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matwith1t · 3 years

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A/N: A part two!! As much as I love angst…I couldn’t leave the first part like that 🥴 You don’t have to read the first part to understand this fic, but you’ll definitely catch some little call backs!! If you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it all!! I hope you’re all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening !

Summary: Nearly a year since the break up with Mat, your life slowly started to revert back to life before him. But all of that progress goes away when you keep crossing paths.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: swearing, drinking // WC: 15K // Angst & Fluff

With the sun shining down, and no clouds in the sky to cover up its hard rays, it felt a bit warmer than the usual October day in New York. It was neither an excruciating humid day like the summers, nor a brutally frigid winter day. It just felt…average. But something in the air made the average day feel abnormal.

Maybe forgetting to set your alarm, and rushing to get ready, had something to do with why you felt on edge. Or maybe it had something to do with finding a crinkled polaroid picture of you and Mat––him laughing and you looking up at him––that you found in your sock drawer last night.

Maybe it was the picture.

But you definitely knew your sour mood could be traced back to this morning––seven minutes ago to be exact––when you ordered a coffee and the barista informed you that they were out of an ingredient for the drink you wanted.

“It’s not that bad,” your friend, Kennady, came up to stand beside you after she finished ordering her drink, “Worse things could happen.”

With a deep breath through your nose, you crossed your arms over your chest, “I know…”

And you knew things could be worse. There had been days in the past ten months that were definitely worse than a coffee shop being out of an ingredient to send you into a spiral. But this minute detail in the beginning of your day felt too mundane compared to everything you had felt in the past. And for some reason, it bothered you more than it should have.

Was it a sign that you were getting over him?

With a quiet laugh to yourself and a slight shake of your head at that thought, you quickly buried the idea. Not a chance, you thought to yourself.

When a barista called out your name for your americano, you politely excused yourself around other customers until you got to the counter. With a tight smile, and a small thanks, you picked up your coffee and went over to a little station where you could fix the drink to your liking.

You were in the middle of opening a sugar packet when you heard someone questionably call out your name.

It was an accent you hadn’t heard in quite sometime…A friendly French-Canadian accent that always reassured you of Mat’s feelings whenever he wasn’t in the room. After all, it’s what any best friend would do.

Not expecting to run into anyone during your little outing, your hand jerked back in surprise––sugar flying out of the packet––as you spun around in shock.

“Oh, I––Wow, Tito––I’m so sorry,” you tried to laugh, tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as you met his blue eyes, but you hadn’t seen him––or a picture of him––since you unfollowed him on every social media platform you had him on.

Like every time you found yourself in his presence, he smiled, “Don’t worry about it, really,” he brushed off the sugar from his sweatshirt, “Shouldn't have snuck up on you.”

You shook your head and waved him off, a ball of anxiety slowly brewing in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew if Tito was here, then Mat would be too. The two of them always traveled in a pair; you learned that they were a package deal early on in your relationship. And you could pray all you wanted that Tito was on a solo coffee run, but by his freshly showered look and Islanders athletic wear…You knew he had just come from a practice.

“It’s okay,” you closed the lid on your americano, forgetting all about adding sugar or creamer in it, “How’re you?”

“I’ve been good,” He smiled, eyes glancing down to your foot tapping against the hardwood floor, “Yeah, just busy playing a lot of…Hockey.” His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, as if he thought hockey might still be a sore spot for you.

And in a way, it was.

Tito cleared his throat, “And you?” He politely turned the question to you, “How…How’s the job?”

Relieved he didn’t ask you how you’ve been, you smiled softly, “It’s really great, I’ve had a lot more time to concentrate on it.” You looked over his shoulder to see if you could see Mat anywhere in the coffee shop, “I’ve been given more responsibilities.”

“That’s great to hear,” Tito sounded genuine, “I don’t want to hold you up, but it was really great to see you.”

Tito had always been very emotionally intelligent with identifying others feelings, and you had no doubt he picked up on your uneasiness.

You offered him a smile, “It was good to see––“

“Did you grab my coffee?”

The smile dropped from your face and instead of feeling the anxiety in your stomach churn, you felt nauseous.

Tito looked at Mat with the same hung open mouth and wide eyes that you had. Mat came up next to him so nonchalantly––so casually––as if he didn’t know he was in front of the person whose heart he knowingly wrecked nearly a year ago.

Still unable to form a sentence, Tito’s eyes briefly glanced over at you, standing frozen, “Yeah I––yeah.”

As if Mat sensed some tension in the air, he followed Tito’s vision. He had to do a double take, seemingly not trusting his vision that you were right in front of him. And in an instant, just like you and Tito, his eyes slightly widened and his mouth hung open. You knew that he was thinking the same thing as you…that you had gone nearly ten months of living in the same city and had not run into each other once.

But now that streak was broken.

Your breathing stopped as you looked at him for the first time since that unfortunate day in December where the air felt a little colder than the rest of the month.

As usual during the season, he was clean shaven, but you saw a few small pimples littered on his chin. He looked more tired than usual, but had a slight glow to his skin from a recent shower. The ends of his hair flicked out under his baseball hat, just above his ear. You always used to tell him how cute those flecks of hair looked as he tried to push them behind his ear.

But the one thing that made your heart shatter was the sweatshirt he was wearing. It was the navy blue Islanders sweatshirt from a few seasons ago that you had found stuffed away in the back of your closet last year.

The one you broke down into as your mother held you.

The one that Kennady took away when she saw that you still held on to it after you said you’d donate it. It caused quite the argument between the two of you…You wanted to keep the sweatshirt because––while it was delusional for you to think––maybe Mat would notice it was missing, then he would reach out, and you would talk again. Kennady didn’t think that was very healthy and said she would pass it along to Tito.

And pass it along she had.

With a shaky breath, and one last look at the man who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, you spun around with your coffee and walked away.

You had only gotten a few steps away when you felt a burning hand catch onto your elbow, “Y/N…”

His hand hadn’t left your elbow, and you stood stiff in the middle of the coffee shop,“I have somewhere to be,” you said to him without turning around.

“Can we talk?”

His voice was barely audible––a plea––a whisper that should’ve easily been lost in the chaos of the coffee shop, but whenever he was around, all you did was solely pay attention to him.

You gulped, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Not here,” he was quick to follow up, knowing he shouldn’t be this lucky to get this much time with you, “I just––I want––How’re you?”

With an irritated sigh through your nostrils, and clenched jaw, you spun around to face him. Half of you melted at his wide and pleading eyes, a mix of uncertainty and care, but the other half of you wanted to leave him standing alone without an answer; much like he did with you when he broke your heart.

“Do you need something?”

He looked taken aback by your bluntness, “I…” Nervously, he took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, “I scored a hat trick last week.”

You despised the way your heart fluttered with pride at his accomplishment.

Instead of focusing on the unconventional feeling of your heart soaring with pride, but simultaneously feeling crushed in his presence, you tried your best to respond with a monotone voice.

“So, a start to a good season?”

Again, he looked confused at your short phrases and general disinterest in what he had to say, “We…Yeah, looks like a good season. Last season was good too..” His eyes briefly left yours to look at your slightly shaking hand that was holding the coffee cup, “Did you…Have you caught any games?”

“I don’t watch hockey anymore.”

Unlike his sentences that wavered with doubt, your sentences were sharp and unremorseful.

But you knew your stoic demeanor came closer to breaking with every second you stood in front of him. It had been ten months since the break up, you should be fine, you kept telling yourself. But seeing him and not being able to mutter an inside joke under your breath and hear him gently laugh, not being able to reach across the inches between you two and give his hand a squeeze, and not being able to muster up the smallest of smiles in front of the one person who could coax a smile out of you with just their presence…You felt the exhaustion catch up to you.

And like everyone else who asked if you watched any hockey lately, he looked stunned at your answer. Because when you were together, you never missed a game. While you weren’t always physically at a game; you either kept up with it by following social media updates, watching it on television, or listening to the radio broadcasts of the game while walking to the subway or in a cab.

“You…You don’t watch hockey?”

You could’ve given him the long answer. How you unfollowed everyone and everything related to Islanders hockey, blocked every variation of the Islanders team name from social media to keep any news from popping up, muted his name on Twitter, deleted the NHL app, and if you were at a restaurant with friends and a television had a hockey game on, you always requested to sit at the furthest table away from the game.

Instead, you shook your head, “No.”

The longer you stood in front of him, the more you felt your composure slip. You didn't like feeling out of control of a situation, and standing so close to him only reminded you of what you didn’t have anymore.

“I have to go.”

But again, he took a step forward and tried to stop you from leaving, “Please, can we just––”

If only he had fought this hard ten months ago to keep your relationship alive; you wouldn’t be running away and he wouldn’t be begging for a basic conversation.

You could feel the tears well up behind your eyes and the familiar sting as you shrugged off his touch, “Mat, I really can’t do this right now––”

“It doesn’t have to be now––”

“Mathew,” Kennady’s harsh voice ripped through Mat’s desperate one.

His arm fell to his side, accepting defeat, as he kept his pleading eyes on your frame, “Ken, hey––”

“We’re late for something,” she took the shaking coffee cup from your hand and looped an arm around your bicep, “We’re leaving.”

And with her direct tone, and guidance of turning you around to exit the coffee shop, she kept a strong hold on your arm for support. Your breathing became more irregular, because out of all the coffee shops in the area, how did you manage to run into him. Maybe you were meant to run into him…Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling you that maybe you should talk to him.

“Don’t turn around,” Kennady whispered in your ear as you came up to the door, “I know you want to, but don’t.”

The first tear fell when she opened the door and you so badly wanted to get one last look at him. One more look at the one person you would still love no matter how much time passed. The second tear fell when you were waiting for the light to change at a crosswalk, as Kennady whispered encouraging words. The third tear fell when the two of you made it to a park and sat down on a bench.

She handed your coffee back to you, “You did great,” and gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, “So great.”

You tried to take a sip of coffee, but your hand shook too much. You tried to swallow down the scratchiness at the back of your throat, but it only came back stronger, “Why…” Another single tear fell as your voice cracked, “Why wouldn’t you let me turn around?”

She offered you a sympathetic smile, “Because I know how much you still love him.”

A small pathetic laugh escaped your lips at her honest answer, and you tried your best to mirror her smile, but it was as everything had just caught up to you. You had felt his comforting touch on you again. Heard his soothing voice again. You were with him again.

With how persistent he was to talk with you, it felt like he wanted to be with you.

The tears welling up in your eyes caused your eyebrows to pull together as you cupped a hand to your mouth and over your nose. Slowly, you leaned your head onto Kennady’s shoulder as she placed a comforting arm around your shoulders that shook slightly.

––––

The next time you saw Mat was another coincidence.

You were in the living room of a house in Garden City, softly chatting with friends in the corner, when a sudden roar of cheers from the front of the house interrupted your conversation. You and your friends laughed it off as more drunk antics of other guests, but then you heard his name.

“The person who absolutely crushed tonight’s game and that we’re forever grateful is an Islander; Mat Barzal!”

More cheers of agreement.

The plastic of the red solo cup in your hand easily cracked under your grip.

Deep breath in, he won’t come into this room…Deep breath out, who does he even know here…Deep breath in, did he come alone…Deep breath out, or was he here with teammates since it was after a game…Deep breath in––Oh my God, Tito just walked in.

He caught your eye immediately, and just like at the coffee shop, his eyes widened along with yours. But unlike the coffee shop, he didn’t come over to greet you. Instead, he offered you a slight nod of his head and turned around on his heel. Vaguely, you heard him speak over the music and talk of the party, but all your ears could pick up was ‘let’s go to the kitchen…’

A sigh of relief passed through your lips as you felt your shoulders relax. The small group you had been part of for the better portion of the night all gave you knowing looks, eyebrows raised high.

“I’m alright,” You took a sip of your drink. None of them looked convinced, Kennady specifically, but you stifled out a laugh before you took another, much longer, sip of your drink, “Really! I’m alright. It’s been over a year…” You gulped and locked eyes with Kennady, “I’m alright.”

She didn’t look convinced, but restarted the previous conversation, diverting the attention away from you.

It was January, three months since you saw Mat at the coffee shop, and you were fine. At least you thought you were capable of not breaking down in front of him. While you still were without much––if any––closure after your relationship ended, seeing him at the coffee shop felt like turning a page. Not necessarily a whole chapter, but just enough to start feeling a little better.

You both lived around the same area and still had a few mutual friends. To think you would never see him ever again would be foolish, so you had to make the best of this situation. Although, part of you hoped not to run into him ever again.

There had been times where you overhead a ‘Barzy’ or a ‘Beau,’ an Islanders chant, or someone complimenting Mat on his goals of the game. But for the most part, it felt as if he wasn’t there. You enjoyed the rest of the night, but a few hours later, his laugh caught your ear and you saw him tilt his head back from your peripheral vision.

You hadn’t even realized he was in the same room.

Progress, you smiled into your red solo cup as you went to take a drink, small steps of progress.

But your tiny smile disappeared when you saw you were all out of alcohol. With a frown, you quietly excused yourself from your group and walked into the kitchen. You waved at people you recognized, and felt great up until this point of the night. With every genuine smile you offered a friend, they returned it with a sympathetic smile, assuming you were overcompensating happiness by being in the same place with your ex-boyfriend.

And in turn, it caused doubts to float through your mind.

Were you really feeling alright being so close in proximity to him? Were you really starting to feel the process of mending your broken heart, or were you lying to yourself? Would you break down if he were to cross paths with him?

Repeating your breathing exercise from earlier, you calmed yourself down as you weaved through more people to get to the kitchen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to have the same drink, or something different, so you stood still for a few moments debating in your head. You were far from coming to a decision, but when you heard a familiar voice say your name, you quickly came to a decision that you needed to be sober.

You spun around and came face to face with Mat.

Unlike the athletic wear you saw him in the last time, he was currently dressed in a white button up shirt tucked into a pair of navy slacks. The top two buttons of his shirt undone, his sleeves cuffed up, and a small wisp of hair rested against the side of his forehead.

You felt your heart erratically beat against your ribcage as you stood in front of him. He looked as if he didn’t expect you to turn around for him, and the two of you stood in silence. His brain failed at forming a thought, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

“You got a haircut.”

Mat’s cheeks went red as he ducked his chin into his chest, letting out a small laugh, “Yeah,” he looked up at you with the faintest of smiles, “I did.”

Silence.

He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “Uh…What’re you drinking?”

Snapping back to reality, and to why you were in the kitchen in the first place, you blinked your eyes a few times, “Water.”

“There’s some––I can, here,” Mat stumbled over his feet, like he did with his words, as he walked past you and to the fridge. You followed him toward the fridge, and watched him lean forward to grab a water from the back. You only had a few seconds to admire his side profile before he stood up straight and uncapped the water bottle for you.

“Thanks,” you uneasily said as you took the water from him, making sure you didn’t brush your fingers against his.

Mat took a deep breath, looked away from you, and ran a hand through his hair. You could now hear your heartbeat in your ears, knowing exactly what he was about to ask.

“Can we talk?”

This was exactly why you wanted water.

You took a long sip of water, and watched as Mat anxiously fiddled with his fingers. You brought the bottle away from your lips and offered him a tight lipped smile, “Not now.”

He looked like he wanted to say more; like he wanted to push you to your limits in order to get any type of reaction from you, but he knew that you wouldn’t play into that, especially in public. So he took your words as a cliffhanger––not an outright no––that you would revisit the topic of conversation he wanted to discuss.

But in actuality, you planned to dodge the conversation if he ever brought it up again.

Mat stuffed his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels, still not knowing how to direct the conversation, even though he was the one who approached you.

As you stood in silence with Mat, little by little, you began to overthink.

It was in a kitchen where you and Mat had first met. You were at a different mutual friend’s house, but it was eerily similar to how you met the first time…talking over drinks. Except this time, there was so much history between the two of you that it was hard to find some common ground to talk about without feeling like you were walking on eggshells.

The first time you met him, you had only heard his name in passing from occasionally tuning into Islanders games or hearing your friends talk about their friend Mat. The conversation flowed easily, laughter was present nearly every minute the two of you talked, and he slowly moved toward you thinking you didn’t notice him trying.

But you noticed everything.

Like now; you noticed there was no conversation, no laughter present, and how Mat leaned slightly away from you. There were too many memories that couldn’t be forgotten. Too many nights where the two of you were at a friends house like this, but would ride home together with fingers intertwined, instead of leaving separately which would happen tonight. Too many nights where there was an extra set of clothes on his bedroom floor that looked like they belonged.

Too many feelings involved.

You wanted to believe that you were strong enough not to break down in front of him again. You wanted to think that you were alright; wanted to think that you weren’t moments away from shutting down and having your heart wrecked all over again. But you didn’t want to leave his presence just yet. You weren’t at your tipping point yet.

��You had a game tonight?”

Mat nodded his head rapidly, taking in any interaction and conversation he could get with you. He seemed to also not want to leave your presence just yet.

“It was a good game,” he easily smiled with a shrug of his shoulders.

You let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, “Stop being modest,” if you were closer to him, and felt more comfortable, you would’ve shoved his shoulder, “People were cheering your name when you arrived.”

His eyebrows rose with excitement, “You heard all of that?”

“Now tell me how you really played,” you tilted your head back slightly to take a sip of water.

There was a smile toying on your face, but the grin on Mat’s face stretched from ear to ear, “Really fucking good,” he let out a breathy laugh, “I scored twice, had some really nice plays, a couple of assists…” his eyes held a certain gleam to them whenever he talked about hockey, something you never saw even when he talked about you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled, “That’s amazing. Only one short of another hat trick.” Both of you let out a small laugh at the attempt of your joke. There was more silence, and you could tell you were about to hit your tipping point soon, no matter how many times you scolded yourself not to cry, but you spoke up.

“If you keep playing this well I might have to watch a game.”

The way his face lit up was different than anything you had seen before, even with what you saw just seconds ago when he was talking about hockey. There was a difference in the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, his eyebrows arched in an excited way, his smile showcased all of his teeth, and there was a different spark in his eyes.

“Yeah that’s––You should,” he cleared his throat, but still had a grin on his face, “If you watch you’ll have to let me know.”

“I’ll do that––”

“Barzal!”

Both of your attentions were pulled away by the shout of his name. And when you saw that the person who called out his name held up a ping pong ball, and Mat turned his head to look at you with a small smile––one similar to the night you first met, but a little less devilish––you knew that this was your tipping point.

While it would be fun to pretend like you barely knew Mat, partner up with him for beer pong, and relive the moment how your relationship first started…It was too much.

You smiled apologetically, clenching your jaw tight to keep your chin from wobbling, “My sister texted saying she needs a little motivational talk.”

He hid his disappointment well, but you saw that spark in his eyes fade away when he nodded his head in understanding. But he still held a small smile on his face for you, “You were always the best at those.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, not trusting yourself with words as memories of you motivating Mat before a game or cheering him up after a hard loss came flooding into your mind. You silently sniffled and picked your water up, “I’ll see you later, Mat.”

“Yeah…” he sounded like he was in a daydream, “See you later.”

You kept your eyes glued to the floor and texted Kennady asking if she could meet you out back, as you weaved through people. This time as you made your way through the crowd, you didn’t smile at anyone.

The first tear fell when you heard someone cheer Mat on by saying he should play basketball instead of hockey. The single tear slowly slid down your cheek as you heard his laughter echo around the house. The second tear fell as you replayed the similarities of the night you first met in your head compared to tonight. Everything almost lined up the same way, everything almost felt like that night.

Except this night…there were less smiles, more silences, and instead of your heart fluttering with butterflies because a boy you thought was cute talked to you at a party, you felt your heart drop down into your stomach like a broken elevator.

Your phone buzzed when your hand reached out to open the back door; Kennady saying she was making her way to you.

And the third tear fell when you turned your head to look back at Mat one last time.

You should’ve known he was already looking at you.

His eyebrows were pinched together in concern, head slightly tilted to the side, as he looked straight at you and mouthed “are you okay?” Sometimes you forgot that he knew you just as well as you knew him. And this moment made it clear to you that he didn’t believe the lie you told to get out of being his beer pong partner.

Your chin wobbled as you tried your best to smile––which you were sure looked more like a grimace––and you mouthed back, “I’m fine.”

You didn’t wait for him to either repeat his question or ditch the game to comfort you. And in a matter of seconds, you were out the door, the cold January air prickled your scorching hot skin, as you saw Kennady already waiting outside.

She looked up from her phone, and when she saw the deep frown on your face and silent tears falling down your cheeks, her shoulders dropped as she opened her arms. Hastily, you made a few long strides over to her and collapsed in her arms. She held you tightly as one hand trailed her finger tips up and down your spine to sooth your quiet cries.

“I––I still love him,” you hiccuped.

“I know.”

––––

January passed slowly as ever, and you didn’t see Mat for the rest of the month.

You tried to watch an Islanders game, but when the camera panned to Mat, and the announcers praised him for how amazing of a season he was having, you shut it off. You had a plan to watch the game, send him a text after, and then maybe it would lead into a conversation…but it was too soon for you. Even after over a year of not seeing him play, it was too soon.

So you tried again in the first week of February. It was an away game, and while Mat rarely ever showed it, you knew from previous experience that he was always more nervous playing those than a home game. And to hold yourself accountable to actually watch the game, you texted Mat a few hours before puck drop.

He never claimed to have any superstitions about looking at his phone before a game, but you knew he always kept it away to lessen distractions. So, after composing a few different variations of a message, you sent a small good luck tonight!! And then set your phone face down on the coffee table.

Your heart was beating more than it should have for just sending a simple text. You felt bile churning in your stomach as you buried your face into your clammy hands. It’s a text message, you scolded yourself, no need to overthink everything. But overthinking was what you did best.

Maybe you shouldn’t have used two exclamation marks. Maybe you should’ve said your name in case he deleted your number. Maybe you shouldn’t have prematurely sent a text message, because what if you couldn’t make it through a whole game? What if your text messed up his pre-game ritual? What if he lied when he told you he wanted to know if you watched a game?

What if he changed his number and didn’t tell you?

But your phone vibrated against the coffee table, snapping you out from your inner-turmoil. And with a deep breath, you flipped it over and saw his contact name: Mathew Barzal.

And from his message, you knew that he knew it was you; Are you watching tonight?!

A small laugh escaped your lips as you sent back a simple, yeah!

Stop using exclamation marks, you scolded yourself.

But before you could overthink the one word you sent him, he responded instantly: Guess I’ll have to step up my game.

You bit your bottom lip to conceal your smile as you typed a message back to him. And for the next half hour, the two of you messaged back and forth about your days, Mat expressed his nervousness, you sent him a little motivational message, and then he said he had to go put his uniform on for warm ups.

There was still some time before puck drop, so you tried your best to busy yourself with tasks. You cleaned the kitchen, made a grocery list, and reorganized the books on your bookshelf. But no matter what you did, your thoughts circled back to Mat. And this time, you didn’t try to block them out, because you came to peace that he would always linger in the back of your mind.

He was there when you put away a mug––one that never rested evenly on a flat surface, due to a chip on the bottom, caused by Mat accidentally dropping it when hot water spilled over the top and burned his hand. There when you made the grocery list––because he would always leave it behind when you two would go to the store together. And there on your bookshelf––when you moved the hockey book he got you for your birthday.

His presence would always be tangled with yours, like a stubborn knot in a necklace that was impossible to disentangle.

You busied yourself by making tea, using the chipped mug, and turned on the game. The players were in their starting positions, and you saw Mat at the face off. Holding your breath, you said a little prayer, because you knew how nervous Mat got during a face off. He always said that he would turn the nerves into excitement to give him adrenaline, but you knew there was a tiny white lie in that.

But you watched the game, with your cup of tea to try and lessen the anxiety you felt, but it was of no use. While Mat was playing a fantastic game; you still cringed when he got smashed into the boards too rough, bounced your leg whenever he had the puck and an opposing defenseman came up on him, and shut one eye when he brought his stick back to shoot a goal.

Sixty minutes of hockey went by excruciatingly slow, but it was worth it, with the Islanders winning by two.

You shut the TV off, placed the mug on its side in the sink, and went to grab your phone off the charger. The game had not even ended fifteen minutes ago but there was a text from a Mathew Barzal on your screen.

With a deep breath, you unlocked your phone and read his message: Did the game meet your standards?

You let out a chuckle as you walked into your room while typing out your message; Nice goal.

The comment was going to inflate his ego, you could picture his wide smile and raised eyebrows in the locker room reading your message. And like how you messaged before the game, it lasted for quite some time; with Mat admitting he was more nervous with you watching, and you reassuring him he played an excellent game. When he finally had to shower, you wished him a safe ride home and he wished you a good night sleep.

While you still tossed and turned under your covers, you managed to get more sleep that night than you had in the last year.

–––

Two weeks later, Mat called you.

It was after a home game, one that the Islanders lost, and a game where Mat wracked up a few penalties. Like every hockey game of his you’d watched since you promised him that one night, he texted you not even fifteen minutes of being off the ice.

Can I call you?

You paced around in the living area of your apartment thinking of what to respond. You wanted to talk to him…You felt ready to talk to him, but there was still some hesitation. The two of you had branched out to texting each other even when there wasn’t a game scheduled, and he had yet to bring up wanting to talk about your relationship again. So part of you had an inkling he would try it over the phone if you agreed. But then there was the other part of you that knew he just wanted cheering up.

To have a little more time to psych yourself up for a phone call with him, you responded: Sure! But why don’t you shower and head home first.

He sent you––sounds good. I’ll call you––And you prepared yourself for Mat to take the fastest shower possible and to maybe break a few traffic laws to get back to his place.

The assumption you made turned out correct, because in just under an hour of Mat officially off the ice, there was an incoming call from a Mathew Barzal.

The phone vibrated in your hand a few times as you breathed in and out. But before his call went to your voicemail, you clicked accept, “Mat…” you started off slowly, “Hey.”

“Hi,” his voice was low as you heard his door shut. Neither one of you said anything, but you heard movements from his end. You heard him put his keys in the bowl by his front door, fling off his shoes, open another door––presumably his bedroom door––and heard the sound of blankets shifting. You imagined he was sitting on his bed, as he let out a deep sigh, “I played like shit.”

“No you didn’t,” your automatic instinct was to reassure him, “Everyone has their off days, it doesn’t mean that you’re a shit player.”

He groaned, and you heard a soft thump. You imagined he fell back on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling, “I just––Some of those calls they made on me––and how I tripped over my skates and ate shit with no one around me?” He let another deep sigh, “It was embarrassing.”

Thankfully, you had done your nighttime routine during the second period intermission. So while you listened to Mat list out all of the things he thought he had done wrong during the game, you slipped under the covers of your own bed.

“And then when I thought I scored a goal, but the puck hit the crossbar, and it came back to hit me in the face––”

“Mat, that’s an honest mistake––”

“But it was embarrassing!” He raised his voice out of irritation. And this time, you knew for a fact he wasn’t irritated with you…He was irritated at hockey, the one thing he loved most in the world. “I swear I could hear people laughing at me. And I just know that the media is going to write how I should be a better player because I was a first round draft pick and with how much money my contract is––”

“Mat,” his sentences were strung along, and you don’t think he took a single breath during his rant, so you cut him off, “You can’t always be a perfect player, but you were a first round pick for a reason. It might not have been the outcome you wanted, you played the best you could tonight.”

“But it wasn’t good enough.”

His negative self talk sounded eerily similar to the thoughts that swirled around your mind after the break up.

“How many other twenty-three year olds do you know that play professional hockey?”

“There’s Beau, Mitch Marner, Carter Hart, Matthew Tkachuk, Tyson––”

“Stop,” you harshly cut him off as you sat up in bed, taking a pillow and hugging it to your chest, “They don’t count because they’re like the one percent of people who make it to the NHL.” You tried to stress your point, “Like you, they’ve trained an insane amount to get where they are. But how many other people do that? And how many people do train for most of their life and still don’t get to play in the league you do?”

He was silent.

“The average twenty-three year old isn’t playing professional hockey,” you shut your eyes, because no matter how great of a hockey player you thought Mat was, he never had the same faith in himself, “The average person isn’t playing professional hockey. Mat, you’re an incredible player; honestly one of the best in the league right now. And it’s not just me saying that to make you feel better, just look at the Islanders stats from before and after you came along.”

Again, he stayed silent.

“You came into this league so young, but so talented. Sure, you still have things to learn, but you’re the best version of yourself you can be right now. And there’s still so much time for you to grow to be an even better player,” you let out a small breath, “It blows my mind how good you are. And some people might talk shit and say you played poorly, but if they were to be on the ice with you?”

You waited to see if he had anything to say, but when he stayed mute, you let out a soft chuckle, “If they––an average person––was on the ice with you they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Mat let out a small laugh, and you imagined that he had one hand covering his eyes as he still laid on his back on top of his duvet, “Thank you.”

Unclenching the pillow you hugged closely to your chest, you slid down your headboard, and made yourself comfortable under the covers. You laid on your side, staring out your window at the same night sky he was under, and whispered, “I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

You imagined he sat up, elbows resting on his knees as he pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, as his interest piqued, “And how’s that?”

“As someone who’s great at everything they do.”

It was silent on his end. But you expected that with how honest and instantaneous your answer came.

He cleared his throat, “Are you in bed?”

“Yeah,” you answered as you pulled the sheets up under your chin.

“I…” he let out a shaky breath, but whatever he wanted to say, he didn’t say it, “I still have to get ready for bed.”

“I won’t keep you.”

“We…” he started off slowly, and you imagined he stared at the wall in full concentration, and this time, he said half of whatever he wanted to say, “We should do this again.”

A small smile tugged the corners of your lips upward, “Talk?”

“Yeah, um, talk,” he let out a nervous laugh, and you imagined him rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “On the phone…In person…”

You reciprocated his nervous laughter, but it wasn’t the bad kind of nerves you had felt in your stomach over the last year…this feeling reminded you of the excited nerves you had when you first met him, “You must really need more motivational talks,” you joked with him. But his answer, his honest and instantaneous answer, was not a joke.

“I feel like a better person around you.”

You were the silent one now.

“I’ll let you get to sleep,” his voice was soft and light, yet he sounded like he didn’t want to let you go, “Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Mat.”

After he hung up, you imagined he slept with a smile on his face, just like you.

–––

February might be the shortest calendar month in the year, but it felt impossibly long.

Between late night phone calls with Mat after a game and texting whenever you had a free chance at work, your nerves never disappeared. They were a mix of an excited spark with a dash of anxiety that festered in the pit of your stomach, and only intensified when you saw his contact name pop up on your phone. Yet, the more you communicated with him, the more relaxed you felt. Laughter came more easily between you two, awkward pauses were few and far between, and you smiled more.

But part of you was still hesitant that he would leave unexpectedly like he did nearly a year and a half ago.

After phone calls and texts, March was the month you saw Mat in person for the first time since January. It was in a group setting, but it was planned with the intention of seeing each other. It was a group lunch––you sat next to him––and he occasionally knocked his knee against yours. He apologized every time, but you didn’t think his movements were an accident.

March had more group outings, more texts, and a lot more phone calls randomly throughout the day.

April was a little more different.

The spring air sent a chill down your spine as you walked toward the entrance of a sports bar with Kennady and a few other friends. It was another group outing, another pre-planned meeting where you would see Mat. Weaving your way through tables and standing patrons, you finally got to the high rise table your group was at. A mix of average twenty-something year-olds and hockey players; but Mat caught your eye first.

You saw him sitting on the barstool, hands wrapped around his beer glass as his index finger anxiously tapped the sweating glass. While he softly laughed along with friends who boisterously laughed, he didn’t look too enthralled with the conversation around him. But then he picked his head up and saw you.

A wide grin slowly spread across his face as he straightened out his slumped shoulders.

Everyone greeted each other with hugs, while you settled for waving. When people took their seats, coincidentally the only open seat was next to Mat. Easily, you slid in as he slid a drink in front of you.

“When you texted saying you were almost here, I ordered you a drink,” Mat whispered with a small smile, “I hope that’s alright.”

You picked up the glass with a tight lipped smile, “Yeah, of course, thank you,” you took a sip as he let out a nervous breath through his nose. You set the glass down on the table and angled your body in the chair to face him, “How was practice?”

“Got my ass handed to me,” he let out a breathy laugh, head hanging low as he shrugged his shoulders, “It was alright.”

While Mat had played excellent hockey since you started tuning in again, the past few games were rough. He kept missing easy plays, his shots went wide, he talked back to the referees more than usual, and had more penalties called on him. From your phone calls, you knew he felt uneasy––he admitted that to you––but whenever you pressed the topic further, he brushed it under the rug.

His avoidance of communicating his feelings gave you a sense of deja vu.

You picked a french fry off his plate, “You scored a nice goal last game though, surely Barry couldn’t have beaten you down that much.”

“I just need to get out of my head,” his eyes were far off, staring off into the distance over your shoulder. You wanted to press him further, wanted to know what was causing him distress in his head, but he changed the conversation. He completely changed his demeanor with a smile, as he swatted your hand away from his plate, “Stop stealing my fries.”

As a few fries dropped from your hand, you successfully managed to keep hold of a single fry. And with a proud smile, you popped it in your mouth, “You could’ve ordered me fries, but instead you bought me a drink.”

He gently laughed next to you as he inched toward the edge of his seat, his knees knocking against yours. “Sorry.” he lied with a smile he couldn’t contain.

You raised your eyebrows and purposefully knocked your knee against his in retaliation, “No you’re not.”

He picked up a fry and threw it at you.

The night continued as it had, conversing with friends, and also going back into your own little world with Mat. Throughout the evening, while he held steady conversation with people from across the table, he occasionally knocked his knee into yours. And when you bumped him back, a smile stretched across his face as he maintained eye contact with whoever he talked to.

Everything about the night felt easy until the first hiccup happened.

You and Mat were off in your own little world again, facing each other on your barstools, knees knocking against each other, as he talked about an article that reminded him of you.

“I have to send it to you,” he shook his head with laughter, as he scrolled through his phone, “Just by the title I knew I had to show you, but wanted to wait until I saw you in person to see your reaction.”

You felt your stomach flip at his admission. He wanted to see your reaction. And based on how giddy he looked as he searched for the article to text it to you, he thought your reaction would be similar to his. He wanted to see you smile.

Your phone vibrated on the table as it lit up with his contact name; Mathew Barzal.

When you opened your phone, you let out a laugh when you saw the article populate with an image. It was definitely an article you would enjoy, and when you brought your gaze back up to Mat, a smile wide on your face, you noticed his giddy look was gone. It was replaced with a more contemplative look with his eyes locked in on your phone screen.

Your smile slowly faded away as you knocked your knee against his, “What’s up?”

He left you unanswered as he kept his stare on your phone until the screen turned black. He picked his head up to look at you, a frown on his face, “You changed my contact name,” you sat frozen in your seat, “and took away the picture.”

His words registered with you, but all you heard was ringing in your ears.

Because yes, you changed his contact name and removed the picture of him. His name went from just Mat, with a hockey stick emoji, to his full name after the breakup. And his contact picture, one Tito took of him in lounge wear in a hotel room at an away game on the phone––talking to you––with his head tipped back in laughter, was now just MB in a gray circle.

Did he still have your contact name and picture the same in his phone?

“I––”

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugged his shoulders and tried his best to smile. But the corners of his lips barely turned upward, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his observation, so you stared at him with your lips slightly parted and eyes wide. Mat tried to show another smile, but his lips just formed a straight line. You wanted to tell him you were sorry; that you had to change those details or else you would cry whenever you looked at your phone. But you didn’t know how to verbalize that without breaking down in front of him as the painful memories of stripping Mat away from your life replayed in your mind.

This was the longest silence you sat in with him since January.

Mat slowly shifted his knees away from yours and as you continued to stare at his side profile. He joined in on a conversation with Tito and someone else, but you had no idea what they were talking about. All you thought about were Mat's forehead creases, his glossy eyes full of despair, and the frown still present on his face.

Reluctantly, you turned away from him and found yourself listening in to a different conversation, but all you could pay attention to was Mat’s slumped posture in your peripheral vision.

An hour later, another round of drinks were bought, and everyone was still having a good time with lots of laughter and smiles present. Except your smile was forced and you couldn’t hear Mat’s laugh.

But then you felt someone knock their knee against yours.

You dropped your vision down and saw Mat’s knee an inch away from yours. Thinking that this time, he knocked his knee against yours on accident, you kept quiet. But then you saw him knock his knee against yours again, with his knee resting against yours for an extra few seconds, you looked up at him.

A small hopeful smile was on Mat’s face.

Mirroring his shy smile, you ducked your chin into your chest as you felt butterflies in your stomach.

You knocked your knee against his.

Both of your smiles brightened, and just when Mat opened his mouth to say something, someone clapped a hand on Mat’s shoulder. He looked surprised at the contact, but when you heard the TV behind your table report on the top hockey highlights of the week––with the announcer commenting on Mathew Barzal’s goal––the table erupted into obnoxious cheers. Mat’s face went beet red as he shied away from the praise his friends offered.

After the rowdiness at the table calmed down, you knocked your knee against Mat’s as he picked up his beer. He raised his eyes up to look at you, a small smile making its way onto his face as he took a sip of his drink. When he placed his glass back on the wooden table, he knocked his knee against yours.

“Why are you acting so shy,” you let out a small laugh, because in all of the time you’d known Mat, he craved the attention and praise that came with being a hockey player.

He shrugged his shoulders, tapping his fingers against the table, “The compliments get to be too much sometimes.”

You shut your eyes tight as you tilted your head back in laughter. And when you opened your eyes, Mat was looking at you with gentle eyes full of fondness, “Stop lying.”

There were still some small laughs coming from you, but when Mat took your statement literally, your laughter ceased.

“I like the compliments more when they come from you,” he said with a serious facial expression, “Your words mean the most to me.”

You looked into his eyes; ones that were full of regret as it looked like he was retracing the steps of how your relationship came to this point. How it went from two people who were so in love with each other, in the most idyllic relationship…to people who painfully avoided each other for nearly a year, people whose voices wavered with skepticism when they spoke to each other, and to people who still loved each other but didn’t know how to reconcile.

Sometimes you thought it would be easier not to know him, in turn that you could forget about the heartbreak he caused you. But that thought was always easily diminished; the love you felt when you were with him were the most joyous moments of your life that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Well…Maybe one thing.

If you could trade those early days of happiness to fall in love with him all over again––and not experience any heartbreak––you would do it in a heartbeat.

Mat cleared his throat, “You don’t…” he offered you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

With a nod of your head, you bit the inside of your cheek as you felt your throat tighten up. To alleviate some of the tension in the air, you took a sip of your drink. And when you tore your eyes away from Mat to look at the table, you saw that the table was empty, save for you and Mat.

You didn’t know the last time just the two of you sat at the same table alone.

“Where did everyone go?” You turned your head to face Mat with a tilt of your head.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I think they’re off getting more drinks.”

You chuckled and faked offense, “And they didn’t ask us what we wanted?”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, as he turned his head over to look at the bar where everyone stood. When he turned back to look in your eyes, you could see the wheels turning behind his head as he thought.

“We could get our own drinks…” He said slowly, eyes shining full of hope as he leaned in toward you, “Somewhere else…” and the next word he added, voice dangerously low in a whisper, sent more shivers down your spine than the spring breeze, “Alone.”

It wasn’t the first time Mat took your breath away, and without thinking of any possible consequence, you nodded your head once, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow at you, the signature grin on his face was contagious as you smiled back, nodding your head even more rapidly. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see where your friends were, and then when he turned back to you, he smirked, “I think we have less than thirty seconds before they come back.”

As if the two of you communicated telepathically, you jumped off the barstools at the same time and walked at a brisk pace toward the doors. Once the two of you were safely outside and at the street corner, both of you doubled over in laughter.

“Did we ditch our friends?” You looked up at Mat who clutched his stomach.

He nodded his head, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Instead of painfully remembering all the times the two of you would duck out early from a party to spend time together, you remembered them with a smile and a laugh.

Once your laughter subsided, you straightened your posture and slid your hands in to your jacket pockets, “Where to?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” he apologetically smiled, “There are some bars a few blocks down.” He suggested as he raised his wrist to look at his watch. His eyes widened slightly, “Shit, it’s late. We’ll either make it right before last call or miss it entirely.”

You stood in silence as you saw the wheels behind his head turning in thought again. It looked like he had come up with another place to walk to, but he looked uneasy as he suggested it, “There is…another place.”

Your curiosity sounded too hopeful, “Where?”

Mat looked down at his shoes, scuffing them against the pavement, before looking back up at you in uncertainty. He took a deep breath, “My apartment.”

Your eyes widened at his suggestion.

His apartment.

The apartment where you had your last moments as a couple right before he broke up with you. Were you ready to go back? Did you want to go back? Because there was no doubt in your mind that going there would unlock more memories of when you were the happiest with Mat. But if you wanted to progress in anything––in a friendship––with Mat, you needed to get over the little fears you overdramatized in your head.

“We don’t have to,” Mat was quick to backtrack the offer of his apartment, “I know that’s where we––But I––I have drinks there. It’s not a far walk, and we won’t have to worry about getting into a place. But I understand if you don’t want to––”

“Let’s go,” you sucked in a deep breath and nodded your head the same time Mat’s eyes widened with shock, “It’ll be easier.”

“Are you sure?”

You took another deep breath and lied, “Positive.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but he wasn't going to press you any further. So, with a nod of his head, he gestured toward the way of his apartment like you didn’t already know, “This way.”

The walk to his place wasn’t far at all, in fact, it was most likely closer than any of the bars you would definitely not make it to in time. So his apartment was a safe option as the two of you walked in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but the two of you were replaying the last time you were both in his apartment.

Once you arrived at the building, Mat waved at the doorman––whose eyes brightened at you with recognition––as he hit the up button on the elevator. The ride up was just as silent as the walk to his place, and when you stood in front of the door to his place, your palms began to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

But you stuck it through, and when Mat unlocked the door and let you in first, a wave of nostalgia hit you like a ton of bricks. Everything was the same, albeit a bit messier, but it felt almost like you were back in a home again.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come over,” Mat let out a nervous laugh as he walked past you and picked some of his belongings up that were strewn across the floor.

You waved him off, heading over to the living room area, and folded a blanket for him, “Don’t worry about it.”

You heard Mat let out an anxious deep breath as you watched him turn around and head into the kitchen. He seemed just as nervous as you. When he was out of sight, you set the unevenly folded blanket down on the ottoman and walked over to the couch. You sunk down and let out a shaky breath that you had been holding in since you walked through the front door.

You didn’t have much time to dwell in your thoughts, because you heard Mat’s footsteps, and sat up straight on the couch. He came around the other side of the couch with a beer bottle in one hand for him, and then a wine glass and a wine bottle, for you. He set his beer and wine glass down on the coffee table as he took a seat next to you.

“As your bartender for the night,” he sarcastically said as he took the wine opener and screwed it into the cork of the bottle, “I expect a very nice tip for bringing your drink to you.” You laughed at his comment to lighten the mood, but all you could focus on was the way his arms flexed when he twisted the corkscrew around a few times, “I even provided you with a whole bottle of wine just for yourself.”

You let out a small laugh, “Lucky me,” you whispered just as Mat looked up at you through his eyelashes.

He offered you a small smile, and then went back to concentrating on opening the wine. When the corkscrew was in the center of the cork, he pressed his hands down on the miniature levers, and the bottle opened with pop.

He looked up at you with a proud smile and eyebrows raised proudly, “Eh?” He asked you as he poured you a glass, “You should be impressed.”

You snorted, “That you opened a wine bottle?”

“Mhm,” Mat hummed as he handed you the glass. You offered him a smile as a thanks, as he grabbed his beer and rested an arm on the back of the couch, “And that I didn’t spill any of it.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a sip of wine, as your mind pieced together that you were drinking your favorite type of wine. That led to a flurry of questions in your mind because why––after all this time––would he still keep your favorite bottle of wine at his place?

But Mat asked you about how your presentation at work went before you were able to bring it up.

Much like the time spent at the sports bar earlier, it was all laughter and smiles, except this time you weren’t under the scrutinizing gaze of Kennady or the hesitant glances of Tito. It was just you and Mat, alone in his apartment, as if no time had passed. With every twenty minutes that went by, it felt as if Mat would move a tiny bit closer to you. You didn’t mind at all, and when he was close enough, you knocked your knee against his.

It was well past midnight, and you were still enjoying yourself the same as you did when you first walked in. The bottle of wine was nearly empty; Mat joining in on the wine drinking after he finished his beer.

Everything about the time spent at Mat’s place felt easy until the second hiccup of the night happened.

Mat placed his empty wine glass down on the coffee table and let out a deep breath through his nose. His face looked serious; eyebrows pinched together that caused a crease to form between his eyes, mouth pressed in a straight line, with his eyes firmly concentrated on you. The look made your stomach uneasy, so you finished off the last of your wine, and sat it down next to Mat’s empty glass.

You let out an apprehensive laugh as you leaned your side into the back of the couch, just below where Mat’s hand rested, “What’s on your mind, hockey player?”

With his hand so close to your shoulder, he stretched out his fingers and lightly grazed your shoulder. He gently moved his fingertips along your shoulder blade a few times before he gulped, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you breathed out as a chill ran down your spine.

Both of your bodies were facing each other as he moved an inch closer to you. While his fingertips withdrew from your shoulder, he knocked his knee against yours. But instead of retracting it like he had done all night, he kept his knee against yours. With another deep breath through his nostrils, he inched closer to you again, his thigh pressing against yours.

You held your breath as you stared into his yearning eyes, and like he was telling you a secret, he whispered, “Sometimes you feel like a stranger.”

Your eyes widened, stunned at his confession. You were at a loss for words, but luckily you didn’t have to respond, because he expounded upon his admission.

“And it…It’s so frustrating,” his voice was low as he maintained eye contact with you; his soft eyes full of longing stared into your wide and timid eyes as his fingertips reached back down to touch your shoulders. But instead of just staying in one place, his fingertips trailed down to your collarbone, “I know how you relax after a stressful day,” his fingers slowly moved to the side of your neck as he let out a soft chuckle, “I know how you organize a closet.” HIs fingers moved painfully slow up your neck, “I know the facial expressions you make when you’re nervous…”

You clenched your jaw, as your breathing hitched, and you slightly tilted your head to the side to give his fingers more room to wander.

Mat traced his fingers along your jawline as he leaned his face closer to you, “I know what makes you happy,” you felt his breath fan against your face as his fingers caressed your cheek, “What pisses you off.” He kept his mouth in a straight line, jaw slightly clenched, as he moved his fingers to the back of your neck, cupping your cheek. He kept quiet, the only noise in the apartment that could be heard was your own heartbeat and Mat’s breathing.

Finally, he rested his forehead against yours as he slightly brushed the tip of his nose against yours. You kept your eyes wide open in anticipation, as Mat closed his eyes for a moment. He let out a shaky breath before slowly opening his eyes to look at you with an amount of adoration you’d never seen before, “How to love you.”

“We’re friends.”

“No we’re not,” his voice was strained with irritation. But this time, the irritation in his voice wasn’t directed at either you or hockey…his irritation was at himself, “All I want is to love you again but you’re so far away.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh and muttered, “You’re a stranger who I know better than anyone else.”

You brushed your nose against his, eyes glancing down at his lips, before looking back into his wistful eyes, “I’m right here.”

With your lips parted and breath shallow; the tone of your voice hinted at what you wanted to come next.

“If I were to kiss you,” Mat’s low voice murmured as he laid out his intentions, “Would you stay?”

“Yes.”

There was no wavering hesitation in your voice, only desire for the person in front of you who you’d spent too much time without. But Mat…Mat blinked a few times as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, staring at you as if he didn’t believe this was real life. The pull you felt toward him was stronger than any pull you felt toward anyone else. There was something in him that made him irresistible, he felt it in you as well, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

Eyes closed, Mat pressed his lips against yours, desperate but chaste as you tasted the wine off him, both of you holding yourselves back for each other's sake. He rubbed his lips against yours, urging you to tip your head back. You leaned into his direction as your fingers carefully crept toward his stomach, clutching his shirt into a small fist.

The tip of his tongue peeked out in a quick stripe across your lower lip, and a strangled whimper in the back of your throat involuntarily left your lips. With his nose against your cheek, he took his hand that cupped your cheek, and ran it down your back. His palm and the tips of his fingers gliding across the expanse of your back; feeling every ridge of your spine, every bone, every dip, and every curve.

Ever so slowly, his hand trailed up your back, over your neck, as he cupped your cheek again. He deepened the kiss, tongues meeting with soft strokes, mouths hot with anticipation and need.

You had kissed Mat more times than you could count, but both of your movements were timid. While he had a hand on your cheek, his other hand laid stiff on the couch. And while your hands gripped his shirt, they weren’t physically touching him. There were so many thoughts circling your mind; how you never thought you’d be in this position again with Mat––having him want you again.

That’s when the first tear fell.

It had officially been a year and a half since your break up with Mat. A year and a half since you felt any sort of honest affection from a person. And it had only been about three months since you started to openly communicate with him again. It had taken you longer to watch a hockey game than it took for you to speak to him regularly again; longer to gain the courage to watch him skate in circles with a smile on his face because you knew he was happiest on the ice.

Happier there than he could ever be with you.

You broke away from his kiss with a sniffle.

Mat delicately pecked your lips one last time before pulling away. Your eyes were still shut tight, but you felt his burning stare on your face as his thumb wiped away the single tear from your cheek.

The second tear fell when he repeated the sentence that you didn’t know held any truth.

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

As if you were transported in time, you smelled the April air of two years ago seeping through the open car windows as Mat whispered that promise to you as he kissed your hand. But the other memory…The cruel and poignant memory that overshadowed the good memory of that sentence took over. Instead of the sweet April air, your mind fast forwarded to the month of December where the air was frigid and eliminated your relationship.

You sucked in another deep breath as you opened your eyes to get you out of the headspace of that bitter December day. Mat’s eyes were desperate––silently begging you not to go––as if he knew you were planning an escape.

“I can’t do this,” you dropped your hands from his shirt and moved away from him on the couch.

“Will you ever be ready to do this?” Mat’s voice shook, but he was withstanding from surrendering. You could now see the athlete in him––the dedication he used to train to attain all of his goals––coming out as he fought to mend your relationship, “I want to talk.”

Your hands shook just as bad as your voice, “I can’t.”

For the countless time tonight, Mat let out an irritated breath through his nostrils, “When will you be ready?”

“I don’t know.”

Mat leaned his head against the back of the couch as he rubbed his temples, “Don’t you miss this?” He turned his head to look at you, his bloodshot eyes noticeable in the dim lighting of his living room, “Don’t you miss us?”

“You broke up with me,” you reminded him as you flared your nostrils in annoyance, “You gave up on us.”

“I was confused!” Mat sat up and angled his body toward you as he threw his hands in the air, “I wanted to be with you––Still want to be with you––But something was off and I had to––”

The deja vu of Mat listing off reasons why something in the relationship wasn’t right––and how his judgement convinced himself that getting away from you would solve everything––caused bile to churn in your stomach.

You placed both hands on the cushions as you pushed yourself up, “I’m not doing this again.”

With your back to him, you itched the bridge of your nose as you sniffled away your runny nose. But even with your back to him, you could still hear the desperation and utter heartache behind his wavering voice.

“You told me I would end up alone and unloved,” you heard him inhale a shaky breath, all the confidence from his previous tone of voice gone, as he choked out his next words, “The one person who I love most in the world told me that––The person who I thought loved me––”

“I do––”

“Told me I would be unloved? That not even you could love me again if I didn’t put more effort into the right things?” You spun around on your heel to see a silent path of tears easily falling down his face, “Do you know how much that messed me up?”

“You told me I wasn’t enough,” you counteracted with just as desperate of a voice, “You told me––”

“We just didn’t see each other enough,” Mat’s words continued to cut you like a knife, “But I never said you would end up alone and––”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to love you!” your devastated tone matched his raised voice. His mouth slowly dropped open, “I loved you so much and you tore me apart.” You felt your throat tighten up, but you held back your tears as your voice cracked, “I wanted to be the last person to love you.”

Mat sat in silence on the couch as you stood a few feet away from him. Silences were never common in your relationship, but they were definitely more common now. Coming to terms in your head that he wasn’t going to say anything, you were about to turn around and make your way out of his apartment for the final time.

“Stay,” Mat stood up from the couch. His hand barely raised from his side, as if he wanted to reach out to keep you from leaving him, but his arm stayed stiff at his side, “It’s after two in the morning, I’ll take the couch and you can sleep in my bed.”

“I’m not far from here,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “I can get an Uber.”

“Then I’ll take the Uber with you to your place.”

You let out a deep breath at his persistence, “That’s unnecessary––”

“Believe it or not,” Mat started his sentence out strong, but he took a pause and let his shoulders deflate as his tone softened, “I still really care for you and don’t want you in an Uber alone this late or walking up to your place alone. So please,” you hated the way your heart melted at his words, “Stay.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought about his proposal. He had a point…Ubers alone at night in New York wasn’t the most ideal situation in the world. And you knew he would hop in the car with you; he always held your safety high on his priority list.

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head, “Okay.”

Mat let out a relieved breath, “You can…You know where everything is,” Mat awkwardly rubbed a hand behind his neck, “Everything’s the same.”

Except us, you thought to yourself.

You asked Mat if he had to get anything from his room, but he said he had some stuff stored in the spare bedroom where he would get ready for bed. And for what may be the last time, you wished each other goodnight as the two of you walked to separate ends of his apartment.

You blocked out every memory that swirled around your head as you entered his room and got ready for bed. Everything was going fine until you opened the cabinet under the sink and saw that he still had an unopened bottle of your shampoo that you always kept at his place. But you were done crying. Done crying over Mat. So you closed the cabinet, regretfully changed into one of Mat’s oversized t-shirts for pajamas, and slid under his covers.

With the sheets pulled up right under your chin, you laid on your side in a fetal position, as you stared out his window. There weren’t any stars in the sky, but instead of being in your bed and thinking about what Mat was up to when you couldn’t sleep, all you had to do was walk down the hall.

You tried everything you could to fall asleep, but none of the methods you usually used worked. Even when you stayed in separate bedrooms when Mat met your family for the first time, similarly down the hall from each other, you didn’t have any trouble sleeping like tonight. But back then, you and Mat were together in love. And this time…you and Mat were somehow still in love, but further apart than ever.

Fed up with not being able to get a decent night’s sleep in over a year, you flung the covers off and stepped out of bed, because you knew the cure to your insomnia was just a few feet away. Slowly, you opened the bedroom door and snuck out. You quietly closed the door and made your way to the living area where Mat said he was.

And in a few seconds you saw Mat, whose face was illuminated by his phone from above head as he scrolled. The single blanket he had only came up about halfway to his bare stomach.

As if he sensed another presence in the room, he turned his head. With an empathetic smile, because you imagined he had the same trouble falling asleep in this past year as well, he shut his phone off and placed it on the coffee table. Without a word, he lifted the blanket up, inviting you to sleep next to him.

You crawled in next to him, the side of your face pressed up against the crook of his neck. You let out a silent, uneven, breath as you felt his warmth spread across your body. And when he lowered the blanket, he curled a tight arm around waist, drawing shapes on your back as he held you close to him.

And the third tear fell when Mat pressed a firm kiss to your forehead and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

A year and a half of sobbing didn’t compare to the flood gates that opened up in this moment. Your senses were in overdrive, everything screamed Mat, and that one little forehead kiss paired with a simple apology tipped you over the edge. He held you tight as you cried into his chest, taking responsibility for the suffering he had put you through the past year and a half.

One of your arms was tucked under you, but your other arm was stretched across Mat’s chest as you clung to his bicep. Your shoulders violently shook as you muttered incoherent words out through choppy breaths.

You hurt me, you said. I know, he answered.

I never wanted to see you again, you said. I know, he answered.

I missed you so much, you said. I know, he answered.

I still love you, you said. And as your cries began to soften, he cradled you into his chest more as he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead; I still love you too, he answered.

It was the first night both of you slept soundly through the night, missing all of your alarms.

–––

New York in August was unbearably hot.

Between the larger than life gray skyscrapers and dark concrete that paved the city, the heat of the sun always got trapped in the most unpleasant way. With crowded sidewalks of people pressed shoulder to shoulder, the heat attached itself to sweaty bodies. With sewers that always smelled, but reeked even worse in the summer, the heat attached itself to the polluted water.

But if you paid close enough attention, there was a certain aroma in the air that always drew people into the city. And like how the skyscrapers and concrete trapped the heat in the most unpleasant way, the sweet smell of new beginnings that New York offered trapped people in the same way.

Walking down the sidewalk, with your fingers intertwined with Mat’s, you breathed in the captivating smell of New York.

The smell of new beginnings.

“Are you nervous or is the heat getting to you,” You looked up at Mat’s side profile with a smile as you pointed out his sweaty hand.

With black sunglasses covering his eyes, he kept his head forward as he chewed on his bottom lip, “It’s your family.”

You rolled your eyes as you came to the end of the sidewalk, waiting at the corner for the light to change, “You know them already.”

“Yeah, but––”

His words were cut off when the light changed and a mass amount of people crossed the street. You tugged him along with the crowd, “No buts,” you squeezed his hand, “They still love you.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders.

He knew the pain he caused when he broke up with you. And he knew that your mom, dad, and sister all witnessed the aftermath of what he put you through. There was part of him that would never forgive himself for acting so immature, and he was still working through his insecurities. But after that night of confrontation where you slept peacefully in his arms, he promised to always be upfront with his feelings.

You had been officially back together for four months, and made changes from the first time you were in a relationship, but Mat’s nerves surrounding your family were still present.

Your sister was the first to find out that you and Mat were back together. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her before she figured it out not even a month into your rekindled relationship. She called you out of the blue, and before you could greet her, she went straight to the point; Are you back together with Mat? You were a stuttering mess, not prepared to tell your family; You liked Tito’s most recent Instagram picture, your username came up next to the heart, and I know you unfollowed him after you weren’t with Mat.

Her sleuthing wasn’t that impressive, but you couldn’t lie to your sister. She warned you that a few more jokes would come at his expense to turn him red.

You told your mom in June. You had let it casually slip that you were going out with Mat for the day, and she was silent on the other end for a few moments. Like any mother who held their child as they openly sobbed after the end of a relationship, she was skeptical. But you reassured her that changes were made, and continue to be made, so it wouldn't end like the last time…So your relationship wouldn’t end at all.

She said as long as you were happy, she was happy.

You also told your dad in June, a week after you told your mom, because you knew she wouldn’t be able to hold onto that secret for long. It took a bit more planning and practicing on your end to tell him. You saw the way his jaw clenched and eyes full of hurt whenever he saw you cry. And when you told him, he sounded stiff, and reminded you that you were too good for him. But like your mom, you reassured him that things had changed; Mat had changed.

He reminded you that he never liked Mat that much to begin with.

When you and Mat reached the restaurant you were set to meet your family at, Mat opened the door for you. A breeze of air conditioning and the smell of clean air brought you out of your thoughts.

"Your dad’s already glaring at me and we’re not at the table yet.”

You let out a laugh and rested your forehead against Mat’s bicep briefly as you looked up at him with a smile, “Don’t worry, I talked to him plenty before this and told him to be on his best behavior.”

Mat took his sunglasses off, and as he stared down at you, you finally caught a look at his hazel eyes that shined bright with admiration for you, “Surprisingly, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

You dropped his hand and elbowed him at his sarcastic comment.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister was the first one up from her seat to greet you with a hug.

You hugged her back tightly, “We’re on time, you guys got here early.”

She held you at arms length away and gave you a knowing look saying that of course they were going to show up early. It was the re-meeting the boyfriend lunch. She slightly gazed over your shoulder at Mat, who was politely talking with your mom, and you rolled your eyes silently telling her he was more nervous than the first time. She deviously smirked.

With a stiff handshake and a curt, Mathew, from your dad, you knew Mat felt as if he was drowning.

Appetizers and a bottle of wine were ordered for the table before you and Mat were present, so they arrived shortly after the two of you were seated next to each other. Like the first time Mat was around your family, he sat with perfect posture as he rapidly tapped his index finger against his thigh.

You discreetly scooted your chair closer to his.

Mat had just finished his first glass of water when your mom brought up hockey, “How did this season go, Mat?”

“It went well,” he answered as he took the water pitcher from the center of the table and poured himself another glass, “There were a few times we went up and down in ranking, but all in all, it was a strong season.”

“I watched a few highlights,” your dad said after he finished swallowing an appetizer, “You played well, especially towards the end of the season.”

Mat shyly smiled, his eyes glancing at you, because toward the end of the season was when you started communicating more, “Yeah, the end of the season was the best.”

You knocked your knee against Mat’s.

“And almost made it to the Cup again,” your dad shook his head with a light smile, “How’s the team looking this season?”

Mat took a sip of water, “We’re looking good. A few changes to the roster, but all for the best.” He fiddled with the white cloth napkin on his lap, “If you guys––I don’t know the next time you’re in town, but just let me know if you want to go to a game.” Mat smiled at your dad, and then turned to your mom, “I know my family wants to come down for a game.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up, “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Thanks, Mat,” your dad easily smiled, “I appreciate that.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders, a smile slowly growing on his face as your dad called him by his nickname, “I know how much you all like hockey, might as well use me for what I’m good for.”

Your parents laughed at his comment right as the waiter came up to take everyone’s order for their main course. You, Mat, and your sister had ordered, so your parents weren’t paying attention to your little trio.

“So, Mat,” your sister stretched out the lone vowel in his name, “Looks like you won the girl back before your franchise could win the Stanley Cup.”

Your eyes widened at her bluntness. It was always hard for a team to be so close to clinching that championship title––and well deserved praise as they lifted the Cup above their heads––only for it to be ripped away from them. And for the Islanders to be in that position another year, losing in the final round, it only aided in more salt to the wound.

Mat’s face still turned red at her unapologetic comment, but he recovered quickly, and wasn’t nearly as blindsided by her words like he was the first time. Instead, Mat offered your sister an easy smile, as he quickly made eye contact with you. His smile widened, “I think I won something better.”

Mat knocked his knee against yours.

#Mat Barzal #Mat Barzal fic #Mat Barzal imagine #Mat Barzal fluff #Mathew Barzal #Mat Barzal writing #Mat Barzal x Reader #Mat Barzzal Oneshot #Mat Barzal one shot #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal angst #mathew barzal fic #mat barzal new york islanders #new york islanders #mathew barzal new york islanders #honest to god why is tagging a thing sdlkjf hopefully i tagged all the right things!! ta!!

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neoheros · 4 years

Text

sneaking out headcanons feat. gym 3 squad ♡ — also this is all gonna be set in an au before or without the quarantine, so don’t leave your house please!! social distancing is important and people are dying!!

kuroo tetsuro

listen LISTEN

sneaking out is terrible and you should never do it because it’s dangerous and risky

and you as the woke and understanding gen z that you are definitely respected that

but , BUT , BUUUUT !

the minute your boyfriend snapped you a photo of him in his car with him rubbing his tired eyes captioned “couldn’t sleep, dreamt of u”

your morals were OUT THE WINDOW and now it was your turn >:// !!!

kuroo: i know it’s 4 am but what’re the chances you’d hop out for a quick trip to chick-fil-a 👉👈

you, purposely taking two minutes to reply: why are you still awake

kuroo, who knows you like the back of his hand: babe don’t lie to me, it’s embarrassing for the both of us x

so you agree !! because it was kuroo, the love of your life, the man you’d simp for, and he’s paying for food so hell fricken yeah

you throw on a hoodie, lock your doors, fluff up the bed to make it look like someone was sleeping in it just in case and you gently make your way towards your window

due to personal reasons, you want to pass away

you suddenly remember why you hated sneaking out and boy — the food kuroo was buying you better be worth it

the only way you were actually gonna get down from your two story house that idiotically doesn’t have a roof ledge was if you grab onto the tv satellite that latched by the sill

from your window you see kuroo’s car parked by the trash cans near your house and he’s got his windshield down signaling at you

mfer pulled out his phone from his pocket and waved as he zooms closer to your figure and he SMILED ?

you were in a dilemma?? and he had the audacity???? the fricken audacity???

kuroo, snapping you the vid he took: babe please you’re so cute you look like a tiny gremlin

you: had me in the first half, not gonna lie

it was a MOMENT for you !! but you just say what the hell and go for it anyways because you only live once apparently and sneaking out with your boyfriend at 4 am was better than sleeping

you grab onto the satellite ridge and you pray for mercy that it doesn’t make a sound or loosen up because if anyone found out you were doing this it was definitely kuroo’s ass on the line

while you’re struggling to get down, kuroo’s just in the car ??? laughing his ass off at your current state and you swear that he’s still taking photos

you get down on the cement safely and instead of him pulling up closer to your drive way naaaah he makes you walk to where he was at 😤

you, getting in the car: if i dump you by the end of tonight, just know that the only reason why i didn’t do it sooner is because i wanted food

kuroo, putting on your seatbelt: we’ll get back together in the morning, i’m not worried

so the two of you make your way to chick-fil-a, get food via drivethru and eat in the parking lot with the doors open and the windows down

he still looks very tired and before you even realize it it’s already 6 in the morning

you catch him yawn every few minutes and he always reassures you that he didn’t mind staying up this late :(

he’s baby

kuroo: lets get you home, are you gonna dump me yet?

you, kissing his cheek: no, i kinda love you

kuroo, less sleepy with a lazy smile on his face: aha simp

tsukishima kei

bro if you think he’s a goody two shoes boy who won’t ask you to sneak out at like 2 in the morning , you are so wrong

canonically, he is the most devious and logical character in the entire anime and if he wants to go out with you before the crack of dawn — he fricken will !!

he’s gonna be so sly about it too, nah, he gon make you think it’s your idea to sneak out

tsukki, texting you a tiktok of homemade shrimp rotini at 2:35 am: look what yamaguchi sent me

yamaguchi, who fell asleep three hours ago and absolutely is not in any state to send tiktoks:

so you’re there like ??????

bruv you were just tryna scroll through your twitter feed in peace, why the hell would he send you that like that’s so uncool

because now you were sleep deprived and hungry

you, close to tears: does your house in hell have a pool or

tsukishima, unnerved: i don’t like the concept of swimming

he’s gonna go on about how he didn’t realize what he did and how he’s kinda sorry for waking your hunger but you weren’t born yesterday !! you smelled BS !!

so you facetime him, ready to go off on how unsorry he is and you can already imagine the shit eating grin he must’ve had on

he answers after three rings and he’s in a MFING yellow hoodie with the dinosaur print in the middle, his hair neatly tucked and you just know that he’s got his keys on his fingertips

you, defeated: i’ve been played

tsukishima, heading out the front door: i deny all accusations

you’re not even upset though because this was a perfect opportunity to try the stability of your roof ledge and tbh? who wasn’t unreasonably hungry at 3 am

turns out climbing out your window was harder than you thought and you may or may not have gotten two new bruises on your wrist just by trying

safe to assume that you fell on your ass and since the universe has a particular hatred towards you, your boyfriend arrived at the perfect time to witness all of it

tsukishima: how are you gonna kiss me when you’re too busy kissing the ground

you, tears on your cheeks: if i wanted a bully instead of a boyfriend i would’ve SAID SO

when you get in his car, the first thing he does is ask if you’re okay though and he’s checking your wrists and hands for any scratches or bleeding because 🥺

tsukki: you’re such a clumsy idiot what the hell

tsukki, kicking down the pavement when you’re not paying attention: 💢🪓

you guys end up going to numerous places because most of the drivethrus in town were already closed

you see him get tired behind the steering wheel and you almost have the urge to offer to drive but you didn’t really feel like crashing his car any day soon so

you: lets just head to starbucks hm? get some coffee?

tsukishima, feeling bad because he knows you wanted to get food: we don’t have to

you, in love with him: if you say no i will willingly walk all the way to starbucks by myself , what , you think i won’t do it

so you guys go there and order a couple double shot espressos with a side of scones and muffins and the entire time you’re just trying not to shiver because name one starbucks you’ve been to that hasn’t been unreasonably cold huh i dare you

he notices this and he gives you his hoodie and ITS JUST THE SOFTEST THING OKAY BECAUSE HE’S COLD TOO BUT HE JUST WANTS YOU WARM

you: i knew it, you love me too huh 😌

tsukishima: unfortunately so

akaashi keiji

AKAASHI IS LEGALLY THE BEST BOYFRIEND IN THE WORLD !!

like he cannot be a bad boyfriend ?? it’s impossible for him to be so ?????? he’s just built that way ????

he’s the ultimate mixture of respect and self love , god was just like “let’s make this one perfect !!”

he’s DRIPPING in love each other juice and he eats kindness for breakfast so ha !

he physically cannot say no to you because he flat out adores you

( except when he feels like you’re wrong or being irrational to which he’ll politely correct you and educate you because that’s on what? that’s on having a healthy relationship ♡ )

so when you hit him up at 5:23 in the morning after a series of tiktoks that he has yet to see and react to you about, he’s kinda alarmed

but then again he’s also not ?? because let’s face it, at this point, he’s used to you spamming his inbox

the last thing you sent him two minutes ago was a text saying “bro just imagine this: you and me at a maccas drivethru with two oreo flurry’s and a box of 20 piece chicken nuggets — immaculate”

and you didn’t really expect him to reply?

it was five am and you were absolutely shit talking but when you saw his face time status go online you were just like ?????

akaashi, snapping you a pic of him under his covers with very tired eyes: it’s 5:27 am

you, sending him back a photo of you and the 2000 piece puzzle you spent the last two hours doing: that’s not a no 💅

he doesn’t reply and you’re not really upset by it because he probably just fell asleep and that was really cute to you so !!

but then two minutes later he’s facetiming you and you JUMP at the sudden ringing

he’s all tired and his voice is groggy and tight but he’s still smiling as he says “i’ll see you in ten”

YOU ARE !!!! PUMPED !!!!!

you won the boyfriend lottery , holy hell

now the only thing keeping you from seeing your man and the mcdonald’s sign was the eleven foot gap between your window and the solid concrete

you’d usually take the stairs but you just know that your mom would absolutely murder you for trying to sneak out when you should be asleep 💆‍♀️

it was either climbing out by clawing through the pipes or not being able to give akaashi a hug and you were not gonna let that second one happen

akaashi, after reading your two paragraph rant on how unnatural it was for your window to be that high: please be careful

you, haven’t slept in 32 hours: screw careful ! i embody elegance !!

in which elegance was screaming every time your pipes squeaked because dear mercy you did not want to die yet

akaashi, who just pulled up your drive way and is now seeing you almost fall to the ground:

you, on the verge of tears: please catch me

AND he does 🥺

it was a close call and he barely even made it to you when you chose to let go but HE DID ANYWAYS

you kinda fell on him rather than landing smoothly in his arms but that’s okay you were just glad you didn’t die

when you both get in his car, he just takes a hot sec to dust you off and ask if you’re okay and he’s so concerned please tell him you’re fine

he’s such a baby please i can’t believe this shit

the two of you end up in a mcdonald’s parking lot with doja cat blaring on the radio and you guys do your best to hold back your laughter as you eat

it was pretty cold and the sun was rising but honestly you couldn’t find the urge to care since the moment just felt so surreal

you: i’m sorry for waking you btw 🥺

akaashi, showing you his new lock screen which is the picture he took of you when he first saw you climb out the window:

you: i’m less sorry

bokuto koutaro

BOYFRIEND OF THE MFING YEAR

i accept no arguments, go cry about it

i literally don’t care what anyone has to say, bokuto is the only man ever ? he’s so deserving of every right on earth i’ll cry

the way that this is the third night in a row he’s stayed up til 4 am and he’s not even alarmed about it

like at this point he’s just accepted that he is nocturnal and that’s that on that !

before he actually had the idea to ask you to sneak out for him, he debated whether or not it was worth it

you needed sleep and you barely got any so when he knew you were resting he absolutely refused to message you :(

but then he also thought about how you would love to have a large dunkin iced coffee right now

and he was already getting ready for his morning fix so why not just ask harmlessly?

if you weren’t going to respond then he’d be okay with that because he knew that you were resting well

but if you were going to answer his consecutive texts with a positive reply then HE IS 🥺 over the moon

you, barely awake: can we get a venti triple shot latté instead , my caffeine tolerance is SHOT

bokuto, snapping you back within a minute: babe you are delusional if you think i’m gonna let you drink that

so it’s 5 am and your parents are in the other room asleep but you know that their jobs start pretty early so you had to get a move on

your room wasn’t that high from the ground to be honest, so you weren’t really worried about falling off

what you were worried about was how dizzy and out of depth the melatonin gummies made you because in order to fall asleep you took 3 and now that you basically forced yourself out of a self induced coma, your body was on the verge of passing away

bokuto tells you that he doesn’t mind if you’re not up for the trip and he’d just bring you back your coffee BUT NAH

you’re not a quitter 🤬 you miss your boyfriend and you are gonna do whatever it takes to spend some quality morning time with him !!!!!

so you throw on a proper outfit, make your way through your window and gently do your best to refrain from yelping every time your hand would slip from the railing that’s keeping your balance

bokuto, pulling up seeing you on your roof: you’re so strong 🥺👉👈

you, barely alive: all for you baby ❤️

he helps you get down from where you stood and he had the prettiest smile on earth i SWEAR when you immediately sank in his cold chest

he apologizes for making you sneak out like that BUT NUH UH YOU DO NOT LET HIM

he is a gift !!! and you knew how tired he must’ve been too since he kept yawning but he still took the time and energy to pick you up 🥺

he fastens your seatbelt in the car and puts the windows up because he knew that the air would get in your face and you didn’t like that

he even brought you a spare hoodie of his because he remembered how much you swooned over this particular fabric

bokuto: we’ll get you some coffee but you can sleep while i drive, ok babe?

you, trying not to cry: are you single because i really want to kiss you

bokuto, kissing your cheek: i’m dating someone i’m sorry

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nobodyfamousposts · 4 years

Text

Miracle Queen Aftermath

Because there is a disappointing lack of focus or depth for the aftermath of Miracle Queen in canon, I have made my own.

Be warned of: Chloe salt. A lot of it. Chloe faces consequences for things.

Some Bustier salt. Some Adrien being called out on things (but he gets better).

Enjoy!

In the weeks following the Miracle Queen incident, a lot had happened.

Hawk Moth had increased his power, and was now able to summon akumas and amoks at the same time.

Master Fu was gone and now Ladybug found herself the official Guardian of the Miraculous—along with the Miracle Box, kwamis, and duties that entails.

Marinette had resolved to let go of her crush on Adrien, and to support him and Kagami in their new relationship together.

And Chloe had been arrested and would now be going on trial for assisting a terrorist.

It was that last bit of news that had caused the most commotion in Paris and the world at large. What people would have dismissed as simply another akuma attack turned into a much greater matter when accusations started to be made about Chloe helping the super villain intentionally. This was soon backed by multiple eyewitness accounts and further proven by leaked video evidence showing Chloe not only attempting to grab a butterfly for herself after she was de-akumatized but even negotiating with the terrorist before the incident in which she betrayed the heroes of Paris and revealed the identities of most of the team.

To say that the people of Paris were outraged was putting it mildly. People were akumatized over it. Chloe was in a secured facility where she had armed guards around to watch her just as much as they were there to protect her. New legislation was being considered to specifically address willingly aiding supervillains. The backlash was so severe that many were calling the mayor’s own position into question.

After all, if his daughter could do all of that, who was to say that he wasn’t also in Hawk Moth’s pocket?

For Mayor Andre, his hands were tied. While he had covered for his daughter and her selfishness in the past, this was one thing he couldn’t overlook. Not when it brought his position as mayor under scrutiny. And certainly not when it opened a probe into his own dealings.

None of this was helped either by the multitude of witnesses of Chloe‘s past behavior. In particular, her many victims over the years.

And there were a lot.

Now that Chloe was actually being held accountable for something, it seemed to have opened a floodgate of outcries as the many people she tormented finally felt able to air their grievances. They came out on TV, on social media, on radio. Stories littered the air and internet of the horrors of dealing with this single teenage girl.

“She tried to cheat during this designing competition. She apparently stole some other girl’s hat design and tried to pass it off as her own.”

“She was the reason the mayor tried to shut down my ice skating rink! To build another gym! Paris has enough gyms! Why couldn’t she just go to one of those?”

“She had her dad shut down Clara Nightingale’s music video and got her akumatized just because she didn’t get to play Ladybug. We waited in that line for HOURS and didn’t get chosen either, but no one else threw a fit over it.”

“She shoved a giant signed poster of Adrien Agreste professing his love to her in my friend’s face just to make her cry! I found out after the fact that he didn’t even know about it!”

“Our entire school was punished for someone pulling the fire alarm except for her because she threatened our principal. So while the rest of us were having to clean up the school, she spent the entire time insulting and making fun of us.“

“Knowing her, she probably pulled the fire alarm in the first place.”

“She tried to crash a train! I don’t think I can emphasize that enough: she tried to crash a train!“

“Chloe Bourgeois joined up with Hawk Moth? Can’t say it’s a shock.”

“Yeah, given how many akumas she caused, I’d been wondering if she hadn’t been working with him all along.”

It wasn’t that unbelievable to the populous. Nor did anyone feel particularly sympathetic towards her for her current situation. Some might have for lack of knowing her, but Chloe had carved herself a special place in the memories and hearts of nearly every Parisian. There was nobody who didn’t know of her or have some experience with her by this point. So when it came out that she was arrested and facing criminal charges, the response was…rather telling.

Practically everyone was calling loved ones as soon as they heard, resulting in high phone and internet traffic. The Ladyblog crashed after making the announcement. Several people threw parties. People over the internet started coming up with a list of “Things We Will Be Allowed To Do Once Chloe Is In Prison”, with a count that currently rested at 139 and was rising quickly. One guy bought 500 cupcakes and just started passing them out to people on the street singing a jaunty little tune from some late 1930’s cult classic American movie. The school had closed down for a couple of days due to several teachers calling out sick—possibly with hangovers from celebrating a bit too hard. Various Queen-related hashtags and memes were trending with each seeming to fight for the top spot of most used. #let her eat cake was currently in the lead. And Mr. Ramier somehow orchestrated a 21 pigeon salute. On Chloe’s rooftop.

As it was, nobody expressed surprise when it came out that she worked with a supervillain. Many were disappointed, shaking their heads and saying “if only something had been done sooner” or blaming the parents and teachers and other adults in her life. Most were angry, mainly that things had been allowed to get this far and that they hadn’t been acted on earlier—particularly after the train incident.

But no. Nobody was surprised.

Except, perhaps, Marinette herself.

Still reeling from the events of Miracle Queen and the aftermath of…well…everything involved, Marinette had been questioning herself. Constantly. Incessantly. Going over and over in her mind all the things she could have done differently. Blaming herself for all the major blows to their team.

She lost her mentor. Her allies have been compromised. Chloe, one of her former allies, chose to betray them all. Hawk Moth had the grimoire now. Marinette didn’t have a grimoire. Fu had no memories.

And it was all because of her mistakes.

Last time, the prospect of never having to deal with Chloe again had been a relief.

Now…it was background static to her.

She could barely hear the announcements and cheers over the endless cycle of her own thoughts.

I should have tried harder. I should have been more aware. I failed them all. This is because of me.

So while everyone else in Paris was celebrating, de-stressing, or just outright reveling in the news, Marinette was grieving. With the help of the kwamis and Chat Noir, she had been trying to come to terms with what happened and figure out the next plan of action.

Hawk Moth had changed the game, so she needed to step up hers.

The days seemed to have passed in a blur. Between working with the kwamis, trying to recreate and retranslate the grimoire, and simply trying to deal with the remnants of Fu’s life that he had left to her, Marinette had barely even kept up with the current state of things in Paris. Or in particular, Chloe.

Not until the day came when Bustier made an announcement.

Chloe‘s trial date was finally decided. And though she didn’t say as such, it was clear that the case against her was pretty solid. There was video evidence. Eye witness accounts. And Chloe’s own words and actions working against her.

The odds were not in her favor on this. Even if her parents did try to help her, she wasn’t going to get off this time. Aside from getting the best lawyers money by, there really wasn’t much they could do.

Maybe that was why Bustier had tried to step in?

“Now class, I have received word that they are moving to the next step with Chloe’s hearing. Right now, they are looking for character witnesses for Chloe’s defense.” The kind teacher explained, causing Marinette to snap to awareness and realize just what was going on. Partly because of the mention of Chloe and her court case.

But mostly because of the sudden dead silence in the class…

To be fair, she wasn’t sure she could say anything either. Marinette felt her throat go dry and her muscles tense. There was a sudden tightness in her lungs that while she could breathe, it felt like she was suffocating. Why was Bustier bringing this up now?

The teacher smiled, seemingly unaware of the sudden tension and Marinette’s slow drowning. “I know this has been a difficult experience knowing that one of your classmates is facing such a trial. And Chloe will certainly need support. So I thought it would be kind if everyone wrote a letter supporting her for the hearing coming up, so the courts can hear about Chloe and understand more about who she is.”

Silence. Dead silence.

Maybe Bustier herself picked up on the growing tension, as she proceeded to move to passing out papers to the class. “I thought it would make for a nice project, so I will give you all the forms explaining the requirements. Take some time to think over what positive things you want to say about Chloe. If you have any questions, please feel free to come talk to me.”

After that, she quickly left the room, citing the desire to let them have this free time to work on the letters.

The class remained silent for a good minute after she left. Almost as if they were questioning if she would return. Or perhaps if she was listening.

Then—

“‘Think about what positive things we want to say about Chloe?’ Well that’s easy!” Alix spoke blithely, curling the paper she received into a ball. “Nothing!” She shouted and tossed it over her shoulder. “Assignment done!”

Murmurs filled the classroom. Some sounded uncertain, but most seemed to be in agreement. Or at least expressing distaste for the assignment.

“Is she serious?”

“Does she really expect us to?”

“Of all the worst ideas...”

Marinette could hear them, but couldn’t seem to acknowledge anything around her. And furthermore, she couldn’t make herself respond.

Chloe‘s trial was set for a point in the next few weeks, and at this point there was no denying just what type of person she was. If anything, this was probably the first time that anyone was allowed to actually speak their mind about the girl, and they were all reveling in it. Her classmates in particular.

Marinette couldn’t quite bring herself to.

Sure, Chloe has tried to blackmail her more than once.

And damaged her gift to their teacher.

And attempted to frame her a few times.

And stolen her hat design.

And her diary.

And a Miraculous.

And all of the other Miraculous.

But...she had been doing better for a while there, hadn’t she?

Didn’t she only betray them all in the end because Marinette had chosen Kagami over her for her own selfish reasons? Didn’t Hawk Moth only capture Fu because of her own mistake? Hadn’t Chloe only revealed everyone else because she felt betrayed? Couldn’t Marinette have done more to prevent Chloe turning?

Wasn’t a simple letter on Chloe’s virtues the least she could do?

So why...

Why couldn’t she seem to bring herself to?

Kim frowned, looking at his paper in worry. “We’re not going to get graded on this, are we?”

Nathaniel huffed. “I’ll willingly take the failing grade any day.”

“Hear hear!”

“But if it’s a grade…” Max murmured to himself. Out of everyone in the class, he took his grades the most seriously, so this was no doubt a difficult choice for him. He looked at his paper with a rather conflicted expression for a minute before sighing and turning it face-down on the desk. “No. It’s an impossible task in the first place.”

Kim rested a hand on Max’s shoulder in sympathy. It wasn’t that he cared as much about grades as Max did, but it was clear that the fallout of refusing could be more troubling for the genius who took his academic performance so seriously. If Bustier did make it a mandatory assignment with a grade, it’d be horribly unfair of her.

“What was it Chloe said before?” Ivan asked, looking over his page with a glare. “Once a monster, always a monster? I guess she’d know more than anyone.”

Mylene hugged him. “You’re not a monster. You never chose to be.”

“None of us did.” Nino agreed.

“Nobody did except her.” Alix bit out.

Mumbles of agreement came from the rest of the class. It was clear that none of them were on board with having anything to do with Chloe, much less try to help her with her current legal woes.

There was a large part of Marinette that agreed with them. But even so, there was also a large part of her that insisted she had to do the right thing and help.

She knew she should say something. She was supposed to say something here. Because it was her fault, after all. She was Ladybug. She had to be the better person. Shouldn’t she?

“Marinette? Girl, are you okay?” Alya asked, drawing her attention. “You look a bit pale.”

It was too much. It was suffocating.

“I think I need some air. Excuse me.”

She didn’t know if anyone watched her leave the classroom. She hadn’t even noticed if anyone had chosen to follow her.

Not until…

“Marinette, are you all right?”

She spun around in surprise.

“Oh! Adrien! Hey! Hi! Hello!” She blabbered. Why was he here? Did he come out after her? Why? She didn’t need this right now! She struggled enough with him under normal circumstances, she wasn’t sure she could handle being alone with him now. Her stress over everything was bad enough, but having him approach her set her anxiety skyrocketing.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at her—and oh, what a beautiful smile. On any other day, it would ease her worries and make her want to swoon, but right now, it just made her more nervous.

“Are you all right?” He asked again. “You didn’t look so well in class.”

“Y-yeah. Just…” she sighed. “I just have a lot on my mind. With…you know…everything.”

He nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean.”

She smiled. She could always count on Adrien to be a calming supportive friend. He was always so sweet and reliable. If anyone could understand or relate to the chaotic mix of emotions she was feeling, he could.

He sighed in sympathy. “Poor Chloe.”

She froze.

“Chloe?”

“Well, yeah.” He replied, like it was obvious. “I mean, she did a bad thing, but now she’s going through the worst experience of her life. One that could ruin her future. And people are glad about it!” He shook his head. “It’s just too cruel.”

Marinette just stared.

He wasn’t wrong. But…that was what he was worried about?

She couldn’t fault him of course, because Adrien was always so kind and considerate and of course he’d feel for Chloe but…something about this just…pulled at something inside of her and was choking it.

“Chloe is already suffering enough and it feels like no one wants to help her. You heard them.” He gestured back to the classroom. “We’re being given an opportunity to make a difference for her and they’re all just saying she deserves it. Chloe is alone and hurting and they want her to hurt more.”

She felt a denial on her lips but couldn’t give voice to it.

“Everyone is so great with each other. It’s always just Chloe who is kind of on the outside. I know you’ve seen it.”

She hadn’t, actually. Because it was never Chloe on the outside looking in, it was Chloe looking down on them. Whether it was because she genuinely thought she was better or because it made her feel better to do so.

He hesitated for a moment before looking at her. And there was something in his expression that told her he was about to ask something. A gut feeling told her that it was going to be something she wouldn’t like.

“Do you think you could talk to them?” He asked her, looking so sad and despondent that she just wanted to hug him and agree to anything to make that look go away.

“M-me?”

He wanted her to convince her classmates to help Chloe?

“I know you and Chloe have had your differences, but you’ve been able to see past her front. And you’ve done a lot to help her before.” He smiled. “Like the party you threw for her after she became Queen Bee.”

A traitorous voice asked if giving her a second chance with the Miraculous she had previously stolen wasn’t enough? Why did she have to feel bad for her leaving and throw her a party to make her feel special?

“Chloe really needs the help right now. And you’re always so good about that sort of thing.” He looked to her imploringly. “Do you think you could try to get them to at least give Chloe a hand? I don’t know what impact it’ll have in her hearing, but any little bit helps, right?”

Go back in there? With the tension and the suffocation to try and convince her classmates to help when she was questioning whether to herself?

But she had to, right? After all, couldn’t she have prevented this if she had acted sooner? Couldn’t she have helped sooner instead of being focused on her own petty problems? Isn’t that what Ladybug should do?

“Please, Marinette? They listen to you. If you asked them to, I’m sure they’d be willing to at least try.”

Her vision started to dim, seeming to tunnel in on Adrien and his sad and hopeful expression. Her thoughts crying about CHLOE and poor CHLOE and how hurt CHLOE was and how it was her fault for CHLOE—

“I—”

“Oh no! No, you do NOT.”

Marinette suddenly found herself torn away from Adrien by a sudden grab of her arm and pulling sensation. She felt as if she was pushed out of the way by a fierce gale. Like a raging whirlwind had spun her around and behind it.

That whirlwind’s name was Alya.

“How dare you? How dare you try to make my girl be responsible for this!”

Marinette floundered because she had not expected this and oh no now her best friend looked ready to tear her crush’s head off!

“Alya, we don’t have to do this!” She pleaded, trying to calm the other girl down.

“Oh, we most certainly do.” Came another voice. And sure enough, the rest of the class had stepped out as well. All of them looked in varying ranges of frustrated and that frustration was clearly directed at her and Adrien.

Or rather just Adrien, as Marinette discovered when Rose and Juleka pulled her aside and out of their direct line of sight. They were all looking at Adrien, and those were not nice or understanding expressions.

Oh no! This was a disaster! Now everyone was upset and she should have just agreed or said something sooner!

Completely unaware of Marinette’s inner turmoil, Alya stepped forward and jabbed at Adrien in the chest. “You are not going to make my girl feel bad and try to help someone who has never done a single nice thing for her or anyone.” She spat out, forcing him to back away.

Adrien held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Come on, Chloe is not that bad.“

“Not that bad?” Nino exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief at his friend’s words. “Adrien, Chloe betrayed us!“

“She took over Paris!”

“She turned us into her servants!“

“Not to mention the other things…”

“Do we really have to name each time?” Alya started to count on her fingers. “Chloe CHOSE to take the Miraculous for herself instead of returning it. She CHOSE to transform in front of everyone and reveal her identity to the world. She CHOSE to try and crash a train, risking the lives of EVERYONE on board just to show off. She CHOSE to run off with it when Ladybug tried to take it back.”

“She also chose to continue being horrible to everyone even after Ladybug gave her a second chance.” Nathaniel added, bitterly. “She didn’t get better after becoming Queen Bee. It just became another thing for her to lord over people.”

Alya nodded. “And when Ladybug made it clear to her that she wasn’t going to be Queen Bee again, she felt ENTITLED to something that was never hers in the first place. And because of that, she made the active, knowing, and willful choice to work with Hawk Moth.”

“And out all of us while she was at it.” Kim added. “Turning us into her personal ‘guard’. Making us fight our heroes against our will.” He shuddered. “I don’t know if you were hit by those things, Adrien, but it was NOT a pleasant experience having your body turned into a puppet.”

Adrien wanted to argue that he understood full well, but that was only as Chat. He couldn’t say that here.

Unaware of his inner turmoil, Alya continued. “So no, we are not going to forgive Chloe. We are not going to try and ‘get along’ with her because her own poor choices have led her to have a ‘rough time’.”

Adrien grew nervous at the way the others drew closer to Alya as she spoke, clearly backing her statements as she continued.

“We are not going to defend her or speak up on her behalf to the entirety of Paris she ALSO betrayed. Whatever consequences Chloe has to face—quite possibly the first ones she will EVER have faced in her LIFE—are nothing less than what she deserves.”

“Yeah!” Came the exclamations from the rest of the crowd.

“She didn’t know what she was doing!” Adrien argued.

“Not know what she was doing?! Adrien, she willingly accepted an akuma! She used it to take control of us and revealed us to Hawk Moth!” Alya exclaimed. “That’s just—how can you even justify that?”

With as angry as Alya was, any lesser or wiser man would have backed off.

Adrien…well, she certainly would never call him unwise, so it had to be because he was more strong-willed than that to be willing to stand his ground here.

“Hawk Moth was the one who manipulated Chloe!” He insisted. “And he’s the one who got away scott free and left Chloe to take the fall.”

“And whose fault was that?” Alya countered. “Chloe HELPED him. He only got as far as he did because of her and he only got away because she helped him!”

“Don’t you think this is cruel?” He argued back. “Yes, Chloe was wrong, but she was already called out for what she did by Ladybug and Chat Noir. The entire city hates her. Isn’t that enough?”

“NO!” Alya shouted. “No, it isn’t! Because Chloe has always gotten away with her antics in the past but you’re actually trying to get us to let Chloe off for a legitimate crime here! If Chloe is going to prison, it’s only because she deserves it!”

Around them, several of the others in the class nodded in agreement.

“How can you say that?” Adrien demanded. “Chloe made a mistake and she’s suffering for it! All this time, she’s felt left out and cut off and this only further emphasizes that for her! She’s been alone all this time and now she’s alone and miserable!”

“Then why should that be OUR problem?” Alya questioned, raising her hands in exasperation. “Why are you trying to MAKE it our problem?!”

Adrien drew back, looking genuinely hurt.

"But treating someone badly never made them become a good person."

"Yeah, because letting Chloe have her way all this time has totally made strides in her path to becoming a good person." Alix called out sarcastically.

"If anything, it's made her worse." Max added. "She's gone from simply causing akumas to intentionally becoming one."

“But—”

Alya cut him off. “But nothing, Adrien! You have to have some gall to be trying to get us to make nice with Chloe after she betrayed us all! And here I thought your little lecture to Marinette to make her feel bad for being relieved that Chloe was leaving Paris was pretty hard to beat.”

Nino blanched at that. “You did what?” He turned on Adrien. “Dude! You know that happened after Chloe tried to crash that train!”

“She was just trying to prove herself.” Adrien weakly argued.

“PEOPLE were on there!” Nino bit out. “They could have DIED because Chloe was showing off! And you got on to MARINETTE? Where was this attitude with Chloe?”

“I’ve called her out!”

“Yeah, one time.” Alya groused. “AFTER the rest of us had spent the better part of the day cleaning up after HER mess. Which she never apologized for or admitted to doing, by the way.”

“And in response, she threw a party.” Juleka muttered.

“It was a nice party, sure.” Rose added quickly.

Alya though shook her head. “But being a good hostess is nowhere near the same thing as being a good person. And before the night was over, you rolled over for her and she went RIGHT back to acting as she always had.”

“She made Mylene cry.” Ivan glared. “She made Mylene cry and you just laughed.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You said it yourself: ‘she’ll never change’. Except you said that like it was a good thing.”

Marinette looked back and forth between the two, everything inside her screaming at her to help. But she was completely lost on which one she was supposed to help. Because Adrien had a point about what Chloe’s going through but Alya was right about what Chloe did and she needed to do the “right thing” and help Chloe but why did everything Alya say resonate so strongly with her and bring such a feeling of vindication—

No. She was getting distracted. She needed to help. And right now, it was Adrien against the rest of the class.

But Alya was worked up. And Adrien was looking past her to Marinette, eyes begging for help and still so hopeful that she would step in. And Chloe was still in prison and Marinette could fix everything if she just tried so why can’t she try?

“Alya,” Marinette tried. “You told me to give Chloe a chance before after the fire alarm incident, remember? You said we were a lot alike.”

“That was to get you to go to a party!” Alya shouted, making Marinette step back in surprise. “I never meant it like this!”

She stepped forward and took Marinette by the shoulders, holding her sternly.

“Marinette, you are nothing like Chloe! Not where it counts! Yeah, you both can be short sighted when it comes to trying for what you want, but you at least notice and CARE how other people feel! And when you make a mistake, you at least TRY to make it right!”

She shook her head.

“Chloe…doesn’t.”

“She doesn’t try to.” Alix cut in. “If Chloe was feeling sad and lonely, that was pretty much her own fault.”

Adrien looked like he wanted to argue, but Alix didn’t even give him a chance.

“It wasn’t like we left her out. We went well out of our way to try and befriend her. We invited her to things. We tried to help her. Hell, you said it yourself—Marinette has tried to help her more than anybody! And each and every time, Chloe only took what we offered like it was something we owed her but that she was also too good for. I mean, I certainly can’t recall a time she ever thanked me. Can you?” She asked, turning to the other classmates.

All around them, there were murmurs of agreement. Maybe a couple hesitated as they tried to recall a time—one single moment of kindness on Chloe’s part only to come up empty.

“Chloe’s had a hard time.” Adrien insisted. “You know how her parents are—”

“Oh yes, her ‘Daddy the Mayor’.” Alix rolled her eyes. “Like we don’t hear enough about him every time it comes to something Chloe wants. She only threatens us or anyone with him every other day.”

Adrien shook his head and tried to explain. “It’s only because her parents aren’t there for her emotionally.”

“Again, not seeing how this is our problem? Or justification for anything she’s done to us? Or how this excuses her willingly helping a supervillain?”

“Because we’re her classmates!” He argued back, gesturing to all of them. “Out of everyone, we’ve all had the most interactions with her.”

“All of which were negative.” Came a cutting remark, followed by grumbling.

“There were good times, too!” Adrien insisted with a frown. His eyes spanned over the assembled classmates before they came to rest on one in particular. “Kim, you have to have seen Chloe’s good side. You liked her before.”

“Before.” Kim replied, emphasizing the word and the timeframe it referred to. “But being humiliated and her sending out that pic to everyone in school kind of crushed that crush.”

“How did she even have our numbers?” Ivan asked.

“But there had to be something that made you like her in the first place.” Adrien encouraged.

The taller boy shrugged, uncertain and uncaring. “Maybe so, but was it something that was really there? Or something I just wanted to see? Because I’m looking back and quite frankly, I don’t know what past me was thinking.”

“Wow, that’s deep, man.” Nathaniel whispered.

“Thanks!”

Seeing Nathaniel gave Adrien an idea. “Wait, Nathaniel! Didn’t Chloe let you put her in your comic?”

“Forced us to, more like.” The artist bit back. “And even when we tried to fit her, we got nothing but complaints from her. It was no wonder we never got past the initial concept art for her character.”

Adrien winced. “It was an attempt, at least?”

Nathaniel wasn’t buying it. “A poor one.”

“She’s been trying to be better.” Adrien was getting increasingly frustrated. This was not how he was expecting this argument to go. “Rose? What about you? You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

After all, Rose was sweet and caring, always willing to see the good in anyone. Surely she would have something nice about Chloe!

Juleka frowned at him over his focus on her girlfriend and moved to stand beside her. “Don’t push her.”

Still he tried.

“Rose?”

“I’m sorry, Adrien.” Rose said, hugging herself. “But Chloe has done nothing but hurt people. And going out of our way to protect her has only ended up biting us.”

That wasn’t true. Not...all the time at least. There had to have been at least one instance where she did the right thing!

Adrien brightened in realization. “Didn’t she catch you when you fell after being deakumatized during Heroes Day?”

The blonde girl frowned. “Well, yes…but she wasn’t very nice about it. Even though I did the same for her before.”

“Rose, come on…”

She shook her head. “I put myself at risk to help Chloe when she was being chased by zombies, and only got turned into one for my efforts. Chloe never appreciated it. She never thanked me. She didn’t even do anything to help when we were trying to keep her safe!”

“We all ended up kissing zombies because of her.” Alix accused, crossing her arms and looking particularly annoyed. “And not just because she caused the akuma in the first place.”

“Why are you pushing this?” Mylene asked. “We’ve been asked. We said no. Isn’t that enough?”

“But—”

“Adrien, you’ve got a good heart.” Ivan started.

“Easy for him when he’s not the one who has to be on the receiving end of Chloe’s tantrums.” Alix cut in, clearly sounding bitter.

“You’ve got a good heart.” Ivan repeated, sending Alix a look that asked her to back off. “But Chloe…doesn’t.”

Adrien shook his head, remaining insistent. “That’s why she needs help.”

“If she needs help,” Mylene spoke, “It should come from her parents. Her teachers. Any of the adults in her life. She has plenty of adults who are fully capable of helping her. It should not be expected to come from the kids she’s spent years tormenting.”

She gestured to herself and the others around her. “And that’s what she’s been doing: tormenting us.”

“To great joy, might I add.” Max droned.

“She hasn’t been cruel to everyone.” Adrien muttered.

That brought out a backlash of outrage.

“She outted my crush!”

“She insulted Mylene’s cooking and made her cry!”

“She got Aurore akumatized and nearly caused Paris to be incinerated in a volcano!”

“She tried to push Mylene out of the lead role of our movie!”

“She locked Juleka in the restroom!”

Wait...

But that hadn’t been Chloe. She had stayed with the class at the time. The one who did do it was...

He glanced around until he saw her—a redhead in the background behind the rest of the class. She looked anxious and uncomfortable, and almost seemed to be trying to edge around the class to get to the stairs.

Adrien did seem aware. Or rather, he was focused on the fact she was there.

“Sabrina? What about you? Chloe was your friend!”

Of course she would help! Because who better than her own best friend to speak on her behalf?

The rest of the class broke into mutters as they realized the same.

But Sabrina...bit her lip and looked away. Refusing to even meet Adrien’s gaze.

“Sabrina?” Marinette tried, concerned about this reaction. Sabrina had been Chloe’s best friend—or at least the closest thing she could have to a friend. “Minion” or “Servant” would be more accurate. “Slave” would be more honest.

The girl had been Chloe’s only real fan and follower, and had assisted Chloe in some of her worst plots.

Marinette had briefly seen another side to her. A girl who was so desperate for friendship that she latched onto even the slightest bit of kindness and went to the greatest of extremes to appease the “friend” so they wouldn’t leave her. It was no wonder she had fallen in with Chloe—someone like that was perfect for the spoiled girl. Compared to her, Marinette’s anxieties and need to please were nothing.

And Chloe had pretty much been her world for years.

What must she be feeling now?

“Should we really be getting her opinion?” Ivan whispered. “You know how she and Chloe were…”

“Well, if anyone would have anything positive to tell the courts about Chloe, it would be her.” Mylene whispered back.

Sabrina took a breath and spoke quickly—almost shouting in her rush.

“I’m sorry but my therapist said I shouldn’t!”

That got a surprise. The rest of the classmates glanced to each other before looking back to the girl. Adrien in particular looked shell-shocked. Marinette couldn’t blame him. She felt the same.

Sabrina for her part seemed to tense up, as if ready to defend herself from the rest of the class.

Marinette stepped forward. “Sabrina? Are…you okay?”

The other girl shook her head, looking close to tears.

“After word got out what Chloe did, the police had to question me about Chloe. They were able to see that I wasn’t involved, but they…didn’t like what I told them about our relationship. Afterwards, my dad decided to have me see a counselor and she…has been telling me things that I hadn’t really considered.” She curled in on herself. “They all think I should stay away from Chloe and anything directly related to her…for my own health.”

Adrien frowned at that. “But don’t you want to help Chloe?”

Sabrina jumped. “Of course, I do!”

“Hold up, Adrien!” Nino stepped in. “She just said police took her in because of Chloe!”

“But they let her go…”

“It still happened!” Mylene argued. “It doesn’t matter how nice they are, how innocent you know you are, or if you’re released in the end, it’s still terrifying when it happens!”

"And it only happened to her because of Chloe." Alya added.

Rose, in her infinite sweetness, reached out to take Sabrina’s hand in support. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Sabrina sobbed and covered her face. Aside from Rose, no one else really attempted to comfort her. Most of them simply watched her, pitying her current state. But they also remembered how complicit she had been in Chloe’s schemes, so they were conflicted. While they did feel bad for her current situation, there was a part of most of them that noted how she had brought it upon herself by being Chloe‘s lackey for so long, so their sympathy was limited.

Perhaps it was out of awkwardness, or maybe an attempt to give some respect for Sabrina’s privacy that the classmates turned away from her and instead focused on the heart of the argument.

“Man...” Nino tried. “Maybe you should let it go?” Though it was clear from his tone that he knew it wasn’t likely.

Because Adrien had still not given up, it seemed.

He looked around between of the classmates, growing more desperate. But those that remained either looked at him straight on as if daring him to call on them or looked away. A few of them even closed ranks as if to block his view of certain others. It was clear none of them were willing to help him on this.

None of them except…

“Marinette.” He called out, drawing her gaze to him instantly. “You understand, don’t you?”

She bit her lip. “I…”

“Back off, Adrien.” Kim said, giving the other boy an angry frown as he stood in front of her to shield her from his gaze. “It’s not on Marinette to help Chloe.”

“Yeah! She suffered more than any of us!“ Ivan shouted.

“She has been Chloe’s main target for years.” Nathaniel agreed. “She is the last person who is obligated to help Chloe now.“

Adrien winced at the harshness of their words and in their tone. “I just thought that Marinette could help. Like before.”

“Just because she could doesn’t mean she should have had to.” Alya countered. “She’s a teenager. Dealing with Chloe should have been the job of adults. Her parents. Bustier. Damocles. Any one of them should have done something—and if they can’t, the courts will. It’s their job. Not ours.”

“And getting her to help you wouldn’t make a difference anyway even if you had convinced us.” Max said, shifting his glasses. “Chloe helped Hawk Moth. There is nothing we could say that could undo that. And even if we did try, we would either be guilty of committing perjury or aiding in a conspiracy.”

“What?” Adrien jerked in surprise.

“The best we can do is be character witnesses.” Mylene explained. “But this is a court and we can’t claim something that isn’t true! We can’t say anything nice about Chloe when she hasn’t done anything nice!”

Max nodded and shifted his glasses. “Furthermore, our testimonies—even if they were positive—would only serve to create a narrative about Chloe and the type of person she is. They can’t explain away the current evidence against her.”

He rubbed the back of his head. He knew there were issues, but he also knew Chloe. He knew what she could be like. He knew she was a good person deep down. “I know she’s made some mistakes—”

“No.” Alya stated sharply. “Calling them ‘Mistakes’ implies that her actions were unintentional. ‘Mistakes’ implies that people were harmed by accident. ‘Mistakes’ implies that she would have any point learned from them. They weren’t mistakes, Adrien. They were willful acts of cruelty every single time.”

Ivan shook his head, pityingly. “We can’t save Chloe from this. We have nothing to say in her defense. The kindest thing we can do for her is stay silent.”

“She’s better than you think she is. She threw that party once for everyone, remember? You all went.” Adrien reminded them.

“That only proved that she could throw a party and be a good host, not that she could be a good person. There is a difference.” Nathaniel pointed out.

“Not that Chloe could tell.“ Alix sniped.

Adrien ignored the barb. He had given up on getting any of them to listen and now only had eyes for her. His last hope.

“Marinette….come on…please.”

She hesitated.

Everything in her that was Ladybug and her crush on Adrien and her desire to make people happy and take the high road and give second-third-fourth chances wanted nothing more than to give it to him.

Except...

There was a long pause. No one spoke.

The other classmates have had their say. They were letting Marinette have hers. And she knew in that moment that if she spoke up…if she did as Adrien wished and tried to help Chloe…she knew they would go along with her. It may be more out of respect for Marinette than it would be out of any sort of forgiveness for anything Chloe had done, but it would still help Chloe and it would still make Adrien happy.

…and hadn’t Marinette already done that enough?

“Did you know?” Marinette started, not looking at anyone. “I would have been well within my rights to press charges against Chloe?”

Adrien balked at that.

“She’s stolen from me at least three times now.” She shrugged. “I mean, sure, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about my diary since she had Sabrina steal it for her, but she did steal my hat design for a competition and I had proof. I could have pressed charges against Chloe and let her face some consequences…but I didn’t.”

She looked up at Adrien. “I also could have pressed charges for what she did to my gift for Madame Bustier. Since she did break into my locker and vandalize my property while it was still technically mine…but I didn’t.

“Adrien.” She spoke almost in monotone, the only sign of her emotions being how she clenched her fists. “Did you know that after the fashion show, my parents and I took a train to get home?”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. What did that have to do with anything?

“It was the same train Chloe took control of and nearly caused to crash.”

Several gasps resounded around them. Apparently this had not been common knowledge.

“Even if Chloe could have bought her way out of any consequence for the other things, we all could certainly have had her face some major trouble for that one…” Marinette took a shuddering breath. “But we didn’t.”

Adrien frowned. “I…I see that—”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She cut him off. “Because instead of any of that…rather than hold Chloe accountable at any point, I catered to her. I tried to understand Chloe. I tried to make things nicer for Chloe. I tried to excuse Chloe. Time and again. Just like everyone else. Just like you wanted me to. Just like you’re asking me to now. And what did that get us?”

The more she talked, the more words filled out and she was unable to stop the torrent.

“I defended her from Alya after Madame Bustier was akumatized, and Chloe stole a Miraculous and nearly got my family killed. I helped Chloe bond with her Mom—costing myself any chance at a once in a lifetime opportunity in the process—and Chloe tried to get me banished from Paris just for saying she wasn’t a superhero. I threw Chloe a party to show her some appreciation, and she willingly worked with a supervillain to take over Paris. Just to fuel her ego and because she felt she was owed something that wasn’t hers.”

She tilted her head, considering.

“What is that American saying? Three strikes and you’re out?” Her eyes narrowed. “I have given Chloe more than three chances. I have done nothing BUT give her chances. And clean up after her. And just…try to help her. At no point has she been grateful. At no point did she ever apologize. Or show the slightest bit of remorse for anyone she hurt. Or just…try to do better.”

She stepped forward. Past her classmates. Past Alya, who looked ready to tear into Adrien herself.

“So tell me, Adrien. How much more am I supposed to do? What miracle am I supposed to achieve to help Chloe to be a better person that I haven’t already done?”

“You can just try.” Adrien begged. “Chloe’s alone. She has no one in her corner. You’ve given her chances before! Can’t you find it in your heart to give her another chance this time?”

“Why haven’t you?” Alya demanded.

Adrien drew back in surprise at that.

But the girl wasn’t letting him off. “If you’re so certain Chloe is the victim in all this, then why aren’t you stepping up to help her? Why are you pushing Marinette and the rest of us to do it?”

Alya wrapped an arm around Marinette in support. “If you truly believe Chloe has some sort of inner goodness that only needs the right person to bring it out, then it’s pretty clear Marinette is just not that person. She’s tried enough.”

Alix nodded. “I’m pretty sure she could’ve demolished a brick wall with how many time she’s banged her head against it by this point trying to drag a decent person out of Chloe.”

Others in the class also nodded and gave sounds of agreement to that.

Adrien frowned, lowering his head despondently. “I’m just one person. There’s only so much weight my word will have. I just...I just want to give her the best chance.”

“That’s nice for Chloe, I guess.” Kim muttered. “But not much for us.”

Adrien looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Alya stepped forward, releasing Marinette in the process. “Adrien, why should we as Chloe’s victims have to help protect her? That’s the thing we’re not getting here. WE are the ones she hurt. WE are the ones she betrayed to Hawk Moth. So why are WE supposed to try and save her from her own consequences? Why are you wanting us to?”

Adrien hesitated.

“Can you even imagine what it was like? Being frozen in time. Unable to move or speak? Only able to hear her voice in your head? Feeling your body respond as she’s calling you and being unable to stop?” She clutched her arms, as if trying to hug herself. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was knowing what she was doing to us but being completely unable to stop it? How humiliating it was when she had us bowing to her and calling her our Queen? And then…” She took a breath. “She made us fight our heroes. Ladybug and Chat Noir trusted us to help them and we used the Miraculous they entrusted to us to try and kill them.”

“We were just lucky that they were able to turn the tables on us.” Kim muttered. “I don’t even want to know what would have happened if we had won.”

“Luka still has nightmares.” Juleka whispered. “He won’t talk about it, but he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

Marinette winced. She hadn’t even considered that everyone else could be suffering ramifications of Miracle Queen as well.

“We could have killed them.” Max stated. “Given the nature of the Snake Miraculous’s power, we very well could have more than once for all we know.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have killed them?” Rose suggested, trying to be positive. “I mean, Chloe wanted all of the Miraculous, right? She probably wanted them as her servants as well.”

Max glared. “I’m pretty sure I attempted to send Chat Noir into space. Even a Miraculous can’t protect someone from that.”

Adrien tried not to wince at the memory. How he managed to even move enough to activate the Miraculous, he still wasn’t sure.

“We fought against them. We never wanted to, but we did.” Alya bit out. “Not even because of Hawk Moth this time, but because of Chloe. And now you are wanting us to just…overlook the trauma of the whole thing to help Chloe after what she did. For something she hasn’t shown even the slightest remorse for.”

She shook her head.

“I know you’re nice, Adrien. But this level of kindness is a cruelty.”

He winced. And it looked like he wanted to argue. But he just…wilted.

“I just…it feels harsh. What’s happening to her. The amount of hate she’s getting. That her entire life could be over.”

That was true. While they felt her current status was well deserved, it was a harsh sentence for anyone. Especially a teenager.

Nathaniel sighed. “Adrien, it is harsh. Maybe cruel. But fact is that she still brought on herself.”

“Isn’t that just victim-blaming though?” Adrien countered, frustrated now. “I mean, Hawk Moth manipulated her! How was that her fault? He’s the one who did it. She was…” He clenched his fists in anger. “Chloe is a victim.”

“No, we are the victims.” Alya insisted, gesturing to herself and the other revealed former heroes. “We were the ones used to fight our heroes. We were the ones who had our identities revealed to the world against our will. And now we are the ones having to live with the results of Chloe‘s choices, just like we always are.“

Adrien looked ready to argue. And maybe he would have, except...

Nino rested a hand on Adrien’s shoulder.

“Adrien. Dude. Just stop. We have enough to deal with and this…this isn’t helping.”

Adrien frowned at that, concerned by his friend’s attitude. “Nino?”

Nino lowered his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Really, I was trying not to think about it. But my parents are currently talking with police about their options. Now that I’ve been exposed as one of the temporary heroes, they’re questioning if it’s not safe for us at home anymore. There is a chance of us having to go into protective custody.”

Alya winced at that, drawing attention to her. “My parents have been talking as well. My mom quit her job. She said she doesn’t want to work for someone who would let their daughter do such a thing and put me in danger. She’s looking at drawing me out of school since it was pretty much Chloe‘s base of operations. And since Chloe is the Mayor’s daughter…and Hawk Moth…and just…everything?” She looked away, clearly anxious.

“There’s a chance we may have to move out of Paris altogether.”

Marinette gasped.

Alya looked to the other girl, sad and guilty all in one. “I’m sorry, girl. I guess I’ve been hoping it wouldn’t be an issue. I’ve been trying to talk them out of it, but it’s hard given everything that happened. Currently, the only reason they’re willing to stay is to see through to the end of the trial. But after that…” She shrugged, shaking her head uncertainly. “Who can say?”

“No…” Adrien whispered in shock.

The others in class came closer around her, trying to offer some comfort and reassurances—what little they could give, at least. This was a situation that was clearly beyond them. Marinette herself hugged Alya tightly for all she was worth, and the other girl held her back just as much, neither wanting to be parted.

Adrien, however, remained on the outside looking in. Watching the people Chloe had tormented even before Miracle Queen and realizing just how badly they’ve been hurt by this. It hit him then—for what was perhaps the first time just how much pain Chloe had caused his friends. And how unfair he had been to expect them to simply deal with it.

He stayed the lone person outside of the circle. By this point, did he really deserve to join in the comfort? To try to be the one to give comfort? After what he had tried to push on them all?

After minutes passed, they were finally able to draw away from each other.

“I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner.” Alya told Marinette. “I guess I was just hoping…y’know…that it wasn’t real. Or that it would go away and things would work out on their own.”

Marinette smiled. “No, I understand.”

And she did. That’s exactly what she herself had been doing for the past few weeks as well. Trying to deal with things without really dealing with them. Working without acknowledging just what it all meant because she was scared she would break down and that would be just one more thing Hawk Moth would have won because of this whole mess.

“I was kind of the same way.” She admitted, and it felt like a slight relief to be able to say aloud to someone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you about it.”

She still couldn’t, unfortunately. Not about Ladybug and the kwamis and the Miracle Box.

But…she could talk about Fu. How she lost him. How she feels. She could help support Alya and her classmates and be there for them in the meantime.

She…hadn’t lost everything.

Not yet.

And that was the scary thing…

Adrien gaped at the group. He had thought the trauma was bad enough, and that at least could be worked through. But this...

“I’m sorry. I...I didn’t even realize...”

“Adrien, what Chloe did put a major target on our backs.” Alya explained. “Nobody knows how we became heroes, or that Ladybug was the one to specifically choose us and give us the miraculous to use. Nobody knows WHY we were chosen. It’s not just Hawk Moth, any regular criminal can come after us now in an attempt to get a hold of that power. And we can’t exactly protect ourselves.”

She shrugged helplessly.

“We kind of have enough to worry about with the fallout of Chloe‘s actions. And now you want us to try and protect Chloe on top of that?“

Seeing it now, in this light...it was cruel. It was cruel and unfair and hurtful, and Marinette felt horrible for considering letting herself be talked into it.

Adrien himself felt horrible for even suggesting it.

“We all have to live with the consequences of Chloe’s choices.” Alya stated. “So why shouldn’t she?”

Silence followed. It practically echoed throughout the entire hallway.

He said nothing in response. What could he possibly say? He’d known that Chloe was…difficult with other people, to say the least. He’d known the type of person she was. But she was his friend and friends forgive and support each other, right?

But they were right as well. It wasn’t fair to expect them to help Chloe after what she did. Especially once he knew of the level of harm she’d caused them. He felt the horror trickle in. The trauma everyone felt. The knowledge of what they’d been forced to do. The fact that…

He suddenly found it harder to breathe.

Nino could leave.

Adrien could lose his best friend because of this.

And who knew how many of the others would be forced to leave as well. Aside from Nino; Kim, Max, Alya, and Luka were other heroes as well. Juleka was Luka’s sister. And how many of the other classmates might be pulled out of this class and school because it’s unsafe? And Kagami—oh god, she was outted as well. He hadn’t heard from her in a while. Her mother is probably furious. She could move back to Japan because of this. And Marinette…she had been lucky to not be caught up in that fight since she was a hero only the one time, but that could have been just one more thing Chloe ruined for her…

…what about himself?

He paled.

He was longtime friends with Chloe. Went to school with Chloe. Was in class with Chloe. Chloe, who was currently getting a lot of heat from all of Paris. How was his Father going to react to that? The man was always focused on the company and appearances…what would he do now that Chloe had fallen from grace in such a way? Would he forbid Adrien from talking to Chloe again? Would he pull Adrien from school?

…would he ban Adrien from leaving the house altogether?

How was he only just now considering the impact? For himself or anyone else? Of course people would be hurt. Of course they would be upset. Of course people would respond. Somehow, he knew that, and yet he had only been focused on Chloe that it hadn’t actually hit home until now…

And in that light…

It had been selfish to ask. Honestly, he’d known that when he first tried to approach Marinette. But he felt he had to try. Honestly, part of him had known better than to ask in the first place. But at the same time…there was a part of him that still believed things could just go back to “normal”.

…how foolish. That was a “normal” that nobody else wanted. And even more, it was one that was now impossible…all because of Chloe herself.

“I just wanted to help.”

He deflated, losing all remaining fight.

“I’m sorry.”

The classmates glanced between each other. There was much they could have said, but really, anything they could have said already had been. And with him seeming resigned, it appeared there was no longer a need to defend themselves.

Marinette—ever the mediator, stepped up and hugged Adrien.

“Adrien, this isn’t something you can help with. None of us can. What happens in the trial is up to the courts. And what happens to Chloe is up to her.”

Slowly, he reached up and hugged her as well. The warmth and comfort brought some limited solace in this situation. He felt lost. Out of control. Like the world was moving around him and he didn’t know where he was standing much less where he was supposed to be.

They weren’t ready to forgive Chloe. And he couldn’t force them to be. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t blame them. And it was really unfair of him to try. Especially…

“I’m sorry, Marinette.” He whispered to her.

He had tried to use her. Looking back, he had a bit of a tendency to rely on Marinette to fix things when she shouldn’t have had to. Especially when it was for Chloe’s sake. He knew plenty of times Chloe had done things…but he always seemed to overlook how hurt Marinette was because of it, simply due to how well she always appeared afterwards. She was strong and confident, but also a good listener and willing to forgive. It was like nothing really brought her down.

It was due to this that Marinette was often the one he turned to whenever things happened. Because she would listen. She would understand. And she would always try to help, regardless of her position.

In this light…he may have over relied on her too much.

“I wasn’t fair to you.” He admitted. “I just saw Chloe hurting and only thought about how to fix things for her. I didn’t consider your feelings.” He hugged her more strongly. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t speak. But she squeezed him back.

He felt another body press against him. A quick glance showed it to be Nino.

“I’m still super mad with her. And I don’t like how you tried to push us to defend her after what she did. But I get that she’s your friend and you care about her. I’d do the same if it were you in her place.” He gave a small laugh. “Not that I think you ever would, of course.”

Adrien smiled back. “Thanks.”

This…this felt much better.

Things weren’t okay right now. He still wanted to help Chloe. His classmates were still hurt. People were still angry. Hawk Moth was still out there.

But whatever happened...in this moment, he felt they could make it.

#ml fic #chloe salt #miracle queen #marinette dupain cheng #marinette defense squad #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #adrien salt

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pilot-boi · 2 years

Note

Hi Emerald. How are you doing? That's good, that's good. Well, not to alarm you, but I need you to get Oscar to tell you where he was led before he is irreparably hurt and, more importantly, while Salem is distracted with one of us.

“Oscar?” Emerald says, perking up. “I’ve never tried to connect to someone that far away, but I can try.” She closes her eyes and frowns as she concentrates.

“Irreparably damaged?” Neo signs, glowering. “What exactly is the Director doing to the poor kid? Because if she laid a hand on his little head I’ll-” She mimes wringing someone’s neck.

“One of you guys is distracting the Director?” Mercury asks, sounding impressed. “I didn’t know you could do that, learn something new every day.”

“But wait, how does that work?” Roman sits back on his heels, frowning. “You guys are like ghosts or something so-”

“I found him!” Emerald exclaims, cutting Roman off. He doesn’t even look mad, and he and the other avians jump up and stand at their doors.

“How is he?!” Mercury asks, holding the bars on his window.

“He’s not that much more hurt than before,” Emerald murmurs, eyes still closed. “I think his wrist might be broken…” Mercury swears and Roman actually snarls.

“But how is he?” Roman passes on from Neo once he composes himself.

“He’s freaking out,” Emerald says, shaking her head. “I think… I think he’s trapped somewhere. He wants to get out, he’s frantic, but it’s like…” She tilts her head, a confused frown darkening her features. “It’s like he’s not as much him as he was earlier.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mercury asks. He glances down the hallway, but the other two don’t seem to have any answers either. “What did she do to him, how is he not himself?!”

“I don’t know!” Emerald snaps, her eyes still squeezed shut. “The kid’s not responding, he’s too panicked!”

“Well try to calm him down!”

“I am! I haven’t exactly had a lot of practice, okay?!” She breaths in, trying to settle her heart beat. She won’t do Oscar any good if she’s freaking out right along with him.

“Oscar? Oscar if you can hear me I need you to calm down, kid,” she murmurs, casting her words down the path connecting her to the trapped panicked child. “We’re right here with you, I’m right here with you, you’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

She repeats this, and other similar sentiments, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, Oscar calms down enough for his whirlwind of thoughts to be coherent. “That’s good, you’re doing great, kid,” she coos. “Can you tell me… can you tell me five things you can see?”

“I- I can’t- I don’t know- I can’t-” His thoughts are shaky, staticky like they’re playing through a untuned radio.

“Yes you can, I know you can. You’re strong kid,” she murmurs. “Five things you can see.”

“Okay… okay um… my hands… the door, the window… uh… my tail and… and the Children.” His thoughts waver when he says the last one, and Emerald is almost scared to ask what he’s referring to.

“That’s great, kid, that’s great! Now um…” She licks her lips, forcing her breathing to slow down. “Four things you can feel.” She continues counting him down, until his thoughts have lost their static, and he feels more anchored to the world. He still feels exhausted and drained, but he feels more solid.

“You did great, kid,” Emerald says, after a long time. “I just need one more thing from you, so we can help you.” She feels him nod, and almost smiles when he doesn’t seem to realize she can’t see him. But it also hurts, because he’s such a little kid.

A little kid that they all promised to attack, and now his will to live is being drained away.

“Oscar, so you think you can tell me how to get to where she took you?”

#rwby #oscar pine #emerald sustrai #mercury black #neopolitan #roman torchwick #questions from the facility #faau #your dar ling #mine #asks

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suicidalslasher · 3 years

Text

forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her. i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed. The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be.

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again. But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second. The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash, wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire) but a name - Harry Warden. 1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened. For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed. Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters, buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with love in their hearts and a smile on their face. Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself. Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs got decomposed, rotting corpses, instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings.

It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as a threat. Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable. A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay as they read the paragraph out loud all while shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards. The recent two cards had said; From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near! And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot. Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you. Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps. It could have very well been the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying. (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song.

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

(Of course, there was more.)

(The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.) Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs. "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully." "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N) turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs.

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason. Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was.

(Y/N) was trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge. With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things. Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel. She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse. "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital." (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name, the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up. Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received has said he's been missing since two days ago. He can be anywhere. More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.

Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off. "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's. The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same. She instantly regretted not doing so now, however.

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'. (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together. She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe. Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice. And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere. She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself. Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open. There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself. He looked up, surprised she had answered the door. Giving her a weak, lopsided smile, Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle. "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N). (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant. "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together." Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet. "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything. Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right. "Tom..." "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes. "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a coincidence.

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up.

Now that she was thinking about it....

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago....

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne. If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner. Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her. A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too. "I love you too." Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot.

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to." "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs." Tom grins and (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

#Tom Hanniger x reader #Tom Hanniger x Y/N #slasher imagines #slasher one shots #slasher x reader #Jensen Ackles x Y/N #My Bloody Valentine #Jensen Ackles x reader #Slasher fanfictions #Jensen Ackles fanfictions #Jensen Ackles imagines #Tom Hanniger imagines #Jensen Ackles one shots #my works #Tom Hanniger one shots #Tom Hanniger fanfictions #Harry Warden x reader #Harry Warden x Y/N #cierra's stories

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alphabravocharliedelta · 3 years

Text

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader VI

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Chapter VI

Word Count: 7400

[Chapter V] [Chapter VII]

Summary: After somehow reconciling with Adler, Bell and the team are left to continue their pursuit of bringing down the undercover spy ring, but it proves to be more of a challenge as Bell struggles to move on from their Perseus-affiliated past.

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, drugs, needles

Notes: We're basically at the halfway point for the series! Good job on making it this far, and I pray that this chapter isn’t too confusing. Also if you guys have song recommendations please let me know in the tags or something I’ve been listening to the same stuff over and over.

[Y/N] "Bell" [L/N]

September, 1983

West Berlin, Germany

The ride to the meeting place was a bit tedious.

Admittedly, the entire neighborhood was foreign to you, and it was only recently that you decided to study an aerial reconnaissance photo of West Berlin. Unlike its counterpart, it felt more vast and populated, multitudes of buildings crowding the damn area. One wrong turn and you would probably wind up in an underground tunnel.

On the bright side, you were allowed to pick a vehicle of your choosing.

You had put in a request for a motorcycle a week ago with Sims. He really wasn't joking when he was able to get practically anything, as long as Adler approved (he was the one that keeps the checks after all).

"It's one of the newer models. I had it modified for longer distances and smoother sailing, if you get my gist," Sims had informed as he pulled away the grey tarp. "You have good taste, Bell. Mind if I take it for a joy ride sometime?"

Practically the entire team, aside from Hudson, were already signing up to try out the bike, and you had to set some boundaries. The moment you set eyes on the bad boy you fell in love with it, and knowing everyone else, they would somehow mess it up one way or another.

"Wow. Looks like there's space for two people on there," Woods had commented, who was trailing behind as you pulled the bike outside of the garage earlier today.

"Yep."

"So this op is basically like a date then."

You gave him a confused look. "What are you talking about? I'm going by myself."

"Oh, did we forget to tell you? Adler's going to tag along."

He had a smug face as he told you this. Woods didn't even give out a laugh, just patting you on the back as if content with himself.

"Is this revenge for the five dollars?"

"Nah. But, since you mentioned it, sure, that too."

After bugging Woods for more details, it also turned out Sims had taken the Sudan and van in for maintenance on this very day, and won't be finished for a few hours. You were starting to think some ploy was at hand, and either they were all in on it, or everything just conveniently occurred.

Fast forward about an hour later, Adler's arms were now wrapped around your lower torso as his chest pressed against your arched back. He was wearing the leather jacket you gave back to him with a long sleeve black turtleneck underneath.

He was a bit too close for someone hitching a ride, but you didn't object. His presence kept you warm while you drove on the cold streets of West Berlin. Having someone hug you after God knows how long felt… reassuring, bringing on the feeling of being coveted with a veil of comfort and longing. It took everything to not just pull over and take a moment to wallow in the feeling.

You seize the bike to a stop at a red light, planting a foot onto the pavement. A car comes to a rolling stop next to you, peering at the both of you briefly before playing with the dials of the radio.

"The hotel's going to be on the next left," Adler informs you through his helmet.

"You don't think I know that?"

"Then what's that sticking out of your back pocket?"

"...A map." You could hear him hold back a snicker, and you roll your eyes. "What? As if you never got lost before."

"Me? Never."

The light turns green. You pull your foot back on the hold, and drive off before the car next to you could think about merging to your lane.

As of late, it feels like Adler has been a bit more light-hearted and expressive whenever you both happened to be together. It was hard to tell at first, but it was the inflection in his voice and the barely noticeable curl of the corners of his mouth that gave it away whenever he talked to you specifically. Does he notice similar things about you?

Focusing on the mission, it was a bit spotty. There wasn't much content in the folder Adler was provided. No photo, no name, just the transcript, as well as the meeting place, where you were instructed to look for a man with a white dress shirt and blue-yellow striped tie sitting in front of three ashtrays. The plan was to drop Adler off at a hotel that stood across from the bar you were meeting the asset at, where he would keep watch and provide any needed reinforcements while you had to go in alone.

You pull up to the front of a moderately styled building, parking the motorcycle in an appropriate place. The area was pretty mellow, as it wasn’t very populated.

Taking the keys out, they jingled as you handed it to Adler. "Don't lose it. That's one whole paycheck right there."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" he asks, taking off his helmet. He gives his head a little shake to let the hair loosen up before reaching into his jacket and putting his shades back on, even though it was night.

You nod. "I'm just meeting someone. It'll be just like last time, except I won't be sneaking into an apartment." His perpetual look didn't cease at your assurance. "Why, what's wrong?"

"No, it's probably nothing. Just keep your comms on. I'll be your second set of ears."

"If you say so."

Pulling on a beanie, you made sure it covered your ears to hide the earpiece. Adler secures his own, giving you a good luck nod before heading into the hotel. "See you in an hour."

The weather seemed to be in a good mood today, the rain that you associated Berlin with now gone, leaving behind grey streaks of clouds in the night sky. Neon lights protruded through the glass windows, and you could hear the muffled music seeping through the walls as you made your way closer (it would serve as a way to deafen the conversation). The bar was slightly crowded upon entering. Nothing seemed out of place.

It was a simple task: meet up with the guy, learn what he has to say/give, then leave. If everything was done right, there should be no trouble.

You made your way further in, taking small peeks at each table, looking for a row of ash trays. As easy and boring as it sounded, you felt a bit on edge. Even the most simplistic things can be the cause for most problematic issues. Why did Adler sound bothered?

Continuing deeper inside, there was a man sitting towards the middle of the bar at a rounded table pushed against the wall. He was wearing the white shirt as promised and the ugly striped tie. With gelled back dirty blonde hair, you estimate him to be around his early forties. Three ashtrays made from glass sat in front of him, only one in use.

"Bell," you hear Adler, "Did you find them?"

"Yeah."

"Keep a low profile. The room they gave me doesn't give me a clear view of the bar."

You slip into the seat across from the informant. It only took one glance at you for him to break into a wide, welcoming grin.

"It's nice to finally meet you, friend," he greets enthusiastically. "Come have a drink."

Judging from his voice, he already took a few drinks himself. He slides one of his glasses towards you, and you stop it with one hand. Picking the glass up from the rim, you swirl the brownish liquid around, trying to see if there were any strange particles floating at the bottom.

"You have information, yes?" you start.

"Yes, yes of course! But first, introductions."

That's right, you didn't even know this man's name.

"Aleks Ander," you make up on a whim.

It was probably the stupidest undercover name to use. Yet, it seemed to fool the asset in front of you. He seemed like a nice person, perhaps a bit naive.

“Mefodiy Nikitin.”

"Ah. Nice you meet you, Mister Nikitin."

It was a peculiar name, yet there was something awfully familiar about it. And now, having a face to associate with it, the feeling of hostility rose. You knew him from somewhere.

Adler seemed to be on the same wavelength, as you could hear him repeat the name under his breath.

Contradictingly, you still bring the glass up to your lips, tipping it slightly and letting the liquid move. A weird, almond taste filled your mouth the moment it touched your tongue. Alarms started to go off in your head, and following your instinct, you spit it back out in a discreet manner. You survey the table for a glass of water, but only find hard liquor.

Eying Nikitin warily, you put the glass back down and clear your throat. The taste still lingered in your mouth. You haven't drank alcohol for a while. Maybe modern tastes are accustomed to strange flavors.

Something like this would be reason to abort, but you still stayed in place. The mission was to find out what he knew, and you couldn't leave empty handed. Even if the source wasn't immaculate, you needed at least something. "I came here to learn what information you want to share. We do not have all day, my friend."

"Of course. What do you want to know?"

"You tell me.”

He sure liked to beat around the bush, you note. It wasn’t like the Greta Keller mission. At least she was cooperative, even after you both got captured. Nikitin, on the other hand… You could already feel a headache coming on.

Although, you got a good grasp of his character. You expected the guy to be timid in nature, perhaps a bit like Lukas Richter to an extent, but Niktin was the opposite. He seemed like a guy of luxury, who probably likes to dwell in fantasies of being in control. People like him craved for power, trying to scope out the competition, but will avoid everything to get his hands dirty. Spending money to feel himself better, flaunting his richness. A tricky man, if you will.

People like him got on your nerves.

“Well,” he begins. “To start off, how well do you know Perseus?”

"...How the hell does this guy know about Perseus?" Adler voices.

Perseus should have been insider knowledge. Only the top brass knows about the group, so how does Nikitin know of it? Your finger twitched at how easily the name fell off of his tongue, masked in such casualty for someone who's supposed to be a KGB double agent.

"Right," you reply coyly. It was going to be difficult to extract any info from him since you couldn't disclose anything pertaining to the matter, so you had to play your cards carefully. "We haven't heard of anything as of late. I'm hoping your info can help move our investigation efforts forward. Working in the KGB must yield some information, right?"

"Like names of sleeper agents?" Nikitin alludes.

You raise a brow, thinking momentarily back to Lubyanka. "If that's what you have to offer."

He chuckles, fanning a hand in the air as if to relieve the tension. "I'm joking! But yes, I do have something." The agent brings out a floppy disk, setting it down on the table. It was black with scrawled handwriting in blue ink on the paper label. "This should be useful for you."

You reach out to grab it, but Nikitin draws his arm back.

“Is there a problem?” you ask, trying to conceal your increasing irritation.

“I could just hand it over, but a fair exchange would be appropriate for this kind of information, don’t you think?”

“Alright, what do you want?”

Nikitin muses over it, scratching his chin. After a short period passes, his face lightens up, finally coming to a conclusion.

"Russell Adler."

"I'm...sorry?"

His name didn't even register the moment you heard it. Nikitin held a smirk, content with his answer and your reaction. You pull your arm away from his end, sneaking it underneath your jacket while pretending to take another sip of the drink. Your nose wrinkled at the smell of liquor.

"To elaborate, you need to take care of him. After all, he was your assignment when you were with Perseus."

“What's he mean by that?” you could hear Adler growl.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you insist. "But, for you to know of Perseus… Who are you, really?"

The trail to Perseus has been cold as of late, pretty much leaving the CIA to pick up breadcrumbs of intel that was left behind. Your memory was shoddy and complicated, so Nikitin would be one of the biggest leads yet, but this attempt at bargaining information was beyond reasonable. You were going to have to talk to Hudson and Belikov about their selection of assets.

"I already told you who I am," Nikitin responds. "Well, you may not know me personally, but, I did hear lots of great things about you. You made quite a name for yourself in Perseus, Lieutenant Colonel [L/N]."

Your blood ran cold. No one had addressed you by that title for so long.

Then it dawned on you.

East Berlin.

The intel Mason found. Mefodiy Nikitin. His name was one of the ones mentioned there. The man in front of you was a Perseus member?

"But, I heard you go by 'Bell' now."

"The old man must be running out of options if they're recruiting people like you.” You couldn't help but chuckle at him, looking at the pathetic face he made in an attempt at intimidation. He truly was naïve. “I'm actually starting to feel a bit sorry for you all. I switch sides and you're all already beginning to fumble."

"How the general even put up with your bullshit is beyond my understanding," Nikitin belittles in return, balling his fist at the humility. "He's too trustworthy of you. Even after what the Americans did to you, he still has some faith that you'll come crawling back to him. Hell, I even went through all this effort to meet you.”

“You set this up?”

“With some false promises and a case full of cash, what kind of CIA agent wouldn’t jump on the opportunity?”

"The ones who are no longer alive."

The network you've all been working hard to dismantle was already rebuilding itself. Your mind races back to Nikitin's earlier words, anxiety beginning to pave its way in. The conversation should have been cut off as soon as he refused to give you the disk, but there was something about the way he spoke that drew your attention. He knew something you didn't. "Is this your way of blackmail? What the hell do you have to offer that I don't know about?"

"Ah, I got your interest now didn't I?" Nikitin clasps his hands together and rubs them as if he were about to partake in a feast, a sick feeling washing over you. He was enjoying this little game of cat and mouse, just holding onto the intel like bait. "Perfect! Let's get to business then."

"Bell! Forget him, just grab the—"

Adler's voice is cut off as the sound of silenced gunfire occurred right behind you. The civilians around you gave out yelps of shock, before they slumped over, as if they had lost all control of their muscles. Glasses shattered as they fell onto the floor, the translucent shards mixing in with the dark colors of the alcoholic drinks it once harbored.

Twisting around, you see two men standing amidst the bodies, guns in their hands.

You whipped out your pistol within the blink of an eye, just as Nikitin's men redirected their aim at your direction.

"To think the asset I had to meet up with is nothing more than a puny attempt of manipulation from a man who doesn't know how to control his ego," you fumed.

Your instincts were going off, screaming at you to run, but being held at gunpoint didn't exactly give you the advantage you need. You should have listened to your gut feeling. The resentment that had coiled within the depths of your stomach was beginning to unravel as you feel a rush of adrenaline coming forth. Looking down the sights, the shot was perfectly lined up within the space between Nikitin's eyes.

"But, to have gotten this far, I must be doing something right," he comments.

The civilians.

Your finger twitched, hovering just mere millimeters from finishing the job. The impulse to kill him was getting difficult to fight off. You were going to do it.

But just as you were about to rest your finger on the trigger, something warm ran over your lips and off of your chin. It gave off a dark sheen as it plattered onto the table, a couple more droplets following suit. What the fuck?

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, and your eyes widen, seeing a red streak painted across. A nosebleed?

"Is it taking effect?" Nikitin inquires with disgusting amusement.

You flick your hand. "What the fuck did you give me?"

"I didn't know how much to add, but assuming from your reaction, it's pretty strong. Apparently even a small intake can do lots to the consumer."

You could feel yourself getting lightheaded and drowsy, but consider yourself lucky enough to be let off without much other effects of whatever strange drug he spiked your drink with. The nutty taste never left your palate.

"I've heard you to be cunning and ruthless, but look at you now," Nikitin mocks. "Accepting drinks from a stranger. How American."

"You—"

"Bell!"

Nikitin’s gaze redirects to something behind you, the entry door being kicked open, as well as the surprised yelps of the two agents. As a result, you feel something pierce your right shoulder, and you grind your molars to stifle the howl that almost escaped as you recoiled back a few steps. It hurt like a bitch, but you had to tolerate it.

Turning around, you see Adler barge through the entrance, taking down Nikitin's men with ease. His shots strike them right at the chest, their bodies collapsing over the wooden tables and knocking everything off of it.

“Ah, so this is the infamous Russell Adler," Nikitin muses loudly. "To think the man you were assigned to kill is now your best friend. You were such great buddies with Naga as well, I wonder what he'll—”

"Shut. Up."

You shoot him in the shoulder in revenge, earning an excruciating yelp from him. Nikitin's hand flies to cover his wound, and yet he guffaws, a sadistic smile spreading across his face.

“You really lost it now! I-It's a bit disheartening to see you were never able to complete the task. But, then again, I guess Kuzmin will be ecstatic to hear that." Nikitin shifts his attention to Adler. "He does have a vendetta against you after all."

Kuzmin? Adler?

"...What is he talking about, Bell?" Adler joins in, rushing to your side after checking on one of the civilians. Oddly enough, there were no open wounds on any of the innocents, just one round of tranquilizer darts in each of them. Nikitin really didn't want a mess to clean up.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

The information was overbearing— too much happened within the short span of the past hour. Everything went deeper than you had surmised. Just trying to wrap your head around everything made your headache worse. The name Kuzmin and Naga was constantly recurring in your mind, and you swore Perseus himself had even said these aliases a couple times.

Shit.

You didn't want a repeat of that morning.

Shoving the barrel into Nikitin's forehead, you yell, "Who the hell is Kuzmin?!"

"V-Vikhor Kuzmin, of course!"

Adler turns to you now, you could feel his scrutinizing gaze poking at you behind those shades. "You know Stitch?" he asks. You could detect remains of hatred and detest as he said the name.

Nikitin laughs. "Of course they do! They were colleagues—"

“Enough!” you interject. “I'm tired of your shit. This is going nowhere."

Adler picks up the floppy disk, eyes darting between the label and you. "Bell, is there something you haven't told us?"

"I already told you everything I know, didn't I?" you insist irritably, but it was a feasible attempt. The confidence you had earlier was draining.

"Well, after hearing what he had to say, there's clearly something else."

"What is this, an interrogation? I don't know—" You give out a frustrated groan, feeling the migraine persist. "Fuck, I can't think—"

"This would be the perfect opportunity to kill Adler, [L/N]!" the Perseus member interjects provokingly. "Redeem yourself! At least Perseus never brainwashed you—"

You shoot him in the thigh, and he lets out a yowl.

"Do you ever shut up?!" you seethed. "For a Perseus member you sure like to run your fucking mouth. Is that how the general planned to rope me back into his stupid scheme? By pissing me off?"

"That's enough, Bell!" Adler warns. As much as he wanted to shut the guy up, he was the only other person associated with Perseus that the CIA managed to get close to. "If you're telling the truth, then I want this guy. Alive."

He could tell you were about to snap from your dark expression. He puts a hand on your arm, guiding it downward and away from Nikitin with the gentle touch of his gloved hands. "Enough."

Calm down.

You needed to stop letting him get under your skin. But with that damn cocky, arrogant grin of his, you just wanted to knock his teeth in. He kept going on and on about this Kuzmin character and killing Adler, and your inability to make sense of what he was referring to only added onto the aggravation.

Don't trust Adler.

“Yes! That look!" Nikitin exclaims upon noticing your conflict. "Do it. Shoot me. It’s what you do best, isn’t it [L/N]?”

"Volkov said the same thing," you growl. "You're one of his rats?"

"So you do remember. One could only imagine my surprise when I discovered that you sent him off to the M16." He cackles. "Though, I guess hearing what happened to your British friend back in Cuba, it’s a fair trade, don’t you think?”

"Ignore him." Adler stuffs his gun behind, taking it upon himself to restrain Nikitin, who winced at each subtle movement. Holding him under the arm, Adler hauls him up to his feet begrudgingly.

Hearing no response, he turns his attention to you. “Bell?”

Your gun goes off, a single bullet shell clattering at your feet while white wisps of smoke trail out the barrel. Nikitin’s body slips away from Adler’s grip, landing on the floor with a heavy thud.

You stuffed your firearm back in its place. That was one less person to worry about.

“What the fuck Bell?” Adler seizes your wrists. “I wanted him alive!”

“My bike didn’t have enough space anyway.”

“The bike? This isn’t about your fucking bike! He was a Perseus member, for crying out loud! Do you know how much we could have—”

“You said you wanted Nikitin alive if I was telling the truth.” You bend down, searching Nikitin’s pockets for anything beneficial. In the end you take his watch, knowing that a lot of agents within the rogue organization held items with secret compartments for their leisure. “I'm just making it easier for both of us. Just give me another of your stupid injections. That'll balance things out, wouldn't it?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Seeing how things just played out, I might just be," you articulate. "And stop yelling, my head's about to burst."

"I'm NOT—" He catches himself, bringing his voice down to a good level. "You can't just go and kill someone because they got under your skin, Bell."

"As if you haven’t done so on occasion. I was just doing us a favor." Shuffling through the pockets, you find a phial with an unrecognizable substance. You push against your knees and straighten, stuffing it and the watch into your jeans. "Bastard tried to drug me, and dishonored Park? I should have killed him the moment your name escaped his mouth."

Adler won't admit it, but he found himself a bit tense and astonished at your own brutal nature that somehow slipped through the cracks. It was the twitch of your eye and the tense grip of the handle that gave away your resistance against the urge to kill the Perseus spy, but in the end you caved in. Was that the type of person you were when working with Perseus?

Though, he noted, there were always signs of that hidden, disturbing trait of yours. Adler bared first-hand witness to your surprise attacks on unsuspecting individuals, and the "creative" ways you would finish them off.

No wonder Perseus continued to pursue you. He trained a loyal soldier. But, Adler knew that there was more to you than just a Soviet-made killer.

"Fuck it," he hisses. "Let's get out before the cops come."

"What about the civis?"

"Leave them, they're tranquilized. Give them an hour or two to wake up."

0000

During the ride back to the safe house, there was that feeling of disconnection, both between your own feelings, and with Adler.

It was silent on the way back, and you had to stuff the earbuds in your ear just to avert your attention from what you had just done. The decision to kill Nikitin came easy, but it was the fact that you did it because of his provocation is what startled you the most.

You couldn't think properly, and whatever was in your drink still coursed through your system, despite taking that tiny amount. Adler's growing concerns weren't heard as you put the bike into full throttle, speeding through traffic lights and empty roads.

The comfort of Adler's arms around your waist lost it's magic, and it felt a bit suffocating. Whatever Nikitin implied, of you having a duty to kill Adler, still persisted in your mind, and you couldn't bear to look at him with that guilty conscience.

So with your only lead gone, that left the floppy disk, and you. It would take a couple hours to decrypt everything, but you had a feeling that it would only provide the bare minimum of evidence, so that leaves you and your memory.

And there was one way to trigger it.

The moment you both arrive at the hideout, you immediately head to the bathroom. Woods attempted to ask how it went, but you pushed past him. That left Adler to answer the questions.

"What's up with Bell?" he asked. "You didn't do anything, did you? Because, if you did—"

"Bell killed the asset."

Woods raised an eyebrow in interest. "Damn, what'd they do to piss them off?"

Adler didn't find it funny. "Talk."

"Must be within good reason then?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

Slamming the door closed, you lock it and lean against the door. Exhaustion began to overwhelm your body as the adrenaline died out, and your shoulder felt like it was being held on top of an open flame.

Looking at it, you could feel the bullet wedged in there. It wasn't too deep, but was a good hit. Peeling the top of your clothes away, you sucked in air as you carefully removed the fabric from the area. The sight wasn’t pleasant, and the air stung at the raw flesh.

You pull one of the drawers open, retrieving a fresh cloth and ran it under the faucet. Taking a seat on the counter, you carefully wiped down the surrounding area, grimacing as the fibers brushed against your skin. Medical attention wasn’t your specialty, since there was always someone else to do the work.

“Bell?” Adler’s voice came from the other side of the door, causing you to stiffen. “Are you going to hide like a coward, or am I going to have to fucking force the door open?”

Well, he’s pissed. You didn’t blame him though.

“Can’t I get some privacy around here?” you hiss, trying to cover up your nerves.

“Seeing how you just murdered someone right in front of me after disobeying my order, I think that should be the least of your concerns. Now open the damn door.”

Sighing exasperatedly, you quickly cover yourself up and set the cloth down. There really was no way to avoid the guy. Just how the hell were you going to explain everything? You, yourself, couldn’t even fully comprehend everything, leaving it up to speculation and theories that your shrewd up mind came up with.

You flush the toilet before opening the door, hoping to throw Adler off your trail for a bit. “I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

“The hell you are. Get out. We need to talk.”

"You're really going to interrogate me in front of a toilet?" you reply snarkily.

He ignores the comment. "We're not finished yet."

Adler grabs your wrist, only to realize that you were shaking. You refused to look him in the eye, biting the insides of your cheek in shame.

The metallic smell was starting to bother him, and his eyes did a quick scan, and noticed that there was a hole in your jacket. Startled, Adler tugs at the zipper and opens it, pulling the edges back only to reveal the red seeping through your clothes underneath.

"You're hurt."

"You realize that now?"

“Un-fucking-believable.”

Adler ushers you back into the bathroom, gesturing you to hop back onto the counter. You oblige, waiting as he takes out a kit and a new rag from underneath the sink. He unpacks everything, taking out a thin needle and some thread while setting a couple of pads and tape to the side.

“You better tell me what happened at the bar,” Adler says, pulling the thread through the eye of the needle. “Or I’m never sending you on another mission again.”

"I got shot."

"No shit."

“I told you what you wanted to hear, didn't I?” you chided. It was uncharacteristic of him. He never really batted an eye in your direction when it came to previous wounds, yet today he was more considerate. "Why're you getting so worked up about it?"

Adler wrings the cloth out in the sink. “Gee, I don't know [L/N]. Maybe it's because our only lead is gone, and now you try to hide the fact that there's a bullet in your damn shoulder?”

"It's nothing."

"Last time someone said that, it got infected. You don't wanna know what happened afterwards." He brings the towel up to your shoulder. "Take off your shirt."

"What is this, a strip search?"

"My god, just fucking— Your damn shoulder Bell, just show it."

You shrugged off your jacket, undoing the first three buttons to your dress shirt, and pull your arm out of the sleeve, exposing the rightmost side of your body. "There, happy?"

Adler's eyes notice the two scars on your chest that barely peeked out from underneath the fabric. He brings the cloth to the shoulder in an attempt to not get distracted, but his sight wanders back to it.

The tissue was discolored and discernable from your actual skin complexion. They were both close in proximity, just right above your sternum. He already saw one of them— the bullet they extracted from your chest was used as evidence of the illegal gun cargo at Trabzon Airport. But, the other scar…

"Are you going to just stare at your mistake and let me bleed out, or are we going to get this over with?"

You break his line of thought, and Adler disinfects the tweezers, before proceeding to pull out the single round in your shoulder.

Right. He was supposed to be mad at you.

“I can't even take my eyes off of you for one second, can I?" he grumbles, shifting his mood appropriately. You shuffle a bit as you feel Adler pull the lump out. "Stop fucking moving, Bell, it might sink in more.”

You turn towards him. “You met this Vikhor Kuzmin, haven't you?”

Adler ceases all movement at the mention of the name. Behind his glasses, you could see him lost in thought for a brief moment, before continuing to work on your shoulder.

He places the bullet down on the bloodstained rag beside him, before taking the needle. “I’m not going to talk until you tell me what happened,” he responds brusquely with a bit of malice.

You trail off, leaning your head against the wall behind you.

Vikhor Kuzmin, meeting Adler… All the pieces started to link up with one another, the puzzle slowly becoming more finished each move. Whatever Perseus was planning, you played a part in it, and knowing that his grasp on you was still strong made you reluctant to even return to the safehouse, not knowing what'll happen to you.

But you needed to confirm it. If your memory was correct, then the CIA could use it to their advantage. You hated being used, but you didn't want Perseus to win. The only thing in your way was your psychological roadblock that prevented you from remembering.

"Before I tell you," you bargain. "I want you to do something for me."

He finishes stitching your wound closed, placing a pad above it before wrapping bandages around, bringing over the shoulder and under your arms.

"You're in no position to barter with me."

"I'm your only connection to Perseus, so we both know damn well that an injection is in order."

Adler straightens up, eyes narrowed. "What the fuck are you talking about—"

"From back then. The MKUltra shit. I need it."

The psychoactive drugs. That's the solution you came to?

"You're not thinking straight."

He begins to put everything back into the box, and you sit up and grab him by the collar and pull him close. Adler could see the desperation written all over your face as you gave out shaky breaths. But, he wasn't swayed.

"Adler—"

"You just got drugged with an unknown substance, and now you're claiming that running you through the procedure will somehow recover your memories. I’m not going to give you an injection over something so trivial.”

"Trivial? This isn’t fucking trivial! How can being sent as a hitman and setting off Nova Six be trivial?!"

Adler shakes his head. Your requests were beyond reasonable now, and you were coming up with some Hollywood spy flick plot with hitmen and Nova Six. Maybe you were hallucinating.

"I'm not going to give you the injection Bell. It's too damn risky. The trigger phase was meant to recall memories of Vietnam, not anything else."

Following that conversation you both had the morning after East Berlin, he swore to never touch upon the topic of MKUltra, or anything directly correlated to it. Not again.

"Why not?! You didn’t hesitate to fucking poke a needle in my eye last time. So, what’s different about now?”

He pries your hand off of his collar. “You know why.”

"Don't you dare bring personal feelings into this," you beseech, "Especially when millions of lives are at stake."

"You're not the one administering the fucking thing Bell. You don't have the authority to decide—"

"Whoever this Vikhor Kuzmin is, they're with Perseus," you argue. "They're planning something. I know it's risky, but if you would just run me through the scenarios one more time, I'll find out what it is."

"Bullshit. Kuzmin is in prison."

"He's not! Why can't you just listen to me?!"

At this point, trying to convince Adler was like talking to a brick wall. As much as you despised the medbay, you were about to walk in there yourself and poke it in your damn eye if it meant figuring out everything Nikitin told you.

You and Adler glared at each other, and your little show started drawing the attention of others just down the hall.

Taking a deep breath, you lower your voice so only he could hear. "Nikitin said that I knew Kuzmin. I-I don't know how important this guy is, but if I worked with him, then there's still some unfinished business. I don't care what you think, but there's no fucking way I'm letting this slip past, especially if I already know the answer. Nikitin's should have been our lead, but I fucked up, okay?"

"[L/N]—"

You cut him off. "Just let me do this for you. For the team."

There was a pleading look in your eye, and Adler could feel your craving of answers about your past. Getting left in the dark for so long must have taken a toll on you, and he couldn't even begin to fathom to imagine how it must feel to live life with a large chunk of your memories being locked off behind a door that could never be reached. There was nothing in the archives nor any of the foreign databases of your birth records or identity, other than the one he had made for you. Your life was so shrouded in mystery, it sometimes even felt like you were just a by-product of the CIA. And he just so happened to be one of the reasons why you were like this.

Adler presses his lips in a thin line, before cracking open the door and entering the back part of the safehouse, with you following closely.

"Lazar," he announces, "Meet us in the medbay."

The aforementioned male perks up at his name, placing down the newspaper in his hand. "Why, what's happening?"

"Our back up plan."

"You don't mean…"

"We're doing it."

Lazar shoots you a look of concern, remembering the seizures that you had last time. "No."

"Well, we don't have a choice," Adler dejects. "The asset's dead thanks to Bell."

"Hey!" you chime in. "It was fully well—"

"Enough. We talked over this already. Don't make me change my mind."

Mason and Woods played witness to the events that occurred in front of them, but didn't partake in the conversation. They've only heard rumors and a half-assed retelling of what happened in the medbay back in 1981, so they could only infer what you three were talking about.

It didn't stop them from prying, though, Mason immediately getting up from his spot. "What's going on?"

"It's none of your concern, Mason," Adler states sternly, pushing open the door to the room.

Mason, unsatisfied, grabs the handle and pulls it closed within a flash. "I think it is," he replies coldly. "What the hell are you planning to do to Bell?"

"Let go of the damn door."

"Not until you tell us what's happening."

"Mason," you join in a weary voice. "It's fine. We're just going to go over some things. It should give us a better angle on Perseus."

He tries to read into it, but the only thing he saw was a person who's been through too much shit in their lifetime, clothes speckled in red spots and the innocent light long gone from their eyes. Yet there was that newfound determination behind it all, and he knew there was no use trying to argue.

"As much as we have in common," Mason indulges, letting go. "I'll never understand why you go this far."

You grin weakly. "So no one else has to do the dirty work."

Your hands were far from clean. Compared to everyone else, you were sure you hit high on the list when it came to war crimes. Hell, your own existence became one. Even on the CIA database you're listed as MIA and under the watchlist, and the only ones that knew the truth was the team.

Lazar closes the blinds to the rooms, granting you three a bit of privacy. Adler gives him a brief rundown on what you told him, and you were met with disagreement once again.

“You don’t need to do this Bell.”

“Your right. I have to," you elaborate. "We're running out of options here.”

"There's the floppy disk."

"I'll get to it after. The more the merrier is the saying, right?"

Lazar wasn't looking forward to this, but if what you knew was that important, to a point where you pleaded to be put under this serum, then they definitely needed to find out. The CIA's been chasing around Perseus for god knows how long, and you're a key part to taking him down.

"Are you sure?"

"Stop asking, or else I might start getting second thoughts."

The plan was superficial, with the highest possibility of going to tits down (or up, as Sims put it). If you were going to subject yourself to one of the most mentally draining interrogations you had, then you might as well get the full authentic experience.

You adjust the light that hung above accordingly, making the position similar to before. Lying down on the gurney, it felt like you were about to go into a mental asylum. You had to convince Lazar to wrap the leather cuffs around. "Come on, you don't want me falling off and hitting my head, do you?"

"I would honestly prefer you to hit your head and pass out than to go through all this shit again."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

As you both verbally loosen up, Adler shifts through the shelves, pushing aside boxes to reveal that old black duffel bag. He unzips it, and sees the god-forsaken phial with the sickening yellow liquid just sitting at the bottom, just right above the old booklet. Bringing them out, he passes the manual to Lazar, before he himself rips open a new syringe from its package and disinfects it.

Adler turns around once he's done, feeling a bit of remorse as he sees your weakened figure. "Your arm."

"No. Intracerebral. Like last time."

"Don't be ridiculous. You know how dangerous that was?"

"Fucking do it," you growl, before resting your head back down.

"You're insane, you know that?"

"All part of the package."

He flicks the needle, testing it. "Are you ready?"

You nod as he positions it right above your eye while holding your chin to keep your head still. Staring right down at the needle, your stomach churned, knowing what's going to happen next.

Damn, through the eye socket?

Clenching your jaw, you brace yourself. "Hit me."

Without any countdown, Adler plunges it into your eye. You writhed in pain, nails digging into your already stained hands. Your legs shuffled in an attempt to instinctively move away from the needle, but with the cuffs around your wrists, you were going nowhere.

"Fuck!"

"Don't squint Bell, it's only going to make it worse," you hear Lazar advise.

Adler takes the needle out, trying to keep a level head. He didn't want to do this, but trying to reason and extract any information from you without it would be more tedious and cumbersome. Plus, how could he ignore that pleading look in your eye? It was like a whining puppy begging to try chocolate. But of course, chocolate is deadly to dogs.

He didn't want to verbally agree with you, but if you had anything relating to Perseus still hidden within the depths of your mind, and if it had the chance of pushing the investigation forward, then so be it.

Adler watches as your movements begin to ease, your pupils expanding as the dosage begins to take effect. Your tense expression loosens up as you plant your head back down, eyes glued to a random spot of the ceiling with drooping eyelids.

He and Lazar share a look of uncertainty.

Adler resists the unexpected compulsion to reach out and grasp your hand. This was something you had to do on your own, and he was just there to make it happen. He just prayed that everything went better this time around.

He takes a deep breath, before uttering the words he too has come to despise.

"We've got a job to do."

#russell adler x reader #adler x reader #russell adler x bell #cod black ops cold war #black ops cold war #call of duty #call of duty x reader #bo:cw #text #fanfic #bell #russell adler #abcd briefing #call of duty imagine #sorry this took a while had to rewrite it #:)))) suffer

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prettyyoungandbored · 4 years

Text

Second Place [Bale!Bruce Wayne]

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: Hi hi hi! Love your writing!! Can you please do an angsty Bale!Bruce Wayne x reader (who knows about Batman) around the time of TDK when he chooses to go save Rachel and doesn't realize that the other person the joker took was the reader?

Tagged:@kittenlittle24, @fzzziiiieee

Author's Note: I really ran with this farther than I intended and honestly, I’m really proud of this. That and sick to my stomach.

Also, please listen to ‘Both Sides Now’ by Joni Mitchell when you read the end. When you see the ***, that means you play it. Wait a few second for Joni to begin singing, and then start reading. You won’t regret it.

Y/N opened her eyes,a warm, muggy scent welcoming her. It smelled like a wet wood with a hint of maple. While she couldn’t put her finger, one thing was for certain - it did not smell like her bedroom at all.

She went to lean up but felt stuck. It wasn’t until she looked down that she realized she was strapped to a chair, her hands tied behind her and ankles tied together.

Her blood ran cold, heart rate accelerating and stomach weakening. A million thoughts ran through her mind as she tried to remember how she got here. While the details were fuzzy, all she could remember was the knock on her door and her reluctance to open it, thinking it was Bruce. After that the memories went black.

She scanned the room, realizing she was in an broken down warehouse or something. Shards of glass scattered on the floor underneath broken windows, the cool fall breeze hitting her skin, causing goosebumps. Surrounding her were canisters with what appeared appeared to be some kind of thin tubes. She tried searching for a label, but the lack thereof only made her heart rate quicken its pace.

“Hello?! Hello?! Is anyone there? Hello?!”

Her body perked up at the sound of the familiar voice. “Rachel?” she called out.

“Y/N? Y/N, is that you?”

There was a muffle in the tone, indicating she wasn’t in the room with Y/N, but over a radio or perhaps a PA. It was then she noticed the walkie talkie device on the wooden chair in front of her.

“Rachel, where are you?” Y/N asked.

“I’m on a rooftop somewhere. What about you? Where are you?”

“I’m inside some empty building. I don’t know where.” She tried swallowing the lump in her throat. “Is Harvey with you?”

“No,” her voice went up an octave, followed by some sniffles.

“Ok, ok, ok, um...” She closed her eyes, trying to wipe away the millions of thoughts to come up with something to relax them both.

“Y/N?” She sounded so helpless which made Y/N’s stomach drop. Rachel was not the type to give in to a situation. She always found a way to fight through even the toughest, most dark situations.

“Yeah?”

“Y/N I am so, so, so sorry.”

Y/N closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Now is really not the time-.”

“Let me finish. Please.”

Realizing there was no escaping it, even while they were both on the verge of death, Y/N sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

“I’m so sorry for what I did. I crossed a line, both Bruce and I.”

Y/N had walked into the apartment when the site of Bruce and Rachel kissing on the balcony stopped her dead in her tracks. Suddenly, the world she’d grown accustomed to crashed around her and even worse, the suspicions she’d pushed aside not just for the sake of her sanity but for the sake of hers and Bruce’s relationship, had been confirmed.

“They’re childhood friends.” It had become her mantra throughout hers and Bruce’s relationship. From the way Bruce’s attention fixated on Rachel when she spoke to the way the two of them conversed outside the balcony during the fundraiser thrown for Harvey Dent, she had tried to cast her suspicions aside. She loved and trusted Bruce more than anything and Rachel had become a dear friend of hers. She tried to reason with their relationship, reminding herself their history extending back to when they both were children.

Yet the truth of it still managed to shock the hell out of her.

She let out an audible gasp, loud enough to catch their attention. Both Bruce’s and Rachel’s eyes widened, like deer in headlights. Unable to get out a proper sentence let alone speak, Y/N took a couple steps back before booking it out of there.

“Y/N! Y/N, wait!” Bruce called out to her. “Y/N it was an accident.”

Accident. That one damning word was all it took to make her break. She whipped her head, a heaviness weighing on her chest and shoulders. She stomped to him.

“You fucking piece of shit!” she growled. “You know goddamn well it wasn’t a fucking accident and you know I’m not stupid enough to buy it!”

She didn’t care that tears fell down her cheeks. He deserved to see every single one of them. Both of them did.

“Y/N, I can explain,” Rachel interjected peacefully.

Y/N pointed her finger, not even hesitating. “Save your shit for Harvey, ok?!” She turned back to Bruce. “You have no idea how many times I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I gave it to both of you more times than either one of you will ever know.” She eyed Bruce. “I did it because I loved you and because I trusted you.”

Bruce eyes softened, his mouth trembling. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

She threw her hand up. “Oh so now you’re sorry? Why not lead with that instead of ‘it was an accident’?” She shook her head. “You’re sorry. You know what? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was just a fucking placeholder for when she was ready to be with you.”

She unclasped the diamond tennis bracelet from her wrist, a gift he’d given for their one year anniversary. She held it up for Rachel to see. “Enjoy.”

She threw it on the ground and turned around, not caring that Bruce was still trailing behind her.

She’d made it to the door when he blocked her. “There’s a lot you don’t understand,” he told her, pleadingly. “Please, let me explain.”

“Don’t make me feel anymore stupid than I already feel.”

“Please, Y/N. Just listen to me.” He swallowed. “I love you-.”

She reached for the door knob. “Ok, get out of my way. I’ve had enough.”

“Y/N...”

“You don’t love me!” Her voice cut like the sharpest knife. “Even if you do, it’s not enough for you. I will never be enough for you, because I’m not her. Look, this is your chance to be with her. Take it. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

She pushed by him and slammed the door.

Y/N’s head hung low, a tear strolling down her cheek.

“Bruce said he was going to turn himself in as Batman,” Rachel went on. “I told him that meant we couldn’t be together and...” She sniffled. “Y/N, he told me we weren’t going to happen because he had you.”

“Rachel, you and I both know-.”

“He had a ring for you. He was going to give it to you when you got back.”

Y/N’s heart stopped, dropping to the pit of her stomach. “He...what?”

“I told him I was relieved because Harvey...I chose Harvey. I chose him a long time ago.” She let out a sob. “It was a goodbye kiss. I promise you. It was us ending whatever future we thought we’d both have with each other.”

Y/N found herself fighting another battle, the one where she wanted to argue Rachel’s claims. The idea seemed so didn’t make sense. Bruce buying her a ring and then to kiss his childhood love just to move on with her. But making logical sense was just a waste, especially in the situation she was currently in.

“Even if that were true, you and I both know how much he loves you.” She closed her eyes, her body tensing as she prepared herself mentally for the next words that came out of her mouth. “Which is why he’s coming to save you.”

“Y/N...” “You and I both know he’s coming for you.” She nodded her head. “It’s ok. Just know you’re going to be safe.”

“Y/N...”

“I just want you to know that I forgive you. I forgive both of you.”

“He’s coming for you.”

“He’s...”

“Rachel?!”

Y/N cut herself off when she made eye contact with Batman. He stared at her, both of them realizing he had made a grave mistake and it went beyond saying her name.

“Y/N? Y/N, are you there?” Rachel’s voice broke the silence.

“Go get her,” Y/N told him.

He hurried toward her, untying her.

“Go get her! Forget me!” she screamed.

He picked her up bridal style and carried her out hurriedly. The last thing she remembered was the fall night’s cool breeze on her face and the sound of a loud boom.

_____________________________________________________________________

***

Y/N opened her eyes to find herself in Bruce’s guest room. Her eyes glanced up at the hazy blue early dawn sky. She looked down at her body to find any injuries only to realize she had been unmarked. She didn’t feel any kind of pain.

She exhaled, waves of relief crashing over her. She could cry with joy of her luck, her chance to live. She cheated death.

She went to look at the alarm clock that was on the nightstand only to see her diamond tennis bracelet laid out. What was once her most prized possession made her feel sick her to her stomach. She picked it up, amazed that it didn’t show any signs of damage from when she threw it on the floor.

She went to put it on her wrist when she stopped. Putting it on used to be second nature to her, but now it didn’t feel like hers anymore and taking it felt like she was stealing.

She had to give it back to him.

She placed it back on the nightstand and threw the covers off of her. She proceeded to make the bed. She then grabbed the bracelet.

Afterwards, she walked into the kitchen to find Alfred sitting at the island, staring at his mug somberly.

“Alfred?”

He looked up, giving her a small smile.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he greeted, his eyes glossy.

Her blood ran cold. His broken expression meant one thing and one thing only. “Where’s Bruce?”

“In the living room.”

She sighed, relieved, and went to make her way when...

“Ms, Dawes didn’t make it.”

She stopped walking, her body frozen in time. She turned around. “What do you...”

“The police didn’t have enough time,” he explained.

Her mouth hung open, his words hitting her like a train. “Oh, Alfred.”

“I’ve known her since she was a child, running around in the backyard with Master Wayne,” he told her, his voice faltering at the end.

She opened her mouth once again to ask something, but closed it. She already knew the answer and either way, she was bound to find out.

She walked in the living room to see Bruce still in his Batman gear with the exception of his cowl, which he held in his hands. His blotchy eyes fixated on the cowl, as if he was asking himself how he could’ve let this happened. His lips pursed back, the countdown to his eventual emotional and mental breakdown only seconds away.

She wanted to hold him in her arms, wrapping around him like security blanket. She wanted him to cry on her as she rubbed his back, quietly reassuring him that everything was going to be alright.

But she couldn’t make it better. No amount of words or types of affection she could provide him with could comfort him.

She went to take another step, but decided it was best to leave him alone and went to leave.

“Y/N?”

She turned around to see his head turned toward her, face still and emotionless.In the time they’d been together, it was the most vulnerable and the most broken she’d ever seen him.

And it fucking terrified her.

She couldn’t move, her body refused to let her. Running out on him felt selfish this time, especially considering what’d he’d done.

She quietly approached Bruce, the two keeping their eyes on each other, unsure what to say.

She cleared her throat, volunteering to be the one to break the silence.

“I know I wasn’t your first choice,” she spoke up, her chest growing heavy. Tears began to tickle down her cheek but she quickly wiped them away, afraid he would see it. “I just wanted to....I’m...”

Bruce opened his mouth when she waved her hand, indicating she wasn’t done talking.

“Despite everything, I know how much she meant to you,” she went on, the truth in her words tasting like vinegar. “I am so, so sorry for your loss, Bruce. I hope you know that it wasn’t your fault and you shouldn’t blame yourself. She wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

She wiped her tears once again and cursed them for continuing to fall. “Thank you for saving my life,” she sniffled. “I’m grateful you didn’t le-...” She shook her head. “Thank you.”

She gently leaned down and placed the bracelet on the arm of the chair.

She turned around, her head lowered as she tried to hurry out of there.

“Y/N.”

His tone was gentle and the sympathy she didn’t want oozed in his tone. She turned her head, wishing he’d just let her have the last word.

“I don’t regret saving you,” he told her, his voice shaking. “I never will.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but instead, opted to give him a nod. There was no use in continuing a conversation that had long been over before it even began.

The second elevator doors closed, she covered her mouth, loud, muffled sobs escaping her mouth. Her heart shattered into a million little pieces, for Rachel, for Bruce, and for herself.

Even in death, Rachel had won.

#bruce wayne x reader #bale!batman #bruce wayne imagine #Christian Bale #christian bale x reader #batman x reader #batman imagine #batman #the dark knight

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Essential Avengers: West Coast Avengers #1: Avengers Assemble!

September, 1984

WHO will answer Hawkeye’s call to join the new team?

I assume Mockingbird? I see her silhouette in the cover box and the assumption was that she and Clint were a package deal? I don’t know what it’s being played like its not a given.

Some good or at least interesting options here for the second team.

Red Wolf, Iron Man, Puck, I thiiiiink Crystal?, Doc Sampson, Mockingbird, Cyclops, Black Widow, Wonder Man, Tigra, Quicksilver, Hercules, Ant-Man, Namor, and the Shroud.

A lot of interesting options. I really want it to be Cyclops and I know its not going to be Cyclops.

STOP TEASING ME WITH AVENGERS CYCLOPS IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO GIVE IT TO ME!

Also, this issue #1 of West Coast Avengers. Or at least the first issue #1. The team is introduced in a four issue miniseries before getting an ongoing - and a second issue #1 - about a year later.

This will be moderately confusing for my numbering but I’m brave enough to barrel on through anyway.

Last time in Avengers: Vision became the chairman of the Avengers and announced that due to the threat of the Dire Wraiths, the Avengers would be opening up a West Coast team led by newly married Hawkeye. In one page reminders of the subplot in various issues, Hawkeye and Mockingbird arrived in Los Angeles, went real estate shopping, and set up a new HQ in a nice compound that used to belong to an actress.

The team is only missing one thing.

A team.

Maybe it’s just me but I’d think that you’d get the team sorted out before you spent who knows how much renovating a compound up to the level required for a superhero team.

It’s going to be really embarrassing if you open a new Avengers team and nobody comes.

(Vision agrees and has taken the liberty of reaching out to several likely candidates.)

Mockingbird confirms that Hawkeye has invited her onto the team but she’s not even sure she’s Avengers material, she doesn’t even have powers.

Hawkeye: “Neither does Captain America! Neither do I! If I can be an Avenger -- !”

Mockingbird: “Anyone can, right?”

Hawkeye: “And people wonder why you took the code-name Mockingbird!”

Haha! I do like their chemistry!

He does clarify that its totally not just because she’s married to him (although I would point out that he kept trying to get Black Widow on the team based on them dating) but that she’s totally earned it! She has years of experience as a SHIELD agent!

Hawkeye calls Vision to let him know that the place is all set up and Vision lets him know about the reaching out to several likely candidates biz.

BOOM SCENE TRANSITION TO DOWNTOWN SAN FRANCISCO at the office of private investigator Jessica Drew.

Because, yeah, Jessica Drew did the PI thing as an ex-superhero way before Jessica Jones. And Jessica Jones is probably Drew with some of the serial numbers scratched off.

ANYWAY, she’s talking to hardboiled Tigra, who helped her on the Enselmo case.

Jessica Drew: “I still laugh when I think about the way you ran our pigeon up and down Telegraph Hill!”

Tigra: “That was the best part of the case! After all... bringing pigeons to ground is second nature to a lady who’s half-cat!”

Jessica tries to offer Tigra a job (since this is before the internet and Tigra can’t find a lot of modeling jobs for models covered with fur) but Jessica’s secretary interrupts with a call for Tigra.

The call sounds ominous from Jess only hearing half of it but I’m 99.9% sure its Vision offering Tigra a spot on the West Coast Avengers.

Read Tigra’s replies with that context and you’ll laugh.

Tigra tells Jess that she’s got to book it to LA for business that she has to settle on her own but they’ll talk about Jess’ offer later.

Tigra: “Don’t worry, I’m a big girl... I can make my own mistakes!”

I feel like a little bit of clarification would have gone a long way here, Tigra.

Because Jessica assumes that Tigra is in trouble and decides to call someone to tail (ha) Tigra.

Meanwhile, a car chase in the Mojave Desert.

To cut to the car chase, this is a movie set filming a stunt spectacular car chase scene for what I’m pretty sure is James Bond.

Pyrotechnics are easy if you don’t stress blowing up the stuntman.

Because he’s near invulnerable.

The stuntman (Simon Williams, Wonder Man) does need to have buckets of water thrown on him to cool him off after being in an explosion but he’s otherwise fine.

Cool that Wonder Man found an acting job he can handle. He seems pretty thrilled with it.

One of the staff on set tells Simon that his trailer is buzzing and he realizes its his Avengers transceiver.

He receives his offer from Vision (although apparently a much more vague one than Tigra) and flies off after making sure he has no more stunts scheduled for the day.

An hour later and hundreds of miles elsewhere, Iron Man (the James Rhodes version) is flying around, minding his own business, thinking about how cool it is to have relocated to California to help Tony Stark open a new business, admiring the Standord University Linear Accelerator Center.

Just as he’s thinking that he hopes that Tony isn’t in a hurry to being Iron Man since he’s gotten used to it, Vision cuts in on the secret Iron Man radio frequency to call him in to the meeting.

Iron Man arrives twenty minutes later at the West Avengers compound on the Palos Verdes Peninsula bluffs and paraphrased does an impressed whistle at what a nice place it is.

Iron Man: “Some spread! This looks like the kinda place Tony would’ve hung out... before he lost Stark International! The best part of being his pilot in those days was ferrying him to spots like this! Who’d have thought I’d ever be invited on my own? Then again, who’d have thought little Jimmy Rhodes would grow up to be Iron Man?!”

Future knowledge bums me out a little with this. This is spoilers for a year from now and several issues from now but in the time gap between the West Coast Avengers limited series and the ongoing, Tony does take over being Iron Man again. I hope you enjoy all this while it lasts, Rhodey. And hey, War Machine is only like eight years away!

Tigra arrives and starts acting familiar with Iron Man because she thinks she knows its Tony and they were teammates for a bit.

She ditches the briefly identity obscuring trenchcoat and hat because dammit she has a year round fur coat and its hot in California!

She also might be flirting, although hopefully not as bad as she’ll get later in the ongoing. Spoilers for a year and several issues for now but it is a bafflingly bad subplot that Tigra gets given.

The other reason I bring it up is that this is the exact situation that led Rhodey to quit the Avengers when he became Iron Man. He felt it would be awkward interacting with people who already knew Iron Man well.

I guess he’s more comfortable with it now.

The West Coast Avengers roster that we already know about are all people who either quit the Avengers or don’t feel like they’d be a good fit. Which is just a great start so I’m interested to see if we’ll get justifications for why they’d sign up the minute a franchise opens.

Hawkeye takes Tigra and Iron Man off on a tour while a mysterious shrouded figure watches.

The tour concludes without us seeing the tour, boo. But it comes up that neither Iron Man or Tigra know why they’re here.

Iron Man was just told he was needed but didn’t get any more details. We know that Wonder Man got the same vagueness. And Tigra was just offered a $1000 dollar stipend to fly out to LA and see if she could “help the Avengers out!”

So Hawkeye gives them the sales pitch.

That Captain America made it a rule that except in emergencies, the Avengers’ roster would be limited to six members. But Vision decided that they need more than six Avengers but wanted to keep the team from becoming unwieldy so told Hawkeye to set up an expansion team: the West Coast Avengers!

It’ll basically be the same thing as the original Avengers in terms of by-laws and rights and privileges and both groups will be affiliated but the West Coast Avengers will be running their own show west of the Rockies.

If everyone here agrees to sign up, that’ll make a team of five with a sixth spot to fill.

But Tigra objects that she left the original team because she felt out of her depth and why would that be different here?

Ah, now there it is.

Justify it, Hawkeye.

Except he doesn’t because the intruder alarm goes off.

The intruder alarm all the way in the first basement level, which means their intruder has already penetrated deep into the compound and bypassed a lot of the security systems.

Hawkeye is sure that the intruder is actually a highly organized commando raid and he’s instantly proven wrong with an infrared scan shows just one guy.

Womp womp.

Hawkeye is also sure that however this just one guy got as far as he did, the security system in the next area will totally--

Womp womp.

Hawkeye is fed up at this point and seals off the security levels, forcing the dude back through the domestic areas. He then orders Iron Man, Tigra, and Mockingbird to split up to cover more ground that way and surround the intruder.

Not having much better to do, they do, but everyone has some misgivings in their thinky thoughts.

Iron Man: Hawk sounds like he really gets into giving orders. I don’t know if I like that.

Tigra: I must be some sort of masochist to get involved with Avengers again! They always seem to know what they’re doing... not like me! What am I doing here? What am I trying to prove?

Hawkeye: Should I let the others catch our intruder... or rush in and collar him myself? How would Cap handle this?

Mockingbird: Poor Hawk... He wants so much to be a good leader! I know he can do it, but I wish he wouldn’t try quite so hard! In a way, though, it’s funny... His first act as leader was having the team split up!

Mockingbird is the first to run into the intruder, suddenly being enveloped in a cloud of darkness. She can’t see anything but hears someone moving and launches one of her staves from her spring-loaded sleeve launcher.

Its a near miss, breaking a lamp instead of the intruder, who turns out to be Shroud. Y’know, that friend of Jessica Drew’s we met in that two-parter about saving Jessica Drew’s ghost?

Shroud realizes how skilled Mockingbird is and that he might have trouble if he takes her lightly so he goes right for the Vulcan neck pinch, knocking out Mockingbird. But she hits Shroud in the stomach guts with her second stave as she’s passing out.

Hawkeye then shows up, concerned that he hasn’t run into Mockingbird yet and drawn to the cloud of darkness, except not the Final Fantasy villain.

He shoots a light arrow, except not the Legend of Zelda powerup, into the cloud to no real effect so shrugs and shoots a sonic arrow instead.

Shroud flees the area and Hawkeye finds Mockingbird who tells him to shut up with the EEEEE arrow.

Hawkeye: “Where’d our man go?”

Mockingbird: “How should I know? It was dark!”

Hah.

The cloud of darkness passes through the area of the mansion/compound that Tigra is in and she recognizes it as Shroud’s darkness. She calls out to him but he doesn’t hear her because he’s in another wing about to be tackled by Iron Man who can see Shroud with his in-helmet radar.

Controlling darkness is all well and good until technology.

Ain’t it said, Rumia?

Shroud is also blind so all he knows is that an armored man is lunging at him until Iron Man calls him a fool for trespassing on Avengers turf.

And that’s when he realizes that he done goofed.

Hmm. What is that symbol on Shroud’s hood, anyway? It looks kinda like Aku.

Shroud manages to escape Iron Man’s grasp, sacrificing some of his neat cape. Although, it tears into an even cooler look so is it really a sacrifice?

He decides that he’s just going to get out of here.

Shroud: Have to get undercover and think out my next move. I don’t want to fight Avengers! That could become a life’s work -- and I have better things to do!

I can’t decide whether he means that he’d be at it all day or that this misunderstanding fight would lead him down an unwilling path of villainy as some third-string grudge holder.

Probably the former?

Anyway, Shroud is just leaping over the balcony when Wonder Man finally arrives and spots him. And unfortunately for Shroud’s ribs, he has been cultivating a reputation as a crimelord so Wonder Man flies in and tackles him into a tree.

Womp womp, except for Shroud this time.

Tigra shows up and jumps on Wonder Man from forty feet away to stop him from hurting Shroud any further, explaining that he’s her friend.

Shroud: “I’m certainly glad I’m not an enemy... I’d hate to think how I’d be treated then!”

Hah.

Later, in the medical room, I guess, Mockingbird applies bandages to Shroud’s ribs except on the outside of his costume. Does... does that do anything? Obviously not for open wounds. But for bruised bones, I guess the point is compression. But it feels less than ideal because he’d have to take off the bandages to take off his shirt. Just feels better to apply the bandages under the clothes, MOCKINGBIRD.

What makes it weirder is that we see him a couple panels later pulling his shirt down over the bandages. Which makes me think Mockingbird bandaged him on top of his costume and he had to pull his costume top out from under them and pull it down. He didn’t just stop her because that would be rude?

Shroud explains that Jessica Drew asked him to keep an eye on Tigra because of how the phone call made her act all weird. He followed Tigra from the airport to here and ran into a gaggle of superheroes.

In the meantime, Hawkeye has verified Shroud with a report Captain America filed on him so Hawkeye believes he’s a good guy now.

Wonder Man and Iron Man apologize for going in swinging and Tigra for not just telling Jessica what the call was about. But Shroud tells them no permanent harm done.

Hawkeye decides to offer Shroud the last spot on the team (assuming that everyone already invited is going to choose to stay).

Hawkeye: “That trick you do with the dark is one slick little number... and anyone who can hold his own against us as long as you did obviously has what it takes in the skill department. Besides, what you did reminds me a little of how I introduced myself to the Avengers -- I broke in, too! Come on... What do you say?”

Shroud say... no.

He’s honored and a couple years earlier he would have jumped at the chance. But Wonder Man’s assumption didn’t come from nowhere. Shroud has been spending the last many months building up his outlaw rep so he can take down gangs from the inside.

Like the Green Hornet, I guess?

But since it’d be hard to be an Avenger West Coast AND keep up the fake outlaw thing, Shroud has to turn them down.

Shroud then pulls his cloud of darkness disappearing trick and nopes out.

With all that tied up, Wonder Man asks whats the big thing that Vision called him out for, leading an exasperated Hawkeye to start his West Coast Avengers sales pitch from the top.

Mockingbird: “That’s the spirit, fearless leader! Just remember, it can only get better from here!”

Hah.

So, that was the first issue of West Coast Avengers.

And there’s still no West Coast Avengers team.

Tigra and Iron Man still have reservations about the idea. Wonder Man has no idea why he’s there.

Its an interesting decision to hit the ground walking with this team. But it makes sense. The initial plan wasn’t for the West Coast Avengers to get an ongoing. This limited series was supposed to establish the concept, give a few Avengers affiliated characters something to be doing off-panel, and be able to be pulled in for crossovers and guest appearances as needed.

So the book can focus more on Hawkeye’s trials in actually getting this team going. He’s finally gotten to be a leader of the Avengers like he’s always wanted and now has to deal with all the frustration that Captain America or Hank Pym had with him, and then some.

Still, funny that the West Coast Avengers’ first adventure has them not only not a team yet but spending their time beating up a friend due to mistaken identity.

Will they get their act together by the next issue? Only time will tell. I tell a lie because Chronos never spoils stories. Only me will tell or maybe the Internet.

Follow @essential-avengers for the rest of the West Coast Avengers limited series. And for eventual bafflement when they get an ongoing. Also, like and reblog.

#avengers #West Coast Avengers #essential avengers #Hawkeye #Mockingbird #Tigra #Iron Man #James Rhodes #Wonder Man #the Shroud #Jessica Drew #essential marvel liveblogging

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