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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Level Up, Chapter One (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

“Vanessa, Brooke’s going to be your partner.” Kameron throws a haphazard arm around Brooke, and Vanessa has to hold back a laugh when Brooke rolls her eyes. “Careful, though. She won’t go easy on you.”

Brooke. So that’s her name.

“I don’t think she wants me to.” Brooke’s lip curls up in a smile as she gets closer, and Vanessa has to try hard, really, not to fidget. To stay cool.

Because she’s cool. Right?

“I won’t go easy on you either then, Miss Thing.” Vanessa sniffs.

Her bravado is going to get the best of her eventually, she knows that. But how’s Vanessa going to be the shit if she doesn’t convince herself of it first?

What do you get when you pair a retired boxer with a new girl who has something to prove? Another holtz multichap special, that’s what.

AN: Hi again!! It’s been awhile since the last multichap. This one isn’t as prewritten, and may take a little bit longer to post because of real life happenings. That being said, I hope you enjoy it! To whoever sent me a million asks on tumblr telling me to post it now rather than waiting: I love you. Writ, as always, is the best for betaing <3 Enjoy!

“I’m not going in there.”

“Like hell you aren’t. If I have to pick your ass up from the station one more time ‘cause you can’t stop picking fights with people twice your size, I’m gonna lose it.”

“How’s a musty boxing gym gonna help with that?”

Vanessa slouches in the seat of her sister’s car, crossing her arms, because the whole thing is stupid.

It had been Rob’s idea, anyway. Alexis’ boyfriend. Also the cop who’s kept her from etching ink onto her criminal record. Doesn’t make his idea any less ridiculous.

Alexis sighs, and the sight is reminiscent of their mom’s expression when she’s overworked and impatient and coming off a twelve hour shift. “Because you need to channel whatever… this is, properly. You can’t keep blowing up at people, ‘cause I’m not always gonna be around to bail your ass out.”

“He deserved it.” Vanessa mutters under her breath, because the guy did. “He wouldn’t stop harassing A’keria even though she told him she had a boyfriend, why wouldn’t I sock him in the jaw?”

“Because the cops had to come and break the fight up and the makeup on your face is doing absolutely nothing to hide your black eye.” Alexis’s voice is flat, and Vanessa looks in the mirror and scowls, because she hates that her sister is right. “All I’m saying is, there’s other ways to do things. Such as not punching strangers - even if they deserve it.”

“So coming to…Hytes Boxing is going to change that?” Vanessa wrinkles her nose as she reads the name on the side of the building. The fluorescent lights behind the sign are flickering, withering out, and the surrounding air has a faint odour reminiscent of gym socks.

Hell, the holding cell at the local station smells better. Vanessa’s had to spend the night there enough times to know.

“Maybe letting out some punches on purpose here means you won’t explode on people when you’re all worked up and mad. Worth a shot. And you owe me, ‘cause sooner or later Rob’s gonna get tired of me begging him to let you off without even a fine.”

“Getting into a bar fight isn’t a reason for a fine.” Vanessa mutters, because it’s not, or at least she thinks it isn’t. She should know the law better, for how much she likes to tow the line on it.

Alexis raises an eyebrow as she pulls the keys out of the ignition. “Here’s how it’s going to play out. You’re coming in here and looking around with me, or I’m telling cousin Linda about the time you coloured all over her white purse when we were kids and she never found out it was you who did it-”

Vanessa groans, holding up a hand to make her sister stop talking. “Jesus, fine. Lead the way into gym sock central.”

Looking around, Vanessa’s not sure if punching a bag is as satisfying as socking a douchebag in the face, but the sweat soaked athletes with their hands wrapped in bandages look like they’re enjoying it enough, from the way that they keep letting loose hit after hit. It feels almost cultish - the way the coaches are cheering their athletes on, the way that they wear the sweat dripping down their skin like a badge of pride.

Vanessa’s not sure if she wants to get herself that dirty, or smelly. Hell, she manages to keep her lashes in place most of the time she has to go off on someone to defend her girls. Though there are women in sports bras with braids running down either sides of their heads working out all over the gym, and it’s almost enough to make Vanessa change her mind.

A girl dressed similarly, but in a full tank top, waves from the front desk. She’s covered in tattoos, blues and greens lighting up her neck and chest and shoulders and Vanessa would get a closer look, really, if it didn’t mean that she’d be staring at the woman’s boobs.

“First time here?”

Vanessa chances a look down, spotting the woman’s name tag. “That it is, Kamer-”

“-So do y’all do anger management classes or something? ‘Cause my sister could use them. Or at least know how to throw a punch without breaking a knuckle. She’s done that.” Alexis leans across the counter, sticking out a hand for Kameron to shake, and she does with a grin on her face.

A real good first impression. Vanessa wants to disappear.

“Shut up, Alexis.” Vanessa grumbles, because there’s no way she’s coming back now, with Alexis embarrassing her at any given opportunity.

Not that Vanessa would expect anything else.

“We don’t have the first, but we can teach you how to throw a punch. Not that you look like you need much guidance.” Kameron looks Vanessa up and down, and it makes Vanessa feel better, really, for accidentally looking at her tits earlier. “You look scrappy. Who gave you that shiner?”

“Doesn’t matter. I can throw down a little.” Vanessa’s not gonna deny the truth, who is she to do that?

“Just a little?” Kameron raises an eyebrow, a smirk on her lips and it makes Vanessa scowl.

“Why, wanna test it out?”

“Seriously? Relax, Vanj.” Alexis holds out a hand, lets out a deep sigh. “Just take a class here. Don’t fight this nice woman.”

“I ain’t fighting anyone.” Vanessa mumbles, crossing her arms. Not yet, at least.

Kameron, for her part, looks more entertained than anything else, as she pulls out a flyer from behind the front desk. “Lucky for you, we have a sale on beginner classes right now, too. Think about it.”

“She doesn’t need to think about it. She’s doing it.”

“Shut up , Alexis.”

The fatigue in Brooke’s muscles and tendons only become noticeable once she’s out of the ring, once the adrenaline in her system gives away to a feeling of lead that drags her down, her feet like anchors on the ground that want to bring the rest of her body with them.

But it’s a feeling that’s reassuring, helping to remind Brooke that she’s alive. That she’s gotten to this point because she’s capable of pushing her body like this, that hit after hit and the light shuffle of her feet are all that she really needs to reach greatness.

She knows it’s not true, but it’s nice to live in delusion sometimes. She needs it these days.

Unrolling the wraps around her knuckles feels like she’s unwrapping an unlikely present every time, though her knuckles are calloused enough that a little bit of blood doesn’t bother her anymore. A cold rinse under the sink, a shake of her hands before she washes her face and she’s good to go.

Brooke still uses the lockers like she always did when she was a kid, and it feels too strange not to do so now. Doesn’t matter that she owns the place and easily could use the private bathroom.

It makes things too real.

She’s about to push the door open, hurl the towel into the laundry basket that sits just outside the entrance, but she stops. Someone’s watching her.

“Can I help you?”

Brooke raises an eyebrow, because the girl’s meticulously done hair and tight jeans don’t exactly fit in with the rest of the gym. Nor does the layer of makeup on her face, even though it does make her glow a little bit.

“Your hands get that bloodied up and nasty every single time?” The girl looks mildly impressed. Brooke holds in a smile.

Brooke smirks. “Doesn’t exactly fit with your manicure, does it?”

“Please.” The girl rolls her eyes, holding up her own hands with healing scabs along the knuckles. “You’re not that special, blondie.”

Huh.

“I stand corrected.”

Brooke likes her. Mostly because she’s the only person who’s stepped foot in this gym with enough balls to say something back to her. Everyone else is still hung up over the legacy of her dad, over treating her differently because she’s his kid-

-used to be his kid.

It isn’t easy when everyone walks on eggshells around you.

So maybe it’s a little refreshing to meet someone who has no sweet clue about the history of the gym, and no idea that she owns it now. She doesn’t necessarily need to know it, either.

“Don’t your nails break off when you throw a punch? That can’t be comfortable.” Brooke has to hold herself back from making a face at the long nails, dark red and making clacking noises against the wall that the girl’s hand is resting on.

“You think I got money for acrylics? These are press ons, mama.”

“That’s more like it.” Brooke leans against the wall, lets go of the door, if only because she’s enjoying the woman’s company. “Now what are you doing in a place like this?”

The girl holds up the flyer. “Thinking of trying a class. Not that I got a choice with my bitch of a sister.” She scowls, crossing her arms. “Since you go here and all that, would you recommend it? This shit fun?”

Brooke has to hold in a laugh. “It’s okay, yeah. I’d say it’s worth a try.”

She isn’t about to hype up her own gym but it’s fun, seeing what someone else thinks of the place without holding anything back.

“Maybe I’ll do it, then. Do y’all gotta pay for your own gloves and wraps?” Vanessa gestures to the items in Brooke’s hands, makes a face at the blood and sweat stains on them. “Hope that shit goes in the laundry.”

Brooke grabs the end of her wrap, starts to roll it up. “You have to buy them, but I have a feeling you’ll like it. They’ll be an investment for someone like you.”

The girl makes a face at Brooke, her nose wrinkling. “What makes you say that?”

“You seem like someone who can’t resist a challenge. There’s plenty of those here. Unless you want to let them go, of course.”

Sue Brooke, she wants to see what this girl is capable of, despite the fact that she looks like she’s never stepped foot in a boxing gym before today. There’s something about her that Brooke can’t help but be entertained by, despite the fact that she doesn’t even know her name.

“Let them go-bitch, I’ll be taking a class, don’t you worry your sweet little head about it.” The girl sniffs, running a hand through the waves on her head and Brooke’s reminded, for a second, of how sweaty and gross she must look next to her.

But hey, the girl’s still talking to her, so it’s a win.

“Good to hear.” Brooke can feel her lips curl up in a smile. She’s got this girl figured out already, and she likes it.

“Also I didn’t catch your name, Mohammed Ali. You a regular here or something?” The girl cocks her head, crosses her arms.

“You could say that. It’s-”

“Hytes, come over here!” Kameron’s voice echoes across the gym, and Brooke has to suppress a groan when she sees the redhead looking stricken in front of the cash register, which has probably broken down again. They really do need to buy a new one.

“Hytes?” The girl makes a face, her eyebrows raising on her forehead. “Ain’t that-”

“See you around, newbie.” Brooke pushes past her with a wave, heads for Kameron, because she can let the girl come to the realization by herself. She doesn’t need to be there.

Besides, Brooke has a feeling that the girl’s going to be back. She can find out her name another time.

“Vanj, I swear to God if you’re not in the car in the next thirty seconds-”

“What are you, a military sergeant? Relax! I’m coming!”

Alexis is scowling by the time Vanessa skids down to the car, sliding into the passenger seat mere milliseconds before Alexis presses down on the gas pedal.

“What took you so long, anyway?” Alexis chances a glance over at a red light and Vanessa shrugs, before pulling down the passenger seat mirror.

“No reason.”

Vanessa had absolutely not been trying to get her braids to look like those of the girls at the gym as they had been about to leave. Nope.

Not at all. Even though that’s exactly where Alexis is dropping her off.

She’s kinda succeeded, though. Almost feels like she’ll blend in with them.

Except that it’s a bit of a rude shock when they reach the gym, and Vanessa’s confronted by all the muscle. The guns. The quads. The abs poking through. All of the athletes are built, really built, and it’s enough to make Vanessa shrink back against the entrance every second a punching bag rattles, or a body hits the floor.

How’d she ever think before coming back here that she was gonna cut it?

But the hole in her bank account left by the deposit for the beginner boxing class is hard to forget (sweet jesus, she needs payday to hit again). So Vanessa heads towards the change rooms, pushing the heavy doors open because she doesn’t really have any other choice.

“No, wait, wait, I wasn’t ready! We gotta start again, girl.”

“Not my fault you can’t hold a handstand. You snooze, you lose.”

“I’m gonna push you over-”

“You wouldn’t dare-”

Vanessa has to try hard to hold back a laugh at the mess of limbs in the middle of the change room, two girls having fallen on top of each other yet somehow still bickering. She scoots around them but can’t tear her eyes away, especially as their argument continues while they go back into handstands.

“You play dirty.”

“Do not. All is fair in love and war, baby.”

“They’re always like that. Don’t mind them.” The voice in Vanessa’s ear makes her jump, as a girl in a purple sports bra and leggings walks up to her, starts putting bobby pins into her hair. “Pretty standard.”

“Mind them? I’m loving this free sitcom. Is it always handstands?” Vanessa tilts her head and watches as one of the girls tries to walk in her handstand. The sight is impressive, admittedly.

“Yesterday it was cartwheels across the hallway. I swear, one of ‘em will break their wrists doing stupid shit before they ever hurt it while sparring. Not that it isn’t entertaining as shit.” The girl beside Vanessa shrugs, sticks her hand out. “Asia.”

“Vanjie.” She’s not sure how hard she needs to shake Asia’s hand, if the girl is judging her handshake strength, but Vanessa doesn’t get to mull it over much before the girl is pulling her hand away, pointing to the two girls in the middle of her room.

“Is that your real name?” Asia raises an eyebrow and Vanessa shakes her head, snickering.

“You think my mom would look at my bald newborn head and name me Vanjie?”

“I got a cousin named Eunice, so you never know.” Asia shrugs, before pointing to the two still wrestling on the ground. “These two bozos are Monet and Monique, respectively.”

Monet pushes her braids away from her face and waves. “I’d shake your hand with mine, but I was trying to push Monique over and I’m pretty sure she farted on it-”

“Bitch, what-”

Asia shrugs when Monet and Monique start to wrestle on the ground. “See?”

Vanessa snickers. “Y’all are wild. Real wild. I love it already.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, girl.” Asia shrugs, starts wrapping her knuckles. “So, you joining the class?”

“Something like that.” Vanessa shrugs, and there’s so many things she wants to ask, all the curiosity building up inside her about what’s going to happen but she keeps it back. Doesn’t want to look too keen already. “What’s it like?”

Asia cocks an eyebrow when an announcement begins to blare on the overhead speakers. “You’re about to find out.”

It doesn’t take long for Vanessa’s intrigue to fade into breathlessness, a desire to collapse on the matts because she’s about to pass out, truly pass out, only fifteen minutes into the class. Or at least her legs and arms are going to collapse on her from all the hell she’s putting them through, trying to keep up with Kameron’s barking orders that seem specifically designed to torture her.

“Give me another set! Twenty burpees, let’s go!”

“I thought-this was a boxing class.” Vanessa pants out the words in between gasps for breaths, looking over at Asia who is equally as sweaty.

Asia shrugs before dropping down for another burpee, nearly falling on her own arms. “Can’t punch someone if you don’t have the strength and endurance to back it up. At least, that’s what our lovely dictator up there says.” Asia lets out a groan, rolling her shoulders before her next rep. “Crazy bitch.”

“What was that, Asia?” Kameron raises her eyebrows from her spot at the front of the room, and Asia wastes no time in shooting her a dazzling smile.

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Vanessa’s not sure if she catches Kameron winking at Asia, but the ache in her arms is more important for her to focus on right now. The last few reps of burpees make Vanessa feel like she’s going to throw up, maybe die before she makes it to the end, from the way the sweat is dripping from her brow and her legs are shaking and-

“Water break!”

Finally.

Vanessa practically stumbles to the bench, grabbing her water bottle and collapsing onto the seat in one fell swoop. Asia plops down beside her, wiping her sweat on the back of her hand as she leans against the wall, while Monique and Monét traipse over almost leisurely, as if Kameron hadn’t just attempted to murder them all through exercise.

“Shit. No wonder y’all are fuckin’ built like you belong in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.” Vanessa rests her head against the wall, stares up at the giant ceiling fans that do little to circulate the stale air around the gym.

“We actually have to try for it! This one over here,” Monet exclaims, pointing to Monique, “already has a natural six pack. Freak of nature, jesus.”

“It’s called eating well.” Monique sniffs, tossing back a sip of water.

Monét raises an eyebrow. “You had an entire pizza for dinner last night. Not half. A full pizza. And your stomach is rock solid.”

“The lord just blesses some of us, that’s all.”

“C’mon back, guys.” Kameron’s voice calls out, and Vanessa can’t help but let out a groan, closing her eyes.

She can’t keep going. She’s too weak. Her muscles are fully jelly and-

“Hey!” Vanessa yelps when Monique and Monet each grab one of her hands, pulling her up into a standing position.

“C’mon. The fun part of class is only starting now.” Asia tilts her head towards the punching bags that Kameron is steadying, the mats that she is pulling out of the closet against the wall. “No more burpees anymore.”

Now this is a setting Vanessa can vibe with. She follows the other girls in grabbing her hand wraps, tries not-so-subtly to watch how Monique and Monet wrap theirs almost effortlessly. Even Asia ties hers off with a flourish, and Vanessa has to fight back some choice words slipping from her lips as the wrap on her right hand keeps coming loose, the fabric slipping whenever she wiggles her fingers.

“Alright, I’m gonna need a volunteer to help me demonstrate-Asia, look at you raising your hand so nicely.” Kameron’s grinning as she beckons to Asia, who’s sitting on the mats with a mock offended expression on her face, her mouth wide open.

“My hand is all the way down.” Asia crosses her arms, but Vanessa can see a small blush rising on her cheeks.

Kameron raises an eyebrow. “Should I ask someone else?”

Asia pauses. “Nah.” She scrambles up, joining Kameron at the front of the class, and Vanessa can tell she’s satisfied.

Vanessa’s not sure of the vibe she’s picking up between the two of them, but she’s intrigued. Way intrigued. Enough that she misses out on Kameron calling for the class to find partners, and she’s left by herself when Monique and Monet pair up and the rest of the attendees in the class find their own counterparts.

Shit.

“Who doesn’t have a partner?” The question is unnecessary, really, when Kameron zones in on Vanessa in a second, and it nearly makes her shrink back.

Vanessa feels like she’s the last one being picked for a team in gym class, the one that nobody wants in their group. This class isn’t really like that, she knows, what with three girls being nice to her already, but it’s hard not to feel like a fish out of water when everyone already knows each other. She fiddles with loose threads on the mat underneath her, tries to ignore the part of her that wants to disappear.

Kameron jogs over to the other side of the gym, and Vanessa cranes her neck to see where she’s going as she pokes her head into the makeshift office in the corner. “Hytes! Stop fiddling with Microsoft Excel and get over here.”

Hytes?

“The work isn’t gonna get done on it’s own, Kam.”

The familiar voice makes Vanessa draw in a breath, and she has to keep herself from shifting on the mat when the blonde walks out, the same one that Vanessa had met on her first visit to the gym, the one whose eyes are lighting up in recognition upon spotting Vanessa.

Except the girl can’t be looking at her. Can she?

Brooke. So that’s her name.

“I don’t think she wants me to.” Brooke’s lip curls up in a smile as she gets closer, and Vanessa has to try hard, really, not to fidget. To stay cool.

Because she’s cool. Right?

“I won’t go easy on you either then, Miss Thing.” Vanessa sniffs.

Her bravado is going to get the best of her eventually, she knows that. But how’s Vanessa going to be the shit if she doesn’t convince herself of it first?

“We’re gonna do some simple drills today. Help drill them into all of your heads, if you will.” Kameron grins, and Vanessa has to hold back a laugh at how proud she looks of her own joke.

“Booo.” Asia brings her gloved hands to her face, makes a faux microphone that she points towards Kameron, who rolls her eyes.

Vanessa raises a brow, nudges Monet as Kameron explains their first few combinations. “Are they…?”

“Nope.” Monet shakes her head. “Not together. But Asia’s been taking the newbie level classes with us for ages despite taking the intermediate ones too, only because Kameron teaches both of them.”

“This is some juicy tea for my first day.”

Monet grins. “Stay tuned, bitch.”

A psst makes Vanessa spin in place, turn back towards Brooke who’s looking at her with a raised brow of her own. “Are you planning on trying these drills out today, or…?”

“Yeah. Totally am. See?” So maybe the words leave Vanessa’s mouth a little too eagerly as she bounces in place, but it doesn’t matter, because Brooke’s already holding her own gloves up, beckoning Vanessa closer.

Vanessa replays what Kameron had demonstrated earlier as she tries the movements out against Brooke’s gloves. “Jab, jab, cross-hey!”

Because Brooke blocks them, lands a light jab of her own and it’s not fair, it really isn’t, not when Vanessa had no idea it was coming.

“That’s not part of the drill!”

“Nothing is in real life. Gotta be light on your feet, always on alert, Vanessa.” Brooke’s grinning, and Vanessa can already hear Monique and Monet cracking up behind them.

Vanessa has to resist the urge to pout, cross her arms - not that her gloves would even let her do so, anyway.

“C’mon, try again.” Brooke holds her gloves up, and Vanessa is wary, because what’s Brooke going to do, now?

But Vanessa has never been one to back down from a challenge. So she goes for it, throws the first jab but counters with her opposite hand a step before she’s supposed to, raising her dominant hand to block her face. It’s enough to avoid Brooke’s jab, land one of her own, and sure, it’s not in the drills, but the look of surprise on Brooke’s face is satisfying, especially when Monique whoops from behind them.

“She’s a spicy one!” Monique nudges Monet as she says it, and Vanessa can’t help the shit-eating grin that grows on her face, even as Kameron walks over with a raised brow.

“We’re doing drills for a reason. No freestyling, not even from you, Hytes.” Kameron taps Brooke’s shoulder as she walks away, but Brooke’s eyes are lit up with something Vanessa can’t quite recognize.

Intrigue? Respect, maybe? Vanessa’s not sure.

But she knows she’s definitely caught Brooke’s attention now, if she hadn’t done so already.

Vanessa’s arms are aching, her body covered in sweat and she feels like she’s going to collapse once she sits down, but…

She’s never felt more invigorated in her life.

She wants to go back to the class, have another turn against Kameron’s punching gloves, maybe practice the combinations she’s just learned. She wants Brooke across from her again, looking at her with those eyes that she wants to unravel, get to know more. She wants to learn, she wants to get better and better, because whenever she starts something, she wants to build on it. Become an expert, become the best.

Of course, life isn’t that easy. Most of the time, when Vanessa starts something, she abandons it not too long after, because sticking with things is hard and her attention likes to jump around, find a new target.

But something about channeling her energy for a reason, being strategic on purpose, had felt nice in the class. Sure, she’d felt like a damn fool as the other participants followed the combos with a practiced hand, a familiarity, while she’d initially stumbled through, but things are going to change. Vanessa feels it, because she wants to stay.

“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you can jump from this bench to that one across the room.”

“Better get your wallet out.”

Vanessa cracks an eye open, and Monique’s tentative look across the room as she stands on the bench makes her raise a brow. Monet looks entirely too pleased, and it’s not too hard to figure out that she’s set Monique up.

“How the fuck do you both still have any energy right now?” Vanessa doesn’t get it. She’s tired to the bone, heck, she’s probably never going to get up from the bench again.

“‘Cause I have to always prove her wrong, that’s why.” Monique sniffs, as Monet shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

Vanessa likes them. They’re the same brand of insane as she is and it’s almost as if she’s watching her very own sitcom, from the way the two of them bicker all the way to the showers.

Vanessa kicks off her shoes, leaning herself back against the cool metal of the lockers and she can’t hold back the sigh that escapes her lips. It’s a wonder that the heat emanating from her skin isn’t visible steam because she feels like she’s on fire from the inside, like the sweat dripping from her brow, along her shoulder blades is never ending. She’s gonna need a long shower.

Pulling off her gloves makes her hands feel so much lighter, able to move. Vanessa opens and closes her fingers, makes a face at the sight of the wraps around her hands that have already begun to unravel, coil on the bench in a heap. She hadn’t exactly known how to fasten them properly before the class, not that she does now, either.

Oh, well. She has time to improve.

“Your arms feel like they’re gonna fall off yet?”

Brooke. Looking just as sweaty as Vanessa feels, as she tugs out the braids in her hair and sits down beside her.

“No.” Vanessa raises an eyebrow.

Brooke smiles. “Good. Bodes well for your next class then, doesn’t it?”

“What makes you think I’m coming back?”

Vanessa’s always entertained by people like Brooke. The ones who look put together, all calm and collected even though they can be anything but. She wants to see what makes Brooke tick, feel out her buttons. See if she can catch her interest, whether it be through annoyance or enjoyment.

“Please.” Brooke snorts, looking Vanessa up and down, and it’s hard not to feel exposed. “I saw the way you were out there. You were having the time of your life, you can’t even deny it.”

“I was not.”

She was. But Brooke doesn’t need to know that.

“I know you’ll be back.” Brooke winks, rises to her feet, and Vanessa has to try hard to keep her eyes on Brooke’s face, rather than let them drag down lower. “Girls like you always are.”

“Girls like me - hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Vanessa stands on her tiptoes, watches the way Brooke disappears towards the showers.

Brooke shrugs, raising an eyebrow before turning the corner, and Vanessa has never wanted to follow someone more.

“See you around, Vanessa.”

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #level up #holtzmanns #boxing au

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aswallowssong · 4 years

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Second Child, Restless Child

Chapter 7 - The World Outside Calling Me

@valkyrie-5583

Read on AO3

Y’all, it happened. We’re finally updating. It would not have happened if @themetaphorgirl had talked me off the ledge so thank you Caitlin. Also thanks to my sweet little duckling of a sister, @starstwinkleplanetsshine, for always reading my drafts, from like, the start of time. OKAY SO

Section Chief Ramos is the least helpful person on the planet, Kit and Hotch have a ridiculously uncomfortable conversation, and Gideon finally confronts nobody's favorite liaison/nurse.

In which Kit feels really lost, really sad, and really unsure of her job.

She would have rather been anywhere else. She would have rather been in Gideon’s office being chewed out for speaking out of turn, or back in the ER during flu season, or facing down an unsub without Morgan.

Anywhere but in front of Section Chief Ramos’s office door, tapping her foot and clenching and unclenching her fingers. She needed to stop messing with the seams on her scrub pants - they were starting to wear - but she didn’t want him to open the door and see her pulling at her hair. She did a good job of masking her quirks and outlets for her pent up energy in the clinic with everything moving at such a rapid pace, but standing in front of the door, waiting for it to open? That was torture. Regardless of the fact that Ramos chose her to represent the clinic, and therefore the health department, as part of the Health Liaison trial run, she knew he didn’t like her very much.

Ramos didn’t like anyone very much.

He let her stand like that for seven minutes before the door opened. Ramos wasn’t exactly a large man. He had nothing on Hotch, who towered like a giant over her and gave off every vibe you would expect from someone in the FBI. Instead, his entire intimidating demeanor was in his eyes. Eyes that were glaring right at her.

“Nurse Colghain,” he said. There was no hint of kindness about him. “Come in.”

She followed him into the room and sat where he directed. His office was more clinical than Hotch’s, which she guessed made sense considering he was the Health Department/Academy Clinic’s Section Chief, but still. He could use some pictures of the wife he was rumored to have. Instead, he had plaques and other achievements around. Egotistical. Narcissistic. She gave a minute shake of her head to will the thoughts away.

I need to spend less time with the profilers.

“This is your monthly review,” he said, jarring her from her thoughts. She nodded, unsure of what else to do. When he didn’t continue right away she awkwardly nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

“You began the pilot Health and Wellness Liaison position on January tenth. Today’s date is February twenty second. In this meeting we will review position requirements, health meeting reviews, and you will give a report of duties and activities you have been able to complete in this time, as well as any other pertinent information to assess the validity of this pilot position. Do you understand the purpose of this meeting?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking down to see a small device with a red light blinking sitting right next to his hand.

Ah.

He was recording it. Ramos was formal, but not that formal. She wondered who would hear what she was about to say.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Let’s begin.”

The first part was easy. Just reviewing her position requirements, which she’d long since memorized for both her Head position, and her position at the BAU. Normally they had quarterly reviews, but because of the infancy of her position, Kit had been notified they would be monthly “until further notice.” She assumed that would mean they would be more like a check-in. Shorter.

She was so incredibly mistaken.

After the first part Ramos leaned back in his chair, something shifting in his eyes and the atmosphere in the room. He was smug. As if he’d caught her in a trap.

“Nurse Colghain,” he said with a little too much confidence. Not Agent Colghain, like Hotch would have said. Nurse. Which, while it was a title she was proud of, he didn’t even call her Head Nurse. Just nurse. One of nearly fifty on staff. Insignificant. Replaceable.

“Please tell me how many Health and Wellness meetings you are required to give a month.”

“Two, sir,” she answered easily. “Every other week, if cases allow, but two a month.”

Ramos nodded, something like mirth cutting across his face. “Then tell me, Nurse Colghain, why have you only held one meeting in nearly six weeks?”

She stared at him for a moment before blinking. “As I said, sir,” she started cautiously. She was being recorded. She would defend herself professionally. “Every other week, if cases allow. As we said before, I’m required to travel for cases related to medical, as well as others, in order to be present for twenty-five percent of out of town cases.”

“And those cases made it impossible for two health meetings to happen over a six week period?”

He was right. She could have made it work, but between Gideon and them going on cases without her, it was hard to find the courage to force the BAU team to sit down and listen to her harp on diet for any length of time. They were busy. She’d seen first hand how their cases wore on them. She’d experienced the wear herself.

“It wasn’t practical based on the number of cases over the last six weeks to take time away from either reports or research for a meeting about one of the approved health topics.”

“Wasn’t practical?”

“No, sir,” She said, voice becoming quieter and more timid as Ramos’s presence in the room seemed to increase. A hand ran over the outside seam on the leg of her scrubs. It itched to tug gently at her braid, but she didn’t dare.

He let there be silence for a moment before he leaned forward towards her. His eyes had narrowed. “Twenty-five percent of cases, Nurse Colghain. That leaves seventy-five percent of your time free to plan and execute the required health meetings.”

She shook her head. “Sir, it’s twenty-five percent of out of town cases. My original duties stated I was to be a part of all in town cases.”

He scoffed. “And what percentage of your time would you say is taken up by cases, in general?”

“Thirty seven percent.”

Ramos looked stunned, and Kit gave herself one moment to be glad she’d been listening to Reid the Friday before when he was rattling off percentages for her. She’d asked because she was worried she would be under the twenty five percent minimum, and was pleasantly surprised to learn she was over.

“That leaves-”

“Plus,” she continued, not letting him get ahead of her, “My team travels on cases without me, too. They were gone another thirty seven percent of the days in the last six weeks, which means that even if I was preparing for a meeting, they weren’t there for me to give it. And we spent three days working on a consultation, which was medical related, and filling out reports for a poisoning case in New Jersey. That’s what, fifteen, sixteen percent? And SSA Hotchner was out one day, which only leaves five-”

“Nurse Colghain,” he warned, “I believe you are far too comfortable. Throwing around percentages as if I am unaware of how you spend your time based on the reports you submit to me.”

She blinked at him for a moment, deflating. The confidence she had spouting numbers withered away under his glare. “But, you- you asked for the percentage.”

“For one. I don’t need a math lesson from a clinic nurse.”

Ouch.

She crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at her knees and staying quiet. She wanted out of Ramos’s office. Back to the clinic where she knew she wouldn’t be questioned.

“This month, I expect three meetings.”

Her eyes snapped up, jaw falling open. “Sir?”

“Three, Nurse Colghain.”

“But-”

“Full reports and reviews. Understood?”

She stared at him for a moment before nodding her head in submission. She wasn’t going to win an argument with Ramos without getting written up, and it wasn’t worth it to aggravate an already aggressive situation.

“Understood?” He repeated with a little more force, and she found her resolve buckling under his harsh tone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s talk about the meeting you were able to have.”

Let’s talk about literally anything else. Let’s go back to arguing over correct percentages and health meetings that haven’t happened yet. Let me, I don’t know, punch myself in the face repeatedly instead.

Íosa Críost, Kody. Dramatic much?

“The Health and Wellness meeting regarding sleep, sir?” She asked tentatively. Ramos wrote for a while before he addressed her again, setting his pen down and pulling out seven forms from a manila folder. The review surveys filled out by the BAU team.

“Yes. I have the reviews here, written by the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and I will be honest in telling you that the director was… surprised by the results.”

Her heart sank. Surprised couldn’t be good and with the way she’d slammed the forms onto the table in front of them all and stormed off without a word. It hadn’t quite been a week, and they had gone on a case without her on Sunday afternoon. She hadn’t seen them since the Friday after it had happened.

She’d kept to herself, too, and had chickened out of talking to Gideon, telling herself she had meetings to plan and case reports to finish. Morgan had been the only one to try to talk to her, even offering to go to Gideon with her, but she’d declined, and the only reason she’d spoken to Reid was to get the percentages that Ramos had just ostracized her for.

Her tantrum of sorts was embarrassing at best, and after she worked a whole clinic shift, did a full set with her cúpla at the bar, and slept on it, she wasn’t really ready to face him. Any of them. It had been a relief when she’d shown up to the office and found that they’d flown off to Middle-of-Nowhere, Nebraska, population five dead girls and a terrified town.

Kit sat forward in her chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Surprised, sir?”

Ramos nodded, face morphing as he gave off a wave of annoyance. “Yes, pleasantly surprised. It isn’t often that a meeting ends with a positivity rating of one hundred percent.”

Kit’s eyebrows pulled together as her jaw went slack, eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to process what he’d said. One hundred percent positivity rating. How was that possible?

“I don’t understand, sir,” she finally said, “All of them? They were all positive?”

He nodded, though looked as if it truly pained him to do so. “Yes. All seven reviews were positive regarding your content and professionalism. Some more positive than others, of course, but all positive.”

“Even Gideon’s?” She said before she could stop herself, not believing what she was hearing. There was no way that Gideon had given her a positive review. There was no way that anyone had given her a positive review. She’d argued with him. She’d slammed the surveys into the round table and abruptly finished their meeting before stomping out. She had to be missing something. Or, being punked. Did the FBI punk people?

Ramos raised an eyebrow at her. “I cannot show you the reports, as it’s a matter of confidentiality, but yes. SSA Gideon is a part of the BAU team, which would mean that his review survey of your meeting was positive.”

It should have made her feel better. It should have made her feel good to hear that Gideon, who she was sure without a doubt hated her, gave her a positive meeting review. Especially considering the fact that he was the one she had been arguing with before she so ceremoniously took her leave. She should have been settled, and put at peace over it.

It should have made her feel better.

It didn’t.

It pissed her off.

Lying to fit the mold didn’t seem to be Gideon’s style, and the fact that he’d done it, to her, made her furious.

“Are we done here?” She spouted without thinking. She suddenly felt like she was vibrating, and she needed out of Ramos’s clinical office and the uncomfortable chair she was sitting in.

He sighed, setting down the review surveys and folding his hands on top of them.

“I have one last thing.”

She shifted in the chair, but stayed quiet. The longer she was quiet and listened, the faster she could probably leave. Anger pulsed through her chest, and she knew exactly where it was going once she was done listening to whatever annoying thing Ramos wanted to finish with.

“Before, you said my team in reference to the BAU.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

“They are not your team. You are not a part of their team.”

She watched as his eyes went hard, his voice slow and simple as if he was explaining something to a child. Some of the ice that had hardened over her heart started to melt, her anger ebbing slightly as her chest started to swim in the melting slurry.

“I��m sorry?” She asked.

“You are not a part of their team. You are a part of the health department. The clinic staff.”

“But,” she started, “Hotch said-”

“SSA Hotchner is your point of contact for the BAU. He isn’t your supervisor. I am. You report to me. And you, Nurse Colghain, are separate. A liaison. A connecting point. Not a part of the disorganized, ridiculous mess the Behavioral Analysis Unit has become.”

“The BAU is full of incredibly talented people.”

Morgan. Elle. Hotch. Reid.

She’d seen them work first hand, many times in her six weeks with them, and she was always confused as to why people didn’t seem to understand the magnificence of what they did. She could read people’s emotions, sure, and very well. She’d give herself that. But what they did? What each one of them did? It impressed her to no end. Even Gideon, when he wasn’t pissing her off, was an incredible profiler to watch.

“The BAU worries about finding maniacs,” Ramos said dismissively. “You worry about keeping people alive.”

She shook her head, sitting straight up in her chair. “Profiling keeps people alive.”

Ramos shrugged, clicking off the recorder before looking her dead in the eyes. “And you are not a profiler, Nurse Colghain. You are a nurse. Right now, you’re splitting two positions, and not doing one incredibly well. A questionable liaison. Arguably, a decent nurse.”

Questionable. Arguably decent.

“They are a team,” he continued. “You are a clinic nurse, and you will never be more than that. Do I make myself clear?”

Kit let her eyes hold his for a moment. Every bit of her icy anger had melted, leaving her feeling upset, and sloshy, and confused. Hotch assured her all the time that she was a part of their team, but Ramos was her supervisor. He was in charge of her position, and he told her she wasn’t a part of the BAU team. She never would be. She didn’t belong.

She didn’t feel like she belonged in the clinic anymore, either. Between only being there three days a week, once on the weekend when she’d never worked that rotation before, and the traveling for cases that sometimes took more than one day, she had lost some of the “home” feeling she associated with the clinic and her nurses.

I don’t belong much of anywhere.

“Yes, sir.”

She finished her clinic shift quietly. That wasn’t necessarily unusual. Unlike the last six weeks in the BAU, the clinic was never something new. Always something different, but never anything that was surprising or particularly stressful. She could spend days upon days quietly directing with very few words, saving the most gentle and caring ones for younger academy cadets that were very far away from home and either sick or broken. Something about nursing softened her. It always had.

The BAU did the opposite. Somehow, in only six weeks, it had brought a part of her out that she hadn’t known for a long time. The part that smoked cigarettes under the bleachers during study hall and complained loud and long about music lessons and stepdance, though she secretly loved both. That wore dark lipstick so she wouldn’t look just like Monty. Who had more detentions than both her cúpla, though both Ari and Monty had their fair share.

The BAU brought out the part of her that argued. That fidgeted and got frustrated and stood up for herself. The part of her that was confident. The part of her that was trouble.

While her rebellious nature had taken time to soften all those years ago, Ramos had stripped her of its reprise in an hour's time. She stood for far too long after her shift was over, staring at the outside of the locker she shared with Monty. She’d dodged her twin by hiding in the bathroom until five o’clock had come and gone. The chipped paint of their shared space was partially covered by the plastic name plate that sat in the top middle, reading, “D. Colghain / M. Colghain.”

They’d requested to share a locker, and now three days a week, it was empty when Monty came. They didn’t get to meet in the break room and exchange quips back and forth before Monty had to work, and Kit had to go home without having seen her other half, the fire to her ice, before she figured out something for Ari and her to eat, plunging into sleep before he could ask her about the things she saw with the BAU.

So, after her meeting with Ramos, and the rest of her shift, Kit had been sure to clear out long before Monty was there. She didn’t want to talk to Monty, because Monty didn’t get it. No one really could. She was in a strange position that not one person had been in before, and all Monty would do was remind her that the clinic was her home, like Ramos had, even though the clinic didn’t feel entirely like home anymore.

She didn’t belong at the BAU. She never would. Ramos made it very clear she wasn’t supposed to let herself.

What the hell am I doing? What am I supposed to do?

You could talk to Hotch, Kody. He has kind eyes. He’s nothing like Ramos.

Ramos’s words echoed in her ears.

SSA Hotchner is your point of contact for the BAU. He isn’t your supervisor. I am. You report to me. And you, Nurse Colghain, are separate.

“What the hell am I going to do?” she mumbled in her mother tongue, staring at the locker a few minutes longer before she started for the metro station.

-----

Kit stood outside the glass doors the next morning earlier than she normally would. Instead of the anger she felt the day before in Ramos’s office, anxiety lived in her chest. She’d popped her fingers so many times the night before that they were sore, and she was thankful it was still February so she could wear a thick sweater that covered the red marks she’d scratched into her forearms. She hadn’t realized she’d been doing it, and while it hadn’t gone on enough to draw blood, they’d stung in the shower and looked much more angry than they felt. She usually pushed up the sleeves of her sweaters and cardigans, because she hated the way the cuffs felt around her wrists, but she had already mentally prepared herself to leave them down and deal with the annoyance all day.

Time passed faster than she thought it would, and when she was grabbed gently by the shoulder she jolted, turning and shifting into a defensive position without having to think. It didn’t reach her that she was fairly unlikely to be attacked on the sixth floor of their FBI building, but Hotch was clearly unphased by her reaction, hands up in front of him to signal his intent.

“Sorry, I called your name twice,” he said evenly. “I could tell you weren’t quite grounded.”

She took a breath before relaxing, hands coming not down to her sides, but to settle on top of her backpack straps. Her hands clutched tightly around them, and she took another breath before saying, “I um. I wasn’t. Thanks.”

Hotch nodded, picking up his briefcase from the ground and nodding towards the double doors she had just been staring at. She followed behind him as he walked through the door. “How was your meeting with Ramos?” He asked, clearly attempting to be casual. While it should have made her feel good, and included, it just made the weight that had been vibrating around her chest settle deeper.

You aren’t included, Kody. You’re separate.

“It was informative.”

“Anything I need to know?” he asked as they walked. The casual, conversational tone of his voice sounded less forced than before, and it made her chest feel tighter and tighter as their steps synced. Six weeks didn’t seem like a long time, but she felt like she’d been splitting with the BAU a lot longer.

She needed to force that all down and away.

“No, Agent Hotchner. Though, I will be required to give three talks by the end of March. We were short last month, and Section Chief Ramos made it very clear that it’s unacceptable.”

Hotch stopped short, turning and raising an eyebrow at her. She didn’t call him Agent Hotchner, she hadn’t in six weeks. The confusion and concern coming off of him set the weight in her chest even deeper, and she worried at her lip between her bottom teeth as she waited for him to affirm her request.

“Of course,” he finally said, “Though that should be on me. It was a busy month, but I should have made time.”

“No, Chief Ramos made it very clear that it’s my responsibility. I’d like to do one this week, if possible. Friday, if your team isn’t on a case.”

Hotch looked at her with searching eyes, and she could tell he was profiling her. She didn’t need to ask, she knew the look by then. They all had one, and this was Hotch’s.

There’s no inter-team profiling. Even he agrees with Ramos.

“Is there something bothering you, Colghain?” He asked finally, both of them stopped in their tracks. “Something Ramos said?”

She shook her head quickly. If she said something, she would probably get in trouble. She reported to Ramos, not Hotch, and it was clear she was on thin ice.

“No, sir. I just want to do my job well.”

“Is it Gideon?” He continued, dropping his voice though there was no one else in the bullpen. It was too early. “I spoke with him about the meeting last week. He said he would talk to you once we got back, but if you need me to-”

“No,” she said quickly. There was more force behind her words than she intended, and she watched as Hotch shifted from offensive, to defensive. “No, thank you,” she tried again, softening both her tongue and her body language. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“If Ramos made you uncomfortable-”

“Stop.”

Kit shook her head too quickly at him, watching the miniscule shift in his face. He’d flooded the space around them with a level of concern she couldn’t handle. She couldn’t have him care about her.

He shouldn’t care about her. She wasn’t one of his to worry about.

She fiddled with her fingers, letting her hands tug at her sleeves, but not push them up. “Listen, Agent Hotchner, I appreciate your assurance that I’m a part of this team, but I’d like you to stop telling me that.”

His eyebrows came together, eyes softening. “Kit, you are a member of my team.”

“But I’m not. I’m a liaison from the health department.”

He shrugged at her, shaking his head and gesturing towards JJ’s empty office. “JJ is a liaison from the communications department.”

Kit shook her head, giving a sad smile and waving him off. “It’s different.”

She didn't want to tell him about Ramos. It would be like tattling, and they were FBI agents, not kindergarteners. As far as she knew, Hotch was JJ’s supervisor. She was a part of them. Kit was separate.

“I don’t see how it’s different,” he said, “but if you really feel that way, know that it isn’t on our end. By isolating yourself, you’re creating a barrier.”

“I thought we didn’t profile one another,” she said, feeling annoyance start to dance inside her chest. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what Ramos had said.

What if Ramos is full of shit?

What if Hotch is full of shit?

He simply raised an eyebrow.

“The rule is on inter-team profiling. Did you not just say you weren’t a part of my team?”

She stared him straight in the eyes for a moment. The air around him had settled into the feeling she probably hated most of all.

Pity.

She latched her hands to the backpack straps over her shoulders to keep herself from pulling down hard on her twin braids.

“I need to prepare for the health meeting on Friday. We’ll do one in the afternoon. I’ll see you at the morning briefing.”

She turned away from him and walked to her desk without letting him respond to her, and she knew it was petty, but she didn’t need Hotch’s pity. She didn’t need anyone’s pity.

She could do grief, and anger, and fear all day. She could handle trauma, and regret, and incredible sadness. Illness. Confusion and skepticism.

She hated pity.

She didn't need anyone to pity her. The middle child of nine. The rebel. The decent nurse.

Trouble.

She didn't need it. Not from Hotch.

And she didn't need him to see the tears of frustration and self loathing pooling on her lashline.

She’d clearly gotten too big for her britches, and Ramos had helped bring her back down to earth. She wasn’t a stiff. She was a nurse. That’s all she’d ever be.

-----

“Colghain.”

Kit looked up from the papers in front of her to Gideon’s even voice. He was looking at her with the same intensity he always wore, beckoning at her with one of his hands before walking back into his office without another word.

She raised an eyebrow, significant anxiety flooding into her chest. She didn’t want to deal with it. She’d already had a conversation with Hotch that she didn’t want to have. She’d had a conversation with Ramos the day before that left her upset and self-loathing and desperate to feel like she belonged somewhere she most certainly did not belong, and never could, and never would.

And, Kit had avoided having a conversation with Gideon at every turn. She’d perfected it, as far as she was concerned. Hotch had tried to make them talk, and they’d either argued, or she’d avoided it completely. She didn’t want to have an actual conversation with Gideon. She hated Gideon. He hated her.

Why would he ever want to actually confront the issue?

“You better go, Lep,” Morgan said casually, flipping through a file. He looked exhausted. They all did.

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

“What happened to the girl that was like, ‘oh yeah, I’ll talk to him tomorrow,’ like, a week ago? Scared?” He teased, swapping his voice to a higher pitch in an imitation of her.

Despite the frustration she’d found with Hotch that morning, and the dread that flooded through her at the realization that she shouldn’t be getting close to anyone on the BAU team, she found herself smiling and rolling her eyes at the man in front of her. Morgan was different. He’d said it himself that they were friends, and Kit didn’t think that meant just at work. After all, they trained together on mornings she worked her clinic shifts, too.

“Oh, belt it, Morgan. I saw that you didn’t get a flu shot this year, are you scared of something? Needles?”

She’d been waiting on that one, but he just chuckled and shook his head. “No, that’s pretty ricky over there. I don’t need a flu shot. Immune system of a champion.”

Kit had to bite her tongue in order to keep from calling him “Antibiotics Guy” out loud, settling for rolling her own eyes and standing up from her chair.

“Sure, Morgan. We’ll see. Will you back me up if you hear screaming?” She asked, the nervous energy never leaving her as she stood to face the music. Maybe they’d fight and she’d get fired. It would sure make being a part of just the clinic an easier feat.

She’d never worried about getting fired this often in her life, even when she was nineteen years old and working trauma in the ER. It surprised her how calmly she considered it as her weeks with the BAU added up.

He chuckled and nodded at her, turning back to his file and speaking with his eyes on the page in front of him. “Sure thing. Hey, can I have your desk space if he roasts you to a fine crisp? I like to spread out.”

“Oh, múchadh, Der.”

“I don’t know what that means!” He taunted, but she didn’t turn back around. She was already steeling herself for battle.

Gideon was sitting at his desk, glasses on, and didn’t look up when she entered his office. She stood there for a moment before she knocked on the door frame.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, sit down,” he mumbled, scribbling something in his notebook.

As bad as she wanted to tell him no, she would definitely not sit down, she could hear Hotch’s voice echoing in her mind.

I spoke with him about the meeting last week. He said he would talk to you once we got back.

The BAU team was back, and now, she needed to sit and listen to whatever it was that Gideon had to say.

You’re just a nurse after all. You should be the one apologizing.

“Gideon-”

“Colghain, I’m going to be honest, I don’t like that you’re here.”

Wow.

“Okay?” she said, dejected confusion on her tongue. Gideon wasn’t oozing annoyance or frustration like he usually was, but she couldn’t read him. He was almost apathetic. He wasn't even looking at her.

“The bureau forcing a new position like this says that they don’t trust units to manage themselves.”

Kit thought about that for a moment. She’d heard that from Morgan, and she understood why he would feel that way. He was a senior agent. He’d come back into the field after being on medical leave. She’d actually been one of the nurses that had read over his file before they would clear him to go back to work. Gideon had been in the BAU since its conception, and it made sense that he didn't like change.

"What about JJ?"

"Pardon?"

He looked up then, the tendrils of his confusion tugging at her skin.

Kit kept her train of thought. "JJ came from the communications department. She was a new position at some point, but you seem to get along with her just fine. You trust her."

"JJ isn't interested in anything but her position," he said simply. "And she’s proven that she does it very well."

"I'm not interested in anything but my position, either," she said. She felt like she was gaining some footing. “And, as of the last six weeks, I feel like I’ve shown that I can do my position well. Or at least, I can when I’m being allowed to do it.”

“Your position as a babysitter?”

“My position as an expert in my field.”

Their eyes were locked now; Gideon’s unwavering, Kit’s challenging.

“My job is to keep the team healthy, inform you all about healthful practices, go on takedowns, and give my input on cases that need it.”

“Reid knows anything your input could give us.”

“Not when he’s running a fever and trying to think straight while masking from you all.”

Gideon’s face shifted for a fraction of a second, but the concern that flooded the room told her she had the upper hand.

Good, asshole.

“Which you didn’t know, did you? In New Jersey. Not only was I reading tox screens and dealing with pushback at every turn, from you, on a case that was medically mine. I was also managing the symptoms of your protégé, who if you hadn’t noticed, has the constitution of a wet piece of cardboard.”

Gideon was on the defensive now, standing up from his chair. “We had an unsub to worry about. Reid can take care of himself.”

Kit stood from her seat to match him. She didn’t report to Gideon. She wasn’t on his team. He was on Hotch’s, and as far as she was concerned, she didn’t have to give in to him. They weren’t on the same team at all.

“And while on that case, regardless of you trying to step in and do my job regarding Hill, I still managed to take care of Reid, give valuable information about botulism and rohypnol, and get our foot in the door at the hospital.”

Gideon didn’t respond for a moment, and while it probably wasn’t a good idea, Kit kept going.

“And, just so you know, I don’t appreciate you lying for me on official documents. I’m a professional, and I’m damn good at my job.” All the things she’d talked to Morgan about were flooding back.

You just told me, so tell him.

That’s what he’d said.

Maybe she would.

She laughed once. “I’m good at my job. I proved it to the Health Department. My siblings and I are the youngest Head Nurses the clinic’s ever seen. We were the youngest in the history of the hospital we were at before that. Hell, the Director sees my files directly, and was on the team that selected me for this position. Me, not either of my cúpla.”

She watched him for a moment before she added, venom on her tongue, “I’ve proved myself again and again. I don’t have to prove it anymore. Not to you.”

“I didn’t lie,” was all he said, though his apathy had melted. There was something else there. Something she couldn’t place.

“What?”

“I didn’t lie on any official documents. Never have.”

She blinked at him for a moment.

The survey, you idiot.

“You gave me a positive review of my health meeting. The one you very specifically stopped before I was done to tell me I was wrong, and then argued with Hotch that I was wasting your time.”

He shrugged, pacing to the window and peering into the February air. “My personal feelings about the necessity, or existence, of your health meeting on sleep don’t change my opinion of your delivery. During the meeting, until I interrupted and jibbed, you were incredibly knowledgeable and professional. You were concise.” He shrugged again. “It was the best delivered health meeting I’ve been a part of during my time with the bureau.”

She stared at him for a moment, face working through a plethora of emotions before she settled on annoyance. “Then why in the hell,” she started, “would you have interrupted me?”

“Principle,” he said simply. “Understand, Colghain, I have an issue with your position. I also have an issue with the fact that you profile as a reformed rebel, and the sort of restless trouble that lies behind your eyes tells me you never really left it in your past. You’ve repressed it. You’ve buried it. You mask it in the clinic, and you’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to mask it around this team.”

What the hell sort of inter-team profiling is that?

You’re not on his team. You aren’t on the same team at all.

“As a person,” he said finally, sitting down in his chair, “I don’t mind you. Elle is a rebel in her own right, and I think it helps her in this job. As a position, yours is one I don’t care for, and don’t anticipate lasting very long. Hotch would like us to get along better, which I’m not opposed to. If you stay out of the way of the profilers, I have no issue with you being here. As a member of the team, I worry that you’re in over your head. Mind your temper.”

“I’m not a member of the team,” she said automatically, though she didn’t sit to match him. “I’m separate.”

“Even better,” he agreed, picking back up his notebook and gesturing towards the door. “That’s it. You can go.”

Is he… dismissing me?

The likeness to her high school principal ignited in her chest like heartburn, and shook her head. “If you stay out of the way of my duties and contributions, I have no issue with you, either.”

She stood for a few seconds before turning towards the door.

“And Colghain?” She turned to face him, but his eyes weren’t on her anymore. Almost like they never were. “Yes?”

“Be nice to Reid. He cares about what others think more than he’d let on.”

Kit stood and blinked at him for a moment before she found herself rolling her eyes. “I thought Reid could take care of himself.”

Gideon scoffed before shaking his head, dismissing her again as he mumbled under his breath. “Trouble.”

“Jaded,” she said simply, striding out the door without another look back.

Did that help? Did that even help at all?

Of course it did, Kody. There was an agreement in there somewhere. Stay out of each other’s way, and everything will be fine. Hotch will be happy to hear it.

Kit walked quickly back to her desk, sliding into her seat and placing her head in her hands. She wished the day was over, but it was barely two, and she needed the next three hours to prepare her meeting for Friday. Two days to prepare wasn’t optimal, and she wondered if she’d need to stay late at her desk. They were supposed to play another set the next night, and she didn’t want to cancel on her cúpla like she had for five straight weeks after starting her position.

“Are you okay?”

She considered leaving her face in her hands and pretending she didn’t hear him, but Gideon’s words, to her great distaste, rang in her ears.

Be nice to Reid. He cares about what others think more than he’d let on.

She sighed and sat up, directing her eyes to the sheepish looking doctor to her right and nodding. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said. Morgan had disappeared, which she didn’t notice at first, and Elle was nowhere to be found.

“Did you talk with Gideon?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it… good?”

Kit watched his body position shift as his discomfort increased.

He probably thinks you’re going to snap at him, or tell him it’s none of his business. Good job, Kody. Great. You’ve given him anxiety.

She nodded, giving him a small smile. “I guess it was,” she decided. She wasn’t sure, but that’s where she settled. “Thanks for asking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, um, sure. I just know that things have been weird and that you don’t really get along, but I told him that you know a lot of things and you’ve got a lot to add to the team. Actually-” He stopped himself suddenly, eyes lowering and hands fidgeting before he shook his head. “Sorry. I was rambling, I’m sure you have things to do.”

She watched him for a moment before she found herself shaking her head. Reid, she was learning, was largely harmless. Plus, she could use his overflowing memory to her advantage.

“Actually, how much paperwork do you have to do? I could use some help with something.”

He looked back up at her and took a second before grinning. “Oh, my paperwork is done.”

“Great,” she said, settling back into her seat and picking up her pen. “What can you tell me about physical activity in adults between the ages of twenty and sixty?”

His grin shifted into a full smile. “Tons.”

“Perfect,” she said, leaning towards him to show she was engaged and ready. “Tell me everything.”

#Brenna writes things #or at least she tries #Second Child Restless Child #SCRC #Criminal MInds #Criminal Minds fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #gaelic/irish #OC #female OC #I'm updating it's amazing #we did it #Kit is not in a great space in this moment

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frenchy-and-the-sea · 5 years

Text

SC - Turning Page

Original Fiction Prompt: The way they look after a rough night. Project: Seven Cities Word Count: 2570 Warnings/Tags: None

This was technically in response to an ask prompt, but I grew so fond of it that I decided to give it a post of its own. It’s been a while since I felt the heartbeat in a piece. I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. God, it feels good to enjoy it again.

Mood music that caught me when I was working on this piece: [The Boy’s Gone]

———–

There were three patrons still left on the Fairfield Inn’s meager tavern floor.

One was a young man that had stumbled in not long after sunset, and had spent the entire night nursing himself into a drunken, heartbroken stupor. One was a grimy older gentleman with hard eyes and a manner of falling into his cup that suggested that he’d been doing so for quite a while now. And the last, tucked into the furthest corner table, was Tahir, watching the pair of them as he pretended not to watch the door.

The rest of the crew had retired to their suite of rented rooms nearly an hour ago. Adelina had been the last to go, convinced to stagger her way upstairs only by Myrine’s coaxing and the yawning that she had done a miserable job of hiding. She had fought both for as long as she could stand, then had loomed over Tahir’s table with strict instructions that he was to wait for their captain’s return. If he couldn’t, she told him, he was to wake her. Immediately, she had said.

He had laughed at the time, saluted her, given her his best “aye, aye” and then waved her into Myrine’s care. Now the tavern was almost properly empty, the moon had passed well overhead, and Tahir was beginning to think that there might be some cause for her worry.

He took an absent swig off of his tankard and let his gaze slide back to the door. Alex was private, sure, but she rarely went off without warning. Rarely went off in general; when there was no work to be done, she was usually more inclined to watch her crew from close quarters than she was to assume that they knew how to behave like civilized folk. But he had spent the entire night among them, drinking and dicing and losing card games to Davin, and not once had he seen so much as a single swishing coattail of….

Almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, the door of the inn swung open, and Alex Sheffield shouldered her way inside.

“Well now,” Tahir called from across the room, tucking his relief neatly behind a casual lean into his chair. “Kind of you to show your face around us again, captain! You might’ve said something before we -”

He broke off as Alex turned to face him. Wherever she had been all night had clearly taken its toll. She looked a proper mess, sagging beneath with the weight of a finely embroidered blue coat that Tahir recognized as Finn’s. She usually kept it on retainer for whenever she needed to look particularly stately, but now it hung open, at a slovenly angle that revealed the stained work shirt that she wore underneath. Her hair had been pulled out of its braided tail and trailed over her shoulder in a messy tangle, and there was an unhealthy wreath of pale red and bruise purple around her eyes. When she stopped walking to glare at him, Tahir saw her sway hard enough to have to catch herself on a nearby chair.

He was on his feet almost before he realized it.

“Merciful Lord, Alex,” he said, threading a path quickly around the tables towards her, “you look like hell. Are you alright? Christ, what happened -”

“Fucksake, be quiet.”

Tahir froze halfway through a step. Alex was slurring. Her normal cadence was a drawl, certainly, but always the deliberate sort, and always understandable to his ear. Only great need of sleep made her words run together. Sleep, or…

Frowning, Tahir took a few more steps forward, then recoiled as the nose-searing odor of alcohol met him.

“You’re drunk,” he said softly. Alex’s face twisted into a grimace.

“Brilliant notice,” she sneered. “Ought to let you ride a yard, eyes like that.”

Scowling, she tried to stagger her way past, and Tahir moved quickly to intercept her. By her own design, Alex had only been properly drunk a precious few times in her life. Tahir had been around to see all but one of them, and knew better than to let her wander.

“Easy, lad,” he said, as she buried a shoulder into him in an effort to shove past. “Easy. Come and sit a spell, hey? Stairs will be the death of you right now.”

Alex grumbled something incomprehensible under her breath, but let herself be led back towards Tahir’s table. Even staggering drunk, she seemed to know that she couldn’t best Tahir in a matter of strength. He silently praised whatever God was looking out for him for that.

She took a seat opposite him, scowling and sullen as Tahir waved the tavern keeper down.

“Water,” he muttered to the man, with the hopes that Alex wouldn’t hear. He had apparently burned clean through whatever remained of his luck, however; when he looked up again, Alex was glaring at him.

“My mum’s been gone a while now,” she growled. “I think I don’t need you to start playing her.”

“‘Course not,” said Tahir, rolling his eyes. “But I’ve been on the bottle often enough to know what comes in the morning. It’s one of the few things I’ve more experience with than you. You don’t want that, Alex. And I sure as shit don’t want to see you suffer it.”

The tavern keeper returned then, setting two mugs onto the table in front of him. Tahir nodded his thanks, and then pushed both across the table.

“Drink.”

He braced himself for another argument; even sober, Alex always had some toothless insult or slight against his character ready, often just for the fun of it. Instead, he watched as she stared fixedly at the tankards for a long, silent moment, then slowly reached out and took the first one.

“Right,” she said quietly. “You’re right, of course. Sorry.”

She reeled the mug close, bearing it like a cross against her chest and taking sullen sips as Tahir stared back. It was as if every ounce of fight had been leached out of her at once, replaced with a quiet melancholy that she seemed suddenly resigned to. If he had been concerned before, he was truly, properly worried now.

He waited until she had gotten through about half of the mug before he tried speaking again.

“Alex -”

“He’s here, you know.”

The interruption came without preamble, as Alex stared hard down at the table in front of her. Tahir’s brow furrowed.

“Who’s here, lad?”

“Why, Mr. Edward Sheffield, of course.” She stole a look at him out of the corner of her eye and smiled grimly. “Recently relocated and fully engulfed in the dockside merchant business once more. A grand coincidence, ain’t it?”

She took another draw off of her mug as Tahir blinked in surprise.

“Your father?” he asked, bewildered. “Your father is here?”

“Aye. Him, along with a wife and a new brat between them, aged six. The whole fucking family.”

She didn’t bother hiding the bitter edge in her voice this time, and Tahir felt his frown curl deeper. Alex had been quits with her father a year or two before they’d met, but what little she had shared told Tahir that their separation had been more amicable on his end than hers. Relieving himself of responsibility for her had apparently been very easy indeed.

“Where did you see them?” he asked after a moment. Alex gave a short laugh, dry and humorless.

“At their home,” she said, leaning forward to prop her chin against a hand. “I joined them for dinner, in fact! Was invited just this very morning, after Mr. Sheffield caught sight of me at the dockside. His wife is apparently very keen on cooking for guests.”

Tahir watched, silent, as Alex drained the last of her mug in a motion that seemed too familiar on her by half.

“So you went along,” he said when she reached for her second cup.

“I did.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” She leaned back in her chair again, making a grand gesture out of her shrugging. “Not a God damned fucking thing. It was as if I was a client, come ‘round to be entertained for an evening. He told me of the move, of his work, about a hundred stories of all of the things his beloved son had been up to. Managed to talk his way all through till dessert, then thought to ask what I’d managed in the last seven years.”

The reminder apparently made itself a knife-twist in Alex’s gut; she grimaced, and then hid the look behind the lip of her tankard.

“I didn’t actually tell him about the Service, mind,” she went on after a moment, very quietly. “Thought talk of a desertion might end with more than a ruined dinner. Told him I’d taken up sailing though. That I had some command of a ship. You know what he asked me?” She snorted. “He asked the name of the captain I’d married, from whom I’d taken command.”

“Christ,” said Tahir, with so much withering disgust that Alex very nearly smiled. The look didn’t hold though, and almost at once, she returned to staring down at her tankard, absently swirling the water inside.

“I’m not a fool. I know my having anything like command on the Ranger is an unusual thing, mostly taken thanks to you, and Dav, and a host of sailors who didn’t have any better choices. I don’t expect it’s always understood. But, Christ.” She took Tahir’s tone on the word, a burst of mingled revulsion and anger. “He didn’t even entertain the notion, Tahir. Not for a moment. I was doing sums and consulting navigational charts when I was ten. He taught me the bloody arts! And even then, even with all of that, still…”

Her voice got very small then, and sunk low into her chair, Alex suddenly looked as tiny as Tahir had ever seen her. He watched in silence as she worried her lip against the edge of her still-full tankard, turning over what she’d said, what he’d seen. Then he scoffed.

“Is your father blind?”

The question caught Alex so off guard that she could do nothing but blink and stare up at him for a few long seconds.

“What?”

“Blind,” Tahir said again, louder this time. “From squinting down at little pieces of paper and all of those tiny numbers and some such. Surely he must be, because I can find no better explanation for how he could take even one single look at you and think that you’d do anything on board a ship but strut around and bark orders at men twice your size.”

Alex’s mouth twitched, the barest ghost of a smile, and Tahir saw her roll her eyes to cover the little huff of laughter that had escaped her. Emboldened, he pressed on.

“In fact, I’d say blind is not nearly good enough a reason. A man might hear you and know your standing! Certainly, he is blind, deaf and mad as well. Or at least doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”

By now, Alex was laughing quietly to herself, trying desperately to tuck it behind a hand.

“No,” she said, around her not-laughter, “no, I imagine he doesn’t.”

“I’d like to think I do, though.” Tahir leaned back in his seat, casual in a way that his words weren’t. “And you know what I think? All mishaps and faults aside - and Almighty hell, there’s been a lot of them - I think there is no one on God’s green earth that could have lead as unholy an expedition, or commanded as unruly a ship as the Ranger, with as much grace and dignity as Alex Sheffield.”

Alex’s snickering vanished easily behind a hand now, and she fixed him with a look so hard and narrow that he felt it in his bones. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then repeated the motion a few more times for good measure, silently trying to mash her sense into something resembling coherence. Tahir stifled a little grin. Sincerity always ruffled Alex, needled her low opinion of humanity until she couldn’t form the sentences necessary to argue. She’d left him little option otherwise, though. She wouldn’t have listened to anything that she considered coddling, and her father was still her father, his miserable idiocy notwithstanding. Renouncing him would have done as much good as agreeing.

Still, she had been through well enough today already; Tahir could abide giving her a break.

“Of course,” he said after a moment, “the actual amount of grace and dignity involved is still something of a debate….”

Now the grin came, wry and too quick to hide behind a hand. Snorting, she kicked halfheartedly at him under the table.

"I’ll not hear talk of grace from a man that cannot walk ten paces belowdecks without running headfirst into a beam.”

“Ha! You mistake my talents for flaws.”

They traded barbless insults and blows deliberately aimed to miss underneath the table, stopping only when Alex nearly toppled out of her seat going after Tahir’s shin. She righted herself carefully, suddenly aware of the dubious relationship that she currently had with gravity.

“I’m for bed, I think,” she said when she had steadied herself again, gripping the edge of the table. “I’ve likely worried Ade enough.”

“Oh, you have,” said Tahir. “She threatened me, you know. Said that I was to stay on watch until you returned. And that I should wake her if I couldn’t. Or else, she said.”

"Did she?” Alex stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I ought to stay, then. Hide in a corner, wait to see how you fare against her. That would certainly lift my spirits.”

“You are cruel indeed to make me suffer the wrath of a scorned woman, lad.”

Alex gave a deep bow that nearly sent her staggering to the floor. When she found her feet again, Tahir chuckled and pushed her still-full tankard of water across the table. She rolled her eyes, but took it without a fight.

“You’ll tell your lady that I followed her orders, won’t you?” Tahir asked over a shoulder as Alex shuffled past him on the way to the stairs.

“I’ll consider it,” came the reply, not far behind him. Tahir grinned to himself, then leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach. She sounded better, at least. No amount of sneering at her father’s expense would fix quite everything, but at least her slurring was only the drunkard’s sort now.

“Tahir.”

He glanced over his shoulder and found Alex stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the rooms above. Her hand had a shaky, white knuckled grip on the railing, but she stood tall.

“Get to bed,” she said. Now Tahir rolled his eyes, turning pointedly back to his tankard.

“Aye, captain.”

“I’ll need you in the morning.”

“Aye, captain.”

“And… thank you.”

Tahir raised an eyebrow, then slowly turned back to where Alex stood. She met his gaze from her place at the stairs; knuckles even whiter, grip on the railing even more unsteady, but with a stare as firm and unflinchingly open as he had ever seen on her before. Still not running away. A little coal of pride, hot as the summer sun, sparked to life in his chest, and Tahir smiled.

“Aye, captain.”

#original fiction #seven cities #my writing #oc crap #alex sheffield #tahir #i MIGHT have been overconfident with that post last night but #i still had fun with it #and THAT'S WHAT'S IMPORTANT #anyway this is a scene i've had in mind for mmmm literal ages #glad to finally write ti #it's sort of one of the indicative moments of alex's character change #and this piece has sorta been my change in how i'm trying to interact with my art #thus the title lmao #also very small subtle cameo of dovahgarbage's lee in the beginning there #cause I love him #OKAY I'M DONE TAG RAMBLING

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chrysalispen · 5 years

Text

Prompt #27 - Palaver

aight y’all i got asked for nero/wol wedding fic and since it fit today’s prompt, here’s the whole thing

ask and ye shall receive, etc etc

=========

“I can’t believe you’re actually letting me go through with this,” Nero said yet again, resuming his agitated back-and-forth pace about the cathedral vestibule. He’d worried his cufflinks undone for the third time in the last half-bell, and he still hadn’t managed to get his cravat fastened. “You’re supposed to save me from my matrimonial fate, and here you are consigning me to it instead.”

“You did this to yourself. Hold still.” It took him a few tries but Cid was finally able to intercept the other man’s circuit over the ancient stones of the church long enough to grasp him by his wrists. “And stop fidgeting with your cuffs, this is the last time I’m fixing them for you.”

“This is all your fault, you know.”

“…How is this my fault?”

“Well, I don’t bloody know, but clearly it’s your fault, Garlond. Otherwise that makes it my fault, and I don’t like that.”

Cid almost laughed, but the wild shine in those eyes told him that would be extremely unwise. He hadn’t seen the other engineer this anxious since he was a young boy; Nero was such a tightly controlled man under most circumstances that it could be difficult to tell what was actually running through his mind, but in this instant the stress had worn down his emotional defenses, and the poor man was perilously close to panic.

So, he decided to pick a fight with him.

“You gave her a ring, bent the knee, the whole nine yalms. What did you expect her to do, turn you down?”

“Yes! No. I… don’t know.” His fingers twitched, obviously wanting to go right back into his hair or to his cuffs, but Cid slapped them away and kept working at the fabric. “The Warrior of Light has any number of admirers and assorted hangers-on, you know that.”

“So she does. And you’ll notice she isn’t marrying any of them.”

“And if something goes wrong? If she decides this isn’t really what she wants?” At his exasperated sigh, Nero snapped, “It could happen and you know it.”

“What could happen?”

“She could simply leave me at the altar, for one.” Cid did laugh, then. Nero shot him a withering glare the likes of which he hadn’t seen since their Academy years, and he noted with satisfaction that the other man had mostly stopped fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“Tell me you aren’t actually being serious, Nero. This woman has seen you at your absolute sodding worst. You were her enemy once. You tried to kill us-”

“Point of order, I was not trying to kill her. Or you.” A pause, then the ghost of a smirk. “Perhaps I might have liked to singe your short hairs a bit. The notion of hauling your arrogant carcass about the castrum in one of those claws like a scruffed kitten was half the appeal of deploying them in the first place.”

Cid rolled his eyes.

“Thank you for making my point for me. As you’ve so helpfully demonstrated, Aurelia knows what a pillock you are. She’s seen it for herself.”

“I am not a pillock.”

“Yes, you are, Nero. And she knows it and she still said yes. That has to be worth something.”

“…I suppose,” the engineer groused.

“She’s not going to leave you standing in the vestibule,” Cid grunted, pulling the silk tie around the taller man’s neck as taut as he could manage without choking him, then arranging the knot. “She’s just running a bit late, that’s all. It happens- don’t you dare touch those cuffs.”

Nero scowled, but his hands dropped back down to his sides.

After a few moments spent in silence as Cid examined his work on the cravat with a critical eye, he finally said: “I’m happy for you. You know that, right?”

“Don’t get sentimental. I’m barely keeping my breakfast down as it is.”

“Shut up, you great lout, I’m talking.” He busied himself pinning the Nymeia lily back in its place on Nero’s lapel; it had fallen askew with all the pacing. “We’ve known each other since we were boys and in all this time, I never thought you’d take interest in anything that wasn’t related to magitek. But you weren’t happy in the Empire any more than I was, and lest you think otherwise I know full well that was why you didn’t warn anyone I’d planned to defect. I never understood why you stayed.”

“You know very well why I stayed.”

“Aye, I do now, for all the good it ever did you. You’re happier as a defector than you ever were as a tribunus. Not the least of those reasons being you finally found someone willing to put up with you, and out of all of the women in Eorzea – hells, Hydaelyn – of course it had to be the Warrior of Light. I’ll give you this, you never did do anything by half-measures.”

Nero hesitated, then offered him a rueful, lopsided smile.

“On that much, I suppose we are in agreement.”

Cid reared backwards, clutching his chest in mock surprise. “Hells below, did we actually reach consensus on something? Does this mean marriage might actually turn you agreeable for the nonce?”

“Agreeable? You think a walk down the aisle with the woman I love means I shall march in lockstep with you, Garlond? And risk destroying the fundamental underpinnings of our relationship? Perish the thought.”

Nero’s smile had stretched into that toothy, idiotic grin he normally hated, the one the man used when he was getting ready to tease. But this once, just this once, Cid Garlond grinned back at the cocksure git that passed for his best friend in the world.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Oh, she’s here!” someone gasped out in the foyer. “And the Count’s with her! Places!”

There was the sound of hurried whispers and the patter of feet, and the rustling sound of silk, followed by the deep creak of the doors opening on their ancient hinges.

“I’m going to be ill,” Nero muttered, and further inspection revealed that he was shaking from head to toe. Somehow, Cid marveled, he was actually vibrating in place, as though he were an idling combustion engine.

With a short laugh, he took the man by the elbow and held him fast–both to keep him from making good on his threat, and from bolting for the door like a spooked animal.

“Just mind you don’t ruin your bride’s dress if you are,” he said, “because she’s coming into the foyer as we speak.”

Cid just so happened to be looking right at his friend’s face as aforementioned bride entered the cathedral with Edmont de Fortemps as her escort. He was glad in retrospect that he did, for he was rewarded with the quite remarkable view of watching a man fall in love all over again, in real time.

It was in his eyes, he thought. Despite being rather passionate by nature, Nero was not outwardly expressive when he did not care to be - lessons, Cid assumed, he’d learned during his wheat-counting days. But those frosty eyes had turned bright and soft and warm, like the spring sky at midday. He had stopped shaking, and the tension in his slender frame had all but disappeared.

All he appeared to see in that moment was the Warrior of Light–who was herself, admittedly, quite a vision. Jandelaine had overseen her preparations personally, being a good friend of hers, and the eccentric aesthetician had outdone himself this time in every sense of the word. He had arranged her hair in a long spill of golden curls over one shoulder, interwoven with orange blossoms and forget-me-nots secured into myriad small braids throughout her coiffure. Combined with the lavish, lace-trimmed dress she wore, it was a sight to knock the breath from the lungs.

The old Count was murmuring something to her, something that made her smile, laugh softly, and kiss him on the cheek with the sort of familiar fondness reserved for parental figures–that was right, he remembered; in the eyes of Ishgardian law she was technically a Fortemps, though he was fair certain that the man’s fatherly affection for her was in no wise any sort of mummery.

Edmont dropped his arm from hers and stepped back, leaning on his walking stick. She approached the two men on slightly slowed, hesitant footsteps. Her eyes were fixed on Nero, and they were very blue and very wide.

After a moment, she smiled her usual smile- albeit with perhaps a touch of shyness- and Cid heard an exhalation at his side.

“See?” he said. He released his death grip on Nero’s arm. “You’ll be fine. Now go see to her. If you need me then give a shout, but I don’t think you will.”

Almost instantly, it seemed, it was just the two of them, the sound of retreating footsteps, and a closing door. Music played from the hall beyond, muffled and ponderous, and they regarded each other in a sort of awed and awkward silence.

Then Aurelia grinned from ear to ear and started to snicker in a decidedly unladylike fashion.

“Gods,” she blurted. “I feel ridiculous. Look at me. I look like a window advertisement for lampshades sold to bored Ul'dahn housewives.”

“You didn’t have to say yes when I asked, you know.”

“Of course I did. I couldn’t very well turn you down after you were half-dead from panic just trying to ask at all. As it was, you almost immediately started trying to talk me out of it.”

Nero glared at her. “I was nowhere near that bad.”

“Oh yes you were. You were being very reasonable about it all, too, coming up with a half dozen perfectly good reasons why I’d be stark raving mad to even consider accepting your proposal.” The edges of her smile softened. “But anyroad, we’re here now.”

“So we are,” he said.

There wasn’t much left to say that hadn’t already been said, and Nero wasn’t entirely sure he could find the words to say even if that weren’t the case. He could feel the anxiety creeping up on him again by ilms, running its invisible fingers up his spine.

She must have noticed; he saw her expression darken a bit with her concern.

“Are you all right? You don’t look well.”

He began to say of course I’ll be all right, let’s just get on with it, but what came out instead was:

“Seven hells, all this godsdamned palaver for two rings and five minutes of vows. Are you quite sure you’d not rather elope?”

“Right,” Aurelia snorted. “We can run away to Dravania and get married by the moogles. Though I’m not sure ‘now you may kiss the bride, kupo!’ is terribly binding in the eyes of the law.”

“And I don’t know that goblins actually have marriage traditions of any sort, so I suppose that settles it. Bugger.” He ran a thoughtful hand over his currently clean-shaven jaw.

“I suppose we’d best–oh, Nero, wait!” She reached into his pockets, heedless of his sudden flush. “Your gloves.”

“…I’d hoped you might forget about those.”

“No, you have to wear them, at least for the first bit. Here, hold out your hands, I’ll put them on.”

Biting back a sigh, he obediently held out his left hand.

She bent over his forearm, one of her slim healer’s hands bracing his wrist delicately in one hand as she slid the kidskin over his fingers, smoothing it out with the deft and gentle touch of a woman well accustomed to such trivial luxuries, and it struck the engineer then just how strangely intimate the act was. Such a simple thing, the act of putting a glove on his bare hand, but something he knew no one else would have done in quite the same way.

Once she’d fastened the little pearl-button closure to fit the glove properly, Aurelia lifted his hand, and placed a small kiss to the smooth skin of his inner wrist, where the base of his palm met leather. Intimate, indeed. He swallowed, hearing the sound of it click in his ears.

“Hand me the other one?” he asked.

She did. Hastily he slipped the remaining glove onto his other hand, hoping she wouldn’t notice how much she’d flustered him.

“You know,” she murmured, her grin edging into something almost wicked, “that kiss would have had the ton all aflutter and speculating, back home.”

“Would it?”

“Mm. Absolutely scandalous in polite society, as it happens.”

“Us? Polite society? And here I thought we were just a couple of especially dodgy imperial defectors borrowing Saint Reymanaud’s on a lark.”

Aurelia’s soft laugh echoed against the stones beneath their feet.

“I think that Halone, on the wild off chance she might actually exist beyond the fond hopes of the masses, would be willing to forgive a couple of godless heretics just this once given their history of service to Ishgard,” she said. “So, Scaeva- are you ready for us to go make an utter spectacle of ourselves in front of the assembled leadership of an entire continent?”

Beneath the finery and the fuss and bother of the event, he could still catch that lavender scent about her, and her smile was the same smile it had always been–the smile he especially loved to see when he knew it was meant just for him. Bit by bit the not-so-secret fears he’d harbored that she might renounce him publicly at the altar, or simply not show at all, dwindled to nothing.

For all his outward self-assurance, Nero knew he wasn’t really worthy of her: not just as the Warrior of Light, but as the very mortal woman she was. He was painfully aware of that fact, had always been aware of it. But that said, neither was anyone else he could have named. As Garlond had said, she had her choice and she’d chosen him, and that had to count for something.

Besides which, he loved her. And maybe that was a place to start.

With that thought squarely in mind, he held out his hand, and let her clasp it in her smaller one.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said aloud. “Shall we?”

She nodded, still smiling.

“On my count,” she said. “One, two-”

And beneath the Fury’s watchful gaze, Nero Scaeva and Aurelia Laskaris stepped across the threshold together, hand in trembling hand.

#FFxivWrite2019 #aurelia laskaris #nero scaeva #nero/wol #this may be the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written but f it

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iamnesta · 6 years

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We Shall.

Faking Dating AU -- Jude x Cardan (The Cruel Prince)

A/N: I really hope y’all like this, because I had so much fun writing it!! Hope this lives up you your expectations, anon <3

EDIT: there are some stupid fucken format issues on tumblr but you can also read this on Ao3.

requested by anon

***

As a general rule, when the Queen of the Undersea glowers at the mortal girl beside you and asks whether you’re bedding her, your response should not be to wrap your arm around the girl’s waist and press your lips to her brow. When the aforementioned queen says, “So this is the vermin you replaced my daughter with,” you shouldn’t shrug your shoulders and smile.

And yet. And yet. That was exactly what Cardan had done, and now Orlagh’s words echoed in Jude’s head.

I am most intrigued by your human partner, High King. Perhaps the two of you should join me for dinner so that I can better get to know her.

Jude grit her teeth in the mirror as an imp twisted her hair into elaborate braids. She had screamed and shouted at Cardan for hours after the encounter with Orlagh, but all he had done was laugh. He was so unconcerned with the affairs of Elfhame, had no regard whatsoever with maintaining powerful allies. Orlagh was an extremely powerful ally indeed, and pissing her off could easily result in war.

“My beloved,” a sarcastic voice slithered from the doorway, “You look lovely.”

The imp immediately bent into a low bow, her nose almost scraping the floor. Jude sent Cardan a withering glare in the mirror. “I swear to god,” she ground out, “If you screw this up…”

Cardan sashayed over, his black eyes glinting mischievously. “A little trust goes a long way,” he whispered into Jude’s ear, tracing the line of her jaw with a pale finger.

Jude shoved him away from her with disgust. He laughed as he stumbled back. “I thought we were pretending to be lovers,” Cardan simpered, uncorking the flask that was secured at his hip and taking a generous sip.

“Alright, pretty boy,” Jude snarled, whirling around to face her adversary. Cardan’s eyebrows jumped up in delight at the nickname, and Jude prayed her own surprise didn’t show on her face. “Here’s the deal: we’ll keep up this charade for one night, and one night only. We’re only doing this to placate Orlagh, and once the dinner is finished, we never speak of it again.”

With a lethargic shrug of his shoulders, Cardan sighed, “Fair enough.”

After giving her reflection one last inspection, Jude nodded to herself and lifted her rustling skirts, sweeping past Cardan and into the hall. Cardan jogged after her, his long legs easily catching up with her brisk strides.

“Shall I offer you my arm?” He asked, holding out his elbow for Jude to take.

Without sparing him so much as a glance, she snapped, “No.”

***

As the unhappy couple approached the beach, Cardan snaked his arm around Jude and pulled her closer to his body. “Smile,” he hissed from behind his own false grin.

Jude twisted her lips into a grimace. “I hate you,” she whispered vehemently, and this time Cardan didn’t argue.

If anything can be said about Queen Orlagh, it is that she’s a generous hostess. Beside the roaring surf of the sea, a table made of dark red wood and overflowing with food glittered beneath the midnight sky. Intricate candelabra with guttering flames were interspersed between crystalline goblets and platters made of gold. Steaming heaps of seafood cluttered the tabletop, the scent of lemon blending with the salt of ocean waves.

Orlagh herself sat poised at the head of the table, her glistening hair floating in the breeze like seaweed. She wore an opulent gown made entirely of shells, and shimmering, pink-white pearls covered her neck and chest like armor.

“My esteemed guests!” Orlagh exclaimed, standing and opening her arms wide with welcome. Her bright smile stretched from ear to ear, her shark eyes flashing.

Jude and Cardan exchanged an uneasy glance as they took their seats.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Cardan said politely, his nervous gaze sliding to Jude.

“Yes, thank you,” Jude forced out stiffly.

If Orlagh noticed her company’s discomfort, she didn’t show it. Instead, she motioned for a server and said, “Wine?”

“Please,” Cardan replied gratefully, his voice full of relief. He held out his goblet for the server and watched hungrily as deep red liquid poured from the decanter.

Orlagh began piling food onto her plate, signaling for Jude and Cardan to do the same. Tearing into an entire lobster, Orlagh asked, “So when exactly did this dalliance begin? I had no idea the High King’s tastes were so…exotic.”

“Well,” Cardan began, taking Jude’s hand and lacing their fingers together. She shot him a scathing glare and he smirked. “I have been rather fascinated by Jude ever since she first arrived in Faerie. She and her sister were the first mortals to be raised as Gentry and I must admit I was…captivated.” His eyes wandered to where he and Jude’s fingers were linked, and he unfastened them so that he could draw circles on her palm with his thumb.

The endearing touch was not lost on Orlagh, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

Aware of the effect his actions had on the queen, Cardan lifted Jude’s knuckles to his lips and offered Orlagh a charming smile. “For many years I perceived my feelings toward Jude as hatred, but I have come to realize that I was mistaken,” he continued. “When Nicasia left me for Locke, I spiraled into anger and alcohol, and the only person who could pull me out of that was Jude.”

Orlagh winced visibly at the mention of her daughter’s infidelity. As Cardan finished his speech, Jude couldn’t help but stare at him. As a fae, he couldn’t lie, which meant that everything he’d said about her was true. Cardan carefully avoided Jude’s gaze as he took a swig of wine.

“Fascinating,” Orlagh said bitterly, stabbing violently at her meal. Her scheming grin had morphed into a sneer, the expression identical to that of Nicasia’s.

The trio ate in strained silence, the rising tide lapping at their feet. Abruptly, Orlagh dropped her silverware with a clatter. “What I don’t understand,” she said loudly, “Is what makes a mortal so special. My daughter is far superior in both intellect and beauty.” Jude flinched and a muscle in Cardan’s jaw jumped. “So my question is this: how does a fragile, human girl get chosen over a princess?”

Jude could feel Cardan’s entire body tense up beside her. She kicked him beneath the table and shot him a sharp glance, warning him to calm down. With what she hoped was a sweet smile, Jude attempted to console Orlagh by saying, “You know, it’s not that unusual for a faerie to have a mortal consort.”

“Cardan’s too noble for a consort,” Orlagh retorted, her voice dripping with venom.

If she had been anywhere else, Jude would have laughed at Cardan being described as noble. The cruel boy she had known all throughout her childhood had been the exact opposite. But with Orlagh staring her down from the opposite end of the table, Jude didn’t feel like laughing. She felt like running far, far away.

“I have no patience for this,” Cardan suddenly announced, his tone bored and drawling. “I will not waste my time defending the woman I have chosen to stand beside me to someone so obstinate. I am the High King, not some peasant who is incapable of making his own decisions.” Cardan stood, tossing his napkin down on his chair. He held out his hand to Jude, helping her rise to her feet. “Thank you for such a bountiful supper, Queen Orlagh. Have a wonderful rest of your evening.”

For the second time that night, Cardan offered Jude his elbow. “Shall we?” He murmured, charcoal eyes gleaming and lips curving into a feline smile.

Jude looped her arm through his. “We shall.”

***

Thank you so much for reading!! Don’t forget that requests are always open and that I have a masterlist. <3

#the cruel prince #jude duarte #jude x cardan #prince cardan #cardan #cardan x jude #holly black #the folk of the air #cruel prince #tcp #i wrote something

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tonystarkbingo · 5 years

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Week 24 Roundup! And you wanna know something scary? ONLY JUST UNDER 7 MORE WEEKS LEFT!!!!

Title: T2- Intimacy Without Sex Collaborator: thudworm Link: AO3 Square Filled: T2 - intimacy without sex Ship: IronWidow Rating: Mature Major Tags: nonsexual intimacy, 5 + 1 Summary: 5 times people assumed the intimacy between Tony and Natasha was sexual, and 1 time it actually was Word Count: 2256

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Title: If You Act Like A Couple, Then You Are One Collaborator: queen-of-the-avengers Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 - learning to cook Ship: Tony/Reader Rating: Not Rated Major Tags: fluff Summary: When the newest member of the team notices your relationship with Tony, you are faced to come to terms with your feelings. Word Count: 1098

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Title: (Let's Go) Dancing Collaborator: wakandan_wardog Link: AO3 Square Filled: S1 - dancing Ship: WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: ballet AU, pre-relationship, awkward flirting, rumors, mutual pining Summary: This is a Marvel Universe-Center Stage Fusion AU that no one asked for and everyone is getting anyway. Tony dances for the American Ballet Company as their featured ballerino, performing under the name Antonio Carbonell. James and Steve are two of the ABC's newest students, and James gets a chance to meet his crush on his first day. Just his luck, Tony is even better in person. (Natalia may have been setting them up all along.) Word Count: 6432

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Title: How to talk to your short boyfriend. A guide by Bucky Barnes. Collaborator: panna_acida Link: AO3 Square Filled: S4 - height difference Ship: Stuckony Rating: Gen Major Tags: Fluff Word Count: 540

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Title: Forbidden Love Collaborator: queen-of-the-avengers Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K2 - flying Ship: Pepper/Reader Rating: Not Rated Major Tags: fluff, near-death experience Summary: You had one mission and one mission only: track and report Loki. It never said anything about falling for a certain mortal. Word Count: 1242

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Title: i have come for the girl in the window Collaborator: deathsweetqueen Link: AO3 Square Filled: A2 - On the Run Ship: WinterIron Rating: Mature Major Tags: Fem!Bucky, protective Tony Summary: There’s a woman, in a glass case, like a doll, with long dark hair tied back in a braid, a mask covering her mouth like a muzzle, so more like a dog than a doll. Her skin is sallow, almost jaundiced, a warm beige, slightly lighter than Tony’s own olive tone. Tony presses a hand to the case, and the cold crawls all over his skin. “Who is she, J?” he asks, carefully. “I am not quite sure, sir,” JARVIS says. “A possible name is not listed on any of the documentation concerning the warehouse.” Tony squints. “She looks familiar,” he says, cautiously. “I should not melt her, right?” “Yes.” Tony nods. “Okay.”He promptly pushes the button on the side of the cryo-tube. Word Count: 4023

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Title: Memory Isn't All We Are Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: AO3 Square Filled: T2 - Reunion Ship: WinterIron Rating: Not Rated Major Tags: car accident, temporary amnesia, hurt/comfort, happy ending Summary: After the accident, Bucky couldn't remember anything about the life he had. People would tell him things if he'd asked, but there were no memories that followed, just facts and feelings. But feelings are tricky things, Bucky discovered. Then there was Tony Stark, a man he couldn't remember, but knew he loved. Is it possible to fall for the same man twice? Word Count: 1677

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Title: To Think that I Saw It Collaborator: tisfan Link: AO3 Square Filled: for dracusfyre, A2 - Unreliable Narrator Ship: Morgan & Tony Rating: Gen Major Tags: robotics, bittersweet ending, past character death, imaginary friends Summary: Morgan needs to build a robot to dig for treasure while she keeps a look-out for bears. And who is the best person to help her with that task? Mod Fill Token, June Party Word Count: 821

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Title: Baffle Them - Chapter 5: Fight Collaborator: Magi Silverwolf (Magi_Silverwolf) Link: AO3 Square Filled: R5 - animal Ship: WinterFrostIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: deaging, implied child abuse, implied torture, trickster Loki, Autistic Tony, Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting, Odin’s A+ Parenting, Autistic Loki Summary: If you cannot blind them with brilliance, then baffle them with bullshtick. (Canned Meat. Do not read.) Word Count: 3515

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Title: Finally Collaborator: ethereal-lullabies Link: Tumblr Square Filled: A4 - my best suit Ship: Tony Stark/Matt Murdock Rating: Teen Major Tags: moodboard Summary: Rhodey and Foggy as their best men, Pepper and Karen as their maids of honor, their puppy as the ring bearer, Peter and Harley as the flower boys, total AU not gonna lie to y’all

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Title: Distract and Sedate Collaborator: calmena Link: AO3 Square Filled: K3 - interrupted by super villains Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: Roomba!Ultron, crack treated seriously Summary: Due to some small but very significant differences, Ultron ends up in a Roomba. He is somehow collectively adopted by the Avengers as their little murder robot. Word Count: 2641

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Title: A Curse on Both Your Houses Collaborator: 27dragons, tisfan Link: AO3 Square Filled: for tisfan, R5 - explosion in the lab Ship: WinterIron Rating: Explicit Major Tags: explicit sexual content, sex pollen, curses, trush spells, shapeshifting, Midas touch Summary: Tony appreciates his werewolf boyfriend in both his human and lupine shapes. What he doesn’t appreciate is a visit from Bucky’s old boss, Nick Fury, with a mysterious (and likely magical) device he wants them to investigate. He ought to say no and throw Nick out -- but the thing is strangely compelling. Maybe if he’d read a few more fairy tales, he’d have seen that for the warning sign that it was. Now, he’s cursed, and the race is on to find the owner of the thing, or some other way to break the curse, before it results in something not only unpleasant but unrecoverable. Word Count: 2764

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Title: you call me lavender Collaborator: deathsweetqueen Link: AO3 Square Filled: R2 - KINK: healing cock Ship: WinterIron Rating: Mature Major Tags: love potion/spell, Team Iron Man, witch curses Summary: “So, what’s going on?” Tony asks, finding his seat in the conference room beside Rhodey. “Amora-” Maria says.Tony sends a withering glare at Thor, who has the grace to look sheepish. “The fuck,” Tony begins. “is wrong with your ex?” In which Tony and Bucky are cursed by Amora, and it ends sweet. Word Count: 3788

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Title: Asking For Trouble Collaborator: RomancebyFaye Link: AO3 Square Filled: T1 - asking for trouble Ship: Frank Castle/Tony Stark Rating: Teen Major Tags: ABO, preslash, first meetings Summary: Frank is just enjoying a beer in some dive bar, enjoying the peace being dead brings. Of course, that was never really going to last when there was always someone out there who could use a little help getting out of a mess. He's honestly not looking for trouble, but he's pretty sure it just walked in the door. In the form of a gorgeous, dark haired, doe eyed omega... Word Count: 2029

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Title: I fall in love (everyday with someone new) - Chapter 15: New Team (S4) Collaborator: scriptatur Link: AO3 Square Filled: S4 - new team Ship: Stony, Pepperony, WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: polyamory, Endgame fix-it Summary: "Waking was- surprising. He woke up slowly, like drifting through mist or sirup or- something. He was kind of confused, if he is being perfectly honest. Confused about his own metaphor, a bit, but mainly confused by the fact that he was, well, waking up. That was not something he’d expected to do, after all." When Tony Stark wakes up after the final battle against Thanos, he decides that there will be nothing more that stands between himself and happiness. He goes home with Pepper and Morgan and it doesn't take long for Steve and Bucky (and other (ex-)avengers) to follow. Basically, this is the fix-it that I needed. It's very self indulgent and mostly fluff. Word Count: 10,371

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Title: Take Care of Him Collaborator: RomancebyFaye Link: AO3 Square Filled: T2- intimacy without sex Ship: Tony/Rhodey/T'Challa Rating: Teen Major Tags: migraine, polyamory, caring T'Challa Summary: “James, please tell me what is wrong with Tony.” His voice was calm but urgent, trying to pull the conversation back on track. There was a pause followed by a deep, audible inhale before the other man continued on without the rambling. “Yeah, ok. Sorry. So J called me because Tony came home a few hours ago and went straight to bed. He put up blackout mode in the bedroom and is...well. JARVIS said he's clutching an ice pack to his head...and crying. I think he has a migraine.” Word Count: 4054

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Title: Tell Me Your Name, I Need To Know Collaborator: Trashcanakin Link: AO3 Square Filled: A3 - FREE SPACE Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: pre-relationship, flirting, anti Team Cap Summary: Tony is overworked and underappreciated, always pushing his limits and not taking care of himself well; but someone decides to take care of Tony for a change. Tony just wishes he knew who it was. Word Count: 2840

#tonystarkbingo #tonystarkbingo2019 #weekly roundup #week 24 #week 24 roundup

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