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emily64cooper · 4 years

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If I Lose Everything in the Fire (I’m sending all my love to you)

Title: If I Lose Everything in the Fire (I’m sending all my love to you)

Author: emily64cooper

Rating: PG-13 for language

Fandom: The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (tv)

Characters/Pairing: Susie, Lenny/Midge, Mentions: Sophie Lennon, Joel Maisel

Summary: Susie turned around to leave and instantly began berating herself for speaking to a comedic legend like Lenny Bruce like that. Still, she moved very slowly, hoping that he would stop her. She really didn’t want to have to involve Joel in this.

(Or, after getting kicked off the tour, Susie can't go comfort Midge, so she sends the next best person she can think of: Lenny Bruce).

Author’s Note: Takes place immediately post-season 3. Like, immediately.

“You again.”

She'd caught him coming off an act at a club in midtown. The club was ritzy by midtown standards, much nicer than the Gaslight, but still enough beer on the floor to remind you you weren't at the Copa. She'd kill to get Midge into a place like this of her own accord, without having to rely on someone else's reputation. She’d hoped they were heading toward that, but she wasn’t so sure now.

“Hi Lenny. Nice to see you too,” Susie said. She was already mad enough at herself for having to come down here, she didn’t have time to deal with his sarcastic bullshit.

“Aren't you supposed to be in Europe?" he questioned, pulling out and lighting a cigarette.

“I need your help.” Fuck, she hated that. She hated saying those words. She hated that they were true. Fuck.

“I expected nothing less.”

“It’s about Midge.”

"She talk about the pregnant friend again? Disparage the Sophie Lennon?" Lenny asked, feigning disinterest by leaning back against a post.

Midge was always vehement that she and Lenny were just friends, but the fact that he was clearly pretending to be so casual about two of the hardest moments of Midge's comedy career was telling. Just what it was telling her, Susie wasn't really sure, but it reinforced her decision to seek him out for this. "What? No."

Lenny sighed. “Look, you know I like her, but at some point my reputation’s going to take a hit if I keep playing gigs for free, and, uh, between you and me, I don’t think it can stand to get much lower.”

“This isn’t about that,” Susie cried out, exasperated. It was time to pull out the big guns: “She needs you.”

He looked at his feet and took a long drag from his cigarette before meeting her eyes again. “Is she, uh, okay?”

“Yes. I think. But her career's back in the shitter.”

“And you expect me to do what?”

“I’m not asking you to do another gig. She messed up. And she’s alone and sad and she needs a friend. And I can’t do it, so it’s gotta be you or she’ll turn back to that asshole ex-husband of hers and god knows that is the last fuckin’ thing she needs. Miriam is not going to be insignificant and he makes her turn into a fuckin’ nobody.” God, Susie hated that guy. He represented everything wrong with men. He'd had a perfect woman like Midge and he'd thrown her away like fucking garbage.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” he responded quietly.

Susie let out a breath. “Thank you. Asshole.” Fuck. She'd just called Lenny Bruce an asshole. And had been kind of a jerk to him in general. She was losing her goddamn mind. "I am so sorry, uh, Mr. Bruce, sir."

Lenny smirked at her. “Where is she?” he asked after a moment.

Susie looked at her feet and mumbled a response.

“I’m sorry, I don’t subscribe to the Strasbourg Method, I don’t speak mumble. You’ll have to speak up.”

“I don’t know, okay?” She exclaimed. “Look, she said some shit she shouldn’t have and Shy kicked her off the tour. She was upset, and after she had a good cry, she told me she needed to go figure out if it was still all worth it, whatever the hell that means, and just took off in a cab before I could stop her.”

“Midge got kicked off the tour?”

“Yes! Jesus fuck, Lenny, keep up. Look, I need you to go find her.”

“I’m sorry, isn’t it a manager’s job to manage her client?”

“Fine, if I’d’ve known you were gonna be a fucking prick about it, I wouldn’t have come. I’ll just go fuck off and find her fucking dick of an ex-husband to help Midge. Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

She turned around to leave and instantly began berating herself for speaking to a comic legend like Lenny Bruce like that. Still, she moved very slowly, hoping that he would stop her. She really didn’t want to have to involve Joel in this.

“Wait,” Lenny said finally.

“Oh thank God,” she mumbled, turning around.

He looked past her for a moment, then chuckled quietly to himself. “I know where she is.”

“Great... so are you gonna go or?“

“I’ll get her.”

Susie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” They stood looking at each other awkwardly for a few moments. “So I’ll just-“ Susie said, motioning toward the exit.

“Yeah,” Lenny said with a curt nod.

She took two steps out the door then heard him call her back.

“Hey,” he said. He sounded... not like Lenny Bruce. He sounded melancholic. He sounded sad. “Why me?”

“What?”

“There are other people in her life you could have come to, more important people, her parents for example, her former ex-husband. I bet even the doctor would leave a man’s chest open on his operating table just to chase after her. But me, I’m just a background character in her story. I’m not a leading man here. Why did you come to me?” He asked.

Susie would have laughed at the absurdity of Lenny Bruce standing so uncertain before her had his entire being not been shining with sincerity as he asked. This was a side to him she didn’t expect. This was a Lenny Bruce with demons, with self-doubt and self-loathing. Was this sincerity something that Midge was privy to? Because Susie definitely didn’t know how to handle it.

She could only put out so many metaphorical fires in one night.

"Oh, uh," she hesitated. Honestly, she wasn't sure why she'd come to him. She hadn’t even thought to ask anyone else – except Joel, but ew. Not if she could help it. But now that they were out of jobs, Susie needed to find a way to make Midge’s money back fast, so she couldn’t try to track her down. And if she couldn't go after Midge when she was down, Lenny Bruce was the next best choice. "Well, uh, you seem like you care about her, or whatever. And she uh, she told me a little bit about that night in Florida."

Lenny's interest piqued at the mention of Florida. "Oh," he said quietly. "She did, huh?” He cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at her. “She, uh, tell you how it ended?"

"She did not," Susie responded slowly. She knew Midge had left some things out when she'd told her about the date she insisted was not a date, she'd acted as nervous as a whore in church about the whole thing. And now Lenny Bruce stood before her, melancholic. And shy, almost? Something more had definitely happened between them.

"Look, far be it from me to give advice about love or relationships, I don't know the first thing about that shit. The longest relationship I ever had was with a plunger. God, I loved Pamela, may she rest in peace." She took a moment of silence for her beloved plunger, who Jackie had killed one afternoon at the Gaslight. They'd held a funeral. It had been beautiful, yet tragic. She breathed deeply and shucked it off, then turned back to Lenny. Right, she reminded herself, Lenny Bruce needed emotional support. What a weird fucking day.

"I don't know if you slept together, or didn't sleep together or whatever the fuck happened between you. I don’t need to know. But you obviously like her. And Midge can be a moron when it comes to men - have you met Joel? - but you mean something to her. Something special. Just give her time."

Lenny smirked at her around his cigarette, then tossed it and put it out with the toe of his shoe. She watched as he grabbed his jacket, then moved to follow her out the door. "Uh, thanks, for that," he said finally, grimacing slightly and scratching the back of his neck.

"You're, uh, welcome," Susie responded. They looked at each other awkwardly for the second time that night. "Right, so I'm gonna go," she said at last.

"Yeah," Lenny nodded, shoving his hands in his pocket.

She turned to leave, then turned back around. "For the record, she'll be happy it's you. If that uh, if that means anything."

He smiled tightly at her. "Thanks," he said. He turned to leave and gave her a little wave. "See ya, Susie," he said over his shoulder, walking away.

“Yeah, see ya,” she responded slowly. She shook her head a little - offering relationship advice to Lenny freakin’ Bruce was definitely not a thing Susie ever thought she’d do - and kept moving.

She desperately wanted to be the one drowning her sorrows with Midge, but she couldn’t be. Susie didn’t think she could really even face Midge right now. How do you tell your best friend and probably only client – she doubted Sophie would want her as a manager after that verbal sparring match outside the theater – that you lost every cent they’d made? No, she had to get their money back fast and she needed time and space to figure out how to do that without letting Midge know she’d been the one to lose it all in the first place.

Besides, she knew Midge was in good hands with Lenny. She could trust him to find her and take care of her the way she deserved to be taken care of.

Midge needed to be with someone who loved her. And tonight, that meant Lenny freaking Bruce.

Susie shook her head at herself incredulously and picked up her pace. “Weird fucking day.”

#the marvelous mrs. maisel #tmmm #tmmm fic #fanfiction #fanfic #lenny x midge #midge x lenny #susie myerson #tmmm spoilers #protective friends protecting their friends #my favorite subgenre #in which the author doesn't know how to end a fanfic #lenny bruce #miriam x lenny #midge maisel

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emily64cooper · 5 years

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Title: You Were Born

Author: emily64cooper

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairing: Tommy/Jude

Summary: “She’s so beautiful,” he said, tracing a finger over her cheek. He leaned back and kissed Jude gently. “Like her mama.”

Post-finale. Oneshot.

Author’s Note: The song used is "You Were Born" by Cloud Cult.

“My arms were made to hold you, So I will never let you go Cause you were born” “And here I thought I was the only girl you sang for anymore,” Jude said softly. She leaned against the doorframe, wrapped in a terrycloth robe, eyelids heavy from sleep. She had woken to a half-empty bed and followed his voice down the hallway until she found him. “Sorry, Big Eyes. You’re gonna have to share that privilege from now on,” Tommy grinned up at her. “With her? I think I can get used to that.” Jude responded. She moved to sit beside him on the bench. She tucked her head against his back, so she was able to look over his shoulder and reached a hand toward the bundle in his lap. “How is she?” The baby blinked up at them, wide-eyed and alert. “She’s fine. She woke up maybe twenty minutes ago. I think she was hungry.” “You could have woken me up. I would’ve-“ “Girl, relax,” he chuckled, “I got her. You need the extra sleep.” “No, I’m fine.” They sat there quietly for a few moments, staring at their little girl, reveling in her very existence. There were so many times throughout their lives together that had made them wonder if they would ever reach this point. Tommy felt like he had built up too much bad karma with the mistakes of his youth to ever deserve something so perfect to watch over. “She’s so beautiful,” he said, tracing a finger over her cheek. He leaned back and kissed Jude gently. “Like her mama.” Jude smiled back at him. “She’ll have all the boys after her,” she said teasingly, “or girls.” “Oh!” Tommy scoffed, “that will be the end of me for sure.” “Just wait until she’s 15 and in love with her 22-year-old producer.” His eyes went wide and he blew out a breath. “Remind me to apologize to your dad again. For the rest of our lives.” Jude chuckled quietly. The baby gurgled in response. “Is there more to it?” She asked with a yawn. “Hm?” “The song.” He smiled and chuckled quietly. “Some.” “Can I hear it?” “It’s not finished.” “Tommy.” He looked down at his little girl and just marveled at the sight of her. “Hi, baby,” he said softly. She yawned, bringing her little arms into her chest and then out again. He looked at Jude then, his wife, the woman who was now the mother of his child, and thought about the gift she had given him, the incredible little person drifting in and out of sleep in his arms. Who was he to deny her anything? “Okay.” He glanced at Jude again, then looked back at the baby and began to sing: “Love your mother Yeah, she’s a good one She’ll build you armor, Keep you warm as a hen The stars may fall The rains may pour But I will love you evermore Cause you were born To make this right Cause you were born To chase the light You were born” He stopped, startled, when he felt Jude’s tears hit his back. “Jude-“ “No, it’s okay,” she said as she dried her tears on his shirt, “I love it, Tommy. She’s gonna love it.” “I love you.” She leaned around and kissed him. “I love you,” she replied, running a hand over his cheek. They watched the baby silently for a few minutes as she drifted back into a peaceful sleep. Tommy gingerly repositioned her into his arms and lifted her into the bassinet. Jude double-checked the monitor, then they both said their goodnights and tiptoed out of the nursery and back to their room to settle into bed together. Jude was almost asleep when he spoke again. “You should record it,” he said quietly. “Tommy,” Jude warned, sitting up to face him. She hadn’t recorded anything professionally in some time, and she didn’t intend to, especially now that they had a newborn. He knew that. She played still, even recorded raw and uncut using their home equipment, but she hadn’t been with a label in a while. It was, at times, a sore subject between them. He had the decency to look sheepish. “I know, I didn’t mean it like that. Just…don’t you think she’d like a song from her parents?” He had been thinking often, since Jude told him she was pregnant, about his own parents. He had so much love and adoration for his infant daughter—he had since the moment he found out about her—that he couldn’t begin to understand how his parents had treated him the way they had. His mother hated him; she never had a kind word for him. He had only felt a sort of guilty relief when she eventually died. As for his father, he had nothing from him but his name. No memories, no heirlooms, no idea what he even looked like, and Tommy didn’t care to know. He couldn’t imagine, and he would not allow, his little girl to ever feel that way. And there was no better way, for him or for Jude, to immortalize how they felt about her than in a song. Jude eyed him warily, but her gaze quickly softened. He knew that she knew exactly what he was thinking. She always did. Still, she shook her head. “It’s your song to her, Tommy,” she said gently, “not mine.” “It’s not finished,” he reminded her. He motioned to her nightstand, where she always kept a notebook filled to the brim with half finished song lyrics. “I know you’ve written for her too.” Jude sighed. Of course she’d written about the baby. She and Tommy always dealt best with their emotions by channeling it into her music, just as he’d once advised her. He’d seen her sing little melodies to her growing bump throughout her entire pregnancy. He’d even occasionally thrown in a lyric or two when he heard her get stuck, and every night, he’d seen her write down whatever she’d come up with in her journals. Finally, he watched her exhale a shaky breath. “Okay,” she said at last, pulling the journal out of her nightstand, “sing it again”. She scribbled down the lyrics he’d sung then frantically flipped through her mostly full journal, pausing at a certain page. She ran a thumb over the words. He watched, uncertain. “This might fit,” she said finally, handing him the journal. Tommy looked from the journal back to her, recognizing the significance of the lyrics she had shown him. “Yeah,” he responded, voice thick with emotion, “this is perfect”. “I didn’t know how to put it into words then. I don’t think I could have,” she said. “But now that she’s here…” “You’re ready now?” “Yeah. I’m ready now.” Jude’s mom had died just two months before she was due. They were never that close. Jude and her dad had connected through music, but Victoria didn’t have the same admiration for it. Then, Victoria had run off with her divorce lawyer, and her relationship with her daughter had fractured even more. They only really reconciled when Jude told her she was pregnant. Jude had told Tommy that she was looking forward to having her mother around. Her death had devastated Jude, and he knew that the only thing that had pulled her through had been their little girl. He watched as she closed her eyes. He felt like he could hear the words shifting in her head, molding to fit the melody he’d created, and when she began to sing, it was as if her lyrics had always been a part of his song, like the two pieces were always meant to come together. It was them. “Oh my precious, oh my love, When they come to take me I will hold you from above I don’t know why we’re here, And I don’t know how But I’m here with you now, I am here with you now Cause you were born To change this life Cause you were born To make this right Cause you were born To chase the light.”

#instant star #fanfiction #fanfic #tommy/jude #jommy #jude harrison #tommy quincy #little tommy q #alexz johnson #tim rozon #songfic #cloud cult #you were born #futurefic #instant star (2004-2008)

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emily64cooper · 6 years

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Title: Epatheia

Author: emily64cooper

Rating: PG-13

Characters/Pairing: Rey/Kylo Ren

Summary: “Snoke did this?” she questions. Ben’s eyes flicker to hers. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Author’s Note: Response to a prompt here, at Superhero Central. TW for light, canon-compliant torture.

Rey shoots suddenly up one night, a fiery ache pulsing in her head. The pain is blinding, a horrible white light that engulfs every inch of her mind in flames. She throws the heels of her hands over her eyes, pushing hard, trying to squeeze the torment out without fortuity. Her heart rate speeds up, her skin flushes with sweat, and it’s all she can do to breathe through the pain. The scratch of her sheets against her bare skin feels like knives, the ambient light of the dying embers a towering inferno in her head.

And then it stops.

She lets out a few shaky breaths, trying to return her body to homeostasis. Her pulse lowers, her skin cools, and she’s able to think again. She sits up, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed to rest against the floor, grounding herself. The light of the dying fire fades from a roar to a whisper, and she concentrates on the speck of light and the sound of her breaths, in and out, in and out.

That’s when she realizes that it’s not just her own breathing she’s hearing--he’s here too.

“What was that?” she fires at him by way of greeting.

Ben is on all fours on the floor, panting, obviously feeling the exertion of the torture they just shared, and through the bond she can feel him utilizing well-honed techniques to reel himself in. He’s practiced at this, she realizes.

He’s done this before.

“Snoke did this?” she questions. Rey lifts her eyes to look him over. She’s learned through these few force connections that, though she can intuit his emotions if she tries, it’s far easier to read him through his facial expressions.

Ben’s eyes flicker to hers. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

She blinks back a tear.

“He’s done this to you before?” she asks. But she needn’t question it. She knows. “He does this often.”

“It’s nothing,” he answers quickly. Too quickly. Automatically. He bows his head, looking away.

Yes, she hears.

“Ben,” she encourages. His eyes flit back up to meet hers, searching for absolution. He must find it, because something in him changes, shifts into or out of place, and when he speaks again, there’s a little more light in him.

“Everyday,” he says, all in a rush, as if admitting the truth quickly will make it less true, make it less of a defiance against his master.

He comes to sit beside her on the bed, a proper distance kept between them. She moves quickly to take his hand. He feels just as warm and real as he had when they touched before, and she takes a moment to marvel in it, just as she had then, to marvel in them, two battered souls reaching across worlds to touch.

She had never realized how touched-starved she had been until she met him.

He stares down at their joined hands for several beats, then speaks without looking up. “I’m sorry. What he does--I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Even you.”

Ben pulls away from her after that, crossing the room in a few long strides and turning away. He’s closing himself off, berating himself for his weaknesses, for his admission, and she lets him. But Rey, oh yes, she’s invigorated. The light in him is weak, but it’s there, it’s not dead, and he is willing to share some of it with her. She felt a hint of it when they first touched hands, but now she’s sure. This is a step in the right direction. She can bring him home, for Leia, for Han. For Ben himself. She can bring him into the light and keep him there. Safe. Together. And together, they might be able to win this.

She crosses to him then, resolute, and lays a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. “Let me come to you,” she says fiercely. “Let me help you.”

Rey feels a rush of emotion across the bond--fear, longing, loneliness, hope--and she lets them swirl around her until he realizes they’ve slipped out and begins to reign them in.

He turns back to her then, his response on his lips, but he fades from her view before he can say anything. It’s no matter. She knows what she must do. “I’m coming, Ben,” she murmurs, pulling herself together.

Back in his rooms on the Supremacy, Ben responds.

“Don’t.”

#reylo #reylo fanfic #reylofic #kylo ren/rey #during tlj #star wars: the last jedi #fanfiction #light torture #tw: torture #force bond #the last jedi #supreme leader snoke #he's an asshole #rey is fierce and knows what she wants

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emily64cooper · 8 years

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Taking Turns

Title: Taking Turns

Author: emily64cooper

Rating: PG

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Characters/Pairing: Denny/Izzie. Guest appearances by Meredith, Richard, Bailey, George, and Derek

Summary: AU in which Denny survives to see Izzie through her cancer.

Author’s Note: Takes place during the end of 5x18 and all of 5x19: Elevator Love Letter

Denny being so, so used to life attached to an IV, gets it. He gets (at least, to some extent) what Izzie is about to go through, what it's like to live in a hospital, to do nothing but sit and wait for your expiration date to come around. He knows what it's like to do it alone and how insanely better it is to have someone to love by your side through it. He knows how it feels to be a vibrant, vivacious person trapped in a failing body. He knows when "leave me alone" means "I need you" and when "I need help" means "push me to do this".

He knows all of this because he lived it. He spent his year on death's doorstep, even had one foot in the door at times, praying that another man would get there first and give him a heart. So when Izzie tells him that she has a stage four cancer, his heart breaks just that little bit more. Because he gets it, and now she will too.

When she admits herself, he stands there beside her, holding her bag with one hand and her hand with the other. Her friends are there too, and together the six of them walk to her room. She pauses outside the door. This may very well be the room she dies in and they all know it.

“Hey Iz,” Denny says quietly, squeezing her hand gently, “this time I’ll knit you a sweater.” The joke has its intended effect and she smiles slightly, taking a step into the room with the others trickling behind her.

Her friends inspect the room. Izzie Stevens is one of them, so she will have the best. The best room, the best care, the best of everything and anything they can offer. They put fresh, forest green sheets on the bed. They’re hospital-issued, but Christina may or may not have gone through a stack of unopened sheets to find the softest ones, so these too are the best. Medically, the room is well-equipped, directly across from the nurse’s station, and not far from the crash cart.

She steps into the bathroom to change into her gown. When she comes out, she sits on the edge of the bed to let Denny tie it. He knows from experience what kind of knot hurts less, digs less into the skin. He knows that the tie feels better the further to the side it is, and that you don’t want to tie the middle one if you can get away with it, and he explains this to her as he works. Meredith puts her ID bracelet on while Christina checks her vitals. Alex finds a spare pillow and blanket, which he places in the chair beside her bed. It’s a nice concession, and Denny nods his thanks. When George comes in, she stands to hug him, then she settles back fully on the hospital bed and into the beginning of her journey.

*~*~*~*~*

Later, after her friends have left for the night, he climbs into the tiny bed with her. “Tell me I can do this,” she says, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her affect is flat, but Denny knows that it’s done on purpose, to help her keep her emotions in check.

“You can do this,” he whispers, pressing a kiss into her hair.

They’re silent a moment. “Did I ever tell you,” he asks, “about the first time I was admitted here at Seattle Grace?” He knows he hasn’t, and honestly there isn’t much to tell, but his joke about giving the hospital a bad rating in the Zagat guide makes her laugh, and the feel of his voice rumbling low in his chest soothes her enough to let her drift off to sleep.

When he’s certain she’s asleep, he buries his face in her hair and lets himself break down. Even if, by some miracle, she survives the cancer (“there’s a 5% survival rate,” she’d said, pacing back and forth in front of him as he sat on their bed, “with aggressive chemotherapy and radiation”), the treatment is going to be the most difficult challenge she’s ever faced, and he knows that neither her body nor her spirit will be the same after it.

*~*~*~*~*

They wake early the next morning. While she showers, Denny unpacks her bag. She hadn’t brought much, but as he dutifully places her clothes in the tiny hospital armoire, he wonders for the first time if maybe she’s not as prepared for this as she thinks she is. Still, he places her heels next to her flip-flops in the bottom of the closet and her jeans behind her sweatpants in the drawer. He makes a mental note of things to pick up from home: necessities, like sweaters and extra socks, and comforts, like her own shampoo and that shirt of his she always liked to sleep in.

Dr. Webber stops by during breakfast. “Hello Denny,” he says as he goes to check Izzie’s vitals, “this is a familiar sight.”

“Can’t get enough of Seattle Grace,” he smiles. His tone is sarcastic, but no one fails to catch the hint of sadness in it. No one comments on it either.

“Chief, how is Ms. Tullman’s recovery going?” Izzie asks him eagerly, “And the colectomy on Mr. Zimmerman, did Christina really get that as a solo surgery?” Dr. Webber shoots a look in Denny’s direction, the rules about doctor-patient confidentiality being as strict as they are, so he kisses Izzie’s cheek and leaves to let them talk medicine.

He does a few laps around the floor, checks that they’re still talking, then decides to head down to the CICU. It’s the first time he’s been back since his transplant. He leans against a wall, the room he spent months in while he waited for a new heart directly in his line of sight, and just processes. How ironic it is that they began here in this hospital and that… Denny can’t let himself go down that path. He made it against all odds; Izzie will too. She’s strong and stubborn and she will fight tooth and nail to beat this. And he’ll be there to help her in any way he can, just like she helped him.

By the time he returns to Izzie’s room, Dr. Webber’s already gone. When she looks up at him, he can see the sadness in her eyes, the way the tears are threatening to spill over, so he sits on the side of her bed with her and laces their fingers together. She smiles sadly and clears her throat gently. “There’s something I forgot about, with the chemo, there’s something… something we should talk about.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me, Izzie,” he says softly. When he says “I’m here for you”, it’s a comfort, and so she continues.

“I’m going to have them harvest eggs from me… just in case.” This is a particularly poignant discussion for them, since they’ve recently been discussing starting a family. So she explains it to him, the how’s and the why’s, and his part in the whole process. “They store better if they’ve been fertilized,” she explains, her voice beginning to waver. “They’ll do it in a lab…” It’s then that she breaks down, so he climbs into the bed next her and holds her close. She fists his shirt in her hand and buries her face in his chest. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” she sniffs, “it’s supposed to be real.”

“It will be real,” Denny says, wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “It’s still us, Izzie. It’ll be real.”

*~*~*~*~*

After she’s calmed down, she sends him to go tell Bailey to contact OB. Bailey lets him know that they’ll be rounding on her soon (“Look, Denny, you know what it’s like to have a bunch of people you don’t know talking about your insides. This will be her friends and colleagues. It will be worse. You had better prepare her for that”). Then she hands him a specimen cup. “I trust you know what that’s for?” she inquires, an eyebrow raised. Denny scratches the back of his neck and nods. “Good. You can bring it back to me when you’re done.”

He fully intends on taking the cup and going off to contribute his sample, then returning to Izzie to warn her about the rounds. But he finds that his feet are frozen to the ground.

“Denny?” Dr. Bailey questions.

“We were just starting to… try, you know? Before the cancer, we were gonna try for a baby. And now? …Dr. Bailey, I just had to convince my wife… She might not… she might not be around long enough for this to matter.”

Bailey puts a hand on his arm and squeezes. “Denny Duquette, you had to put your life on pause for five years while you waited on that heart. And I’m sorry, I really am, but you’re about to put your life on pause again. But I promise you, I will personally do everything I can to make sure that’s all this is for you and Dr. Stevens – a pause.”

He takes a deep breath. “Thanks, Dr. Bailey,” he says. Then Denny takes the cup and heads back to Izzie.

“Remember those sexual favors you promised me the last time we were here?” he jokes, holding up the cup, “I think it might be time to cash in on some of those.”

Izzie laughs. “Isn’t it your turn to promise me?” she quips. Denny smirks, and heads off to fill the cup. He delivers it to Bailey as promised and when he returns, he warns Izzie that her medical team is about to come through. He tells her about how strange it can be to have these doctors tell you they’re about to cut you open and pluck at your internal organs like a violin. About how the nurses seem to think their patients have gone deaf, and so will talk about things like getting syphilis from a doctor or who’s sleeping with which attending as they stand right outside her door. She knows all of this, she promises—just from the other side. So she tells him about some of her more meaningful patients, and the full story behind the nurse with syphilis. Eventually, she goes quiet and picks her knitting needles back up. They wait.

*~*~*~*~*

Her friends (minus George, and really, Denny thinks he ought to try to find the tiny man and give him a piece of his mind for not being there for Izzie) try to stick around after her medical team’s presentation, but she shoos them out. “Get out of here, go save lives.” She kicks Denny out too, and though he wants to protest, he understands that she needs the time alone to grieve for herself. So he kisses her on the forehead, makes her promise to call him if anything changes, and heads home.

When he gets there, he stands frozen outside the door. Right now, it feels like nothing has changed. Like he’ll walk through the door to find Izzie, on the rare occasion she got home before him, passed out on the couch in one of his T-shirts, a blanket she had once knit tangled around her, and the TV on full volume. He’ll drop his things by the door, like he has a hundred times, and carry her to their room. She’ll insist that she’s not tired, that she wants to talk to him, to hear all about his day, but by the time he’s finished brushing his teeth, she’ll have fallen back to sleep.

He smiles sadly, but fondly, and puts the key in the lock. Everything has changed.

There are a few household chores that need to be done, a sink full of dishes to be washed, laundry to put away, but he ignores them, wanting to get back to Izzie before her surgery. Denny doesn’t like to use his money on frivolous things, a vestige of the time when he had none, but he’s not averse to hiring a company to come in and take care of things while Izzie’s sick.

He grabs a bag from the closet in the hallway then heads to their room and starts rifling through her drawers to find sweatpants and soft t-shirts. He grabs a few of his own t-shirts, the ones he knows she likes best, and packs those too. He picks out sweaters, nothing too bulky, so they can still easily access the port on her chest, but still warm enough. He digs in the top of her closet until he finds the stack of silky scarves he knows are there and puts all of them in the bag. While Izzie may have been determined not to lose her hair, there’s a chance she will and he wants to be prepared. Just in case.

When it starts to all be a little too much, he sits on her side of the bed and just breathes. There’s this technique, one long inhale followed by a quick, powerful exhale, that one of his first cardiologists had given him for quick relaxation and it’s that technique, combined with the unique scent of Izzie he’s surrounded by, that calm him enough to be able to continue packing.

He grabs a few more things, socks, slippers, bathroom essentials, and finally tops the bag off with the photo album from her night stand. A hospital room is sterile enough on its own—anything that can be done to it to give it even the slightest hint of home, of life, is something worth doing in his book.

*~*~*~*~*

Alex finds him sitting on a bench outside the hospital. He’s resting his arms on his legs, his hands clasped together in front of him with his head down. There’s a bag by his side, clearly Izzie’s, as indicated by the bright pink butterflies on its side. Alex finds that he really doesn’t want to go comfort Denny, but he is Izzie’s friend and Denny is Izzie’s husband and so Alex feels compelled to at the very least go sit with him.

Denny glances over at him, then sinks back into the bench and speaks: “I spent five years in and out of hospitals. Five years. After that long, you pick stuff up. Medical terms, symptoms that are dangerous and ones that aren’t. …I live with her. I see her every damn day and I sleep next to her every damn night, but I didn’t catch this. She’d been having these headaches, throbbing nasty things, but she kept telling me it was stress. She’s the doctor, not me, but I should’ve known something was wrong, I should have said something. She’s in there dying because I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”

Alex sighs and places a hand on Denny’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You aren’t a doctor, Denny, you couldn’t have known. George, Meredith, Christina, and me, we’re the ones…we should’ve known.”

*~*~*~*~*

Denny’s got one hand on the door to Izzie’s room when he notices Dr. Shepherd and Bailey coming up behind him.

“Dr. Shepherd,” he drawls kindly.

“Mr. Duquette.”

Denny smiles. “Denny,” he corrects, “Dr. Duquette is my father.”

“You save that charm for your wife, Denny,” Dr. Bailey instructs.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Izzie’s most recent MRI looks good,” Derek says. Whether he’s speaking to him or to Dr. Bailey, Denny’s not sure, but he doesn’t question it. “Doesn’t look like the tumor’s grown since her last scan. Denny, do you have any questions or concerns you’d like to discuss with me before we brief Izzie?”

Denny grows serious then. There’s something he needs to ask, needs to be sure of, but he feels so awkward even asking, like he’s not sure it’s the right thing to do. In any other circumstance, it’s something he would never question, but this is Izzie and so it needs to be said. So he sticks his hands in his front pockets and speaks: “Listen, I’m sure you’re a great surgeon and all, but Meredith and Izzie… well, they talk. …Dr. Shepherd, that’s my girl in there. I need to know that you’re okay enough to do this.”

Derek is visibly taken aback, visibly offended, and when he speaks his tone is clipped, “I can assure you that despite what Meredith may have told you, I am perfectly capable of doing this surgery today. Excuse me,” he says, blustering into Izzie’s room.

Dr. Bailey gives Derek a moment, checking to make sure he’s in Izzie’s room and out of earshot, then turns to Denny. “Denny, Dr. Shepherd is a good surgeon. Even on his worst day, he is better than 95% of neurosurgeons in this country.”

Denny nods. He’s still not entirely convinced, but he is at the very least a little reassured. “And you’ll be there?” he asks.

“I will be there,” she assures. “And I’m pretty good—I managed to keep you alive, didn’t I?”

“That you did,” he chuckles, following her through the door.

Dr. Shepherd explains the surgery using the most sophisticated medical terms he can. Denny’s certain he does it because he’s still angry with him, but luckily for him, Dr. Bailey continues to ask Izzie questions (“what does that mean, Dr. Stevens?”, “how would you explain that to a patient?”) under the guise of teaching, explaining the procedure for him.

They leave, but Bailey promises Denny and Izzie that she’ll be back soon to start the pre-op work. Izzie tries to turn on the TV. Denny picks up his book and plops in the chair next to her. She pushes the power button on the remote a few times in a row, then huffs in frustration.

“You gotta hit it on something,” Denny chimes in, grinning impishly, “the nightstand works best.”

She glares at him and huffs. “That won’t work, the batteries are dead.”

“Okay,” he singsongs, raising his eyebrows. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she presses the power button a few more times. Finally, she glances in his direction, as if to check that he’s not looking, and whacks the remote against the nightstand. When she presses the power button and it works, he covers his smile with his book. He glances over at her, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pursed and he can’t resist gloating a little, “Told ya.”

“Shut up,” she glares back. He’s never been so happy to be glared at. He had almost forgotten how surreal it could feel to be living in the hospital, but, he figures, it just takes moments like this to really remind you that home is where the heart is, and no matter what, his brand new heart is wherever Izzie is.

*~*~*~*~*

After a while, Denny steps outside of the room and asks one of the nurses to page O’Malley. George hasn’t been by to visit Izzie since the moment she was admitted and while Izzie may be too proud to ask for him, Denny knows she wants to see him.

“What’s going on, is she okay?” George asks, skidding to a halt outside Izzie’s room.

Denny leans on Izzie’s closed door, his arms crossed over his chest. “She’s fine. But you and I are not. Now I’m not gonna yell,” he says, “because Izzie can see us and she wouldn’t like it. But I am gonna talk and you are going to listen.”

George, who’s honestly a little scared of him, says nothing.

“Good. I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, and frankly, I don’t give a damn. But Izzie is in there, waiting to go into surgery, and she’s sick, and she’s scared, and she needs her best friend. She may not have long and she needs you. So you are gonna go in there and you are gonna apologize to her, then you are going to start coming around more often, or I will find you and kick your ass, you got that?”

“That’s just it,” George explodes, “I’m her best friend, and she didn’t tell me! She wouldn’t talk to me! All those time I asked her what was wrong, and she told Christina, Christina of all people!”

Denny nods, his lips pursed, and gives George a moment. “Got it out of your system?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Denny says. He opens the door, and George follows him into Izzie’s room.

*~*~*~*~*

After a while, Dr. Bailey comes in to do the final prep for her surgery. "Are you ready, Dr. Stevens?"

"Ready as I'll ever be to have my skull opened."

"Denny, you can walk with us until we get to the surgical wing."

And so he does, holding her hand tightly the whole way. He cracks a few jokes along the way, trying to keep her spirits light, but the second they see those big, heavy doors to the surgery wing, he goes quiet.

“This is your last stop, Denny,” Dr. Bailey says kindly as she steps away, “I’ll give you two a moment.”

"We updated the will, right? It's in the safe in the closet" Izzie says desperately to him.

"Izzie-" he tries, but she cuts him off, continuing.

"There's letters in there, too, one for you and my mom. And my friends, you’ll tell them that I love them, right? And, um, just be careful with Meredith because she’s more fragile than she seems and I know Christina can be a bit hard to handle, but—”

"Isobel Stevens,” Denny says fiercely, leaning close to her, “you listen to me. You know, I, uh, don’t really know how to be on this side of this,” he admits. “But I know that you are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. And you are strong and gorgeous and brilliant and you are going to come through this, Izzie. And I know-I know that you can't go into surgery thinking you're going to die, okay? You said that, remember? You are not allowed to die in there. I can't... Izzie…"

"I love you," she says quietly, laying a hand on his cheek and wiping away a stray tear. “No matter what happens I will always love you.” He reciprocates the gesture and leans down to kiss her.

“I love you,” he says, brushing his thumb across her cheek, “you come back to me, Izzie Stevens.” She smiles at him as he lays a gentle kiss on her forehead. When he looks up, Dr. Bailey has already stepped back by Izzie’s side.

“She will see you soon, Denny,” Dr. Bailey says fiercely, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think it sounded like a promise.

*~*~*~*~*

Meredith finds him in the surgical waiting room. “When did they take her in?” she asks, dropping into the seat next to him.

“About fifteen minutes ago. How does fifteen minutes feel like an hour?” He pauses. “I’ve got to admit, it’s a little weird to be on this side of this.”

She chuckles under her breath. “I bet. You know, when you were in for your heart replacement, Dr. Bailey put us in a time out. And Izzie, well, I mean, you know how determined she is. She refused to sit with us, she needed to go check on you.”

“That sounds like Izzie,” he says fondly.

They sit quietly for a moment. “She’s in OR 1, right?” Meredith asks.

“I think so, yeah.”

She gives him a sidelong look. “Do you want to see her?”

So Meredith sneaks him into the observation room under the promise that he will not freak out or tell anyone she let him in. He’s both grateful and a bit resentful. He’s so deliriously happy to be able to see Izzie, to know that she’s still alive, but to see her skull cut open with Derek Shepherd’s hands on her brain is absolutely terrifying. He feels like it’s a car crash; he wants to look away, let the nausea rolling through his stomach take over, but he can’t tear his eyes away from her. And he doesn’t. He sits there through the entire surgery and only sneaks back out when they begin to close her up.

*~*~*~*~*

When she wakes, he’s the first thing she sees. He’s sitting in the chair beside her bed, holding her hand, a little smile on his face. “Hey,” he says quietly, “you did good, Izzie. Dr. Shepherd says they got the whole thing.”

“Good,” she says sleepily. Her eyes are barely open and she’s clearly weak and tired, but she tugs gently on his hand. “Up,” she commands.

“Iz-“ he tries to protest. He knows that she wants him to come up and lie with her, but he’s so nervous that he’ll hurt her. But when she tugs harder and commands him to join her again, he can’t help but acquiesce. She wraps his arms around her and buries herself in his chest. She’s asleep almost instantly.

As for Denny, he lies there awhile, thinking. She survived. She survived this risky surgery, survived having her brain drilled into, survived having pieces of it chopped around, and beyond that, they completely removed the tumor. He knows she’s not out of the woods, but for now, she’s okay, and that’s all he let himself focus on. The here and the now are what he has, and here and now she’s fine and breathing and right beside him. He figures that makes him pretty lucky.

He doesn’t know what the future holds. And he knows she could die and leave him here alone and in all likelihood, she will. But as he strokes her arm, breathes her in, he can’t help but feel like she’s going to make it. Something in the core of his being tells him that she will fight this; that she will come out on the other side more resilient and more determined than ever before.

Whether that’s naïve hope or real intuition, he couldn’t say. Still, he clings to it, and as he drifts off to sleep, he knows that it’s that feeling, and the strength of his love for Izzie, that will keep him strong. She was strong for him once. Now it’s his turn to return the favor.

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emily64cooper · 9 years

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Team Cobra

Title: Team Cobra

Author: emily64cooper

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairing:Aria/Ezra, Hanna/Caleb, Toby

Summary: When Caleb calls Ezra to tell him the news about the girls, Ezra instantly agrees to meet with him and Toby. He knows that they need to band together, to give their girls their best chance.

Author's Note: Spoilers for the season five finale, 5x25: Welcome to the Dollhouse and the previous episode, 5x24: I’m a Good Girl, I Am

"Ezra? It's Caleb. We have to talk," Caleb says through the phone. Ezra is immediately concerned. It's unusual for Caleb to be calling him; he wouldn't necessarily consider the younger man a friend, considering the small amount of time they'd actually spent together.

"Caleb?" he questions. Ezra starts pacing his small kitchen, a nervous habit he'd picked up long ago. "What's going on? I just dropped Mike off at home to Ella, he's fine."

"It's not about Mike," Caleb pauses, searching for the right words, but knowing that there are none. "It's Aria."

Ezra's breath catches in his throat. "Is she alright? What is it?"

"Ezra," Caleb sighs, "She and the girls… they've been arrested-"

"What!? She hasn't done anything! What did they charge her with?" he cuts Caleb off. A million questions are racing through his mind and he stumbles over his words, wanting to ask them all at once. Their entire relationship, they've had to worry about him going to jail, but it's never even crossed his mind that she could end up in jail. He feels guilty for not doing more, for not being able to protect her.

"There's more," Caleb continues. He sounds as defeated as Ezra feels and Ezra instantly knows that whatever he's about to say, it's going to be worse. "They've been kidnapped. A has them."

Ezra feels like he's been hit with a ton of bricks. He has to sit; he drops into one of his kitchen chairs. Not only had Aria been arrested, she'd been kidnapped by the person who'd been tormenting her for years. She and her friends were stuck with this psychopath and he or she could be doing god only knows what to them. To her.

"I'm meeting Toby at his apartment," Caleb offers after a short pause. These three men are the only people in the world who understand what the other is currently going through and how important it is to find these girls. They need to band together, so they can keep themselves together. "Bring your research. We'll see you in ten."

"Make it five," Ezra responds. He immediately starts gathering any research left at his apartment. Then he pauses. "Caleb, we have to find them," he says. There's a tone of finality to his voice, with a touch of desperation, and when he hears it, Ezra recognizes it instantly; it's the same one Caleb had used to speak to him.

Caleb sighs. "I know."

They hang up and Ezra gathers his boxes as quickly as he can. He tries to keep his mind blank as he speeds to Toby's apartment above the Brew. He knows that he can't afford to let his mind wander, because if he does, it'll go down the path of what ifs—what if they never find Aria? What if she never knows just how much he loves her, how much he needs her? What if this bastard hurts her?—it's too much for Ezra to handle.

Instead, he focuses on the men he's about to meet. If anyone can find the girls, it's them, the three of them together. With his research, Caleb's computer skills, and Toby's policework, they're certain to find something. It gives him a sliver of hope.

Ezra knocks on the door, his boxes of research with him. Toby answers and grabs the two boxes from the floor, bringing them inside and setting them on the table. Ezra follows and spies Caleb, tapping away at the computer.

"You ready?" Caleb says by way of a greeting.

Ezra nods. He looks around. It looks like his basement at the cabin had looked while he was obsessing over his research, only this time, the research was for all the right reasons. He looks at Caleb and at Toby and he knows that by banding together, they're giving themselves the best chance. They're giving the girls, giving Aria, the best chance. This has to work. For her.

"Let's do this."

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emily64cooper · 9 years

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Lips of an Angel

Title: Lips of an Angel Author: emily64cooper Rating: PG-13 Characters/Pairing: Aria/Ezra Summary: One night, Ezra is sitting on his New York City fire escape when he gets a call from Aria, his past love whom he hasn't heard from in years. His girlfriend sleeps peacefully in the next room. Author's Note: Songfic to Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel”. Written for L.J. McMahon

Honey why you calling me so late? It's kinda hard to talk right now. Ezra sat on his fire escape, his feet resting a few steps below the landing. He held a glass of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His phone lay beside him. Since moving to New York, this fire escape had become his safe haven, a place he could go to escape everyone and everything. Watching the flickering city lights brought him a kind of peace that he hadn't known had since those nights in apartment 3B.

There was a sharp knock at the window before it opened. "You coming to bed anytime soon?" She sounded defeated. Ezra wondered if she'd picked that up from him or because of him.

"Not yet, Ang," he replied.

Ezra heard her sigh as she walked away. Feeling guilty, he quickly downed the rest of his scotch. He'd never been an avid drinker before moving back to New York, but things had been different then.

His phone buzzed beside him and he picked it up without checking the caller ID. He knew who it was.

"Ezra," she breathed.

"You're late," he responded. He glanced over at the open window that led to his and Angie's bedroom. "She just went to sleep."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I couldn't get away from..."

"I get it," Ezra said quietly. Honey why are you crying? Is everything okay? I gotta whisper ‘cause I can’t be too loud. They were both silent for a moment. Ezra took one last drag of his cigarette, then put it out against the rail and let it fall to the ground. He watched it absentmindedly, waiting until it dropped out of existence to look back out at the city.

“Ezra,” she said a little desperately. Her breathing hitched. Even after all this time, he knew instantly that that meant that something was wrong, that she was about to cry. “Aria?” he questioned, concerned. “What if this is a mistake?” she sobbed. He wasn’t sure what she was referring to; these weekly phone calls or the marriage proposal that had set them off. “Hey,” he soothed softly, after a little while. “Worry about it tomorrow. Let’s just... be here, for now, okay?” Ezra hated to hear her cry. More than that, he hated not being able to do anything about it. He desperately wished, even if just for a moment, that he could take her in his arms again, that he could feel her heart beating in time with his own, and wipe away her tears, disguising his feelings for her as kisses he scattered through her hair. Instead, all he had were words, the very same words she’d uttered to him a lifetime ago. My girl’s in the next room Sometimes I wish she was you I guess we never really moved on It’s funny, the way life works out. When Ezra had thought about his future, all those years ago in the quiet serenity of 3B, this was never what he had expected. He’d figured The New Brew would have been successful, but he would have gone back to teaching anyway once Aria had graduated. They would have been married, maybe even have had a kid by now. They would have found a decently-sized home on the outskirts of Philadelphia, not too far from her family and friends in Rosewood, but far enough to give them their own life, away from the judging eyes of past antagonists. He had been so wrong. After everything went south between them, and things did go south pretty quickly, Ezra had packed up and headed to New York to regroup, where he’d lived ever since. He’d found a tiny, hole-in-the-wall apartment above a bar, which ended up being a perfect arrangement, since it encouraged the drinking habit he’d picked up. It was there that he first met Angie. She was reading there by herself one Wednesday night. He’d asked about her book, and they had somehow ended up back in his apartment. If she was upset that he’d called her by Aria’s name when he’d drunkenly climaxed, she said nothing. They’d been together only a few months when he got the first call from Aria. It was supposed to be a courtesy call, informing him that she and her proper-aged boyfriend fiance had gotten engaged and would be moving out to California. She called again a week later, letting him know they hadn’t found an apartment. And again the next week, to let him know that they had. By week five of their calls, she’d dropped all pretenses. “I’ve just missed you so much,” she’d cried. “I know,” he’d said, his voice clipped in case Angie overheard, “me too”. It’s really good to hear your voice saying my name It sounds so sweet Coming from the lips of an angel “Ezra, it’s wrong, isn’t it?” Aria asked once her tears had subsided, “what we’re doing to Carter and to Angie?” “Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “It still doesn’t feel wrong.” Again, they both went silent. For two people who each had such a way with words, it was incredible how often their conversations turned to silence. “It’s just a phone call, Aria,” Ezra placated. “Do you remember,” she asked suddenly, “when Noel Khan wrote that message on the back of your car? I sat down at my desk in your classroom and I asked you if you would go back, but you turned around and asked me if I would? I said no, and we agreed to go forward.”

“I remember.” “I change my mind. I want to go back.” Hearing those words, it makes me weak And I never want to say goodbye “Aria,” he sighed warningly. He loved to hear her talk like that. It reminded him of days past, of how utterly, hopelessly in love they had been with one another. Every time she told him how much she missed him or loved him or wanted him back, his heart soared. But he hated that kind of talk, too, for it reminded him of everything he’d lost. It scared him. That kind of talk was nearly enough to break his resolve, to send him crashing into her life like an ill-timed tidal wave, sweeping her up off her feet and back into his arms. But he knew better, and underneath it all, so did she. No matter how much they both longed for each other, they had to move on. Their time had passed. Now, they were simply ships in the night, passing quietly by and making do with the hand they’d been dealt; their secret phone calls a vestige of something that had long ago been snuffed out. “I know,” Aria murmured. And she did. She did know. Aria understood just as well as he did that after their call ended, they would both go to bed, go back to their lives. Aria would reenter the master suite through the giant French doors she had insisted she needed. She’d slip back into her fiancée’s four-poster California King bed and turn her back to him so couldn’t see the guilt etched across her face as she drifted to sleep. Ezra would make his way back into the apartment through the window, careful to keep quiet. He’d strip off his jeans and t-shirts—the button-downs and vests that had made up his teacher costume had never managed to make it to New York with him—and sink into his bed. He’d let Angie curl herself around him in her sleep; he’d stare down at her, her petite frame reminding him of another, and wonder why she stayed with him at all. And in the morning, both Aria and Ezra would awaken and go about their daily routines as if nothing had ever happened. But girl you make it hard to be faithful With the lips of an angel Aria and Carter would get married. Aria had already said yes, and she wasn’t one to quit things lightly, especially when it came to love. She would be happy. Occasionally, she’d be tempted to leave, to find Ezra and pick up where they left off, but she wouldn’t. Ezra didn’t know what would happen to him. He did love Angie, even if he failed to show it. And since he knew Aria wouldn’t leave Carter, he wouldn’t leave Angie. But these calls didn’t make anything any easier. He desperately wished that they had started these calls years ago, when it could have helped them, when it would have mattered. Now it was too late for them. Their time had passed and they knew it. Someday the calls would too. So they clung to these phone calls, gently kindling the dying embers of their relationship that once was and never would be again. They had each other if only for now, in the dead of the night; and that was enough. Honey why you calling me so late?

#pretty little liars #pll fanfiction #pll fanfics #pll #ezria #aria/ezra #aria montgomery #ezra fitz #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #pretty little liars fanfiction

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