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mirrerover · 3 years

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Big Plans

“You know shit’s never gonna fucking change, right?” Jason makes to grab for his Zippo. Remembering Dick will happily remove his nuts from his waxed sack for even contemplating smoking inside Dick’s apartment, he stops. His fingers twitch with irritation, nothing like a little nicotine deprivation to start the day. “Gotham’s a gothic nightmare where corruption runs thicker than blood and Blüdhaven’s worse, somehow. Like looking in a funhouse mirror. Uglier. More warped.”

“I really do enjoy our little morning pep talks,” Dick replies, closing the last two buttons on his dress shirt before tucking the fabric into the waistline of his pants. In general, Jason would say he prefers the Kevlar-enhanced, ass-hugging suit Dick prowls the night in—but there’s something to be said for a crisp, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, forearm veins on display. He doesn’t know how the Blüdhaven criminals are faring but, personally, he wouldn’t mind letting Detective Richard Grayson slap some cuffs on him. Let Dick work him over hard in a surveilled box until Jason cracks, raw and bloody under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“These fucking places,” Jason grumbles, tired and cranky from watching Dick getting ready to leave, all that warm, gold skin about to slip right out the door. “It’s not something anyone can fix. Nothing short of dropping a bomb on the damn place and razing it to the ground.”

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer, strands brushing the bone of his jaw. He’s no stranger to this; Jason and the trash he talks. Words pouring out of him sharp as knives, the blades full of blood. Just endlessly spewing shit.

“No point to it all, huh?” Dick leans a hip against the dresser, arms folded, eyebrow raised. There’s an ease to him that’s inherent; the way he owns his body, his space, every room he’s in. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to lure me back to bed.”

Jason thinks it over. Admits, “not originally,” and lets his legs fall apart slowly. Nude body lounging against cheap, synthetic pillows, he’s got Dick’s low-rent sheets strategically draped across his crotch, all tasteful and shit. Just like the Renaissance paintings cluttering the hallways of the Wayne Manor. None of the shameless, naked peacocking Dick gets up to after sex. No, Jason’s classy. Artful. The signature Jason Todd brand. “But are you feelin’ down to fuck?” he asks.

Dick throws his head back and laughs. Really fucking laughs. Eyes scrunched up and shoulders shaking, all charisma and beauty and warmth. Laughing like that, it’s suddenly easy to see how a group of metahumans chose Dick as their leader despite his lack of superpowers or how the Blüdhaven Police Corps would accept him as their own despite him being the ward of Gotham’s favourite billionaire asshole. There’s something about Dick like there’s something about Bruce. Something captivating and inescapable that would make you launch a thousand ships for them. Burn down entire worlds for them. Jason’s not sure Dick’s aware of that. And in a way, Jason thinks he understands the Joker better than Bruce ever could.

Dick’s laughter fades too slowly, and Jason would be annoyed but there’s a tightness to Dick’s pants that wasn’t there two minutes ago, and Dick’s always laughing. Joyful and happy. Like those are easy feelings to conjure and easy feelings to have. As if getting out of bed isn’t like crawling out of a dark pit every morning and as if life isn't like taking a suckerpunch to the gut, over and over.

“Wish I could,” Dicks says, and Jason swears he sounds like he means it. “But I got big plans today. Gotta save a city.”

“‘Save a city.’ Jesus Christ. More like go get shanked in the gut.”

Dick shrugs and slips on a watch. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The other bats all have their day jobs. The Police Detective, the Socialite, the rising Tech Wunderkind, and Jason’s personal favourite: the Student. Jason derives no small amount of pleasure from knowing that Bruce and the Demon Spawn get to suffer through the worst of it. Like an ill-fitted suit, Jason hopes it pulls and itches every time they’ve got to slip their disguises on. It shows how removed they are from the rot and the grit and the filth of what is Gotham. The gore at the core of it all.

That’s where Jason lives, at its epicentre.

He’d fallen into it naturally, being a crime lord. It had been a logical first step when he’d come home, head full of green fumes and rage. He’s proud to say, he puts the organized in organized crime. Outshines even the worst of them in calculated vicious violence. The crime part of the job, Jason can admit he’s gotten more discerning about. There’s no peddling drugs to kids or bleeding junkies dry, no people traded like cattle, and he doesn’t like selling guns to the lowlifes clogging Gotham’s streets. So, he’s become a parasite instead. Infiltrates a crime organisation and eats it from the inside out till it finally collapses. Scraps the dead beast for parts and money.

It’s not something Jason talks about with this version of Dick. His shady deals, his underground moonlighting. Never with a cop like the one making his way to the bed right now, uniform tight over thick thighs and a sway in his hips that’s nothing less than sexual warfare.

“Try smoking in my bed again, Todd,” Dick warns, looming over him. He stops whatever threat he was going to utter, disrupted by Jason grousing at him to fucking let that go already. Perfectly pleasant, Dick does exactly that. Just stares at Jason with a face far too naked and utterly too fond. Something’s creeping under Jason’s skin at the sight of it—an itch he doesn’t know how to scratch, unable to decide whether he wants to kiss the prick or break his perfect face instead.

A little lower, there’s a bruise peeking out of Dick’s collar that looks like a handprint. Jason had put that there last night. Violently. Not even the fun kind of violent but the messy kind. The kind where something hunts Jason through nightmares and his body acts before his sleeping brain has had the chance to catch up—that kind of violence. Maybe a better person would wallow in the guilt and remove themselves from the situation. Not Dick and Jason. They just get better at hiding the batarangs and guns. The 200 pounds of well-trained muscle and murderous reflexes are a little harder to counteract but Dick’s no babe in the woods. Besides, Jason’s not exactly the first lethal bitch between Dick’s bedsheets.

Dick smiles. A teasing thing full of soft edges. “Mornings are hard. Aren’t they, Sugarplum?”

“Fuck you to hell.” Jason groans with feeling, hating the hard lumps of Dick’s mattress when he sinks back into them. “Just get lost already, Birdbrain. There’s no fucking point to you with your clothes on.”

“Nice to know I’m not completely useless.”

Jason wants to fight that far too favourable self-assessment. Would fight it, were he not half a pack of Lucky Strikes and three cups of coffee short of mustering the energy. Which is also the only reason he’s letting Dick press an off-centre kiss to his forehead. A shitty place for a shitty kiss from a shitty person, if you ask Jason. Very much Dick Grayson’s style.

“Try and behave, Little Wing.” Dick’s already moving away from the bed and shrugging on a jacket. “I really like this place. Got three South facing windows and none of the neighbours run a meth lab.”

“Prime Blüdhaven real estate,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Dick takes one last look at himself at the mirror, shoots Jason a tacky wink because his existence is a curse, and promises under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like I’ll be back or I’ll miss you. Another twenty seconds later and Jason hears the front door lock click back into place.

His day is wide open now.

There are things to do but there are always things to do. At any time, Jason’s got about forty things in various stages of motion. Always working on something. Someone. Bigger games than the one he’s running on Dick right now, lighting one up in his bed.

Blowing smoke up into the air, Jason decides that today he’s going to crack the safe Dick keeps behind the panel in his closet. Perfectly harmless, really. Just him fishing through some of Dick’s case files—maybe even solving a few, if he’s feeling charitable. And for tonight, there’s that Malaysian place three blocks over that does a better Rendang than anything he’s found in Gotham. Dick never shuts up about it. Like he’s never going to shut up about the cigarette smell seeping into the wallpaper.

Jason smirks. Solid options. He still has last night’s terrors painted on the back of his eyelids and the feeling of Dick’s neck under his hand but they’re slowly fading. And Dick’s got him covered, said he’d take care of the big plans, so Jason doesn’t have to. And next time, when Jason’s Dick and Dick’s Jason, he’ll have Dick covered too. Jason will tackle the big plans while Dick raids Jason’s fridge and leaves wet towels all over his apartment. Jason knows it’ll happen. It has happened. Just not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

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@wethatake thanks for being the beta and basically a co-writer. You suck but I love you. <3 Here’s to hoping that your sad little sack of a co-worker doesn’t kill you. XD

#jaydick #jaydick-flashfic #jaydick-flashfic: big plans #jason todd #dick grayson #mirre writes

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kaiisenn · 3 years

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Reiner Braun x Fem! Reader: Angst

It all happened to quick...

One moment your all coming back from saving Ymir, Krista, Bertholdt and your boyfriend Reiner. You just wanted to check up on your boyfriend, you didn't know how things would end.

"I'm the armored titan and he's the colossal titan" Reiner spoke out like it was nothing look at you and Eren with a strong gaze "you're just tired, aren't you?" Eren placed a hand onto Reiners shoulder inspecting his face for any signs of tiredness "Right, Bertholdt. You've been through hmmm t so much, it's making you crazy!" Turning his direction towards the said brunette "Yeah, Reiner come on making a joke like that isn't funny!" You spoke out, a thin layer of fearful sweat starting to coat your body "Y-Yeah, Reiner's just really tired" Bertholdt stuttered out, taking a step back away from them Eren spoke "Besides, If you were really the Armored Titian that wants to destroy humanity....why would you be asking me this in the first place? What did you think would happen? That I'd nod and say 'sure let's go?'" Reiner just stood there looking at the two of you with wide eyes and a open jaw "Oh right. That's right. What the hell was I thinking?" Reiner finally mumbled out "Have I really gone crazy?"

Taking a step toward him the big blonde you speak out "Reiner, come on let's go home. You obviously need some rest, so why don't we go back together?" Looking at him expectantly, with hopeful eyes. Hoping this was all a bad joke, that your precious Reiner wasn't actually a man killing titan wanting to wipe what's left of humanity.

In the harsh wind the flag that was held up by a skinny stick finally breaks. Jumping at the expectancy you and Eren look towards where the flag use to stand tall and proud. Even if it was beaten and torn. Sunshine breaking through the clouds sets the scenery for change "I see... that's it. I've been here too long for my own good." A serious Reiner looks down at the ground "Its been three long years... We were just kids... we didnt know anything. If only I never knew that there were people like this...I... wouldn't have become....such a half assed piece of shit!" Tears began to form in his eye, wanting to do nothing more than help the one you love you tried making your way over to Reiner. Hand making it's way to caress his cheek, but before you could get the change Reiner slapped it away pushing you back with such force your butt landed on the ground. "It's too late now.... I don't know what's right anymore. But the only choice for me now.... is to face the consequences of my actions...and as a warrior...fulfill my duty to the bitter end!" Taking his arm out of the makeshift sleeve Krista made for him.

Showing his wounded arm starting to heal itself. Bertholdt coming to his side "Reiner! Are we doing it?! Now?! Right here?!" Screaming out just in case his friend was too absorbed in his own thoughts to hear him "yeah.. we settle this.. right here, right now!" Reiner replied back simply, running towards the edge of the wall. Before he could even jump Mikasa came to put an end to things, using her ODM gear to articulate her way to cut his hand off as well as cut his other arm badly. Making her way to Bertholdt she cut at his throat trying to kill him "EREN, Y/N. RUN!" she screamed out standing over Bertholdt with her blade ready "MIKASA WATCH OUT!!" You scream from your position on the ground, warning her about her other enemy. It was too late, he got elbowed off of Bertholdt by Reiner and off the wall, thankfully she had her ODM gear to grapple onto the side of the wall before the was too far away from them "Bertholdt!" Reiner screamed out indicating for his friend to transform "REINER!" reaching your hand out to try to stop your lover from making this mistake, hearing the others telling you two to run from them..

But it was too late, the impact and pressure from both of their transformations was blowing you all away from them, before you could get too far the armored titan took ahold of you..

Waking up in high in a tree was not the best or most expected way, sitting up way to fast a headache came over you. Holding your head for a few seconds you look up to see a legless and armless Ymir sitting right infront of you, and behind her a passed out Eren with no limbs at all "Oh my lord! Are you two alright!?" You asked reaching out to them "I mean, I've clearly been in better shape but I'm working on it. You on the other hand, you're not looking too hot, Y/n" A sarcastic Ymir comments sending you a smirk "Me-? I fell kin-" you cut yourself off turning your focus onto the men standing on the other tree, acting all high and mighty "Good Morning, Princess" Reiner spoke out, thick arms crossed over his chest "Reiner-!" You stand up too quickly almost losing your balence until Ymir grabs you by the ankle to keep you steady, you shoot you a thankful smile as she nods in return. Turning your rage to your boyfriend you scream out "Reiner, what the hell is going on?!" Fist clenching at your sides "What's going on our little Y/n, is that Reiner and Bertholdt are little traitors" eyes widening at the freckled brunettes statement "Ymir, come on stop joking this is Reiner and Bertholdt were talk-" suddenly the rush of memories fill your brain up as you think about what happened before you woke up here "Y/n, I'm sorry to tell you this but-" "YOU'RE SORRY?! HOW CAN YOU BE SORRY YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE YOU KILLED AND FOR WHAT?? JUST CAUSE?! IT WAS YOU THAT DAY WALL MARIA WAS BREACHED!!"

"Hey, Y/n. What's got you so down?" Reiner comes walking up to you when you were alone at dinner "Ah nothing, I guess I was lost in my own head." You dryly chuckle and look to the side to keep your gaze away from his intruding eyes "Come on, I'm sure talking about it would help." Looking into his eyes you could see how sincere he was about wanting to listen and help you with whatever you were going through "I guess, if it's not too much of a burden on you." Grabbing your hands into his much bigger ones Reiner took your hands and led them to his lips giving them a sweet kiss "I'd do anything for you, Y/n"

At the time it was a sweet gesture, not only showing his love and loyalty to you but giving you a new reason to keep on pushing in this life. Now it's a bittersweet memory, thoughts of how he betrayed you swarming your mind, making you feel dizzy "my family... I told you how they were killed that day, I told you how when the titans breached the wall a huge chunk of rock trapped them in the house, and the only thing I could do was watch as my friends and family were eaten right infront of my eyes.... that day I lost everything, I had to steal to get food, I wore the same clothes every single day, my life was a living hell after that day and the only reason all that happened....Was because of you!" Erratic breathing and Ymir's tight hold on your ankle was your only thing connecting you to the real world "I know I didn't have it the worst, there is definitely people who have it worse than me. But to know all this time I've been living in a imagined paradise with the same person responsible for my family's death-" Clasping your hand over your mouth to stop any liquid from spilling out , squatting on the thick branch feeling Ymirs hand caress gentle circles on your back "Do you find some sick joke in all of this?! You bastard!! Do you not have any remorse for the people you've killed?! Men, Women, Children?!!" Tears spilling out of your eyes like a waterfall "You must be real happy with yourself knowing you have mankind hanging off of a thread!" Words just came spilling out of your mouth, the hatred for the titans that killed your life finally being released after years and years of keeping it in "I had no choice!!" Reiner shut you up before you could get another word in "how laughable-" you gave a raspy, dry chuckle to his defensiveness

"Y/n, don't trust to easily. You never know how people actually are." Your father spoke, a frown placed on his face "Awe come on pops, don't worry about me when you should worry about not getting anymore wrinkles on that face! Come on smilee" you gave a cheeky grin using your index fingers to lift your smile up more

"Was I just your pawn in all of this? Was I just someone you could use? Was everything a lie?" Before he could answer any of those questions a green smoke flare grabbed everyone attention "The Survey Corp is already here?!" Bertholdt shouted out looking at Reiner for guidance "We take them and go" Using his ODM gear he knocked you out and took both you and Eren, zipping away from the Survey Corp.

In the end, you arrived back home with Mikasa, Eren, Armin and the others after a long and devastating fight. Your questions were never answered and your heart would forever be broken.

THAT WAS A SUPER ASS ENDING BUT I HOPED YOU ENJOY REINER IS SO SEXY I HAVE TO DO SCHOOL WORK CAUSE I PUT IT OFF FOR THE PAST FEW HOURS TO WRITE THIS ANYWAYS REINER IS SEXY 🤰🏽🤰🏽🛐

-Kaii

#reiner x reader #reiner braun #attack on titan #armin aot #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #aot #levi ackerman x reader #shingeki no kyoujin levi #shingeki no kyoujin manga #fanfic #fangirl #fandom #anime x reader #anime

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

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Kira Vol 2 (2)

The Mistress

CHAPTER 2: You Were Found

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: A new chapter begins in Kira’s life. Old secrets, new confessions, surprising allies and unexpected meetings. All of them have one name in common. Loki.

Chapter content: soft feels

Warnings: none

Word count: I’m feeling better today, enjoying the weather, shit scared of thunder and wanting sleep to come early so I don’t wake up in the noon like I did today

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

If the air could spell out the emotions floating in this space, it would paint the molecules 'awkward'. But what is more fascinating to witness by anyone who would walk in on the scene is to point out to who is more uncomfortable than the others. You sit across your parents, busy helping serve breakfast around the table, your attention is mostly taken by your grandmother- who is more than delighted to be served fried bread, these little pieces of her favourite edible treasures of fried dough and a hot cup of tea to go with it all. Shireen and Ritviz, your younger sister and brother sit on the other end of the table together, watching you with their piercing gaze as you try to- almost- completely ignore this extraordinarily handsome man sitting right next to you. They dare not blink as this pale sculpted dude looks at the movements of your hands busy at work before landing his haze upon your face. "So-" Ritviz leans in towards Shireen, his eyes still not letting go of this guy who is stuck on his sister for some reason- "this is her boss?"

Shireen hums, narrowing her eyes towards the duo. Taking a cardamom stick from the table basket, she snaps it in half. "Ay, Kira. Give your boss some of that mint sauce you prepared last night." You turn to watch your sister nibble at the cardamom, trying your best to ignore the palpitations and nod with a smile. How does she always know? It is hard to know if the heat your feel at the nape of your neck and cheeks is visible to everyone sitting around you and even harder to let your excited brain find a switch to shut down the anxiety that your body feels on having all the people you love in one room. On the same table. "Have some of this," your mother brings forward an entire serving of her signature chillis fried and spiced in her signature chickpea dough recipe and asks Loki to help himself. "No!" You blurt out when Loki tries to go for them, moving them away to take charge of filling his plate up. "He can't eat chilli," you explain, gathering more judgment from your siblings, "it doesn't suit him." "Tsk. How have you been living with him till now?! You can barely survive without spicy food!" You and Loki turn your heads- quite in sync- to look at Shireen. "Shireen," mother uses her tone to make it known she is crossing some line. But she also makes sure to smile at her daughter's guest and serve him some piping hot tea. "Don't mind her. I dropped her on the floor when she was a baby," you whisper to Loki. Loki blinks and quietly chuckles before turning back to look at Shireen. "We have a cook back home. She makes sure Kira gets everything she wants and needs." There is a gasp forming in Ritviz's lungs right now as he bites into the fried cheese. 'We'? 'Back home'? This dude already planned their retirement?? "So, Loki..." Now all three children turn to look at their mother, knowing full well where this is going the moment she addresses your boss so casually. "Do you have any siblings?" Ritviz facepalms himself harder than anticipated. Shireen grabs a chilli and stuffs it in her mother's mouth while you try to keep a straight face through the embarrassment your family is making you feel. Well, your dad and grandma are an exception because they are more interested in the food. "She doesn't have any idea about what's going on around the world. So..." You trial off with apology bursting through your y/e/c eyes. Your siblings look at your mother with daggers in their eyes, knowing full well she has consumed the Odin family history through the news like an addict ever since you got the job at Sun Corp. More so when you came back home. Your mom can feel their stares. But she too takes her time to look at them and go 'what' like it's a big deal. "Meet me outside after breakfast and I'll tell you 'what'," Shireen threatens her. Loki simply shrugs. "It's fine. I have a brother. He is back in Asgard looking after his father's empire. We don't meet each other much. Mostly because of our work." It is both relieving and painful to watch Loki sail on those words so smoothly and end them with a genuine smile. "These are delicious, by the way," he adds and you have to wonder about a thousand things about your boss in one go. Your mother is won over by that compliment but that does not stop her from prying more into your boss' life. "The business must be going well then?" Loki nods in respect. "We have been going stable. So, that is a plus after the slump the market was facing." "Okay, no business talk on the table," you remind everyone before pouring some soda for you, your grandma and Loki. "The food still might feel spicy. Have the soda first and tea later." Loki pauses between bites and lets that sweet command swirl inside him, his bones feeling alive after so long on hearing that voice talk to him this way. "Yes, ma'am," he replies softly, and you have to hide the flush on your face and the smile on your lips behind your hands. "What happened?" your grandma asks you out of the blue, her strong sixth sense already catching the flutter in your gut. You shake your head and bribe her with the soda. Her focus is redirected instantly, but that does not mean she stops observing you through this heavenly meal. "Why didn't you get married yet?" your mother throws the question out of nowhere, making some people choke on their drink, others groan, and one snicker. "Okay, that's it," you announce, "he's staying at the hotel. Loki, you're staying at the hotel." Your mother's wide eyes look at the usual judgment of the siblings falling upon her. "What? I'm just asking this handsome man about-" "You cannot ask him that, ma," you and Ritvik groan, Shireen tsks and rolls her eyes. Loki, watching this unfold simply smirks at this pure delight he feels sitting in the midst of this family. You get up and go to the kitchen to get some more sauces for the table, all the while glaring at your mother- who chooses to not notice. The fried dough smells and tastes heavenly even though it is one heavy portion for him. Worth it, he shrugs internally and goes for another bite. His right wrist feels a tug and he witnesses the frail wrinkled hand shaking a little before pointing him to the soda bottle in front of him. "Have some sprite," your grandmother urges Loki with a smile in her eyes. Loki feels a tug on the string of his hearts. Those eyes are a mix of green, brown, grey and every mystic power of nature that can be held in the iris of a wise person. That withered face shines bright with plump cheeks and transparent emotions. "I'm...uh...I'm good, Mrs Kane, thank you," Loki reciprocates the smile, "I still have some left in my glass." Grandma nods and pushes her own glass forward. "Then pour me some, will you?" Loki cannot help but chuckle, complying with the orders straight away. "So-" your mother's voice breaks through the soothing air over the table just as you come out of the kitchen- "how much do you earn?" And you walk right back into it.

"Pretty cringy breakfast downstairs." Moving away from the view of the mountains in the near distance, Loki sees Ritvik stand by the rooftop door with a box in his hand. He can see Shireen stand behind him, bluffing disinterest as she pushes his brother away to walk towards the wires and hang the washed laundry to dry under the oddly hot December sun. "Isn't that how families usually are?" Loki smiles in his direction. Ritviz joins the man by the railings, looking at the mountains covered in thick clouds before paying attention to the maroon sweater Loki wears with his midnight blue jeans. The boy cannot help but appreciate the wide knit patterns adorn that white skin with apt beauty. "Nice sweater," he points before turning around to sit down on the platform. "Thanks, it w-" something stops Loki mid-sentence when he remembers the day he found it waiting in his bedroom- "it was a gift." Ritviz hums and smirks. "Good taste," he mutters. Shireen's eyes have been stuck on these two, reading their every word as every fabric getting in her hands is tortured with a sudden flick. "Is she a good assistant? My sister?" the brother asks. Is...that a trick question? Loki blinks at the mountains before smiling at the boy. "The best one I could ask for." A nod of agreement comes from the brother while the sister stands there giving more frustrated flicks to the sweaters. "Cool. Cool cool cool cool. So...she must keep up with whatever it is she's supposed to do." Oh for fucks sake. Shireen groans out loud. "Just ask him already dammit!" Both men turn towards Shireen. One looks at her in confusion while the other widens his eyes in caution at her, shaking his head as discreetly as possible. "Ask...ask me what?" "Nothin-" "How did Kira get hurt?" A crow yells whilst sitting on the top of the malacca as if laughing at the entire situation. Ritviz scratches some itch at the back of his neck while sighing in defeat. "You are supposed to go easy with the questions, Rin. This guy is the reason Kira has a job." "Oh, shut it, Ritz," she scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest, "it's not like he's doing her a favour. She has earned her place, okay? And she got wounded under his care!" Loki can see the scrunched up nose and brows carry on them a rage held in for far too long. Even though those grey eyes have nothing but animosity in them for him, he feels a certain elation on seeing them stand in defence for her sister. "Oi!" RItz is about to yell at Rin but Loki cuts him on the way. "She was in an accident." The chilly breeze takes the words and swirls them around the audience. "The car she was travelling in met with a serious accident. Three of my men died that night. One survived long enough to make sure Kira was all right." The crisp heat of the sun feels warm instead of scorching. Those fine lines on Rin's forehead fade just a little; partially because of hearing those words straight from the lion's mouth, partially because the guilt is transparent to a fault in those smaragdines that shimmer more than they normally should. "I was supposed to be with her that night. I promised to take her home, safe and sound. And I regret every second of not keeping my promise, I assure you that. If there was a way to repent for being careless with Kira's life, I would gladly give myself up for it." The silence that erodes the rooftop brings a lightness to it. Rin sighs and crosses her arms while Ritz cannot bring himself to look at Loki- who is patiently waiting for a word. "Kira told us there were bad guys involved," Rin mutters while letting her fingers play with the wool of her white sweater, "and by us, I mean me and Ritz. Mom and dad have no idea about this. They still think she fell from the stairs." Loki nods. "Did they try to hurt her because of...you?" Ritz cannot help but ask. The weight that has begun to make home over his chest returns after what seems like a while. That uneasy feeling of something scratching over his heart makes him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, that is not what I meant," Ritz scrunches his face in an apology, "not that she was hurt because of you. What I meant was-" "Yes. I was the reason." "Bullshit!" Rin scoffs and laughs. That...was unexpected. "I'm pretty sure she did something to piss them off. She's done it before and she will def-fucking-nately do it again." Rin is not wrong. And the strong edge in her voice tells him she knows her sister well enough. "What I care about is that now that she works for you, she will be fighting a fight that isn't hers. And, God forbid, if something happens to-" "I won't let it," Loki is already marking down a vow, "I have witnessed it once and I am not going to let anything or anyone make her go through it again." "But you cannot promise me that she won't go looking for danger, can you?" The lift of her brow makes Loki recall why he fell for Kira. "Agreed. I cannot do that. But whatever she brings home with her, I am willing to clean the mess." "You-" Rin has to literally grit her teeth before she can find herself pouring down fire over the man who talks about her sister like... The embers burning inside her bring blood to the surface under her teeth. Of all the goddamn people in this world. She looks at those green eyes shining under the soothing rays; translucent to a fault, standing bare. "Rin," Ritz quietly urges, trying to take her by the arm. "She will get hurt again, won't she?" Ritz stands there, feeling as significant as the wind meddling with the two people standing opposite each other defending their love for the same person again and again. And if they could, they would do it endlessly. "She does not back down from a fair fight," Loki addresses something all three of them already know. "That fight is always to save someone else," Rin adds, never blinking. "One more reason for me to carefully choose my enemies," Loki concludes, never wavering his gaze. A sigh leaves Rin's lungs and she feels her watery eyes closing with a pinch of pain in the eyelids. "The audacity of this bitch," she mutters and walks away, kicking the lone brick in her path that was used to keep the blankets holding drying chilli in place. "Please don't hate her," Ritz presses, sighing at the sight of his sister stomping down the stairs, "she is mad because she does not yet know how to process the emotion of envying you." Loki's brows furrow. And Ritviz can see the question incepting from miles away, making him chuckle and scratch an itch at the back of his head. "Kira stopped singing two years ago," he began, having Loki's full attention at the mention of the name, "all the weird songs and lyrics, all the wacky sound effects and humming disappeared when she fell ill. Of course, to the world, she was suffering from insomnia. But there was so much more. We were worried it would get worse when she left for the cyber city. So easy to get lost there, you know. I knew she cried every night even though she did not say. She always called mom in the morning when she had the energy for another day. I even thought of bringing her back home one day and right that morning she called us to tell us she had landed a job in your company. And her call times got more erratic. But her voice grew stronger. I don't know if it was because of the work or people around her, but she seemed to be better. That was one hope for us till we heard about the accident from you. That must have been hard for you, man. Telling us about her? And at the same time having to tell us to not meet her because of security reasons or whatever was going on? The day she told us she was coming back we thought that was it. That she was done. That she was coming home, done with the world and stuff. The first day she came back home, she was humming." Loki blinks, feeling an old string strike. "She-" Ritz chuckles at his own disbelief- "was covered in bruises and bandages and she was humming. She narrated incidents like she had come back from some great adventure and she talked like could not wait to go back. And the last time I saw her eyes sparkle like that, Loki, was when she had created art. And that was ages ago." Words do not even dare to come up from that lumpy throat. And even though he has no idea, Ritz can only imagine what Loki must be feeling right now. "So, please don't mind if my sister envies the fact that you were able to do something she could not figure out for Kira before. She fears Kira might have experienced a high that might be too dangerous for her. I'm not saying that I completely agree with her, but she might not be completely wrong." Loki exhales, feeling a load leave him as he moves his hand through his hair. "And I'm sure you'll do what's best," Ritz shrugs and smirks, casually pointing at Loki's sweater, "I mean, she doesn't give the best gifts to just anyone." Loki looks down at his sweater and has to take some time to find in himself to chuckle through the smooth roller coaster he was sent on. "Here." He watches Ritz bring forward the box he has been carrying for a while now. "Happy birthday. From me and Rin." There is a pause in every moment in his body. Even on an extraordinary day, it would be unexpected, but this man had stopped keeping expectations from the world a long time ago. No wonder then, that this gesture hits hard right in the chest, squeezing that heart to bring up some buried or burned scripts of having the chance of making new friends and family. It is a melody- on a piano sitting at the edge of a hill, a harp standing by the edge of the sea or a cello right in the middle of a wheat field- slowly but surely engulfing him with a different warmth that he is currently too slow to figure out. The undone ribbon lies on the cemented floor underneath him. The lid hangs in his hand as the ceramic reflects the light in his eyes while he looks with a mixture of confusion and surprise. The polished piece of mug is picked up to watch the animated caricature of two really proud beings leaning next to the words in the middle. One he recognises immediately. He can never miss those golden eyes and that lited brow with a knowing smile. The other? He has a hard time breathing it in because it only ends up making him laugh. The green eyes with the smug look and red sweater with black pants against the pale skin are giving him goosebumps. 'Father of a Big, Bad Wolf' it says.

For a second you feel like he hasn't heard you walk up to him. You are about to call out his name when a thought slides in from that on itching corner of your mind and tells you to pause and breathe in this picture. Loki, the man responsible for an empire that is both feared and respected today; the man with mysteries surrounding him in as dense clouds as the men and women who have fallen for his shadowed personality. The man who can run the world but right now stands on your rooftop with dewy eyes looking at the mug your brother made for him. The man who smiles the best smile when the world isn't looking. The man you have fallen for. Hard. It is a treat to witness this soft moment and it almost stings a little when he raises his head to let his gaze fall on your face. But more than that sting, it burns so well when his pupils dilate and his face glows on sensing your presence. "Do you like your birthday present?" you have to ask. And you cannot undo this big smile that is stuck on your face today. "Like would be an understatement, darling," he mentions while carefully putting the mug back into the box. Darling. The word still holds the power to send a delicious buzz down to your core. More so when he breathes such magic into it. "Oh," you nod and pretend to question, "then I wonder what will happen when you find out the rest of them today." Those fine lines on his forehead appear for second before excitement mixed with disbelief washes them away. "What?" He is barely able to whisper through the rush that is making his skin flush. And you are loving every second of it. "Happy birthday, Mr Loki, sir," you coo sweetly, licking your lips and taking a step closer to him, "let's not waste our time. We have a lot to do in these eighteen hours." And in this very second, he is certain of one thing when he looks at you. He would make sacred grounds in your name, kiss the dirt you walked in and teach the world what love is by painting a picture of you. He will protect that smile with his life and do everything in his power to make the world safer just for you. "Oh, and for your first surprise," you mention with a skip and jump in your step- something he is witnessing for the first time and loving every part of it- "my grandma seems to like you now." He chuckles with a smile so wide that makes you giggle at the adorableness. "That's good to he-wait. What do you mean now?" But you are already turning the corner to walk downstairs, humming a tune. "Kira, what-Kira! What do you mean now?"

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me- Chapter 85

Warnings: profanity, violence, mentions of blood, mild torture, very minor references to rape

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip

He briefly loses consciousness, succumbing to shock and blood loss. When he comes to he’s disoriented. Head swimming and vision blurred; vaguely aware of combined smells of sweat, urine, and pure filth. A lone voice to his right; volume muted and its words garbled, making him feel as if he’s attempting to listen and decipher while being submerged underwater. He feels groggy and weak; head swaying back and forth and from side to side, eyes repeatedly blinking in an attempt to acknowledge and recognize his surroundings. At first he thinks he’s back on the Sultana Kamal Bridge, leaning back against the side of an abandoned and bullet ridden sedan. Right leg rendered useless and the strong metallic taste of blood in his mouth; crimson rivers escaping his lips and trickling down his chin. Chest feeling as if it’s on fire; sheer agony created by a sniper’s bullet that ripped through his back and plunged into his chest. The tightness in his left lung; the distinct rattling and wheezing noise he makes every time he attempts to draw a breath.

It’s seven years ago and he’s back on that bridge. Exhausted and in pain; feeling all semblance of strength and hope...of LIFE...seeping out of him. But there’s no visions this time; no delirious moment where he sees the blurry yet unmistakable image of his dead son. He can hear laughter though. Faint yet musical; a beautiful sound that somehow cuts through the grogginess and the thick fog of pain and manages to bring a weak smile to his face. And their voices; happy and excited as they call to him. His oldest daughter and his twin boys; giggling as they encourage him to follow them. To run and play and throw them over his head; that blind faith and trust that he’ll always be there to catch them.

Another voice now. Older and deeper. And he tightly squeezes his eyes shut and tries to identify it. Rich in tone and possessing a slow, Southern drawl; a discernible twang that evokes the smell of leather and cheap whisky. A chuckle accompanies it; one that’s both menacing and amused. It’s followed by the shuffle of boots along dirty and cracked cement; a sound that grows as it slowly approaches him. He opens his eyes when senses their presence; a hazy figure briefly standing at his side before crouching down to his level. And as the grogginess begins to lift and his consciousness begins to return, he expects to see fourteen year old Ovi next to him; clad in a dirty t-shirt that is monstrous on his tall, slender frame and jeans a few sizes too big. The words are on the tip of his tongue -“You see that helicopter? I need you to run as fast as you can for it”- but they never leave his lips; forming in his brain yet no sound emerging. But it isn’t a kind, comforting hand that reaches for his now. It's one that is rough and callused and violently yanks his head up by his hair.

“Wake up!” Nathan snarls, and tosses a cup of dirty water in his face. “I’m nowhere near through with you.”

The pain is intense. Beginning at the small of his back and travelling the entire length of spine. Some of the feeling has returned to his legs; extremely limited mobility, but he’s able to move his feet ever so slightly and weakly wiggle his toes. He can smell the blood; sharp and metallic. It soaks his left shoulder and stretches from one hip to the other; aware that it drips down his arm and off his fingers and trickles down his legs. And as he becomes more lucid, the reality of the situation and his environment returns. Able to recall the moments before he passed out. The phone call from his wife and the concern and panic in her voice as she told him about the letter -the REAL letter- from the Marine Corps; her pleading for him to just walk away and let them handle the situation. It was too late by then. By the time hung up, Nathan was already on the move; free of the restraints around his wrists, a revolver in his hand. And something wicked in his eyes and something even more sinister that dripped from his words; a smirk tugging at his lips as he wasted no time in pulling the trigger.

Tyler struggles against the hand firmly gripping his hair; thrashing his head from side to side, his legs feebly attempting to push himself away from the dirty surface his stomach is pressed against. It’s futile; he can barely feel anything from the waist down and his arms are out of commission; tightly restrained behind back, the plastic of the zip ties cutting into his skin. He tries to call out for help, but all words are held back; stopped by the soiled rag that has been crudely stuffed into his mouth. A mixture of blood and sweat drips into his eyes. A large, vicious gash across the top of his right eyebrow; the result of catching his face on the door frame when the gunshot had pitched his body forward.

He’s able to register his surroundings. Captive in the locker that previously held Neysa and Aarev; face down on the soiled mattress. The odour hits him at full strength now; a combination of old sweat, stale piss, feces, and puke. His stomach lurches; chest heaving and retching, eyes watering and this throat burning when he’s forced to swallow his own vomit; unable to properly expel it with the makeshift gag shoved in his mouth.

“You’re just a mess, aren’t ya,” Nathan chuckles, then releases the grip from Tyler’s hair; shoving his face into the mattress and holding it there until he’s struggling to breathe and squirming against both the bonds around his wrists and the hand pressing down on the back of his head. “Not so tough now, are ya? So much for the big, bad Tyler Rake. You’re losing your touch; nothing thinking as quick as you used to. Turning your back like that? Maybe your brain is more fucked up than everyone thinks.”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!” The words are muffled against the fabric in his mouth, and Nathan gives a smirk of both annoyance and amusement. Then uses his index and middle fingers to shove the rag even further; until it touches the back of Tyler’s throat, making him gag and retch once more.

“Used to be a time where people were afraid of you or admired you,” Nathan muses. “I don't think they’ll feel either of those now; kind of hard to be afraid of someone that’s been reduced to such a pathetic piece of shit. How does it feel? To be knocked off that pedestal of yours?”

He once more struggles against the restraints. Curling his hands into tight fists and tightening his forearms; attempting to yank his wrists apart with enough force to break the heavy plastic. Relegated to dropping his forehead against the mattress and groaning into it with a mix of frustration, rage, and pain.

“You don’t give up, I’ll give you that much. Apparently it takes a lot more than shooting you in the back to take you out of the game. Guess you’ve got a bit of fight left in you after all.”

Tyler feels the mattress sink and sway underneath him as Nathan looms over him; one knee alongside of him as the other hovers over the small of his back and a hand once more grips his hair. And he screams into both the gag and the mattress when the younger man presses his knee against the fresh bullet wound; his entire body weight coming down on the injured area. The pain is intense; sharp and agonizing, causing his entire body to lock up as a defence mechanism. His vision blurs and his head swims; the numbness in his feet increasing and mobility worsening in his legs. Yet he manages to fight back; thrashing wildly against the mattress as he attempts to shake the former Marine off of him.

“You got some balls, Rake, I’ll give you that,” Nathan smirks, and finally removes his knee from Tyler’s back. “Guess you haven’t learned your lesson, huh? You fuck with the wrong people, this is what happens. It catches up to you; sooner or later. Now do me a favour...look up…” he yanks Tyler’s head back by the hair. “...you see that?” he nods at the cell phone perched on a chair at the foot of the mattress. “See what I’m doing there? We’re gonna save this little moment of ours. For prosperity. So I can look back on this moment fondly. WHILE I’m pissing on your grave. And fucking that cute little wife of yours.”

“Fuck you!”

“What was that?” Nathan yanks the rag from Tyler’s mouth. “Did you just say ‘fuck you’? Is that what you said? I think you’ve got this all wrong. I’m going fuck HER. Whether she wants me to or not. And there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

“I will fucking kill you!” Tyler rages “With my bare fucking hands! If you go anywhere near my wife, I will fucking bury you!”

“You’re not exactly in the position to be making threats. I seem to be the one in control here. And trust me, when she sees this little video of you? When she sees what a pathetic little bitch she’s married to? She’s going to ask me for it; beg for it from a real man.”

“I swear to God, if you go anywhere near her…”

“You know, now that I think of it, that little girl of yours is quite the looker. Blond hair, blue eyes, cute little smile. She’s actually more my type. I prefer them a bit older, but I’d be willing to make an exception.”

“You motherfucker! You touch her...you go anywhere near her…and I will kill you and everyone you love! I will hunt them down one by one and put a bullet in their heads! You stay away from my daughter, you stay away from my wife, or…”

“Or? Or what? You won’t be around to protect them. And it’s not just me you have to worry about. There’s more of us out there. Mahajan’s been more than generous with the money. Everyone has a price, Rake. Except for holier than thou, self righteous you, of course. You had the chance; to be rich. All you had to do was give up the kid and the girl. But you didn’t take it. All because you had to be a hero.”

“I’m no hero. I’m just not a psychotic piece of shit. Who am I talking to right now? Which one of your personalities? Which one of your imaginary friends?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Or WHO you’re talking to.”

“I’m talking to a fucking psycho. A little bitch who couldn’t beat me in a fair fight so he shot me from behind. That’s a change for you, yeah? Seeing as you spent the last week and a half taking it from behind.”

Nathan scowls, then shoves two fingers deep into the bullet hole at the small of Tyler’s back.

He bites back the scream that threatens to erupt, but can’t control the tears of agony that stream down his face.

“Pathetic piece of shit,” Nathan laughs, then rummages through the pockets on the back of Tyler’s vest; searching until he finds the knife. “You’ve always been pretty popular with the ladies, I heard. The muscles, the pretty blue eyes, the voice. Even Nik was quite smitten with you at one point from what she told me. She’s a nice girl; that Nik. Smart, beautiful, wicked body. Not that great in bed, but…” he shrugs. “...you can teach ‘em and train ‘em, right? Did you know she was in love with you? That she was willing to slum for you? That she would have been more than happy to spend the rest of her life completely devoted to you, waiting on you hand and foot, giving you babies. That must have been a hard decision; Nik or Esme. I don’t envy you for having to make it.”

“There was no decision to make. It was always Esme. It always WILL be her.”

“You broke Nik’s heart you know; picking her friend over her. I don’t think you ever quite appreciated just how she felt about you. Everything she was willing to give up for you. And I get it, I do. You had to make a choice. Believe me, I think you made the right one. The little ones are the freaks in bed, am I right?”

“Fuck you,” Tyler retorts. “Don’t talk about my wife like that. Don’t even say her name. Get your name out of your fucking mouth.”

“Defending your woman at all costs. I like that. I admire it, actually. But…” Nathan moves up the makeshift bed, straddling Tyler’s body and then sitting down on his upper back, pinning him to the mattress. “...I still think you need to be taught a lesson. Nik deserves that.”

He sees the flint that comes off the blade of the knife as Nathan brings it into view. Hand moving towards his face and bringing the tip to rest under his right eye; pressed against the middle of his orbital bone. When he feels it puncture the skin, he attempts to fight back; summoning the will to dig the toes of his boots into the mattress, hips raising slightly and then giving out. Not enough power or mobility; the blood loss and the bullet lodged somewhere in his lower spine robbing him of any semblance of strength. And as the knife presses even further and the tip touches bone, he vows not to scream; biting down on his tongue instead as a brutally deep and slow slice is made from the middle of his eye to his temple.

Once the damage is inflicted, Nathan calmly cleans the bloody blade on the back of Tyler’s shirt, then returns the knife to the pocket on his vest. “You know, I did like you at first,” he says, as climbs off the mattress, momentarily abandoning his prey. “I liked you a lot, actually.”

The lightheadedness returns; that groggy sensation that comes from blood loss and when your system starts to go into shock. And despite the pain coursing through him and the weakness that envelopes him, Tyler manages to roll himself onto his back. His vision is blurred; a combination of the haziness that comes before passing out, sweat, and the blood that now covers his face. It coats his lips; the metallic taste strong on his tongue. And he lies there in the middle of the soiled and filthy mattress; eyes closed as he draws in rapid, ragged breaths. Arms still struggling to free his wrists from the plastic ties that hold them together.

“Don’t pass out on me now,” Nathan says, as he once more kneels on the mattress, a crowbar in his hand. “I’m not done having fun with you yet. I want to make sure Mahajan gets his money’s worth. “

“He’s dead. Mahajan. He died about half an hour ago.”

“Bullshit.”

“Anil killed him. We planned it; he’d kill Mahajan while we made our way in here.”

“You’re lying.”

“He put two in the old man’s head. In the shower room at the prison. It’s over. And if you haven’t gotten paid yet, you never will. There’s not going to be any money.”

“You’re fucking lying!” Nathan snarls, and with an end of the crowbar in each hand, leans over Tyler and attempts to press it into his throat.

Tyler immediately reacts. Smashing his forehead into the younger man’s face; immediately shattering his nose and knocking out his top front teeth. Then he draws both knees into his body and slams them into Nathan’s chest, breaking several ribs and sending him sprawling onto the floor. He seizes the opportunity as the former Marine curls into a fetal position and bellows in pain; using the last of his strength to push himself up into a sit. His legs are operating at half power -if not less- and his feet are almost completely numb, but he manages to push himself off the mattress and onto the cement below; forcing himself up onto his knees and then shuffling on them towards the door.

“You stupid prick!” Nathan rages, and lands a kick to the back of Tyler’s head.

His vision momentarily goes black and his forehead and nose collide with the cement; a sickening crunch echoing through the room. And he’s unable to control the scream that erupts from his mouth when the crowbar connects with the back of his right thigh, fracturing the femur. He has nothing left; sight blinded by the impending loss of consciousness and a blanket of blood. His entire body is useless now; sheer agony ripping through every inch of him, all feeling now absent in both legs. And he's gasping and panting for breath when Nathan once more leans over him; the cell phone directly in front of his face and the muzzle of his own gun pressed against the back of his head.

“Do you have anything to say?” Nathan asks. “To your wife? To your kids? Look at the camera. Let them see you alive for one last time.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Look at them!” the younger man orders, and slams his heel down onto the bullet wound in Tyler’s back. “I said fucking look at them! Say something!”

“No. I won’t. I won’t do it. I have nothing to say. She knows. She already knows. She’s always known.”

“At least say goodbye. They deserve that, don’t you think? A goodbye?”

“I don’t say that word. WE don’t say it. We never say it.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much anyway. You’ll get to see your wife and kids soon. That’s if you all end up in the same place. And not before me and the other guys have some with your wife and your little girls.”

“You fucking prick! You’ll pay for this. I promise you that. You’ll fucking pay.”

“You first,” Nathan says, and moves the gun to Tyler’s temple. “Fitting, huh? How it all begins and ends in Dhaka?”

Through his blurred and weakening vision he sees it. Mere inches from his face. Toes and soles of dirty combat boots in the doorway and the tattered and weathered fabric of cargo pants. The gunshot is deafening within the locker, and when the full weight of Nathan’s body falls onto his, the pain and the darkness finally take over. Eyes closing and cheek colliding with the floor.

*****

When Tyler comes to he’s once more in the back of the panel van; lying on his left side with a bucket -half full of expelled stomach contents- tipped towards his face. He can feel the telltale stickiness; the blood on his face and lips quickly drying. It’s worse than before; both the pain and the all over weakness. His vision blurry and his head swimming; no feeling or movement in either of his legs. If he had the energy he’d be terrified; panicking at the inability to even wiggle his toes or move his feet within his boots. But he has nothing left; no strength, no will, no hope. All his limbs and his head feel impossibly heavy; eyes and brain unable to focus on what is going on around him.

Voices. Koen and Rata. They’ve abandoned their usual banter and their off hand and cutting remarks; both serious as they talk in low, even tones that do little to hide the fear and worry. And he can hear the rumble of the engine and the crunch of tires on gravel; each light bump or hard brake feeling as if he’s being rocked to his very core.

“What the fuck…” he manages, and attempts to sit up; his surroundings spinning out of control around him.

“Whoa...whoa…” Koen lays a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to lie down. “...easy now, mate. Easy. Don’t move too much. Don’t want to make things worse. We got ya.”

“My legs…I can’t feel my legs...” he raises his head and looks down at the limbs in question; eyes narrowing in confusion at the sight of an unknown object sticking out his thigh; thick and jagged, tearing straight through the fabric of his pants. And his head pounds and spins when the horror sets in; the realization that he’s staring down at a piece of his shattered femur protruding from his body. “What the fuck is that? What….?”

Rata gives a grim, almost apologetic smile and then yanks his shirt over his head; using it to cover Tyler’s thigh.

“Why can’t I feel my legs? Why the fuck is there a bone sticking out of them? What the hell…?”

“You took one to the back,” Koen explains. “Pretty low down. And your right leg is broken up pretty good. Probably just the shock; the reason you can’t feel anything.”

“What the fuck is going on? What happened? What…?”

“Just try and relax,” Rata says, and shuffles closer to him; using a makeshift towel made from a torn up t-shirt to stem the flow of blood that comes from the cut across Tyler’s face. “We’re almost there. Just hang in there, mate. Won’t be much longer.”

“Chopper?” he asks.

“Hospital.”

“I can’t go to the fucking hospital! Not here. Not Dhaka. Mumbai.”

“There’s no time to get to Mumbai,” Koen informs him, and presses a rag to the gunshot wound in Tyler’s lower back. “You’ll be dead before we get there. You’ll bleed out.”

“Bleed out?” The confusion and disorientation make his head throb. “What happened? Did we get them? Neysa and Aarev?”

“They’re safe,” Rata assures him. “You got them out. They’re safe now.”

“I can’t stop it,” Koen anxiously frets. “There’s just too fucking much of it! It just keeps coming and I can’t stop it!”

“Is it bad?” Tyler weakly inquires. “How bad is it? My back.”

“Don’t you even worry about it. We’ll get you to the hospital and get you taken care of.”

“I asked how bad it was!” His hands begin patting his stomach and sides down, searching for an exit wound. “Is it my liver? Did it hit my liver?”

“Could have nicked it,” Koen says. “No way of telling for sure. Just lie still and let us take care of you. Let us get you to the hospital.”

“My phone. I need my phone. Where’s my phone?”

“You don’t need your goddamn phone!” Koen snarls. “What the hell would you need that for?”

“You need to get it. My phone. There’s a video. He took it. Nathan. He was going to send it to her. I need you to get it. My phone.”

Koen reaches into the side pocket of his own cargo pants, pulling out the item in question.

“Check it,” Tyler tells him. “Check the last message sent. And the email. Check if he sent it.”

Koen does what he’s told, then shakes his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing been sent.”

“Erase it. She can’t see it. She can NEVER see it. Get rid of it. You gotta erase it. I don’t want her seeing that.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Koen assures him, and his eyes narrow when he finds the file in question; jaw clenching with rage as he watches the first thirty seconds before quickly deleting it. “That sick mother fucker”

“Call her,” Tyler instructs. “I need to talk to her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, mate. I don’t think…”

“Call her,” he insists. “I need you to call her. I need to make sure she’s okay. I need to hear her voice. Call her.”

Sighing heavily, Koen reluctantly dials the first number in the call history, then holds the phone to his friend’s ear.

“Tyler?” She answers on the second ring, voice frantic. “Oh my God...Tyler…”

“Hey, baby…” he manages, the mere sound of her voice causing a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Are you okay? Everything’s good there?”

“I’m okay. Things are fine here. Quiet.”

“What about the kids? Did you hear from them? Did you call them? Are they alright?”

“Nik called a little ago and said they’re okay. Not even a single scare or even the slightest threat in Mumbai. She said it was just like any other day. That the kids were outside playing with Ovi and Kyle; Addie was taking a nap. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” he admits, and chokes back a sob. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. What happened? How bad is it? How bad are YOU?”

“Pretty bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t come and get you.”

“Tyler…” her voice cracks with emotion. “...you’re going to be okay...you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think so, baby. Not this time.”

“Don’t say that,” Esme gently scolds. “Don’t talk like that. You don’t give up, remember? You don’t know the meaning of those words. You never have. You survived seven years ago and you’ll survive now. I know you will.”

“I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry. I didn’t want it to end this way.”

“Nothing is ending. It’s nowhere close to the end. You’re going to be fine. You’ll get looked at it and you’ll be fine. You’re always fine.”

“Tell the kids I love them. That I’ll always love them. And tell Ovi too. And that I’m so fucking proud of him. Tell them all that I wish it could have been different.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t you dare do this. Don’t you say your goodbyes. You NEVER say that word. You don’t believe in that word, remember?”

“I’ve always loved you. I always will. I need you to know that. It’s important that you know that.”

“I DO know. I’ve always known. And I love you. So much. I’ll get there as soon as I can, I promise. You just hang in there, okay? I’ll get to you. Somehow. Just don’t give up, alright? You’re not allowed to give up, Tyler Rake.”

“I gotta go.”

“No. Don’t,” Esme tearfully pleads. “Don’t hang up. Please don’t hang up. Tyler…”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and disconnects the call. Phone dropping from his hand as he once more slips into unconsciousness.

*****

She’s unsure of how long she’s been pacing the floor; bare feet repeatedly shuffling against the polished tiles in the kitchen. Cell phone clutched tightly in one hand, the other moving over the top and sides of the small -but very visible- baby bump. It’s comforting regardless how far along she is or how much she is -or isn’t- showing; palm travelling over her stomach in slow, smooth circles.

“Hang in there little bean,” Esme pleads aloud. “I need you to stay calm and hang in there, alright? Because now is NOT the time to be giving me issues. We need to stay calm. Or try to. Daddy needs us to be okay…” her voice cracks with emotion. “...daddy needs you to hang in there. Because once he’s all better, he’s going to watch you grow and rub my tummy and talk to you all the time. He’s going to teach you all about surfing and you tell you what life is like in Australia. And before you know it, you’ll recognize his voice; just like all your brothers and sisters did. And it’s a nice voice. A VERY nice voice. And you’ll kick and squirm for him every time he talks to you. So you HAVE to hang in there. Daddy needs another surfing buddy. He always says he can never have too many of those. Or maybe it’s a football team he’s trying to build. Maybe THAT’S why he wants so many kids. I’m onto him.”

The cell phone beeps in her hand, alerting her to a text message. Nik. Asking her if she’s heard anything yet. It’s only been ten minutes since the last time the woman checked in, and the answer remains the same. No calls, no texts. Tyler’s phones -both SAT and personal- immediately going to voicemail. Esme has left several messages; everything from stressed yet calm, to worried and tearful, and then ending with irrational and frantic. Begging him…begging ANYONE...to let her know what the hell is going on.

Her stomach flutters and grumbles; nerves had kept her from eating all morning. Constant butterflies that are more painful than pleasant, and accompanied by incessant nausea that holds the promise of disappearing as soon as she forces herself to be sick, but only continues to gnaw at her insides. Rationally she knows that now is not the time to be thinking about food; her phone could start coming to life any minute or Koen and Rata could come barging through the door to whisk her away to a hospital to be by Tyler’s side.

Or they could show up with the worst possible news; that the brief phone call with him was in fact the last time she’d ever hear his voice. That whatever happened to him…whatever had gone down at that storage facility...had just been too much for an already damaged body, vulnerable mind, and near broken spirit to withstand. Yet he hadn’t sounded THAT bad; exhausted and weak but certainly not close to death. She would have been able to pick up on that. Surely there would have been something in his voice or in his words. She’d heard pain and fear and worry, but hadn’t heard DEATH.

It’s something she’s accustomed with; many a first hand experience as people lay dying around her in the Middle East. She’s held countless hands as fellow Marines and even strangers - innocent civilians- took their last breaths. That rattle they make; the last of the air being expelled from failing lungs. The desperation and the pleading in their voices; requests for comfort and miraculous healing and eventual mercy. She didn’t hear any of that. And what she did hear could have been nothing more than the byproduct of fear and concern; a man in physical agony that didn’t truly believe he was dying, but was desperate for relief.

“No,” she orders into the quiet of the kitchen. “No. He's fine. He’s going to be fine. He’s always fine.”

She attempts to distract herself from fatalistic thoughts, moving now to the fridge and throwing the door wide open. Rummaging through the fully stocked shelves and compartments and finding nothing appealing and growing more frustrated with each passing second. The futile search and the determined growling of her stomach suddenly becomes too much to bear and profanities spill from her mouth as tears stream down her face. Angrily slamming the fridge door shut; its contents rattling noisily in response.

“Esme?” Koen stands in the doorway; the front of his shirt and the thighs of his cargo pants saturated in blood. It stains his hands as well; caught in every crevice and crack and gathered around his calluses and under his nails. His face is grim; eyes dark, fresh bruises and cuts decorating both cheeks and under one eye.

“Tell me he’s okay,” she pleads, one hand tightening around her phone, the other once more finding her baby bump. “Please tell me he’s okay.”

“I…” Koen begins, then clamps his mouth shut and slowly shakes his head.

“No.” The sob is choked as it comes out of her mouth. “No. You’re not here to tell me this. You’re not here for THAT. I know you’re not here for THAT.”

“Esme...”

“No,” she firmly repeats, and suddenly the room feels as if it’s spinning. Panic settles in, making her feel nauseous and lightheaded. Her entire body swaying as she takes a step towards him. “No. It can’t be THAT. It can’t be.”

The next step she takes is wobbly; her legs threatening to give out from underneath her. And she finds herself caught in her friend’s strong embrace; his body warm and soothing as he pulls her tightly into him. A comforting hand on the middle of her back, the other resting in her hair.

“This can’t be happening,” she sobs into his shoulder. “This isn’t happening. Please tell me it’s not. Tell me he’s not dead. Tell me he’s okay.”

“He’s not dead. But he’s not okay either.”

“How bad is he?”

“I don’t even know.”

“How bad does he look?”

“Pretty damn bad.”

“Where is he now?”

“Still here. In Dhaka.”

She frowns. “Why not Mumbai? You guys have a chopper. Why not get him out of here? Get him somewhere safe? Mumbai would have been a better choice. Why didn’t…?”

“There was no time.”

“Where is he?”

“Evercare Hospital. It’s one of the private ones. Run by that doctor that Anil sent over the night. He’s in good hands there; best care he can get, I promise. When I left he was still in the ER. They were looking after him and trying to figure out what tests they needed to do; so they could figure out what they’re looking at and how to take care of him. He was breathing on his own, though. No tubes. At least not yet.”

“But it isn’t safe here,” Esme argues. “In Dhaka. The bounty….”

“There’s no more bounty. It’s been lifted.”

“It’s over?”

“It’s all over. Asif’s people are dead. So is Mahajan. There’s no one left.”

“What about Neysa and Aarev?”

“Safe. He got them out.”

“And Nathan? He’s the one who did this, right? He’s the one who hurt Tyler?”

Koen nods.

“Is he dead? Tell me he’s dead.”

“He’s dead. I made sure of it.”

“You killed him?”

“I emptied an entire magazine in his head and face.”

“Good,” she says, and defiantly holds back a flood of tears. “Thank you. For doing that for Tyler. Thank you.”

Koen once more embraces her tightly, hands slowly running up and down her back.

“And he was breathing?" Esme asks. “On his own? He didn’t need to be intubated?”

“Needed a bit of oxygen; through those tubes that go in your nose. Doctor was pretty surprised; said he’s never seen someone that torn up that didn’t need more help. That’s a good sign, yeah? That he didn’t need more help? Shows how strong he is.”

“Or stubborn. Or both. You’ll take me there? To Tyler?”

“That’s what I’m here for. Are you okay? You gonna be alright?”

“Probably not,” she admits. “But I guess I have to be. For him. He needs me to be alright. You know how Tyler is. Even when he’s at his worst or he’s suffering and in pain, all he worries about is me. Never himself. Just me.”

“Well he’s a fool in love. What do you expect?”

“I’ll have to find my things. I have no idea where anything is. My purse, my shoes…”

“Saw both out in the front hall.”

“My phone.”

He grins. “It’s in your hand.”

Esme glances down. “Oh fuck. I AM losing it.”

“Come here, kiddo.” Koen draws her into another tight hug, a hand on the back of her head, guiding it down to his shoulder. “He’s gonna pull through. He always does. He’s a tough little bastard. Well maybe not so little. But tough. And a bastard.”

She manages a small laugh.

“And when he opens his eyes, your face is going to be the first thing he sees. Just like seven years ago. And trust me; there ain’t no better medicine than that.”

“I need him to be okay. I need him to get through this. For me, For the kids. For this baby. I need him, Koen. I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t,” he promises, and gives her a tight, reassuring squeeze and drops a kiss on the top of her head. With a comforting smile, he places a hand on the small of her back and leads her from the room.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction #Extraction 2020 #Extraction fan fiction #Best Part of Me #Chris Hemsworth character

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trashpandaorigins · 4 years

Text

The Body Keeps the Score Ch. 22 Windows to the Soul

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

But I've got you, you, you, you, you, hey

And you've got me, me, me, me, too

Like we're buckled and preparing for the crash

Like we're walking down a road of broken glass

Now if we defeat all odds and it was us against the world

You can count on me, you know I'd have your back

God, it hurts to be human

Without you, I'd be losing

And someday, we'll face the music

God, it hurts to be human

P!NK Hurts 2B Human

“You have a lot to answer for Daughter of Thanos.” Denarian Dey growled, Gamora’ stomach curled, heart beating erratically in her chest. “Search the area, bring out any survivors.”

Nebula…

Gamora secretly hoped her sister had been able to escape. She hadn’t stuck around to find the raccoonoid but made a run for it shortly after he’d been dragged away. Guilt and rage whirled in her chest.

“You won’t find any,” she managed through pained breath. Dey only glared at her. Gamora tightened her grip on her sword.

Twenty….plus more in their ships.

“Dey...we can explain,” she tried.

“You had your chance,” he snapped, stepping forward. “We found the black box in the rubble of one of the ships we sent after you. Subject 89P13 tore the throat out of one of our pilots,” Gamora shot a look upward at Rocket who at least had the decency to look ashamed, ears drooping on either side of his head. “...you killed the others.”

“Gamora,” Peter stood next to her, hand on his own blaster. A momentary breath of relief escaped her as he did so. Drax was not too far behind, his own knives already out and ready.

“We found them!”

All heads snapped around, two Nova corps officers dragged the bodies of the Halfworlders out of the building. Next to her, the raccoonoid sucked in a sharp breath.

“Bullet wounds. They were shot.”

Gamora held her breath, watching Dey survey the corpses. His shoulders heaved with rage, misplaced though it was.

“I….”

“She didn’t kill em’” Rocket snarled from her shoulder. “I did.”

Dey’s brows only furrowed further.

“You are still under legal ownership of your creator.”

Gamora almost winced at the prick of his claws tightening on her scalp where he held on.

“You will be taken back to Xandar, daughter of Thanos.”

“Dey!” Peter stepped between them, hand out placating in peace. “We can explain, we can make this right. There’s no need for this!”

“This does not concern you Star Boy.”

Peter’s back straightened in anger, the usual tepidity of his temper heating to a boil.

“It’s Star Lord and what you do with members of my crew does concern me! We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy!”

Dey smirked, glowering at Gamora.

“Seems some of you are more invested in endangering it than guarding it.”

You did kill those Nova officers….and the Halfworlders…. Gamora whispered to herself amid the tension. They are right daughter of Thanos. All you do is kill and hurt. If you were in a Xandarian prison you would not be able to hurt anyone. Perhaps it is for the best…. the cybernetics in the limbs ached. She wanted to drop her sword, she wanted to give up the fight and lay in her bunk...she wanted to tease Peter and listen to music.

“You,” he directed his gaze to Gamora. “Come with us, now. Or we will make you.”

The Nova officers stepped forward, guns aimed. Gamora resigned herself, her muscles wound tight amid the pain like a spring ready to go off. While her mind spun doubts, her body would not go down without a fight.

“Wait!” Rocket hopped down from his perch. She rolled her shoulder, winching at the kinks that knotted in her muscles.

“.....I’ll go with you…” Gamora watched him drop his gun with a heavy thud. “Let them go free….and, I’ll go with you back to….to her.”

Damn it Rocket what are you doing?

“You’d go back to your creator?” Dey demanded.

“Yeah.”

“Without a fight?”

“Does it look like I... I’m ….u...up for fightin’?” Rocket snarls, but the heavy slouch of his back betrays him.

“Do not go with them furry friend!” Drax implored, Gamora turned. Groot clung to the large muscular arms of the Destroyer, large wide gaze still so full of fear. Her heart panged with sympathy not for the first time for the little twig.

“You killed these people?” Dey gestured to the dead Halfworlders.

“Can yah blame me?”

Help him!....What could I possibly do? Attack? Kill Dey? It would be easy. You know you want to. Daughter of Thanos. No….NO. I will not.

Gamora forced herself to sheath her sword with a heavy hand.

“Dey. Star Lord is right. There is no need for this,” she began slowly as though she were approaching Thanos. Trying to talk him out of one of his more violent fantasies of planet wide destruction…. not that I was ever successful.

Dey tightened the grip on his gun, leveling it to her chest once more. Her arms ached at being held upward, the wires between her veins twanged with agitation. She bit the inside of her cheek.

“What happened was a misunderstanding.”

“What happened was you murdered a dozen Xandrians! Prime was right not to trust you,” his eyes swept the entirety of the group with heated rage.

“We’ll take the rat back to its owner and you’ll be glad that’s all we’re taking.”

Dey motioned for his men, four of the escorting Rocket towards their ship. The raccoonoid, spared a glance over his shoulder while they led him away, willingly.

What…?

Gamora tried to guess, whatever Rocket was trying to communicate was lost to Drax and Peter’s shouting.

“You can’t do this!”

“Unhand our vermin companion!” Drax demanded he propelled himself forward only to be met by guns.

“Just….just take care of Groot okay? Don’t let him get into trouble and don't let Star-Shit feed him anything weird..I…”

“Move, rat!”

“I am G...grooot!”

The flora wailed, before Gamora could intercede a shot of green flashed past her, aimed at the offer holding Rocket’s shoulder. He grunted, swiping forward, slicing the small vine in a single swoop. Rocket tensed, baring his teeth. Groot let out a grunt of indignation though thankfully, Gamora thought-he did not appear to be in pain. Drax held the little flora back, even as he tried to grow another vine.

The Nova officer shoved Rocket roughly forward and he made no move to resist.

“Rocket!

Quill shouted, but the raccoonoid only shuttered with a pain Gamora recognized.

The cables in his back are no doubt still tender...

She tightened the grip on her sword, watching Rocket’s ringed tail disappear into the Nova ship, door sliding shut and locking.

“I suggest you get moving before I change my mind,” Dey sneered.

It’s not too late. You could fight him, one move that’s all it would take. A stab straight to the chest...or the gut if you really want to have fun, her old voice taunted. Gamora swallowed, hoping he could not see how badly her arms shook. With a curt nod, eyes unblinking in their defiant fury, Gamora turned away, back to the Benatar.

“Come on,” she ordered Peter, gripping his shoulder.

We tracked him down this far, we can do it again.

Peter met her gaze, face slowly morphing from rage, to understanding. He nodded, motioning for Drax and Groot to follow them to the ship.

“I am gg...g...grr..groot!”

Groot gasped through his tears of sap, reaching out towards the Nova ship as it began to take off.

“Shhh, we will go after him.”

A small seed of warmth temporarily curled in Gamora’s stomach at the sound of Drax cooing, quite paternally, to the small flora. She allowed herself to enjoy the feeling briefly, before climbing into the co-pilot seat next to Peter.

“They’ll be expecting us to go after him,” he warned slowly.

“I know. That’s why we aren’t going after him,” Gamora punched the keys for take off. “Not yet. We’ll wait on a nearby keystone for a few turns before making any moves.”

The Benatar jolted and rattled as if out of a slumber, coming to life and lifting off with a metallic creaking, not at all reassuring.

“But by that point he could already be…” Peter glanced towards Groot, then drew a silent finger across his throat.

“Yes, he could already be dead,” Drax affirmed, mimicking Peter’s motion. Groot burst into a new round of tears.

“Drax just… calm him down okay please? Peter, don’t open your mouth for the next few hours, I need to think.”

Peter clamped his jaw shut, instead turning his attention to the tape deck and music swelled as Gamrora steered the ship out of Halfworld’s atmosphere.

Good riddance...the place reeks like Thano’s ship. A flash of Nebula’s sneering face flashed through her mind at the thought. Nebula, she got away… again. We should go after her. We should…

“I am Groot!!”

Gamora’s heart hitched, understanding what the little flora had cried. She tapped the controls in anxiety. We can get Nebula after.

---

“Gamora...I think you should see this,” Peter poked his head into her room. His face immediately blushing at the sight of her working out. She set down her weights, wiping sweat off with the back of her hand.

“Is it Nova?”

“Yeah...but...it’s not...it’s well...you should see for yourself.”

She stood, sighing. For the past five turns they had done nothing but lay low and try to strategize while in the off hours of sleep Nebula’s face haunted her. Gamora walked with heavy steps, she would have stopped to take Peter’s hand. Any sense of warm reassurance. But she couldn’t. It’s not the time or place.

The radar monitor blinked incessantly. Red flashing, a distress signal. Gamora craned her neck outward towards the large windows of the ship, stomach dropping.

Is that…?

Peter guided the Benatar closer towards the signal, hovering over a large keystone.

No...

Gamora held her breath, watching the plume of black smoke contrast against the blacker expansive of the galaxy. Brilliant flames snapped and danced around charred metal. Metal that had been painted blue and gold. The three sunned insignia of the Nova Corps now peeled and curled in the heat of the engine fluid.

“Maybe it wasn’t the ship that took him,” Drax reasoned. But Gamora knew. Her gut told her, the cybernetics in her jaw synching with pain.

“We need to look for survivors! Someone...anyone!”

“I am Groot?”

“We don’t know that yet,” Gamora responded with little question to the flora’s fear. Drax already began hitching up his gear. He winced as the aerorig rippled across his torso.

“Be careful out there,” Peter warned, a worried look passing between the four of them. Gamora, watched the destroyer from the cockpit, training her eyes on his busy hands as he poked through the wreckage. At each turn of metal she jolted, expecting to see burnt blackened fur.

He went with them for my sake. So I wouldn’t be imprisoned. Of course he did, that’s the least he can do after what he did.

The sliding of the Benatar’s doors shook Gamora from her thoughts,

“Well…?”

Drax looked at her, expression dull, he shook his head.

“Th...that’s okay!” Peter’s voice shook, “That’s fine! Maybe it was the wrong ship! Maybe he got away!”

Drax only shrugged, doubt plain.

That is the same ship. You know it, Drax knows it.

Gamora's stomach churned with something between guilt and anger.

Selfish little creep...he...he should’ve let us fight for him. He shouldn’t have gone so easily! You should've fought for Nebula, you should not have let her get away.

Gamora heard the sound three turns later. After silent hours of unspoken grief and confusion. Peter trying harder and harder to make excuses, to be optimistic. Even his spontaneity was beginning to dwindle. Groot hardly said anything, wilting in his pot mournfully.

Beep beep beep,

Gamora dove over to the transmission station,

Its’s the Nova Corps...or Nebula,

“Incoming message,”

“Play it.”

“If you're looking for your mascot,” her sister’s iron voice taunted through the mic. “I have him with me in the second sector of the Keystone quadrant. I’ll send you a signal. I want Gamora to come and I want her alone. You hear that, sister? Alone. If you try to pull anything I’ll know.”

Gamora sucked a breath, it's a trap. A joke.

“How do I know you won’t kill me as soon as I get within range?”

Millions of potential strategies and outcomes poured through her mind, running down the litany of possible ulterior motives.

“I won’t.”

She smirked despite herself,

“Forgive me I don’t believe that.”

“How do we know you aren’t lying about Rocket?”

Peter interjected. Gamora turned back to the transmitter.

“Quill relax, it’s fine. I’m here,” the unmistakable.

“Rocket! “

Gamora grunted as Drax shoved her out of the way, barreling forward with so much momentum he nearly braced himself on the transmission controls.

“Has the scary blue woman hurt you? We will come at once!”

A scuffle on the other end of the line for a few minutes, pure static then Nebula’s icy voice once more.

“Gamora. Come alone. We have things to discuss.”

“Nebula, what are you….?”

The line clicked off.

---

“So you’re going?”

Peter had made his way into her bunk the following turn.

I don’t have time for this,

Gamora slid another dagger into her belt.

“What choice do I have?”

She muttered, as per usual, Nebula was holding the cards, just like Thanos has always held the cards. Held sway over her. But no longer. You sure about that? She asked herself. No.

“Rocket’s a smart guy, he can get himself out of there, and he didn’t sound particularly hurt. What’s the worst she can do? Call an exterminator?”

Gamora blinked, staring at Peter for a moment before shrugging, tired.

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“It’s like a pest control person who comes into your house and ...neverming.” He dropped it, instead snatching up one of her other swords.

Gamora let it slide, checking her weapons on her person once more.

“I’ll do as she asks, but I’m not going unprepared. I’m doing this for Groot.”

Peter looked up from the blade, matching her gaze. He smiled gently.

“See, I think you’re doing this for your younger self.”

Damn you Peter. You are secretly perceptive after all.

Gamora waved the thought away, forcing a grin through thin lips and strode past him. Stopping for a moment, and kissing his cheek.

“Keep the ship close. I’ll signal if I need anything.”

She lingered a moment, watching in amusement at his gaping mouth, eyes wide.

“I...y...y...yes! I will keep...close,” he stammered, dropping the knife. “I mean the a...the ship! I’ll keep the ship...c..close.”

His stark shock drew humor from him and she patted his shoulder. Beaming for the first time in days. He had that effect on her, as annoying as it were. But Gamora allowed herself the levity a warmth creeping into her heart.

“I know you will.”

---

Said warmth she clung to died as soon as Nebula came into view. The stolen Halfoworld ship stood idling nearby behind her. Gamora pulled her sword out of its sheath,

She’s armed...at least two guns and a stolen electrocutor from the lab.

“Where’s Rocket?”

Nebula smirked, shivers rippling up Gamora’s spine. She knew that look.

“I’m right here,” the raccoonoid growled, annoyed.

“How did you…?”

“Who do you think crashed the ship?”

Her attention darted back to her sister. Eyes narrowing. She tightened her grip around the handle of her weapon, heart hammering.

“Oh Gamora, you always did under-estimate me.”

Gamora pounced, rushing at the other woman, sword swinging.

I will not let her get away this time. Enough is enough.

Nebula grunted, sidestepping. Gamora made another attempt, spinning and bringing her arm down to strike the woman on the side of the head. Something sparked, the cybernetic cable in her arm, it pinched and stung. She cried out, arm seizing. Nebula’s nimble fingers closed tight around her wrist, and her sword clattered to the ground. Gamora reached for her belt with the other arm, fumbling for her dagger. Nebula turned, twisting her arm tighter. Gamora staggered as her other arm was bent behind her back.

“You never learn,” Nebula seethed close to her ear. “You think you know everything.”

Gamora grunted, trying to struggle out of her hold. Through the curtain of her hair, Rocket sat bored, legs crossed, fiddling with some gun she recognized as having belonged to a Nova officer.

“Rocket!”

“Just listen to her,” he mumbled, not looking up from his work.

He was in league with her…

“Let me go!”

Gamora tried to slide from her grip, but Nebula bore down. The metal in her spine burned and stung under her sister’s weight. She synched her hands behind her back, unrelenting.

“Let me go!”

“Why so you can fight me?”

“You’re trying to kill me!”

Harsh laughter cut through her erratic thoughts.

“I’m not trying to kill you Gamora!”

The cybernetically enhanced woman tried to turn her head, just enough to see into Nebula’s black eyes…

Her head...it’s all flesh...where’s the metal plating?

Of course she’d noticed this in the lab...but now..seeing it here, was all the more striking.

“Y...yes you are!”

Gamora shouted, more in indignation than anything else.

“No! I’m not!”

She let go with such a force Gamora fell forward, snatching her fallen sword and spinning it around facing Nebula, heaving for breath.

Breathe….in...out...good. In...out through the pain….in out…

“You always were the dumb one. You may have been better at fighting but you were always an idiot.”

Gamora rolled her eyes but stayed put. She’d fought enough battles to know when you were at a disadvantage. When to stop while you still had your head.

“Why do you think I was in that lab?” Nebula demanded. Gamora briefly looked over her shoulder to Rocket, who hardly acknowledged either of them.

“He wanted to make a deal, he wanted to help you kill me!”

“Ha!” Nebula shifted her stance, hands on her hips defiantly.

“He didn’t want to help me kill you, he wanted me to stop killing you!”

She’s lying.

Gamora struggled to look at Rocket. This time, he met her eyes. Red and vacant and unreadable as ever, but his whiskers twitched in recognition. Her stomach dropped.

“....he….he wanted you to stop trying to kill me?”

She stood, trying not to shake. Nebula’s lips formed a thin line.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Nebula shrugged, noncommittal.

“And...did you agree?”

Dread hitched in her belly, not wanting to know the answer. It was better this way. Her trying to kill me. Me trying to defend myself. Better. Simpler...simpler then..

“You're breathing now aren’t you?”

She nodded, dumbly.

“He offered to take me to that Halfworld place and un-do what Thanos, what you did to me.” Gamora opened her mouth to argue but she continued.

“So here you are, alive.”

Gamora took a shaky breath.

He went to Halfworld...willingly….risked going back there...on his own terms. Gamora tried not to think of the metal in his skin, of the wires in her own body. Tried not to think of him hanging there suspended from wires coming out of his back like an old piece of machinery. She tried not to think of Ebony Maw and his tools and the cold table and the harsh lights. Tried not to think...

“Why’d you agree to do it?”

Nebula looked down at her arm, the one that had once been metal, no faux flesh. The more Gamora looked at her...the more normal she looked. Maybe all she ever wanted to was to be the best by her own merit, without any enhancements. She couldn’t fault her for that.After all, she wanted the same thing once. Now it was too late.

“I’m sorry,” she choked.

Sorry for mistaking her? For what Thanos did? She wasn’t sure.

“Just take the rat and go.”

“Nebula…”

A thousand words swam around her mind, each of them inadequate.

“I promised him I wouldn’t kill you. I didn’t say the same about Thanos.”

Gamora spied a slight smirk flashing across her sister’s face if only for a moment.

“Go, take the fur ball.”

“That’s not very nice Nebs.”

Rocket fitted the Nova Corps gun back into his holster.

Gamora nodded, ears ringing and began to back away slowly unable to look at the raccoonoid.

---

“I’m going to have to face him sooner or later,” Gamora reasoned four turns later. They’d made it back to the ship silently. While Groot, Drax and Peter clapped and cheered, she’d watched Nebula’s ship drift away, out into whatever lay beyond. That night through the celebration of drinks and music, Gamora allowed herself to take Peter’s hand and sway and forth. It was different from dancing. Her feet hardly moved. It was in no way similar.

Now they were headed further out, toward the Nexus quadrant. Better to stay under the radar of the Nova Corps for a while.

Gamora had gone over it in her head, so many times. Nebula. Rocket.

He went to Halfworld knowing the risk. Going back to the place he was tortured. Would I do the same? Go back to Thanos...to save… Peter of course. But him?

“I think he’ll listen,” Peter rubbed a tentative hand in circles around her back. They sat together in his room. Gamora forced a laugh,

“Do you even know him?”

“It’s worth a shot,” he encouraged. She smiled, wanting desperately to put her head on his shoulder, to stay here and rest with him.

“You have too much faith in people,” she mused.

“You have too little.”

She savored the moment, leaning against him and allowing him to plant a small kiss on her forehead before standing and going to look for Rocket.

---

“I thought I might find you here,” she tried to play it smooth, ascending the ladder up to the roof of the ship. They had landed on a small uninhabited planet.

“I am Groot!”

The little flora giggled playfully in Rocket’s lap, growing a tiny white flower and sticking it to his jumpsuit.

“A’right, a’right, enough!” The raccoonoid made to shoo him away without much effort.

“Glad to see you and Groot are getting along,”

Rocket’s ear twitched, he shrugged and helped the flora up to his clumsy wooden feet.

“What do you want?”

“I…”

The words caught in her throat. Gamora sat down beside him, hopefully far enough away to avoid getting scratched.

“I wanted to thank…”

“Don’t thank me.”

Rocket waved a dismissive hand. He shrugged off the vine Groot had tried to grow around his finger and stared off into the distant stars above them.

“I never thought I’d go back to that fucking place.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Gamora could no longer hold down the question she’d been asking herself the entire time. She watched him pick something at his fur.

“Cuz’...when you do something wrong...yah gotta make up for it,” he sighed. “Pay it back or whatever...and...change...especially if it’s someone...lo…”

Gamora did not need to hear the rest to know what he meant.

“Who taught you that? Groot?”

“You,” Rocket answered sharply but not unkind. He stared at his own nimble little paws.

Gamora bit her tongue, looking at him. His shoulders just as tense as hers. She could see the fresh wounds still healing on the back of his neck and his collar, even under the fur.

“I lied about the scans,” she blurted, louder than she meant to. Luckily Drax was asleep in his bunk, Peter was no doubt listening to music and only the soft wind answered her outburst. “The scans...when I said I saw them and that you didn’t have a heart...I lied.”

The hair on his neck raised,

“You lied?”

Gamora pulled the data pad from behind her,

“I did. But we can find out the truth.”

He looked at the blank screen with his red eyes and took it carefully. Turning it on silently with trepidation.

“Wait,”

To her surprise Rocket halted, looking at he with...what she could only describe as confusion.

“Before you look at the scans. Put your hand here,”

She lay the flat of her palm against the smooth warm metal of the Benatar. Rocket followed suit, feeling it with sensitive fingers.

“Feel that?”

Rocket’s ears flicked,

“Yeah?”

The ship thrummed with power, even while idle. A steady, rhythmic motion.

“Now feel here,”

Gamora held out her hands, palms facing up. Rocket looked at her, nose sniffing.

Those eyes... for the first time she recognized something within them. Longing...for acceptance...for knowledge of himself... much the way she felt. Who was she? Who could she be if not Thanos daughter, if not afraid and running from Nebula? She no longer had to be aunty of those things. She could find out what and why she felt for Peter when they swayed to the music. She could find out how good of a friend she could be to Drax, she could be free to see how she could care for Groot. Rocket made sure I got that chance free of fear from Nebula...at least fear of her killing me.

Small sharps claws barely grazed her skin.

“Feel that?”

“It’s your pulse.”

She nodded.

“Exactly, now…” she nodded to the data pad.

Rocket nodded, tapping fervently. Gamora flitted her eyes down on to the screen recognizing the script from the vials and machines in the lab. He tapped away until a scan of himself came up. Green and black outlines criss crossed every which way.

Organic and mechanical matter.

“Gamora….” Rocket’s voice shook. “Look,” he pointed at the chest of the diagram, a small green outline of a heart. “I… I think I have a heart.”

Gamora could not conceal her smile, nearly reaching out to hug him.

“You do Rocket,” she managed to compose herself. “Of course you do.” He looked up at her, smiling the first true smile she’d seen since Groot awoke for the first time in his pot. “I was wrong about you,” she admitted laughing absurdly.

“I was wrong about you too Gams, I never should’ve made a stupid deal w that Nova lady, trust me. I….I’m sorry Gams.’ his eyes, vacant and a little glossy shined in the night.

“I want to Rocket….I...I’m sure I will. Soon...just...not yet.”

The raccoonoid nodded, understanding, looking at here. Somehow, someway, Gamora could see them, into them. No longer obscure orbs of nocturnal bewilderment but...like her own. Full of feeling and of meaning. Windows to the soul.

Rocket dropped the data pad, it landed with a small clatter. He opened his arms.

“....are you...drunk?”

Gamora wondered skeptically under the strange impression he was asking for a hug.

“I’m good, I’m good” he tried to convince her, unconvincingly.

Gamora sighed,

“...your…”

Two small furry arms wound around her neck, Gamora found herself returning the gesture arms going around him in turn.

“I am Groot?” The flora wiggled his way between them, vines creeping around their torso’s.

“I know you killed a lotta people but if you never killed those people may you never woulda wanted to leave...and you never would’ve found us.”

“I...I’m charmed Rocket,” she bit back a laugh but she understood his true intention. They stayed that way for a while drawing quiet comfort.

“I’m glad I found you all,” she said it to herself as much as to Rocket. “I’m glad I found you.”

Rocket tensed a little in her hold but did not pull away. He relaxed into the hug once more, tightening his grip.

Whatever answer she was going to give was lost in the comfortability of the moment.The two of them sitting there, with all of their regrets and scars and maybe...some amount of hope for themselves and the other too. Hope that things could be better.

Thanos may have taught me to hate and resent...made me loathe myself and what I’ve done. But maybe Rocket..taught me it’s not too late. Not too late for either of us.

Gamora hugged him tight, feeling their hearts beat. Her’s slow, his faster, both of them wounded and scarred and damaged but stronger than ever and steady and learning to be true.

The End

#thats it folks #thats my swan song #my last gotg fic #until vol 3 anyway #gotg #my writing #the body keeps the score fic #rocket raccoon #gamora #groot #baby groot #peter quill #starlord #drax #nebula #gotg fanfiction #Guardians of the Galaxy

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librationpoint · 4 years

Text

Kinktober ‘19 - 31 Combo

Day 31 - Halloween Combo special (Against the Wall + idk, size difference, dirty talk?) 1363 Words, Brad/Nate In which there is a follow-up to the werewolf one from day 18, as Brad discovers he likes being pinned against things by supernatural creatures.

Brad hadn't been expecting this.

Ray had warned him that maybe seeing the LT was a bad idea. He hadn't told him not to. If he had said that Brad would have shelved the project entirely. He just thought Brad should be careful. It had been a couple weeks since he'd officially separated and while the paddle party had went well there was no telling how he might feel about seeing Brad again. He also warned that if Nate got annoyed he might possibly set Brad on fire with his mind or something, but Ray had been drunk when he'd said that part so Brad had written it off as him being his usual dramatic self.

So Brad had sent an email suggesting they meet up for dinner. It made sense, after all. Nate would be heading to grad school and Brad was waiting to hear where he'd be stationed or deployed next. He made sure to use the word 'fraternize' when pointing out they could now socialize without any problems. Dinner had been nice. Nice to hear his voice again, nice to watch him smile freely, nice to see he'd put weight back on. Nice to feel that intense gaze boring into Brad like he could see into his soul.

And now Brad was pinned face-first up against the concrete wall of a cheap basement apartment, Nate's breath hot against his neck as he held Brad firm with one arm and slid his free hand into Brad's pants to palm his rapidly hardening cock.

"Brad," he said almost into his ear, low but still too calm and flat to be called a growl. Brad knew what growls sounded like these days. "I was under the impression this dinner was a date."

"That was my hope," Brad grunted. Experimentally he tried to push back but Nate held him firmly in place.

"I don't like being led on."

"I wasn't doing that."

"Then why," and Nate's hand moved back to feel between his ass cheeks, "do you smell like a wolf's been using you as a cum dump?"

Brad wasn't sure what surprised him more, that Nate could tell how Ray had said goodbye a few days earlier before taking off to attend a mandatory Missouri wedding or that Nate was being so vulgar. "That's got nothing to do with this."

"I'd rather not have a furry rage monster bust through a wall because I poached. It's inconvenient."

"He said it was fine. At least if it's you." Ray no longer approved of Brad visiting professionals, although he claimed he was still down for the occasional three-way action. If he was honest with himself, Brad hadn't really felt the need for that since before Iraq anyway.

"Really? A werewolf told you that?" Nate took a deep breath and chuckled. "Person. Of course. Who else could it be?"

Brad did not have time to unpack that, even if there were any blood still in his brain for thinking. "Going to let me go now?"

Nate chuckled again. "Do you want me to?" He gave Brad's jeans a rough jerk down around his thighs and his hard cock sprang free. "I'm getting mixed messages."

"I've been," Brad grunted out, "discovering a few things about myself lately."

"Are you telling me that Brad Colbert, United States Marine Corps, likes to be pinned against a wall and fucked hard?"

Brad gasped at a sudden wet touch between his cheeks as a slick finger rubbed against his ass. A single-use lube packet dropped to the floor; clearly Nate was better prepared for this sort of thing than Brad had expected based on past performance. "Just off the clock."

"I have to admit, when I pictured your sexual exploits, this wasn't what I'd imagined."

Brad's attempt at a witty retort was cut short when Nate roughly entered him. Apparently foreplay wasn't on the menu tonight, but Brad wasn't going to complain. He'd been finding he enjoyed a bit of pain to start off. That initial sting just made the ensuing pleasure all the sweeter.

"You know me," Brad gritted out once the initial shock wore away. "I like trying new things."

"I didn't figure you'd be a talker, either."

Brad looked over his shoulder, or at least tried best he could, and smirked. "Most people I fuck aren't worth talking to."

Nate shoved him harder against the wall, momentarily pushing the breath from his lungs. The rough paint on the wall scratched against his cheek. With his other hand he gave Brad's ass a smack. "Seems like it's turned around now. I know how it is with you, Colbert. Pick up a bitch, make her scream, leave her behind. Only now you're the one getting off on having your ass fucked hard like a little slut and you keep coming back for more."

"Yeah, that's right," Brad admitted.

"Good thing I'm more generous than you are. You might get some more after this."

Brad shut his eyes and let Nate use him. For the next few minutes they both lapsed into silence. The only sounds were their hard breathing, the slap of skin against skin, the clink of Nate's belt has he gave it to him rough, and occasional pleased whimpers as Brad took it. There was a growing warmth against his back, especially wherever the two of them touched, and Nate's breath was hot on his neck. His thrusts started getting a little more ragged and he started to make little desperate noises that Brad had heard only once before, when he stumbled across the end of a combat jack outside some nameless village and failed to turn around until it was over and he slunk away feeling guilty.

"Jerk yourself off," Nate ordered in his ear. "I want you to come with me inside you."

Brad wormed his hand into the narrow space between his hips and the wall and did as commanded. He was on a hair trigger already, it only took a few strokes and he was painting the wall a new color. Nate let out the quiet satisfied sigh of a man trained to keep his orgasms quiet and a sudden warmth flooded Brad's gut.

Nate's grip slackened and he backed up, hitching his pants back into place and buckling up again. Even as Brad did the same he could see Lt. Fick disappearing and the boyish grad student returning.

"Hope I didn't move too quick there," Nate said.

"You were positively boot-like in your rush to get your cock wet," Brad said, "but I won't complain this time."

He might complain about the wet spot he could feel on his boxers, but frankly that was nothing compared to the mess Ray made when he got too enthusiastic.

"Ray really said it was fine to ask me out?"

Brad gave him a skeptical look. "Sir, I'm going to ask you to think about my history and reconsider that question."

"You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't doubt your loyalty," Nate said, almost sheepish. "It's just that guys like him -"

"Of the furry sort?"

"- I wouldn't put it like that, but yeah. They tend to swing between free lover and extremely possessive without much room in the middle."

Brad filed that away and asked, "What sort of guy are you?"

"More the latter."

"I figured, but I meant what are you?"

Nate shook his head. "That's a very long story. Can you give me Ray's number? I need to talk to him and set up some kind of meeting so we can work out exactly what our parameters are."

Parameters. You could take the man out of the Corps but apparently not the officer out of the man. "I hope I'm invited. This sounds like you're talking about a custody arrangement."

"It's not like that at all, Brad. We don't own you. We may not be entirely human but we're not savages. Or vampires, the creepy fucks. I just don't want any... friends and extended family getting the wrong impression and things going all War for the Oaks over your body."

Brad was definitely going to insist on getting a spooky shit primer sooner rather than later.

#kinktober #generation kill

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hunter-gatherer-stuff · 5 years

Text

It had taken them both so long to sleep after Crait.

The wracking guilt kept Rey from falling to blissful exhaustion like the remnants of her Resistance counterparts – many had passed out from injuries, both physical and emotional. General Organa had not woken up again – the loss of her brother had been the final straw; Rey hoped Leia found peace wherever she was now, Force knows she had suffered enough.

Rey considered the general’s demise part of her doing, it was added to the long list of remorseful culpability the ‘Last Jedi’ was slowly being crushed under. Leia’s brown eyes had looked softly upon her as she patted Rey’s shoulder, for what – neither knew – would be the last time. Rey saw those eyes every time she closed her own – only this pair, while resembling Leia’s so closely, belonged to a face drawn hard and pinched with resent.

Yes, Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, whoever the kriff he was, had topped Rey’s list.

She regretted bitterly how she contributed to his outright desperation for the obliteration of the Resistance. His retaliation to her rejection had been tenfold what other First Order assaults they had experienced. The sheer magnitude of the attack had left the straggling group of Resistance fighters awed and feeling despondent after the horrific battering.

Rey sat against the darkest, frozen wall of her bunk-room… on the other side of it was the cold-storage room on the Falcon. Rey had been holding vigil over Leia Organa’s body – she had yet to leave the woman’s side in the days after her death before being forcefully removed. She raged until her throat had bled into her lungs – she was heaving and crying and trying to claw her way back into the veritable coffin before Resistance-member’s had moved a cot into the adjoining room closest to the General’s body. Rey hadn’t experienced this level of cold in her life – not even the snow-covered terrain of Starkiller Base had sank into her bones like that room did. Sleep never came, meditation did nothing; she was unable to escape the now – her awareness always centered in the room with the body of the only woman who had ever treated Rey like she belonged.

Resting her elbows on her bent knees she dipped her head and grit her teeth – she didn’t even feel safe closing her eyes, all she would see were the disappointed faces of the people she had let down.

Kylo had kept himself moving after Crait. He was traveling to the First Orders suppliers, assuaging doubts of his ability to succeed Snoke as Supreme Leader. Even his traveling company were beginning to ask him to rest. Deep-set purple bags beneath his eyes, a permanent shadow of his facial hair, his cheekbones hollowed and sluggish movement, it was obvious even to himself. The last stormtrooper that approached him with the query whether Kylo Ren was “feeling well” was threatened to be sent out the airlock. The queries had ended after that.

The exhaustion did nothing to stop his mind from wandering back to the scavenger. In the first days after her rejection Kylo Ren had nearly killed everyone he came into contact with. It wasn’t until General Hux had screamed at him from where he was being held, two feet off the floor of the bridge, that Kylo had realized he was slowly choking and lifting everyone in the room – the Force reacting to his dark train of thoughts unbeknownst to him. He had dropped them all instantly… except for Hux – he allowed the weasel to scrabble for a millisecond (or two) longer than the others…

His decision to get off the larger ship had been welcome news to everyone’s ears, except for the small party he had selected to join him. The journey to Sonn-Blass Corp. – the manufacturer of much of the First Order’s weaponry – took days, he had kept to his own private quarters on the command shuttle when he could, trying to suppress the failures of the recent past through training and physical exertion.

Snoke would be berating him – you have forged your own chains in this failure, you may as well put yourself into a cage – I pity the creature you have let yourself become – tainted so easily by the light. Ren pushed it out of his head, reciting the Sith Code on repeat as he pushed his body to the limit, day in and day out.

Through Passion I gain Strength, Through Strength I gain Power. Through Power I gain Victory, Through Victory my chains are Broken.

He intentionally left out the last line – the Force shall set me free – the Force had done anything but that. Kylo could feel the pull of it in the back of his mind like a bug burrowing into his skull – he had tried to shut himself off to the Force as soon as Rey had turned from him on his knees in the bunker and the Falcon door had closed. It still niggled in Ren’s mind, roving under his skin and reminding him it was there every time he had to do something manually, like pull a chair over to himself, or pick up a datapad. Sometimes he slipped – Hux’s blue face floated into his thoughts – he was only human after all.

Their meeting with Sonn-Blass had gone well, they expressed their confidence in the First Order, and Ren himself, to continue working with them. When the command shuttle took off to continue their journey to the Mid-Rim system that produced the First Order fleet, Kylo finally felt that he could collapse. Pulling off his shoes, cowl and tunic he crawled, then sprawled facedown into his bed. He did not try to sleep, he knew it would not come. His datapad was close, but he knew his eyes were strained from staring at the screen and believed he should rest them too. Five minutes, then he would return to the bridge and receive the daily Finalizer update reports from Hux.

Rey had slid further down the freezing wall between her and the storage room, her staff had rolled away from one of her kicked out legs, her hands folded over her stomach and her head remained bowed. The hum of the warp-drive was comforting and pleasantly buzzed in her mind, lowering her defenses erected there.

Kylo’s breathing slowed, his chest expanded slowly and each exhale sunk him deeper into the warm sheets. The cool air on his bare back felt like sweet relief, soaking up the chill and numbing his sore muscles. He had no energy to keep his new blockades up, and slowly they crumbled, his eyes dipping heavier with each one that fell.

The Force flowed, swelling and ebbing around them both, gradually increasing in energy and presence, manifesting so slowly that neither of them felt the bridge approaching until it was open wide before them. The Force signature was so different from what they had come to expect when they became connected, being so close to the sleep that had evaded them both for weeks, neither believed the other was really there.

Rey looked down and saw Kylo’s head, resting on her sternum, her hands resting on the back of his neck as his hair spilled over them and onto her chest, soft and jet black against her skin. In her drowsy stupor she ran a hand through it, dragging her nails along his scalp. The low groan and soft shiver her fingers pulled from him would have startled her if she didn’t believe this a dream.

If this were a dream, it meant she was sleeping – oh Light, it had been too long. “Finally…” she sighed.

“Shush.” His voice was cracked, so deep it almost didn’t register to her ears as a word, but a vibration.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She muttered, tiredly lifting her head away from the strands of obsidian tickling her face, to lean against the wall behind her – only Kylo Ren could be so ostentatious in her dreams.

“Please – please, stop tormenting me. Just let me rest, you wretch.” There was venom in his voice, but his body spoke otherwise as his arms came up from his sides to wrap around Rey’s waist, tugging her further down like he were tucking a pillow below his head and not her body.

She clicked her tongue indignantly, before shuffling a little underneath him – she might as well make herself comfortable if this reverie wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. Rey took a few moments to look down along their bodies. With Ren’s arms wrapped around her his shoulders were bunched with muscle, rippling down along the wide expanse of his back, which was bracketed neatly between her legs. She couldn’t see anything past his hips, it looked like a dark cloth was covering him, but even so his frame is just so long, her outstretched leg only reached down to where the matching set of dimples formed on his lower back.

Absentmindedly she had been stroking through his hair, one hand raising and falling over the other as her fingers combed through the locks. He had matched his breathing to her movements, slow and deliberate, like if they fell out of sync it would stop. She could feel his breath ghosting along the skin exposed between her leggings and shift that had been gathered up underneath his raised arms. It was so peaceful, Rey realized she was glad this was the dream she had finally surrendered to.

The smell of her swarmed Kylo’s senses – scent memory was strongest, it brought back everything in acute detail, the sound of her fluttering breath, the feel of her body against his, the scratchy starched fabric of her clothing. It was all there, he could even believe if he opened his eyes he would see her hazel ones looking back.

Ren kept his eyes closed stubbornly, not wanting to break this dream-spell. He was choosing to remain in this personal heaven/hell for as long as his subconscious would allow. Her hands in his hair, her thighs bracing his ribcage, her soft waist circled in his arms – distantly the remaining part of his functioning brain asked how he could remember things, things he had never experienced, in such detail. He dare not question it.

She was so warm beneath him, the contrast to the skin of his chest to that of his back was inexplicable, the recycled air of his command shuttle was never cooled to the degree he was feeling. It could just as easily be his body reacting to the temperature of hers, it wasn’t discomforting, on the contrary, it made him want to hold her closer. He couldn’t remember being this comfortable for ages, there was a faint reminder of years ago when a soft-handed woman soothed him to sleep with his head on her lap, riding a ship he could almost hear the sound of…

Kylo forced the thought out of his mind, lifting his head to turn and lay on the other side. The movement brought his nose and lips into contact with – what he surely must have been imagining – Rey’s exposed skin, dragging across the heated flesh and raising gooseflesh. A short gasp and a tightening of the muscles underneath his lowered cheek had his mouth turning up at the corners. Deep, dark places in him were glad he could indulge in fantasies like this now, without the ever-watchful disdain of Snoke’s presence in his mind.

Rey felt the storage room’s cold wall behind her, but it did nothing for the warmth building in her system. The way his skin had skimmed hers elicited an idea – one she thought she had buried after their awkward encounter on Auch-To – it boiled underneath her skin until she thought steam would rise from her and haze up the small room.

She wanted him to do it again.

Rey tried to take steadying breaths, her hands faltering as she tried not to focus on the heat artifice-Kylo was producing between her legs. When her movements halted she felt Ren’s neck crane under her fingers, shoulders tightening as he raised his head.

He made to move as if he were switching sides again, loathe to lose the warmth of her against his cheek, but placating himself with the thought of her warmth in other places…

Kylo paused halfway, the stubble along his chin scraping her leggings, the sound of it deafened them both – the silence afterwards veritably sparked with anticipation. Rey held her breath, biting her lip and praying to the ceiling, Force save me.

He imagined he could hear her blood pounding in his ears along with his own. The smell of her, dear stars. Breathing deeply, he nuzzled closer to her skin, the bridge of his nose lifting the shift Rey wore above her navel and prompting another sharp gasp from her. Kylo chuckled – it turned into a groan when her fingers tightened in his hair.

“Please,” Rey didn’t know what she was begging for, but the way her hips canted up shamelessly exposed an ancient, deep-seated need within her.

He didn’t deny her for long, his lips came down in an unmercifully slow, open-mouthed kiss above the waistband of her leggings. The noise she made, high in her throat, almost too thin and strained for him to catch had his mouth curling in a smile as he roamed the expanse of exposed skin with his lips, teeth, and tongue. Rey bucked as Kylo dragged his sharp eye-tooth along the ridge of her hipbone, his arms tightened at the reaction, flexing his fingers into her soft skin to hold her closer. He indulged himself with a flick of his tongue against her skin, delving into her shallow bellybutton as he craned his neck to look up at her. He could not stop the desire to see this fantasy-Rey’s face, how she responded to his ministrations, how his imagination was making her react.

Kylo’s eyes met hers, and… Force, no.

“Ben,” her eyes were hooded, the sharp gaze finally emitting something other than the confusion she had been emanating for months… forgiveness.

What had she to forgive?! I am the one betrayed! His dark indeterminable stubbornness fought with the indulgent touch-starved human he still was. The sharp edge of his memory, where Snoke had tainted, as if he were still a presence in his mind, goading and mocking Ren in his wretched voice, cackled at the impotent outrage his student felt in this moment;

How magnanimous of her… Your imaginings have gone lax without me here to school them – what simplistic desires you crave, ‘forgiveness’ ‘resolution’ ‘acceptance’. Pah! If this little Jedi whore were in your rooms now she would kill you without a second thought – but here you are, desiring the one who would end you. I am vindicated in my contempt of the light-side left inside of you – a child looking for approval and nothing more.

A child… maybe, but still a child who had managed to kill the Supreme Leader and his entourage of dark-siders.

The little scavenger’s hands were stroking his hair while he warred within himself – she was running the pads of her fingers along the shell of his ears, letting her thumbs drift along his cheekbones, pressing softly under his eyes, smoothing the bruised-looking skin she found there.

His lids shuttered closed, thankfully hiding the roll of his eyes into the back of his head, barely holding back the moan dragged out of him by her tiny nails pressing crescent moons into the skin below his jaw.

Indignation could wait until he awoke…

Rey could feel his jaw ticking beneath her palm, why? This was her dream, he wasn’t supposed to be frowning in her daydreams… His eyes were closed, his whole body felt tense resting upon her, how could she get this delusional dream back on track? She refused to examine what track she wanted to get on.

She grasped his face tightly, only having to bend herself shallowly to meet her forehead with his. Ben’s eyes flew open, it didn’t stop her exploration as she stroked her nose along the bridge of his.

A stuttered breath escaped his lips, and before he could try to somehow retract it she had breathed it in. Inhaling his essence as if they were lovers, rather than enemies across the universe.

Kylo chased the feeling, Ben would have…

He surged up, catching Rey unawares – she decided immediately that she loved it. He had always caught her off-guard, alone in a jungle, across an icy forest after being mortally wounded, even incapacitated at the hands of his Master, Ben had endeavored to surprise her, no matter where, no matter when.

His mouth met hers, mid-gasp – he stole the breath back from her lungs, remuneration for the times she had stolen his. The softness of her lips, reacting, stroking like velvet across his… his mind burst into flames, imagination running wild like a fire in the dry brush, he knew the texture of her now, he could imagine this feeling anywhere he so wished.

Rey had never kissed anyone before, her first kiss was with her greatest foe – she told herself a dream could not count – but Maker it felt real…

Kylo had never felt anything like this, the air around them hummed, shimmering with electricity at their contact. A part of him, one he had been failing to silence since that day, wondered if it would have been the same – if she had stayed, if she were there with him in person, would their touches feel like this? He had to admit that it would have been some time before she ever let him touch her – but at least she would be here for him to try it, whether he failed or not – now he had no chance, and a phenomenal dream happening right before him…

Rey’s hands were still cupping his face, pulling him towards her, starting to wind her fingers into his hair and pull. Kylo answered with a groan and a pull of his own, her lower lip was between his teeth, nipped sharply then soothed with a heated lap of his tongue.

Rey had never felt anything like it, the pain soothed instantaneously with a delicious, scorching drag of pleasure. She made a noise she had never heard before – Kylo swallowed it – her taste was inflaming him.

When he did it again her moan spurred him into movement, one arm still pulling her tightly to him while the other slid up the back of her shift, higher and higher until his fingers thread into the hair at the base of her skull. He tugged, lightly, and her chest arched into his, pressing her small breasts so firmly to his body he could feel her tight nipples prodding at him through the fabric of her shirt. Prodding at him to do something with them! There was no mistaking the effect his tug had on her – his little scavenger had experienced pain her whole life – it seemed she craved it, needed a little pain to receive pleasure – nothing in life was free…

Her hands wrapped around to his back, digging her nails into his bare skin, holding on as tight as she could with her skinny, malnourished arms. Rey could give as good as she got – he wouldn’t be walking away from this unscathed. Her body had steadily been dragged down to the floor, she was flat on the ground, legs still spread around the facsimile of Kylo Ren, he was fitted perfectly in her apex, in the back of her mind she wondered if the real thing would feel as good as her imagination was making it out to be, she experimentally rolled her hips up the raw length of iron he was pressing against her – Force that feels good…

“Force–” Kylo had never felt anything so vibrant, so perfect – he had to pull away from the wet heat of her mouth, lest he prematurely ej- … eject himself from this perfect dreamscape. The hand that wasn’t tangled in Rey’s hair flew down to her waist, clenching so tightly he could feel his knuckles protest, but he had to slow her down, control the scavenger’s erratic rhythm that was threatening to undo him.

“You…” she was panting, it was hard to say anything when he was guiding her towards the edge of something she didn’t know if she could fall off from. “You look s-so different…” He looked up at her, eyebrows knitting together in confusion and frustration, she brought a hand to his face, smoothing the lines on his forehead before letting her hand trail down his face, “You look so good, like this, here – here with m-me.”

Ben liked the sound of that, and if he had to admit it, so did Kylo Ren – one thing they could agree on was that they needed Rey – needed her like a kriffing laser to the head? Or needed her like the oxygen he breathed?

He shook his head before catching her thumb in his mouth, sucking lightly and watching her eyes as they flared intensely and she ground her teeth together. Ren’s hand on her waist wrapped around the small of her back and raised her up, into his lap, legs spread across his thighs so she was looking down on him…

She gasped as he boosted her and clutched to Ren tighter, now he was looking up at her from between her breasts with eyes she didn’t know how to read. Rey lifted her thumb from his mouth, spreading his slick saliva across his bottom lip, before raising it to her own lips, sucking his excess off her digit as she held his gaze. She could see him bite the inside of his cheek and feel the growl in his chest pressed to her abdomen, Rey felt heady with supremacy, having him on his knees clutching at her, it was empowering – she didn’t know if wanting more was against her Jedi training or not, but any upper hand over Kylo Ren was a good thing… right?

The growl in his throat was nothing compared to the roar in his ears, his heartbeat and brain were working in tandem to echo ‘mine, mine, mine, mine’ – he didn’t care who possessed her more, Ben, Kylo, it didn’t matter – she was his.

He again reached up to pull her mouth down to his, their connection sparking and igniting their bodies to once again find that ancient rhythm that lovers throughout the epochs shared. His lips lifted to reach hers, her back bowed so her mouth remained connected to his, his arms wrapped around her like corded wire and her hands found purchase in his hair – Rey was able to anchor herself, she distantly thought – in awe – that this dream was wonderfully intense.

She used her anchored hands to grip the beautiful onyx mane of her arch-nemesis to pull his neck as far back as it could go – his deep gasp spurred her on, she smiled menacingly before dipping below his jaw to take one of the straining tendons of his throat between her teeth.

“Rey – ”

Her teeth closed slightly, earning another gasp – she reveled in the way his fingers twitched into her skin, before pressing her tongue flat against the jugular fluttering beneath Kylo’s skin and drawing it up until she reached just below his ear…

“You have two names… it doesn’t feel fair that I only have one…”

“What do you want?” his gravelly voice cracked, the confusion evident.

Rey giggled – she hadn’t laughed in weeks… “Surprise me.”

The deep breath Kylo took made Rey think she had pushed her imagination too far, she was already so enamoured with this dream – she didn’t want it to end, but Oh Light for just a few more minutes of this uninhibited simulation and she could die happy.

To her utter astonishment and pleasure, the breath he had taken was in preparation…

“The one who would – no,” he swallowed before lowering his eyes from hers, as if he could not continue while their gazes were locked, “Could turn the Supreme Leader. My enemy, my empress, my equal… the only thing in my universe…” The words spilled on and on, his voice pouring over her like the first time Rey had stepped into a ‘fresher shower and let the scalding water stream over her for what felt like hours on end…

Rey’s cheeks flushed – Kylo loved the reaction, he was pleased he could say these things into the void of his own fantasies, ones that won’t come to light under the scrutinizing anguish of Snoke’s meticulous torture. He wanted to say these things until the blush crept down her cheeks, trailed slowly down her long, sculpted neck and just lightly touched the top of her chest, flushing her skin to match the dusky pink nipples topping her luscious breasts.

“Stop!” she suddenly said, startling Ren into pulling away from her clavicle where he had been laying scorching kisses in between his reverent praise. “Please…” Rey had to take deep gasping breaths and close her eyes off from seeing his prying ones – her wits were scattered, she didn’t know what she was about to say – but it felt right… “Stop, you’re just a fantasy – a beautiful passion-filled dream to make me sway – to make me come to the Dark Side.”

The groan that tore out of Kylo Ren’s throat made a deep, aching heat burst forth between Rey’s legs.

“That’s just what my beautiful, fantasy, dream-Rey would say…” his clenched teeth were the opposite of the heated look he gave her – it felt angry, frustrated… desperate. “I would have tore apart systems for you. Created new stars in your name.”

“I do not need the stars or the galaxy, Ben.” She pushed his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear as she collected her thoughts. How could she put it into words? How could she make him understand?

“What would you have me do?” His voice was barely a whisper, breaking like it had in the throneroom.

She had no answer for him, especially when he was looking up at her so hopelessly. Rey did the only thing she had enough courage for – she stood up from him, his hands trailed down her body before coming to rest on his own lap. Kylo was sure she was leaving, he felt bereft, this dream was so much worse than their forcebond. He was looking down at his hands when a light thud returned his attention in front of him. A pair of leggings and shift lay crumpled off to the side of his vision.

****

Sorry - this has no ending! Feel free to continue it, but make sure to tag me so I can see!

x0x0x

#reylo #kylo ren #benjamin skywalker #leia organa #rey #reylo trash #star wars #star wars the last jedi #star wars the force awakens #starwars #filth #ben solo

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ahloveisboo · 7 years

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Long Forgotten Sons | pt 4

Pairing: OT7 Genre: Zombie!AU, mature (includes violence, gore, death, explicit language, future major character death) Word Count: 3.5k

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***

“So… What brings you here?”

Yoongi all but scoffed at the question. “Not sure. It’s either being on the run from brain dead zombies trying to eat us alive, or a nice, long, romantic road trip. A broad trip if you will.”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon warned, but he was smiling. Yoongi rolled his eyes and puffed out a laugh.

“Right. Technically, they’re everything but brain dead. I heard you the first seven times.”

Jimin craned his neck, casting a glance over Jungkook’s shoulder. “What do you mean, everything but?” His eyes flicked from Namjoon to Yoongi and back. Yoongi cocked his head and smiled.

“Namjoon has… intel.”

Jungkook frowned and stepped forward. The others silently followed to surround the newcomers, making a crescent shape in front of them. It wasn’t meant to be threatening but Namjoon found himself backing away instinctively.

Jimin pursed his lips and squinted. His voice sounded smooth when he spoke. “Intel,” he repeated. “Like, military level shit?”

Seokjin took a seat in one of the pews up front, eyeing Namjoon as he waited for a reply. Namjoon’s eyes flicked to Yoongi, who was waiting for Namjoon to continue what he started. Namjoon wasn’t sure what he expected from him but took a breath and focused back on the people before him.

“I’m- well, was, an intern at Hudson Corp.”

Hoseok failed to hide his surprise. “Hudson. As in the company that’s responsible for all this?”

Namjoon bit the inside of his cheek, nodding. He could see Jimin’s hands ball into fists in the corner of his eye but continued. “I’m a biomedical engineering student, specializing in neuro. I got the internship as a final step to graduating next semester.” He paused and averted his eyes. “I was on the team that created the virus.”

It happened in a flash. Namjoon’s back hit the ground before he could fight back, knocking the air from his lungs. Jimin’s fists balled into Namjoon’s hoodie, pulling his torso from the ground and smacking him back down. “You son of a bit-“ he cursed, eyes ablaze as he met Namjoon’s own bewildered gaze.

“I can explain,” he choked, grabbing at Jimin’s hands to fend them off. Jimin only hissed in response, raising a fist in the air.

Jimin promptly went still. His hands dropped when he felt fingers tangled in his hair and the cold touch of Yoongi’s dagger to his throat. His head was yanked back, forcing him to stare into Yoongi’s face.

“Do that again and I won’t hesitate next time. Let the man finish.”

Jimin nodded but did nothing to disguise the loathing written on his features. He pulled himself off Namjoon, who scrambled to his feet and nervously started smoothing out his hoodie. Seokjin and Jungkook exchanged glances as Jimin took a seat between them. Seokjin put his hand on Jimin’s thigh, digging his fingers into the skin in support.

Yoongi gestured at Namjoon with his free hand. “Go on.”

Namjoon fixed his gaze on Jimin as he continued. “The team I was put on was working on a drug to cure or reverse certain elements of Alzheimer’s disease. I was pretty stoked about it, too because my family has a history. I would be a part of making a fucking cure for fuck’s sake.” He raised his voice in proud excitement but toned it down as soon as he saw the others’ blank stares. He cleared his throat. “As you all know, Alzheimer’s disease leads to brain deterioration, which was what our team was trying to stop or even reverse.” He paused again, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Researchers have been trying to determine the cause of Alzheimer’s for decennia but keep coming up empty. And since we don’t know how it develops, we were having a hard time finding the right code to fight it. Studies show that genetics only account for a certain percentage of cases and there have been some genome studies which found 19 genes that could potentially be affecting the risk of getting Alzheimer’s but that wasn’t enough to base our entire project on. There are multiple hypotheses out there, and we decided to build onto the Tau hypothesis and go from there.”

“That’s the one with the protein changes, right?” Namjoon’s head whirled at Hoseok’s comment, jaw mid-drop before realizing no sound was coming out. His mouth snapped shut but he couldn’t hide the confusion on his face. Jimin leaned forward, crossing his arms over his knees and grinned at Hoseok, enjoying the reaction it got out of Namjoon. Yoongi stared at Hoseok a little too long for comfort.

“What? I read a lot,” Hoseok shrugged, focusing his attention back on Namjoon.

“Right. The tau protein changes the microtubules in a way that they start to disintegrate. I won’t bore you with any more details but that’s what we built our approach on.”

Hoseok nodded, draping his arms over the back of the pew. “Did it work?”

“Science takes time. They were already developing a-“ He raised his fingers in air quotations. “-cure when I arrived. It was prepared for testing a few weeks after. One night I couldn’t sleep because this feeling kept gnawing at me, like I had overlooked something that just didn’t make sense. So I went back to the lab to go over my notes by myself.”

Somewhere down the line, Namjoon had started pacing, hands motioning wildly to support his words. It made Taehyung restless, shifting in his own spot as he watched Namjoon adjust his glasses. He wanted to say something to make him stop but the words died in his throat. The atmosphere was tense and sultry, settling over everyone’s chest in anticipation. Namjoon took a long breath and continued.

“I found an anomaly in the sequence we used. It would basically fuck up everything we’d been working on. It was meant to treat the first few symptoms, the ones that affect the episodic memory. You know, things like short-term memory loss, being disoriented, occasionally forgetting vocabulary, etc,” he added, as though the boys would understand even without clarification. Taehyung grimaced.

“Instead the anomaly would make sure to skip those and go straight to the second stage, which is when long-term memory and learned facts get affected, as well as muscle memory. Walking, eating, shit like that. Things you don’t usually have to think about.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Jungkook interrupted, going over the information in his head. “If it attacks the second stage before having to work on the first symptoms, wouldn’t people heal faster?”

Namjoon halted, hands clasped together as though Jungkook had just discovered an option he hadn’t thought of. He smiled at the youngest. “I understand why you’d think that. At first, I was willing to consider the possibility, too, even if everyone knows to always go for the lower ranks first. Every action movie can tell you that.”

“What happened next?” Hoseok asked politely, urging Namjoon to complete his story.

“I talked to my colleagues first. They dismissed it, of course. Called it a rookie mistake in my findings. And that was it. I couldn’t take this to my superior without solid proof after that. So I broke protocol,” he explained, glancing at Yoongi who had taken a seat on the floor. Yoongi shifted his weight backward, his hands spread out behind him for support. He sucked in a breath before speaking.

“I came home one night and he had stolen three mice from the lab,” Yoongi chuckled. “For a second I thought he’d joined one of those animal rights groups and that he’d walk out of his room in a “stop animal testing” shirt. I did not expect a syringe and a vial of some zombie virus.”

“Obviously I had no fucking clue back then,” Namjoon retorted, gesturing dismissively. “But I had no other choice. I needed to know if we were heading for disaster or a miracle.”

Seokjin leaned forward, grabbing everyone’s attention with the sudden movement. “You experimented on them yourself?”

Namjoon nodded in confirmation. “It wasn’t ideal. I couldn’t separate the mice but figured it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. They were disoriented and slow since they suffered from most of the symptoms humans show in those stages. I injected the first one that night before we went to bed. My plan was to expose them to the drug in different doses and time frames. It should have taken me months to see any significant results but when we got up the next morning..,” he trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek again.

“The one he injected the night before was hanging by a thread,” Yoongi picked up the story. “Namjoon had gotten up early to get into the lab but I didn’t have classes until late afternoon so I slept in. It was 9 hours after the injection and it was clear the sucker didn’t have long to live. I texted Joon as soon as I noticed.”

“I couldn’t leave the lab early without attracting attention so I told him to write down observations the best way he could. By the time I got home, it had died.” Namjoon paused long enough to let the information sink in and answer questions, but neither of the boys said anything. Finally, Taehyung spoke up.

“So basically you spent months, if not years concocting poison instead of revolutionary treatment.” He couldn’t suppress the edge in this voice. It sounded accusatory and Namjoon didn’t blame him. It took him a few heartbeats to reply.

“Here’s the kicker, though. It did work.”

Now the boys started to stir, words spilling from their mouth in both confusion and disbelief. Jimin jumped to his feet and pointed a finger at Namjoon’s chest. “The hell it did! You killed us all. You and your fucking crazy scientist friends.”

Yoongi shot him a warning glance but Jimin chose to ignore it. “This-” he raged, spinning on his heel and motioning with his hand. “is all on you.”

Jimin hadn’t noticed Hoseok coming up behind him until he felt his hand on his wrist. Hoseok fingers wrapped around the delicate skin and tugged it down. “As much as I want to punch him in the throat right now, this isn’t the way to deal with it.”

Jimin locked eyes with Hoseok and snarled. “How are you so calm? He killed your family.”

Hoseok flinched but shook his head. “That’s not fair.”

Namjoon waited for the racket to die down. He wondered if the others could hear the way his heart pounded in his chest as silence settled, but he managed to keep a calm façade.

Yoongi got up and pat the dust from his trousers. He looked over the boys’ faces and cocked his head. He spoke as if there had been no interruption. “Namjoon doesn’t take failure well. He spent the next hour staring into the cage as though he’d bring it back to life through sheer force of will. I went to get us food and when I got back, the damn thing was alive. Walking, squeaking, whatever mice do. It was unnerving. I mean, fuck, I watched it struggle and perish with my own two eyes hours ago.”

“At first I thought we actually did it. That it must have just looked like it died and we had found what others hadn’t been able to. I was over the moon. I couldn’t tear my eyes away and didn’t even care about the possible side-effects we had just witnessed. But then it happened.” Namjoon folded his hands in his lap. “It attacked the other mice, basically tearing them apart. There was blood everywhere. I was so stunned I just stood there watching. And then it hit me. The drug had sparked the brain back into action. The mouse’s body had died in the process but the brain had not. It was fully functioning. Just not in the way we were expecting.”

Jungkook swore audibly, “What the fuck, Namjoon. You bred zombie mice and didn’t tell anyone?”

Namjoon’s gaze was blank as it met Jungkook’s. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? I did tell. I managed to catch the infected mouse unharmed and took it to my superior. He didn’t care. He gave me a lecture and scolded me for breaking protocol, for putting the entire project in danger. He showed me the door and basically told me to shove it. But not before reminding me of the confidentiality clause I signed upon entering the company. He made it very clear I was good to go and never to come back.”

Seokjin rubbed his face in a desperate attempt to hide his disbelief. “They knowingly let this happen. They put the entire population in danger over a greedy longing to succeed where others had failed.” Namjoon nodded in confirmation. Seokjin straightened and tensed his jaw. “What did you do?”

“I broke his nose,” Namjoon deadpanned. A grin broke onto Yoongi’s face as he listened to his friend retell the story. “I would’ve done worse if I thought I’d get away with it. Instead, I focused on how to make sure the drug would never make it to the human trial stages in this state.”

“Surely they wouldn’t have let it come that far if they came to the same discovery as you,” Hoseok stated, cocking an eyebrow.

“I’d like to think so but at that point, I didn’t trust any of them anymore.”

Jungkook didn’t realise he was staring until Jimin snapped his fingers in front of his face. Startled, he blinked, but he focused back on Namjoon instantly. “Considering the situation we are in, I assume you didn’t find a way to stop them,” he concluded.

Namjoon shook his head. “I didn’t. A few weeks later the explosion happened and all I could think about was that drug, that virus we created and the idea that they just unleashed hell on earth.” The tone of his voice did nothing to hide his frustration and it took every ounce of self-control for Namjoon not to scream. Yoongi cleared his throat, the look in his eyes too subtle for the others to notice but Namjoon accepted the silent support with gratitude.

“When I heard the news, I panicked. If that virus had infected even one of my colleagues without anyone knowing the consequences, we’d be done for. I told my family right off the bat and they didn’t even think to doubt me, but getting anyone else to believe me turned out to be one hell of a job. Zombies aren’t real, you see. We don’t live in some weird dystopian, post-apocalyptic wasteland where people rise from the dead to eat your brains.”

“Except now we do,” Taehyung noted. “So where’s your family now? Did they evacuate with the others?”

“Nah, they fled to Europe way before anyone else got out. They packed up and left instantly. We were supposed to be on the plane with them but turns out I have a knack for losing things. Including my passport.”

“We?” Hoseok asked, letting his eyes drift from Namjoon to Yoongi. “Why did you stay?”

Yoongi shrugged, idly playing with his dagger. “He’s a shitty roommate but I’ve grown fond of him. Besides-” He paused, as though internally debating how much of himself he wanted to share. His words were cold as he continued. “I have nowhere to go.”

“To be honest, if I didn’t have Yoongi by my side, I wouldn’t have survived the first week,” Namjoon added, trying to take the edge off Yoongi’s comment.

“Hey, just out of curiosity,” Taehyung interrupted before Namjoon could say more. “What did you do with the mice afterwards?”

“We killed and buried them. The virus only affects the brain so we crushed their skulls, disabling brain activity,” he explained. “Brutal, but effective. They don’t necessarily feel pain since their nervous systems died with them. They only react to violence because the brain registers that the body is being attacked, which is why they scream when you stab them for example. But you’re not actually inflicting any pain. It’s just a reflex response. If you want to kill them, aim for their heads,” Namjoon concluded. “Crush it, stab it, pierce it, hell- even decapitation would help since it disconnects the brain from the rest of the body. But yeah, always go for the brain.”

He looked at Seokjin when finished and feebly nodded once to indicate this was all the information he could provide. Seokjin returned it with a look that Namjoon couldn’t quite decipher but he was glad there weren’t any more questions to be answered.

Namjoon sat down next to Hoseok to catch his breath, suddenly aware of how heavy his limbs felt and how exhausted he was. It was the first time he told the story to anyone that wasn’t his family or Yoongi, and he was surprised how easy it had been to come clean to total strangers. He instinctively rubbed his chest looking for any bruising left by Jimin earlier. He sighed. They’d been on the run for two weeks, and these were the first people - alive and breathing - they’d encountered along the way.

Namjoon glanced at Yoongi, who had sheathed his daggers and hooked the machete back in his belt. His hands were leisurely tucked into his pockets as he stared at the far wall. Yoongi could feel Namjoon’s gaze burning holes in his skin and turned to look at him. Bewildered, Namjoon noticed he looked just as tired as he felt.

They had barely slept the past nights. Being up against aggressive walkers was bad enough, but there were only two of them and even with Yoongi’s skills and Namjoon’s wits, each fight against those monsters took its toll. Yoongi’s body hurt in places he didn’t even know had muscles.

Namjoon allowed a flicker of hope to spark in his chest, turning back to the boys who were now chatting amongst each other. Processing everything Namjoon had just told them. He cleared his throat loud enough to draw attention. “Listen,” he said as soon as everyone’s eyes were trained on him. “I heard news about a safe place up in Daegu. That’s where we’re heading. You can join us if you want. Yoongi has family there that we could probably turn to for help.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked at Yoongi. “But you just said-”

“I know what I said,” Yoongi gritted his teeth and turned away from Hoseok, no longer able to stand the way he looked at him. The all too familiar pity-filled look made his stomach churn. Hoseok took the hint and dropped the subject.

Seokjin and Jungkook sat on the farthest end of the front pew, animatedly talking to each other. It was too loud around him for Namjoon to listen in on their conversation, but he assumed they were discussing the option of joining him and Yoongi to Daegu. They’d be stronger as a group of seven. No more sleepless nights of taking turns to watch their backs and look out for the faintest sign of walkers. They’d finally have someone else to depend on besides each other.

He let his eyes fall shut, steadying his breath as his exhaustion washed over him. Namjoon almost fell asleep there and then, until he realized Seokjin had gotten up and was now standing before him, sizing him up. Namjoon jerked his head back up and blinked.

“First of all,” Seokjin started, his voice steady and dominant. “Thank you for sharing your story with us. It helped us understand and figure out how to deal with things easier. I want you to know that we-“ Seokjin glanced at Jimin, who had chosen to blatantly ignore the conversation. “Don’t blame you for what happened. You did everything you could. Don’t let this guilt weigh you down.” Seokjin could easily spot the relief flickering over Namjoon’s features but it disappeared as fast as it came and morphed into a faint smile instead.

“However,” he continued. “We appreciate your offer but I think we’d be more comfortable finding our own way. We will stay the night here and leave first thing in the morning.”

Namjoon’s smile faltered as his heart turned to ice in his chest. The little flicker of hope he’d allowed himself to hold onto earlier, slipping through his fingers. “I understand,” he said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Thank you for listening and not judging my actions.”

Seokjin nodded and turned away, making room for Yoongi to step closer and put a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. His eyes were cold and unreadable. “It’s fine,” he said quietly, gently squeezing in reassurance. “We’ll be fine on our own.”

Namjoon acknowledged him with a faint tilt of his chin and grimaced. Yoongi turned to face the others to speak one last time.

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to try and catch some sleep. If you are gone by the time we wake up, good luck. We’d appreciate it if you don’t let any walkers in on the way out.”

By the time Yoongi’s head hit the hard wood of the pew next to the one his friend was occupying, Namjoon had drifted off to sleep.

A/N: I did some research into the disease but obviously I am not a scientist, so take everything mentioned here with a grain of salt. I’m also well aware that the travel from the Seoul area to Daegu would not actually take weeks but let’s pretend it does for the sake of the story. Thank you so much for reading this for and again to @eradikeats-writes for editing.

#long forgotten sons #noonanet #kwriterskollection #kpoptrashtag #bts zombie au #bts au #bangtan au

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inyri · 7 years

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Equivalent Exchange (an SWTOR story): Chapter Seventeen: Backfire

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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(Long chapter is long. Hopefully that makes up for the delay?)

Backfire

16 ATC. Rishi.

Vector’s research was right- there are definitely Mandalorians on Rishi, though she hasn’t been able to get anywhere close yet. But the clans aren’t going anywhere, as far as she can tell, so that lead’ll keep until she can work her way around to it.

Nine’s first priority is to find whoever sliced her ship.

Nobody messes with her ship.

At least no one recognizes her here. More properly, no one on Rishi seems to know who the captain of the Howling Tempest Gang actually is, so the charade’s holding nicely so far. Pretending to be a pirate is extraordinarily tedious, especially in an Outer Rim shithole like this where there’s no hierarchy, just group upon group like rats gnawing on each other, squabbling for dominance. She’s had to kill a dozen cocky idiots trying to prove themselves against her.

But after only a few days’ work she’s nearly on top of her target, finally, after months of failed leads and dead ends, so if it means acting like something out of a holiday pantomime- why was it always pirates?- she’ll act the part.

(Not like Hutta, at the beginning of everything, where not ten minutes into her sojourn as the Red Blade she’d had the bad luck to run into someone who not only knew the real Blade- who wasn’t human and definitely wasn’t female- but who had him in hock for more credits than her whole operations budget.

Thank the Force for stupid men. For all his bragging Dheno had been a pretty mediocre fuck, but at least he hadn’t blown her cover.)

When the message comes in, then, she mishears it at first - but no. The droid definitely said Red Blade.

It gets her hackles up. Old business like that raises a few possibilities- besides Kaliyo there aren’t many people left who knew her that well that long ago- and none of them are good. Most of them ought to be dead and ashed. She should ignore it.

She doesn’t, of course. No point in delaying the inevitable.

When she gets to the meeting point he’s already there, facing away from the door with his head bowed over a console, but she knows the slope of his shoulders at a glance. He’d always stood up so straight one could practically hear his heels click together, like the soldier she’d always suspected he once was, when anyone else was watching. But when they’d been alone, the day Intelligence died, or the day she pressed the Black Codex into his hand-

“Minister.” Her hand’s still halfway on her knife as he turns around toward her; in the end he gave her freedom, but he let them chain her in the beginning. They would have executed you, otherwise, he’d said once, a whisper of rationality beneath the storm of her rage. It was better this way. Wasn’t it? “I thought you were dead.”

(Lana startles. They told me- she shuts her eyes tight, face contorting in anger- the Council assured me that he’d been dealt with. No loose ends. They promised-

She curls her hand around Lana’s fist, unfolding her tense fingers one by one. The Council lies. They always have. They controlled what they could, they destroyed what they couldn’t, and when they couldn’t do either one…

They lied. And I believed them.

You were lucky, she says. You only got a lie.)

***

She wouldn’t have agreed if it hadn’t been Shara.

When she was young and stupid and fresh out of the Academy she thought the Watcher program was brilliant. Training field agents was hard enough; only three out of sixty of her cadet class went to the field, with another eight in support roles and the remainder shunted off to the Diplomatic Corps, and field work didn’t require a quarter of the skillset that Watching did. Why wait for natural talent to turn up when the ability could be bred?

The program was an abomination. She knows that now. Calling it “conditioning” made it sound somehow respectable, to say nothing of what must have happened to the failures, but it warped Shara just as badly on so many levels as the Castellan restraints had altered her. In most ways it was worse: even now, just the thought of the word onomatophobia makes her shake and sweat, but at least she’d known when her actions weren’t her own. The Watchers were so controlled, so restrained by their conditioning-

“I do have to be scared,” Shara says, her tongue tripping over the words, her magnificent brain still shattered years after Hunter’s vicious little trap. “The Empire altered my limbic system.”

Poor Shara. She deserves the chance to choose, for better or for worse.

(Sometimes, even now, she wonders what else the program altered.

She’d seen other field agents go to bed with their assigned Watchers. Intelligence encouraged fraternization on a shallow level, a sort of trust-building exercise as long as one didn’t take it too far; with Fixers or Minders it was one thing, but with Watchers she’d begun to wonder, as the years passed, whether it was genuine affection or something else. Something less voluntary and more calculated: not force- never force- but a tendency engineered, seeded deep and cultivated and shaped into thoughts that seemed spontaneous but weren’t, not really, not at their heart.

And then she thinks of other things- a hundred half-remembered medical evaluations of her own; dozens of injections she never thought to question; the Advanced Interpersonal Negotiation seminar, officially optional and available only by permission, that unofficially meant shortlisted for Intelligence assignment and that they’d unofficially subtitled Lie Back and Think of the Empire-

And she stops thinking about it at all. It’s better that way.

She’d had a choice.

She’d had a choice.)

She leaves the Minister behind, a drive full of dossiers tucked into her jacket pocket and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even with her own file purged, the Council knows her history, at least in part; unless she takes herself entirely off the board it’s only a matter of time before the game catches up with her. If Intelligence really is reforming, with a Darth at its head-

Well. That’s a thought for another day.

***

I gave the files to you, after Yavin. Do you remember?

Lana nods. I do. Darth Marr never quite approved of most of them, but the ones that came aboard were some of my best agents. Why didn’t you keep them for yourself?

He made you the new Minister, not me, and I thought you might need a little leverage. It’s a hard game, Intelligence, she says, especially when you don’t know the rules.

***

Kai Zykken was an idiot, and she had to chase a larcenous monkey-lizard through the entire marketplace and electrocute a droid- that earned her more than a few raised eyebrows- but at last she’s headed toward the rendezvous point.

Face covered and voice distorted, the woman in the holorecording isn’t familiar. Either Zykken was even dumber than she’d first thought, though, or there’s Force trickery in play, which wouldn’t surprise her at all. The Revanites are recruiting from both sides, and with the war back on it hasn’t only been the soldiers growing more and more disillusioned with every passing year. If the woman is a Jedi, or a Sith, hopefully she’s a friendly one.

Still, she brings backup, just in case. Since they got to Rishi she’s tried to keep her crew on the ship as much as possible- if someone’s watching, they’ll only see her- but this time around she sends Vector up to the rooftops, close but not too close. When she looks up, he’s there, half-hidden behind a smokestack.

At her signal, he disappears.

Then, of course, she’s halfway down the alley when-

“You! Howling Tempest!” The thing that’s shouting looks like a Wookiee fucked a tusk-cat and it’s (he, maybe? She’s guessing, there) completely blocking her path. “You killed my brother, pirate.”

This pirate thing is getting decidedly old. She looks the creature up and down, considering: no, she definitely hasn’t killed anything that looks like that recently. “I don’t think so. I feel like I’d remember that.”

“Liar. Gorro’s dead,” he snarls, drawing a nasty-looking vibroblade, “and I’m going to rip your arms off.”

She tilts her head. She does remember Gorro, but- “The mouthy little Rodian was your brother? You’ll have to explain the genetics once you’ve stopped bleeding.”

When he lunges for her she sidesteps and draws her rifle, pops off three quick shots- kneecap, kneecap, right shoulder, launching a dart along the barrel into the side of his neck just for the sake of caution. He hits the ground hard and she grinds her heel against the back of his hand; the vibroblade clatters free and she kicks it away, out of his reach, as he scrabbles for its handle along the cobblestones of the alley.

“Cipher. If you wish us to take the shot-” Vector’s a shadow at the roofline in her peripheral vision, a voice in her ear- “step to the left, please. You’re in our line.”

“That won’t be necessary. Stand down.” She looks down at her opponent as the shadow withdraws. “What’s your name, idiot?”

He doesn’t answer. She steps on his other hand.

“Well?”

“Grumm.”

“Okay, Grumm. Lucky for you, I’ve got bigger fish to fry, but you’re still in my way.” When she lifts her foot off his fingers he flinches, but doesn’t look to his blade. “You’ve got thirty seconds to get out of it. Starting now.”

He doesn’t move particularly quickly. Then again, she did shoot both his kneecaps.

She watches Grumm hobble back down the length of the alley, rifle trained on him just in case he decides to try anything stupid, and when he’s out of sight she shoulders it and turns back toward the rendezvous point.

The woman from the holo’s leaning against a wall at the far end of the alley, arms folded across her chest and a lightsaber hilt clipped to a low-slung belt. “The Howling Tempest, I presume?” Even face to face, the woman’s voice is distorted by her mask; she can’t get a sense of an accent. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Oh, honestly.

She sighs. “First of all, the gang is called the Howling Tempest. Their leader is called- frankly, I have no idea what their leader is called, because I am not their leader, although I’m quite sure you know that. And as you probably saw-” she gestures back toward the blood spatter on the cobbles behind her- “I’ve already shot someone today, so let’s just skip right over the pleasantries and get to the part where you tell me why I’ve got every idiot on this planet gunning for me, yes?”

The woman laughs, reaching up to pull off her mask, and shakes her hair free from where it was bound up in her hood-

“Lana Beniko,” she says, resisting the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her like a disobedient child. “You realize you could have just called me.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Lana grins. “Come inside. We’ll explain everything, I promise.”

“We?”

Theron steps out from the doorway behind Lana, looking impossibly smug. “Took you long enough. I gave you directions and everything.”

“You.” That’s it. She is going to murder him. “You sliced my ship.”

(I hate you.

Liar. But aren’t you glad I stopped you? Lana reaches across her lap to steal the last of the biscuits off the plate.

Now, yes. At the time, the only thing saving both of you was that I couldn’t decide who to strangle first.

She might be pouting; it’s hard to tell mid-bite. Oh, be nice.

Do you remember how many damned pirates I had to kill that month? She breaks a piece off the biscuit as Lana, squawking objection around a mouthful of crumbs, swats at her hand. And whatever gave you the idea I was nice?)

An hour later, mostly placated by Lana and Theron’s explanations, she sends Vector back to the ship to grab her field duffel. If they’re really being tracked as closely as the two of them seem to believe (and she doesn’t doubt it- she’s only had to dodge the Revanites, not the Empire and the Republic, too) then the less often she goes back and forth between the safehouse and the dock the better; she’ll stay there, they’d all agreed, and make do with a bedroll and a camp mattress if they can’t scrounge up another cot.

“Now, this isn’t a vacation.” She doesn’t have to tell him that, of course. Vector, like her, never really switches off. Still, she grins into the shadows as he hands her the heavy bag. “Take tonight off, but be ready for my comm first thing tomorrow. Kaliyo, too.”

“An entire evening free? We’ll need a new hobby at this rate. Knitting, perhaps.”

“Don’t get too used to it. And don’t let SCORPIO do any major upgrades. If things heat up, we need to be mobile.”

Vector nods, and she turns to set the bag down in the doorway; when she turns around again, he’s gone.

So she settles into her new quarters, setting up her bedroll in an empty corner. The safehouse isn’t exactly the lap of luxury- a few cots along the walls, an inexpensive holoprojector on a central table, a few maps- but she’s had worse: there’s a ‘fresher and a lock on the door, and the security’s actually not bad when she looks more closely, with motion sensors in the entrance hall and an exit to the roof hidden behind one of the projection screens.

It’ll do, for now.

Lana, apparently on dinner duty tonight, puts her hood back on and slips away to the market; Theron, who’d been sitting at the table with his head bent over a datapad, looks up at her once Lana’s out of earshot.

“I hope you brought ration bars, or you’re going to be hungry. I ran out two weeks ago, and the market here’s only got those vanilla ones that taste like chalk, so-”

Her duffel half-unpacked, she pauses. “Those are awful, yeah. But isn’t Lana bringing food back?”

“Yup,” he says, nose wrinkling. “It’s her night to cook.” To judge by his tone of voice she probably shouldn’t expect much. “Yesterday was my turn, so you’re up tomorrow. We go by rota.”

“I don’t cook.” (She doesn’t. She never learned to make much beyond caf and instant noodles.) “There’s a stand in the market that’s got good sandwiches. Tomorrow’s takeaway night. And as for ration bars-” she rummages in one of the side pockets. “Chocolate chip, or peanut?”

“You offering? I’ll take chocolate chip.”

She aims right between his eyes, lobbing the bar at his head. “No, I thought I’d eat them all and let you starve. Tell me there’s caf, at least.”

“Caf, yes. Cream, no.” Theron gets his hand up before the ration bar hits him, snatches it out of the air and peels the wrapper back, shoving it halfway into his mouth with the first bite. “This is seriously the best thing I’ve eaten in a month. Including my cooking.”

“I’ll take that as a warning.” As she watches, he demolishes the rest of it. “Missed you on Port Nowhere, by the way. The party didn’t pick up until after you left.”

He blinks, mouth full, and narrows his eyes. “I didn’t-” he starts, then swallows. “What makes you think I was on Port Nowhere recently?”

“You sliced my ship, you asshole. Of course you were there.”

“And here I thought we were bonding.” Theron flicks the folded wrapper in her direction; it arcs wide and she bats it down. “Okay, maybe. But I had to get you here somehow. How’d you-”

“Free advice? Lose the jacket. I recognized you on description alone, and I wasn’t even looking for you.”

“I like this jacket.”

He really is impossible. “What were you doing there to begin with?”

“Just a quick trip. Someone picked up the bounty contract on Lana. She was worried about it, but it turned out to be nothing.” He shrugs. “Random hunter. No ties to the Revanites, as far as I could tell, so I let it go. The better question is what you were doing there.”

“Me? Oddly enough-” she sits down in one of the empty chairs, kicks back and takes a bite of ration bar; she may as well eat, if Lana’s cooking is really that bad-

(I beg your pardon, Lana grumbles at her.

She winks.)

“-I was bounty hunting.”

Setting his datapad aside, Theron tilts his head and looks at her. He’s staring, really, for a solid half a minute, and she’s almost ready to pull out a mirror and check if she’s got something in her teeth when he closes his eyes, pressing his hands to his temples. “It was you. You’re Vairavi.”

“When I need to be. Or she’s me, more properly, or was. Won’t be using her anymore, I don’t think.”

“The description didn’t sound anything-” he trails off, head still buried in his hands. “Oh, Force. I am an actual idiot.”

“You won’t hear me argue.” She’s got a holo on her own datapad, now that she thinks of it, that she’d taken that last night- her and Vesja and Eri, drunk and laughing at the bar. Pulling up the image, she slides the pad across to him. “Here. I’m sure you can pick me out.”

Theron mutters something under his breath, staring down at the holo. “Yeah. I remember the tall one from the Rancor, too.” After a moment, he pushes it back. “Dark hair doesn’t suit you.”

“Opinion noted.” She tucks it back into her pocket. He’s right, actually. It doesn’t; the one thing she inherited from her father was his coloring, too-pale skin and red hair shading more into brown as she gets older, and the black wig makes her look sallow. That he has an opinion on it at all is-

-interesting.

“Is that your name? Vairavi?”

She doubts it. The sound of it doesn’t trigger anything, at least: no headache, none of the warning pressure that tends to kick in when she gets too close to things locked away. They’d said her name, just once, after they took it (they had to check the algorithm, Keeper said), and she couldn’t even hear it for the pain it caused.

“No,” she says. “My name is Cipher Nine.”

Angling his chair to face her more directly, Theron sighs. “Look. I know we got off on the wrong foot, and I don’t expect us to be friends or anything, but the rest of us are on a first-name basis. What-”

“I’m not trying to be difficult, Theron. That’s the only name I have.”

“You’re kidding, right?” He just looks at her again; she meets his gaze and doesn’t blink, and he’s the first to turn away. “You’re not kidding. Okay. I thought you were a freelancer.”

“I am. It’s just-” Where would she even go looking, if she wanted to remember? At the Academy, probably, but- ah. Too close, that thought. That hurts. “Old habits die hard.”

***

Theron does call her Cipher after that.

He talks more, too, though he hasn’t gotten any less prone to blushing since she last saw him (which has yet to lose its entertainment value. She’s like a serpent that way- the more he squirms, the tighter she circles- and oh, stars, she needs something to keep her mind off the ceaseless tedium of fight after fight after fight). She ought to stop. She really ought to, except that every so often she catches him watching her, appraising, and after weeks of them all stuck in the safehouse together he actually starts to answer back and-

Nothing’s likely to come of it, of course. But it helps to pass the time.

(He really is cute when he blushes.)

***

They do work well together, she has to admit.

Lana and Theron can’t join her in the field, not yet. It’d blow her cover and expose the two of them, and without any real objectives beyond “find out what the Revanites are up to and try to stop them” it’s too likely to get them all killed. But Lana’s a meticulous planner (you’re welcome, she says, preening), and with Jakarro scouting and Theron slicing from the base she’s got maps and schematics and security systems rerouted to her advantage.

They’re getting closer. They keep telling themselves that.

Rishi’s tropical, even this early in the year, and with the heat clinging like a damp blanket she can’t sleep so she stays up, working. Lana’s gone to check on Jakarro- poor Jakarro, too conspicuous to even enter Raider’s Cove proper, except in the middle of the night- and she and Theron are crunching numbers, exactly the sort of analytics busywork she loathes. The more data they gather and the more of the Nova Blades’ network she dismantles, camp by camp, the clearer the plan becomes: the pirates are rerouting the hyperlanes one by one until every single route in the quadrant converges over Rishi.

“But why?” She shoves her datapad away in frustration, lets her forehead hit the table an inch shy of her mostly-empty beer and her entirely-empty caf cup. It doesn’t make sense. It’s a lousy strategy for piracy, since it’d only work until everyone figures it out and then not at all, giving them perhaps a month or two of easy pickings before the traders just bypass Rishi entirely. Worse, it reroutes patrols directly past the planet, Republic and Imperial both. “What are you playing at, Revan?”

Theron makes a noise from across the table, and when she turns her head he’s pulling headphones out of both ears. (Despite the implant on his temple he usually wore them while they worked- probably more so he wouldn’t be bothered, though he swore it was something to do with the acoustics.) “Sorry, what? I didn’t catch that.”

“Oh, nothing. Just grumbling. I’m sure I’m missing something here, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what.”

“I know what you mean.” He pokes at his own screen, then sets it aside with headphones piled on top. “With any luck you’ll pull something off Margok’s computers, but I’m not getting anywhere with what we’ve got now.”

She nods. “If I don’t get turreted to death. That ship’s a fortress.”

“As soon as you can patch me in, I’ll try to get them offline. Assuming you don’t get shot in the meantime-”

Her arm’s still healing from the last run. For far Rim pirates, the Blades have some serious artillery. “Funny.”

Theron makes a face. “Wasn’t meant to be a joke. I know you’re getting stomped out there.”

“Only a little. I’ll manage.”

“You know, you say that a lot.”

“Power of positive thinking.” She finishes off the last of her beer- beer’s pretty well toward the bottom of the list of things she’d prefer to be drinking, but anything decent here’s at least a hundred credits a bottle in the market and since her scrap with Gorro she pretty much has to stay out of the cantina unless she wants to pay for her drinks with knife fights- and flips the bottle backward into the trash bin. “If I say it enough, it might actually be true.”

That makes him laugh, at least, before his headphones crackle as the volume of whatever’s playing through them increases exponentially and he grabs for them, pressing down on the control switch. “That song got loud, sorry.”

“You apologize too much.”

“Probably, yeah. It’s a common trait in perpetual fuckups, or so my therapist tells me.” His chair scrapes along the floor as he pushes back from the table. “Not in those exact words, obviously, but I got what she meant. You want another beer?”

She snorts. “Therapists. Like they have any clue what this is like.” She gestures broadly at the room around them. “And maybe, if it’s still cold, although Lana’s probably going to roll her eyes at me when she gets back. She thinks I drink too much.”

(You do drink too much, Lana says.

She looks down at the bottle sitting between them, mostly empty, and back up at Lana. Said the pot to the kettle.

She probably does. Good luck finding an intelligence agent who doesn’t, though- it’s practically a job requirement, and frankly none of them live long enough that it ever really matters.)

“You’re still awake, right? You’re fine.” He crosses the room to the ice chest they’d rigged up to replace the broken refrigerator, since they can’t exactly call the landlord to come fix it, and flips it open. “They are… mostly cold.”

“Good enough.” When Theron hands her the bottle she presses it to the back of her neck with a contented sigh. “What are you listening to?”

“Just music. It’s too quiet in here.”

She nods, pops the bottlecap off with the flat edge of her boot knife. “Does your datapad have speakers? I wouldn’t mind music.”

“If you want.” His method’s more conventional, a bottle opener built into a pocket multitool. “I should probably mention my music preferences are apparently not to Imperial liking. Hence-” he hooks his finger under one of the earpieces- “compromise. Hang on.”

A song’s just ending as he switches over to the speakers, not one she recognizes- but the next one to begin makes her laugh out loud.

“Yeah, yeah.” Theron goes to skip over it. “Teenage me had questionable taste.”

She catches his wrist before he can tap the screen and he blinks at her, startled. “No, leave it. You know this was the first concert I ever went to?”

“Calling bullshit on that one, Cipher. There’s no way they ever went anywhere near Imp space.”

“Concert might be overstating things, but that was what we used to call them- about ten of us sixth-formers crammed into a locked room in the sub-basement and one very degraded album recording.” Letting his wrist go, she taps out the beat along the neck of her bottle. “And it was still the best thing I’d ever heard.”

He laughs. “Teenage you had questionable taste, too. You didn’t get caught?”

“Of course we did. We were all copying lines out of the Imperial Code for days.”

“Worth it?”

“Totally.”

She doesn’t recognize all the songs he plays, but she hums along with the ones she knows and before too long Theron’s singing under his breath and-

(He has, she thinks, a very nice voice.)

“What in the Void,” Lana says, rounding the corner from the entryway, “are you listening to?”

***

The next day, when she gets back from scouting, there’s a datachip sitting on her bedroll. Fourteen songs.

It’s a much better copy than the one she remembers.

***

The raid on the main base was a bust.

When she finally got close to Margok, she wasted too much time taking on the lackeys he threw at her, afraid of getting flanked and of the turrets (Theron did his best, she knows, but the Blades had four of their own slicers countering him and he’s good but not that good), and he wiped the entire mainframe before she finally took him down. All that work for nothing.

Damn it all.

They’ve got one option left after that- two, technically, but she’s not optimistic about the second. Jakarro’s been tracking a pair of Revanites for three days, watching them go back and forth between a house on the outskirts and a boat slip, arriving every day at dusk and gone by sunrise. If they hit the house in the middle of the day, Lana says, it should be empty. Maybe they’ll find something they can use.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” She’s getting suited up; their only other lead is the Mandalorians, and knowing Mandalorians she’ll almost definitely have to fight her way through. “It’s a big if. Let it sit until tomorrow, and I’ll cloak in with Kaliyo.”

“Let us do some of the work for once, Cipher.” Lana slides the last kolto syringe into its pouch, then hands her belt over to her. “It’s just an empty house. Between the three of us, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“And besides,” Theron mutters around a mouthful of ration bar- he’d eventually decided he preferred the peanut ones and her stash dwindled accordingly, but they’re toe to toe on caf consumption and his is better so she lets it slide- “‘m getting bored cooped up here, and maybe you’ll finally stop giving me shit about not doing field work.”

She winks back over her shoulder as she fastens her belt. “Doubt it. But if you think it’s safe-”

“It’ll be fine,” Lana says again. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

(Lana sinks down, hands over her face, until all that’s visible among the pillows are a few strands of pale-blonde hair.

Ahem.

You were right. She sighs. I know. I know. )

***

The Mandalorians are a bust, too.

She gets the nickname, now. Shae Vizla makes her run the gauntlet of both creatures and clans before she’ll even show her face, then roasts her to medium rare until finally they’re both exhausted, her armor smoldering and Torch half-blind from poison before she signals and the ring of fighters around them withdraws.

Even then, even defeated, all she does is confirm what they’d already suspected. As far as the Revanites are concerned, it is Revan leading them.

“Sure, the clans have history with Revan, all the way back to Mandalore the Preserver.” Shae scowls as the antivenom runs in. “But that was a long time ago, and when he came back-” she shakes her head. “If that’s really him, the old stories forgot to mention the crazy. He doesn’t want to save the galaxy. He just wants to watch it burn.”

“Do you know what he’s planning?” The salve on both her hands smells of lavender, sweet and floral, easing the pain of her blistered fingertips.

“No. He’s got a whole fleet in reserve, but that’s all I know. The minute he contracted with the Nova Blades I picked up my people and moved. I kept the peace with those fuckers for years, but Margok is-” she pauses- “was always a monster and with money and power behind him he was ten times worse. Hear I’ve got you to thank for taking him down. I’ve wanted to do it for years but it wasn’t worth the war it would’ve started.”

She inclines her head. “You’re welcome. There’s still plenty of fighting coming, though. Sure we can’t convince you to join us?”

“Sorry, Imperial.” Shae chuckles, pulling the syringe out of her arm, and rolls her sleeve back down. “I was fighting your wars when you were in primary school. I’m retired.”

“I know. We used to read stories about you.” She stands. “If you ever decide to un-retire, look me up. Or if you just want someone who’ll fight you properly.”

Vizla must be well into her forties- what she’d said wasn’t wrong; the Sack of Coruscant happened just before her own eleventh birthday- but her grin takes years off her face. “I might just do that, Cipher Nine. If you’ll hang on a minute. I’ll have the Beroyas run you back over to the mainland. Jos! Valk! K’olar. ” At her wave, two of the nearby warriors approach, the woman in white armor painted with wide grey stripes and the man in grey and red. “You beat them, so they owe you one.”

The woman in white shrugs. “Sorry, alor. Just distracted.”

She remembers, then. She was a Beroya before we got married. “Valk Beroya? Your sister’s name was Haniya?”

“Yeah.” When she pulls her helmet off her eyes are wary. “Do I know you?”

“I met her last year, before- well. Jori mentioned you when I went to pay my respects. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“D’you know,” Valk’s lip curls, her husband’s hand on her back and the pitch of her voice lowering to a growl, “he still won’t talk about how she died? Damn him. How am I supposed to mourn her if I can’t tell the story properly?”

“I don’t know the details,” she says. “But if it helps, they were hunting a Jedi.”

The woman blinks, nodding slowly. “A Jedi.” She turns to Shae, the next words too fast for Nine to pick out with her rudimentary grasp of Mando’a, but whatever Valk says, Shae nods and answers back, her tone surprisingly gentle.

“A Jedi,” Valk says again. “Good. Good. Come on, then. Let’s get you back to your camp.”

***

Something’s wrong.

When she gets in earshot of the safehouse she can hear Jakarro somewhere inside, raging. The sun’s just setting, and even then he never comes to the base- they always go to him.

Something’s really wrong. She runs the rest of the way down the alley. Screw being inconspicuous; if the roaring Wookiee hasn’t brought the neighbors out to stare yet, she doubts one woman running will manage it.

The door’s unlocked and open, another bad sign, and when she rounds the corner from the hall into the main room Jakarro’s pacing back and forth and Lana’s got one finger on the switch of her saber.

“There were only ten of them! We could have fought them all!”

Lana raises her other hand, her tone brooking no argument. “I know you don’t agree with me-”

“-but you let them take him, Sith!”

He’s about three seconds away from going for Lana’s throat before Dee-Four notices her. “Oh! Cipher, we have terrible news. Theron-”

“Theron’s been captured by the Revanites.” Lana looks to her, too, and takes a careful step to one side, slowly putting her between the two of them. Which is not a place she thinks she would like to be, not at the moment.

“What does he mean, you let them take him?”

“They only saw Theron. It’s possible we could have intervened, yes, but I thought it was better-”

(It’ll be fine, she’d said. It’s just an empty house, she’d said. What’s the worst that could happen?

There are things worse than dying.)

She draws her pistol, and before any of them can stop her she aims it squarely at Lana’s face. “I think,” she says, “you ought to choose your next words very carefully.”

***

Up next: Thicker than Water. A rescue, a battle, and something unexpected.

#equivalent exchange #inyri writes #Theron Shan #imperial agent/theron shan #swtor fanfiction

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marklovejoy1-blog · 7 years

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2017 NFL Season

I have been watching NFL Network to see the NFL Scouting Combine and that's new to me this year as well as College Pro Days. I've watched the drama known as Free Agency unfold and teams that were expected to make big splashes whereas teams you'd think would wait until the last minute of the raging war, and the trades that went down. A team that was a huge leader in free agency was the defending Super Bowl Champions, the New England Patriots. They signed CB Stephon Gilmore without waiting and paid him handsomely which is rare. They traded the #32 overall pick in the 1st round for WR Brandon Cooks from the New Orleans Saints also threw in a 3rd round pick, essentially trading 3rd round picks with them. Also, trading for TE Dwayne Allen from the Indianapolis Colts to replace TE Martellus Bennett who demanded too much money from the Patriots. Also, they traded for DE/DT Kony Ealy from the Carolina Panthers to try and fill the role of Jabaal Sheard and Chris Long, both left in free agency. Signing RB Rex Burkhead is a mystery to me since they already have a loaded backfield with Dion Lewis and James White. Rex possesses the same skill set that Lewis and White have, they lost Legarette Blount to free agency. He was listed as signing with the Green Bay Packers but is listed a free agent now. If you were going to replace Blount, the ideal and best option would be to sign an Eddie Lacy or Jamaal Charles. Lacy signed with the Seattle Seahawks instead. The resigning of Dont'a Hightower was huge for this defense. Losing CB Logan Ryan to the Tennessee Titans was a huge loss for us, but he wanted to chase money and have the chance to become a teams #1 CB. Malcom Butler was tagged with the Franchise Tag, he's a restricted free agent whom was trying to get a long term deal signed with the New Orleans Saints. That hasn't happened, he's designated as a 1st Round tender, meaning any team can offer him a contract and if the Patriots don't match it, that team would forfeit their 1st Round pick. Example, even though the Patriots traded away the #32 overall pick, the New Orleans Saints would have had to give the Patriots the #11 overall pick. I don't understand why they didn't sign a long term deal with Malcom Butter to begin with? They lost their #2 CB Logan Ryan so having Butler slip to the #2 CB position and Gilmore can stay at #1. That would take the pressure off Butler with the likes of Julio Jones, Antonio Brown, and other big name receivers playing the #1 WR position. With Logan Ryan's departure it not only took away the teams #2 CB, Ryan can play slot/nickel, and dime packages too. The secondary looks better than last year, especially with Devin McCourty and Patrick Chung playing over the top. I believe the Patriots did this because they wanted the CB's to match up 1 on 1 with the #1 WR's so that they didn't have to double team anyone and essentially taking someone off their coverage to help take over the top. McCourty can now play true centerfielder and match up with the TE's and Chung can play the run and also cover a TE in 2 TE packages. The Saints should of just made the deal with Butler a go because they're going to draft a CB with that #11th overall pick now. And what I don't understand about Butler's 1st round tender placed on him since he's an undrafted CB out of West Alabama? He made that interception in the Super Bowl to seal the deal but let's be honest, the defense was shutting down Marshawn "Beast Mode" Lynch at the goal line anyway. And the league is depleted with franchise QB's and this upcoming draft solidifies the class coming out isn't known or scouted by the pro's as franchise material. The New England Patriots are sitting on 2 gems, QB's Jimmy Garoppolo and Jacoby Brisette. Garoppolo is entering his final year and is in his contract year, giving that QB Tom Brady is still the starting franchise QB, the Patriots could and should move him to the likes of the Cleveland Browns, get the #12 overall pick and a few mid to late rounds. Jimmy Garoppolo has already won 2 Super Bowls with the Patriots sitting behind Tom Brady, he has a chance to become a teams starting franchise QB, no doubt that he has all the tools and skills to run a team. If they want to keep Garoppolo they have Jacoby Brissett also that is a dual threat QB, but coach loves this guy, the Patriots don't normally have 3 QB's on the depth chart. Jacoby Brissett has some work to do to become a franchise QB, after seeing him last year, I believe he has what it takes. Why don't the Browns push for him? They wouldn't have to give up a 1st rounder for him, they took a trade that landed them QB Brock Osweiler and a 2nd round pick. The Cleveland Browns swallowed $12M just to take a 2nd round pick. Pretty bold. Use that 2nd round pick and a couple mid round picks to get Brissett and use the #1 and #12 picks on positions of need to build around Jacoby Brissett. Hue Jackson would love to have a dual threat QB in the AFC North since they don't have a dual threat QB in that division, imagine all the possibilities? Whether it be Jimmy Garoppolo or Jacoby Brissett I believe as a football fan and someone with knowledge of front office skills, this is a no brained, a win-win for both organizations. The Browns will get their QB and the Patriots can get in the 1st or 2nd round again because they don't have those picks due to trades. And a win-win for the QB's, they have Super Bowl rings now, playing backup QB and now they can lead a team of their own. And the Patriots can add to the corps of players either on offense or defense. The Patriots are set with the roster they have but can draft players who can fit their system and not have to hurry on picking people. I know that Bill loves to trade out of the 1st round when he has pick #32 but he can turn that 1 pick into a few 2nd,3rd, and 4th rounders. I would Draft a CB in the 2nd or 3rd round to add depth. But if the secondary they have now sticks together and Week 1 they're still there this #1 scoring defense just got better, now they can be Top 5 against the pass and Top 5 against the run. These are just a few things I've been thinking about.

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trashpandaorigins · 4 years

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The Body Keeps the Score Ch. 15 Where We’re Going Where We’ve Been

You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

Daughters sharpen their knives and they hunt for food, others watch their children grow

Mothers going to work, and they shake the hands of a corporate tycoon's ghost

And I'm afraid, ah, I'm so afraid

Ah, what if I lose?, is what I think to myself

I'm finding my shell, I’m afraid of it all, afraid of loving you

So Afraid - Janelle Monae

Back in the beginning when she and the others were newly taken, when they were still themselves, Gamora, Proxima, Nebula and the others dreamt of escaping. Each attempt was futile of course. No matter how strategic Proxima tried to be, no matter how thorough Gamora had surveyed the guards and goons. They were caught. On the eleventh and last attempt they’d been so close. Proxima was getting the stolen ship ready for takeoff, it was Gamora who insisted on waiting for their youngest sister. And when the cyborg girl-more her own flesh then metal at this point-finally had appeared, it was with Thanos. She had told him of their escape plan. That was the first time she had tasted the bitterness of betrayal.

Even now, walking the streets of Tarque with Peter, Drax and Groot she kept a lookout for Nebula. One hand on her sword, the other swinging by her side, ready to reach out and seize anyone who dared come close.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Peter whispered as they walked. His warm breath against her ear tickled, making her stomach flit pleasantly for a moment. “We’ll find some way to explain this to the Nova Corps, there must be a mistake.” Gamora only bit her lip, to have an ounce of Peter’s laid back attitude. I envy it. She forced a nod, maybe it would be okay. Maybe. Probably not.

“We killed their officers and destroyed their ships!”

She whispered back, inching just close enough to him.

“Yeah, well... I mean…”

His voice drifted off.

“Awe crap,”

“What is it?” Drax asked, turning to the two of them.

“Nah, it’s just that I wanted to look over which planets in the Keystone quadrant had Nova Corps bases but I left the little thingy back on the ship.”

“I’ll go,” Gamora immediately volunteered. She needed to clear her head, get some space.

“Gamora, are you sure you want to be walking around alone after our recent battle?” Drax asked, a concerned kindness she almost never saw from the man. She grinned, appreciatively.

“Thank you Drax, but I”ll be fine.”

The destroyer’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded after a time, conceding.

Gamora left the three of them, making down the winding thoroughfare back to the Benatar. Eyes scanning every which way for any sign of trouble.

The Nova Corps would know of the fight by now. They’ll notice that three ships did not come back and none of the officers….they’ll come after us. Kill us. Capture me. The thought of another cage made her heart quake with dread. Thanos, Nova Corps. A prison was a prison. She walked on, darting between people, examining them for any concealed weapons or motives. Tarque was small, but no less reassuring. Gamora looked behind her, every several feet, checking the alleys and shadowy corners. Looking up into the buildings and the ships that flew low above the streets. If she were here Nebula could be hiding anywhere, and so could Nova Corps agents.

Under arrest for endangering my crew? Preventing further harm to planets and peoples? I didn’t endanger anyone…. her mind rolled through the list of decisions, and arguments, and recent actions in the past few turns.Finally out of the throngs of people the orange, blue chrome of the Benatar stood out. Gamora breathed a sigh of relief.

She looked around her once more, palms sweaty. Jogging forward Gamora quickly punched in the codes and ran up the ramp of the ship, sealing the doors shut.

Calm down, breathe. In...out...you’re in the ship, which has more security systems in place than most prisons.

Still she did not let her guard down, peering around each corner and down every hallway towards Peter’s quarters.

Something creaked, Gamora’s heart spasmed a moment, instantly pulling out her sword instantly expecting some enemy. Right, left….above...down.. something blinked:

Rocket’s data pad. That should have plenty of maps on it.

She picked it up fiddling with the thing. Something blinked, a hologram appearing on the screen.

“Incoming Message: Officer Vakrien of the Nova Corps.”

Her stomach dropped, knees swaying.

No….no he wouldn’t….not after everything they’d gone through. Even someone as selfish and greedy for units wouldn’t...

Gamora selected the icon. The image of a helmeted Nova Officer appeared, reciting a pre-recorded message.

“Subject 89P13, your intelligence has proven most valuable. We are on our way to you now to apprehend Gamora. We appreciate your cooperation. We are transferring another 60,00000.00 units to you.. However, if your crew or yourself should attempt to hinder our arrest you will also be arrested. We look forward to your continued cooperation.”

The message ended with a static, the hologram of the officer going fuzzy and clicking off showing the blank screen.

He did….he... she swallowed, mouth dry. Her stomach turned with discontent. The wires beneath her flesh pricked and stung. The very arm which he’d taken such good care of now trembled. How dare he......after everything… Gamora gripped the data pad tightly, stuffing it into her pack. He healed me….he...cared…no. Thanos said he cared too, Thanos would heal her wounds occasionally, speaking sweetly as he did to comfort her, reassure her. Only to laugh as she was tested the following day. She warred with herself conjuring the image of Rocket dexterously fixing her wounds. The oddly soft way he’d spoken to her. Thanos whispered nice things too. Made me believe he loved me…. the memories of it threatened to drown her. She stormed off the ship. That miserable….rat! No, he’s not a rat. But... I thought he changed. No he hadn’t and she was fool enough to believe it.

Rage simmered, rushing into the place of raw sorrow and dejection. Betrayal. I trusted him…. she thought painfully.

Then, even worse the realization dawned on her:....... he was my friend.

She sniffed, straightened and tightened her grip on her sword. Where is he? She bypassed the main street, slipping down alleyways. No wonder the treacherous rodent slunk away as soon as we landed. She walked with purpose, peeking into every bar window.

“How could I have been so stupid?”

How long had he been feeding the information? Since they left Xandar? Since they’d broken out of the Kyln?

“Evmon’s,” Gamora spotted the glowing sign across the way and dashed towards it, looking through the dirty window. There he is, the image of the raccoonoid illicit an all consuming fury in her chest, weeping out of the hurt and vulnerability. She pushed open the door, ready for yet another battle.

“You,”

Rocket turned slowly in his stupor. Already reeking and blinking slowly.

“You betrayed me to the Nova Corps!”

The words tumbled out, bubbling up from the place of self-loathing and hatred Thanos had so keenly exploited. Gamora shouted down at him, miserable wretch.

“Star-Shit?” He mocked cruelly, those foreign animal orbs eyeing her. He could see through her, into the feelings she harbored for Peter, he was trying to exploit them.

“Groot,” she corrected.

Make him hurt. He’s a monster….like Thanos and he manipulated you just like Thanos did. You fell for it. After all this time you fell for it.

“ I thought...we were a family after that. That we could be something better. Groot taught me that.”

It was true after all. The large flora had sacrificed himself for all of them, her and Rocket included. Though she’d hardly ever done anything to warrant such a selfless act. The longest she and Groot had ever interacted was when she’d lopped his limbs off.

I never apologized for that, she realized. But in this instance of hurt and betrayal she twisted that guilt back, spouting it upon Rocket.

“I guess his death wasn’t worth much after all. Not to you anyway.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop it. The drunk ringtail flinched, alien eyes narrowed.

“You were right Rocket. You are a monster. I’m sorry Groot didn’t realize that sooner. It would’ve saved him if he had.” The grief of it made her voice crack. The raccoonoid was not the only one who missed that calming, innocent, stable presence amid a very unstable life.

Rocket inhaled sharply, his bottom lip quivering. Something beamed within her, satisfied at his hurt. Good, she mused inwardly. He’d hurt her, terribly. But Gamora was never one to succumb to a blow. Oh no, she resolved, she’d beat him back and hit twice as hard because that was the only thing that had ever kept her alive.

“Your heart. You have none. The only thing that's there is a cybernetic pump. No different then this tap,”

The ringtail spluttered for words, mouth agape. His usual blustery demeanor now diminished. Wounded.

“Shut up! You don’t know what the flark your talking about!” He tried to defend, but it was no good. Gamora huffed, eyes wild.

“I saw the scans Rocket. You had them saved on your data pad. You want to know what was in there? A metal pump with wiring connected to your main circulatory system. There’s no heart. Just a machine.”

The lie was out of her before she could stop it. Of course she’d seen a passing file on the data pad labeled “89P13,” assuming it contained images of Rocket’s past but she hadn’t opened it. She fumed but the traitor in front of her didn’t seem to notice the lie. His own pain turning to anger as quickly as her own.

“Shut up! You're no better than Thanos!”

It was her turn to look struck, though she should’ve anticipated it from someone so defensive as Rocket. I am nothing like Thanos. The ringtail of all people should know, how hard it was to separate yourself from your creator. His words cut deep, to the bone.

Enough of this,

She snatched him up by the back of his head, depositing him out on the street.

“When we get back to the ship, I’m telling the rest of them what you’ve done,” she stated. Rocket quaked, trying to gather himself up.

“N...no!” He slurred, giving her one last nasty snarl. She shrugged, not bothering to indulge his tantrum.

Gamora stalked away, back into the crowds. Better to be attacked by a stranger then someone you know.

She found Drax, Peter and Groot shortly, following the little flora’s incessant “I am Groot-ing”

“Gams!” Peter grinned across the way, opening his arms for a hug. “There you are! You got the maps?”

She allowed herself to be wrapped in his arms, if only for a moment. Safe, comfortable. Too safe. Too comfortable. She pulled away, revealing Rocket’s data pad from her bag.

Predictably the raccoonoid indeed have an interactive map of all Nova Corps bases not only in the Keystone Quadrant but every quadrant in the known galaxy. Intel on their total numbers, codes to several of their files included their most wanted list and their registry of bounty hunters in their employ, of which he himself was still registered.

Peter’s words of assurance did little to calm her nerves. Her mind inwardly toiling with mixed emotions of fury and raw hurt peppered now and again by occasional guilt.

I should not have lied about the scans.

“Okay so good news is there’s no Nova base on Tarque!” Peter exclaimed happily. We’ll head back to the ship and go from there. I’ll transmit a message to Danarian Dey, let him know it was honestly our bad for killing those guys and we’ll smooth things over, how’s that sound?”

How Gamora wished she could believe him, wanted to allow herself that peace of mind. His efforts to make things better were heartening. But she could hardly reciprocate, not with the drip drip drop of Rocket’s betrayal eating away at her like acid.

I have to tell him, she looked up again at Peter’s bright eyes. In the moment Gamora managed a nod, and a smile as they turned and headed back to the Benatar.

“I am Groot?”

“I’m sure our furry friend will catch up to us,” Drax assured the little flora with a pat on the back.

“I AM Groo!!” Gamora swallowed the irritation of Groot’s cries.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go get him,” Peter offered, turning to her as if for permission. This time she could not bring herself to nod or smile, but motioned for Drax and Groot to follow her. She watched Peter taper off through the streets, the air of momentary levity gone with him.

---

Gamora retreated to her quarters as soon as they made it back on the ship. She needed to hide, to get away and be gone from all of them.

Nova Officers would come after them again. They would not give up the hunt, they were ruthless in their prosecution. I got into this mess, by trusting. By thinking that vermin was capable of friendship.

She practiced with her blade the remainder of the evening, swinging and slicing, turning her animosity into something productive, something that could serve her.

“Again Gamora,”

Thanos words toyed with her mind. She thrust forward, stabbing the target with the tip of her sword.

“You will have to do better than that,” and then he’d sigh, or shake his head and gesture for Ebony Maw to take her, for another session of procedures, for more modifications.

“No!” She screamed, twisting and slicing again.

“G...Gamora?”

Peter.

She tried to steady her breath, wiping her head with the back of her arm and wiped her blade; putting it away before she opened the doors to her quarters.

“You look...good,” he tried awkwardly.

“I’m covered in sweat,” she laughed, this time genuine.

“Yeah well...I just mean...you...you look….like, ready for battle.”

She stepped aside allowing him to enter. He looked around awkwardly, anywhere but her.

“You don’t have a lot of stuff in here,” he noticed.

“I don’t have a lot of stuff anywhere. Thanos allowed us no possessions but our choice weapons and I didn’t exactly catch the orb on Xandar thinking I’d join this….this…” she gestured with her hands. Peter’s eyes shifted around, considering, then finally landed on her again.

“I’m sorry Gamora, I didn’t mean…”

“It was Rocket.”

She picked up a weight on the ground and lifted it with ease, focusing on taunt muscle and the sweet burn of her body pushing itself.

“W...what do you mean?”

She put the weight down, with more force than necessary and sat on her bunk, hands gripping the metal rim of it. Body tense and rigid with exertion.

“It was Rocket who sold me out to the Nova Corps.”

Peter blinked, fumbling for a moment and finally sat down beside her. She watched his arm move out of the corner of her eye, almost making to place it around her but stopped, placing it back in his lap.

“He wouldn’t. I mean, he’s bad. But he’s not that bad. He wouldn’t do that to any of us. Say what you want about him. He’s not a snitch and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Gamora smiled, tentatively placing her hand on his. Large and warm and always open. He squeezed it but made no further motion, stars knew how grateful she was for that.

“Do you still have his data pad?”

Peter nodded it, pulling it out. Gamora found the messages easily and tapped the one from Officer Vakrien. The message played, but she hardly heard, staring down into the floor and curling her fingers around the metal rim of her bunk. That inexorable rage rose in her again, she almost wished the raccoonoid was here. Her attention moved back to Peter, watching him take it in. His eyes widened, listening then set his lips in a firm line, brow furrowed. The recording clicked off.

“That little…..” the man’s eyes searched for a while, Gamora could only imagine the various scenarios playing out in his mind. Finally Peter’s look softened.

“....what do you want to do about it?” Gamora huffed, flopping backward uncharacteristically laid back down on her cot, staring up at the chrome ceiling of her small room.

“I confronted him,” she sussed out. “Back on Tarque, I….what’s the expression, let him have it?”

Peter laughed, laying down sideways next to her, one arm propping his head up so he looked down at her with ….admiration? Sympathy? Understanding? Longing? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“I lied to him,” she finally muttered, redirecting her gaze upward. “Told him I looked at the scans on the file he must’ve stolen of himself.” Peter’s face twisted in confusion but he let her continue, leaning only slightly closer, listening.

“He told me once, he doesn’t know what his creators did to him. If they replaced his flesh and blood heart with metal machinery like nearly everything else.” She took a deep breath, “It eats at him. I can tell.” The same way it eats at me. After all, Ebony Maw did much more than simple enhancements for fighting. They were both, as it were, built to be weapons. She shivered. Peter reached out, gently rubbing the ball of her shoulder. Gamora only stiffened once but found herself relaxing under his coaxing touch. He withdrew after a moment.

“But….so what?”

She frowned.

“So what if he has a flesh and blood heart or not? What he did was heartless. He acted heartless and my mom always said actions speak louder than words. Or...I guess...body parts in this case? Man...that’s..weird...but...I guess taken out of context..”

“What’s your point Peter?” She nudged, hopefully not unkind.

“My point, ooof yeah my point is,” he flopped the reset of the way down beside her on the bed, the two of them laying just close enough that she could feel his warmth. I could lean into it...it’d be so nice and safe….relaxing. Peter wouldn’t hurt me. Wouldn’t betray my trust. Maybe he’s the only one who wouldn’t. No….no he could just as well. You felt safe when Rocket was holding your hand in the forest, you felt comfortable when he was checking out your wounds in the common area...Peter is no different. You can’t. You’ve already let your guard down once. Do not do it again. Do not do it again little one. Thanos taunts echoed from the back of her head. She bit back the anxiety, focussing on Peter’s words.

“It doesn’t matter even if he does have a literal heart. Or a machine, whatever is in there certainly isn’t making him into some altruistic hero. He...he betrayed you, he lashed out at Groot, he’s nothing but mean and unforgiving to all of us...he’s acting heartless. And besides, you could be right. They could have replaced a little raccoon heart with something more...uhh...advanced. I mean everything under his skin is probably cybernetic. In all likelihood you’re right. But it doesn’t even matter.”

Gamora nodded, considering. He had a point. A good one. One that was assuring and placated, at least for a moment her guilt at lying.

“You know,” he continued with that impish tone she’d come to recognize as ‘I have an idea. It’s probably not a good one and you’ll never agree to it but I’m going to say it on the off chance you do agree.’She decided to humor him this one time. “We could find out the truth,” he moved his fingers across the data pad, clicking open several files until he reached the one labeled 89P13. Gamora slapped his hand away,

“That’s private, we shouldn’t.”

“Awe co’mon now I’m really curious!”

“No Peter,” she repeated, though less stern. “I may have been unsure about the truth but that isn’t ours to discover. If Rocket really wanted to know the answer to that question, he would’ve looked at his own scans by now. He hasn’t done that because he knows the truth. He’s a hardened little monster,” she spat. Even Peter flinched this time but did not leave her.

“Well,” he began slowly, putting the pad down on the bed behind him. “I did just see Rocket off. He went somewhere in our last escape pod.”

“What?!” Gamora sat upright,

“Yeah, he didn’t say where he was going just that...I’m to take care of Groot if he doesn’t come back in a bit and...he told me to...tell you that he’s sorry. Wow this makes so much more sense now that I know he was snitching on you and got chewed out for it.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“No,” Peter sat up beside her. “But we can find out. He took the only other escape pod after Nebula grabbed the first one….we really need to start putting some security procedures and locks on those things.”

“The Nova Corps may have already caught up to him,” Gamora thought aloud. “If he’s caught by the Nova Corps he’ll tell them where we are.”

“...you think he’d do that?” Peter broached slowly. Gamora raised a brow skeptically. The man nodded, reluctant.

The woman reached up, running a hand through her hair.

“How could I have been so stupid? You think running from Thanos and Nebula would teach me a lesson,” she shook her head pursing her lips.

“What lesson?” Peter asked gently, he stood up, coming to her slowly, tentatively as if waiting for her to swat him away. She eyed him carefully, planting her hands on her hips, pacing.

“Trust,” she answered curtly.

Peter looked at her with sympathy, his hands gingerly touching her wrists. He stood close, the scent of leather and fuel and maybe some sweet rellian candies lingering on his body and breath. Gamora clenched her jaw, willing herself not to blush, not to feel at ease, not to lean into him.

“When I was with Yondu as a kid, man, I couldn’t trust anyone, especially not the blue bastard himself. I used to hide in the storage or up in the ventilators in fear of being eaten, or beaten or dragged into some dangerous scheme,” he spoke with unbelievable ease. “...after a while the only person I trusted was myself. But….for what it’s worth, I trust you.”

She glanced up at him sharply, her eyes softened. She took his hands, and allowed him to rub her arms. He smiled, sadly this time, bittersweet.

“You do?” She whispered.

“Yeah, Gamora, I do.”

He inched towards her, face close to her, their noses almost touched. Lingering in that space just before intimacy, so close. Gamora yearned for it, closing her eyes. She was not about to kiss this human on Knowhere, not even with his music in her ears and the shimmering celestial stars all around them-but here….on this ship, now...maybe, just maybe she could…

“Quill! Gamora!”

Drax’s shout from the other side of the door shattered their moment. Gamora’s heart sank as she stepped back. Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, closing his eyes,

“What is it Drax?”

“If you two are not engaging in intercourse I have a plan for how we may seek out and destroy this traitor.”

Gamora gave Peter one last grin, opening the door to her quarters.

The large tattooed man looked between them in confusion.

“So you are not having a sexual encounter?”

“No man of course not!”

“Oh….that is too bad. You would make a handsome pair. “

“What was your point Drax?”

“Well, I have been thinking about this treacherous fiend. I say that we go back to every planet and place we have been since Xandar and destroy anyone we came in contact with if they do not agree to tell us the truth.”

“Drax I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gamora reasoned.

Do I tell Drax? There will be no hope for him and Rocket if I do, with one so honor bound as him.

“Drax, where’s Groot?” Peter wondered all of a sudden concerned with the well being of the sapling.

“Oh,” the Destroyer looked over each shoulder, then to the ground and frowned. “I do not know where the small dumb tree went. He was annoying me so I went to find you.”

Peter grumbled something, shaking his head and leaving to go find the little flora; not before throwing Gamora one last sympathetic look. She returned it, waving for him to find Groot.

“Gamora,” Drax rumbled.

She stopped, going rigid for a moment glancing at her swords laying nearby.

“I just want to assure you, it was not me who was selling you out to the Nova Corps. I would never betray my friends that way.”

“Thank you Drax.”

“I would very much like to disembowel the honorless traitor myself. But, I will restrain myself. When we find them, I would be honored to watch you laugh as they screamed. And marvel as you bathe in their blood.”

“.....Thank you Drax,” Gamora placed a hand on his large shoulder, the skin raised and taunt, rippling with tattoos. He returned the gesture comfortably with a bubbling beaming smile she had not seen outside of fighting. Warmth crept into her chest, different from that she felt with Peter and different from...the friendship she had felt when she took Rocket’s hand. But still budding and strong with potential.

“Guys,” Peter called. Drax and Gamora took off down the hall towards his voice. “I found Groot!”

They came on to the flight deck of the Benatar, Peter crouching over Groot who was playing with the controls of the two escape pods.

“I found Groot….and Rocket.”

Gamora looked at the screen, used for tracking the pods. A crude map of the Keystone Quadrant with a blinking blue dot shown in the fourth sector, drifting further away. She scrutinized the screen, another set of blinking catching her eyes. The second pod, Nebula. Her escape pod was flying just inside the third sector. The realization dawned on her slowly, anger returning anew.

“Peter,” she whispered, “I know where Rocket’s going.”

#my writing #the body keeps the score fic #starmora #gamora #drax #drax the destroyer #peter quill #starlord #groot #baby groot #rocket raccoon #gotg fanfiction #Guardians of the Galaxy #guardians of the galaxy fanfic #nebula

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