acediian

[acediian]

One More Tomorrow (Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader) - Chapter II.

CHAPTER I.

Summary: Billy's crush returns to The Halcyon for her seventeenth birthday and the two of them enjoy more chances to grow closer.

Pairing: Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader (third person)

TW: so much fluff, blink and you miss it Billy having some impure thoughts, mention of death of a parent, Billy being Billy again

Word Count: 5.5k+

A/N: I love Billy Taylor so much that I want to scream, explode out of my body, and ascend to the moon. That's the author's note. Also, thanks again to @valeskafics for giving this a read-through for me! c:

Disclaimer: I do not own any The Halcyon characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are always appreciated!

Art deco dividers by @saradika

It is the longest summer of Billy’s life, waiting for the months to tick by and November to finally arrive. Every day is just another shift. The same old thing day in and day out. Now and then, Billy catches himself staring wistfully at the marble staircase as though he will see her coming down to have lunch with her father or pop out for a bit of shopping. He even starts dreaming about her. About taking her dancing or going on a drive through the country. One morning he wakes up blushing after dreaming about her in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle toward him in a church filled to the brim with white roses. 

Does she dream about him, too?

The stiflingly hot summer months wane on and Billy continually bothers Mr. Garland about the Greenes’ return visit to The Halcyon. Every time he asks, the answer is the same: there has been no request yet about any birthday party, whether for Mr. Greene or his daughter. Billy starts to wonder if she won’t return in the fall. If, maybe, she’s found a beau in Birmingham - one she would rather celebrate her birthday with. One her father might actually approve of.

He starts to mope around The Halcyon when August turns into September with still no word, enough that even Mr. Garland begins to notice. His mum, Peggy, has seen the most of his gloomy mood out of anyone, what with having to watch him drag his feet around their house every morning and night. “It’s about that girl again,” she tells Mr. Garland and both share a sigh. Young love can be such an overwhelming, complicated thing. But this is Billy’s first time coming face to face with it, and she hates to see her sweet boy - her eldest child and only son - like this.

Peggy is, therefore, elated when a letter arrives at The Halcyon addressed to Billy. When he arrives to have tea with her that afternoon, she wiggles her finger at the mailboxes beside her desk and tells him to look. 

But who would write to him? His confused expression only warrants a smile from his mother.

“It’s from Birmingham, Billy.”

He very nearly throws his teacup to the ground to lunge for the letter. Sure enough, that’s his name written in delicate cursive on the back of the envelope. His heart is pounding out of his chest as he tears open the letter and finds an automobile sketch inside with a single folded piece of paper. A handwritten letter so perfect that it almost looks printed.

Dear Billy,

Mr. Garland said you liked my father’s automobiles, so I managed to get one of his original sketches of the Model F for you. It’s not much, but I hope you will like it all the same.

I’ll see you in November.

She’s signed the letter “yours truly.” Not “sincerely,” not “regards.” He’ll be pouring over the meaning of that one for days. But, no matter the meaning of the signature… she’s remembered him. She’s thought of him. She’s taken the time to write to him! And she does still plan on returning to The Halcyon. 

Suddenly, his dreary summer no longer feels so dreary.

November 1939.

The leaves on the trees lining the streets of London have turned orange and fallen. The grass, once kissed with glittering morning dew, slumps from the heavy frost that coats it each sunrise. It hasn’t snowed yet, but winter’s chill is beginning to set in in earnest. 

None of the ladies at The Halcyon dare step through the front doors without their heavy coats, gloves, and scarves any longer lest they catch their death, they lament. The fireplaces roar at all hours to offer some heat to the towering lobby. The doormen keep the doors shut as much as possible to trap the warmth inside. Cold manages to seep in every now and then when an unfortunately timed breeze blows through just as someone is stepping in or out, but it’s never severe enough to linger.

It is only a few weeks before The Halcyon’s lobby will be stripped of its usual flowers, vases, and other decorative trinkets and decked out in full Christmastime splendor. But first, the hotel must play host to the seventeenth birthday party of a certain young woman. And her father has spared no expense in decorating the lobby and the bar for the occasion. 

Before the Greenes even arrive, the lobby is filled with dozens of arrangements of white and pink roses in gold vases. Mr. Greene even commissioned a special tiered gold chandelier for the occasion, which hangs low over a stunning centerpiece of peonies, hydrangeas, roses, and lilies enhanced with sparkling Swarovski crystals. 

The other bellboys whinge about the decorations being too much, but Billy just brushes them off. He knows in his heart that they aren’t enough. Every flower in the world wouldn’t be enough to match her beauty.

He’s proven himself correct when the front doors swing open and she walks in, arm linked with her father’s while the other holds onto her dog’s lead. Billy has made sure that he is the one to take her coat and hat. He notices the coy smile on her rouged lips as he slips the coat off of her shoulders and the soft blush that blooms on her cheeks when his fingers brush against her upper arm. 

“Hello, miss,” he mutters softly, unable to hide his own smile. His heart is full to bursting at being so close to her again. The warm, rosy scent of her perfume is filling his nostrils and making his head spin.

“Hi,” she whispers over her shoulder, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “It’s good to see you.”

“You…” Billy’s mouth has gone so dry that he can’t finish what was meant to be a two-word sentence. He clears his throat to no avail. “Uh huh.”

She’s quickly whisked away by her father and Mr. Garland, who are eager to show off the decorations to her. It’s clear that she isn’t used to such grand gestures, seeing how she nervously clasps her hands in front of her and shifts from one foot to the other. Billy drinks in the sight of her, in her pale blue dress that he guesses has been tailored to fit her judging by the way it so perfectly hugs her every curve. His eyes linger perhaps a little too long on her bum because he hears Feldman clear his throat. 

“Come along, lover boy. Luggage to unload.”

Billy doesn’t see her again until the following afternoon, when he is sent up to her room to take her dog out for a walk. She’s otherwise preoccupied, Feldman says. If it were for anyone else - even His Lordship himself - Billy would have groaned and grumbled about having to stumble about the streets of London being dragged along by a dog. He doesn’t even want to think about the more than few occasions when he’s lost control of a dog’s lead and left the guest’s beloved pet to run amok in the streets. He’s had to dodge cars chasing after more than one poodle or bulldog, only to return to The Halcyon completely out of breath and with his bellboy hat and cloak all askew.

But he won’t let that happen to her dog. There is no way that he will treat this dog as anything but the most precious jewel in the world. 

Walking toward the lobby, he has wrapped the lead around his wrist twice so there is no possibility for the dog to break free. He does thank his lucky stars that the dog is so small and well behaved. Even less of a chance to muck things up. Still… he can’t help but feel nerves churning in his stomach at the thought of something happening to the animal.

“Alright there, Clara?” he asks the corgi as she trots along happily beside him down the stairs. “It’s you and me today. Please be good, yeah?”

“Don’t worry. She always is.” 

Billy freezes. He knows that voice. 

When he looks up, his eyes meet hers. He’s been standing at his post by the door all day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but he wasn’t expecting to see her right now. His free hand tugs at his uniform jacket to make sure he looks perfectly tidy and in order.

“Clara, are you going for a walk with Billy today?” She coos in a high-pitched voice to the dog, who spins in a circle in excitement. He watches a small crinkle form at the corner of her eye as she smiles at her beloved pet. Her cheeks and nose are pink from the cold and her hair is windswept, but she still looks as lovely as ever. “Do you… mind if I join you?”

“N-not at all,” Billy replies, sounding more nervous than he’d like to. “Bit cold out, though.” No, he reprimands himself. Don’t try to dissuade her, you idiot! He’s fidgeting with his hands again like he does every time he talks to her. Get it together, Billy.

“It is, but… I need a break from all this last-minute party planning. If I have to look at another table setting, I think I’ll die of boredom.” She rolls her eyes dramatically to emphasize her hyperbole, but Billy still prickles at the mere thought of it. 

“I don’t want you to die,” he responds with a little too much sincerity. But he means it. He can’t think of anything that would be worse.

“All the more reason for me to join you, then, Billy.” 

Her smile softens the tightness in his jaw. He offers a crooked grin in return, but he’s kicking himself inside. Will he ever stop making a fool of himself in front of this girl? He could tell himself a thousand times to act normally around her and he would still muck it all up the second he opens his mouth to speak to her. And yet, she doesn’t seem to mind? She might even… like him? 

He reckons he’ll never understand girls.

Their walk with Clara winds up being the longest they’ve ever spent alone together. It’s so much more than a stolen glance across the hotel lobby or a few minutes spent chatting when he brings her tea. They are strolling through Hyde Park side by side, almost in a world of their own. This isn’t the time of year when mums are out with their babies in prams or old couples are walking hand in hand among the trees. Due to the cold, the park is uncharacteristically empty and quiet, save for their own shoes crunching along the stone path and the jingle of Clara’s collar.

But the very best part is that Billy has gotten a chance to hold a proper conversation with her. If by “conversation” he means “letting her tell him about herself while he bloody clams up yet again.” She tells him about her life in Birmingham, about a book she’s reading, about her father’s company. Anything and everything. He’s happy to hear her talk. He’d listen to her read the dictionary aloud if it meant he could hear the sound of her bright, sweet voice. She has a way of softening the inflection at the end of her sentences that is so warm, so comforting. 

“Billy.” His head snaps toward her like it does every time she says his name. “Is it true that your mum works at The Halcyon, too?”

“Yeah… she’s the telephonist.”

“Oh. I’ve spoken to her, then.” A realization dawns on her and she laughs, throwing her head back in a way that makes his ears go hot. “Oh… Mrs. Taylor. I’m so silly. I should have known. She seems nice.” 

“She is.” Billy wrinkles his nose. “Bit overbearing, though. Sometimes…” He’s convinced that his mum still sees him as her little boy the way she treats him at times. Fussing over his hair, fixing his collar, tying his shoes. As if he isn’t turning eighteen next year. 

“Yeah, but that’s just her being your mum, isn’t it? They’re supposed to be like that. It just means she loves you.”

Billy shrugs. Doesn’t make his mum any less annoying about it. “What about your mum?” 

He realizes he’s well and truly stepped in it when he sees her face fall. He had wondered why only she and her father had been to The Halcyon, but guessed that maybe her mum didn’t fancy traveling. But the way she purses her lips and stares at her feet as they continue walking suggests something else. 

“She died when I was four.” 

“Oh–” Billy feels his heart sink at having brought up such a sorrowful memory. He wants to apologize a million times and it wouldn’t be enough to convey how sorry he is.

“Please don’t feel bad about asking. It’s been so long that I… I don’t really remember her. It’s just been me and dad all this time. And he makes sure I know that I’m loved.” She laughs dryly. “I mean, look at how completely overboard he’s gone with this birthday party. I guess that’s his version of being overbearing.”

Billy’s expression softens. “Well, but… you deserve it, though. I’d throw you a party like that. If I had the money.” He realizes what he’s just said and hurriedly attempts to cover his tracks. “I mean…! If I was your dad. No–” Bloody hell, you’ve just made it worse. 

She laughs in the same way she does whenever he fumbles over his words with her. Not laughing at him, not laughing like he’s stupid like other people tend to do. It’s a genuine, sweet laugh accompanied by that glimmer in her eyes that he loves so much. He pulls his lips inward as he feels new heat rush to his cheeks. 

“Did you get my letter, Billy? From this summer?”

His previous embarrassment almost completely forgotten, his face lights up in a wide grin. He becomes more animated than he’s ever been around her, almost bouncing along the path beside her. She clearly notices, judging by the way she smiles.

“Oh, god. Yeah, I did…! That sketch by your dad… that was bloody incredible!”  

She laughs again, a laugh that seems to warm the air around them. “I’m so glad you liked it.” 

“Liked it? I… I loved it. The Model F is the most brilliant car on the market. But you… know that…” Billy stops himself before he begins to fanboy even more. He feels a little flutter in his heart as he glances sideways at her, though. He dips his head a bit in a moment of sudden bashfulness. “Can’t believe you… you know. Thought of me.”

“‘Course I did.”

Billy turns it over again and again in his mind, trying to decipher the meaning of her words. If he weren’t such an idiot, he’d come right out and ask her. But the words bloom and die on his tongue in an instant. 

He can’t remember a time when a girl ever looked twice at him, let alone thought of him when they weren’t together. Had she really taken time to think about him when she had returned home to Birmingham? Did she think of him when she took tea every afternoon, or when she removed her coat upon stepping inside her house? 

His silence eventually prompts her to prod him with a question of her own.

“Did… you think of me, too, Billy?”

His eyes are wide when he turns to her. He doesn’t mean to stare at her like some startled animal, but he can’t bloody help it. The thought of divulging the truth to her strikes the fear of God in him. 

“Yeah, I did,” is all he can manage to push past the frog in his throat.

Yes, he thought of her. He thought of her every morning as he stepped foot into the hotel lobby. He thought of her whenever he passed the flower shop at the end of his street and smelled the freshly cut roses they had for sale. He thought of her on rainy days, on sunny days. He thought of her morning and night. 

Even his younger sister, Dora, eventually started to notice how Billy seemed to float around their house whenever he would start to think about her. Being only eight years old, it had been a prime opportunity for the younger Taylor sibling to tease her brother relentlessly. But not even Dora’s incessant needling could have dissuaded Billy from thinking about the charming, beautiful girl from Birmingham who had smiled at him and made him feel wanted. Nothing could.

That’s what Billy would have said to her if he’d had the courage to do so. 

Instead, he just manages to flash a shy little smile that seems to satisfy her because she responds with one of her own. 

“Will I see you around at my party tomorrow night?” 

“Yeah… I’ll be working.” 

She doesn’t know that he begged and pleaded with one of the other bellboys to switch shifts with him so that he could be there. He doesn’t tend to work such late evenings. His mum prefers him to be home for dinner. But he would have done anything to be there for her party, even if it means that he will be stood by the door taking hats and coats all night.

“I wish you could come to the party itself,” she mutters softly, perhaps thinking that he can’t hear her. She sounds so earnest that it gives him butterflies. “My dad and my cousin Margaret won’t tell me what they’ve got planned, but I think it'll be a real gas.”

Billy knows he may be a bit daft sometimes, but he isn’t stupid enough to think that he could be anything but a bellboy at her party. When he’s alone with her, it feels a bit like they aren’t from different social classes. That the earrings she wears aren’t real diamonds and her clothes haven’t come from the finest shops in London. That he isn’t a lad from down the street who’s never owned anything that wasn’t second hand. She treats him like he’s someone. Someone worth talking to, worth listening to. Someone who is more than just another worker whose name she’ll forget by the next day.

It brings him crashing back down to earth every time he steps out of their little bubble and back into the real world. In the end, he’s just a bellboy. And she’s a beautiful heiress. Love, affection, even friendship between people like them is something forbidden. That is something that Billy must constantly remind himself of. It hangs in the very air around them whenever he is with her. But it does not stop him from wanting her.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time,” Billy says, and he means it. “I hope you do.”

Billy laments that they’ve been walking for long enough that The Halcyon has come back into view. Their approach spells the end of their walk together. It’s a return to that real world where they must go their separate ways; him, to his work, and her, to her glittering, beautiful life. 

The hotel lobby welcomes them back with the warmth of the fireplaces, which helps them begin to shake off the November chill. Theirs is a quick goodbye as her cousin pulls her away, shrilly and breathlessly admonishing her for disappearing when there is still so much to do for the party. But she’s sure to give Billy one last tender smile before she disappears into the restaurant.

There’s hardly any room to breathe, let alone move, through The Halcyon lobby on the night of her seventeenth birthday party. If anyone thought there had been too many flowers in the room before, then they would have had to rethink their definition of “excess” upon seeing the state of the lobby tonight. 

Flowers, mostly white roses, cover every pillar, frame every doorway, cover every rung on the bannister. There is even an archway created entirely from flowers at the top of the staircase - the perfect setting for the birthday girl’s grand entrance. And the gold accents have only been expanded upon since the day before. In some places, the light bounces off of the gold candelabras and vases in such a way that it casts a warm reflection on the walls and floor. It’s the most extravagant affair that Billy has seen at The Halcyon in more than a year of working there.

And it’s all for her.

The buzz in the room dies down in an instant when Mr. Greene appears in the archway at the top of the stairs, delivering a short speech about the gathering of family and friends that is eloquent without any of the stuffiness of having been rehearsed. It’s clear by the reaction of the crowd that he has a natural charisma about him - something that his daughter has clearly inherited from him. 

Billy’s eyes widen as she steps out from behind the flowers after being beckoned by her father. There must be a hundred people packed into the lobby, but it’s as though a spotlight has been shined on her. Flash bulbs pop and the room erupts into applause. But all that seems to exist in this moment… is her.

Billy enjoys the perfect view of her from where he stands beside Feldman by front doors. She’s wearing her hair in an elegant updo with roses pinned into her low bun. Her gold floor length gown cascades around her like a sparkling waterfall, flowing over each step of the staircase as she and her father begin to descend arm in arm. The dress is modest, with long sleeves and a v-neck that doesn’t show off too much. But the gold fabric gathers at the waist in a way that accentuates her lovely figure. Billy can’t help but bristle at the thought of all the young men who will get to dance with her tonight and rest their hands on the soft curve of her waist.

But when her eyes meet his from across the room - however briefly - all his jealousy and longing melts away in an instant. 

Billy spends the rest of the evening at his post but finds himself craning his neck each time the door to the hotel bar opens, on the off chance that he will catch a glimpse of her in her beautiful gold dress. He thinks he does once or twice, but he can never be sure. 

The night wanes on and Billy begins to yawn. He’s never worked this late before. If he wasn’t here, he’d probably be fast asleep by now. Feldman tries to send him home at half past eleven, but he just shrugs him off. 

“Billy, you’re falling asleep standing up. Go home.”

Billy hums and shakes his head, lifting a hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “Can’t go yet.”

“What are you waiting for, Billy? For me to have to carry your ugly mug home because you’ve fallen asleep on the job?” Feldman’s rising annoyance with him makes him blush.

“I…” Billy stares at his feet. “Could you do me a favor, Feldman?”

Fifteen minutes later, Billy is pacing back and forth in the dark restaurant on the opposite end of the hotel from the bar. The chairs have been flipped and placed atop the tables for the night. The silverware sits, polished and ready for the next day. The curtains are drawn across the floor-to-ceiling windows, with only the softest light from the street lamps outside filtering through them. Only the sconces on either side of the door offer any real light to the room. 

Billy has removed his bellboy hat and nervously sweeps his palm over his slicked-back hair to ensure that not even a single hair is out of place. In his free hand, he clutches a small, wrapped box with such a vice grip that his knuckles have gone white. And he continues to pace and pace and pace while he waits for the restaurant door to open.

When he sees the small crack of light at the door begin to grow and spread across the carpet, he stands at full attention with his hands behind his back. Somehow, his heart begins to beat more quickly than it already has been when she peers around the door. Her furrowed brow softens the moment she lays eyes on him.

“Billy… hi.” She’s smiling, and the light beside the door hits her face in a way that gives her an angelic glow. “Heard you wanted to see me.”

If only she knew just how badly he’s wanted to see her all night. He drinks in the sight of her, looking her up and down. He notices little details that he didn’t see from across the room earlier. The teardrop earrings she’s wearing that match her necklace. The little curled strands of hair that fall on either side of her face. The pink lipstick that’s different from the red she usually wears. He’s sure to be quick about it, not wanting it to seem like he’s asked her there just to ogle at her. 

“You look…” 

“Exhausted?” She jokes, but the sincerity on his face gives her pause.

“Beautiful.”

The lighting may be a bit rubbish for seeing her properly, but even he can tell that he’s made her blush. Her hand flies to her cheek as if to hide her smile. Her eyes fall to the floor. Surely she’s been complimented dozens of times tonight. He reckons - he hopes - that his has meant the most of them all.

“Thank you, Billy,” she breathes, finally pulling herself together enough to respond. “You look handsome, too.”

He’s caught completely off guard. The very air seems to leave his lungs. At first, all he can do is shake his head and let out a nervous laugh. “I’m… just in me uniform…” 

She takes a step toward him and he swallows hard. It still feels so hard to bloody breathe. “But you always look handsome… doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.”

It’s by some small miracle that Billy doesn’t fall to the ground unconscious right then and there. He very nearly drops the gift he’s still holding behind his back. It’s only when he has to fumble to catch it so it doesn’t tumble to the ground that he remembers why he had Feldman have her come see him.

“I… I, uh…” he flounders trying to speak again. “Bout to be off for the night, but, uh… didn’t wanna leave til…” He clears his throat. “Til I gave you this.”

“What?” He sees her eyes narrow suspiciously, although she keeps her lips turned up in a smile.  

Billy takes a step toward her, dotting out his tongue to wet his lips. “Close your eyes… and hold out your hands.” 

She does exactly as he asks, letting her eyes fall closed before she extends her perfectly manicured hands. Into her cupped palms, he placed the little box he’s kept in his locker all night. He’s seen the pile of gifts that she’s received tonight, the big boxes with their shiny wrapping paper and bags tied up with perfect bows. The one in her hands is no bigger than a makeup compact, and wrapped in crinkled newspaper with a paltry, crooked bow made out of twine. It’s hardly the most glamorous gift she’s gotten, probably ever. He almost feels embarrassed as he sees it resting atop her hands.

When she opens her eyes and sees what he’s given her, she doesn’t react in disappointment. Rather, Billy watches her face light up in a smile.

“Billy… you didn’t have to–”  

Billy rocks back onto his heels and offers a little shrug. “I know… but I… I had to get you something for your birthday. You only turn seventeen once.”

She’s holding the little gift as though it’s a delicate baby bird. “Do you want me to open it now?”

“Well, I– I mean, you don’t have to…” What if she didn’t like it? She wouldn’t have to pretend to be grateful if he wasn’t there when she unwrapped her gift.

But his words go in one of her ears and out of the other. She carefully plucks the bow open and unveils the ruby red box that’s been hiding beneath the newspaper. Inside it, she finds a delicate rose brooch. The stem is made out of a shiny gold that matches all the gold accents dotted about the hotel lobby. The petals themselves are white. Billy thinks he remembers the shopkeeper say that it’s porcelain. 

“Happy birthday.”

“Oh, Billy…” she whispers as she admires the brooch.

He saved up for months to buy it for her after seeing it in the window of the pawn shop down the road from his house on his way home from work one day. His mum and dad usually expect him to chip in for necessities now that he’s employed. “It’s your money, Billy,” his mum said to him when he asked if he could keep a little more to save for the brooch. He put away every penny he could after that. What should have taken him six months to save up, he saved in only four. 

“I, uh… saw it and thought of you,” Billy says warmly. “I know how you… like roses and all…” 

She delicately lifts the brooch from its box and lays it flat in her palm to see it better in the light. She turns it over and over again, treasuring every last detail. And all the while, the smile in her eyes shimmers brighter than the sun.

“Billy, this is so… incredible. It’s beautiful…” 

“Yeah…?” He feels a sense of pride, hearing her genuine gratitude and seeing her joy. 

“Yeah.” She finally looks up at him and he felt his stomach flip. “Billy, it’s perfect. I love it. I love it so much…” She reaches out to take his hand and wraps her fingers around his. Her touch is soft and warm against the calloused pads of his fingers and palm. Bloody hell, how many times can he nearly faint in front of her in one evening?

For a fleeting moment, there’s a force that draws them closer to one another. His senses are overwhelmed by the smell of her perfume, the warmth of her hand in his, the sight of her face so close to his. But he’s a bloody idiot as always and stands completely frozen in place. He wants to lean down and press his lips to hers, but his muscles won’t move.

He clears his throat. “Can I… put it on for you?” 

He sees disappointment flash across her face before she pulls away. She’s quick to replace it with a sweet grin, but he knows he’s missed his chance. He’ll be kicking himself for weeks for this. Stupid, stupid coward. 

“Please.” 

His hands are shaking as he takes the brooch from her and fumbles to clasp it to the front of her dress, just below her left shoulder. 

“How does it look?” she asks.

Billy can think of a million ways to describe her beauty in this moment. Not just the way the brooch looks on her, but everything about her. In the end, he smiles crookedly and settles on the one he thinks encapsulates her best.

“Exquisite.” 

Their time together is short as always. Her party can’t go on without the guest of honor and he can finally allow Feldman to send him home now that he’s given her her gift. His mum’s probably waiting up to make sure he gets home safe and it’s nearing midnight, now.

“Billy, we’re leaving for home in the morning,” she tells him as if he doesn’t already know that. “I guess… you’re off tomorrow.”

In any other situation, he’d be glad that Feldman wasn’t making him come in first thing after working such a late shift. But now it means that he won’t be there to see her off like he did the last time. 

“Can I write to you again, Billy? After I get home?” 

“Of course.” His earlier embarrassment at having denied her a kiss is somewhat dulled by the assurance that she wants to keep in touch. “But my handwriting’s a bit rubbish…”

She laughs. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’d… like to see it. Be sure to write back. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Satisfied, she pulls open the door but stops in the doorway. “Thank you again, Billy. For my present. It’s the best one I’ve gotten tonight.” She chews on her bottom lip, lingering on the boundary between the restaurant and the lobby for just a moment longer. She presses her cheek to the edge of the mahogany door, staring at him as though she doesn’t want to go. But eventually she relents as calls of her name echo through the lobby and she is beckoned back to the party.

And Billy watches dreamily until long after the bar door shuts behind her. 

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#!!!!!!!!!!!!! #fic: one more tomorrow

[acediian]

One More Tomorrow (Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader)

Summary: When a new guest checks in to The Halcyon, Billy looks for any excuse he can to get close to her.

Pairing: Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader (third person)

TW: pure unadulterated fluff, Billy being an idiot with a crush, some light swearing, this fic is basically a romantic comedy

Word Count: 5k+

A/N: I haven't written fic in ages so I hope you all enjoy my Billy Taylor brainrot!!! This is part one of a three-part miniseries I have planned... with potentially more to come if people want more? !!! Also, we're all gonna have to make peace with the fact that our nameless young lady has a surname, lol

Also, thanks to @valeskafics and @aegonx for reading this through for me!!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any The Halcyon characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are always appreciated!

Art deco dividers by @saradika

Billy will always remember the first time he set foot in the lobby of The Halcyon. He’d come to work with his mum more than a handful of times over the years, especially when he was little. But, in those days, the only glimpse he got of what went on upstairs at the hotel was the silver serving trays that the waiters carried as they walked past his mum’s office. Seeing the lobby - the heart of the hotel - for the first time was like stepping into a different world. 

That was almost a year ago, now. Barely sixteen, with trembling fingers tugging at the high collar of his bellboy’s jacket. It was brand new and freshly pressed, so it had a stiffness to it that he wasn’t used to from the hand-me-downs that he usually got from his father. 

He followed Feldman up from the bowels of the hotel and through the door that had always been forbidden to him. What lay on the other side was something he could have only dreamt of. Towering columns carved from emerald green marble, glittering chandeliers, doorways trimmed with a rich, dark wood. The sweet smell of fresh flowers permeated the air. He wondered how it was possible for it to smell so strongly of flowers in a room so large. He reckoned his family’s entire house could fit inside the lobby four times over. 

The Halcyon was the most beautiful thing Billy had ever seen.

Until the day he sees her.

May 1939.

His morning starts as it usually does. Quick cup of tea in the hotel kitchen. Dodge a kiss on the cheek from mum. Check on the hotel generator. Head upstairs to begin bringing down the luggage of the guests who are checking out. 

The dreary, painfully normal morning eventually turns into a rainy May afternoon. Billy’s shoes eventually become so waterlogged from escorting guests inside with an umbrella that he can feel his socks squeak against the leather with every step. He’s whinging about it to one of the doormen when Mr. Garland comes parading through the lobby towards the front doors with Mr. Feldman in toe. And if The Halcyon’s general manager and head concierge are preparing to greet a guest, then they must be someone important.

“Come on, then, Billy!” Feldman calls to him. “Fetch the umbrellas.”

Billy deflates a little, knowing that there’s little hope of his shoes drying any time soon. Still, he’s dutiful as ever and meets the other men at the front door with the still-damp umbrellas tucked under his arm. 

“Is his Lordship back in town?” Billy asks Feldman curiously. 

“No, Billy,” Mr. Garland answers instead. “It’s a new guest and one that we’re eager to impress. Mr. Tobias Greene, of Greene Automotive.”

Billy’s face lights up. “Greene Automotive? Oh, they’ve got the fastest cars on the market. Their new Model F’s got an eight-cylinder engine. Three hundred twenty horse power! It’s got a top speed of two hundred kilometers… an hour…” His voice trails off as he sees the look on Mr. Garland’s face. “What’s he coming here for? Their factory’s all the way in Birmingham.” 

Mr. Garland peers outside, looking for the arrival of their new guest’s car. “Something about setting up a corporate office here in London, I think. But it’s best not to pry, Billy. You know that. And please, no gushing to Mr. Greene about his cars.”

Billy nods and Feldman laughs at the disappointed look on the boy’s face. 

Mr. Greene’s car arrives at a very punctual three o’clock on the dot and the men step outside into the pouring rain to greet their new guest. Feldman is the one to open Mr. Greene’s door. Out steps a tall, dark-haired man with a thick mustache and shrewd brown eyes. The handshake he offers to Mr. Garland is firm but friendly. Billy can’t help but be a bit starstruck. 

“Come along, my dear,” Mr. Greene calls into the open car door. “Don’t make your father wait in the rain.”

A corgi jumps out of the car and into a puddle on the sidewalk, splashing water up the front of Billy’s grey trousers. Great. He barely has time to groan about it before he looks up and sees her. Mr. Greene’s daughter steps out of the car with the dog’s leash in her hand. It’s lucky that Billy is standing close enough that she is covered by the umbrella he’s holding because he’s frozen solid at the sight of her.  

If he was starstruck seeing her father, then he’s completely bowled over by her. She’s dressed in a beautiful fur-lined coat and has her hair done up in those curls that all the ladies are doing these days. Not a single strand is out of place. She looks like she’s just stepped off the set of a new picture or out of the pages of one of those magazines his mum reads. 

Her eyes meet his and it’s like he’s been struck by lightning. He wonders for a moment if his heart’s stopped beating. He sees her lips move but doesn’t hear what she says. How could he, when he’s so transfixed on her beauty? Plenty of good-looking women have walked through the lobby of The Halcyon, but not a single one of them could ever compare to her. 

Billy comes crashing down to earth again as the sound of the car door closing breaks him out of his trance. He’s not supposed to talk to the guests. Greeting them is Mr. Garland’s job. But he can’t help but squeak out a nervous “Welcome, my lady.”

She smiles in response and he melts. 

“Thank you.” Her voice is warm and sweet. Prettier than any melody. The little chuckle that leaves her is even lovelier. “But I’m no lady.”

Billy stumbles over his words, knowing that he’s mucked it up. His eyes widen and both hands move to grip onto the handle of the umbrella. “Y-yes, miss.” 

They all make it barely halfway to the front doors of the Halcyon when she turns to the car with a gasp. “Oh… my gloves. I left them in the car…” Her tone is pensive, more like she’s making a mental note not to forget them later than anything. 

But Billy, desperate to please her, springs into action without so much as a word. He’s at the car door in three long strides, only realizing that he’s left her standing in the torrential rain, umbrella-less, when Feldman snaps his name from atop the hotel steps. When he turns back, her suede gloves in hand, he sees her huddling for cover beneath the umbrella that Feldman is holding for her father.

He can almost feel the daggers in both Feldman and Mr. Garland’s eyes pierce through him, but then he sees the smile that creeps onto her lips. She’s drenched, the fur on her coat matted against her shoulders and her perfect hairdo ruined. But she’s smiling. 

When her lips part in a laugh, Billy knows he’s done for. Even if it’s him she’s laughing at, for being such a bloody twit, she’s laughing and he gets to hear it. If it was the only sound he ever heard for the rest of his life, then he would die a happy man.

Mr. Greene is not as charmed by Billy’s foolishness as his daughter, raising an outstretched hand for him to hand over the gloves and let them get inside. Billy can’t look the man in the eye as he places her gloves in his hand, but he does manage a small, sideways glance at her and sees that she’s gone all pink in the face. Just like him, he reckons. 

The Greenes are put up in separate but adjoining rooms on the second floor. Billy watches as Mr. Garland ushers them up the marble staircase. Feldman gives him an earful for what happened outside, but all he can think about is being the one to bring her luggage to her room. To see her again, maybe even talk to her.

He very nearly pushes the other bellboys over as they begin to bring the Greenes’ luggage inside. Despite their obvious wealth, they’ve traveled lightly in comparison to many of the other guests the Halcyon receives. Billy counts her suitcases. Only four. He can manage four on his own, can’t he? 

Feldman pinches the bridge of his nose at the sight of Billy, two large suitcases tucked awkwardly under each arm, lumbering up the stairs and nearly taking out one of the guests along the way. 

When he makes it to the room that she’ll be staying in, he has to scoot sideways through the open door to even make it inside. He’s huffing and puffing from the exertion but manages not to drop the luggage. As he sets them down gently, he looks up and sees her. She’s removed her drenched coat and is standing in the doorway to the bathroom, toweling off strands of her wet hair. There’s a warm glow around her from the sconce on the wall that makes her seem almost luminescent. 

He should say something… or leave now that he’s brought her suitcases. But he just stands to his full height and tugs at the bottom of his bellboy’s jacket to straighten it out again. They are both staring at each other all the while, her with that same, pretty smile as before. 

But to her, the wide-eyed look on his face must make him seem like a startled owl. 

“Thank you,” she finally says, breaking the silence. “Billy… wasn’t it?” 

His name. She said his name. It’s the best his name’s ever sounded. 

Billy swallows hard, his throat painfully dry, and nods. 

“Thank you, Billy.”

He can’t leave yet. Not until he’s managed to say something to her. Not until he’s apologized for having left her to get rained on, at least. A million things he could say seem to run through his brain all at once. Everything he wants to say becomes jumbled in the chaos. The words seem to bloom and die on his tongue in an instant. 

What he eventually decides on is something to the effect of, “I’m sorry I left you in the rain, miss.”

But what actually comes out of his mouth?

“I’m sorry–”

He turns on his heel to run out of the room before she can formulate a reply of her own.

Billy remains on edge every second of every shift after their first interaction. He’s restless at his post by the front doors of the hotel, fingers tapping on the back of his hand so incessantly that Feldman eventually asks him if he’s unwell. He cobbles together an excuse, saying that he’s just eager for a smoke break. But Feldman can see the way he longingly watches the staircase, hoping and praying to see her again. 

He’s so intent at his post that he forgets more than once to take a guest’s hat or coat when they enter, leaving the doorman, Skinner, to awkwardly step in for him. He gets a proper slagging off from Feldman after he leaves one of the hotel’s most valued guests standing at the door waiting for their coat. 

But none of that matters whenever he sees her. She seems to glide down the staircase whenever she emerges from her room, never a hair or a thread out of place. The beauty of The Halcyon’s lobby pales in comparison to her. No, she somehow makes the room look even lovelier, like there is a light radiating off of her that makes everything in her vicinity more exquisite. 

If she’s walking to the hotel’s restaurant, he’s there to open the door for her. If she’s heading out of the front doors, he’s there with her coat and hat. Each time, he relishes in the sight of her cheeks flushing pink and her eyes getting that little twinkle in them that makes his heart flutter. Hearing the little “thank you” that she mutters each time only makes him fall harder.

“One look from a pretty bird and he’s become a total melt,” Tom, one of the hotel waiters and Billy’s closest work mate, teases him during the staff’s weekly game of poker. 

Feldman spurts out a scoff. “A melt? Boy’s lost his bloody mind, he has. Couldn’t even tell you which way’s up and which way’s down when he’s thinking about… her.” He leans in close to Billy, saying the last word in a sing-songy kind of tone.

Billy attempts to hide the redness in his face behind his cards.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, mate,” says Tom. “She’s an heiress and a guest. Best forget about her. Find a girl you might actually be worthy of.” He laughs it off as a joke, but Billy isn’t smiling. 

It hits a nerve, that remark. Billy knows he’s not the brightest. Never excelled in school. He only got his job here at The Halcyon because of his mum. He may only be sixteen, but he’s peered into his future once or twice and lamented about the fact that he might always be stuck working here until he’s old and gray like Skinner, still taking coats and hauling luggage up and down the stairs. There are few prospects for men like him beyond jobs like these. How could he ever be a suitable match for a girl like her?

Dejected, Billy folds his hand and rises from the apple crate he’s sitting on, not even bothering to collect the cigarettes he’s planned on using as his stake before he starts walking away with his head hung low.

“Oi, Billy!” Tom calls after him, abandoning his own hand to follow him. “Mate, I didn’t mean it. I was only teasing.”

“Doesn’t mean you ain’t right, Tom.”

Tom walks a little quicker to get in front of Billy and stop him in the long hallway between the stairs and the kitchen. “Okay, look.” He lowers his voice. “You wanna see her again? She takes her tea in her room at two o’clock every afternoon. Yeah?”

“Yeah?” Billy echoes, shrugging. “What, and ask Feldman if I can take a late lunch to have tea with her?”

“No, you dolt.” Tom sighs. “You could be the one to bring her her tea every day. You know, get in the door. Strike up a little conversation.” He nudges Billy’s arm. “Get in a cheeky kiss.”

Billy’s eyes widen. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it… what it’d be like to kiss her. He’s never kissed a girl before. If she could be his first… oh, the idea alone is enough to make him weak in the knees. 

“But it’s… not my job, Tom. Feldman–”

“Leave Feldman to me. I’ll sneak him one of those custard tarts he likes from the kitchens. He won’t be able to say no.”

Finally, a smile tugs at Billy’s lips.

“Look,” Tom continues. “I’m sorry about what I said. She’d be lucky to have you, Billy.” He begins to walk down the hall to rejoin the poker game, but has to tease Billy a little more. “Just promise to make me best man at your wedding, mate!”

The rattle of porcelain fills the hallway leading to room two-hundred four. Why Mr. Garland had to put Mr. Greene and his daughter in rooms at the end of the hall, Billy will never know. The usually short walk now seems like a marathon’s length as he fights to balance the delicate tray of fine china. He dropped a teacup not long after he started working at The Halcyon and still hears about it from the kitchen staff. If he dropped this tray, he would never survive it.

Billy has bitten down on his bottom lip in concentration, his usually long strides short and uneven. The clattering of the fine china only grows louder the closer he gets to her door, his hands trembling an unacceptable amount. He can carry the heaviest, most cumbersome luggage and now he can’t handle a simple tray of tea? He thanks God that no one else is in the hallway at the moment to see him struggling.

He comes face to face with her door and stares at it for a moment. He’s certain that she will be able to see his heart pounding against his chest from underneath his bellboy’s jacket. Standing there, he begins to work himself up into a frenzy. He doesn’t know if he can do it. Better to turn back now and let Tom deliver her tea as always.

It’s as though he hears Tom’s voice in his head.

Billy, you idiot. It’s just a door.

Yeah, a door with the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen on the other side. He wonders how she’s spent her day so far. Brushing and styling that long, silky hair that he wishes he could run his fingers through. Reading books. Maybe Jane Austen or one of those other books that girls like. Curled up on the chaise with her little dog by her feet. It’s not the type of day that sounds appealing to him, but he’d sit by her side all the while if she wanted him to.

Billy snaps out of his daydream, realizing that he is still staring at the dark mahogany door with the gold two zero four on it. He swallows hard and decides to go for it. It’s quite the balancing act, getting one hand free to rap on the door without dropping the silver tray. He stands on one leg and lifts the other to prop it up on his thigh, quickly knocking twice on the door - but not before he sees a trickle of tea spill from underneath the teapot lid and onto the pristine tray. 

“Oh, bugger.” 

He only just manages to regain control over the tea tray when the lock clicks and the door swings open. It’s clear that she was expecting to see Tom by the look on her face - first, a flash of confusion, and then, a little smile and a blush. She’s rouged her lips today, making them look even fuller than usual. It complements the navy blue silk blouse she’s wearing and somehow makes her face seem even more aglow. Then he’s hit with the warm, flowery smell of her perfume and he lets it fill his lungs. Whatever it is, it suits her. 

Say something, Billy. Bloody hell.

He glances down at the tray and back up at her, seeing that she hasn’t taken her eyes off of him. He swallows again, trying to regain even a semblance of composure. He’s trying to come up with a reason as to why he, a bellboy, is there delivering her tea and not Tom or one of the other waiters, but she speaks first.

“Tom’s busy today?” 

Oh, that voice of hers. He could melt. 

But instead, he offers a little “Mmhmm.”

That’s a better explanation than he would have probably come up with, anyway. 

“Come in. Please.”

She turns to walk with him to the sitting room where she takes her tea by the window and he follows her like a lost puppy, tea tray rattling all the way there. He manages to spill more of the liquid onto the tray on the way there and curses internally. He sucks in his lips in concentration, but the tray still comes clattering to the table. One of the cucumber finger sandwiches tumbles into the puddle of tea below and the clotted cream slides out of its bowl.

“Oh… sorry, miss,” Billy mutters, knowing he’s ruined the presentation of the tray and, likely, spilled half of the tea that she was meant to drink. That’s the second time he’s apologized to her in the span of a few days for doing something stupid. Feldman would wring his neck.

Any other wealthy, well-to-do guest would have snapped at him, cursed at him, called him clumsy and stupid. But she smiles up at him, her eyes glittering more than all The Halcyon’s chandeliers combined. It’s only now that Billy notices just how close they are. Almost as close as couples get when they dance. His mind wanders again, wondering if she enjoys dancing. 

“It’s alright, Billy.” Her voice brings her back into the moment. Heaven above… she remembers his name. She plucks the finger sandwich out of the spilled tea it’s sitting in and tries a small bite, offering him a little smile. “I think it tastes better this way.”

He’s staring at her like a deer in the headlights again, but he somehow manages to nod and smile. “Oh. G… good.” 

Her own grin widens and she leans down to pour herself a cuppa. He knows he should go, but he’s somehow glued to the spot. He watches her every movement, from the way her hand delicately grasps the teapot handle to the way her brow furrows in concentration as she adds milk to her cup.

“You don’t talk much, do you, Billy?” 

“Erm…” He straightens the front of his jacket nervously, feeling the heat in his cheeks. A breathy laugh leaves him. “I dunno.”

His mum would be in stitches if she were here right now. He’s been chewed out more than a few times for talking her ear off when she’s busy cooking or cleaning. You’re going to drive me mad one of these days, Billy, she’d say. To see him completely clammed up around this girl would throw her for a loop.

“I understand. My dad’s not a big talker, either. So I talk to Clara.” She turns to where her corgi is asleep in her plush bed by the fire and smiles. “She’s a good listener.” 

“Yeah…” He follows her gaze, grateful that the little dog isn’t awake to bark at him. “Bet she is.”

“Do you have any pets, Billy?”

He blinks a few times. She wants to know something about him? The blush in his cheeks only deepens.

“Uhm, no… mum’s allergic.”

A look of sympathy flashes across her face. “Oh. That’s bad luck. Well, you’re welcome to say hello to Clara and pet her if you want. She’s such a sweet girl. She loves people.”

Billy glances at the dog again. She isn’t the one he’d like to spend time with. “Yeah. Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” she asks hopefully. His heart jumps.

“Oh, I just– you know. If… Tom’s busy again.” 

Her smile warms him. “I’m sure he’s always busy. Not that you aren’t, too,” she laughs. “I just mean that… you’re welcome to bring my tea again… if you want.”

Billy is stunned into silence again, and right after he’s finally managed to string together more than two words at once. They mirror one another, both wringing their hands together nervously. The air between them feels heavy with unspoken words, but theirs isn’t an uncomfortable silence.  

“Of course, miss,” Billy finally manages. He watches her take a sip from the glistening white teacup and delights in the little hum of pleasure that leaves her.

“If you have work to do, then… I won’t keep you, Billy.” She speaks almost hesitantly, like she’d rather be asking him to stay. “I’d hate for you to get in trouble because of me…”  

She’s right. He has a lot to do before his work day ends and Feldman wouldn’t take too kindly to him neglecting his duties. But he’d give anything to stay here with her.  

“Yeah, I’d better… go.” He sounds unsure, something she clearly notices judging by the way she smiles. 

“Thank you for bringing me my tea, Billy. See you later?” The enthusiastic way in which she asks her question makes it sound like they’re friends who are set to meet up again tomorrow… or maybe that she sees him as, potentially, something more. 

No, he has to tell himself. She doesn’t mean it like that. Not at all. She can’t. Not him, the bellboy. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get his hopes up.

“See you later, miss.”

His eyes flit to her lips briefly, hoping she hasn’t noticed before he hurries out of the room and nearly slams the door behind him. He all but floats down the hotel staircase, wearing a stupidly wide grin on his face. 

At the end of his shift, he’s downstairs by the staff lockers being grilled by Tom about everything that happened that afternoon. Billy can barely give any specifics about the interaction itself because he keeps devolving into thoughts of the way her hair curled at the base of her neck and how delicate her fingers looked as she poured herself tea. At some point, Tom decides he’s a lost cause and leaves him to his daydreaming.

Feldman wanders in to collect his things and sees Billy leaning against the lockers there, clutching his bellboy’s hat to his chest. As far as he’s concerned, the sooner this girl checks out of the hotel, the better. It’ll sort him out and get him back to functioning properly.

“I think I’m in love with her,” Billy says over his shoulder with a dreamy sort of look in his eyes.

“You haven’t said ten words to her, Billy.” 

“I have too!” But he starts hurriedly counting on his fingers… just to be sure. 

“Saying ‘yes, miss’ and ‘no, miss’ a handful of times each doesn’t count, lad.”

Billy blushes. “Well, I—” 

Feldman’s laugh only makes his face redder. “I reckon you’ll want to keep bringing her tea so you can stare at her some more, eh?”

“W-well, Tom said he’ll be too busy again and—”

“Yeah, busy having a smoke break.”

Billy can find no clever reply or excuse, so he just looks down at the bellboy’s cap that he has been idly turning over and over again in his hands.

“Look, Billy. If I’m gonna keep allowing you to slip away for tea time with this girl when you should be helping me check in guests, then you have to swear to me that you’ll man up–” Feldman hits him square in the middle of the chest with the back of his hand. “–and hold at least one bloody conversation with her before she and her father leave on Sunday. Yes?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Feldman takes him by the shoulders and gives him a little jostle. Someone’s got to shake some sense into this boy. “Yes?”

“Oi…” Billy furrows his brow and recoils. “Yes. Feldman, I will. Promise.” 

The rest of the Greenes’ stay at The Halcyon passes far too quickly for Billy’s liking. He does manage to hold true to his promise to Feldman and strikes up a conversation with her about her dog on the final day he brings her tea. Of course, Feldman never said that it had to be a long conversation. Billy found himself clamming up again in the end, but he still left her room feeling like he’d accomplished an insurmountable feat. 

He’s back to his uncharacteristically quiet demeanor today, though. Part of it is his own sadness that she will be leaving the hotel today and part of it is that her father has been flitting between their two rooms all morning. Something tells him that Mr. Greene wouldn’t be too pleased about a bellboy staring a little too long at his daughter. 

As the last trolley of luggage is wheeled out by another one of the bellboys, Billy waits for her to finish putting a leash on her dog. He glances around the room, now empty of her personal effects, and feels his heart sink. The room already seems less lovely in the absence of her. 

“That’s the last of your luggage… miss.” He knows he sounds too dejected when she looks at him with a little crease between her eyebrows.

“Thank you, Billy.” Her voice is as soft and as sweet as ever, but he’s far too heartbroken at the thought of her checking out of the hotel and probably never returning to enjoy it. She’ll forget all about him when she returns to her father’s estate and her fancy parties and her rich, handsome suitors. He’s feeling so sorry for himself that the purpose of her next request is lost on him.

“Billy, would you… help me with Clara? These shoes are brand new, and… I would hate to slip on the stairs if she decides to pull on the lead…” 

He’s seen her go up and down the stairs with the little dog plenty of times. Why should she need his help now? But he acquiesces and holds a hand out to take the lead from her.

“Course, miss.”

They leave her room together in silence. He notices that she keeps attempting to catch his gaze, even offering a couple of crooked smiles, but he’s walking under a raincloud the entire way through the lobby. 

“You know, Billy,” she finally says in her usual chipper tone. “I was thinking… my seventeenth birthday’s this fall. Maybe I can see if my father will let me have my party here. Do many people celebrate birthdays at The Halcyon?”

Billy completely misses her question after he hears the words “this fall” and “have my party here.” Fall isn’t that far away if he really thinks about it. He doesn’t care when or how, only that she’s already thought about returning to the hotel. She wants to come back.  

“Wh– you mean it?” 

He catches her beautiful, red-lipped smile and feels his heart flutter again. 

“Of course I do. I’ve enjoyed staying here and–” She blushes. “–getting to meet you.” When he stares at her, too taken aback to reply, she chuckles and continues. “You’ll still be here in November… won’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” Billy breathes. “Long as Feldman doesn’t sack me or nothing.”

She laughs again and takes Clara’s lead from him. “Then… I’ll see you again soon.”

“See you…”

Billy’s voice trails off and he takes a step back from her as her father approaches with Mr. Garland in toe. Mr. Greene places a short kiss on the top of his daughter’s head before the two of them step out into the gray Sunday morning. Billy cranes his neck to catch one last glimpse of her as she climbs into the car after her dog, catching a smile from her before the door closes. 

November can’t come soon enough.

#fic: one more tomorrow #could i have posted this here? yeah lol #anyway look out she's writing again

[acediian]

— Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

[text ID: If you're happy in a dream, does that count?]

#aes: sinister strange #fic: truly madly deeply #hm!!!!!!!!!

[acediian]

Sinister Strange | Open Your Eye 

#fic: truly madly deeply #aes: sinister strange #he!!!!!!!!!!

[acediian]

E.E. Cummings, Complete Poems, 1904-1962

#fic: truly madly deeply

[acediian]

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝛐𝐧.

welcome to my writing blog! 

bri. she/her. thirty. 

ao3 - main - masterlist 

❝ CURRENTLY WORKING ON ⏤

truly, madly, deeply / doctor strange x ofc, sinister strange x ofc  ⏤  [ i. ]  [ ii. ]

❝ ABOUT / FAQ ⏤

— this blog is 18+ only. my writing will sometimes feature adult content.

— i love to talk about my ocs and fics so please send me messages any time about my current WIPs! comments are also always encouraged and highly appreciated!

— i have a full time job so i can be slow getting new chapters out.

#navigation #about #lmk if you want me to add any info to this!

[acediian]

I dreamed you, I wished for your existence.

The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume 1…  (via ancient-serpent)

#fic: truly madly deeply #aes: sinister strange #:'c #poor stephen ugh ugh

[acediian]

{Chapter Two}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x fem!OC, Sinister Strange x fem!OC

Word count: 4.8k+

Rating: T (eventually M)

Warnings: mentions of death, so much pining, magic fight, mentions of grief, that’s not how the Darkhold works but oh well??, some swearing 

Summary: Alma and Stephen find themselves in a desolate version of their own universe and, with no way to return home on their own, travel to the Sanctum Sanctorum to seek help. But the version of Stephen that they find there isn’t intent on letting Alma leave.

Preview:

“You’ve been Dreamwalking?” Alma asked.

“I was looking for a world like mine,” he said hoarsely. “A world… where I was without you. Where I lost you…” His shoulders fell. “But I didn’t find it. All I found were ones where we were together, where we were happy.”

“Where I was still alive.”

It was clear to her, now. All his yearning stares, the way he prickled at the sight of her. She hadn’t died in this universe’s Incursion; her death was the catalyst that had led to it.

The other Stephen’s sorrowful expression turned into one of pain and bitterness. “I will never understand why I was the only one who lost you.”

→ Read the rest on AO3!

#doctor strange #stephen strange #doctor stephen strange #dsmom #multiverse of madness #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #doctor strange x oc #doctor strange x reader #sinister strange x oc #sinister strange x reader #sinister!strange #sinister strange #doctor strange fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #doctor strange imagine

[acediian]

#fic: truly madly deeply #aes: alma

[acediian]

ok but is this not exactly how chapter two went

#fic: truly madly deeply #literally who would i be if i didn't make memes of my own fics???

[acediian]

“I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.”

— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena (via aegeane)

#fic: truly madly deeply #aes: sinister strange #roblox oof!!!!!

[acediian]

─𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 [ℹℹ.]

Pairing: Stephen Strange x OC, Sinister Strange x OC

Synopsis: Alma and Stephen find themselves in a desolate version of their own universe and, with no way to return home on their own, travel to the Sanctum Sanctorum to seek help. But the version of Stephen that they find there isn’t intent on letting Alma leave.

Word count: 4.8k+

Warnings: mentions of death, so much pining, magic fight, mentions of grief, that’s not how the Darkhold works but oh well??, some swearing. Since this fic will eventually feature some smut, 18+ ONLY!

A/N: Bit of a longer one this time, which means that the next chapter will be a shorter one. A chapter 2.5, if you will. I do hope you enjoy! Thanks, as always, for reading and please let me know what you think! c:

* Please do not copy or repost my work anywhere else! *

They lost the girl. They had managed to stay one step ahead of Wanda following the invasion of Kamar-Taj, but their escape into the Multiverse had only bought them so much time. Even Alma had underestimated the capabilities of the Scarlet Witch and the will that drove her to pursue America so relentlessly. Maybe one day she would have to remind Stephen how right she had been not to trust Wanda, but now really wasn’t the time. 

After all was said and done, this would make for one hell of a debrief – other universes, alternate selves. Full confirmation of the Multiverse based on a first-hand account from a S.W.O.R.D. director and a Master of the Mystic Arts. This would shatter the status quo yet again and potentially change everything about the work the organization did. That is, it would if Alma and Stephen managed to find a way to return to their universe. 

The portal that Wanda had opened in the Gap Junction sent them flying into yet another unknown reality. As the portal fizzled shut behind them, Alma collided with the pavement with such force that it briefly knocked the wind out of her. When she finally managed to get to her feet, she saw Stephen already making his way up the alley and onto the street.

“No… no, no, no… shit!” he yelled, rubbing his hands down either side of his face.

“What? Stephen, what?” Alma called after him, but his dismay was made clear when she, too, reached the sidewalk and saw where they had ended up. “Woah…”

It was difficult to tell that this was even New York City. Every building was crumbling into dust and black, billowy matter that was being sucked up into the sky. Some of the skyscrapers had completely detached from the ground and were smashing into others with a deafening rumble. Vehicles, trash cans, and benches also hovered above the streets, which were eerily devoid of any life whatsoever. Not a single footprint marred the perfect blanket of snow that covered the sidewalks. This place was… dead.

“What the hell happened to this universe?” Alma wondered aloud.

“It looks like it collapsed in on itself,” Stephen replied, his tone uncharacteristically worried. “Or worse… it collided with another one.” 

“Terrific,” she muttered underneath the cacophony of crashing buildings and twisting metal. The melody of a dying universe.

“Come on. America doesn’t have long.”

Alma followed in step with Stephen as he began to walk with purpose up the abandoned street. “And where exactly are we going?”

“Well, if there’s still a Sanctum in this universe, then another me might still be guarding it. And that’s our best shot at getting back to our universe. Maybe our only shot.”

The two of them had to cross the road to avoid a whirlwind coming their way. 

“You really think anyone’s still alive in this universe? I mean… look at it.”

“We can only hope.”

Alma’s heart was racing, not from adrenaline, but out of fear. These were streets that she had walked for her entire life, but nothing about them felt familiar in this place. As they continued on, the horrors of this universe only continued to show themselves. Eventually, the layer of powdery snow on the ground was washed away by the dark, murky waters of the Hudson that had risen onto the streets. Waves gently lapped at their feet with each step.

The wall of disintegrating skyscrapers that enveloped them soon opened up into a desolate landscape that stretched to the horizon and beyond. All that stood in that barren place was the Sanctum Sanctorum, silhouetted against a cloudy sky and framed by a blood red, eclipsed sun. The soil crunched under each of their steps and Alma made the unfortunate decision to look down. It wasn’t rocks that littered the wasteland surrounding the Sanctum; it was bones. The remains of thousands - maybe even millions - were strewn across the ground for as far as the eye could see. 

“Oh my god. Stephen,” Alma cried out as she narrowly avoided stepping on the skull of one of this universe’s doomed inhabitants. She reached for Stephen with both hands, gripping his arm so tightly that he took in a sharp breath. His momentary confusion turned into dread as he followed her gaze and noticed what had frightened her so. 

Stephen placed a hand on her arm to urge her to keep moving. “Don’t look at them.”

“Where the hell are we?” she asked in an anxious whisper.

They continued on their path to the Sanctum, Alma clenching her jaw with every crunch beneath her boots. Amid the swirling fog that enveloped the lone building, they could see that even it hadn’t been untouched by the destruction of this universe. It, too, was slowly breaking apart. Much of its roof was already gone, splintering into the air like so many of the other structures in the city. Its facade was also deteriorating, the bricks and roof tiles curling in on themselves like flower petals wilting under the summer sun. The only part of it that remained untouched was the large, circular window on the top floor. Darkness lay behind the murky glass.

“Wait here,” Stephen said, taking a step toward the entrance. “I’m gonna go see if anyone’s home.”

“No.” Alma all but leapt in front of him to prevent him from going any further. “Absolutely not. You are not leaving me out here alone.” 

“Why? Are you scared?” He teased but, seeing how shaken she was, his smile fell away.

“Are you not?” 

Stephen was the only one that she let see her at her most vulnerable. To everyone else, she was a picture of stoicism and confidence. And while it had garnered her the respect of her colleagues and superiors, it had always invoked the ire of her loved ones. Not even her parents were allowed to see past the curtain - especially not since the terrible car accident in which her sister, Eleanor, had perished while she escaped with no more than a concussion and a dislocated shoulder. It was Stephen who had held her as she wailed in her hospital bed after receiving the news.  

“Hey…” He placed a comforting hand on her arm. The other nearly cupped her cheek before he withdrew, letting it fall to his side. “It’ll be okay. I’ll find a way for us to get home.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Well, then it looks like we’ll get that vacation we always talked about taking.” 

Alma looked at her feet, sighing. He was only being a smart ass as per usual, but his words stung so badly. It would have already been a long, taxing day if she hadn’t had to see him again. To relive the hurt of their breakup and face the very real fact that she was still in love with him. But all his playful teasing, the cheeky winks, and the joking reminders of dreams they once shared had simply become too much. 

“Please don’t say things like that.” Her voice was small. “Stephen, you broke up with me. There isn’t a ‘we’ any more." 

“You’re right,” he replied, his eyes surveying her face as she continued staring at her boots. “I’m sorry.” 

“Let’s just… focus on stopping Wanda.” Once this was all over, they could go their separate ways just like he wanted. 

They proceeded in silence up the steps to the Sanctum doors, which slowly groaned open to beckon them inside. The same waters they had walked through in the city flooded the foyer. The remainder of the ground floor was gone, long since swept away into an endless gray sea. All that survived was the foyer’s grand staircase, which extended beyond the walls of the Sanctum and into the foggy abyss. A loud slam echoed throughout the foyer and they both turned to see that the Sanctum doors had shut behind them. The only way forward was up.

A twinge of fear grew with each step that Alma took up the staircase behind Stephen. It was the trepidation of tiptoeing through the two dollar haunted house at the carnival on Halloween the year that Eleanor had been forced to babysit her because their parents had a company party to attend. The peeking through of trembling fingers that were the only thing between her and the zombies whose cheesy makeup seemed all too convincing to an eleven-year-old girl. But haunted houses didn’t frighten her any more.

Another set of doors awaited them at the top of the stairs. They, too, swung open before Stephen could even reach for the doorknobs. Behind them was another familiar room that had been made unfamiliar by this Incursion-ravaged universe. The main part of the Sanctum’s top floor, where the two of them had spent countless wonderful nights talking and laughing by the fire and so many others in peaceful silence. In this universe, the room was dark and lifeless, its once polished wood floors littered with leaves. Furniture and trinkets were strewn about the place with only a thick layer of dust and the occasional cobweb to provide them any company. 

Alma’s boot crunched on a fallen shard of glass from the mirror opposite the door and she turned, catching a glimpse of herself in its dirty, cracked surface. She was ghostly pale against the blackened wall behind her, with only the flickering light of the storm outside bouncing off of her slim face. The dim lighting only made the dark circles under her eyes stand out all the more. A hand reached up to the wound on her forehead that she had received during the assault on Kamar-Taj, no longer bleeding but still tender to the touch. There was a cut on her bottom lip, too, that she hadn’t even realized was there until now. She looked like shit, but she’d looked worse before. 

“We’re not alone,” Stephen whispered, drawing her attention away from the weary visage that stared at her from within the mirror. 

Alma shook her head in disbelief. “It seems pretty abandoned to me.”

“No…” He was able to sense something that she couldn’t. “Come on. Stay close.” 

Before she could say another word, he disappeared through the archway and she had no choice but to trail after him. Her jaw dropped as she beheld the grim sight before them: the back wall of the room, torn away by a swirling storm. A tunnel of clouds extended far beyond the Sanctum, ending in a small glimpse of the blue sky above. It was remarkably quiet for how violently the building was being ripped apart. No louder than the sound of gentle waves.

“Stop where you are.”

A soft voice - Stephen’s voice - came from the stairwell. As Alma turned to its source, it was unmistakably Stephen who was standing there with a hand on the rail. The figure was half shrouded in darkness, but the soft light that illuminated him from above showed enough for her to know that it was him. She had to blink a few times as she looked from one Stephen to the other. 

“Who are you?” Alma could feel the other Stephen’s gaze on her even though she couldn’t see his eyes. His voice was so quiet, with a gravelly quality that said it was rarely used.

“I’m just… one of us,” her Stephen reassured him. 

“From the Multiverse?” His silhouetted form perked up at the realization and he hurried down the remaining stairs until he was at their eye level. His eyes remained on Alma all the while, his features frozen in an expression of bewilderment and awe. “How did you get here?”

“By accident.” Stephen was quick to answer. 

If Alma closed her eyes, then she would have thought that Stephen was talking to himself. He did make a habit of it, especially when he was thinking. Wong often teased him for it; said that he only did so because he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. 

“That’s some luck… getting stuck here of all places,” the other remarked dryly as he began pacing the floor opposite them, hands clasped behind his back.

“I guess your reality wasn’t always like… this.”

“No.” The other Stephen’s voice was almost a whisper. “It was probably somewhat like yours until…” 

As he trailed off, her Stephen pressed for an answer. “Until?”

The room fell deathly quiet as the other stopped in his tracks. His gaze fell on Alma once again and his chest rose and fell in a shaky breath. He watched her intensely, with a ravenous yearning that froze her blood in her veins.

“Until I lost…” The words left him painfully, so much so that he couldn’t continue. 

Alma felt a hand on her forearm. It was her Stephen, reaching behind him in search of her. His hand slowly snaked down past her wrist to clasp onto her own. He was warm and, despite the ever-present tremble in his fingers, he held fast onto her.

“Lost?” he asked, a growing sense of concern in his voice. 

A solemn pause followed, with only the rumble of thunder and the sound of the crumbling building to fill the silence. There was a heaviness in the air that Alma had felt before. The living room of her parents’ house felt like this on the day they buried Eleanor. It had been so quiet that you could hear everything. Clinking plates and hushed conversation. Her mother’s soft cries from the bedroom down the hall. The dog clicking across the hardwood floor in search of scraps. Aluminum foil rustling in the kitchen. And grief, grief, grief. Suffocating, inescapable.   

The other Stephen did not elaborate further, but his unspoken words spoke volumes. 

“Why have you come here?” he finally continued. “What do you want?” 

“We’re just… trying to get home.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He took a few steps closer to them and Alma caught sight of a familiar, peculiar book attached to his belt by a jagged chain.

“Stephen, is that-?” she asked in a barely audible whisper, gesturing at the book with a nod of her head.

“The Darkhold,” he breathed. “You guard the Darkhold in this universe?”

“Yeah,” the other Stephen replied, placing a protective hand on the book’s spine.

“Well, I could use it. Communicate with our universe.” He looked at Alma. “Save America. Get us home.” 

Alma released Stephen’s hand and stepped around him to address his counterpart for the first time. Whatever sentiment he held for her was one she could try to take advantage of, at least. “Could we borrow the book, Stephen? Please?” She offered him a small smile. 

His features softened as she spoke, eyes even fluttering shut in a brief moment spent relishing the sound of her voice. But as she watched him consider their request, looking back and forth between the two of them, darkness slowly crept back onto his face. 

“No.”

One word and Alma felt her heart sink. She took a step closer. “Please.”

Flashing a sinister grin, he turned away from them to stare out of the circular window. “Why haven’t you married her, Stephen?”

“I’m sorry?” came her Stephen’s voice from behind her.

“You aren’t wearing wedding bands so I assume you aren’t married.” His hand clasped onto the Darkhold again. “I have searched… hundreds of worlds. Do you know how many I found where Alma and I weren’t married?” He swiveled on one foot to cast a biting look at Stephen. “None.”

“You’ve been Dreamwalking?” Alma asked.

“I was looking for a world like mine,” he said hoarsely. “A world… where I was without you. Where I lost you…” His shoulders fell. “But I didn’t find it. All I found were ones where we were together, where we were happy.” 

“Where I was still alive.” 

It was clear to her, now. All his yearning stares, the way he prickled at the sight of her. She hadn’t died in this universe’s Incursion; her death was the catalyst that had led to it. 

The other Stephen’s sorrowful expression turned into one of pain and bitterness. “I will never understand why I was the only one who lost you.” 

“And you destroyed your entire universe trying to find the answer,” her Stephen said mockingly.

“I never meant for any of this to happen.” His reply was defiant.

“Tell that to the trillions who are dead because of you.”

The other Stephen approached slowly, his eyes locked on Alma’s face. The dim light that filtered through the glass ceiling above them fell on him, highlighting his features well enough for her to finally see him properly. It was unbelievable, just how much he looked like the Stephen she knew. But given just how well she knew him, she could immediately identify every difference between him and the man standing before her. Of course, his hair and beard were styled differently, but he also looked… older. His hair was streaked with more gray, his cheeks more gaunt. The wrinkles around his eyes and between his brow were deeper. And his eyes, framed by dark circles that spoke to his weariness and grief. The Darkhold hadn’t been the only thing to take a toll on him.

“How about this, Stephen?” He almost spat out the name. “I won’t let you use the Darkhold, but I will send you back to your universe.”

“How?” her Stephen asked, his voice dripping with incredulity.

“The Darkhold can connect with other universes in more ways than just through Dreamwalking.”

“Then why haven’t you used it to try and leave this one?” Alma asked.

“Oh, I’ve tried,” he replied gloomily. “I can open portals to any reality I want, but I can’t use them. When I walk through… I only end up back here.” 

Alma exchanged half-hearted shrugs with her Stephen. Something about this didn’t feel right, but it was their only option and America was running out of time. 

“Alright,” Stephen agreed skeptically. 

“Ah, but here’s the deal,” the other demanded. “I’ll send you back to your universe… but your Alma stays with me.”

Alma felt all the air leave her lungs. With wide eyes, her head snapped to her Stephen, who immediately stepped in front of her protectively. “Slow down, Vincent Price. You seriously want me to leave her here? In a dead universe?”

“She won’t be alone. She’ll have me.”

“Yeah… out of the question.”

“No?” The other Stephen clicked his teeth. “Well, that’s just too bad.”

“Come on,” Stephen whispered to Alma over his shoulder. “I’ll find another way.”

His hand settled in the small of her back to guide her out of the room, but the doorway through which they had passed earlier was blocked. Barring their exit was a large Mandala spell, one that Alma had seen Stephen perform countless times before. This one, however, glowed with purple symbols instead of the orange that the sorcerers in their universe conjured. 

“Oh, no,” the other Stephen’s voice came from behind them in a low growl. “You think I’m just going to let you walk out of here? With her? She stays… whether I send you back to your universe or not.”

Stephen all but pushed her behind him. The Cloak of Levitation even puffed out to offer her a little more protection. In her day job, she never felt anything but confident in her ability to protect herself and her team. But if this other Stephen had the same abilities as the one she knew - or more - then all the combat training in the world wouldn’t be enough to defend herself.   

“I didn’t agree to your deal.” Stephen put his hands out defensively. “And Alma definitely didn’t.”

“I can’t let her leave!” the other barked. The storm outside punctuated his sentence with a menacing rumble. 

“She doesn’t belong in this universe,” Stephen shouted over the rolling thunder. “She isn’t your Alma!”

The other Stephen shook his head, eyes darkened with anger and desperation. “I already lost her once. I won’t let you take her from me!” 

With a flick of his wrist, a purple Eldritch Whip shot towards Stephen and wrenched the Sling Ring from his belt. The other caught it gracefully in his hand before throwing it aside. No portals, no quick escapes. Stephen retaliated with a Whip of his own, which clashed with the other in a brilliant burst of sparks. But the other Stephen’s magic quickly overtook his, turning the entire Whip purple and directing its powerful force back on him to throw him against the far wall.   

Stephen barely managed to scramble to his feet when the other pounced, conjuring a staff made of the same purple magic. The glowing weapon came down on Stephen, whose quickly conjured shield spell blocked one, two, three hard blows. The shield began to spark and fizzle out as a fourth blow came, difficult as it was for Stephen to repel such violent energy.

“Stop!” Alma cried. But as she approached the two of them, she was pushed away again. There was no knowing which one of them cast the spell to keep her out of the conflict. “Stephen!”

Hearing her say his name, the other Stephen stopped mid-swing of the staff and turned to look at her. The distraction gave Stephen the opportunity to hurl his counterpart backward with a wind spell that sent him into a bookshelf that rained heavy leather-bound tomes onto him. 

Stephen offered a cheeky nod of approval to Alma, who could only sigh.

The other Stephen’s resolve to ensure that she remained in this place, remained by his side, was too strong. Alma knew nothing would stop him until her Stephen was dead and he had what he desired. He quickly regained his composure and stood, his fiery gaze once again directed toward Stephen. Linking his fingers together in a diamond-shaped pattern, he conjured a ball of purple-white energy that grew and spun as he drew his hands apart.  

Before he could release it, Alma jumped between the two of them with arms outstretched and a fearful look in her eyes. 

“Don’t… please,” she breathed.

Seeing her in the way, the other Stephen halted the spell and let his hands fall to his sides. The malice tainting his handsome features turned into a look of regret and shame. 

“Alma, I would never hurt you.” He spoke softly, lovingly.

“I know,” she said, and she believed him. But the smile she offered him didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

A sinking feeling was beginning to fester inside her. It sat in her chest, growing, burning, tightening, until her heart began to race. Try as she may, she could see only one option in front of them. One way to stop this madness, to get Stephen home, to save the girl. Her eyes fell closed. 

“Stephen, you need to go.” When she opened her eyes again, she turned to her Stephen, breathless and battered as he was. “We are wasting time.”

“Alma…” A deep crease formed between his eyebrows, accentuating the sadness in his eyes. “Don’t you dare-”

I’m sorry. Alma thought, swallowing down the growing lump in her throat. She turned to the other Stephen and, after a pause that felt unending, heard herself say the words: 

“I’ll stay.”

“Alma.” Her Stephen grabbed her by the shoulders to make her look at him. “No.”

“Yes,” she asserted, though the breathlessness in her voice betrayed her. “If me staying here means that you can save every other life in our universe? In the Multiverse?” She shook her head defeatedly. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice trembled.

Alma heaved an even shakier sigh. “Just save the kid, okay?” 

“Alma...”

There was no time to argue with him when they both knew that this was the only choice. Maybe it was a death wish, resigning herself to remain in this splintering universe. Doomed to never again feel the warmth of the sun, hear the rustle of leaves in the breeze, see the people who passed by the office every day. She also thought of her parents, who had already lost her to the Snap and gotten her back. Life had been too cruel to them. She hoped they would understand. Hoped they could forgive her. She hoped Stephen could forgive her, too.

“I’ll stay,” she said once again to the other Stephen, whose body noticeably lost its stiff posture. “I’ll stay with you. Please just… send him home.”

“With pleasure.” 

A smile slowly crept onto his face before he swiveled on the spot, releasing the Darkhold from its tether at his hip in a fluid motion. With a wave of his hand, the furniture slid against the walls of the room to provide ample space for the incantation. 

“I will need your assistance in locating your universe,” he noted as he placed the book in the center of the floor and opened it instantly to the page he needed. It was a request clearly directed at Alma, but both she and Stephen stepped forward. 

The room filled with a tangled web of red orbs that swirled around them in sync with the other Stephen’s movements. Alma found herself peering into their other lives, brief as those glimpses were. In one, she and Stephen were walking through a sunny Central Park. In another, she could hear their laughter as they dodged torrential rainfall between awnings. As the orbs continued spinning, the sound of a child’s laughter floated behind her. By the time she turned to look into the orb it had originated from, it was gone. 

“There.” Stephen’s voice sent her plummeting back to earth. “This one.” He plucked one of the glowing spheres from the web and Alma stepped forward to join him in examining it closer. Therein lay the horrifying image of America, tethered by Wanda’s dark magic, screaming and wailing in agony as her power was being ripped from her.

“Oh, my god,” Alma breathed. “She’s killing her.” She frantically turned to the other Stephen. “Please, hurry.” 

Kneeling, he pressed a hand against the Darkhold and the orbs disappeared into its open pages, casting the three of them into darkness once again. Again, Stephen flipped to the page that contained the spell he required without any need to filter through the numerous other pages with untold curses of their own. 

“Stand back!” he warned them, and they withdrew almost in sync. 

From the book, he drew a red, thread-like beam of energy with a trembling hand. The beam crackled and fizzled erratically, spitting out bright white sparks that skittered across the floor in every direction. Stephen’s hand curled halfway and the beam began snaking through his fingers. He let out a cry of exertion as he struggled to control the energy, which coiled and coiled with ever-increasing speed. 

Finally, the beam formed into a quivering sphere of unstable dark magic, which shot forth from his palm when he opened his fingers. As it met the far wall, it exploded into a portal - a swirling, amorphous cloud of smoke akin to a brewing storm with streaks of red and black that cut through the darkness like lightning.  

“Well, that’s my ride,” Stephen murmured to Alma before he hesitantly approached the billowing vortex. 

As she watched him, Alma suddenly felt herself being wrenched backward by an invisible force. The rubber soles of her boots squealed as they dragged across the wood floor, the sound of which caused Stephen to whip around to look at her. She, too, turned her head to see the other Stephen, still on his knees before the Darkhold, with an outstretched hand holding her in place beside him. 

“In case you had any ideas about taking her with you,” he growled.  

Alma locked eyes with her Stephen and the two shared a look of regret, of uncertainty. There was so much she wanted to ask of him. To say to him. But the urgency of their situation didn’t lend itself to that, so she had to settle on the most important things. 

“Tell my parents I love them and… that I’m sorry.” Her voice shook. “Contact my superiors in Florida. Tell them everything that happened.” Oh, and I love you. I still love you. She nodded in resignation.

“Alma…” he began, but she cut him off.

“Stephen, go.” Bittersweet tears stung at her eyes. “America needs you. Go.”

He lingered for just a moment, lips parted in words unsaid. “I will come back for you, Alma. I promise.”

What a hollow promise it was when he had no way of returning to this universe. But she believed with every fiber of her being that he would never stop trying. 

Alma stared blankly as Stephen stepped through the portal, which dissipated instantly and left no trace aside from a char mark on the wall where the spell had made contact. When finally released from the spell that restrained her, she slowly moved forward with eyes fixed on that spot. Her hand lifted to touch it and found that it was still warm beneath her fingertips. 

#stephen strange #doctor strange #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x oc #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x oc #sinister strange #sinister!strange #sinister strange x reader #sinister strange x oc #multiverse of madness #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #dsmom #doctor strange fanfic #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange imagine #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

[acediian]

Baby I’m Yours, Arctic Monkeys

#fic: truly madly deeply #alma/stephen my heart

[acediian]

I hope every writer who sees this writes LOADS the next few months. Like freetime opens up, no writers block, the ability to focus, etc etc you're able to write loads & make lots of progress <3

#writing #<3

[acediian]

#aes: alma #fic: truly madly deeply #sheeeee

[acediian]

{Chapter One}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x fem!OC, (eventually) Sinister Strange x fem!OC

Word count:  3.8k+

Rating: T (eventually M)

Warnings: violence, gun use, swearing, post-breakup mutual pining, general peril??? 

Summary: Alma, a newly appointed S.W.O.R.D. director, finds herself working alongside Stephen Strange to confront an inter-dimensional threat two months after he abruptly ended their long-term relationship and broke her heart. A young girl needing their help forces Alma to confront her lingering feelings for Stephen while they search for answers. 

Preview:

Alma wanted to run to him but her legs wouldn’t budge. She could only stand there, gawking, as Stephen Strange shook off the blow and rose to his feet. It was merely a coincidence that he looked in her direction. But as soon as their gazes locked, the world around them fell away. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. Not the creature, not the people running past them, not even the ground beneath her feet. All Alma could hear was her hammering pulse and all she could see was him. 

→ Read the rest on AO3!

#doctor strange #doctor stephen strange #Stephen Strange #Sinister Strange #sinister!strange #stephen strange x oc #sinister strange x oc #stephen strange x reader #sinister strange x reader #dsmom #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #multiverse of madness #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfic #doctor strange fanfic #doctor strange fanfiction #marvel #doctor strange imagine

[acediian]

─𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 [ℹ.]

Pairing: Stephen Strange x OC, (eventually) Sinister Strange x OC

Synopsis: Alma, a newly appointed S.W.O.R.D. director, finds herself working alongside Stephen Strange to confront an inter-dimensional threat two months after he abruptly ended their long-term relationship and broke her heart. A young girl needing their help forces Alma to confront her lingering feelings for Stephen while they search for answers.  [Loosely follows the plot of DSMOM.]

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: violence, gun use, swearing, unrequited love but also mutual pining, general peril??? Since this fic will eventually feature some smut, I’ll go ahead and say this now: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 18+ ONLY

A/N: I saw DSMOM one freakin time and fell so hard for Sinister Strange that I’m writing a multi-part fanfic just to shamelessly ship a self-insert OC with him (and 616 Stephen ofc). I truly hope you enjoy this chapter, even though we haven’t gotten to the best bits yet. I love some good setup in my fics! c:

* Please do not copy or repost my work anywhere else! *

Silence. That was what a corner office with a view of the New York City skyline got you. Well, not dead silence. There was still the soft, rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. The distant sounds of car horns on the street. The clacking of fingertips on a keyboard. For most agents, the quiet, meditative atmosphere of a glass office and the accompanying promotion to regional director of S.W.O.R.D. for the Northeast would be a dream come true. It was the culmination of a career spent running memos to research and development, investigating inter-dimensional anomalies, and occasionally responding to the odd extraterrestrial threat. 

A pair of brown eyes glanced up from the computer screen to the bronze plaque hanging on the wall to her left. 

The United States Government recognizes Alma Elizabeth Simmons for her bravery and dedicated service during the Battle of New York on May 4, 2012.

This was the only one she had hung of the numerous other medals and plaques that she had earned in her more than fifteen years as an agent. Boots on the ground was all she had known for so long that the transition to ass in an office chair had been a tough pill to swallow. 

Still, she had to admit… “Director Simmons” did have a nice ring to it.

It was like an answer to her prayers when the sudden blaring of sirens pierced the silence of her office. Alma nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden interruption, but the satisfaction of putting her computer to sleep pushed aside her momentary shock. It took her two quick strides to make it to the glass door and swing it open, letting in the beautiful cacophony of a facility leaping into action. 

“Finch, talk to me,” Alma shouted to her assistant through a rush of agents passing by. “What’s going on?” 

“Inter-dimensional visitor, ma’am,” Finch replied, pressing a datapad into her hands that already displayed what little information they had on the incident. He struggled to keep up with her pace as they followed the others to the atrium. “SoHo. Unknown origin. But it’s, uh… big and it’s angry.”

Alma sighed. “Great. Alright, I’m gonna want Squadron 3 on this. Armored vehicles only. And get me one with a laser turret on top.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

---

Her team was suited up and speeding through the city streets less than five minutes later, their convoy of vehicles weaving in and out of traffic as sirens blared and unsuspecting civilians gawked from the sidewalks. Alma could feel her heart pounding excitedly in her chest. It was her first chance since her promotion to be at the front of the action. No more hiding behind a desk while the agents got to have all the fun. 

“What’s our ETA?” she asked, catching the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror. 

“Two minutes, ma’am. Traffic allowing.”

“Director?” came a voice from behind her.

“Yes, Murphy?”

“Looks like Stephen Strange is already on the scene, ma’am.”

The back of the vehicle filled with an air of excitement. Hushed but enthusiastic whispers passed between the passengers. These were experienced agents, but the chance to watch an Avenger at work was always thrilling. Alma, however, couldn’t share in their delight. It was bound to happen sooner or later - seeing him again - especially given the work that they both did. All the grief and heartbreak that she had spent the last two months trying to process, to suppress, to overcome, consumed her in an instant. It was a ravenous beast and she, its vulnerable prey. 

Perhaps she should have sat this one out, after all. 

“Agents–” Alma finally managed to croak out, breathless, before she summoned her composure. “Agents. When we arrive, I want Team Alpha to begin setting up a perimeter and escorting civilians out of the area. We’re going in weapons hot. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they all said in unison.

“Team Bravo, on me. Engage with the intent to neutralize. And watch each other’s–”

The vehicle squealed to a stop just short of the next intersection, narrowly avoiding the enormous, tentacled creature that was lumbering down the street with a city bus in its grips. 

“There’s our bogey! Go!”

Their convoy of armored vehicles sprung into action. Agents poured out of the vans and onto the road as instructed. “Moreno! Rouse! Bring the Cannon and rendezvous with us. You four – with me!” 

For her first incident as director, Alma didn’t think she was doing too badly so far. But the real test of her leadership skills was currently rounding the next street corner. She took off sprinting with the other four agents in tow, dodging abandoned cars and fallen street lamps in pursuit of the creature. A familiar red blur whizzed through the intersection, causing the lump in Alma’s through to grow even larger. The sooner this was over, the better.

As the squad turned onto the next street, they were met with their first full view of the creature in all its many-tentacled splendor. They immediately began firing on the monstrosity, which responded to the sting of their bullets with a high-pitched screech. A mass of tentacles came hurtling toward them, grabbing two of the agents and tossing them aside as if they weighed nothing. Alma prepared herself for the inevitable when something else wrapped around her shoulders and swiftly pulled her out of the creature’s reach. Once she skittered to a stop, she swiveled around to see who had saved her only to see Stephen’s Cloak of Levitation hovering behind her. 

“Oh,” Alma breathed with a smile. “Hey, you.”

The Cloak drew in closer, wrapping a bit of its cloth around her in a sort of hug. 

“Yeah, I’ve missed you, too,” she chuckled. “Thanks for the assist.”

Alma thought the Cloak nodded to her before it flew off, presumably back to its master. The creature, in the meantime, had become distracted by something else, which gave her a window of opportunity to check on the agents who had been thrown. They were fine, if not a little shaken up, and they would definitely have a few bruises later on. But it was her responsibility to make sure that wouldn’t happen to them again. 

Pressing on her earpiece, she barked, “Where is my Cannon?” to the two agents who she had tasked with bringing the weapon.

“Coming up on you now, ma’am,” a breathless voice replied.

S.W.O.R.D.’s R&D department had been cooking up prototype weapons for occasions just like these but hadn’t had many opportunities to test them in the field. Alma saw two outcomes: either the Cannon was going to work and kill the creature or it would explode in her hands and kill her in a blaze of glory. 

The agents promptly arrived with the weapon, a laser cannon that must have weighed more than fifty pounds and had a smooth, silver exterior that pulsed with a pale blue glow. Alma could feel the thing humming with energy beneath her fingertips. With the press of a button, the Cannon whined to life as it began to charge up its laser pulse. The bar on the top blinked rhythmically - one light for every minute it needed to charge. R&D said the process would take three minutes. Hopefully, that would be enough time.

Throwing the Cannon’s strap over her shoulder, Alma resumed her pursuit of the creature with her agents on her heels. “Keep it engaged until I’m ready to fire!” She had to shout over the screams of panicked civilians and the distant sirens that were steadily growing louder. 

The team had to dodge a flying sedan before they could resume shooting at the creature, which hardly seemed interested in them this time. It was after something else. No, someone? There was little time to discern who or what its target was. An Eldritch Whip suddenly wrapped around one of the creature’s tentacles, but it broke free and grabbed the spell’s caster, hurtling him into a van on the opposite curb. 

Alma wanted to run to him but her legs wouldn’t budge. She could only stand there, gawking, as Stephen Strange shook off the blow and rose to his feet. It was merely a coincidence that he looked in her direction. But as soon as their gazes locked, the world around them fell away. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. Not the creature, not the people running past them, not even the ground beneath her feet. All Alma could hear was her hammering pulse and all she could see was him. 

It was clear by the way Stephen’s shoulders dropped that he could discern the hurt on her face. There was a yearning in her eyes, too, that was unmistakable. Finally, he broke eye contact with her to look down. He was thinking. He always drummed his fingers against his leg like that when he was thinking. But the second he looked up again, one of the creature’s tentacles wrapped around him and squeezed. Neither one had seen it coming, lost as they were in the sight of one another.

“No!” Alma bellowed as the creature lifted Stephen into the air. He struggled, but his arms were pinned to his sides. No spells. No way to save himself.

The third light on the Cannon was blinking, now. Less than a minute until it was ready to fire. 

“Ugh, come on, fucking thing!” Alma gritted through her teeth, giving the weapon a little shake as though that would help it finish its charge more quickly. Surely it was a coincidence that the light stopped blinking just then and the end of the weapon’s barrel lit up with a sickeningly bright glow. Her brow lifted in surprise. “Huh. Okay, then.” 

Alma struggled to brace the Cannon against her hip so she could aim the barrel at the creature, which still had a tight grip on Stephen and didn’t seem inclined to let him go. It was trying to escape the barrage of gunfire by clambering up a skyscraper, sending boulder-sized pieces of limestone tumbling to the earth. 

Why did they always have to climb the buildings like the city was some kind of playground?

The Cannon beeped as Alma followed the creature up the building’s facade, signaling that it had the thing squarely in its crosshairs. She hesitated for only a second and hoped against all hope that the weapon wouldn’t backfire before pulling the trigger. To her relief, a glorious beam of light left the Cannon’s barrel with a roar, illuminating everything in a fifty-foot radius as it came into contact with the creature’s flesh. 

The being had only a second to let out an ear-shattering screech. The beam’s energy quickly traveled through its body, searing every vein, muscle, and limb. In an instant, the creature disintegrated into ash. Stephen, finally released from its clutches, let out a yell as he began his eight-story fall. Not a moment later, the Cloak of Levitation seamlessly caught him in mid-air and gently lowered him back to the road before disappearing into the sky once again.

The momentary confidence and satisfaction that came from defeating the creature evaporated as Stephen jogged over to Alma. An awkward pause followed while the two struggled to find what to say to one another. Stephen opened and closed his mouth several times, even drew in a quick breath before stopping himself. Clearing his throat, he gestured emphatically at the Cannon that Alma was gripping so tightly that the tips of her fingers had turned white. 

“That’s a… fun weapon you’ve got there,” Stephen finally managed.

Alma could only raise her eyebrows in response. His first words to her in two months and those were the ones he chose? Well, since he wanted to be quippy with her, the least she could do was respond in kind.

“Oh, you like it? It’s a prototype.” She slapped its metallic exterior. “You can… kill so many giant tentacled freaks with this bad boy.”

Alma winced at her bungled attempt at humor. He was so much better at it than her. It was one of her favorite things about him - the way he had always been able to make her laugh.

“You agents and your toys,” Stephen remarked with a lopsided grin. 

They stood there silently for another moment, Alma shuffling her feet and Stephen fiddling with his hands. But he finally beat her to the punch, speaking just as her lips parted to say something herself. 

“Your hair is different.” Stephen mimicked the shape of her short, black bob with his hands. “It looks nice.” 

“Thanks.” A smile passed fleetingly across her lips before her expression turned serious. “Are you okay, Stephen?” 

Stephen nodded, flashing a smile so warm that Alma knew she must have turned pink. “I’m okay.”

Someone cleared their voice behind her. “Director Simmons?”

Stephen raised his eyebrows, shocked, impressed, and proud all in equal measure. “Director.”

Alma ignored him and turned to her agent. “Yes, Moreno?”

“Emergency services are on scene, ma’am. Some civilians wounded, no casualties.”

“And one hell of a lot of property damage,” she commented, finally taking a second to look around at the trail of destruction that the creature had left in its wake. “Can’t wait for the paperwork on this one.” She sighed. “Thanks, Moreno. Can you bring this back to the truck and coordinate with first responders while I debrief with,” her eyes flitted to Stephen for less than a second, “Doctor Strange?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Moreno said, taking the Cannon with him as he left the two of them alone again. 

“Debrief, huh?” Stephen teased. “Is that what you’re calling it?” But this wasn’t exactly an excuse she had cooked up to talk to him more, even if it was what the little voice in the back of her head was begging for her to do.

Alma played it cool, brushing off his question with a sincere: “Well, we just had a visit from a cyclops cthulhu monster from another dimension, Stephen. It’s kind of my job to interview the parties involved about what the hell just happened.”

“Speaking of parties involved…” he began, his head turning to where the Cloak of Levitation had returned carrying a young girl like it was a magic carpet.

The girl started turning on her heel to run when she caught sight of Alma and an excited look of recognition lit up her face. Instead, she came barreling into Alma and threw her arms around her in a tight embrace.

“Alma, holy crap! You killed it! You saved me!”

Alma exchanged a confused look with Stephen, who shrugged and shook his head to say that he didn’t know this kid either. 

“You’re… welcome,” Alma stammered. “Sorry, do we know each other?” 

“Oh, well–” The girl sheepishly withdrew from their hug. “Yeah. And no. Kind of.”

A million questions bounced around Alma’s head, so she settled on the most basic one to start. “Who are you?”

“Yeah, I was gonna ask that same question,” Stephen chimed in. “More importantly, what did that creature want with you, kid?”

“And where are your parents?” Alma’s brow furrowed in concern. “Do you need us to call them for you?” 

The girl’s head whipped from Alma to Stephen and back again amid their barrage of questions.

“We’re not gonna hurt you, okay?” Alma assured her. “We’re just trying to understand what’s going on.”

“Look, giant teen-eating monsters aside, I have something important that’s bothering me.” Stephen took a step closer to the kid. “Why were you in my dream last night?”

The girl shook her head. “That wasn’t a dream. It was another part of the Multiverse.”

Alma and Stephen exchanged a look. S.W.O.R.D. had spent a little time researching other dimensions - other universes - but their knowledge about the Multiverse was still sorely lacking. Some of her colleagues didn’t even believe that such a thing could really exist. The chance to interview this girl could prove invaluable to their work and to mitigating future threats. 

“Do you guys have pizza in this universe?” the girl suddenly asked.

What a way to change the subject, Alma thought. Leave it to a kid to ask for pizza right after evading death by octopus monster. 

“Yeah, we have pizza.”

---

The girl sat across the table from Alma and Stephen, devouring slice after slice of pizza as though her meal was being timed. Alma’s fingers absent-mindedly drummed against the screen of her datapad as she sat watching the kid with a curious gaze. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen, maybe sixteen. She was shrouded in mystery, and yet no one in the restaurant would have suspected that she was any different than your average teenager just by looking at her.

“Slow down, kid. You’re gonna get a stomach ache.” Stephen spoke with a level of care in his voice that Alma found sweet.

“She said she was hungry, Stephen.”

“Yeah,” the girl agreed with Alma between bites. “And besides, I’m from another universe. You don’t know if my stomach even works the same as yours.”

“I don’t even know if you’re really from another universe like you keep saying you are.” Stephen tilted his head. “I’m still waiting to be enlightened.”

“Is your Stephen always this grumpy?” the kid turned her attention to Alma, who chuckled in response.

“He has his moments.”

The girl’s eyebrows raised. “Guess this is one of them.”

“Alright,” Stephen interrupted their conversation, causing the two ladies to exchange a little grin. “You know, I left a very nice wedding to save a smart-ass kid from being eaten by an octopus. Now, tell me–”

Alma’s head snapped to him. Christine’s wedding. They had planned on going together, initially. “Oh, you ended up going?”

“Did you guys get married?!” the girl interjected excitedly. 

“No. We’re not married,” Alma replied.

“No, we didn’t,” Stephen said in unison with her. “And yes, I did go.”

“Wait, you’re not married?” The girl sounded stunned, confused even. “You were married in every other universe I’ve been to.” 

An uncomfortable look passed between Stephen and Alma that the kid definitely noticed. 

“No, we’re–” Stephen cleared his throat. “–not together any more.”

The girl dropped the slice of pizza she was working on in shock. “What?” 

Stephen’s words cut through Alma’s heart, reopening the wounds she’d spent the last two months trying to heal. She’d made it through, mostly by pouring herself into her work. It was probably what had earned her the promotion to director. Things in her life were starting to feel normal again after so much change, so this verbal reminder of what once was and what could have been… oh, it hurt to hear.

“But–” the girl continued, her disappointment clear. “You’re always together. You’re, like… soulmates.” 

“Tell that to Stephen,” Alma said under her breath, low enough that she didn’t think either of them heard. But the way he turned to look at her told her otherwise. Instead of meeting his gaze, she focused her attention on her datapad.

“Sorry.” The kid looked a bit guilty for stirring up sore feelings between them. “So, uh… you wanted me to explain what’s going on.”

“Yes.” Stephen leaned closer, resting his forearms on the table. “Why was that thing trying to eat you?

“It wasn’t trying to eat me; it was trying to kidnap me and take me to this… demon who wanted to steal my power.” 

“Power. What power?”

The kid took a deep breath. “I can travel the Multiverse.”

“What?” Stephen blurted out.

Alma, who had been typing on her datapad, finally looked up. Her eyes reflected an equal amount of awe and concern. “How?”

“I don’t know. I can’t control it. It only happens when I’m really, really afraid. The last universe I was in–” She looked at Stephen “–the other you was trying to help me. But the demon caught up with us.” 

A sudden realization flashed across his features. “The fight from my dream.”

“I already told you,” the girl urged. “That wasn’t a dream. I can prove it…!”

Stephen suddenly rose to his feet, sending his chair scraping backwards across the tile floor. “Alright, pizza time’s over.”

“Wh– Stephen, I’m not done here.” Alma gestured to her datapad in annoyance. 

Stephen leaned down to whisper to her, coming close enough that she could feel his breath on her temple. The sensation sent a chill down her spine. “I have to take her to Kamar-Taj. Wong has to know about this. If this ‘demon’ is after her, it won’t stop just because we killed its minion.” 

When Alma tilted her head toward him, she briefly lost herself in his startlingly blue eyes. Blinking, she considered his idea. “You think he’ll have answers?” 

“Maybe. I hope so. If not, then I guess I’ll have to see who else might know what to do.”

“Such as?”

“Wanda Maximoff?”

Alma set her datapad down and turned fully to face him. “Stephen, no. Do you know what she did in Westview? 

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “mass kidnapping by way of sitcoms.”

“I was there.” She needed him to know how serious she was. “I saw it all. I don’t think that she can be trusted.”

“Alma. I have to try. Or the entire Multiverse could be at risk.”

"Damnit.” He was right. Rolling her eyes, she relented with a heavy sigh. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t I always?” He lingered for a moment before standing upright again and swooshing around the table. “Alright, kid. Come on.”

“Wait–” Alma stood up as the girl began to follow Stephen, meeting the two of them near the door. “I don’t think we ever caught your name.”

“Oh… right.” The girl must have forgotten that they didn’t already know her like the other versions of them supposedly did. “I’m America. America Chavez.”

Alma smiled warmly. “America. It’s nice to meet you. Go with Stephen, now. He and the other sorcerers will keep you safe.”

“I hope so.” There was an air of doubt in America’s voice.

Before Stephen could reach for the door handle, Alma grabbed his forearm to stop him. When he looked down, she withdrew her hand as quickly as she would have if she had touched an open flame. 

“Anything else you learn from her - anything at all - you better keep me in the loop,” she said softly, but firmly.

“Aye aye, madame director.” Stephen winked. 

“I mean it.” Alma sighed and slipped one of her freshly-printed business cards into his hand. “Call my office.”

He took one look at the card and tried to hand it back to her. “I already have your number.” 

“Stephen.” 

Please don’t call my cell, her heart cried. She couldn’t bear to see the little red hearts next to his name on the call screen.

“Alright,” he breathed as he slipped the card into his pocket for safe keeping. “I’ll be in touch.” He nodded to America, who gave Alma another quick hug.

“Sorry, force of habit,” she chuckled before following Stephen out of the restaurant.

Alma sighed as though she had been holding her breath for the last hour and slumped into one of the chairs at their table. Her hand reached for the last slice of pizza. She’d earned it. 

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