personal space. She’s furious again, more so, Klaus thinks.

He’s always been confident in his plan but won’t say no to the ego boost her obvious jealousy provides.

It’s a small space; she’s in front of him in a few steps. Klaus smiles up at Caroline, grabs her wrist. She appears confused for a second – it’s been ages since he’s touched her in front of another person.

He hasn’t attempted it since being photographed, having the images splashed all over social media and picked apart, became a real possibility. Caroline had begun shying away once the tweets and the Instagram comments had started coming in. Some positive, a lot negative. Klaus had followed her lead. Had figured he’d let her get used to the fame, that he’d just have to convince her that they could be together publicly without ruining what they have privately.

He drags her hand to his mouth, distracts her by pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it. He hears a gasp to his left, but he doesn’t care, tugs harder until Caroline loses her balance.

She lands in his lap, and one of the women leaps to her feet with a yelp. Convenient, as it gives Klaus more room to maneuver. He wraps his arm around Caroline’s waist and settles her more comfortably, her side resting against his chest. He pitches his voice loud enough to be heard clearly by everyone in the room, “A bit clumsy tonight, aren’t you? It’s fine, sit in my lap.”

The woman who’d swiped his beer bottle is either drunk enough not to mind her tongue or unconcerned with basic manners. “Are you two?” She lifts a hand in a gesture that’s both vague and slightly lascivious.

Caroline squirms, but Klaus squeezes her hip, cutting off her denial with a whisper in her ear. “You took ages. Welcome back, now fucking help me.”

She pinches his stomach in retaliation. Klaus holds back a wince. Caroline ignores it, turns on the charm, smiling warmly at their nosy questioner. “Nope. We’ve just known each other for ages. Spent way too much time in tight spaces. Not a lot of boundaries when you’ve spent months crammed in a van, you know?”

Klaus could comment about the private time they’d managed to enjoy in that van occasionally but Caroline’s fingernails are sharp. He doesn’t mind wearing their imprints, but he’d prefer to earn those marks pleasurably.

“So, you’re just friends?”

“Bon-Bon!” Kol shouts, interrupting Caroline’s response.

(Probably a good thing. Klaus isn’t entirely sure he trusts himself to stick to his timeline if Caroline tried to claim they were just anything while sitting on his lap and wearing his clothes.)

He’s surprised when Caroline settles back against him, rather than leaping to his feet. Pleased, too. Her arm drapes around his shoulders, her fingertips tangling in his necklaces. She watches the scene unfolding in front of her.

Her touch is familiar, missed. Klaus closes his eyes to enjoy it while he can.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #from the prompts list I reblogged earlier!#I need to write fluff #sorrynotsorry

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thirstygirlclub · 6 years

Text

Pet Project - Part One (1)

full on loving platonic SAMCRO imagines right now! probs because i’m so far away from my family :)

(an anonymous request from ages ago, but aren’t they all nowadays? also, this is gonna be a 2 part one. What is it about Juice that just inspires me to write so much?)

(so i have this h/c that even though juice doesn’t speak spanish the rest of his family does and have that accent, you know? so this is a specific POC-hispanic reader. obviously male if it’s his nephew.)

(Reader is Juice's nephew and has to stay with him for a while? But reader is just a really angry teen and gets into a lot of fights? Juice doesn't know how to help him, but Tig does because he recognises the signs of abuse and gives reader small projects and a dog to look after? So finally reader confesses to Tig and begs him to not make him go back home? Juice finds out and tells reader he'll take care of him now & so will Tig and the others? )

Tig and Chibs laughed quietly when they saw the Hispanic kid come out of the customs office. His sweater was too big for him and his jeans were ripped and dirty with his sneakers falling apart on his feet. Beside him walked a pretty, well dressed woman but she didn’t have her arm around him or showed in anyway that she was his mom until she came to meet the men at the gate. Juice sighed and rubbed his eyes; he knew what was going to happen with (y/n) under his care and he didn’t feel ready for it.

“I want you to be good for Uncle Juan, ok?” She asked the kid who just rolled his eyes and sighed, “it’s only until your stepfather and I get back from our honeymoon, alright? No fighting with the other kids, yeah?”

The kid said nothing just rolled his eyes again and looked at the floor. He was making a conscious effort to not look at anyone. He was obviously pretending that he didn’t feel nervous about being put with his uncle and his scary biker friend. While Juice spoke to his sister Tig studied the kid with a smile on his face. He was just a skinny kid with messy hair and too big clothes and a mean expression.

“You’ve got all your school work haven’t you? You need to make sure that you do all the work, Uncle Juan and his friends will help you if you need it,” the lady said and again got no response then turned to look at the guys, “he’s just shy. Don’t worry, he’ll be good.”

“Alright well, (y/n), let’s get you home and settled in ok? You wanna say goodbye to your mom and dad?” Juice asked his nephew.

“Bye. Have a nice time in Puerto Rico,” (y/n) spoke with the Puerto Rican/American accent that his mother did but he sounded bitter and angry.

(y/n)’s mother said something scolding in Spanish then touched his shoulder but he shrugged her off angrily and turned away with his arms folded and his backpack slipping off his shoulder. (y/n) wasn’t angry that his parents were going without him but that he was the only kid being taken out of Queens and put into the care of this uncle that he barely knew while his siblings were being left with their elderly next door neighbour. Apparently he was too much of a handful for her and Uncle Juan and his friends would teach him some discipline, not that his step dad didn’t try.

“Ok then, see you later I guess,” Juice said and waved to his sister who went towards a big Puerto Rican guy waiting a few feet away, “come on (y/n). You can come and meet the family.”

“Yeah, whatever,” the kid scoffed and started trundling his suitcase behind him as he walked slumped over towards the door of the airport.

You sat with your arms folded in the back of the car. The woman who called herself Gemma was driving with your uncle sat in the passenger seat. It was awkward and no one was talking, not that you cared.

“So how old are you (y/n)?” Gemma asked, looking at you through the rear view mirror.

You looked out the window at the dusty landscape as it passed and said nothing. Gemma laughed slightly but didn’t seem angry that you were obviously ignoring her.

“He’s 15,” Uncle Juan said with a laugh.

“Yeah I thought you were about that age. You remind me of my son when he was a teenager all dark and brooding. You’re gonna love it in Charming; there’s loads of kids your age and stuff to do, you know, places to explore. All things teenage boys like to do.”

She seemed friendly enough but you still didn’t trust her. You didn’t trust anyone any more.

“He’ll settle in,” Gemma said kindly to your uncle, “don’t worry. It’s just a big change, that’s all.”

You dragged your suitcase into your uncles house and was delighted to see that he had a dog. It was big and scary and loud but it jumped up onto your shoulders and licked your face.

“Hey! Rocco, get down!” your uncle laughed and pulled the doberman down by the collar until it settled down, “sorry about him (y/n). He’s just excited to see someone that’s not me or Tig.”

The dog trotted over to the tall man with black hair happily wagging its stumpy tail around. It was panting and whining until Tig picked it up easily and cuddled it like a baby. You kind of laughed and shrugged off your backpack to throw it onto the couch while your uncle showed you around his little house. You were sleeping in the spare room that was full of his exercise gear and had his computer in it.

“Sorry you’ve not got a proper bed man,” he said, “but we’ll head out tomorrow or something and get you one. Alright? I’m gonna head up to the clubhouse tonight if you wanna come. If not don’t worry. Just let me know.”

You shrugged and kicked the air mattress gently with the toe of your ruffed up sneaker. Your uncle was a lot nicer than you thought he would be considering he was in a biker gang and everything. He went to touch your shoulder but you flinched away from him and pulled your sweater closer to you. He looked at you with a small frown but then turned to leave you too settling in.

“Hey, uh, thanks Uncle Juan,” you said gruffly.

“Don’t worry about it kid. And call me Juice, the rest of the guys do. It’s kinda weird being called Juan now,” he laughed.

You nodded without laughing and kept your eyes on the ugly brown carpet. Juice sighed and turned around, closing the door behind him. You could hear quiet voices in the other room but couldn’t hear what they were saying. The guys must have been talking about you though since you were probably the only interesting thing about their lived right now.

While they were preoccupied with talking about you, you opened the window before climbing out and shimmying down the drain pipe like you did at home; you hated being trapped inside and you didn’t want to tell Juice where you were going. That just wasn’t any fun.

You hadn’t even been out an hour when some white kids came sloping towards you. They were a lot bigger than you and there was about 5 of them. You had taken on more people than that before. You lost but you never shied away from a fight. You could tell what they wanted as soon as you set eyes on them.

“You new here?” One kid asked.

“I dunno, what do you think?” You asked, pushing through the group.

“I think you’re a bit far away from where you’re supposed to be, Ese.”

“I’m Puerto Rican dude,” you shrug, “that’s Mexican.”

“Same thing.”

You shrugged and continued walking down the road but the guys didn’t seem to feel like letting you leave yet because they followed behind you until you found yourself in a narrow alley way with nothing but the back of a Chinese restaurant where there were some chefs hanging out and smoking.

“Shit,” you sighed and turned to face the guys who were smirking and cracking their knuckles.

“You need to learn who rules this town,” the leader said with a smirk, “and it’s not gonna be you, get it?”

“Get fucked, white boy!” You laughed at him before turning around and sprinting towards the chefs.

They shouted at you in Chinese as you barged into the kitchen and ran around the cooking area. You ignored how hungry you were and the angry shouting that was coming from the chefs and waiting staff as you played cat and mouse with these white kids. You burst through the service doors, and into the main area of the restaurant. The diners were now looking up at you with amused and angry expressions but you had no time to laugh because the thundering footsteps of those jock looking fuckers were close on your tail shouting racial slurs and angry insults.

You shoved passed the cute waitress that was clearing up the plates; making her drop them all over the floor but also not having time to apologise to her. You still heard the angry Chinese shouting behind you and you suspected that the white kids were running away from them as much as they were running after you.

You had no way of knowing where you were going and that was your down fall. They had split up and cut you off, dragging you kicking and fighting behind some houses and took it in turns to hit you.

They beat you up and then left you slumped against the back wall with a swollen face and really winded. It was dusk by the time you felt well enough to stand and you could hear people shouting your name.

Well, shit, you thought, Juice and his friends were looking for you.

You had hoped to maybe find your way back to his house before you were missed but you had no idea how you were going to explain the cuts and bruises.

“He’s over here!” Tig shouted, “are you alright (y/n)?”

Tig put his arm around your shoulders but you pushed him back roughly, telling him not to touch you. You heard heavy footsteps and saw Juice coming down the road.

“What the hell happened?” Juice asked, sounding genuinely worried.

You looked at him surprised. You would have had wide eyes if one of them hadn’t swollen shut. You hadn’t had anyone sound worried about you since you were a kid.

“Just some guys,” you shrugged, “can we just go back? I got lost.”

“What guys (y/n)?”

You just told him some white kids but that could be about all but 3 people in town. He was looking at you with worried eyes and you actually felt kind of bad. He probably wasn’t actually too much older than you really. Maybe about 10 years.

“Alright, don’t tell us,” Tig said with a shrug, “but if they do it again tell ‘em you got SAMCRO on your side. They’ll back off.”

“Whatever.”

You followed them back to Juice’s house and just went into your room and slammed the door shut.

“How’s the kid doing?” Tig asked Juice as they pushed a car onto the service ramp, “getting any better?”

They had all noticed Juice getting tired and more and more drained. The teenager under his care was a handful and he didn’t know how to cope with him. He didn’t want to send him home but with all the stuff going on with the club and working full time in the repair shop it was hard to keep an eye on a boy that seems to really enjoy fighting.

“Nah man,” Juice sighed with a yawn, “I just don’t know what to do for him. He doesn’t want to stay in and watch TV, he doesn’t want me to go out with him, he eats in his room and just avoids me. Sometimes I think I’m getting through to him but... he just shuts down again, you know?”

Tig nodded thoughtfully and ran his hand through his hair. He knew the kid wasn’t alright, he could tell from the first time he saw him that there was something going on back at home. Juice had seemed to have tried everything to get (y/n) to do his school work. He had tried to get him to sit down in the workshop where he could be watched by everyone but had just ended up almost fighting with Clay.

(y/n) was just an angry kid but he was fighting something. He didn’t seem as violent or irritable with Gemma but the minute any of the older guys started to talk to him he would close up and get hostile, sometimes over nothing. One time, Chibs just asked him what he was working on and (y/n) got up in his face and asking him what his problem was; he thought he was calling him stupid when he was really trying to do his work. Chibs had had a school book thrown in his face and had to walk away from him.

You woke up one morning to the sound of an engine being choked and the smell of burning in your nostrils. You coughed and sat up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed and going to the window. Rocco, got up with you and trotted over to the window with you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You shouted out to Tig who was in the backyard, scratching his head and looking puzzled at the vehicle in front of him.

“I don’t know Kid,” he shouted back up to you, “I just got this bike and I thought it was all good you know? I guess the guy that sold it to me was a dodgy dealer.”

“Yeah, ok? You gotta do that in my backyard though?”

“I can’t hear you! You’re gonna have to come down if you wanna say something.”

You scowled at him and pushed yourself away from the window and pulled on your hoodie over the scars on your arms and back before shuffling outside in pyjama pants and hoodie. You hadn’t bothered putting shoes on so you stormed across the half dead grass, not caring if you got stones in your bare feet.

Tig stood up as you approached, ready for you to square up to him but before you could say anything he had hit you lightly on your ear. That stunned you for a second before he did it again to the other side. He was laughing and that just made you angrier

“What the fuck?” You growled, pushing him in the chest.

“What? You wanna fight?” Tig asked with another laugh and hit you again on your right ear, “you wanna fight, huh? You wanna fight me?”

“Fuck off! Turn that shit off!”

“Don’t know how, sorry.”

He shrugged and sat back on the grass while the bike continued to cough and splutter while filling the backyard with smoke. You scoffed and went over to it, wafting the smoke away from where you assumed the key was to look for a way to turn it off.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the noise finally stopped and the air around you began to clear up. Tig was lying back on the ground with his hands behind his head.

“You wanna tell me what that shit was about?” You ask him angrily, “I was asleep.”

“Tell you what,” Tig said, not opening his eyes, “you fix that bike up for me and I’ll give you $2000. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like a bad deal. I’m not doing your job for you.”

Tig stood up and dusted himself off. You noticed there was a book next to where he had been sat. There was a picture of the bike on the front. It was a Harley Davidson repair manual.

You waited until Tig had left the backyard before picking the manual up and flicking through it curiously then turned to go back in the house, casting a curious look back at the bike before slamming the back door shut behind you.

#tig trager #tig trager imagine #tig trager fanfiction #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy headcanon #sons of anarchy prompts #sons of anarchy platonic #juice ortiz

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worldofadvent · 7 years

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NEO World of Advent Chapter Sixteen

NEO World of Advent Chapter 16

Cipher stared at the red and blue building of Anthem Broadcasting with no small degree of indecision. Did he step inside, tell her "No, I can't leave my Family behind?" Or, as a smaller but growing part of his brain said, "It's one test. It could prove nothing, and the money could more than pay for Charles' treatment." But if it did prove Neige's suspicions… Cipher shook his head angrily. It's not like it mattered right now; Charles was still in the hospital from his freak outburst of flu. The doctors hadn't actually said it was flu, but it was easier to call whatever it was the flu as opposed to the strange series of medical terms he had been given.

Cipher made his way to the general hospital, checking the diagnosis his friend had been given; 'Acute Adaptive Rhabdovirus' was a mouthful, but it might help him be directed to whichever ward they decided Charles was safest in now. They had switched him around three times now after Charles had actually bitten one of the hospital staff in a state of sickened frenzy. Cipher was told that he was better now, but the fact that Charles of all people bit someone was unnerving.

The general hospital was a tall white building that took up an entire block by itself. A giant red cross denoted its purpose as a means for sick people to get better, but the people in Cipher's district knew it by heart. The treatments there weren't anywhere near the quality royal citizens could receive at their more private clinics, but they did the job for much, much cheaper. A reploid wearing a nurse's uniform was busy answering people's questions.

"I'm sorry sirs," she told a large party, "But your friend is too sick to see visitors right now. I will let you know if anything has changed." The men grumbled, but gradually dispersed. Cipher stepped forward expectantly.

"I'm here to see Charles of Advent Family 024," Cipher said. "He should be in a ward with… let's see here, 'Acute Adaptive Rhabdovirus?'"

"Let me check," the woman said, clacking away at her computer. "Ah yes, Charles. He seems to be much better now; so long as he doesn't suffer another bite before his next rabies shot, he should be fine."

"Rabies?" Cipher scratched his head, confused. "What does that have to do with anything? And he's up to date on his shots, we all are."

"Apparently not," the female reploid said, clicking her tongue. "Otherwise he wouldn't be here in the first place. At any rate, whatever the doctors did worked. Your brother is free to go home now."

'Excellent." Cipher asked for directions and was given an interactive map he downloaded on his communicator. Following a series of arrows in relation to his position in the hospital, Cipher navigated the series of white hallways, coughing humanoids, and anxious visitors as he traveled to Charles' room. Outside, a family seemed to be beside a lupine reploid who had been given a muzzle. Strange, Cipher thought, but shrugged the manner off; he had come for Charles, not to wonder why reploids had been put in the same ward.

"Hey man," Cipher greeted his friend as he stepped inside. Charles' naturally dark skin was no longer as pale as it was before and he no longer had a bucket kept by his side in case he suddenly became violently sick again, which Cipher took as a good sign. "What're you reading?"

Charles put the book down, happy to see Cipher. "Not much," Charles said. "Just an action novel, nothing really good. It helps pass the time though," he added, looking at the clock. "It's so boring here. I actually miss working at the Shop."

"Wish granted. You're free to go now," Cipher said with a grin. "What bit you, by the way? The nurse told me you had rabies or something. I didn't even know Advents could get rabies."

"Nothing bit me!" Charles' hands flew up in the air as he expressed his frustration. "I kept telling them that, but no one believed me."

"Strange," Cipher mused. "Maybe it was Matt. You never know where he's been, and I wouldn't put it past him to take a chomp out of someone."

"Hah," Charles laughed darkly. "I haven't been near that room since the feathers incident. I told Kent he could get pelted with oil and smothered with pillows instead."

"Duly noted." Cipher held out a hand to help him from the stasis of his hospital bed. "Well, we've missed you. I've been going crazy trying to keep up with everything with you gone. Are you feeling better? You look better, but I need to be sure."

"I'm fine," Charles told him. "The guy next door has it much worse." His voice dropped down to where only Cipher could hear him. "I don't think the doctors expect him to make it."

Cipher gave the grieving family his condolences as they passed by the room with the muzzled reploid. The door was now closed, and the sounds of glass breaking could be heard from inside. The two of them sped up their pace until safely outside. "What do you think that was about," Cipher asked. "Reploids don't usually get that sick."

"It's not just them," Charles said. "I've seen a few humans come by as well, but it's mostly reploids, yeah. I think it has to do with Advents though," he said guiltily. "There was a news report on how we could be passing on diseases that reploids couldn't ordinarily get."

"Hopefully they're wrong," Cipher said. His mind was on first opponent in the tournament. "We don't need Senator Crux calling for an 'emergency quarantine' again."

Charles rolled his eyes. "There's no way anyone's going to listen to that lunatic. He's old news; nah, there might be a public advisory, but that'll be it."

Cipher nodded. "I hope you're right. Anyway, you can take it easy tomorrow. I'm not going to make you go back to work if you're not fully up to it."

"Nah," Charles said, stretching in the cool breeze. "It's fine. It's about time I start pulling my weight again," he laughed. "Sometimes I feel like you do more than half of us put together, Cy. I don't know how you do it. We'd be lost without you."

Cipher felt his muscles freeze up, feet locked in the direction of Neige's office. His heart beat quickly as Charles asked him what was wrong. "It's nothing," Cipher lied. "I'm just glad to have you back."

Cipher hailed an auto-cab which took them to the apartment complex that they made their home. Shirley was beside the pool, trying to keep the younger children from harassing one of the few residents not part of Cipher's rambunctious Family. "Hey Shelley," Cipher called out. "Look who's back!"

"About time you used my nickname," she called back to him. "And welcome back, Charles! You're late to the party."

Charles laughed as the three of them managed to corral the kids of the Family into the shallowest corner of the shallow end. "I take it the kids wanted to play in the pool again?"

"Yeah," Shirley said. "But we actually planned a party for when you came back. If someone let us know," she projected her voice toward Cipher, "Maybe we could have had it ready for you."

"I guess that makes me early to the party then," Charles said. "Let's get the kids settled first. I do want to see if there's cake though."

"Don't worry," Shirley said. "Joan baked you something the other day. She made us promise not to eat any on pain of death. You should probably let her know you're okay."

"I will," Charles said. "I'll give her a call tonight."

"I'll let her know," Cipher said. "She's usually busy shutting the Forge down at night, but if she's expecting a call, she'll make time for it."

"Gotcha." The three older teens made a pact with the younger kids to play one game with them before heading back upside.

"So," Shirley said. "What's it gonna be, kids?"

"We wanna play Mavericks and Hunters!" No split court there, Cipher thought with some amusement as they spoke up in unison. It was their favorite game to play.

"How am I not surprised?" Shirley smiled. "I'm going to count to ten, alright?"

"No," they said. "Let Cipher do it! It's been ages since he played with us."

"Not true," Cipher reminded them. "We played Marco Polo last night, remember?"

"That wasn't Mavericks and Hunters," Matt reminded Cipher. "Different game, so it doesn't count."

"Fine," Cipher said as he placed his communicator on a chair so it wouldn't get wet. "I don't mind getting wet. You remember the rules, right? I tap one of you on the head and you go to the other end of the pool. Try to swim across without getting tagged and the last one standing wins. Those tagged become mavericks themselves."

"We know the rules," Matt told him sarcastically. "It's not the first time we've done this."

"Just making sure. You can be the maverick," Cipher told him. "I think it suits you." Shirley turned a snort of laughter into a cough beside him. "Go!"

Matt turned the pool into a feeding frenzy. Fittingly enough, the kleptomaniac troublemaker made an excellent maverick and soon the pool was filled with like minded crazed machines in search of human prey. Matt was so efficient at his job that, by the end of the game, not one of them had managed to escape his grasp.

"Alright," Cipher said. "You had your one game," he reminded them. "It's time to go."

"It doesn't count if no one wins," Matt complained. "That's no fair!"

"Life isn't fair," Cipher said. "Not everyone gets to win." Matt grumbled, but gradually exited the pool in a parade of soggy minors as they were shepherded to their rooms.

"That went easier than I thought it would," Shirley said brightly. "Thanks, Cipher."

"No prob." Cipher held his absolutely drenched clothing at a distance. "I'm going to go dry off, okay? Go set up the party with the others, I'll be right out."

Shirley tossed him a towel from one of the racks nearby. "On it. Just so you know, if you take too long, we're eating the cake without you."

"There is no greater motivation than cake," Cipher said solemnly. "I'll be out soon enough."

Cipher pat down his pockets, realizing that he had left his key card in them when he was inside the pool. "Hey, I may have a problem," Cipher said. "I left my key in my jacket."

"Use mine." Charles tossed him their room key. "Yours'll work once it's dry again. Believe me," he said, "I know from experience." He and Shirley exchanged tales of what they had put in the pool that they shouldn't have as Cipher entered his room.

Inside, the room was as Cipher left it. The beds were made, everything was in complete order. Being two complete neat freaks, Cipher and Charles got along well. Still, something felt off, wrong somehow. Cipher wondered what it was as he stepped inside the shower, rinsing the chlorine from his hair. Everything was as it should be: Charles was back, the kids were headed to sleep, even the hospital bill hadn't been that expensive. So why did he feel like there was something out of place?

It was him, Cipher realized. He had changed. That small unbidden part of his brain that had always longed for a parent had snuck on him, caught him off guard. For years he had managed to keep it quiet it by telling himself that he was alone, an orphan. That he had no family. Neige changed all that when she gave him the option to take the test he had always been forbidden to take. Cipher looked into the mirror as he dried off.

"You can't be their son," Cipher said to the reflection. "And what does it matter, anyway? Even if they are looking for me... You have a Family. They're waiting for you now," he said aggravatedly, as if his imitation was keeping him there. "Just forget about the test. None of that matters anymore."

Cipher put on a fresh set of clothes, sighing raggedly. Was it really this hard to do the right thing? He opened the door. Charles stood outside, holding a small paper plate with chocolate cake held high upon it. His mouth was open.

"I got you some cake," Charles said at last. "The others said you were uh, taking too long."

"How much of that did you hear," Cipher asked.

"Enough, I think." Charles set down the plate on Cipher's bed. "Did I hear you right? Did someone find your family? Your real family, I guess that would make it," Charles said softly.

"Someone thinks they did, but it doesn't matter," Cipher reassured him. "I'm not taking it anyway. I'm needed here."

"You should take it." Somehow, those were the last words Cipher had expected to hear. "I know I would." Charles face burned a shameful red as he examined the floor.

"What?" Cipher's mind was in chaos. "You would?"

"Yeah," Charles said. "I'm an Umbrian, you know. I told you that already. My parents never met; Umera put their DNA in a test tube- you know the rest. I wasn't supposed to know that, but they let it slip. I always thought that maybe if they knew I existed they'd want me. When it was just the two of us, I always dreamed of someone offering me a test like that. I guess some part of me still does. I think you should take it, Cy." Charles wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Who are they? Your parents."

"Charles…" Cipher felt horrible. "You should have said something. I could have arranged for a test, under the table. Why didn't you?"

"My parents didn't want me," Charles said. "They probably don't even know I'm alive at all. But I figured you guys did. You knew I was alive and you actually gave a damn." Charles gave Cipher a watery smile. "I figured a few siblings who I knew cared were worth more than two parents who might. It sounds like your parents do care though," he said. "If they're still looking for you, you shouldn't deny them that. We'll still be here."

"I…" Cipher found himself wiping his face now. "Thank you," he said. "I won't forget you. Or Shirley. Or Brandon. Or Kent. Or even Matt," he said. "You guys are like family to me, you know that? For real."

"I know," Charles said. "That's why we would want you to go. You never said who they were," he said. "But you don't have to tell us if you don't want to."

"I doubt you'd believe me even if did say," Cipher said with a weak-hearted attempt at a laugh. "But I'll tell you guys later."

"Alright," Charles said. "They're probably wondering what we're doing. Let's go enjoy my party, shall we? And eat that cake. I'm pretty sure that was the last slice."

Cipher picked up the plate, feeling as though it were much heavier in his hands. He took a bite. "I've got to thank her," he said. "Joan, that is."

"Yeah," Charles said. "Me too. Maybe we can do it together. One last hurrah." The words were hollow as he said them, even if Cipher knew Charles hadn't intended them that way.

"Let's go see what the others are doing," Cipher said. "Tonight, we're a Family. We'll always be there for each other, even if things don't go as planned."

"I guess so." Charles gave a deep sigh. "Ready to face them? We can just say you hit your head in the shower."

"Ready as I'll ever be." Cipher stepped outside their door to the fanfare of confetti. Kent and Brandon showered them with string while Shirley recorded their shocked expressions. Cipher smiled, naturally this time. Even if that might change, they were still a Family for now. He might as well act like it.

Charles gave him a sideways glance, letting Cipher know he felt the same. The two put on smiles as they told a fabrication of how Cipher slipped on a bar of soap. Charles said it was his fault for leaving it there. The others bought it, too. The only thing they had a hard time believing was that two neat freaks were capable of leaving soap on the floor of the shower.

"This is the start of becoming a slob," Brandon said, arms draped around their shoulders. "It starts slow, with things like soap or forgetting to take out the trash. Soon enough, your room is filled with soda cans and candy wrappers."

"Urgh," Charles said. "No thanks. I'll let it be a one-time thing, if you don't mind."

"Suit yourself," Kent said. "We've embraced the slob life. Let us know if you ever need any expert advice."

"Believe me," Cipher said. "We know how messy you two are. Your room looks like a disaster zone; I don't think we need to take any tips from that."

They laughed, made fun of each other. Like brothers and sisters would, Cipher supposed. Like a real family would. He was dreading the end of the night because he knew what that meant for them. For this. But it had to be done. That small corner of his brain would no longer accept doing the right thing if doing the right thing meant saying goodbye to the best shot he'd ever had at real parents. When the last of the silly string was put away and the place was once again in order, Cipher cleared his throat.

"There's something I need to tell you guys," he said. "I may not be around for much longer."

"You're not dying are you?" Kent's eyebrows shot up, alarmed. "Please tell me that whatever Charles had didn't give you cancer or something."

"No, nothing like that" Cipher said quickly. "I met a woman who said she'd sponsor me for the tournament, Neige. She told me that she might know who my parents are. She says that they've been looking for me all this time." He braced himself for their reactions.

"Who?" Brandon said at last. "Who are they?"

"Zero," Cipher said slowly, aware of how ridiculous it sounded. "And Ciel. The erm, leaders of the Resistance."

There was a long silence in the wake of his words. Shirley laughed. It was higher pitched and strained, not like her usual mix of cackling and snorting. "Nice one Cy. You had us going there for a second."

"You're serious aren't you?" Brandon said it. "You look just like them."

"He is freakishly smart," Charles said thoughtfully. "And if he made it this far in the tournament, he's gotta have some skills right?"

"Woah." Kent shook his head as if trying to process it. "Your oversol's red, right? Like, woah."

"Come on guys," Shirley rounded on them. "It's a joke. Even if that reporter did tell you something like that," she told Cipher, "It was probably just to pull your leg. You got to compete in the tournament and she got a laugh out of it. Fair trade."

"Shirley," Charles said uncertainly, "You don't honestly believe that do you?"

"We need him Charles!" Shirley's back was to Cipher as she looked the others in the eye. "This Family barely functions with him. How do you expect us to get by if he's gone?!"

"It's his family Shirley," Brandon said. "Don't tell me you didn't want this too, at some point."

"It's illegal," Shirley reminded him. "And we're his family." Shirley shook her head slowly as they said nothing. "No, no, no. You can't honestly be okay with this."

"Come on Shirley," Kent said. "Be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable! It's you three that are being crazy. And you," she said, turning to face Cipher. "We're a team. We do this together. They made you the Head of this Family, you can't just abandon it."

"I'm not going to abandon it." Cipher's jaw was set as he said so. "I'll do everything in my power to keep in touch. This doesn't mean goodbye."

"Oh yeah?" Shirley clutched the handle to her door. "Goodbye. I hope you all come to your senses tomorrow. I'm not dealing with any more of this crap." She shut the door with a slam. One of the younger kids next door started crying.

"She'll come around," Charles told him. "You'll see." Cipher stood there as his second-in-command checked on the crying toddler in the next room over. "It's not goodbye forever, right? Just means you won't be around as much."

Cipher stared at Shirley's door, telling himself he was imagining the soft sounds of a sob coming through the cracks. Had he really made the right choice?

#megaman #megaman zero #mmz #capcom #long story #fanfic #fanfiction #ocs

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