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spiltscribbles · 5 years

Note

combo of 7 & 8 for pynch hehe :)

Notes: Thank you so much love!!! | Send Me A Prompt

“It’s the last straw! I’m done! I’m over it!” Blue stabs the spoon into her yogurt, teeth clenched, and knuckles white. Adam, like the good friend he is, just calmly slides it out of her hand and gives her a banana instead.

“She’s not that bad of a roommate,” he tells her with a one armed shrug. The look she shoots him can only be described as the personification of betrayal. Adam can’t believe it’s the third time he’s rolled his eyes at her and it hasn’t hit nine in the morning yet.

“They were naked Adam! Nude! Birthday suits!”

“The biblical state,” Henry tacks on and Blue nods along graciously.

Make it four times before nine in the morning.

“It’s Orla…. She’s eccentric

“It was on the couch! I sit on that couch Adam!” blue hits her hand against the table, fully indignant now.

“I really would recommend having it at the very least steam cleaned before partaking in that activity again,” Henry advises sagely as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Oh no! No way! I will never sit on that couch another day of my life!”

“Glad to see you’re taking this reasonably,” Adam says, voice blithe, as he brings their cereal bowls to the sink.

“Don’t start with me Adam! You haven’t seen the things I have! The freckles and birthmarks— The hair.” Blue shutters and henry slings an arm around her slim shoulders in comfort, clucking his tongue all the while.

Fifth…. It’s been the fifth time now.

“So how do you reckon you’ll live in there without sitting on the couch ever again?” He needles with a quirked brow, fully having decided to just fall into the dramatics. It’s always easier for him at the end of the day when just excepting it.

“I’m moving out! Duh.”

“Oo, My Blueberry is becoming her very own American woman!” Henry preens. “Let me get you a chic new outfit Sabrina style!”

“That movie is sexist and culturally appropriates middle eastern garb.” Blue sniffs.

“Good to know that the new Blue has still got all her old spunk.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Adam tells them, lips pinched.

“We bring bursts of color into your otherwise stale existence,” Blue argues loftily.

“Ridiculous,” Adam repeats with feeling.

“Lying doesn’t become you my dear Henrietta Prince,” Henry tells him far too frankly before turning his attention back to Blue. “You know you’ve got a place here if you want it.”

“Where?” Blue snorts. “In your living room?”

“Our couch doesn’t have naked Orla germs,” Adam offers halfheartedly.

Blue just levels him with a unimpressed look, and Adam’s got flashbacks to junior year when Maura caught the pair of them getting drunk off Persephone’s peach wine coolers.

It’s terrifying.

“Charming. But no need, I’ve already begun sifting around for places nearby that are looking for a new roommate.”

Adam takes the papers she’s already printed off and begins shuffling through them.

“This one has like five cats,” he tells her with a curled lip.

“It sounds homey.”

“You’re allergic,” Adam rebukes.

“I’m desperate Adam!” Blue reminds him.

“This one has a picture of him wearing a MAGA hat on his facebook profile pic,” Henry informs her, holding a second listing.

“Okay not that desperate,” Blue crumples it up and tosses it to the side. Adam would tell her to throw it in the trash like an adult but reasons she’s having a moment.

“Mmm, what about this one,” she waves around the paper and Henry takes it to look over himself.

“It’s with three random dudes.”

“Three normal looking dudes,” Blue presses. “And so to reiterate, I’m desperate.”

“Ted Bundy was a normal looking dude,” Adam charges, making Blue glare at him menacingly.

“Adam I can still see flesh in my nightmares!”

Sixth, sixth time he’s rolled his eyes. Jesus fucking Christ Adam is gonna be sent to an early grave because of an aneurism from them.

The problem is that when Blue sets her mind on something, not even the angels above can dissuade her from it, so that’s why Adam spends his Saturday afternoon— the only one he’s had off from a shoot in literally three months— driving to some sketch apartment with her and Henry, in the latter’s abrasively flashy sports car.

He feels like a fraud.

“Blueberry are you sure you put in the right address?” Henry asks, face scrunched in confusion once they cruise into the open parking spot in front of a dilapidated looking manufacturing building.

Blue flickers her eyes back down towards her phone before glancing up with a sure nod.

“Look it says Monmouth right over there on the sign near the front door. This’s the right place.”

“Right place to get murdered,” Adam intones darkly.

Blue only tosses him a glare before slipping out.

“Are we bad people for going along with this?” Henry asks Adam, his mouth downturned in concern.

“Nah, we were bad people long before this.” Adam assures him wryly before following suit.

“I don’t want a new roommate,” Ronan tells Gansey for the third time in the past hour. In turn, Gansey only rolls his eyes before trying to stuff the old pizza boxes into the trash can. God fucking damn it, Helen’s right, they do live like pigs.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Noah contends. “It’ll bring some new energy in this place.”

“Oy, what did I tell you about saying shit like energy and chakras.”

“That’s it’s something a douche hipster would say and you’d throw me out a window if you heard it again.”

“And yet.”

“All I can say to that is dude you need to clear your chakras.” Noah says, fully goading, and making it so an unexpected laugh tears out of Ronan, the total prick.

“For the love that is all holy and right, will you two please just attempt to act normal when she gets here.”

“It’s a girl?”

“A girl with models as friends,” Noah perks, completely beaming. “And you know what that means,” Noah winks and Ronan, for the good of the public, cuffs him on the back of the head. Hard.

“You fucking sly dog, how do you even know that?”

“Preliminary interview through the phone,” Noah shrugs. “She sounds nice, better than living with that guy with a pet snake.”

“That snake was fucking cool.” Ronan argues.

“There’s a one pet limit here, and your raven has taken the slot.” Gansey huffs, hand on his hip like Aurora would do if Ronan and Declan were being especially rowdy. “And Noah don’t ask about her model friends, that’s creepy.”

“That’s kind of my shtick man.” Noah points out, wide eyed.

“Less horror film creepy and more loser from Revenge of the Nerds creepy,” Gansey clarifies scoldingly.

Noah swallows down a lump, properly cowed.

It’s right then when the doorbell rings and Gansey frantically puts in the last of the empty cups into the dishwasher from the sink before scurrying to the doorway, Noah and Ronan on his heals.

Ronan knows he lost the battle and the war the moment the door swings open and the first thing the pixie sized, colorfully dressed girl says is a glowing “Blank 182?” While gesturing towards Noah’s… Well Noah’s everything.

Noah looks like the cat who’s gotten into the cream, Gansey looks more glowing than usual, and Ronan can’t take his eyes off the sandy haired boy she’s brought along with her.

Living with Blue is a beast that Ronan can’t quite figure out how to defeat.

She, probably like any sane person, expects the house to be in some sort of semblance— aka no more jackets and other innocuous articles of clothing thrown about the shared living space, and for dishes to be rinsed after use and put into the dishwasher accordingly.

“Your rooms can be as trashy as you want, but can we please not make the whole place a pigsty,” she had sniffed with a cocked head and jut out hip. Gansey of course nodded giddily— on account to his staring at her all moony ever since meeting her— Noah had shrugged, indifferent. But Ronan held out as long as possible, sneer on his lips. But alas, she met his every zig with a zag and he found himself in a stalemate.

But Ronan could deal with the tidiness and even the impromptu yoga sessions she holds with randoms from her classes at university. Hell he could deal with her weird obsession with Yogurt too, and can actually listen to her rants about the patriarchy and institutional blocks that keeps the impoverished and people of color and women down from being able to achieve feats once only meant for wealthy white men. Fuck, Ronan’s come to think her particular brand of spitfire humor is actually hilarious.

So yes all of this is fine. But with Blue comes them. Henry Cheng, best friend she met at some art class her freshman year. And fucking Adam Parrish, apparently someone she’s known for so long and so intimately that she refers to him as family more often than not.

And yeah. Ronan is not jealous and Noah needs to take that fucking sneer off his face.

“You’re jealous!”

“I am not jealous!” Ronan yells emphatically for the fifth time.

“Ronan has a crush!”

“Noah God so help me!” He threatens, totally venomous.

“You’re in loveee!”

“Noah I will destroy you!”

Okay so Ronan might be sorta, kinda, not jealous…. But bothered. Yes Bothered. He’s bothered because he can’t fucking figure out Blue and Adam’s deal. One second they’re sniping at one another about the economy and the next she’s lying her head in his lap while he’s carding a hand through her hair.

Fucking salacious shit.

But occasionally, on especially good days, Blue falls asleep early and instead of going back home right away, Adam stays. He stays and he shares a drink with Ronan on the porch and they talk about nothing really, but also a lot of things. Ronan find’s out he basically grew up with Blue, that she was his first everything. He’s deaf in his left ear and he didn’t mean to fall into modeling but he didn’t have enough money to finish the semester at MIT and instead of giving up he took up some side gigs which eventually culminated into a career of his own.

Ronan finds out that Adam’s favorite flavor of ice cream is cow tracks and his front tooth is chipped from behind. Adam has a small, crooked smile and when he laughs its more breath than sound and its absolutely lovely.

Ronan finds this all out but still has no idea whether he has a shot.

And again, he’s bothered.

“I vote on something classic,” Blue tells them with a sip of her shake. (Read the shake Adam bought but Blue somehow still always drinks half of even while she complains about being on a diet, which then leads her to grouse about how Adam stays narrow and lithe even if he eats four quarter pounders back to back).

Sadly, this happened once and only once when Adam was especially stressed over a finals week and hadn’t eaten for literally three straight days.

She really has seen him at his worst.

“Ooo, let’s watch some singing in the rain! I’m ready to belt out some toons.” Henry crows.

“Oh well if it includes your perfectly pitched singing,” Adam says flatly. Blue promptly elbow checks him and Henry waggles his tongue out.

“Sounds good to me Henry, so where?”

“Your place?” Adam says, brow kinked and trying to smother down the hopefulness in his voice. Of course, it doesn’t work. They know him better than anyone else, and they immediately stick him with matching smirks.

“Pray tell Parrish, me and you have the better entertainment system by far, and yet you’ve been insistent on heading to Blueberry’s place for our weekly movie nights for the past two months…. Hah, I wonder what two months signify?”

“Ooo ooo! I know Henry, I know!” Blue teases swinging her arm up high like an excited school girl. “I just moved into Monmouth and Then Adam over here got all slack jawed and goofily eyed over my scary roommate!”

“Blueberry gets the point!” Henry squawks, giving her a makeshift bracelet out of the straw wrapper.

Adam looks at them both with as much fury as he could muster, cheeks infused red, and jaw locked.

In retort, they only laugh ebulliently.

Adam is so tempted to make new friends.

Ronan opens the door on a random Thursday afternoon a week later and Adam steels his nerves, not about to back down.

“Oh, ah Parrish.” His prominent brows furrow together, suspicious. “Maggot isn’t here yet.”

“I know,” Adam says, head tipped high. “Can I come in?”

Ronan only shrugs as he moves aside to give him the room to enter.

“You look like you have something squirming up your ass,” Ronan tells him, as blunt and as crass as ever.

Adam silently questions to the universe why is it that he’s so resoundingly attracted to him for that.

“You’re so eloquent with your words Lynch, you know that?” Adam tells him, completely flat, and making it so Ronan’s answering grin is something feral and amused.

“So you gonna just stand there looking pretty or actually get it out?”

“Jesus Christ, do you have an ounce of patience in your entire body?”

“I sweat it out at the gym, you wouldn’t know that skinny.” Ronan barbs, hip checking him while he struts to the kitchen.

Adam just glares after his form… His well built and deliciously broad shoulders.

“Still got enough muscle to beat your ass,” Adam teases and Ronan leers, impressed. Adam walks closer, magnetized.

“So Blue’s enlightened me about something.”

Ronan hikes up a brow, betraying his mask of indifference.

“Is that right. What? Did Maggot make you understand that the hand holding and lovey-dovey looks are getting abrasive?”

Adam is utterly confused to what he’s talking about— Did he find out about the crush, and if so does that mean he’s already, wordlessly rejected Adam. Is Ronan completely uncomfortable right now.

Adam shakes off the questions, is determined to just plunge in for once in his life without beating a situation to death with analysis.

“She’s enlightened me that my crush on you is getting to ridiculous levels of yearning and i should just ask you out like an adult.”

A thousand different expressions pull at Ronan’s face until finding landing at something Adam can only call aw.

“Oh— Ah, wait. Wait do you like me?”

Adam rolls his eyes heavenwards. God he really is going to get an aneurysm.

“You are such a doofus,” Adam sighs before inkling his head forwards and kissing Ronan senseless.

Ronan grabs his head and presses impossibly closer.

Later that night, when Henry and Blue march in with the decided upon movie they both begin to preen at the sight of them, exchange bills with Noah and Gansey too.

Again, Adam is going to be sent to an early grave. But hey, if in the meanwhile Ronan does that thing with his tongue, Adam will at least enjoy his final earthly days.

#PYNCH #ADAM PARRISH #RONAN LYNCH #THE RAVEN CYCLE #Spilled Ink #rainy day prompts #SPILT INK

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nyndelion · 4 years

Text

Wednesday 18/march

i’m officially in quarantine and i figured out i should have a sort of diary where i put the things i do every day or else these 3 months i have ahead will feel like a full block of nothing and thats just depressing.

So i’m gonna make a daily post where i put a list of things i did that day. It’s gonna be under a read more so if u dont really care about it u can just skip it c:

Morning

I woke up to the sound of Nina (my cat) crying for food. I had to take her to the vet to take blood samples and she had to not eat for 8 hours before that.

My mom drove me to the vet with Nina. I could listen to a dog crying nearby but i didnt saw anyone else but the cashier and the professionals that took the samples. they also cut Nina’s nails and back hair. Nina was calm all along.

Then me and Nina waited in the car for my mom while she went to the bank and to buy some things downtown. I put some music.

Afternoon

we went back home and I showered. I helped my mom wash the dishes and put away groceries. Then my dad arrived home.

We ate cazuela and assorted salads. We were listening to 80′s synthpop music and joking with my brothers.

After lunch me and my brothers went upstairs and me and Nano (my little brother) played minecraft. Then my parents told us they would be grocery shopping yet again and that i should go out to buy cat litter bc stores that arent supermarkets will be closed tomorrow. So I did, and also bought cinnamon and yoghurt to make some muffins some day soon

Then i came back home, hung up clothes from the washing machine as my mom told me to before leaving. Went back on the computer but just to scroll tumblr and chat on discord

I messaged Josefa (my friend i have feeling for) and showed her the russian dream experiment illustrations i had told her about yesterday. She wants to make a piece of art about an idea we came up to revolving cosmic horror and vengeance on multibillionaires. I want to write the story and she wants to illustrate it. I am very happy about this

my parents came back home and asked for help to set up a mini office for my dad in the computer room next to my room.

then i decided to continue working on an eene drawing i started las sunday when visiting my abuela kela

searched for some elsa farrus and buzzfeed unsolved videos just to put them on watch later

Night

received Nina’s blood test results on my mail but i dont know what it all mean. I’ll have to go back to the vet tomorrow so they tell me whats up and i give back the cat box they let me borrow.

went downstairs to eat dinner (cazuela leftovers and lentejas soup) while watching ice age

then i prepared tea and went upstairs, decided to practice guitar. Played machine gun by slowdive, take me to church by hozier and learned försvinn du som lyser by finntroll. I took a video of me playing it and decided to tell the new whatsapp music group from the trans peers group im in to practice songs daily and share videos or audios there so its a way we feel more supported to actually practice. I shared the video i took of me playing the song in the chat and also to Josefa. The all loved it, though only Josefa knows the song. I feel very happy to have decided this.

I played some levels from super mario world on Nano’s nintendo switch because he is stuck. I finished 7 levels but then got stuck as well.

now i’m listening to life is strange soundtrack and still deciding if i want to keep practicing guitar, working on my eene drawing, start writing the cosmic horror short story or watch the videos i set up earlier. I might scroll tumblr for a while and decide then.

To do (tomorrow / some other day)

watch the new buzzfeed unsolved video

tidy my room

organize my college stuff

organize stuff i have to read (both college related and unrelated)

take a video of me playing a take me to church cover (TOMORROW)

work on my wips

start brainstorming for the cosmic horror short story

work on the song Neka (my friend) and I will play someday (its a song called ‘Kaos’ and i just got to figure out a guitar line over Neka’s vocals)

also practice some bass

#diary #nyn.txt #long post #corona coping

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sprnklersplashes · 6 years

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Across My Memory (9/?)

AO3

Emma’s tenth birthday party was, as to be expected, quite the affair. The ballroom was draped in streamers of every colour under the rainbow; hanging from the chandeliers, from the windows, from the gallery overhead. Large gold and silver bows were tied tightly around the columns that held up the ceiling, sparkling when they caught the evening sunlight. The marble stairs were covered with thick purple carpet, which was a beautiful compliment for the white of the staircase and perfect for hiding any stains-and with the amount of wine and chocolate that was being served, those stains were a given. The curtains had been changed to light blue, the same as Emma’s sleeveless party dress, and the balcony doors were open to let the cool autumn air into the warm room.

Emma was, of course, the one everyone had their eyes on. With her golden hair in a loose braid down her back and her dress billowing around her, she was most certainly the belle of the ball. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she whirled from guest to guest, curtseying politely to neighbouring kings and queens who had come just for the occasion, offering her most sincere thanks to them for making the journey, all done in a small, polite voice, meanwhile being considerably less ceremonial and formal with her old family friends.

“I’m surprised you could make it,” she said to Roland, who had run ahead of his parents the minute they entered the ballroom and he had laid eyes on Emma, despite Marian calling him to slow down. At fourteen, Roland towered over her, his voice beginning to break, but he still retained the soft face and endless energy of his boyhood. Emma was sure he’d never run out of energy. When they raced together in the forest, she nearly always collapsed in exhaustion first. “I was sure they’d mistake you for a petty thief and turn you away at the door.”

“They don’t mistake me for a thief,” he giggled, and he lifted a small, silver bracelet out of his pocket, raising an eyebrow. “I am one.”

“Roland of Locksley give that back right now!” Emma squeaked, looking around, hoping and praying her parents were not close by. “You’re on thin enough ice with my father already after what happened with the squirrels you let loose in his bedroom-”

“I didn’t let them loose in the bedroom, I let them loose upstairs. They just happened to find their way to his bedroom,” he reminded her.

“If he finds out you’ve been stealing, he’ll definitely ban you from the palace,” she finished, but her words were empty, her concern false. Nothing could make her father banish Roland. Aside from being one of Emma’s closest friends, his parents, Robin Hood and Marian, had been vital to her mother’s survival during the dark times, the reign of the Evil Queen. Marian had protected her by refusing to give up Snow’s location, and the Merry Men had fought alongside her several times. Her family owed his a debt that could never be repaid, and as a result, Roland was welcome in the castle as if it was his own home.

Even if he loved to test her father’s patience a little more with each visit.

“Oh, I’ll slip it back on the lady’s wrist before the night is out,” he assured her, putting the bracelet back into the pocket of his jacket. He and his family may still choose to live a relatively simple life; his father went back to running the tavern after Snow was crowned, while his mother was hired to teach archery to Misthaven’s army, but they keep themselves presentable, especially on nights such as tonight. With his crisp white shirt and smart blue jacket, Roland could almost pass for a member of court. “Anyway, let’s sneak a peek at your birthday presents, shall we?”

“Roland,” Emma whispered as he made his way up to the back table, which was already supporting quite a number of decorated boxes and bags. “We can’t, not yet.”

“Why not?” he asked, his eyes gleaming as he scans the array of gifts.

“Because my mother said not to,” she replied. “We wait until everyone is here before we start opening gifts.”

“Well we’re not opening anything.” His hand trails over each present, poking and prodding to guess what’s inside, tilting some left and right. “Nothing breakable yet.”

“Roland,” Emma said. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, I, as your friend and princess, am asking you not to do it.”

“Emma, I need to tell you something very, very important,” he said solemnly. “I don’t listen to princesses.”

Before Emma could even think of a reply, Roland took off, a gift wrapped in shiny green paper under his arm.

“Roland!” Emma shouted, momentarily forgetting where she was, and more importantly, who she was with, in order to chase after him.

Her parents stood at the side, her father’s fist clenching as he maintained a false smile.

“I know how much you care for Roland,” he whispered to his wife. “I do too, but he gets into more trouble than should be possible for just one person.”

“David, he’s a teenager,” Snow sighed, looking from the curious little two year old on her hip to the slightly embarrassed man at her side. “And more than that, a teenage boy. You were one once, and I seem to remember your mother delighting me with tales of what you were like that fourteen.”

“I was not as bad as he is,” David protested, watching Emma chase Roland around the ballroom like a dog chasing a cat through a garden. Beside him, Snow didn’t even attempt to disguise her chuckle. “I was not!”

“Of course,” she said, looking back to Robert, who was fascinated by the necklace around her neck, his chubby, sticky fingers dancing on the chain. “I just hope you’re not going to be that bad, Bobbie.”

Meanwhile, Emma continued to chase Roland, which would have been difficult enough given that his much longer legs allowed him to plough ahead of her, and his years of running up and down the forest meant he was already much faster than her, but factor in the dress and slight heels in her shoes, and it was nearly hopeless.

Roland began running up the stairs while Emma was still gently pushing her way through the crowd, and Charming began to have the idea to intervene and put a stop to this before someone inevitably got hurt. Emma was getting more and more out of breath and was starting to get frustrated. She felt her hands beginning to tingle and grow warm, but she didn’t question it, thinking it was a combination of the running and the crowded room and the anger.

Until the present disappeared from Roland’s hands in a cloud of golden sparkles and reappeared in her own hands in under a second.

It was as though someone had flipped a switch; one moment the ballroom was alive with chatter and music, the next it was completely silent. Emma stared at the package as if it was a feral animal, her hands trembling underneath it. Roland slid down the banister and ran to her side, wiping the tears of confusion that began to leak from her eyes as her cheeks turned red. No one recoiled away from her; that stigma against magic was long gone, but they didn’t move any closer either.

Emma barely registered her mother helping her away, guiding her slowly out of the ballroom while her father was addressing guests. She took her into an alcove in the hallway and held her until she came back to herself and the shock passed, and her hands stopped shaking.

“It’s okay, Emma,” Snow whispered, smoothing down her hair. “It’s okay.”

“Did I make that happen?” Emma asked, half fearful, half confused.

“Yes, you did,” she replied, taking the present out of her hands and setting it gently on the floor before holding her daughter’s hands in hers. “And it’s okay, Emma. We did know you having magic was a possibility.”

“You did?” Emma asked, frowning. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well,” Snow began, wincing. “We thought it best to not tell you, in case it never developed, and you’d be disappointed. Since the curse wasn’t cast, and you were never the Saviour, we just thought that you’d never get magic.”

“I wish you had told me,” Emma confessed. “That was scary.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Snow said, rubbing her hands up and down her daughter’s arms. “But it’s okay. It’s okay now, we just need to work on helping you learn how to use it.”

“How?” Emma asked.

“Your dad and I can start looking at tutors tomorrow,” she said. Emma nodded, giving a shaky smile. “But that can wait until tomorrow. Now we’ve got a big pile of presents and a party to get back to.”

*****

The apartment was a pigsty. Apparently between working at Granny’s, trying to break the curse, and the occasional wallowing in her own self-pity, she had forgotten about keeping her apartment in order. Her room wasn’t too bad; clothes strewn on the floor, the bin was a bit overflowing, dirt on the floor but nothing that five minutes with a vacuum cleaner couldn’t fix. The kitchen was a slightly different story; dishes left in the sink, stains on the countertops built up from dinners and coffees and who knew what else, dust collecting on the windowsill. The bathroom sinks needed scrubbing, the toilets needed cleaning, the living room had magazines and wrappers on the floor.

The real mystery was her brother’s room. At home, Robert had never been much for cleanliness. She had lost count of the amount of times she’d listened to her mother tell him to keep his room tidy; there were often periods of time she would chase after him every day, begging him to tidy his room.

“What’s the point?” he’d always say. “I doubt whoever is coming around is going to be sitting in my room.”

“The point is keeping this castle in order!” her mother would sigh as she followed him down the hallway. “And don’t you come crying to me when you can’t find your riding jacket or your sword!”

Emma hastily wiped the tear off her cheek; she could always give some excuse about dust allergies or sneezing if Jonathan asked questions and decided to dedicate her one day off to a deep clean of the apartment. Hopefully it was going to take her mind off the curse. The previous night had been particularly bad; five hours of sleep and more than a few tears shed in the bathroom. The crushing weight of the curse sat on her chest every night, the one she was meant to break. And yet she felt more and more like an anti-Saviour every day. And so small distractions were welcome, even if they did come with twinges of guilt.

“Hey, what’s your room like?” Emma asked her brother at breakfast. His uncombed hair was falling into his eyes, his shirt was unbuttoned, and his tie still sat dangling around his neck. This did not bode well.

“Why?” he asked, drawing his arms closer around him, hunching his shoulders slightly.

He may as well have had ‘you don’t want to know’ tattooed on his forehead.

“Because I’m planning on cleaning this place today,” she said. “Finally breaking into all those cleaning supplies under the sink. Vacuumed carpets, cleaned dishes, polished table tops, the whole enchilada. So, I need to know how bad your room is before I even agree to setting foot in there.”

“It’s not that bad.” Emma raised an eyebrow, making her brother rub the back of his neck. “It could be worse. Hypothetically.” Emma rolled her eyes, laughing into her coffee. “Look, Jenny, don’t do too much to my room. I’ll do the big stuff.”

“Like the barrels of toxic waste?” Emma asked playfully. “Or the alien specimen from Area 51?” Jonathan laughed, bright and happy, not in the way the teenage boys from this realm laughed, but it made Emma smile. “Go get presentable. I’ll walk you to the bus, then make a start on your room.”

“I mean it Jen,” he said again as she walked him to the bus stop, hands stuck in the pockets of her coat. “Just look after the little stuff. When I get home, I’ll tackle the really important stuff.”

“Not before you do your homework,” Emma reminded him.

As they walked, they passed Jia’s boutique. There in the window was the red coat Emma had admired. She tried not to look at it, but she still her eyes were drawn to it. Sitting on the mannequin, the red standing vibrant against the black shirt underneath. She wiggled her shoulders, feeling the worn fabric of her own coat with a heavy heart.

After leaving Jonathan at the bus stop, she headed straight back to her apartment and made good on her promise. She used her smartphone to put on some good music; she’s discovered an affection for pop anthems sung by middle aged men released in the 1990s, and first made a start on her room. She managed to almost find a rhythm in it. It wasn’t too different to work at Granny’s, but far less hectic. She could control it. Work at her own speed.

And she’d take anything she can actually control at this point.

The kitchen was almost just as easy; she wiped down counter tops while swaying her hips and singing along to the music coming from her phone, whirling around, dancing and making the kitchen into her own private ballroom.

She moved onto the living room, stacking old magazines up, putting most of them in a pile to be thrown out, keeping some of the ones that were relatively new and worth maybe another read on a boring, slow day (hey, they were trashy, but she couldn’t deny she had a secret fondness for them), vacuumed the floor, then made a start on the coffee table, sifting through old newspapers, finding some of her brother’s textbooks and homework’s. She really needed to have a conversation with him about his organisation skills.

Under the table, she found a dust covered copy of Romeo and Juliet, back from when her and Mr Elliot were still meeting. She curled up on the floor and opened it, fingers gentle against the yellowing pages. Inside the cover, her curse name, Jenny Bird, was written in blue ink, and almost every page was covered with annotations and highlighted words, the handwriting getting less legible as the book went on. Romeo and Juliet had been the first book Jenny and Mr Elliot had worked on together.

Of course, this realm’s version of events were fairly far from what actually happened; making the story far more tragic. The Romeo and Juliet she knew had happily married, escaping their quarrelling families to another land.

One Regina’s curse didn’t hit.

Her heart sank at Mr Elliot’s short annotations on the margins of the pages in his looped cursive she had known since she was a child. Missing Merlin was different to missing Henry or her parents or Killian. He had often kept her sane, been a beacon of hope, helping pull out the best parts of herself. Merlin had shaped her into the person she was; not just with regard to magic but taught her to never give up, to look for a new way, to believe in herself. Killian and her parents had kept her confidence growing, but Merlin was the one who first planted it in her, all those years ago. Made her believe she could be a Saviour.

Missing her family was a sharp, hot pain in her heart, whereas missing Merlin was a dull ache in her chest. Part of it was because she knew that if he was here, he’d know exactly what to do. He could have the entire curse broke in two minutes.

And he could have been here, but he wasn’t. That was one of the worst parts; knowing Merlin was close to her, just a heartbreak away from regaining his memories, but until then, she was on her own. She had naively thought that he would be waiting for her when she woke up, that he had broken her heart-or rather, Jenny’s heart-on purpose to get her back. But Regina’s curse was clearly stronger than she thought if it was keeping the strongest mind she knew trapped. And the longer she went without his help, the more lost she began to feel.

*****

The search for Emma’s magic tutor had now taken two weeks. Two weeks of interviews, looking at resumes (some so long they needed to be bound in books), smiling politely as they left and then husband and wife shaking their heads at each other. It was hopeless. For the most part, they were either crotchety old men who took their foreboding aura with them, all wicked smiles and rubbing their hands together, con artists they could tell from the moment that they never had an ounce of magic, or witches from the street who dealt in low magic; mere parlour tricks.

“This is impossible,” Snow sighed. David’s eyebrows shot up; as far as he was concerned, the word ‘impossible’ and his wife existed in two different universes. He wasn’t entirely sure it was in her vocabulary. “What’s that face for?”

“We’ve been married for over ten years,” he said softly. “And I think this is the first time I have ever heard you say the word impossible.” Snow shook her head and smiled but placed her chin on her folded arms.

“David what if we don’t find someone?” she asked. “What if Emma ends up alone in all this?”

“Don’t think like that, there’s still options,” he told her, looking over the list of rejects. “What about that woman from the Northern Isles? She seemed-”

“She only works in water magic,” Snow cut him off. “And Emma’s magic isn’t elemental, it’s different. It’s…. I don’t know David, but when I saw it at her birthday, it looked light. It felt light.”

“I agree.” The voice didn’t belong to either of them. Snow leapt to her feel, David just behind her, drawing his sword, the two guards at the door in similar positions, running towards the figure standing before them.

He was young, with incredibly old eyes, handsome and had the kind of smile that told you he knew it. He was being incredibly casual for someone who had apparently broken into the King and Queen’s private chambers. The two swords at his back and one at his chest didn’t faze him at all.

“You might want to be careful where you point that,” he said, his voice warm and smooth and inviting, gently pushing Charming’s sword away from him. “Someone could get seriously hurt.”

“That’s kind of the idea,” Snow said, although it was half hearted at best. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to apply for the tutor position,” he said casually. “You did advertise that you wanted a tutor in magic for your young daughter, didn’t you?”

“Well…. Yes,” Charming said, sliding his sword back into its sheath, but not letting go of the hilt. “But the thing is, we prefer when applicants knock the door.”

“Oh, did I do this wrong?” the stranger asked, sarcasm just rolling off his tongue ever so slightly. “I do apologise. I am a bit out of practice when it comes to this sort of thing.”

“Job interviews?” Snow snorted, raising an eyebrow.

“Talking to people,” he corrected. “Now, my qualifications?” A pile of scrolls, about twelve or thirteen, appeared on the desk, all pristine white paper and tied with blue, red, gold, green and silver ribbons. “I thought I’d take extra care with the presentation. I would very much like this job.” He spoke with such easy confidence that Snow was both impressed and a bit annoyed.

“Name?” she asked, reaching down to take the first scroll she could reach.

“You shouldn’t take that one first, that’s number nine,” he told her. “Blue ribbon, second row, that’s the introduction. And my name is Merlin.”

Snow could have sworn her heart stopped beating. Ever child in this or any realm knew Merlin. He was a legend, someone little boys pretended to be, and schoolchildren and scholars read books about. Queen Guinevere said she had never even seen him, and she ruled over the land he called home. Her husband was once rumoured to be his chosen one and had dedicated his life to finding him at the expense of his own marriage.

“Yes, that Merlin,” he said with a smile. Snow stepped around the desk to face him, looking up at his crooked smile and eyes that held such age behind them, and also fear.

“You’re that Merlin,” she said. “No one has seen or heard from you in centuries. People have long thought you died. Or never even existed in the first place.”

“Oh, please,” he laughed. “Death isn’t for me. But you’re right, Snow White. I’ve been away from quite some time.”

“Where have you been?”

“Not important.” He took a step closer to her. “All that matters now is your daughter.”

“Emma?” Snow asked. “Why Emma?”

“Don’t play the fool, your Majesty, it doesn’t suit you,” he said without any cruelty. “She’s got a large destiny in front of her. Why else would you send for someone to teach her magic?”

“I want Emma to be able to use her gift in the best way she can,” Snow replied. “That’s all. She doesn’t have any destiny. That was destroyed years ago.”

“Are you really so naïve?” he asked. “I heard tales about Snow White. Innocent looks and a childish smile hiding a brilliant mind. Do you really think the war with the Evil Queen is over?”

Snow wanted to throw up. In the deepest, darkest corner of her mind, she knew. In the eleven years since she and Charming had defeated her, there was still the small presence of doubt. Like a spot of black on an otherwise perfect painting. And she knew that if the Evil Queen was still on the horizon, then her daughter would be tangled up in that mess, forced to carry the Saviour mantle she never agreed to.

“Of course not,” she whispered, and she heard Charming take in a sharp breath. This was the first time she had admitted it out loud. “You think you can help Emma?”

“I know I can,” he replied. “She is destined to become the greatest Queen your people has ever seen, and the second greatest sorcerer this realm has ever seen. Behind me, of course.”

Snow turned to look at David, a silent communication between them. After a few moments, his shoulders dropped, his face softened at the fierce faith he saw in her eyes, and he nodded.

“You have the job,” she said softly.

“Excellent,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Well this was altogether rather successful interview. Not bad, considering it’s the first one I’ve had in one and a half thousand years.”

“You know this will involve you living in or around the palace,” Snow informed him.

“Oh, yes, yes,” he sighed. “I think I’ll enjoy living here very much.”

“You also realise that by tutoring Emma, you ally yourself against the Evil Queen?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Merlin said. “Now, if I may, I’d like to speak to Emma, please.”

“Of course,” she said quietly, her throat tight. “Give us a moment, then we’ll take you up to meet her.”

He smiled, gave a half bow, and rather than walking out, he simply waved his hand and was gone.

If he was going to be like this the whole time, it was going to be charming or infuriating.

Speaking of Charming, her husband appeared at her side once Merlin was gone. He wrapped his fingers gently around her wrist and softly pried her hand open to hold it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the Evil Queen?” he asked hoarsely. Snow shook her head and rested her cheek on his arm.

“Because I put it away,” she confessed. “Put all of that in a little box, locked it up with a key and buried it under layers and layers of love for my family. We have such a great life, David. More than I ever thought we’d get. Two beautiful children, wonderful friends, a kingdom that only gets more prosperous with each passing day. And I just thought that if I said it out loud, everything we worked so hard to build would come crashing down.”

“Snow.” David turned his wife to face him, running his finger along the dimple in her chin. “No matter what, you need to tell me things. Our love is based on the fact that we work together. And we can’t do that if you don’t share your burdens with me.”

Snow sighed and caressed his cheek gently, her fingertips reaching up to touch his light brown hair.

“Okay,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against his. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should have,” he laughed, then his face turned serious. “And if what you fear is true, I just hope Merlin can help Emma in time.”

“He can,” Snow insisted. “I know he can. He has to. He’ll help her, and when the time comes, she’ll save us.” She gave a half hearted smile. “If it ever comes to pass.”

******

Elliot’s fingertips and shoulders were almost screaming in protest as he carried the yellow plastic box, filled to the brim with copies of Macbeth, towards his car, walking across the near deserted parking lot of Storybrooke High School. His scarf blew in his face more times than he cared for and he had let the sunshine that morning trick him into thinking his old brown jacket would do the trick. No such luck; goose bumps were forming up and down his arms as he walked to his car and opened up the boot to deposit the bulging box.

He slammed the boot of his car closed and leaned against it, palms against the metal, back arched, heels digging into the tarmac. It wasn’t just the physical elements he was battling against; it was guilt. He had always been the sort to be hard on himself, and his mind was constantly offering up the image of Jenny’s false smile and sad eyes that were avoiding him at any and all cost. He had screwed her over badly, and he knew that. He had been a coward; let Regina intimidate him into dropping what had been the highlight of his week and something that had meant the world to a lonely young girl with little else.

And now he couldn’t do anything about it. He could beg and argue and plead with Regina and even in the tiniest possible even she said yes to allowing him to teach Jenny again, she wanted nothing to do with him, and frankly, he couldn’t blame her. Maybe Jenny was telling the truth and she was simply too busy. Maybe he was imagining the hurt flashing in her eyes when she looked at him, the way she avoided talking to him for longer than necessary. Maybe he was overthinking the way her brother had started putting minimal effort into his class and hurrying out before the bell even finished ringing.

Or maybe he was being an idiot and trying to protect what was left of his fragile ego by fooling himself like that.

He shook his head, cursed at himself under his breath, and took his keys out of his pocket, fumbling with them as they caught on the loose threads of his coat.

“Having trouble?” a voice asked from behind him, laced with sarcasm and venom. Elliot took in a deep breath, forced himself to be composed and turned to see the Mayor standing behind him; her black suit impeccably clean, her dark hair framing her pale face, a cool smile on her red lips that made his stomach churn.

“Madam Mayor. How long have you been there?”

“Not long,” she shrugged. She strolled towards him, the clicking of her heels echoing off the tarmac. He felt each one right in his gut. She stopped not even five inches from him. This close he could smell the perfume on her, see the grey streaks in her hair she tried to cover up with black dye. “I’ve wanted to have a little chat with you.”

“About what?” he sighed, leaning on the boot of his car.

“I feel it was wrong of me to force your hand with young Jenny,” she said, cocking her head to the side. Her words said one thing, her tone said another. Her words implied she was going to let him have whatever arrangement he wanted with Jenny, her tone told him she was building up to a twisted punchline.

“It was?” he said flatly. Her smile faltered slightly, and he did get some satisfaction out of that.

“Yes,” she said. “Clearly, being apart from the girl hasn’t been good for you.”

“I broke her heart,” he replied. “I took a young girl’s safe haven and crushed it. It doesn’t weigh easy on the conscience.”

“Yes, a guilty conscience is a terrible thing,” she sighed. He wanted to ask how she knew that but held it back. Getting in a fight with the Mayor was never a wise idea. It would barely be considered a fight; she would have him destroyed before he was able to throw a punch. “And I hear it’s affecting your work. Making you distracted, forgetful. Not giving your students the time and attention they deserve.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Anonymous reports from concerned parents.”

“They’re lies,” he insisted. “I’ve been working just as efficiently as I always have been, ask any of my students.”

“Are you sure about that?” she countered, stepping closer, locking him between her and his car. “I’ve had parents writing to me, saying students are unhappy with the way you teach. You don’t hand back homework’s, you give unfair grades…”

“That’s not true,” he said. He was a great teacher, he was sure of it.

Wasn’t he?

He couldn’t remember any slip-ups, any times students had asked for missing homework’s or complained about a grade. He tired to think back those past few weeks, but things started to become more blurred. Memories fading into grey, confusion clouding his thoughts. Images of children rolling their eyes at test results, angry words under their breath directed at him. He could have sworn he was imagining that, letting Regina get in his head…. And yet… somehow it felt real.

“Mr Elliot, you’re a good man, and I’m sure you used to be a wonderful teacher,” she went on. “But this town prides itself on excellence, and you can see why we can’t have a weak link in the chain.”

“What?” he rasped.

“Collect your things from your classroom, Elliot,” he told him. “I’ve already spoken with the headmaster, and he and I both agree you’d be better suited elsewhere.”

“No.”

“He does find your apparent favouritism towards Jonathan Bird rather unsettling. And the less said about your infatuation with Jenny, the better.”

“Now listen,” he said, stepping forward, pushing Regina back. Her mouth fell into a small ‘o’. “I don’t like what you’re implying about me and Jenny.”

“No one does,” she responded, eyebrows knotting together.

“Then don’t do this.”

“It’s already done. Collect your things from your classroom tomorrow morning and pick up your last pay check.”

Elliot stumbled backwards, his head beginning to ring. The rest of the scene melted away, but Regina stayed perfect where she was; pale skin and dark eyes and red lips. She lifted her chin up, grinning like a school child. She was getting pleasure from this, official business or not.

“Why me?” he whispered. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You know what you did,” she hissed, gritting her teeth. Her hand jerked forward to grab his chin, but she clenched her first and slowly brought it down. “Not anymore, but you know what you did to me.”

*****

Emma paused at the door to the astronomy tower, her hand curling into a fist just inches from the wood, the notebook her Aunt Red had gifted her for her birthday tucked under her other arm. The tower hadn’t been used in a long while; not since the time when Snow’s own grandfather was King. Her father had never seen the need for it and… well Snow had spent too much time hiding from the Evil Queen to use it. Merlin had decided it was the perfect place for his and Emma’s lessons; out of the way of everyone else (“Should something go terribly wrong and we cause a massive explosion,” he had said with a wink, making Robert’s jaw drop and Emma’s stomach churn. Blowing out the walls of the astronomy tower wouldn’t exactly make her a popular Queen), with “everything we could possibly need”. Emma wished Merlin would stop speaking in so many riddles and cryptic statements with an eyebrow raised. If he thought he was being exciting, he was wrong; he was being irritating.

The door swung open, revealing her tutor himself, standing with a broad smile on his face.

“Emma! I was beginning to think you got lost. Come in, come in,” he said, as if this was his home and she was the visitor.

Walking into the tower, she felt like that may as well have been the case. He had been moving some things up in the past few days, things to make their lessons easier and make himself feel more ‘at home’. Immediately she could identify what was new; there wasn’t much in the astronomy tower anyway. A tall bookstand with a lion’s head, a red leather bound book resting upon it, a large stand with a silver birdcage, a small blackboard with a rough looking frame. Emma didn’t even notice Merlin closing the door behind her.

“Take a seat, why don’t we get started?” Emma sat at the long table, inching her chair slightly closer to Merlin. He smiled. “Now the first thing we’re going to start with his the history of magic, all the way back to the Dark Ages. You’d better start writing this down, because I’ll be expecting five pages from you in ten days’ time. Now it’s suspected that the first sorcerers….”

Emma found herself writing almost as quickly as he was talking; and she was positive he was speeding up to spite her. Her wrist began to ache, but she pushed through it as she wrote page after page, copying every one of Merlin’s words down precisely as he said it. Until he started chuckling, softly and silently at first, and Emma didn’t even notice, then it got stronger and Emma dropped her pen to watch her tutor lean on the table, shaking with laughter.

“I’m sorry, that’s the first joke I have had in centuries,” he explained. Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes. While he may have been her tutor, and her elder, and the most powerful wizard ever known, he was a pain in her behind. He must have sensed her frustration with him, or maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding her emotions as she thought, because he stopped laughing and crossed over to her, kneeling down to look at her. “I’m sorry, Princess. We can get to proper magic now.”

“No essays?”

“Not for a long while,” he smiled. “Come.” He took her by the hand and helped her to stand. “You’re born of true love. And you’re the Saviour, destined to break the curse-”

“I was meant to break the curse,” she corrected. “My parents stopped the Queen.”

“Ah, of course,” he said. “Forgive me. Your Highness. Don’t get a lot of news updates when you’re stuck in a tree.”

“You were in a tree?” Emma asked, wrinkling her nose.

“We’re getting off topic,” he scolded lightly. “Now, you are the product of True Love, and the Saviour, meaning your magic is stronger than most other light magic wielders. Incredibly strong in fact. With the right training, you’ll be able to do incredible things; move mountains, tame oceans, raise beanstalks, talk to dragons…” Merlin didn’t leave much to the imagination. His every word made Emma more and more excited, picturing herself on the bow of a ship, commanding the elements to her will, steering her armies out of danger. She could see herself on the back of a dragon, arms outstretched, the wind tearing at her hair, roses blooming under her feet as she walked, barren fields growing grain at her command. “And we’ll start…. By opening a window.”

“A window?” Emma asked. Merlin pulled her out of her dream and planted her firmly on earth. “Opening a window?”

“We all need to start somewhere,” he said, shrugging.

“But I don’t even need magic to do that!” she protested.

“True but mastering this will open the door to so many possibilities.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He turned Emma slightly to the left, bringing the small window in the tower into her field of vision. “Make the window open.” His voice was soft, despite the command he gave her. Gentle. He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze before letting her go.

“Open,” she commanded. The window didn’t bulge. She thought about the portraits and drawings of witches and wizards she had seen before, and copied their stance; arms outstretched, feet apart, knees bent. She even tried to mimic their face-mouth set in a hard line, brows knitted together in concentration. She took in a deep breath, her entire body tensed, and gave a silent command for the window to open.

Still nothing. Emma sighed and leaned back against the table.

“Do you want help?”

“No,” she answered. “I can do it myself.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, and went back to reading his book. Emma wondered what it was. Surely it had to be an ancient spell book, holding secrets no one but he knew. Merlin looked up and smiled as he found her looking at his book. “It’s a cookbook.” He turned and showed her the page, which bared an illustration of a pie. “I just stumbled upon the most wonderful recipe for chicken pie.”

“You cook?”

“Even immortal sorcerers need a hobby,” he told her. “Did you think I spent all my days up in big towers looking at spell books and muttering ‘damn trolls’?” Emma laughed before she could stop herself, and Merlin grinned.

Emma turned back to the window, giving her hands a shake. Commanding it didn’t work, trying to force it didn’t work.

She could always try asking it.

Emma closed her eyes and steadied herself. She took in a deep breath and tried to clear to mind. She outstretched her hand again.

“Will you open for me?” For the first time, she began to feel something. Her body tingled, a warm glow spreading from her chest and trickling like water down her arms, spreading throughout her hand, touching her fingertips.

When she opened her eyes, the window was still shut.

“Oh, come on!” she whined.

“If it helps,” Merlin said, looking up from over the book. “You were close that time.”

“I know,” Emma sighed. “I-I felt it. It was working.”

“If it was working, then try it again,” he told her. “Just make a little change.”

Emma turned to the window. ‘Make a little change’. She thought about what she had done before; commanding, asking, forcing. There had to be something she hadn’t tried. She looked around the room for inspiration, eyes darting around the place until they landed on something; her mother’s old bow, used when she lived in the forest. When Emma had asked her how she kept faith during those times when the Evil Queen hunted her, Snow had always said she believed things would be better one day.

An idea crept into Emma’s mind. Belief.

She closed her eyes again and stretched out her hand. She pictured the window opening over and over in her mind. It will open, she thought. The window will open. It will. It will.

Creaking cut through the silence. Emma tensed, not wanting to open her eyes in case she was wrong. In case she hadn’t done it.

But she had. When she opened her eyes, she saw the window of the tower hanging open.

“I did it!” she declared, jumping on the spot. “Merlin, look I did it-”

She was interrupted by a terrible crack behind her. She turned to see the window had fallen off its hinges. Heart in mouth, she ran to the window. The glass frame and its wooden frame were plummeting down to the ground, and Emma cursed Merlin for wanting to have their lessons in the highest possible point of the castle. She swore time slowed down as the window grew smaller and smaller until it landed on the cobblestones below. She heard a faint, tiny crash, and though she couldn’t see it, she knew the glass was in pieces.

She turned to Merlin, who had come over to the window to see what had happened. He was wincing in sympathy at her as a high pitched scream trickled out of her mouth.

“My mother’s going to kill me!” she whined, then a pit of guilt formed in her stomach. “I got a bit over excited.”

“It’ll be our little secret, Princess,” he said with a wink. Before Emma could ask anything, he waved his hand and the broken pieces of the window flew up in the blink of an eye, rearranging themselves and slotting themselves into their rightful places, and it looked as if nothing had happened at all. “I think I’m going to enjoy myself here.”

*****

Elliot didn’t register anything on the drive home. Like he was on autopilot; he didn’t register getting into his car or driving through the twists and turns home or getting out of the car or walking to the kitchen. He simply ended up in his kitchen, leaning one of the two small wooden chairs at the round wooden table he ate breakfast at every morning and ate dinner at every night. The curtains were still drawn, he must have been too busy that morning to open them, and it makes the whole room look darker; the walls are a far cry from the sunshine he imagined they’d be like when he painted them yellow, instead the muted hue makes it look drab and unimaginative.

Whoever heard of an unimaginative English teacher?

He reaches out of throws the first thing he can find, which is a newspaper which lands with a dissatisfying light smack against the wall. It’s not enough for him; the anger and pain makes him restless and he just starts tossing anything he can get his hands on, not paying any attention to what it is or where he’s throwing it. An apple hits the wall and stains it, his keys scratch the wall and hit the floor, a discarded glasses case bounces off the wall and chips the paint. He wants to keep going until he feels better, feels like he should keep going until it’s all out of his system. Instead he sinks into the kitchen chair and puts his head in his hands. There was a pile of envelopes on the table; bills he could no longer pay because he longer has a job.

He crossed the room to the locked cabinet, dark wood and dusty, the one part of the house he had never bothered to clean. He hadn’t had a smoke in years, swearing off the habit when he realised how much he had destroyed his lungs and how close he was to killing himself. He beat cravings year after year until he was almost completely clean, and now here he was, falling down the rabbit hole again.

He hated himself as he turned the key and slowly, inch by inch, pulled the door open. The cigarette packet sat in tucked in the corner, from one time he nearly fell back on old habits, when…. He can’t recall. In front of them there was a rock, of all things. Well, more accurately, it was a pebble. It was smooth in the palm of his hand, and a dull purple. Elliot had to wonder what he had been doing when he picked it up and why he had placed it, of all places, in his cigarette cupboard. He tossed it from one hand to the other, his eyes flicked up to the cigarettes and back to the pebble. As he ran his hand over it, it began to feel….. Alive. He could have sworn it was humming, growing warmer as he held it. Which should have been impossible; stones don’t grow warmer.

Then in a flash, he feels it.

Emma, the astronomy tower, her wedding, the curse, magic, the Enchanted Forest, the Evil Queen, Snow White, Prince Charming, Captain Hook, Emma.

Merlin let the stone fall to the floor and crack on the tiles. It doesn’t matter now; it’s done its purpose. Two lives clashed in his mind; the dull life of Elliot and his own, longer life, happier and sadder, brighter and more dull and infinitely more exciting.

A smile crept across his face as his mind began to clear and he remembered the important details. Remembered every conversation he had with Jenny, putting the pieces into place.

“Emma, you clever little thing,” he said, and he flew out the door, not even bothering with a coat.

*****

Emma sifted through the small pile of letters that ad been waiting on her doorstep when she got home. Poster for some Pilates class (she hated the fact that she was tempted to try it), bank statement (how did she spend so much on food this week?), leaflet for the nun’s (fairies in her world) charity drive, and the dreaded bills. Electricity and heating and lighting. This world might be more advanced, but it wasn’t without its costs. Looking at them, Emma understood more clearly than ever why people had petitioned and rioted for her grandfather to lower taxes. When she had read it in a history book she could comprehend it; high taxes lead to people wanting better treatment. Perfectly simple. But living it was different; she was struggling to pay bills and make ends meet, things she had never had to worry about in her palace.

Her parents were fair rulers, her kingdom just and as fair as it could be, but that didn’t mean people weren’t poor. She and her parents tried to do what they could; she took young women into the palace and gave them positions as ladies in waiting, she and her mother had devised a scheme to send all children, no matter where they came from or how much money they had, through school until they were at least 15, overall school fees had been lowered and the costs of physicians had been cut. But Emma wasn’t a fool. Bad harvests and storms and raids happened and people far below her own station paid the price.

She wondered what would happen when the curse was broken, how her family would run this land. She knew it would be with the same fairness they had ruled their Kingdom, but they were going to have to adapt to new challenges.

A knock at the door brought Emma out of her thoughts and made her jump. It was sharp and fast and sounded desperate. By the sounds of it, whoever it was knocked on the glass pane of the door and Emma was concerned they were going to break the glass.

“Please don’t break it,” Emma muttered as she went to answer; the cost of repairs didn’t bare thinking.

Elliot stood on the other side of the door, breathless, panting, clutching the doorframe. He looked at her, half smiling, his eyes bright and… Clear.

“Emma,” he said. She froze, not trusting her own perception for half a moment, before she realises what something as simple as her own name is. A name she hasn’t heard in too long.

“Merlin,” she replied. He didn’t even have time to nod before she jumped at him, throwing her arms around him and laughing maniacally. He responds by lifting her off her feet for a moment; she felt completely weightless. She forgot about the curse, the bills, the Queen, letting pure joy overtake every thought in her mind.

“Jenny?” Jonathan asked from behind her.

Merlin lowered Emma to the ground, fear dancing in his eyes as his lips rolled into a thin line. Emma’s fists clenched as she turned to face her brother with her heart in her mouth. Jonathan’s fingers danced along the hem of his jumper, weaving in and out of the fabric while his eyes darted from his sister to his teacher, cogs beginning to whir in his mind, puzzle pieces created by Regina slotting together.

“Mr Elliot just came by to say that he think he can start tutoring me again,” Emma lied. She had become so good at lying. “I just got over excited.” Jonathan gave a small nod, his eyes fixed on Elliot, who shifted nervously.

“I’m going upstairs,” he said in a thin voice. “I got… homework.”

Emma could only watch helplessly as he crept upstairs, twisting one hand into his jumper while sliding the other along the banister, walking like he was weighed down. He left Emma in the vast entryway, still looking at the top of the stairs, listening to his bedroom door creak open and click softly shut. The happiness she had felt with Merlin barely a minute ago felt so far away as a dull ache spread across her chest; it felt like it was eating away at her bit by bit, and numbness crept through her limbs.

“I think,” she began in a low voice, turning to Merlin. “I think I should bring you up to speed.”

*****

A bright white ball flew across the astronomy room; Merlin caught it, letting it hover on the palm of his hand before he swirled and threw it back at a laughing fifteen year old Emma, who stopped it with one hand before sliding the other one underneath for balance. She looked at her tutor, excitement gleaming in her green eyes, before she began tossing it from hand to hand. She tried to act careless, but there was a tension in her shoulders and her eyes stayed on the ball that betrayed her,

“Tell me what this is meant to be teaching me?” Emma asked. “Because I’ve been conjuring light like this since I was eleven.”

“Someone’s a cocky little sorceress,” Merlin remarked lightly. “But if you need to know, I’m trying to teach you direction. Channelling your powers a certain, specific way. Tossing the light between us, the magic was only going one way, that kept it stable.” He raised an eyebrow as Emma kept bouncing the ball between her hands. “For example….”

Emma looked down at the ball in her hands and realised that the once stable, defined white ball was beginning to lose its shape; crackling and sizzling.

“Oh no,” she sighed, telling herself not to panic. She closed her hands on it, pushing it down, and moved her hands around it to wipe away the static and make it calm. “Merlin am I doing this right?”

“Quite right,” he said. Emma looked down, seeing the ball become more defined, but still looking fuzzy and feeling wrong. It wasn’t the warm glow that she had been tossing around with Merlin, it felt almost spiked and definitely a few steps away from dangerous. “Here why don’t I-”

“No, I can do it myself,” she insisted, continuing to press on the ball. “Be calm, please be calm.” She kept repeating the routine, running her hands over it, pressing down and telling both herself and the light that it was going to calm down. When the pressure in her chest eased and she found it easier to breathe, she opened her eyes. Once again, the magic was formed in a perfect sphere, glowing white like her own star, radiating gentleness. She looked from the ball up to an impress Merlin. “You see?”

“I see,” he answered. “You’re getting better every day, your Highness.” He held up his hands and nodded to indicate to her to toss it over. When she did, he caught the ball in his hands and closed them around it, making it disappear altogether.

“I was enjoying that game,” Emma remarked, placing one knee on her chair and her hand on the table for balance.

“I saw,” he replied. “Although sadly, the time for games has ended. After all, your parents pay me to teach you, not to help you destroy their tower during a game of magical catch.” Emma snorted and sat down on her chair. “Now, what was the point of that lesson?”

“Like you said, directing my magic,” Emma answered. “Channelling it.”

“And why might I need you to do that?” he asked. Emma tapped her pen against the desk.

“Um, in case you were only trying to hit one thing with it?”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Okay… So if I was trying to use my magic to make one specific tree grow. I’d have to direct my magic just to that tree and nothing else,” she answered. “That’s why I need to channel it.”

“Good one,” he said with a smile. “Channelling your magic makes it more effective against the object of the spell, and in other situations can minimise damage.”

“Why would I need to minimise damage?” Emma asked while she ran her dry pen over her hand, drawing invisible patterns. Merlin shook his head half-heartedly.

“No reason,” he said. “Not for right now anyway.” Emma wondered, not for the first time, if he was referring to the Dark Curse-the one thing they never spoke about. He did say they’d get in to learning about curses sooner rather than later- ranging from petty hexes to blood curses-but he, like her parents, managed to always delicately skirt around the topic of that specific curse. Still, they didn’t need to talk about it. It was ancient history. At least, that’s what her father and mother insisted.

Merlin seemed to be different. It wasn’t what he said, it was what he didn’t say. It was how he taught her magical defences she could never need in her life. It was how he and her mother sometimes shared secret talks in alcoves when they thought Emma couldn’t see; hushed tones and worried faces.

“Have you ever needed to minimise damage?” she asked cautiously. Merlin chuckled, but it was hesitant at best. The chalk in his hand was flipped between his fingers.

“Sometimes,” he whispered. “Once or twice.” Emma nodded, not pushing the conversation any further. “Hopefully, you won’t need to for a long, long time.”

“Can magic be used to hurt people?” she asked, looking down at her own hand.

“Sometimes,” he answered. “And that’s not always a bad thing. Not if what you’re hurting is worse than what you’re protecting.”

“I’ve heard stories about people who had magic and used it for bad,” Emma said. “People like the Evil Queen, or people like those old geezers who used magic to fight terf wars.” Merlin sat down on the other chair and tilted Emma’s chin to make her look at him.

“Did you just call me a geezer?” he asked, and Emma burst into peals of laughter.

“No, not you,” she said. “But you’ve heard the stories.”

“I’ve lived some of them,” he responded, half smiling. “But to go back to what you were saying, that’s the thing about magic. It’s not good or bad. It’s just there. It’s the people who use it who are good or bad.” Emma presses the tip of her pen into her hand. “And you Princess Emma are very, very good.” He taps her nose lightly, making her wrinkle it.

“People think magic is the bad thing,” she told him. “That everyone who uses it is bad. They don’t want a Queen to have magic.”

“Then you’ll have to prove them wrong,” he said. “And you will. One day you’ll be one of the greatest heroes this kingdom has ever seen.”

“You think?” she asked, her cheeks beginning to glow.

“I don’t think anything. I know,” he said. “Now let’s get back to this. You can’t prove anyone wrong if you don’t know your stuff.” He lifted a book off his small pile and handed it over to her open at a certain page, explaining to her the depths and complexities of her gift.

*****

Emma poured two mugs of coffee in her kitchen, Merlin sitting in her chair. He looked more like himself. Even before the clarity and twinkle in his eyes, even the way he was holding himself reminded her of her tutor; he leant back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other and his elbow sitting on the table while he held his chin higher than anyone else would.

“So how long have you been awake?” he asked as she sat down and handed him his mug.

“Two months so far,” she answered. “It’s been a long time.” He nods sadly, taking a small sip of his coffee.

“You came to me,” he said. “You came to my house. I-Elliot, just brushed you off. Thought you were upset or…. I don’t know.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” she reminded him. “It was the curse. I was the only one awake.”

“I take it that’s still the case.” Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Having Merlin here meant she was able to share her burden, lighten the load as it were, but she had kept it to herself this whole time and having to share it would make it real.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Everyone else, I look at them and they’re not there. Their eyes…. They’re empty, Merlin. I look at people every day and they don’t look back. I look at my brother, I see his face but I don’t see him. I hear him speak but it’s not Robert talking to me. He’s just saying what Regina’s programmed him to say. Ruby, Belle, Killian… They’re all here but not here.” She pulls her hair back, trying to find her composure. It all feels like something is being lifted off her chest and she can breathe, but at the same time it’s uncontrollable. She can’t stop herself form talking. Merlin doesn’t seem to mind, though. His hand covers her, his face anguished. “I’m surrounded by people, people who look like people I care about and love, but they’re not them.”

“You’ve had a heavy burden placed on you, Emma. For far too long,” he says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“You couldn’t have been,” she told him, taking a long drink. “But I was surprised that you weren’t. I thought you’d have woken up on the first day.” Merlin chuckled then.

“I’m flattered,” he said. “But it seemed the Queen was far more interested in torturing you than me. That’s why you woke up first. You had to be at rock bottom for the magic to work.” Emma gave a bitter, humourless laugh. Lucky her that the Queen wanted to wreck her life before anyone else’s. “But you know now where everyone is. Who everyone is.”

“Yes,” she said. “My father is in the hospital in a coma, my mother is a teacher, Ruby works at the diner, Belle’s a librarian, Killian works at the docks and Henry…” The words caught in her throat, making it close up. “Henry’s her son.”

Merlin nodded slowly.

“Makes sense,” she muttered, more to herself than Merlin. “My mother said all she wanted was someone to love her.” She looked down at her hands while her eyes burned with tears. “She’s hurting him. I see him in the diner and the way he acts… it’s not him. He’s quieter. He looks smaller. She made him small.”

Emma didn’t even realise she was crying until Merlin came around to her chair and hugged her tightly and the tears dropped onto his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I miss them,” she cried. “I miss them all. Know what the worst of it all is?” Merlin knelt in front of her and clasped her hands in his, his thumb rubbing gently on the back of her hand. “Patrick-Killian, he was interested in me. I was getting through to him! He asked me out and I had to turn him down.”

“You had to?”

“Regina. She’d do something if I said yes. Kill him or Robert or go after my parents,” she explained. “So I had to turn him down and let him walk away thinking I don’t love him. Because that’s what a Saviour does isn’t it? Puts everyone else before herself.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he sighed. “It isn’t fair and it shouldn’t be you.”

“Well it is,” she said. “I go get true loves back together and don’t even get mine.” Merlin’s eyebrows raised at her admission.

“You got true loves back together?”

“Yeah,” she answered, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Mulan and Merida-or Jia and Clover. I um, I got them a place they can hang out. Knowing them they’re probably heading there right now.” She bit her lip, smiling despite her pain. “I’m happy that they’re back with each other but… it just feels like I’m going to have to wait until last.”

“Unfortunately that may be the case,” he said. “But this is good, Emma. Getting Mulan and Merida together, it weakened the curse. Every time you give back a happy ending, Regina’s magic loses its power. I mean do you really think I’d have been able to talk to you if Regina’s influence wasn’t fading?” Emma’s cheeks began to turn red at the praise in his eyes. “So you keep doing what you are doing. Speaking of which…. Where’s Hook?” Emma tensed, her hands wrapping around her coffee, letting the heat soak through her cold hands. “Emma? I thought you’d have gone after him once you woke up.”

“I tried,” she admitted, steeling herself. “I did. And he was… He responded. He was interested, he wanted to go out.” She took in another deep breath and pressed her hands between her knees to keep them from shaking.

“I would say that’s great,” Merlin said. “But given that you look like you’re about to cry I think it’s not.”

“Regina knows I’m awake and she… I’m afraid of what she’ll do to him if I do try to go for it,” she choked out. “Do to him or Robert or my parents or Henry if I go near him.” She stood up, knocking over her coffee mug and not caring. Everything finally came pouring out of her, things she didn’t even know she thought until now. “So I’m staying away from him. I made from excuse about how Jonathan wouldn’t be comfortable with me dating him, and I stay away and it kills me a little more each day. I’m out here reuniting people with people they love while my son is basically being kidnapped, my dad is in a coma, my mother is lonely and my husband doesn’t even know who I am! Even my brother, who I see every day, I can’t talk to about any of this!”

“Oh, Emma,” he sighed. He pulled her into a tight hug. “You’ve been so brave.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” she confessed into his shoulder.

“Well, now you don’t have to be,” he said, pulling away from her. “Because I’m here. And now I can see you do what you were born to do.”

“Which is?”

Merlin gave her a smirk.

“Make the Evil Queen come crawling with her tail between her legs.”

#cs ff #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #there was meant to be another bit with emma and merlin in the ef but i thought that'd be overkill #since this boi is already 10k+#happy halloween!#ouat #fic: across my memory

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yildirimpope85 · 2 years

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What You Need to Know If You Have A Cat

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#where to buy cat toys #cheap cat toys

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

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Something Old and Something New - Chapter 4: Eat of This Bread and Drink of This Cup

“All right BJ. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Peg sets the plate of breakfast and mug of coffee on the table with deliberate care. And she's whispering – but that doesn't keep BJ's head from feeling like a freight train's running through it. He hasn't been this hungover in... well, a while, anyway.

All he can do in answer is groan pitifully.

“Not that I'm not sympathetic-” Peg says, with emphasis, though still at a whisper. BJ's head rings. “-but I'm going to need more of an answer than that.”

“Please, honey, can we talk about this later.” Like when he's alive.

Peg looks at him sharply, assessing whether her husband's being honest or not. He's weaseled his way out of conversations about this before, after all. But he just looks so pitiful right now.

“All right, dear. But we are talking about this.”

He groans in a way that must sound affirmative because Peg heads towards the living room. The sound of her heels on the linoleum crack like gunshots against the inside of BJ's skull and he lets his head fall into the cradle of his folded arms. He's in big fucking trouble and too hungover to think of a way to sweet talk himself out of it.

But he should at least make sure he's capable of human speech for this discussion. BJ shovels a forkfull of eggs into his mouth and even chewing hurts but he feels better after several cups of coffee and an aspirin. And a shower helps even more – the water hot enough he looks like a boiled lobster afterwards but he's able to look his reflection in the eye as he brushes his teeth.

BJ doesn't particularly like what he sees in the mirror, but at least he can stand to look.

Eventually, BJ can't put off going back downstairs another minute. He's clean and dressed and he's set his office back to rights.

That had been – that had been difficult.

He'd wrecked a few photographs, the frames twisted and splintered, the smiling faces of his family and the 4077 obscured behind spiderwebbing cracks. It makes him feel guilty, but it's fixable. BJ sweeps up the glass and rescues the pictures from the wreckage of the room to be put in new frames.

But there's nothing he can do about the pile of confetti he made out of some of Hawkeye's letters – the ones that mentioned Trapper most often, by the looks of what's missing from the box of envelopes. And that. That really fucks him up. To know that he was angry enough, drunk and out of control enough, to destroy something so precious.

He has few enough connections to Hawkeye - to what they meant to each other - to go around destroying them like that. But there's nothing he can do about it now except gather the pieces and throw them into the trash, paper falling like snow to gently cover the rest of the broken shambles of his office. That done, BJ really has no more excuses not to go downstairs to find Peg. To talk to her.

BJ thinks maybe his office could use another round of tidying up.

Peg is an immovable boulder. BJ won't be able to shift her or persuade her to put this off again or sneak past her. She will sit here as long as it takes for BJ to come to her, to apologize to her for last night, to tell her what, exactly, the fuck is going on with him right now. But that doesn't mean that Peg isn't an impatient boulder.

She crosses her legs, ankle demurely over ankle, and flicks to the next page in her Good Housekeeping. It's a quiz to see if you're a good housewife. They seem to put one in every issue – and always with the same questions. Is your floor clean enough to eat off of – despite the requisite dog and several young children? Do you look like you just spent the day at a spa – instead of spending the day cleaning and cooking and chasing after said dog and children? Do you do anything and everything for your husband – and have no expectations of him ever doing the same for you? Peg recrosses her ankles the other way and flips to the next article. Twenty gelatin dishes your family will Just Adore! – sponsored by Jell-O. Lovely.

She hopes BJ hurries it up a little.

When BJ quits stalling and actually gets up the courage to go downstairs and face Peg, she's sitting in the living room, reading a magazine. It's a normal enough scene – although the lack of children is strange. And then BJ realizes that he hadn't seen them last night either. Peg must have - must have kept them away from him.

All the air goes out of his lungs and BJ collapses next to her on the couch, burying his head in his hands. He wants to weep. The idea that he can't be trusted around his own children - who he loves more than anything in the world, except for Peg - is terrible, horrifying. And he had no idea how long she's been doing this. When BJ thinks back to other nights he's gotten a little too far into the bottle – what he can remember of those nights, anyway – the kids are conspicuously absent there as well. Sent to bed early – without a bedtime story, since BJ is usually the one to do that – or sent off to his parents' house. Carefully kept from having to see him like that. Like that, like that – dead drunk and so angry he starts breaking things is what he means.

BJ tries to tell himself it's not really that bad. That it doesn't happen often – and it's always provoked by something, anyway. Justified. And he would never hurt anyone – would never turn that anger on Peg or the kids, only on objects, things that can be replaced if broken. But that's not really true, either. He'd hit Hawkeye - punched him right in the face for no reason other than BJ'd been angry and Hawkeye had tried to keep him from making a mistake. And they'd never really talked about it afterwards. BJ hadn't really apologized, either – just helped Hawkeye rebuild the still – and permanently erase the last tangible part of Trapper left in Korea. Cuz it always comes back to that with him, doesn't it. Jesus fucking Christ.

Peg has continued to flip through her magazine during BJ's little crisis, but he can tell she's not really paying it much attention. Her eye's keep slipping from the glossy pages and onto BJ's face. Waiting for him to start explaining himself, to give her some sort of context for last night – and all the other nights he's been like this. And BJ still doesn't understand all of what he's feeling, all of what had made him so fucking angry last night – but at least he knows where to begin.

“I'm so sorry, Peggy,” he says into his knees, not able to look her in the eye, afraid of what he'll find there. “I know it doesn't make up for things, but I am so fucking sorry.”

Peg nods to herself. He's right, sorry doesn't fix anything. But BJ has cleaned up the damage he'd done and apologized. It's a step in the right direction – and useless guilt and self recrimination doesn't rope a steer.

She puts a steadying hand on BJ's shoulder. “Apology accepted, dear. But we are talking about whatever caused this little... outburst.” Because sorry or not, they can't keep going on like this.

BJ nods. “I've – this morning was sort of a slap in the face, Peg.” His face twists in anguish. “I don't ever want something like this to happen again – I can't let something like this happen again. So.”

BJ takes a breath, gathers the stray thoughts he's had, tries to bring them together into something that resembles coherency.

“So Trapper John McIntyre. I hate his guts and he was all over Hawkeye's letter. What they did together and what idea Trapper had for this stupid wedding. And Hawkeye talked the whole time about Trapper's kids like they were his or something – and how they were all going up to Maine to visit Hawkeye's dad. It just! Why does Trapper get to have that? Why does he get to live with Hawkeye, spend time with Hawkeye's family, be Hawkeye's family?”

Why does he get all that when BJ doesn't.

“Trapper's a third-rate surgeon and a cheater and a, a rake. Always tom-catting around with his stupid body and his stupid face and his stupid little smirk. Like he's some kind of fucking movie star or something. Some big man on campus. Where's Trapper's research position at a prestigious university if he's so damn good? That's right, he doesn't have one. All he has is some experience in trauma surgery and friends in high places. Hawkeye deserves better.”

“Like you?” Peg's sideways glance seems to ask.

“Yeah, like me,” BJ growls under his breath. And then at a volume Peg can hear, says, “But despite Trapper being average in probably every single way – and he's not half as funny as he thinks he is, either – Hawkeye's shacked up with him like they're fucking newlyweds. It's. They're keeping house together. And Hawkeye just – as soon as Trapper walked through the door, he just stopped talking to me. Started asking after Trapper's day and why he was late getting home – like some perfect little wife. I'm surprised he didn't run and get him his fucking slippers.”

“So you think Trapper's taking advantage of him – of his feelings for him? Is that what's bothering you about all this?” Peg asks.

Because Trapper sounds like a real heel, from BJ's telling. But she's not sure how much of that is reality and how much of it is BJ twisting and misinterpreting things due to his own dislike of the man. And she knows that BJ's feelings towards him are only part of this – that there's more to BJ's anger than just Trapper being a jerk and Hawkeye writing about him.

BJ sighs. “No, I don't think that.” And in all honesty, he doesn't really believe that Trapper's half so bad – either as a surgeon or as a friend. It's just. “Trapper was doing just as much of the domestic routine as Hawkeye was. He made us dinner, if you can believe that – a roast like you do for Sunday dinner. Or for company that you want to impress.”

And shit. BJ can see – without the haze of alcohol and anger and whatever the hell he'd been feeling when he saw Trapper and Hawkeye together like they'd been – that Trapper had been trying. Probably out of consideration for Hawkeye, but still. He'd tried. Asked BJ about his work, showed interest in BJ's achievements, made polite conversation with him when Hawkeye was all talked out.

Or too busy eating the food Trapper had made.

All the time BJ had known Hawkeye, he'd barely eaten anything at all. Even with their strange little dinner routine of Hawkeye smelling his food and then giving it to BJ, who'd then put it right back on Hawkeye's plate, most of it went untouched. And sure, Army food was terrible – worse than anything BJ'd ever tried to cook in his shitty apartment kitchen back in college. But it was edible, if you were hungry enough. And the thing about thirty plus hours at a stretch in the OR is that you get pretty hungry.

So BJ had figured that Hawkeye just didn't eat much. He was skinny enough for that to be believable. But there he'd been, eating seconds at dinner and stealing cake off Trapper's plate during dessert. Something Trapper reacted to with fond annoyance - like it was normal, like he'd always done it. And BJ had started to wonder if this is what Hawkeye had been like before, when Trapper'd been in Korea.

Back before BJ had showed up.

And that's not even getting into the way the two of them had been during breakfast. Dancing around one another in the kitchen. Like they were so familiar with one another that they didn't need words to navigate the space between their bodies. And they'd fed each other then too. Hawkeye pressing grapes into Trapper's waiting mouth. Trapper fixing Hawkeye coffee like he knew the way he took it by heart. It had been so intimate – more intimate than almost anything BJ can think of doing with anyone he wasn't married to.

“No, Trapper's in on the whole newlyweds thing, too. And the worst of it is is that Hawkeye's happy like that.” BJ pulls at his hair in frustration. “That sounds terrible. I. What I mean is, I just thought that we needed each other, back in Korea. That Hawkeye needed me just as much as I needed him. And I needed him so much, Peg – I clung to him. And I thought he was clinging to me, too. But it turns out that what he needs is fucking Trapper.” Or Trapper fucking him, a snide voice inside BJ's head pipes up. “And now I don't know where we stand with one another. If Hawkeye really liked me at all, or if I was just. Convenient. A replacement for the person he really wanted there.”

“I know that you, that you need to feel needed in a relationship, BJ,” Peg says gently.

She's starting to see a connection here, with the way BJ's talking about things, to how he'd been when he felt she didn't need him anymore. A connection that she's pretty sure he hasn't figured out yet. He always was a little obtuse.

“And dear, I think Hawkeye being happy probably has more to do with not being in Korea than anything else. He wasn't very happy in Korea with Trapper either, after all. And he might not need you quite the same way he did back then, but he reached out to you, BJ. He kept your friendship alive after the war, and I think that counts for something.”

BJ looks a lot less miserable at that. “You're right, Peg. Our friendship is too important to let something like being on opposite sides of the country get in the way of it. Or us having our own lives.” Even if Hawkeye's life inexplicably involved Trapper. “I guess I should take him up on the offer to stay over a few extra days, then.”

Peg takes his hand. “You don't need to make any kind of decision about anything right away. Maybe take a few days to figure out where you stand with things. It's been – it's been an emotional day.”

BJ isn't quite sure why she's counseling him to wait on writing back to Hawkeye, but he trusts her judgment, so he nods in agreement and squeezes her hand tightly. He's really really lucky to have someone like Peg in his life.

About a week later, the penny finally drops. BJ bolts upright in bed, going from just about to nod off to terribly, utterly awake.

“Oh my God,” BJ whispers in something that sounds a lot like horror. “Oh my God, I think I'm in love with him.”

There's no real mystery as to who he's talking about. Not with the way BJ sits there, practically stewing in – Peg doesn't know. Guilt maybe. Or shame. Like he's done something wrong, cheated on her somehow, by feeling things he didn't even realize he was feeling until just now.

Peg isn't particularly surprised, is the thing.

She'd spent the week thinking about all of this. This thing between Hawkeye and her husband. And Peg feels like this realization hasn't just been brewing since BJ got back. No, this all started well before then.

Peg feels like she ought to have known, ever since she'd gotten that first letter from BJ talking about how good a surgeon and how compassionate and how bright and fun and funny Hawkeye was. It was practically a love letter to Hawkeye Pierce. It was just neither of them had seen it til now.

Then there were all the other letters, talking about Hawkeye nearly constantly. Both in the funny stories and the more serious passages about terrible the war was - about how much BJ loved and missed Peg and Erin and couldn't wait to be back home – and how Hawkeye had done something to cheer him up in the meantime. He'd inhabited every stroke of BJ's pen. He'd become a constant companion to Peg during BJ's time in Korea.

She'd come to care for him a great deal, despite having never met him. She'd been glad that BJ had someone there for him – and that he could be there for. Because that thing of BJ's about needing to be needed, Hawkeye had brought that out of him in spades.

So many of the letters had had themes of: Hawkeye's feeling down, here's how I cheered him up. Frankly, it should have been obvious just from that. BJ's love for Hawkeye goes well beyond simply friendship.

And Peg thinks the feeling is mutual. After all, she had gotten that letter from Hawkeye saying that BJ was real cut up he was missing his anniversary and could she maybe send him something to cheer him up. Except that it wasn't just a letter or maybe a photograph or another smutty novel Hawkeye was asking for Peg to send. It was her he was asking her for – all the things she'd do with BJ on a normal anniversary with them both home in Mill Valley recorded and mailed to Korea.

Hawkeye had needled and prodded and tricked information out of BJ until he could recreate an entire day of his life. And not just any day – their wedding anniversary. And since Peg couldn't be there to celebrate with BJ, Hawkeye had done it for her. For BJ. If that doesn't spell love, she doesn't know what does.

It should bother her, the idea that another man loves her husband – and that her husband loves him back. And that Hawkeye knows parts of BJ that she can never know.

And it does, a little. The idea that Peg hadn't been able to be there for BJ in all of the ways he'd needed. That he'd had to find someone else a little closer to home to take care of him – and to be taken care of by him – in Korea. That BJ still harbors these feelings for Hawkeye even now that he's back home with her and the kids.

But BJ isn't about to leave her - not with the way he's clinging to her hand and looking at her like she's his only chance at deliverance. And all of Hawkeye's love for BJ had been expressed in gestures like that anniversary movie – things that brought them closer together, things that let BJ come home to her mostly whole.

Even if they end up talking about this, BJ and Hawkeye, it's not going to go change things between them. There's no guarantee that anything will come of it other than emotional honesty. After all, BJ seems quite certain that Hawkeye is in a committed relationship – for whatever value of committed he and Trapper are both capable of. Trapper hadn't been the only one with rather legendary prowess with the nurses, after all.

So the only question she has is, “What do you want to do about this, dear?”

What BJ wants to do is run and hide, to curl up in the safety of Peg's arms and never think about this again. What BJ wants to do is go find Hawkeye and bring him to Mill Valley and keep him here forever. But neither of those are exactly options, so he says, “I guess I want to talk to him. About all this.” He gestures vaguely at the space between them, the bedroom at large, maybe even all of Mill Valley. There's just so much – and BJ doesn't know what any of it means yet.

“Well then, I guess we'd better plan on staying in Boston a few extra days. Why don't you let Hawkeye know.”

Trapper gets woken up by the phone ringing in the middle of the night on a week when he's not supposed to be working nights. But sometimes, there's an emergency bad enough everyone gets called up, scheduling be damned. So he holds back on the stream of profanity he wants to let loose and picks up the receiver.

“This is John McIntyre.”

“Hi, Trapper.” And it's Aisling from down the way, not one of the emergency services operators, so that means he doesn't need to start getting dressed at least. “I got a BJ Hunnicutt calling for Hawkeye. All the way from California, if you can believe it.”

“Yeah, yeah, they're old war buddies. I'll go get Hawkeye. Tell BJ to learn how time zones work while he waits.”

Of course, Hawkeye's wide awake now and looking questioningly at Trapper, trying to figure out what's so important that he's getting a phone call from BJ at two in the morning. And Trapper could just pass over the phone, BJ probably wouldn't say anything about it – and Aisling, who's voice Hawkeye can hear clear from across the room, definitely wouldn't. But Trapper's apparently feeling a little huffy about being woken up for a non-emergency type situation – at least, Hawkeye hopes it's not an emergency type situation. Not much Hawkeye can do from Boston if it is. So that just means something terrible like death or. No, everything is fine. BJ just doesn't know what time it is in Boston. Or he's drunk and. No, that's not really better.

Hawkeye makes impatient grabby hands at the phone.

“Hey, BJ. What's going on? Is something wrong?”

Hawkeye sounds muddled and half-asleep through the phone and suddenly, this seems like a bad idea. Like BJ's jumped the gun. What time is it in Boston, anyway?

“Hey, Hawk. Nothing's wrong.”

BJ hopes not, at any rate. He'll have to wait to see Hawkeye in person to know for sure. That definitely isn't the kind of conversation you have over the phone when the operator – or Trapper – could be listening in.

“Look, I'm sorry to call so late. I just wanted to say that I'm planning to come to Boston for the wedding and that Peg and I would love to stay for a few extra days. And that I'm sorry I've been kind of a jerk.”

Hawkeye's smile can be heard through the phone. “BJ, that's great news! I can't wait to see you both. Though maybe we could talk about this some time other than the middle of the night?”

Oops. Peg's listening in on the call and BJ can feel her silent laughter breathing against the back of his neck.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'll write you a letter tomorrow. Sorry to call so late – I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“It's ok, BJ. But if that's everything, I'm going back to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Hawk,” BJ barely breathes into the receiver.

All of the air has gone out of his lungs, but out of relief this time, not fear. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders, getting to hear Hawkeye's voice – even if only for a minute. Knowing that he's real and there, even all the way across the country, and that BJ will have a chance to talk – really talk – to him soon. It's a bigger relief than he could have imagined.

“You're a real smart lady, Mrs. Hunnicutt,” BJ says into Peg's bare shoulder.

She kisses his forehead. “Goodness knows, one of us has to be. Now you'd better get some sleep too. You can write Hawkeye and Charles in the morning.”

#mash #piercintyre #something old and something new #chapter 4

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