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anika-ann · 3 years

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Attached: The One Word

The Three Times Steve Didn’t Get to Hear the One Word He Wanted and the One Time He Did

Type: series, modern-college-professor Steve AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 7700 👀

Summary: In which Steve really, really wants to ask you the question, but the odds are always against him – absurdly so. Maybe it’s fate and he shouldn’t ask. Or maybe the universe just hates him and punishes him for tainting a girl like you and wanting you all for himself officially.

Warnings: lots of swearing, crack-ish, briefest smut so 18+ only please, sickness and fluff

A/N: I say this to you, my friends – I do not at all envy men in a heterosexual relationship for being expected to pop the question. I would chicken out every time, I’m sure of it. Enjoy!

Story masterlist

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Steve liked to think important things through. He liked planning. He liked to have all the facts and view things from different angles before making a decision.

Therefore, wanting to marry you was something he was perfectly certain of and two months after he received your mother’s blessings – two months of slowly reducing costs, preparing to lower incomes, not that they had ever been glorious ever –, Steve had a feeling that the time was finally right and that he was ready to pop the question. He was.

The only problem was that the universe started plotting against him.

Big time.

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Palmeri was a relatively new restaurant, but quickly gaining reputation. Steve had heard Carol talking about taking her girlfriend there for the fun of trying a new spot and getting a taste of fancy Italian. Clearly that had a good time; the moment he learned, he started considering it. Two days later, he had to make a reservation for a week later, because the word of the delicious food travelled fast.

That was fine with him, even if he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin before the date finally arrived. Still, he advertised the fact to you that he would like to celebrate your early wrapped up exams already foreshadowing that you would obviously slayed the one you were supposed to have a day prior Friday.

When you heard the name of the restaurant, your eyes twinkled like fairy lights, a squeal of delight escaping your lips before they swiftly found his to kiss him crazy. Steve’s heart thundered in his chest as you ran off back to your books with newly-found motivation, his nerves mingling with the satisfaction that you appreciated his idea – even if you couldn’t have no clue about what he was about to do.

He could only hope that you’d be as delighted at him sinking to one knee.

But he would have to get out of this fucking interfaculty meeting FIRST!

“Seeing as the satisfaction of the students apparently took a nose dive according to the university poll last month…” Fury continued rambling, his serious and mildly snarky voice carrying through the conference room, as if mocking Steve who anxiously eyed the clock, again.

The reservation was for seven thirty.

It was five to seven.

Half an hour ago, Steve hated the idea of not taking a shower and looking his absolute best while proposing to you.

Now? Every option looked better than this. He would arrive to the restaurant all sweaty and catching his breath if he took off right this moment. And even that seemed impossible; president Fury, that son of a bitch, was nowhere close to ending the meeting.

51 weeks. 51 Fridays Fury could have called the meeting.

Nope, that bastard picked this one, the one Friday Steve was planning on sweeping you off your feet and asking you to be his for the rest of your lives.

Fucking asshole.

“Got anything to add, Professor Rogers?” a gruff voice asked him and Steve jumped in his chair and nearly dropped the phone he was pulling out of his pocket to text you with his deepest regrets – but he had to, otherwise you’d already be on your way.

Best if he saved you the embarrassment; best if you stayed home at least, all dolled up and pretty and smiling for him to show off.

Goddammit fuck.

Steve’s eyes snapped to Fury, meeting a glare that seemed even sterner with only one functioning eye.

Steve gritted his teeth and determinedly gripping his phone.

“No,” he shot back, biting his cheek when Fury’s eyebrow rose at his snappy tone. “I mean… I need to make a phone call. If you’d excuse me, it will be just a minute.”

Likely story. He would have to be apologizing for at least three minutes straight and then crawl on his knees when he finally got back home; not because you’d be so unforgiving and angry, but because it would be the right thing to do after disappointing your precious heart.

He was about to make you sad. He fucking hated making you sad.

“Make it three tops,” the president grumbled, but luckily didn’t pry what was so important for him to leave the room.

“Stevie!” your bright voice greeted him from the speaker and Steve’s heart seized in his chest, his fist automatically clenching in anger. He was about to crush you because of a dumb-ass useless meeting. He brought the fist to his mouth to stop himself from greeting you equally delighted way and fleeting the university grounds. “I’m just about to take off! I was getting worried you wouldn’t make it. Did Fury give you a hard time? … Steve?”

Steve, much to his horror, found his eyes prickling with tears of frustration as his name on your lips sounded suddenly unsure.

Fuck. This.

“Hey babygirl,” he said finally and the roughness of his voice must have been everything you needed to hear to understand.

“You can’t make it.”

Steve wanted to tear his hair out at the defeat in your voice. Talk about a nose dive of your mood. He was gonna fucking scream.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered instead, the apology so pathetic in comparison to what he wanted to say.

But that was the irony – you couldn’t even begin to guess how much it sucked for the two of you to not being able to go to the damn Palmeri. You didn’t know the main tragedy, only a part of it. You didn’t know he had been about to propose.

Silence stretched between the two of you and Steve tilted his head back, blinking against the sting in his eyes, his stomach sinking to his feet.

“It’s not your fault,” you sighed eventually, sounding as if you were trying to convince him as much as yourself.

Steve could imagine precisely the disappointment on your face, the fall of your expression, pretty features no doubt having been accented by make-up just the right amount twisting. He could see clearly how your lips made for smiles turned downward, lower lip maybe even trembling a bit.

Steve was gonna murder Fury.

“But it is. I’m so sorry, I know how excited you were and so was I and— I’m just really sorry.”

“I know, Steve,” you breathed out weakly and he could hear the attempt of a smile in your next words. “Come home soon, yeah? I’ll wait for you.”

Steve’s heart grew in size so rapidly it actually hurt.

“I love you, sweetheart. I know--- I know you might not wanna hear it now and that it doesn’t mean much, but I really do,” he creaked.

“It does. Bye, Steve.”

Steve’s fingers clutched at the phone, eyes falling shut in defeat.

You were nice about it, sure, but the fact that you didn’t say I love you back didn’t escape him as didn’t the switch from Stevie to Steve; the subtle hints sat heavily in his gut as he returned to the room.

He met Bucky’s compassionate gaze – of course Buck knew about why Steve was distracted during the assembly – and quickly looked away, once again excusing himself for the interruption even if there was nothing sincere about his words.

His chest ached for the rest of the meeting – and would for the rest of the night.

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He did not come home soon – in fact, it was nearing eleven when he finally opened the door, trying to make no sound when he found the apartment plunged into dark. He grimaced, jaw clenching; you were already asleep.

A fresh surge of anger shot into his veins; the university hated him, he was certain of it – and the other way around. He had missed his shot because of a meeting that was literally about nothing. Fuck his life.

He grumbled, the only sound he allowed himself to make when moving around the apartment, switching the dimmest light he could as not to wake you – because disappointing you was enough, the least he could do was not to disturb your sleep.

Frustrated, tired and hungry, he tiptoed to the kitchen to grab a bite. He was starving and even though he was exhausted and craved nothing but to wrap his arms around you and sink into the cushions, he knew hunger would wake him up a few hours later if he went to bed with an empty stomach.

Upon opening the fridge, a surprise welcomed him; a ham & cheese sandwich ready on a plate, a small Tupperware box with pieces of tomatoes and cucumber on side, a sticky note simply reading ‘Stevie’.

His breath got stuck in his throat, heart hammering in his ribcage – that was how moved he was by your gesture. He knew that you must have been as upset as you had been excited to have the fancy dinner with him, but here you were, pushing your sorrows and anger aside and preparing him food, a possible olive branch.

The sandwich was nothing fancy by any means; but God, Steve loved you just a little bit more at that moment for he didn’t have to move a finger to eat so late and you even took care to set his vegetables aside, because you knew how much he hated when the bread got squishy with the juice.

Gratefully biting into his late-night meal, Steve swore to himself he would spend the rest of his life spoiling you rotten.

When he finally got to cautiously cuddle you from behind – eyeing the absolutely stunning dress you were supposed to wear hanging outside the closet as if there to mock him – you stirred at the dip of the mattress.

Lazily blinking your eyes open, you welcomed him with a raspy hey and he had a half mind to just take the ring from the safety of its velvet box and slip it on your finger right there.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I’m so so sorry,” he whispered, tentatively wrapping his arm around your midsection, unsure if he wasn’t in disgrace after all. You just hummed and rolled over to face him, burying your face in his chest, heavy limbs wrapping around him as if you were an octopus – the most adorable, precious, beautiful and perfect octopus in the world. His octopus. “I love you so much. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Uh-huh. Looking forward to it. Now sleep,” you mumbled to Steve’s sleepshirt, half-grumpy half-sounding as if not caring for what he was saying at all, causing him to feel warm all over.

Oh he was so going to show you just how he could make it up to you. He would marry the shit out of you.

Just you wait.

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Because of a water incident, Palmeri closed three days after Steve’s first failed attempt – and assumptions were that it would remain so for a month, because they needed to redecorate.

That meant a new plan for Steve, because he could not wait that long. Out of question. He needed to hear you say yes as soon as possible. Yesterday had been too late.

So, he asked Sam for a recommendation – casually, he believed – and somehow ended up with the man looking at him for a few seconds before realization dawned on his face.

“Oooooh, I see how it is! Need something real nice, huh?” Sam whistled, a teasing grin on his face as he patted Steve’s shoulder for support. “Relax, I gotcha, man. All you need; cosy atmosphere, but classy, white table cloths and everything. The right place to take her to in order to butter her up and make her all putty.”

Steve didn’t manage to quite hide his embarrassment at being so obvious, but he knew that Sam was a friend and all his shit-talking was good-natured, always knowing where the boundaries were; he wasn’t a counsellor for nothing.

And Steve had to give it to him – the place he recommended was just what he promised it would be and exactly what Steve needed.

You were all smiles and some giggles, little tipsy on the second glass of the wine, eyes shining in the dim lights, somehow lighting up more whenever you caught him staring at you. It was the perfect display of all the good things you were, ones he adored about you, the light of his life and gazing at him as if he was yours too.

Downing some of the liquid courage himself and with you so gorgeously giddy, Steve felt his confidence building up during the night and was just about ready to get on one knee once you finished your shared dessert.

“This is good!” you gushed, digging the fork if into the cake to get another bite and Steve grinned, unable to help himself as he agreed.

“Uh-huh, sweet. But not as sweet as you.”

You stopped mid-chew, eyes meeting his and he felt his face burn hot with embarrassment at such cheesy comment.

You swallowed, gaze still fixed on him as he busied himself with the sweet treat, and then you chuckled, causing his face to turn entirely red.

“You, Steve Rogers, are so corny sometimes,” you mocked him lightly, but when he looked up, sheepish and with his confidence bruised, he found you all starry-eyed still, watching him adoringly as if he hung the moon – and he would, for you – and Steve felt himself settle again. “But I still love you. Maybe even more for that.”

It was a wonderful opening, things really going his way – but he hesitated a second too long, like an idiot, and the next thing he knew, a string quartet, a damn string quartet, walked straight to the elderly couple two tables over, one of the group congratulating them to their thirtieth anniversary and at that moment…

Well. At that moment, Steve really fucking hated them.

Who fucking cared they were a sweet elderly couple?! Steve could only dream about you two becoming them one day as of now, because they ruined just another of his fucking shots!

He couldn’t believe that he missed his window again.

And what more, you cooed under your breath, a silent aww falling from your lips and Steve knew that anything less than a string quartet accompanying a marriage proposal when delivered in a restaurant was a no-go.

So scratch that one off the list.

All guests clapped their hands, more of awws coming from different directions and you proceeded to take his hand, gentle fingers stroking over his knuckles and Steve knew one thing with absolute certainty; he needed to propose tonight otherwise he might burst.

At home then, he would ask you at home. Who even wanted something as cliché and public as he had planned? Lame. You were a private pair, some people still judged you upon seeing you together; a little intimate proposal in your home after a fancy sweet dinner would be just the thing.

Steve just had to figure how exactly and at what moment to ask. He’d be fine. You’d say yes. Right?

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts and plans that he barely noticed you growing skittish during the taxi ride, but he certainly noticed when you started practically jumping by his side as he was unlocking the door to your apartment, confused by your antics.

The second Steve opened it and stepped inside, he found himself being shoved back-first towards a wall, your hands on his chest, sliding up and down his coat and blindly undoing the buttons as your mouth assaulted his, a soft mewl vibrating against his lips, wandering hands appreciative when they slipped under the lapels of his coat and jacket.

Steve’s head spun at the display of desire, a sudden pleasant dizziness overtaking his body, all rational thoughts vaporizing as you rocked against his crotch, his cock twitching in excitement at the friction and at the way his tongue had to fight against yours. His brain grew foggy at the faint taste of wine and the cake you had shared, his hands automatically grabbing your waist to keep you close, fingers squeezing your hips and ass to urge you closer when he rolled his hips against yours, eliciting needy moans from your lips-

You withdrew for just a second to catch your breath, lips skimming over his jaw, revelling at the feel of his beard on your skin he knew you loved, hasty words whispered into his flesh.

“Dammit, Steve, you look so fucking hot in this suit--- oh Stevie,” you whimpered when his hands slipped under your backside to tease your clothed weeping core, the sensation setting his blood on fire, the delicious friction and your dirty mouth everything that mattered in the world. “Let me suck you off-“

Steve nearly choked on his own spit upon hearing that, almost losing his balance with his legs turning into jelly and all his blood rushing into his dick.

Yeah, Steve might be a professor but he was a simple guy.

When his girl, in those stunning hot as hell dress begged him to let her get on her knees to blow his dick and his mind, he really couldn’t find himself refusing, the coil in his belly searing hot by the time you looked up at him from under your eyelashes, so pretty, doe-eyed, lips kiss-swollen and willing and so fucking devilish as you freed his cock and licked the drop of precum already forming there.

“Fuck, babygirl, what’s gotten into you-“ was all he managed to ask before all he could think off was the velvety heat of your mouth, taking him all in and making him see stars, the jewellery box in the pocket of his coat long forgotten.

And fuck was also his first coherent thought in the morning, when he realized that once again, the proposal attempt ended up being an utter failure.

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Steve had established after his two and half failed proposals that he wouldn’t make any reservations in some dumb restaurant. Just no. Privacy it would be; something personal, accompanied with a simple and yet big enough gesture, him doing something just for you, following with words of you being his world or something.

Yeah.

And for once, it seemed that the universe that had seemed to hate him, finally started playing in his favour.

The weather was going crazy, sun and spring in a middle of February and Steve had a revelation – he was going to take you out for a picnic. It was going to be perfect; he’d take you outside the city, find a quiet corner, just you and him, nothing in your way and more importantly, in his way to pop the question.

Steve was certain that you’d prefer this to anything else anyway, loving when he made an effort to create something for you. He still remembered when you first discovered he enjoyed drawing and you practically melted into a puddle when you found drawings of yourself too, allegedly displaying you prettier than you were – as if.

So, picnic it was.

Except on Friday, the day before THE DAY, Steve woke up with a splitting headache, his whole body hurting, nose full and lungs as if stuffed with cotton wool. He blamed the crazy weather, but it didn’t really matter where this sickness came from – he felt like shit.

He groaned and downright punched the alarm on his phone, startling you awake.

With bleary gaze, he registered you rolling over in his arms, squirming at him sleepily as he let his eyelids slip shut again.

“Steve, hun, are you okay?” you asked him softly, voice husky as he loved to hear it when you woke up, too adorable for him to keep his hands off you.

He sure as fuck wasn’t thinking about sweet and filthy morning loving now; he would have coughed out his lungs if he tried to move too much and some parts of him might fall off judging by how much everything hurt.

“Yeah,” he rasped, throat scratchy at the single word and as if from a distance, he heard a noise of sympathy, your palm instantly finding his forehead, gentle touch soothing against his burning skin.

“You’re absolutely not okay. Stevie, you’re burning up,” you whispered compassionately and Steve blinked his eyes open, the little light in the room causing him to snap them close again immediately. Ouch.

“Fuck my liiiiife,” he groaned, prolonging the last syllable, which proved to be a wrong thing to do, sending him into a couching fit due to his scratchy throat.

Your hands roamed his shoulders and back as he rolled over to his side from you, hoping to suck in some air to continue coughing.

“Oh Stevie, I’m sorry. I’ll bring you some medicine when I’m back from school, yeah? And I’ll make some soup,” you assured him kindly, dropping a kiss to his shoulder before your pleasant warmth disappeared, leaving him too cold and hot at the same time.

Seriously. FUCK HIS LIFE.

Grunting, he fell to his back, exhausted by one stupid coughing fit, whole body heavy; and he must have fallen asleep too, because the next thing he knew, soft lips were touching his forehead, tender fingers brushing messy strands of hair away. He stirred, forcing his eyes open to be greeted by a sight of that angelic face of yours, complete with a halo of light around you.

“I already called Bucky. He’ll sort out your classes today, alright? There’s a tea on your nightstand along with some last Tylenol we have.”

Steve squinted in the direction of the piece of furniture you mentioned and sure enough, there it was, everything you said it would.

What a pretty dutiful nurse you were. God, he loved you.

As he eyed you then, deep sense of longing settled in his swimming stomach, more so as he didn’t miss the gorgeous thermo leggings and long sweater hugging your figure, reaching your mid-thighs.

All Steve wanted was to pull you back to him so he had a human furnace in bed with him, the soothing smell of your shampoo to comfort him – even though he probably wouldn’t be able to smell it. But his hands would still be able to explore your delicious body, grope and hold it close to his and you could maybe ramble about everything and anything, lulling him to sleep.

But no, you were leaving to school, leaving him alone in the apartment.

Just him, himself and his fucking flu.

He eyed you wistfully, lips pursed at your concerned expression.

“When you’ll be back?”

The wrinkle between your brows smoothened, a smile playing in the corner of your mouth.

“I have class until eleven. I see what I can do. I’m gonna have to hit the pharmacy and make some shopping,” you explained patiently, casing Steve to groan. Too long. So so long… Your smile widened, another kiss landing on his temple this time. “But I’ll be back before you know it. Get some rest, Professor Rogers.”

Your teasing tone made him growl, the action effectively sending him into another coughing fit and through glassy eyes, he saw you disappear from the room with one last glance over your shoulder.

Steve closed his eyes and breathed in deeply – oh, the delicious air – and then buried himself in the covers, praying that a decent sleep would make him feel better.

It didn’t, not quite. What did make him feel much better was the Tylenol and the sirup you brought along.

The absolute best was when you were there for him to cuddle you to sleep in the evening; somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was being a giant baby and was being utterly ridiculous, but God help him, this was all he needed the whole day.

He sighed blissfully as he hugged your midsection while you were sitting propped on the back-rest, soft light from the nightlamp illuminating the pages of the book you were reading. You were warmth, the gentle kind and Steve felt you seeping into him, fingers of one hand raking through his hair; he felt himself getting high on your loving care and cough sirup.

“I love having you here,” he muttered into the fabric of your pyjama, feeling you shift in your position a little, probably as you looked at him.

“Yeah?” you asked, sounding as if you were smiling, maybe even laughing at him; but he couldn’t care less, already drifting off to sleep, just content to have you.

“You’re warm and nice… and the prettiest nurse. And I love you. You’re my everything.”

“Oh Stevie,” you cooed sweetly, kissing the crown of his head and he preened at the sensation, smiling lazily. “I love you too.”

His heart skipped a beat as he nuzzled into your flesh and heard you gently toss the book away, your other hand now caressing his cheek.

“Yeah? Will you always be here? I want you to always be with me,” he admitted sheepishly, drawing a soft giggle and earning a kiss on his forehead.

“God, you’re adorable like this…”

Steve grunted, discontent with your reaction. “Not an answer.”

“I’ll always be here if you want me to, Stevie,” you answered dutifully, causing warmth fill his chest even if your body was shaking with hushed laughter; he felt it, but didn’t care. For your words however, he did; phew, as if he ever wanted something else, as if you had the right to question that!

He really needed to propose soon… just not tomorrow. You’d probably say no if he asked you, blaming his request on the fever. Naively.

“I wanna,” he mumbled, trying to squeeze you tighter. “Mine. My pretty girl. My babygirl. Forever.”

“Forever is a long time,” you noted, smile once again lacing your voice, along with an emotion, oh so soft one, he didn’t have the capacity to identify anymore. “But that’s what it’ll be if that’s what you want.”

Finally satisfied and with determination in the back of his mind, Steve let your love bridge him over to the dreamland, distantly aware of your fingers still playing with his hair.

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Steve’s mother used to say his that flu lasted a week under a doctor’s care; and seven days without it. Of course, when he was younger with many health issues, it was more complicated than that, but he got the message.

Under your care, he felt considerably better after five days, only a mild case of a runny nose remaining. On a Thursday morning, he even found himself awake before you did, before your alarm went off.

Contemplating whether he should stay in bed with you or get shit done, he lazily scooped away a bit and propped himself on his elbow to feast his eyes on his pretty nurse.

Your hair was a messy halo around your head, your brows were lightly crooked as if you were having an unpleasant dream, your lips parted just a fraction, the softest snort escaping you.

Steve felt himself grin, a love-sick lift of the corners of his lips.

You were so freaking cute.

And seeing you, relaxed, but clearly catching up with sleep to beat your exhaustion to which he abundantly contributed, he knew he couldn’t stay in bed; in fact, he had to make you breakfast to bed, for all the troubles he put you through and for the attentive care you lavished him with.

Sure, when he was getting overly needy and whiny or cranky, you weren’t shy to call him out on his shit – which only made him love you more – but otherwise you were admirably patient.

As if he hadn’t already known that you were a keeper before that; this only solidified his conviction. If everything about you didn’t scream put a ring on it, then he wasn’t Steven Grant Rogers.

Hell, he had a half-mind to propose you just at that moment, all domestic atmosphere and sweet gesture like breakfast in bed, but he wasn’t certain it wouldn’t look like the past few days were what pushed him over the edge. That would only be a half-truth--- quarter-truth?

Shaking his head at his own dumb thoughts, he gathered the pancakes, yogurt, various pieces of fruit and obviously, a coffee, laying it on a tray he had nearly forgotten he owned and tiptoed to the bedroom, honestly surprised that you hadn’t woken up yet with him fumbling around.

He stopped dead in his tracks when you sighed and stirred, rolling over and stretching out a hand as if in a search for him, only to find the space empty. Something between a hum and a damn meowl fell from your lips and Steve had to remind himself what it was he wanted to do besides trying his best to find out how exactly he could make you repeat that sound.

So precious. Absolutely adorable. Beautiful. Tempting.

You clutched the empty sheets, but didn’t wake and Steve crossed the distance to the bed, carefully setting the tray on the nightstand as he went to sit on the bed next to your waist, a dopy smile on his face.

Laying a hand on your thigh, he squeezed a little, attempting to wake you gently; he knew you got jumpy when something tickled your face, so this was the safer option.

You stirred once again, but didn’t wake, your eyes only fluttering open when he called your name a few times, alternating with your favourite term of endearment.

You squinted at him, appearing confused and groaning. Steve grinned.

“Morning, sunshine,” he hummed, finally allowing himself to run the pads of his fingers from your forehead to your cheek and jaw, leaning into drop a kiss to your lips.

He froze, his brain on alert as he registered how hot your face felt.

The faint snoring. Squinting against light. Not waking up sooner than him. Your face pretty much burning to touch.

Oh no.

“Babygirl… are you feeling sick?” Steve whispered hesitantly, met with a bleary gaze and a pout.

“Wasn’t feeling great even yesterday evening…” you said, voice hoarse – whether from sleep or the flu Steve had managed to infect you with, he couldn’t tell.

But he certainly felt guilty, even if it was inevitable, really; with all you sweet care and constant proximity, it was only a matter of time. Not that it made him feel any better.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry-“

“Not your fault-“

“Kinda is-“

“Steve dammit!” you hissed, your eyes flying open fully and Steve knew what was coming; still, he grimaced as you coughed. “Shit. I hate flu.”

“Tell me about it. You think you can eat something?” he fussed, snapping into his nurse mode right away, ready for your roles to reverse.

You hummed and tried to sit, your gaze falling on the nightstand for the first time. Your expression, having been twisted in a grimace, softened instantly. As you turned to him, he suddenly felt sheepish. Was he acting like a love-sick fool?

“You made me breakfast to bed?” you cooed, snuggling into the covers before gesturing for him to help you sit up. “You’re the best.”

“I’ll be better if I make you some tea to go with it… and bring cough sirup… and stuff, yeah?”

You smiled like a loon – well, you tried, the result kinda faint, a testimony to your exhaustion – and Steve quickly rose to his feet.

“You’re the best.”

“Nope, that’s you. Eat your breakfast, babygirl.”

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Steve could tell you still didn’t feel exactly alright and the idea of eating wasn’t thrilling to you, but the pleaser you were, you tried your best for him to see that you appreciated his effort to make breakfast. When he brought you the tea, the medicine and water to down it, you were hallway through the pancakes, even though you seemed to force yourself into every bite.

“You don’t have to make yourself sicker just because you feel like you have to eat this, you know,” he hummed nonchalantly, causing you to grimace and take another two bites before sighing and pushing the tray away.

“It’s really yummy though… I think,” you stated, a wry smile playing in one corner of your lips. “Thank you.”

And you sounded so honestly grateful, clearly attempting for the smile to look real even with your eyes blazed and your features undeniably displaying tiredness, that Steve had to chuckle as he handed you the pills.

“Glad you liked it, sweetheart.”

You went to drop a careful kiss to his cheek when a coughing fit took you by surprise, starling him and resulting in you clutching both your chest and head, wide hurt eyes looking up at him as he smiled, tight-lipped and compassionate; he knew exactly how you felt.

And you were still kinda adorable, pouting a bit, looking at Steve as if he could save you from the evil flu monster.

“I hate flu… but I really like you. Thank you for taking care of me,” you said sincerely, emphasizing your point with an obviously unplanned sneeze.

Steve lips twitched, but so did his heart. His hands went to caress your hair, earning a pleased hum.

“Just returning the favour.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t think I was that nice.”

“You were,” he assured you, feeling need to add a little piece of important information, just to show how much he meant it. “Just made me fall in love with you all over again.”

“Sweet-talker. I bet that’s all gone now, seeing me about to go through a box of tissues a day,” you chuckled weakly, nearly sinking into the cushions.

Steve wasn’t sure what was it he was suddenly overcome with; how or in which exact moment it sneaked into his conscience, a crazy insane thought and the untameable feeling in his gut that nudged him to do it.

To do it right now. To tell you, truly and from the depth of his heart, how much you meant to him. How much he was sure you always would.

“No, it’s not. I want to take care of you,” he whispered, hesitantly taking a hold of your slightly clammy hands and gently squeezing. You reciprocated the action, even if weakly.

“I want to take care of you and I want you to take care of me. I want to have you by my side every day, in our home, in our bed,” he continued, for once not talking only about different ways of making you moan his name when mentioning a bed. “I want to kiss you stupid whenever I get the chance, I want to laugh with you when you’re happy and hold you when you feel like crap. I want us to fight the whole world if they tell us that our love is wrong, because I know there’s nothing more right than me loving you and you loving me.”

The words spilled from his lips without much thinking, just one following other, somehow making sense, he hoped.

The strange buzz of nerves in his ears was so loud that he barely registered you breathed out his name.

“Steve-“

His eyes never left your face, watching it crumble under the weight of his declaration, already glassy eyes turning wetter, breathing ragged almost as much as his was from the rapid fire of words. Your lips parted in beautiful awe, that beautiful awe he had seen before, whenever you seemed to be shocked by how deep his need for you ran.

There was no questioning what should come next. Only half-aware of doing so, Steve had already prepared the ground.

“Stay right here,” he blurted out, giving your hands another quick squeeze before straightening rapidly and nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed towards his desk, opening the third drawer. Your voice, laced with both confusion and overwhelming emotion, followed him.

“I- I’m not going anywhere. What’s-“

“Sh-shh,” Steve hissed distractedly and took a deep breath as his fingers finally met with the box, gripping it tightly and his palm covering it as he stalked back to the bed, heart hammering in his ribcage.

This was the right moment, right? It seemed ridiculous, but god, so so right.

“You’re lucid, right?” he asked just to make sure, wavering only for a bit; you might be sick, even have a headache maybe, but you certainly appeared lucid enough a moment ago. But maybe that would be the reason you’d say no?

Shit, he felt like teenager about to ask his first crush to sit with him at lunch.

“I—I think? I’m just hella confused…“ you stuttered, causing his already wild heart to skip a beat upon hearing the nerves in your voice.

Your eyes, wide with confusion and yet slightly narrow because light hurt, watched Steve carefully as he dropped to his knees by your bedside and he didn’t think he ever saw you looking more endearing.

Steve had never been more certain of the fact that he wanted you to be his wife; and yet, and maybe precisely because of that, a lump formed in his throat. He took a deep calming breath, bracing himself.

“I love you. I love your mind, your body, your soul and everything that’s you and I—I think you’re the most wonderful woman I have ever met and had the luck to fall for. So I…”

With another heartskip, loud pounding in his head and maybe a tiny bit of a shake to his hands, he rose to only one knee, not missing your expression turning into a picture perfect of shock when he held out the box he had been thinking about for too long.

“Oh my god, Steve-“

“Please let me do this,” he whispered, barely audible, mostly because while you seemed absolutely stunned, you didn’t look angry or horrified, so he sensed a chance.

“I’m running a fever, my nose is running too and I’m--- ew all over-“ you protested weakly, a tear actually running down your cheek, but then you chuckled, a hand flying up to cover your mouth and Steve felt his confidence rise.

“You’re not, and even if you were I wouldn’t care. You’re my everything and wish nothing more than to make you mine officially.” Unable to wait any longer under you attentive and entirely adoring gaze, he opened the box and said your full name, nearly choking on it under the overwhelming joy of the moment – because he already knew. He knew what you were gonna say; you had it written all over you face. “Will you marry me?”

Steve knew. He was so sure that he knew--- and yet. Yet. As the silence prolonged, lasting seconds, minutes even – hours, it must have been – Steve felt the nervous coil in his gut twist painfully.

He watched you with torturous anticipation as you were; semi-sat up on a bed, hurting, probably beginning to sweat through your pyjama and drinking chamomile tea to get rid of the bug you had caught from him, and here he was, proposing.

In sickness and health indeed; and in some absurd way, this all made perfect sense to him… well, it had, a minute ago.

You looked like a million thoughts were racing through your head, and Steve felt his heart sink to his stomach. What if you truly were thinking he was crazy-

“Yes,” you said at last and Steve released the breath he was holding, endlessly relieved, the heaviness weighting a ton finally falling from his shoulders. Oh Chirst, thank fuck—he really had been getting worried- “Yes, I-“

Relief blended into delight as he heard you speak the beautiful word again.

Yes. Yes, you wanted to be his wife.

Yes, you wanted to marry him!!

An incredulous chuckle spilled from his lips and he tossed the box on the bed, swiftly moving up and grabbing your face to kiss you stupid as he wanted and had said that he always would.

You made a startled noise, but you giggled too, grasping onto his shoulders and his nape and kissing back with all you got—and then you were pulling away, fighting for breath, because flu, duh, he needed to be careful with you, but-

You agreed to marry him!

Keeping you as close as possible while allowing you to breathe, his eyes happily roamed your face, so pretty and adorable and the knowledge of him being able waking up next to that face for the rest of his life sent his heart into frenzy, sparkles of pure joy filling his chest.

“I love you! Thank you, babygirl,” he exclaimed, kissing you once more, a short but intense encounter of lips that caused you to giggle again—but he didn’t give a shit if he was being ridiculous. Your eyes, even if tired, seemed to glow now, happy twinkles dancing in your irises, telling him you were just as excited and delighted as he was. “Thank you-“

“You’re so crazy-“ you mumbled, dropping a kiss to his shoulder as you still shook with laughter and Steve simply climbed on the bed fully, wrapping you in his arms tightly.

He could sing at how you fit into his arms.

“I am. For you.”

“I can’t believe you proposed to me while I’m lying sick on a bed,” you mumbled over his shoulder, sounding as if you were complaining a little.

“In sickness and health?” he offered nervously, holding you tighter just in case you were going to back out now. Which was not an option.

He had to physically put the ring on your finger. Right now. Then you wouldn’t be able to change your mind.

In the back of his brain, an annoying voice told him that this was not how it worked, that there was no guarantee. But Steve shushed that voice and withdrew only enough to reach for the box and with a grin so wide he could feel his cheeks hurt from the strain, he took a hold of your left hand, slipping the ring on.

He didn’t miss the way your breath caught and he didn’t think the flu was to blame for that; the ring looked lovely on your hand. And Steve was a smidge proud of how he managed to make it fit perfectly.

“Steve… the ring-”

“You don’t like it?” he worried in an instant as he detected a new emotion in your voice.

You went to lightly slap his shoulder, rolling your eyes – an action you apparently regretted by the silent groan that followed; just another reminded of your sickness.

“Shush, you dummy. It’s--- breath-taking, but-“ you bit down on your lower lip, clearly hesitant to speak your mind and Steve didn’t find it at all comforting that you said you did like then ring. Not with the but. You sounded almost guilty, which was… strange. “But must have been so expensive and we still haven’t really-“

Oh. Oh.

Steve felt his lips spread back into a smile.

His sweet, sweet girl, responsible and perfect. He hated the reminder of your father’s behaviour, of the fact that you were ashamed on his behalf and felt guilty.

Steve didn’t want that.

“If I tell you it wasn’t, will you be mad?” he offered, watching carefully for your reaction, and your thoughtful expression turned into a confused one.

“Wasn’t?“

“I just had it cleaned and re-sized.”

You blinked, eyelids heavy, and tilted your head in bewilderment—melting into a brief panic and Steve realized what must have crossed your mind.

His stomach clenched in horror at you even considering it. You might have thought it was meant for another woman from his life.

Which it was, but not the way you thought!

“It was my ma’s!” he blurted out in panic, causing you to flinch a bit in fright of his suddenly louder voice. Steve shook his head – he was so messing this whole proposal thing up – clearing his throat, he observed your face, now full of emotion he couldn’t read. “…is that okay?”

There were tears prickling in your eyes, no words leaving your mouth as he had managed to render you speechless and he could punch himself for making you feel whatever you were feeling.

He had to fix this, fast.

“We can absolutely pick up something else if you don’t like the idea!” he was quick to offer, his heart speeding up when you still didn’t say a word. But you didn’t seem… that mad. What was happening in your head though, that was a mystery to him. “It’s just… she always told me that it was the second most precious thing she had left after dad, right after me, and that she wants me to give it to-- please don’t cry.”

Yes, he made the tears spill. There were a few rolling down your cheeks and Steve… he was starting to recognize the emotions playing in your expression, but he couldn’t entirely put his finger on it.

Honestly, he couldn’t tell whether you were so touched by the whole inherited ring gesture or if you were hating him with your very being for ruining some picture-perfect proposal you had been dreaming about since you were five; angry and disappointed that he didn’t even have the decency to buy you your own ring.

Probably a bit of both.

“Steve, you romantic idiot, come here,” you choked out, by a miracle not coughing for once and before he could even react and let the relief sink in, you grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled hard.

You had a surprisingly a lot of strength for someone coming down with a flu – actually, being down with a flu.

He landed on you, barely catching himself before he could crush you, a surprised laugh spilling from his lips, delight once again lighting up his world.

“I love you, Steve,” you whispered, pecking his lips, fingers sinking to his hair and that moment, Steve was in heaven. “So much.”

He grinned wide, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest as tight as he could, feeling both his own heartbeat and yours, tumbling happily and together.

“And I love you… future Mrs. Rogers.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Tied to you (next in timeline)

S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Not gonna lie. Thought of posting this in four parts of maybe at least two (3 and +1), but then I thought, screw it, let’s post 7,7k words at once. I hope you made it through all of them.

What’s coming next? I have no idea... maybe it’s who’s ‘coming’ next 👀

Thank you for reading!

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ber-bonfamille-lyons · 4 years

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Hey, Ma || One-Shot

Summary: Berlioz learns the truth about his birth certificate.

“I waited outside Then you took me in the room And you offered up the truth My eyes crawling up the window to the wall From dusk 'til dawn Let me talk to 'em Let me talk to 'em all”

-Hey Ma, Bon Iver

“I’m gonna stay and talk to her.” Simba leaves with these last words, a promise that doesn’t sound like a promise, but when murmured from Ber’s lips and sealed with a kiss, it becomes one. The door closes and Berlioz leans to the left and watches through the window as Simba skips down all the steps and starts his way down the long, long driveway. They walked here together; no reason to drive, the weather was pretty enough. It’s still pretty, though the clouds that rolled in about ten minutes before kept their little tea party in the tearoom instead of sending them out onto the patio. How would this whole thing have gone down if they were outside, Ber wonders now. And because he is a boy of imagination, he plays the whole thing again but this time, Adelaide looks ten years younger in the sunlight and she gasps before going to fetch the right birth certificate. My mistake, she’d say. So silly of me. I must have mixed them up. I’m so sorry. He’s thinking this as Simba turns the corner, disappears, and the fantasy is all he has. He looks upstairs. He doesn’t go up. Yet. - In the kitchen, he finds Nounou putting the uneaten sandwiches into a tupperware. She’ll take them home. Adelaide does not believe in leftovers. “Ah, are you hungry, dear?” Nounou says when she sees him. She smiles so sadly and she pats the counter. She hasn’t done that in years. But Ber remembers. He moves to the counter and like a little kid, he hoists himself onto it. His long legs reach all the way down to the floor. He misses the feeling of swinging them back and forth. He takes the sandwich from Nounou but only peels it open to stare at its insides. “Do you remember,” says Nounou, “when you were just a small thing, and you’d peel your shoes off right up to the toe and let them dangle there?” She squeezes Ber’s thigh. Ber looks up from his dissected sandwich and sees that sad smile again, forced there by Nounou. His stomach hurts. His stomach has been hurting since he got here. Just hunger, maybe (it’s not hunger). He puts one of pieces of bread down and he rips the crust off the other. He used to refuse to eat crusts when he was a kid, made Nounou cut them off or he’d not touch his lunch. Now he discards the crust and peels the cucumber off next. But he can’t bear the thought of stuffing any part of the sandwich into his mouth. His tongue still tastes bitter, all tea and cream. What happened back there? he almost says. His mouth doesn’t move, but Berlioz’s eyes follow Nounou as she puts the lid on the tupperware and then takes it to the refrigerator. The ache in his stomach is ever expanding. “Whatever it is, you know, don’t you?” is what falls out of his mouth. The refrigerator door pauses. Cool air floods the kitchen. “Nounou,” says Berlioz. He swallows. When she turns back around, Berlioz blinks with tears in his eyes, and he sees the yes in hers. She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t have to. She knows. There is something to know, a secret from him. He shouldn’t be surprised having been born into this family. Bonfamilles collect secrets like accessories. Does my sister know? Does Lou? What about Pere? These questions pile up inside him as Nounou tries not to cry as well. “My stomach hurts,” Berlioz finally says and he hands her the destroyed sandwich. “Oh, mon chou,” utters Nounou. She kisses his forehead and pets his curls, takes the sandwich but leaves its parts on the counter next to the crust. She kisses his cheeks next because now he is crying very quietly, just a few leaky, stressed-out tears. He ducks his head and breathes all shallow and now he wants to break his promise to Simba and run back home. He can’t do that, but he also can’t do this. His fingers itch for a cigarette and that dirty bite of nicotine. He can’t do that either. And so Ber thinks about when he was little, when Lou used to take him and Marie and hide them in the closet. Most of the time, they hid when their parents were shouting at each other. But there were other times too. When there were strange voices in their house-- guests never introduced to the three Bonfamille children. They sat in the closet and although Berlioz never knew who those people were, or what they were doing, some part of Berlioz did know exactly what those people were doing, what his mother’s giggles meant even if he couldn’t put it into words. And that was enough for Berlioz to dream of those voices, and to always long for the small, dark spaces of his youth, for the rest of his life. Berlioz is sitting on the counter and all the doors in the Bonfamille manor are closed. But once again he hears voices through those doors. He cannot unhear them. “We love you, Berlioz,” Nounou finally says, after Berlioz has choked off his tears, sniffled himself into stoicism. The knot in his stomach has moved up to his throat, strangling himself. She strokes his cheeks again. “Wait here. Let me go talk to your maman first, oui?” What’s he supposed to do? Say no? Sure, maybe, because this is the part where Ber grows the fuck up and kicks open some doors. But that’s a joke (his promise to Simba, a joke). So Berlioz nods and watches Nounou disappear, and then toes off his boots, letting them dangle for one second, before they drop to the kitchen floor. - Nounou comes down with Adelaide sometime later. Berlioz doesn’t know the time because he left his phone on the table, turned over, scared of the clock and how every moment meant another moment he let Simba down. He didn’t think Simba would rush him-- but that clock would. It was probably something close to an hour though-- Berlioz wasting all that time picking through his kitchen, rearranging dry ingredients in the pantry, before plucking grapes from their vines and sucking on them like ice cubes. He’s still got a headache when his mother appears. The sight of her drops his stomach, because she’s all picture-perfect again like this afternoon never happened. She’s reapplied her make-up, put on a different dress, fixed her hair. Berlioz is more familiar than most with the cracks in the mirror though. “Shall we take a walk in our garden?” She holds a hand out to her son and her voice shakes. Berlioz knows he cannot say no. Nounou goes out with them and this is strange and not strange. She’s on Maman’s other side. She is not old enough to be his maman’s maman, but the way Adelaide keeps looking at her, Berlioz almost fools himself into thinking it. The clouds are still hanging in the sky but no rain yet. “Perhaps it won’t after all!” says Adelaide, much too brightly, when Ber mentions the rain. “Madame,” says Nounou. And Adelaide’s smile fades. “Should we sit?” says Nounou. “Non,” says Adelaide. “Let us keep walking.” And so they are roaming through the rose bushes when Adelaide tells Berlioz about his father. Not Hector Bonfamille, the man to whom Ber owes the middle name he has carried around his whole life. But his real father. It’s like a fairytale, the way the clouds are parting when he hears this stranger’s name for his first time: Thomas. From there, the story spins in all different directions because Adelaide is no storyteller. She’s a performer, good at delivering lines but not writing her own. So she talks about the problems that she and Hector were having. She talks about loneliness. She talks about how Hector mentioned divorce and how it frightens Adelaide into the arms of this Thomas, who is giving Adelaide the kind of support and friendship that she needs. She mentions excuses. “It was just me and Toulouse,” she says. “And Pere, he wouldn’t come home some nights, he was so busy... I-- I needed…” And she repeats herself. “I was so lonely, Berlioz.” And she tries to explain. “When I learned I was pregnant, your father and I were doing so much better. The news made us better. He began to come home again...he was so excited, Berlioz, so excited to be expecting another son. He loved you at once.” And she stops finally and turns to face him. Berlioz is so much taller than his mother. But he feels like a crumbling pillar on uneven ground, one breath of wind away from collapsing. She grasps his arms like she can hold up over twenty years of lying. “I wanted to protect you. There was no reason to tell after the whole thing was behind me. It didn’t matter. Thomas and I…” she waves a hand. “It was over, just an affair. Your father wanted to be a father to you, wasn’t that all that mattered?” “Does he know?” Ber murmurs. Blinks. Adelaide flushes. “Non. I-- as I said, he wanted to be your father…” “What about-- the bloke.” Adelaide looks away. “Is that a yes?” Berlioz’s voice comes out stronger and firmer than he expects. It surprises them all. Berlioz can’t even feel his face, but he must look upset, the way Adelaide won’t even look at him. He repeats it. “Maman, is that a yes? Is there some fucker out there who knows I--” “I did tell him,” Adelaide says breathlessly. “I was silly and scared, I thought your father was going to leave me, and so I thought--he could help--” “But he didn’t.” Ber snorts. He starts to laugh, pulling away so he can shake his head and drag his hand through his fringe. He looks directly up at the sun, the light burning at his irises. He wants this all to be another shitty, shitty Swynlake dream. Pinch him, and he’d be back in his bed with Simba, shaken but not alone, his life a mess, but at least a predictable one. But when the sun spots disappear from his eyes, there’s still only Adelaide and Nounou. His mother cries her beautiful tears. There are other things he could ask but Berlioz doesn’t know if he cares for the answers. Do they even matter? That’s what Adelaide keeps saying. Does it matter, Berlioz? It does. “Nounou...make sure-- she gives me the real birth certificate,” he finally says. And he turns before Adelaide can say anything else. He is done with stories today. He speed walks, his head ducked, up the patio and then into the basement that used to be his music room, right before the clouds move back over the sun.

#story #HEY MA #HEY MAAA

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rum-and-shattered-dreams · 6 years

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Chapter 3: There Are Still Good Times. Summary: Stan and Ford discover that even after all these years, they still share some of the same interests. The two discuss the eerie break in Bill's assaults on them as well as their suspicions about Lil' Gideon. Notes: As the title suggests, this is another lighter, mostly fluff chapter. Things may be bad but there's still laughter and an unbreakable brotherly bond. I should probably note that Dipper and Mabel’s stories are following canon so far.

Part One Part Two More fics Ford sat near the bars of his cell, the flicker of the TV glinting over his dampened cheeks. He lifted his near-empty package of jelly beans up and shook the last few into his mouth without taking his eyes off the screen. "Thank goodness you defeated Count Lionel!" a woman's voice exclaimed joyfully, "I am simply mortified. He had no right-!" "He'd better not bother you two again!" Ford threatened, his mouth still half-full of sugary sweetness. "Indeed!" a man replied, "He had better not bother us again!" "That's what I'm saying!" Ford shouted, leaning in closer, his silver hair falling in unkempt clumps over his shoulders. A knock at the door jolted him into an upright position. He swallowed hard and said in a hushed hiss, "TV off." The TV obeyed leaving him in the silent dimness of his cell. He straightened his sweater, cleared his throat and answered, "Come on in, Stan." Stan pushed the door open, a covered tray in one hand and a paper cup in the other. As usual, two sodas tugged down at the pockets of his boxers. He couldn't contain a laugh at the sight of his sniffling brother surrounded by pillows and snack wrappers, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. "You were watching that sappy romance movie stuff weren't you?" He asked. "What?! No. I just... Got an eyelash in my eye!" He defended, blinking over burning, red eyes. "Both of them?" "... Yes!" "You do realize this wall isn't soundproof, right?" Stan said with a quirked eyebrow. "Oh. So you were eavesdropping on me, then?" Ford joked, pushing the floor pillow Stan typically liked to use through the bars and setting it on the floor. "Well... You know... I wanna make sure I don't hear you snoring or anything and wake you up." Stan wasn't completely lying. "Sure sure," Ford replied with a reasonable amount of sarcasm and suspicion. "Anyway," Stan said, trying to keep the tray steady as he lowered it to the floor, "That Count Lionel sure ruined his chances didn't he?" He let out an "oof" as he plopped down onto the fleece-covered floor pillow. "He certainly did!" Ford answered before his thoughts could catch up to him, "He should have- wait..." he squinted and pointed at Stan, "You watched The Duchess Approves too?" "I have no idea what you're talking about," Stan defended, crossing his arms and looking away with a "humph." He turned back slowly, lowering his arms. "...Maybe... Yeah alright... Ya got me," he sighed, holding his hands up in surrender, "I'm hooked. The duchess is just so... relatable, ya' know?" "It's true!" Ford agreed, picking up the snack wrappers and handing them through to Stan. "She represents a universality of emotions that transcends age and gender... Perhaps we can watch that movie together sometime?" "Yeah...? Yeah! We should," Stan replied, shoving the snack wrappers aside and lifting the lid from the tray. "Are you even still hungry? Looks like I made you wait too long for dinner." "I definitely would enjoy some real food," Ford answered, his mouth nearly watering at the smell of the cheeseburger and the sight of fresh salad greens and cherry tomatoes on the plate Stan had revealed. "Sorry I'm a bit late getting down here tonight. I thought the kids were home but turns out they went out without tellin' me and they just got back a few minutes ago. Apparently they were checking out the old Dusk to Dawn with Wendy and her friends. They wouldn't tell me much about it, though so I sent them to bed and asked them to at least tell me if they're going out." "Oh that can't be good that they were there. After the owners died so tragically, I suspect it might be haunted," Ford said reaching through the bars for a tomato and pinch of lettuce. He dipped them into the cup of Italian dressing and stuffed them into his mouth. "You think?" Stan asked. "It's a possibility. That could be why they won't say much. They probably think you won't believe them," He shrugged and reached through the bars for the cheeseburger. "Yeah. Probably. Hope nothin' too bad happened to them if that's the case." Stan shifted around on the pillow, his face scrunching as he pulled the soda cans from his pockets. He popped them open, poured Ford's into the paper cup, and took a swig out of his own can. "I think they would have mentioned it if they were hurt or anything," Ford said between bites, "Or at least I'd hope." "I'd hope so, too," Stan said, tapping his stubbly chin, "Speaking of hurt, how are ya doin' today? Looks like your bruises are getting better." "They are," Ford answered, reaching through for the soda cup. "He hasn't bothered me in a few days. Not to curse it but... It's eerie... As if he's... Planning something..." "Yeah..." Stan sipped at his soda. "I mean, good riddance if he's bored with us but... I get what ya mean. It feels..." "Foreboding..." Ford filled in. "Yeah. Fancy word that sounds like it describes the thing. Maybe he's just mad that we padded the bars," he added, poking the cotton covered batting he'd glued to them. "Perhaps. Though, I am surprised he doesn't seem eager to... prove that won't stop him," Ford said, tapping one of the covered bars. "Yeah... I mean... hopefully it helps er... soften the blows when he has his tantrums but yeah, it still ain't a perfect solution." "Seems like it will help some, at least," Ford said. He reached through the bars for another handful of lettuce and a few slices of cucumber. "So, how is Mabel holding up after her break-up, anyway? Is she still angry at Gideon?" "I'm not even sure we can call that a break-up. She never liked him like that. He kinda forced her into it. And I hate that I almost did too just because Bud offered me a deal for bigger profits. Thanks for that pathology, Dad," He grumbled sarcastically, receiving a knowing nod from Ford. "But, she seems alright now," Stan continued. "Guess it's a good thing it didn't work out after all. I'm still freaked out by that kid." "I've seen some of those commercials of his that you were talking about. You're right that something seems off about him. And that he's as phony of a psychic as mom was." "Yeah, if anyone can see a fake, it's us," Stan agreed, tipping back his soda can to drain the last drops into his mouth. "It's weird, though," Ford said, reaching through the bars for the paper cup and cradling it in both hands. "That amulet he was wearing seemed familiar but I can't figure out why. I don't think I've ever seen it before but... I don't know." "Looks like he lost it since those commercials were filmed," Stan said, squishing his soda can between his fingers with a crunch. "Or at least, he doesn't wear it anymore. I'll keep an eye on him, though. 'Specially if something seems familiar about that to you." "That sounds like a good idea in general. Keep your enemies close and all, right?" Ford tipped his cup toward Stan as if toasting to the thought then chugged the entire cupful. "Yeah. I really don't know what it is he has against me," Stan said with a shrug, "For once, I never did nothing to him. He just seems to hate that I'm here." "Listen to us..." Ford said, passing his empty cup to Stan. "Two old men worried about the threats of a child..." "Ha ha, right! You'd think we're paranoid or something," Stan said, chuckling awkwardly. "Yeah, you'd think we're constantly on the lookout for signs of a demon badgering us or something," Ford added. "Right?" Stan replied, gathering up the empty plate, cup, and snack wrappers onto the tray and replacing its lid. "Well, I hate to run off so soon but, I better get back upstairs. The kids probably haven't been able to get to sleep yet." "Yes, you should go try to sleep yourself." "Yeah. Not sure I'll be able to what with thinking about that wedding kerfuffle," he said with a wink. "Ah yes. I almost feel bad for Count Lionel. But he was out of line interrupting the wedding like that," Ford said, tapping his bearded chin. "Well," Stan grunted, lifting himself from the floor pillow with the tray balanced precariously in one hand. "I guess we'll have to wait until part two to find out what happens to him. But for now, good night ya' nerd." Ford reached through the bars and pulled the floor pillow back inside his cell. "Good night, Stanley," he said with a wave and watched the door click shut behind his brother. Notes: I promise they won't be eating something in every chapter ;). Qebob xob kbt mxtkp fk qeb dxjb.

#gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls au #the man downstairs au #mo's writing and such

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greasygyeom · 7 years

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Title: Ocean Tides

By: GreasyGyeom

Summary: I feel it burning me, I feel it burning you. Youngjae x Reader. Fluff.

Note: I’m really scared of posting this because I really hope I did him justice. I love this beaming ray of sunshine so much. Feedback is very welcome. Thank you for reading!!

Playlist: 170923

He saw you by the ocean, lost in a world he felt the need to dive in. You were gazing, far and wide; like your horizon stretched beyond where one blue ended and another began — like it was the black hole and you were making acquaintance with another universe existing inside of it.

He had to know you.

He sat there at a distance and studied you — how your lips curled into a grin, how your eyes narrowed, how your hands moved, how with every gush of fresh air your hair swayed like the branches of a willow.

He had to talk to you.

But he lacked the confidence to walk up to a stranger, no matter how compelled he felt by their presence.

So he simply admired you, till the ocean engulfed the sun whole, till you packed up your belongings and left — till you became nothing more than a fragment existing in his memory.

He went back to his hotel room extremely confused, that evening. Perhaps he should have had more resolve. If he hadn't shrivelled up into his shell, maybe he could have spoken to you, heard your voice. He couldn't stop pondering over the sound of your voice. Whether it was soft and sticky like a caramel-filled chocolate toffee or layered and spongy like a tiramisu.

He hastily shrugged off his thoughts under the rug. It was pointless thinking such things, because now you were just a girl from his memories, who could be existing in her own world, anywhere on the small island.

"Youngjae?" His friend snapped him out of his daydreams. "You okay there? You look a little winded."

"Yeah, I'm okay, just....drifting."

In his mind he was already writing a ballad.

"Let's go get something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry though."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm okay, hyung, really."

He drew himself a bath when he was all by himself again. He needed to forget about you. But all he did instead was write lyrics conveying how much he wished he could have met you, even if for a few seconds. He carried his notebook out into the balcony. The ocean glistened in shades of blue, under the moonlight. It felt like an invisible string had gotten tangled around him and was pulling him towards something unknown.

He wrote until his eyes felt heavy and his throat felt dry, eventually drifting off to sleep, thinking about the song he'd conjured in those few hours.

But something was missing. Something was always missing.

He woke up, jumping out of his bed from a terrifying dream. It was that kind where he thought he was free falling onto the ground from a massive height. His heart was beating out of his chest. He hated dreams like these. They riled him up. He sat in bed shaken for a few seconds - until his phone rang out the silence and he jumped in surprise again.

“Aah. Seriously.” he scolded himself, half laughing. He always got jump scared so easily, all his friends took advantage of it in taking turns to scare him.

It was 9 am already? After almost 8 hours and he, somehow, still managed to feel tired.

He headed down for breakfast as fast as he could. He’d completely forgotten about the meetings he had to attend regarding his solo releases. Even though it was by and large a recreational trip, work never really left him anymore.

“Hyung, you want to go to the beach again?” one of his friends, who’d accompanied him on the trip, asked.

“Maybe, after I get free.” Youngjae replied, trying to focus on his ramen, as you sneaked your way back into his mind.

“Oh you should have really come out last night. It was great.” he continued. “We ate so much food. and there were no cucumbers in anything, so you would have really enjoyed yourself.”

Youngjae wheezed, trying not to be too loud. he really hated cucumbers.

“And there was this girl who was singing at the lounge. She was so good. You would have really liked it.” he said, stuffing his mouth with more kimbap.

And just like that a thought clicked in his mind. He needed a female lead for the song.

That’s what was missing.

He went about his mundane meetings, letting his manager talk for him on most occasions, so he could live in his head a little more.

Every now and then he’d laugh and smile and pretend to show interest in contracts. Then fall right back into the vast ocean of thoughts about you. He was in fact impatient to go to the beach again, hoping that maybe he’d be able to see you again. He was preparing himself either way.

“You worked hard today.” his manager patted him on his back after one particular, excruciatingly long discussion about his intellectual property rights.

“Yeah, you too. What would I do without you.”

“Probably give your skills away for free.”

He laughed out, making some strangers turn around. “No, hyung, I’m not that bad.”

“Listen why don’t you head down to the beach. I’ll take care of everything that is left. It’s not much anyway.”

“Really, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah go on ahead. I’ll meet you later.”

He excused himself from the building and headed to where his friends were already wreaking a havoc. The beach was his escape from all the worldly things that exhausted him. It had seen all his shades and moods, from childhood to now. It always felt like home.

He walked into the small homely eatery, a few ways away from the main beach, to find his friends sitting around a giant pile of food, on the porch

“Wait… what happened to playing volleyball?” he asked, confused.

“We…. got lazy.” one of them said.

He sat around the edge of the table, on the floor, stuffing his mouth with the samgyupsal his friends had already barbecued. Even though he was fostering this hope that he’d find you again, he couldn’t help but dismiss this optimism at the same time.

Jeju was small, but not that small — or was it?

Somewhere in the distance you could hear a loud bunch of boys. You were agitated, but your mind kept singling out a particular sound. A roaring laugh that reverberated as loud as the thunder but felt as soft as a wind chime.

You looked around to find the source of that laughter, but there was no one in your vicinity who could match it. You went back to gazing at the clouds that passed you by. The sky tuned from a soft blue to a pastel pink with a blink of an eye. The wind played around with your hair and the sea hummed soft lullabies.

There were so many things you needed to forget, from a life that was no longer a part of you. Sitting with your feet buried in the sand and watching the ocean breathe seemed like the only way for you to exorcise your memories.

You’d often heard people express their gratitude towards their families, but never truly understood it. Where you came from, family had meant regular screaming matches and a passive disregard for the other persons feelings. You’d never felt unconditional love, because with your parents there were always some strings attached. That condescending tone, the constant bickering, it never left you.

But you needed it out of your system. You needed years of unhealthy patterns to disintegrate. You needed to move on from the so called blood relationships. So you sat by the shore and purged everything out, one day at a time.

"AH HYUNG HYUNG I AM SORRY!" Someone squealed in the background, in the midst of jovial banter.

“What did you say about Nora liking you more?” a different voice said.

And there it was again, that laugh. It was so loud, but it warmed your heart. You wanted to keep hearing it over and over again. Something about it drew you in, but it died down again after a few moments.

You went back to your clouds, even though you really wanted to find the source of that voice.

"It's going to rain today." You mumbled to yourself, when the sky turned a purplish-grey instead of an orangish-yellow, like it usually did.

Your mind kept returning to that echo that had lit up a fireplace by your heart. It had settled at the pit of your stomach like cocoa powder sedimenting in a cup of hot milk. It had put a smile on your face. You hadn't smiled this genuinely in months.

You got up and walked towards where you thought the vocals we're emanating from. Around 7 boys were sitting by the porch and your curiosity was getting the better of you. They seemed to be enjoying a hearty meal. You caught a glimpse of one of them, but your anxiety shot up when you met his eyes and a switch flipped in your mind. It made you take a sharp u-turn and speed out of his vicinity.

His mind froze. Could that really be her?

You vanished so fast.You didn't stop walking until you were out of the sandy ground and back in your room, all your words still caught up in your throat. The water on your 10th floor window blurred the city out of your vision.

That day it poured down like the skies had parted to let a river descend down on earth.

By the time the boys made it out of the beach, they were completely drenched. They walked leisurely in the rain, playing around in the puddles.

“Youngjae, why didn’t you talk to her?”

“Huh? who?” he squinted. He could barely see, and the cold wind was getting into his bones.

“That girl.”

So she was really there.

“She left so quickly.”

“She was staring at you for at least one minute before she bolted.”

“Aah, Jinyoung hyung don’t lie.”

“I’m not. Ask any of them.”

“She looked a lot like the singer from last night…no?” a very tall boy chimed in.

“Aah, seriously guys stop teasing me like this. I’m really cold. I’m going ahead.” Youngjae said, and sprinted through the blinding downpour.

It wasn’t like him to react this way, but he also wasn’t in the mood for jokes. You were so close and he did nothing to stop you.

The hotel floors were overflowing with janitors and a sudden influx of drenched guests dragging their muddy feet through the floors. Youngjae absent-mindedly made his way to his room. For the first time, in the thousands of trips they had taken together, he’d gotten a separate room for himself. He changed out of his rain-soaked attire, his mind once again heavily lost, in thoughts of you.

He felt a little foolish, for not following up on his own words. But he never thought he’d actually see you again. He’d walked through the whole beach, before meeting up with his friends, hoping he’d find you gazing at the lazy sky. He never expected you to walk up to him. He didn’t even get to know what you were looking for — because he knew you were looking for something.

Staring blankly at the piece of paper he'd been composing on, all of yesterday, he realised he'd let you just slip by twice. It didn’t please him, because cause he wasn't sure if he'd even get another chance.

But he did.

That evening he got dragged down to the lounge, by everyone.

"You came here with us to spend time with yourself?”

He couldn't really say no after that implied tone.

Youngjae tried his best to stay in the conversational loop, nodding and laughing, all the while trying to catch stray thoughts as they jumped in loops around his head.

"Oh oh! See I was right! It was her!"

The high pitch his friend spoke in startled him as he re-focussed his eyes on the dimly lit stage, now occupied by a small body. His eyes widened.

It felt like the day on the beach when he first saw you sitting in the sand. You still looked like you were in the deep sea, swimming with orcas.

The host announced your name but he couldn't quite catch it. His attention remained on you.

Your eyes flickered as the audience blurred into a black mass. Internally your mind and body were shaking, but externally you looked at peace.

"It's okay, sing." You told yourself, as your cue inched closer with every second. Everything became irrelevant the moment your voice left your throat.

Caramel. You sounded like the taste of a caramel on his tongue.

He forgot himself in you for those forty five minutes and unconsciously hummed along; mentally preparing himself to find some courage. Hearing you sing so beautifully somehow both intimidated and soothed him. When your set came to an end, he got up from his seat, clapping hysterically.

Maybe the third time was really the charm.

"Youngjae-ya she'll leave again. Go."

"Hyung, I can't do it."

"If you don't go I will take you with me to the haunted house tomorrow."

“No, no. I'm not doing either of these things, Mark hyung" he whined and sat back down.

"Haunted house, tomorrow."

"No."

"Then go talk to her."

"Maybe layer," he negotiated, not noticing a masked human creeping up right next to his face.

“Psst…Youngjae”, the man whispered in a deep rumble.

Unaware of the close proximity, Youngjae turned his head and yelped rather loudly at the view. He slipped from his chair and fell on Mark — half screaming, half laughing.

There it was again. That same ring in the air. That thunderous wind chime. Was it all in your head, because you seemed to be hearing it everywhere you went. you turned around while walking towards the back of the stage and hear more muffled laughs. When your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see group of people huddled near a boy dangling on another person. Was the laughter coming from there? It seemed unlikely. You dismissed your wavering thoughts and hurried off the stage, for the next singer to set up.

While Youngjae regained his breath after that jump-scare he’d been given, Jinyoung casually commented, “Oops, she’s gone.”

He sighed heavily, getting up from Mark’s lap. “It’s fine guys. I — wouldn’t know what to say to her anyway.”

“She’s still there hyung, just go tell her you like her voice. It’s not like it’s a lie.”

“I’ll really take you to the horror house, Youngjae.”

“Aah, no. Okay fine, I’m going.”

When you saw someone walk towards you, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. A lot of people often came up to you and praised your singing, but you never once got comfortable with the idea of interacting with strangers. Not that you were a thankless ingrate… just a shy introvert.

You plastered that smile on your face — the one you had practiced for months now, to somewhat hide your insecurities.

Your heart skipped a tiny beat when he stood in close proximity to you. He didn’t make you the kind of nervous you were expecting. It was a different feeling altogether. Like you both were made from the same stardust and were only just meeting now. Your insides were fluttering.

"You have a beautiful voice." He said, nervously. He didn't say you were an excellent singer or that your range and hold was impeccable. It was a much deeper appreciation.

You fumbled through your words to thank him.

“I never found out what you were looking for though."

You looked at him, puzzled by the question, but then your cheeks flushed a bight red with embarrassment. Your memory rebooted itself. You remembered where you’d seen him before.

“I —

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." He dismissed himself hastily, before adding, "I'm Youngjae.”

You semi-giggled because of the wide smile on his face.

"I'm Fawn and don't worry. I just... am like this"

There was something different about him. He felt like the sun that had been shining on you during your escape visits to the beach - soft and healing.

"Do you want to.... maybe go to the garden or something, if you have time?"

You nod, you had all the time in the world.

He laughed, shyly, tucking his brownish hair behind his ear.

It really was him.

You felt a warmth spread over your limbs. The laughs finally had a face. It felt unreal but you were relieved - at least it wasn't a figment of your imagination. You weren't that crazy, yet.

Every bench in the park was empty but you went and sat on the grass. It was easier to lay down and stare at the skies.

It was surprisingly easy to talk to him and he heard you out with utmost attention - about your music and career, your influences, your background; he wanted to know everything he could, in a single night.

"Are you here for a vacation?" You asked, looking into his eyes — they seemed to hold answers to the universe, answers you'd been seeking for so long. You got lost in them.

Several minutes passed and neither of you said anything.

You ran your fingers on his cheeks, like you were under a spell. There was a small mole under his eye, it made you smile again.

"What?" He gently questioned.

"Nothing."

He took your hand in his, his heart ready to jump out of his chest. "I'm here for business and vacation. I'll be gone soon."

"Hmm, me too."

"Will you sing with me?” he blurted, immediately regretting saying it.

"You want me to sing with you? You sing?"

“I’m….. yeah, kind of.”

He explained to you the nature of his work and waited expectantly for a positive response. You contemplated for a few seconds, just to cause him some agony. He looked like a lost puppy with his eyebrows furrowed in that manner.

You eventually said yes. His eyes lit up even brighter than they had been all this while. You couldn't quite explain it but he somehow made everything better.

"You still haven't told me though."

"What?"

"What did you come looking for? To the shed?"

You took in a deep breath. "You. I came looking for you."

He tilted his head at you, his eyes focused on your lips, and captured you in a deep, gentle, loving kiss.

The ocean tides wrapped you in a blanket of calm, as did he, with his arms now coiled around you.

“I’m glad you found me first.” he said, holding you tightly.

You smiled at the stars shining over you and gave him a peck on his cheek.

“I’m glad too.”

#aghase writer #youngjae #choi youngjae #got7 youngjae #youngjae fanfic #choi youngjae fanfic #Got7 fanfiction #got7 fanfic #got7 scenarios #choi youngjae scenarios #choi youngjae fanfiction #greasygyeom #got7 reactions #got7 fluff #youngjae fluff #choi youngjae fluff #fawny I hope you like it

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littleandroidwrites · 4 years

Text

a lydia ball paragraph of the self

sometimes you ask your littlefamily to send you memes and then you ignore the memes they send you and you write about something irrelevant instead and that? is the least valid thing you can do. thank you

Lydia liked dating Zeke, because Zeke did whatever he wanted and sometimes whatever someone else wanted too, like the first night Lydia had met his band and someone had ended up suggesting they steal all of the stop signs on the block and he had said, I’m down.

They hadn’t ended up doing that. Their manager had come out of his room and briefly had the chance to open his mouth before they were all booing him.

It wasn’t the concept of causing mayhem in traffic that got Lydia going, not at all, but the idea of being adventurous? Lydia used to think that she was adventurous. But it turned out that “adventurous” to the type of person who’d ended up engaged to the guy she started dating in middle school was actually more like rotating one of five activities that were pre-existing in a very safe, very sheltered routine. Every once in a while she’d wake up early on a Sunday morning and say, let’s go feed the ducks in a way that made her feel very wistful and spontaneous. And Dmitri had always said yes and looked at her like she was very wistful and spontaneous.

The thing was though that he was a fucking theatre major and he ended their relationship in a letter after over a decade together, probably because she had never been adventurous a day in her life. Or because she didn’t know how to cook or because she didn’t have a real job or because she refused to clean the shower or the oven but never actually admitted it because she just always swept up and did the dishes first so that it seemed like it was Dmitri who wasn’t pulling his weight. It really could have been lots of things. None of which Lydia would have thought about before the letter, of course, but these sorts of events tended to make you reflect.

They also tended to mean that you couldn’t afford your exposed brick loft apartment anymore because you’re only a painter and your fiancé had been covering most of the costs for the last few years if you were being honest with yourself.

Her parents had tried to insist she move back in. Lydia knew it wasn’t out of obligation – even though her parents were definitely good people who did good things entirely out of obligation – but because they adored her and loved her and missed her when she was away for more than three days. And it was very tempting to go from being babied by Dmitri back to being babied by her parents and continue this never-ending being babied cycle, but it was occurring to Lydia truly for the first time that at some point someone was going to drop the baby ball and she was just going to be a hopeless adult in her mid-twenties incapable of taking care of herself.

So she’d gone room hunting. Surrounded by boxes sitting on her very new very millennial futon (which she’d told everyone was a millennial decision but was actually the outcome of trying to move the old bed base for ten whole minutes before crying because she couldn’t lift it by herself and Dmitri had picked it out anyway and she didn’t even have the number of a moving truck and how was she supposed to know how much that would cost did people haggle she’d probably pay more than the moving guy asked for just because she’d want him to like her even if he never saw her again was that pathological she hadn’t been to a counsellor in a couple months her parents would pay but there was nothing more narcissistic than paying someone to hear you talk about wanting to be liked but she didn’t want to put that on her friends you know in case they stopped liking her god was she a narcissist), she had very maturely sorted price lowest to highest. Her favourite result was one crafted in a missed connections style.

f4whatever i have a room. you need one you don’t like having loud parties late at night. i have lots of wine to share when i’m stressed i cook. you eat it and tell me it’s good you can be a liar as long as it’s the nice kind. 2 bed 1 bath. you will not mind that i have fifteen bottles of lotion i don’t use i will pretend to be your scorned girlfriend if you have someone over you don’t like i’m desperate and you must be too

So she lived with a girl called Eve now. Eve hadn’t mentioned in her ad that if Lydia didn’t leave her bed for three days she'd bring her pastries at the end of the day, but she did it anyway and that was the kind of discretionary effort Lydia imagined everyone would want in a roommate. Eve did mention once that her sister was a psychologist once though, which she had followed with so she legally has to listen to me complain. It reminded Lydia of when you’d go out with a friend who couldn’t afford to eat anything so you’d pretend to be full halfway through your fries and say something like it did not occur to me until this moment but these will go to waste if you do not eat them right now!

One afternoon when Eve had texted to say that she’d be home late (which was nice, having someone who made you privy to their schedule, that was maybe one of the things Lydia missed the most, when she’d pretend to be put upon at 8pm at a paint and sip and say to her friends oh I have to let Dmitri know I’ll be home late and she’d roll her eyes like she didn’t do it just to get the 8pm-9pm me misses 8pm-9pm you text back), Lydia had decided it might be nice to cook for Eve for a change. She’d started off with a pinterest search for good dinners easy but had quickly been overwhelmed by the sheer number also there were all these advertisements in between the dishes for active wear and exercise programmes which felt exploitative. So she’d decided to open up her grandma’s special recipes box.

Lydia really could not stress how little interest she had in cooking. But the first time she’d ever seen this little tin box with cursive recipe cards organised in alphabetical order, she had wanted it. Her grandmother died when she was only three, so she didn’t actually have any memories or her or her cooking or cooking with her or even her wrinkly old face outside of photos she’d seen but she treated this box very much like it held sentimental value. There was something sentimental about its lack of sentimentality.

Anyway at random she’d picked a casserole and spent way too much on ingredients and when she got halfway through the recipe she realised it took four hours in total which was really a lot of time for one dish but it was too late and she was hungry and she wanted to impress Eve. So after she put the dish in the oven she cleaned the kitchen, which she had made a mess of, and actually the casserole was ready five minutes after Eve walked through the door which was perfect.

Except that it was not perfect because the casserole was bad.

“Grandma would be so disappointed,” Lydia lamented, balancing a cucumber on her fork and inspecting it, forlorn. The whole thing tasted overwhelmingly of too-tangy tomato paste and had taken on the sad watery quality of the cucumber. She felt this must be a metaphor for something. Four hours of her life plus however many hours of preparation and anticipation just to be left with a disappointing show of two fruits that really should have been vegetables.

“Or,” Eve had said, her phone pressed to her ear, “Maybe this is exactly what she used to make, and she just didn’t have taste buds. No shame in — Hi, can I please place an order?”

It had taken a little to get to like Eraserhead’s music. At the first gig she went to she was surprised to find they sounded like that, but she figured if she was dating the bassist of a band she should really like his band. So Lydia had started by listening to chaos-adjacent music that she did like, like Friday I’m In Love by The Cure, and then she’d listened to a little more of The Cure, and really from there it was just a modest sidestep to learn to like music from people like The Clash and after a few more hops and jumps you basically fell into Eraserhead’s music. When Zeke had asked her at the next gig what she’d thought, Lydia had said I like that it’s music you kind of have to work for? It’s like real art, and after a second Zeke had nodded like he agreed but privately Lydia kind of thought he didn’t agree.

That was the thing that she enjoyed about a relationship that was just a little over twelve days old instead of a little over twelve years old, though. Nobody really expected her to dig deeper and ask Zeke if he was just agreeing with her because he didn’t agree and that was a harder conversation. Nobody really expected either of them to owe each other anything and so all she’d done was finish her drink and kiss him.

#i DID write though #DID I LIE ABOUT THAT???#ch: lydia #self para #reread some of her old threads and i was like bitch you really are useless! love you bitch! let's see if you still are!

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fuckingchatnoir · 7 years

Text

Fanboy [Chapter 2]

Summary: After discovering the wonders of Ladynoir fanfiction, Adrien sets out to start his own with his classmate Marinette helping him along the way. But when does fiction start becoming reality?

This story is also beta’d by the wonderful @serendipitousReckonings here on archive, @dickerdoodlez on tumblr.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 1 Tumblr post

Adrien’s yawns filled the dark spaces of his room, his eyes stinging from exhaustion with his fingers still typing rapidly. He was frustrated, so frustrated, and constantly found himself ignoring Plagg’s constant complaints about how late it was.

He always hated how his father regarded him as someone impatient and ill-tempered. He always did what he was told with a forced smile – always following along with Chloe’s plans even when he preferred to stay home and play video games; always trying to maintain that image of perfection that his father enforced. So, he was honestly confused and annoyed with his father’s view of him.

However, there he was still sitting in his swivel chair with the seat cushion beginning to feel too warm from lack of movement at two in the morning - on a school night - all because he wanted to prove something to one of his classmates. Perhaps Gabriel wasn’t so far from the truth. It’d been two weeks since he heard Marinette speak her mind, and he still hadn’t let go of her words. He wanted her approval of his story, he wanted her to enjoy it. He’d updated three times since that day, giving his alter ego more moves, dialogue, and anything else he could think of so the blue-eyed girl would give it a second chance. But, no matter what he did, nothing was good enough for her.

He would be alert the morning after he updated in class to hear Marinette’s reaction when Alya would discuss it, but her words were either vague, negative, or frustratingly lacking any interest whatsoever.

He just wanted to know what was wrong, what she would consider to be adequate, and he wasn’t going to give up until he found the answer.

“Adrien, I swear if you don’t go to sleep right now I’m going to eat the chords that let those things live.”

Adrien didn’t look back at the kwami, keeping his eyes locked on his screens. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he skimmed over his previous sentences. He was mindlessly tapping his fingers against his mouse in an impatient rhythm.

“You won’t because if you do you’ll get electrocuted.”

The dialogue between Ladybug and a civilian was beginning to get too wordy. He started deleting a few lines.

“Did you forget that I’m a god and that I’ve been alive for tens of thousands of years? I’ve gone through worse things than a simple jolt, kid. This’ll be nothing.”

Adrien didn’t reply, ignoring his friend to continue fixing his writing.

“I’ll make your suit pink.”

Should Ladybug use Lucky Charm after this or towards the end?

“I’ll make you smell like aged camembert.”

What would Marinette think? Maybe Chat Noir should talk to the civilian with her.

“I swear I’ll do it. Don’t underestimate me!”

Adrien rubbed his tired eyes - felt his eyelids begin to droop more and more. If anyone were to see him in the state he was in at that moment, they probably wouldn’t have recognized him. His eyes were squinted tiredly, trying to stay open to focus on his work. He had strands of hair sticking out everywhere, some falling over his eyes from time to time while others were tickling his ears irritatingly. And his plain white t-shirt was stained with small drops of coffee that he hadn’t noticed yet. He was the image of pure exhaustion and dishevelment.

But what if she thinks I’m trying too hard to include Chat Noir in like last time?

“Kid.”

Am I writing myself too cliché? Is that the issue?

“ADRIEN!”

The teen practically jumped out of his seat - Plagg floated right in front of his face so he could finally look at him.

“Lower your voice, Plagg!” Adrien whispered, scooting himself a bit back to give himself more space between him and the kwami, his hands in the air. “Someone could’ve heard you!”

“Well you weren’t giving me much of a choice! You were off obsessing over your girlfriend again and ignoring me!”

“I told you,” He yawned, his shoulders slumping forward from fatigue after doing so. “I’m not writing this because I’m obsessed with Ladybug. I just want to write something more believable.”

“Not her, pigtails from your class that you won’t shut up about! You need to sleep!”

“Plagg, Marinette’s not my girlfriend and I’m not obsessing over her. And I’m going to bed soon, I just need to finish this chapter up. I’m almost done.”

“You said that three hours ago! And if you weren’t obsessed with her than you wouldn’t still be hung up on what she said to you two weeks ago! And you’d be asleep right now!”

Adrien groaned and rubbed his face up and down with both of his cold hands in frustration.

“I just want her to like the story.”

“Why do you care so much? I thought we agreed that you were doing this for yourself, but now you’re here trying to please this one chick that you hardly even talk to.”

Adrien wanted to be mad at Plagg – he really did since Marinette was his friend and he should be defending their somewhat friendship – but he felt that he wasn’t going to win with the god no matter what he said. Besides, his kwami did have a point. He originally started writing the story for himself, but now all he seemed to care about was whether or not it was good enough for his classmate. He had so many expectations set on him by everyone, and he was now beginning to set some on himself too. His voice was also starting to get groggy and he didn’t like the way it sounded. It was too low for his liking and as of recent he’d been saying things that sounded much more coherent in his head but didn’t make sense when said out loud and it really annoyed him. So, he stayed quiet, only muttering an “okay” before saving his work, shutting off his computers, and going to sleep.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, his eyes closed and he immediately fell into a deep sleep. It was the eighth night in a row that he didn’t dream of anything and he wasn’t sure whether to be concerned about that or not.

______________

Adrien’s arms were crossed over his chest as he walked down the steps of the school alongside Nino. His friend wouldn’t stop staring at him as if he was afraid he was going to break any minute. The blond was about to comment on his behavior until he fell abruptly to the ground, not having noticed that he missed two steps. Luckily his books were in his bag so nothing important got damaged other than his pride.

“Shit!” Nino said before he immediately bent down to help his friend, his hands grabbing onto one of the boy’s thin arms to lift him up.

Adrien just sighed dramatically in response, looking forward to see if the Gorilla saw any of that. However, he noticed that the man had still not shown up yet.

He probably took father to work today.

He heard a small groan coming from his bag – he was going to have to check up on Plagg later.

“Thanks, Nino.” He said in a weak tone once he stood up completely, placing his bag on his shoulder once again.

“Hey, why don’t you let me carry your bag for you today?”

Adrien blinked a few times before he shook his head, rubbing his right eye after that was beginning to burn in the corner.

“I’m fine.”

He was about to continue walking again until he felt Nino’s hand on his shoulder.

“Dude, I’m starting to get worried about you. This isn’t cool.”

“I just tripped. It happens to everybody.”

Nino sighed and if Adrien wasn’t so tired he probably would’ve cared more about the boy’s evident concern in his eyes. But at the moment all he wanted to do was eat lunch and maybe nap on Nino’s couch again like last time.

The brunette honestly looked surprised with his response and began to motion the blond’s whole body with his free hand up and down rapidly.

“This, is what I’m talking about.”

“This?”

“Yes, this, as in you looking like total crap. I mean, your eye bags are darker than Chloe’s soul and that’s fucking saying a lot.”

Adrien usually would’ve chuckled at that, but he found it too hard to do so. He wasn’t really up for engaging in general. He was exhausted, hungry, and was still frustrated with himself that he slept through his alarm and missed homeroom. He really wanted to hear Marinette’s thoughts on his most recent chapter. He felt that it was his best so far.

“I’m tired. What do you expect?”

His tone was intended to sound harsh so Nino would let the subject go, but instead it sounded like a mumbled mess, his voice going deep again. He mentally rolled his eyes at the thought.

“I expect you to sleep!”

“I am sleeping.”

“How many hours a day?”

“I-I don’t know! Enough!”

Nino brought his hand back to his side and sighed once more.

“Do you want me to talk to your dad? Maybe I could convince him to let you stay home tomorrow. You need rest, bro. Like bad.”

Adrien yawned lightly and placed both of his hands on his friend’s shoulders, his back hunched over slightly. He smiled as reassuringly as someone who was running on four hours of sleep could and looked the boy straight in the eye.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m okay. Honestly. I’ll even make sure to sleep early today if it’ll help you chill.”

“I am chill!”

Adrien genuinely laughed at that, feeling the sound rise up from his throat weakly.

“Yeah, like a cucumber,” He let his hands fall into his pockets. “Now let’s go. Gorilla’s almost here and I need coffee.”

“See! Since when do you drink coffee?!”

“Ugghhh Nino!”

Nino put both of his hands up in defense.

“Sorry, I’m chill! I’m chill! Promise!”

The blond nodded and the two began to walk closer to the street, the boys falling into a small discussion about a videogame that Nino’s cousin recommended to him last week. Adrien really tried to pay attention as much as he could since he actually did enjoy Nino’s stories. But, his mind was zoning out from time to time, and with the sounds of all the rushing cars, people, animals, and even the wind, he wasn’t really sure what to focus on. Everything seemed so much louder than it usually was and he felt that he was drifting further away from reality.

What’s happening to me?

Nino was in the middle of explaining something about some cheat codes on a website when he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Like, how can you enjoy a game if you get by using these codes?! It’s no lo-“

“Hey, guys. Whatcha up to?”

They both turned around to meet the faces of his two classmates. Alya and Marinette’s arms were linked together and the blue-eyed girl was staring right at him with her eyes widened and her cheeks a bright red flush. Alya’s hold on the girl looked forceful, but Adrien didn’t care enough to question it. However, he did give them a friendly smile, resisting the urge to stare at Marinette for too long.

Did she talk about my story again today?

What is she thinking about?

“Nothing much, about to head back to my place for some lunch. What about you ladies?”

Nino gave Alya a knowing look that Adrien was too oblivious to understand and the girl pulled Marinette closer to her to catch her attention. Adrien was still just standing there smiling, not really aware of what to do, but enjoying the company anyway.

“Well, Marinette and I were going to actually try this new café a few blocks away. We would love it if two, cool dudes joined us,” Alya cleared her throat two times, the second time being much louder than the first. “Right, Marinette?”

The other teen nodded quickly.

“Y-yes! Café…nice and cool like you two! Which is why we should all go… t-together,” Adrien looked at her again and noticed how difficult it was for her to meet his gaze. He always wondered why she was so nervous around him specifically. He felt that maybe the reason was correlated to her opinions on his writing in some way. Marinette’s eyes widened again and her ears grew red at the tips. “And not like together as in together together because it’s not like we’re like that! Just four classmates going to a café to eat an-“

Alya’s hand instantly slapped over her friend’s mouth, stopping her mid-sentence. Adrien always found Marinette and Alya’s friendship amusing and endearing in many ways. They were always so comfortable around one another and acted more like sisters than friends that had known each other for less than a year. He knew he was close to Nino too, however, he did find himself holding back sometimes with him. He really didn’t know what actions and words were considered too much.

Alya laughed awkwardly - Marinette mumbled something in her hand in response that no one could decipher.

“So, you in or what?”

Nino and Adrien looked over at each other, the brunette raising his eyebrows in questioning before Adrien shrugged and nodded. He gave the two girls a tired smile.

“Yeah, we’re in.”

He saw the way Nino winked at Alya after, the two of them staring at each other for a while as if they were having some sort of silent conversation with one another.

Nino seriously needs to ask her out already.

The blond glanced back over at the street to see if his father’s employee was anywhere near by and shrugged before sending him a quick text concerning his whereabouts.

Alya finally removed her hand from Marinette’s face and the girl gasped before glaring at her friend.

“I almost suffocated!” He heard her whisper to the other teen while they all started walking together.

“Well, you didn’t and you can thank me later.”

Adrien and Nino followed closely behind them as they let the two girls lead the way. The walk to the café wasn’t necessarily quiet but was still calming since the only sounds were Nino and Alya’s playful banter. Marinette and Adrien both remained silent, the two of them somehow ending up side-by-side one another on the way to the building. He didn’t remember how it had happened, but he figured it had something to do with his two other friends since they were walking ahead of them as if they didn’t exist.

Adrien started to take note of Marinette’s very close proximity more and more as the minutes passed and knew that he had to say something since the peaceful atmosphere was beginning to become tainted with awkwardness. He cleared his throat and glanced down at her to see she was already staring at him. Her cheeks flushed again once he met her eyes and she quickly looked away.

Why is she so nervous around me?

“So, the weather’s nice today.” He said.

Good one, Adrien.

“Y-yeah, it is. The sky is nice too.”

“Agreed,” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hasn’t looked this blue in a while.”

She hummed in agreement and they both continued to walk behind Alya and Nino who were discussing the Ladyblog. Whenever the girl talked about Ladybug, everyone else could hear it. Her charisma seeped through her words and her voice always got high and loud. He’d probably be the same way when it came to discussing the heroine or even his own writing if he wasn’t too afraid to do so.

He yawned loudly, his eyes closing for a brief second.

“Alya really likes Ladybug, huh?”

Marinette made a startled noise at the sound of Adrien’s abrupt words and went wide-eyed once more before nodding.

“S-sorry! But…um…yeah she does like Ladyblob,” Adrien tilted his head a bit in confusion and glanced down at the shy girl next to him.

“Ladybl-“

“LADYBUG,” Adrien rose his eyebrows in surprise and Marinette smiled nervously. “I mean Ladybug!”

He could’ve swore he heard her mumble a curse word under her breath after, but he also could’ve been imagining things.

“Ah,” They both stopped in front of a crosswalk, waiting for the few rushing cars to drive passed. “What about you?”

He wanted to tease her a bit about what she said. Ask her how she felt about Ladyblob, but he didn’t think their friendship was that developed yet and he didn’t want to risk offending her in any way.

“W-what about me?”

Their eyes met and he noticed how tightly her left hand was gripped onto the strap of her bag. Her knuckles were white.

He sighed internally, deciding to give her a small reassuring smile to try to comfort her in some way. His feet were beginning to feel like they were anchored by cement.

“How do you feel about Ladybug?”

Her body tensed evidently.

Did I say something wrong?

“I...um…she’s pretty cool. I think she and Chat Noir really help out Paris. S-so I am very grateful for the both of them.”

She laughed awkwardly.

His smile faded and he couldn’t tear his eyes off of her. He didn’t even mention his alter ego, yet the girl found the need to include him in her response. He didn’t understand her in that aspect.

Cars started to honk and they both looked up to see that a few were waiting for them to pass. He gave them an apologetic wave and they continued on their journey to the café that seemed to be much farther away than he expected.

They were quiet again, and he lost sight of Nino and Alya, the teens nowhere in sight. However, he saw that Marinette was looking at her phone and thought that the girl had probably texted her.

“Um, Nino and Alya are already there,” She said, her eyes still on her screen. “Alya, said they took a shortcut but they’re saving us a table.”

“You know the way?” He asked.

She finally shoved her phone back in her pocket and met his eyes again.

“Y-yeah, of course! W-we’re almost there.”

“Cool.”

“Mhmm.”

As he watched people around them enter buildings, walk, laugh, talk, he began to think more about Marinette’s words and actions from the previous weeks. The way she defended Chat Noir that first time in homeroom. The way she seemed to always defend him every week just because a fanfiction didn’t write him well enough. Adrien just wasn’t sure why the girl was so defensive when it came to his alter ego. He’d only seen her a few times in the suit and she never really seemed struck by him in any way. When dealing with the Evillustrator, she did look excited to work with him, but after a while of thinking, he felt that maybe she was more excited to just be working with a superhero in general, whether it was Chat Noir or not.

Adrien thought about it some more, his eyes looking straight ahead, his hands still in his pockets. And then something hit him, and his face went completely red. He never felt more sober in his life.

His eyes widened, and a small gasp almost left his mouth until he became self-aware.

She doesn’t.

He glanced down at her again and quickly looked away once she noticed his gaze.

But maybe she does.

“Adrien, is everything alright?”

He nodded, maybe too quickly.

“Okay, um good.”

Say something dammit!

“So, do you have a crush on Chat Noir?”

Are you kidding me?! REALLY?!

He heard a small snicker and he knew it didn’t come from either him or his friend.

Plagg was totally going to give him shit for his question later.

“I m-mean if you don’t mind me asking of course!”

Real smooth Agreste.

When he finally looked back at Marinette he saw an expression on her that’d he never seen before. Her eyebrows were furrowed but her eyes were wide in shock, her mouth hung open with no words coming out other than some odd sound.

“I-What?” She finally spoke.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck nervously, regretting ever opening his mouth in the first place. He shouldn’t have asked. He should’ve just gone to Nino’s house, ate one of his mom’s amazing omelets, and slept until he felt less dead inside.

His face warmed up even more and he could feel his palms beginning to sweat.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He silently blamed his exhaustion for his mindless rambling. However, he continued anyway.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you or anything! I just- you um seem to say a lot of nice things about him. Like that one time in class.”

“Oh, you heard that.”

He was sure everybody heard that.

Her cheeks were red again, but this time he felt that it wasn’t for the same reasons as before.

“I-I don’t have a crush on him. But…I don’t know,” She shrugged and her features softened. “Alya was talking about some fanfiction with him and Ladybug and I just don’t like it when people don’t receive the recognition they deserve, you know? It’s not right.”

He smiled fondly at her words, he couldn’t help it. Adrien didn’t know her as well as he would like, but he knew that her response was just so her. He muttered an “Of course.” And felt warmth spread throughout his chest in a calming way. He really wanted to sleep, but he was also glad that he didn’t pass up the opportunity to eat with her.

_______________

Alya and Nino both apologized for walking ahead of them when they finally arrived, though their words didn’t seem so genuine. He told them it was okay, however, since he felt that Nino probably wanted alone time with the other girl. And also he did enjoy Marinette’s company so it wasn't a big deal to him anyway. He could sense that the boy had a crush on her even though he still refused to admit it. Adrien just winked at his friend and Nino gave him a confused look before winking back and chuckling.

They were seated in a small circular table near the corner of the room. There was a nice window beside them that had sunlight dawn through, reflecting off the white painted coffee mugs and making the liquid inside them look lighter than what they actually were.

Adrien sat next to Nino and the two girls sat right across, Marinette directly in front of him. Since the two boys had never gone to the café, they allowed the two girls to order for them, Nino also making sure that they didn’t order Adrien extra coffee no matter how much he begged.

“It isn’t happening, dude.”

Adrien rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, there’s a Starbucks on the way back to my house. I’ll just get my fix there.”

“Bro.”

Nino sighed.

“Sleep instead. I heard it’s much better than coffee and it’s free. It’s a win-win.”

“You’re doing the no chill thing again, Nino.”

“Says the guy that drinks coffee like it’s water.”

Adrien snorted.

“You found out today that I drink coffee. You don’t know how often I drink it.”

“You wanted them to order you two cups of coffee with two shots of espresso in each, dude. That’s not normal.”

The two girls returned with delicious looking sandwiches for all of them and they all began to eat, talking about different things that made the air seem lighter and their experience much more memorable. Alya was the one that started the conversation, talking about school. And from there on new topics began to arise, the four teens socializing in a calm and friendly manner for several minutes. Adrien enjoyed the group’s company, even finding himself getting lost in the interaction so much so that he didn’t even hear Alya’s sudden comment.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

Marinette was scowling at her friend with her cheeks flushed as always, and was obviously trying to avoid eye contact with the blond.

“Alya!” She said.

Her friend ignored her and proceeded to look at Adrien with a devilish smirk playing on her lips.

“I said that Marinette told me you thought she had a crush on Chat Noir. And I just wanted to know how you feel about that.”

The whole table seemed to be awaiting his answer, even Marinette, though she refused to look at him for some reason. He was never fond of being put on the spot like that and was mentally praying that Nino would interject and say something. Instead, his friend was too busy smiling, and Adrien knew that he too wanted to hear his response.

How did he feel when he thought Marinette had a crush on him? Well now that he was fueled with caffeine he was more aware of his thoughts and feelings. All he could really think at the moment was that he was flattered. A strong and kind girl like Marinette liking him would’ve been such a high compliment to receive, even though he wouldn’t be able to reciprocate her feelings. However, he couldn’t say that aloud. So, he just blushed and shrugged instead.

“It’s interesting, I suppose.”

Marinette continued staring at her lap.

Alya cocked in eyebrow.

“Oh, in what way?”

Adrien turned to Nino and rose his eyebrows in some sort of desperate plea, but the boy’s smile just widened and he motioned Adrien to continue.

Why is he like this?!

“Um… I don’t know. I’ve heard you two talk about that fanfiction or whatever-“

“The Empty Streets of Paris?”

Adrien smiled at the sound of the title of his own story.

“Yeah, and I just thought she liked him since she seemed to criticize it so much.”

Shit.

Did that sound harsh?

He didn’t mean it to.

“And not that that’s a bad thing or anything!”

First the gum incident and now this. She’s going to hate me.

“Well, that is true, Mari. I guess I see where he was coming from.” Alya adds, Marinette finally looking up to look at her best friend.

“Hey! I don’t criticize it all the time.”

Alya snorted.

“That’s all that comes out of your mouth when we talk about it.”

“I’m sorry if I have an opinion.” She whispers to herself, her bottom lip out in a pout.

They were talking about his story again.

They were talking about it with him there, with them knowing he was listening.

He needed more coffee.

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing M. I’m just saying that I get why Adrien over here came to that conclusion. You do only talk about it when it has something to do with Chat Noir.”

He was red again – he knew he was. He lifted up his mug and pretended to be drinking out of it, even though there was nothing left inside. Nino seemed to notice this since he finally spoke up.

“Alya, can you not bring Adrien into this fan crap.”

Alya glared at Nino.

“It isn’t crap. And Adrien doesn’t seem to have a problem with the topic. Isn’t that right, Adrien?!”

The whole table was staring at him once again, and the teen realized that the mug was still against his lips so he finally placed it down.

What should he say? A part of him wanted to continue talking about his story since he was so dependent on feedback, but another part of him was yelling that he would be taking things too far. He gulped instead.

“I don’t really mind. I’m actually a bit curious.”

Alya leaned over the table and gave Nino a smile before muttering an “I told you.” before sitting back down correctly. Nino groaned and Marinette had a hand placed over her face.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

The table went silent for a while, Nino and Alya having a heated staring contest with one another while Marinette and Adrien were both finding something to do to distract themselves from the awkward tension that suddenly arose.

Adrien cleared his throat.

“So, I keep hearing that the story’s good?”

He was weak, really.

Alya finally turned to him and smiled widely.

“Why, yes it is!”

She continued to explain to him his own plot for a few minutes, a satisfied grin on Adrien’s face when she complimented his technique and characterization. He knew that Plagg was hearing all of this and that the kwami was probably going to tell him something on the lines of: “Don’t let this get to your head,” later on, but he didn’t care. He was going to let it a little.

“Ah, I guess it does sound kind of interesting.”

“Dude, it’s a story about Ladybug and Chat Noir. We get to see the real deal almost every week. I don’t see what’s so interesting about it.” Nino commented, his body slumped more into his chair than before with his arms crossed over his chest.

Alya huffed.

“Nino, just because you don’t get something doesn’t mean you need to bash it.”

“What, so Marinette can bash it, but I can’t?!”

“Oh my god.” Marinette breathed out.

“Yeah, because she does it with style and actually has logical reasons to back herself up.”

“Mine are logical!”

“Yeah, whatever,” she looks at Adrien again. “So back to what we were saying, I can send you the link if you want. It really is good.”

Adrien’s small smile vanished and he rubbed his right thigh nervously before looking over at Marinette and chuckling stiffly. She was finally looking at him again, and Adrien couldn’t help but wonder what her expression would be after a chapter of his story. Would those blue eyes light up as his did when he first discovered fanfiction. Would she finally accept his portrayal of Chat Noir? He wasn’t sure why she was so driven to avoid his story so bad, but he began to think that maybe his answer could change her mind in some way.

“Sure,” He was still looking at the girl in front of him for some reason, refusing to even acknowledge Nino’s groan. “I’ll give it a try.”

Marinette’s eyes widened and he so badly wanted to know what she was thinking right at that moment.

____________

Chapter 8 of “The Empty Streets of Paris”

--by FelineGood16 on FanWorkz.net

He still cannot fathom what is happening. Ladybug is carrying him, his pale arms wrapped securely around her neck as she runs through a back alley to get him to safety. The akuma had almost gotten him a few minutes ago. The villain’s sharp nails had dragged across his cheek slowly, and he felt it begin to turn him into stone before he was rescued. Ladybug needed Chat Noir and it was killing him that he hadn’t transformed on time. He had thought that was the end. The end of his life, the end of their partnership, the end of Paris. But there his knight was, saving him yet again. And she’s still carrying him, unaware of who the man in her arms truly is. He resists the urge to rest his head on her chest. He wonders if her heart is beating as quickly as his is now.

He stares up at her and marvels in her beauty. Her pigtails are coming undone, and a few strands of her raven black hair are falling over her eyes, but she’s still so beautiful and Felix is still so undoubtedly in love with her.

She rests him on the ground, gently, once she finds a far enough place. He drags his fingers across her shoulder as his hands release from their hold selfishly. He doesn’t want to let go, but he knows he must.

“Are you alright?” She asks, her voice filled with that familiar tone of concern that never fails to make his heart ache.

“Y-yeah. Thank you so much for saving me.”

Still resting where she set him down, his sweaty palms slide against the rough bricks as he looks up at her.

“No problem.”

Her eyebrows suddenly knit together once she notices something on him. She bends down to his level and his cheeks feel like they are scorched by a flame.

“Damn, she got you.” She says, her hand going to his face. He silently curses the akuma, angry that because of them he can’t feel her touch properly. His cheek is still made of stone.

“I’ll be fine.” He mutters.

She looks intently at him as though he’s a fragile doll and he’s never felt more vulnerable in his life. She’s noticing him. She’s finally noticing him.

__________________

“A little slow tonight, huh kitty?” His partner asked him once they landed on top of a building. It was almost eleven at night, Adrien still hadn’t eaten since lunch, his eyes were stinging almost painfully, and he wasn’t sure if he could patrol much longer. His knees felt like jelly and it was getting harder and harder for him to latch onto his staff when he landed.

“Slow?” He forced a chuckle and puffed out his chest in an exaggerated manner. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes as she walked closer to him, a small smile concealing her concern.

“You also don’t seem to know the meaning of the word sleep. Have you been getting some, Chat? You’ve seemed a bit…off lately.”

He looked down at her worried expression and knew that what she said was a clear understatement. Last patrol he had lost his balance more times than he could count and tonight Ladybug had to wait for him to catch up a few times since she was moving too fast. He knew it was because of his exhaustion, but he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want his lady to think he was having any troubles whatsoever. He was supposed to be her useful partner, and what use would he be if he’d let her patrol on her own while he stayed home to sleep.

“Aww, is a certain bug worried about me?” He decided to tease instead. He was good at teasing and making jokes. Everything was less serious and he had more control of the conversation. However, sometimes Ladybug didn’t accept that.

Her smile faded and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Don’t try changing the subject. Have you been sleeping enough? I don’t mind handling the next patrol on my o-“

“Yes, I have. And there’s no need. I’ll be there.”

He was no longer smiling either, all the amusement gone from the air. He wondered if the light illuminating around them was as blurry to her as it was to him. He didn’t say anything, however. He knew it wasn’t.

“Chat-“

“I’m going to be there.”

She sighed and placed her hand on his right shoulder gently. He knew he was going to feel her touch even after she lowered her hand. It was burning him.

“Just, try to get some sleep. Alright? I don’t want you to hurt yourself because of your own stubbornness.”

“Hey! I am not st-“

“Chat,” He stopped as soon as his name came out of her mouth again. Her voice was soft like cotton and it startled him. “Please?”

How could he say no to that?

He sighed, defeated.

“Okay, my lady.”

She smiled and lowered her hand before stepping back.

“It’s getting pretty late, so I think we’re done with patrol for today. What do you think?”

He nodded and felt himself yawn, his mind going dizzy a bit.

She gave him one last smile before she said goodnight and swung away into the night.

She was worried about me.

He smiled lovingly at the thought. He knew he was going to have to write down his feelings as soon as he got home, no matter how disgusting Plagg thought they were.

He began his journey home, jumping from building to building, trying to approximate how many blocks away he was [He figured about seven, but as his sight began to blur more and more, he wasn’t so sure anymore. His eyes were begging to close and his thoughts kept racing in his head in a way he couldn’t control.

What’s happening?

He yawned again, thinking his weird feeling had something to do with his empty stomach. But then in the middle of a leap, he realized that he forgot to use his baton to give himself more momentum and ended up falling, his eyes closing abruptly as he felt his whole body give out in midair.

His wavering consciousness was waiting for the strong impact from the ground that he expected was soon to come. But it never came, instead his mind went black and he felt like he was flying.

#Fanboy #miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous ladybug fanfic #ml fanfic #ml au #miraculous ladybug au #chat noir #ladybug #marichat #marinette cheng #adrien agreste #ladynoir #adrinette #adrienette

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threeorphanpilgrimage · 7 years

Text

Chapter 77 - Force

Clementine awoke to a couple of dull thuds in the distance. Sitting up, she could see it was morning now but wasn't sure if it was really early or just cloudy out. There were another couple of thuds which she almost thought were thunder. She could see through the window it was raining, but a couple of louder thuds sounded without a hint of lightning as she stared out at the gentle summer shower. Clem was about to get out of bed when there was another thud followed by a violent cracking as the bedroom door was knocked off its hinges.

"Finally," said Corporal Cruz as she raised her rifle. "I finally found you."

"No!" There a deafening bang and then nothing as Clem felt herself clawing helplessly at the suffocating darkness.

"Clementine!" Hearing her name called, Clem stopped panicking long enough to realize what she had been clawing at was just a blanket. Pulling it off, she found their dimly lit bedroom as it should be and Sarah sitting in bed beside her. "Are you okay?" asked Sarah, her sleepy face racked with concern. "What's wrong?"

Instead of answering, Clem hurried to the bedroom door. It was still on its hinges, and peeking out into the hall she didn't any signs of an intruder. With panic coursing through her veins, Clem pushed the door shut, locked it, the hurried back into bed and immediately wrapped her arms around Sarah. Even with Sarah returning the embrace, Clem couldn't quite stop herself from crying onto her friend's shoulder.

"What's wrong?" asked Sarah as she ran her hand up and down Clem's back.

"I… I… had a really bad dream," Clem blurted out between sobs.

"About what?" asked Sarah, sounding unsettled herself. "About that… person, we found?"

Clem paused as she thought about how to answer Sarah. "Yes," she said. "I'm… I'm really worried about what's going to happen."

"Me too."

The pair remained in each's other arms as the sound of a light rain gradually eased Clementine's frayed nerves. Neither girl felt like going back to bed, so instead they got dressed and prepared to do their morning routines. First they checked on Omid, who Clem was happy to see was still sound asleep. Whereas the rest of group had been nervous, he had remained blissfully unaware of the implications of the intruder they had taken captive; Clem only hoped it would stay that way.

As Omid didn't need tending to at the moment, Sarah led Clem out of his bedroom and onto their next task; checking slug traps. It actually felt strange putting on a raincoat not covered in dried blood for once, but it felt even stranger looking at a bowl covered in fat little lumps of slimy flesh. Much to Clem's surprise, and horror, Sarah said there were usually a lot more slugs when it rained.

Clem felt a chill running up her spine just watching Sarah touch the bowl, even with gloves on. The black and green lumps seemed completely unaware of their fate as Sarah brought them back to the porch and dumped them into a bucket filled with soapy water. Having to pry the last few stuck to the bowl and toss them in, Clem could tell Sarah hated doing this. But not because she hated touching the slugs; she hated killing them.

But kill them they did as Clem helped, much to her repulsion, to clean out the traps and drown the slugs in a bubbly grave. Moving across the center of the field, Clem heard Buster, their scarecrow, start moaning at her. Looking at him, she noticed its new taped stumps where its shins used to be. Anthony had cut them off yesterday after he said Buster lunged at him, and he wasn't waiting for the collar to snap before taking action.

Listening to the Buster's snarling, Clem found herself having second thoughts about using a walker to keep crows away. Birds were avoiding all but the edges of the pasture now, and Clem didn't blame them as watering the field yesterday meant having to endure the constant moaning of their scarecrow as it struggled in vain endlessly against its chain. Seeing the indomitable corpse crawl forward on its stumps as best it could, Clem just did her best to ignore it.

Finishing with the slugs, Clem helped Sarah gather a few tomatoes and cucumbers for their captive. It was a difficult process, trying to pick which of their still ripening produce to feed to someone they didn't even want to feed. Because Sarah said eating their crops before they're fully grown would be a waste, the group hadn't even tasted them since Patty prepared them a salad a couple of days ago. And yet here they were picking a few now so the intruder won't know they have a semi-trailer full of canned goods as well.

Returning to the house, Omid was awake, along with Jet. Before long, the rest of the group was filing inside while Clem made them a simple breakfast of oatmeal and honey. After everyone ate, Clem prepared the produce they picked along with some leafs of lettuce Sarah clipped to make another salad for the intruder. Grabbing a fork and bringing it into the living room, she saw everyone looking at her, or more specifically, the bowl she was holding.

"We spent months busting our ass just to feed someone who steals from us and tries to kill me," griped Patty as she crossed her arms.

"So you keep reminding us," retorted Devlin in a sharp tone. "And if you don't keep quiet about it I'll bring Sin with me to feed the kid instead."

"You assume I don't share Patty's outlook on the situation," said Sin. "What are you expecting him to tell us if we keep feeding him?"

"If I knew that we wouldn't need to keep feeding him," answered Devlin.

"Why don't we try not feeding him, see if he talks then?" suggested Patty.

"We can't just starve him," argued Jet.

"And starving him won't get him to talk," argued Devlin.

"If we starved him for a while, then offered him food, I bet he'd talk then," asserted Patty. "That's how Valkaria worked. The asshole running things got people to do what she wanted by dangling fresh fish and oranges in front of anyone who was hungry."

"Shaffer's did that too," added Sarah with a hint of shame. "They'd starve you; then they'd get you to do whatever they want by offering you food."

"Yeah, they did stuff like that in Houston too. They fed whoever they considered important more food," said Jet as he looked at his grandfather. "So we're gonna be like them now and just starve people?"

"This isn't the same," argued Sin. "This person trespassed on our home, took our food, and nearly killed one of us."

"What if he hadn't?" asked Jet. "I bet you'd be saying the same thing right now anyway."

"Enough already," insisted Devlin. "We went through all this last night."

"And lunch yesterday," added Clem. "And breakfast."

"That's because we have a problem and we're no closer to a solution," said Sin. "What we're doing isn't working."

"It's been two days," argued Jet. "Less really since we found him in the evening; it's been closer to thirty-six hours. Maybe we give him—"

"How long?" asked Sin. "A week? A month? A year of feeding someone who's just waiting for a chance to strike?"

"The end of the day," answered Devlin. "I'll bring Patty with me for breakfast. Maybe seeing the person he shot will guilt trip him enough to tell us something. For lunch, I figured Sarah could explain to him just how much work growing the stuff he was taking really was. And if he still doesn't talk, Clem, maybe you can come with me to try and get him to talk for dinner."

"Why me?" asked Clem.

"It sounds like you've had some… experience, with being in bad places," noted Devlin in a grim tone. "If you're willing, maybe opening up to him about that might help him understand why we're holding him."

"I guess I could do that," said Clem.

"You still assume he is holding his tongue because he's afraid of us." Sin looked at Clem. "He told her to pretend she never saw him while aiming a gun at her. Does that sound like someone who's just afraid?"

"Yes," answered Jet bluntly.

"It's worrying, but we know almost nothing about him," stated Devlin. "For now, our best chance of changing that is making him comfortable enough he feels like talking to us. And while we're doing that, maybe Jet can figure out what his journal says."

"He spent all day yesterday on it and made no progress," stated Sin.

"I spent most of yesterday in the field," corrected an annoyed Jet. "It's raining today, so I've got time to figure it out now."

"Keep at it, until then we'll keep playing nice." Devlin picked up the salad and fork, then gave Patty a look.

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll be 'nice', since how we treat the guy who shot me is so damn important."

"This isn't about how we treat him, it's about getting him to tell us something," reminded Devlin. "I want him to see you today because if he meant it when he said he was sorry for what he did, then he should want to make it right, which I'll stress he can do by telling us a little about himself."

"And if he doesn't want to make it right?" challenged Sin.

Devlin took a breath. "Then we'll need to change tactics, but not until tomorrow." Devlin looked over at Patty, and the pair headed for the door. Patty grabbed an umbrella and they stepped outside.

"I'll be working on the pipes for our next rainwater collector in the Sunseeker," mumbled Sin as he headed for the door. "One of us needs to be preparing for the future, assuming we still have one."

As Sin left the house, Clem headed over to the window. She watched as Devlin and Patty approached the shed. Devlin adjusted the gun on his hip, then started undoing the padlock.

"Should I have just shot him?" Clem looked over her shoulder to find Jet standing behind her. "If… if I had shot him, we wouldn't be in this situation right now."

"I thought you don't want to hurt him," said Sarah as she approached Jet.

"I don't but…" Jet looked out the window, then looked away. "What if they're right, and this guy is a spy or something? What if we're gonna have to kill him?"

"We don't know that," said Sarah.

"And if you shot him… you'd spend the rest of your life wondering if you should have or not," said Clem, her voice trembling.

"Yeah, you… you always wonder if you did the right thing or not," added Sarah as she squeezed Clem's hand for comfort. The pair turned away from Jet and looked at Omid, who was happily licking flecks of oatmeal off his sticky fingers.

"Killing someone… that's something you can never take back." Clem walked with Sarah to Omid's high chair. "So you should never feel bad just because you didn't kill someone."

"I understand that," said Jet as Clem scooped Omid into her arms. "I just hope whoever these people this guy are with understand that too."

The sound of the doorknob turning got everyone's attention. The trio watched as Patty and Devlin reentered the house. The look on their faces made it clear they had no success, as was the fact they returned so quickly, but Clem felt compelled to speak anyway.

"He didn't say anything?" she asked.

"Not a damn thing," griped Patty.

"He won't even eat in front of us now," said Devlin, sounding tired. "We just had to leave the salad on the floor for him and lock the shed behind us."

"Ugh, I'm gonna enjoy the fact we've got some rain and jerk… take a shower," griped Patty as she marched outside. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the Brave."

"I can't really work on Sin's next project in the rain, so do you kids need anything?" Clem looked at Sarah, who looked at Jet, who just shook his head. "All right, and we don't need to water anything this morning either. If anything changes, just come get me in the guest house." Devlin left the trio alone, who just looked at each other in confusion for a moment.

"I… I should really work on figuring out his notebook while we've got a break," concluded Jet. "Maybe it'll tell us who he is and why he's here."

"I hope so," said Clem.

"Me too." Jet sighed, then headed for the stairs.

"So, what do we do?" asked Sarah.

"Ree-ree," demanded Omid as he tugged on Clem's collar.

"I guess that answers that."

Clem took Omid back to his room to read him a book. She had made sure to expand their library of children's books before leaving Tulsa, but Omid always picked from a few books he had already seen before. For today, he once again chose 'The Magic School Bus Explores the Solar System'. Clem recited the words without even looking at them, having long since memorized the entire book from reading it so many times. Omid predictably clapped and laughed in excitement every time she turned the page, and when the book was finished he started chanting 'ah-gee'.

After reading it twice more, Clem decided to bring Omid with her as she headed out into the greenhouse, hoping Omid would enjoy being outside long enough for Clem to check in on Sarah. Sarah was hovering over a couple of potted sprouts, explaining to Clem how she was going to use them for gathering seeds later while Omid discovered new ways of getting filthy by playing in the dirt.

Looking at the binders and dirt-stained sheets of paper with scribbled notes sprawled out over the tables, Clem felt guilty she couldn't help Sarah more with the greenhouse. And looking up at the crude patches of plastic taped over the tent's holes, Clem hated to think what would happen if they were struck by another tornado. Looking through the canopy, she was relieved to see there was almost no wind blowing through the trees as it rained this time.

After struggling to give Omid a bath while he constantly tried to escape the tub, Clem was pleasantly surprised she managed to get him down for a nap with relatively little effort. After turning on his baby monitor, Clem went to check on Sarah again and found she had finished everything she needed to do in the greenhouse today, leaving the pair with nothing they needed to do for once. After some minor deliberation, they decided sitting down and playing a game of chess like they used to would be nice.

Setting up the pieces, Clem realized they hadn't played together since Omid's birthday. It was relaxing being able to just play a game with her best friend again, especially since Clem had improved enough since learning how to play to avoid being quickly trounced. She knew Sarah's opening moves all too well to fall for any of her tricks and had spent enough time studying Sarah's later strategies to not leave herself open to easy attacks.

Despite feeling more confident in herself, it was hard for Clem to enjoy the game. With each move, it always felt like one girl was waiting for another to make conversation, and neither ever did. Sin was right about their problem being no closer to a solution. Every time Clem waited for Sarah to make a move, her thoughts drifted back to the intruder in the shed, and Clem suspected Sarah was doing the same when waiting on her.

Grabbing one of her pawns, Clem thought about moving into the open to hopefully ensnare Sarah's bishop. Sarah usually didn't pass up a chance to take a pawn, and Clem had a knight waiting to strike if she did. Clem pushed the piece forward, ready to sacrifice it for a chance to claim Sarah's bishop, but hesitated to lift her hand. Looking at the tiny piece and remembering how many times Sarah found ways to use pawns to beat her, Clem moved it back to its original position and considered a different strategy.

The pair heard a door close and looked up to see Jet coming down the stairs. He looked over and was surprised both of them were staring at him. "I… I deciphered the journal."

"You did?" said Clem.

"What did it say?" asked an eager Sarah.

"Not much really," said Jet with a shrug.

"But it must have said something," said Clem.

"Why don't you get the others, that way I can tell everyone," said Jet. "Besides, it'll be lunch before long anyway."

"It will?" Sarah checked her watch. "It's already half past eleven."

"I didn't know we had been playing that long."

"I'll go get Devlin," volunteered Jet.

"I'll get the others," offered Clem. "Sarah, can you check on Omid?"

"Sure."

The trio separated and Clem grabbed a raincoat before heading out into the driveway. It was barely raining anymore and it was only a short trip to tell Patty and Sin what was happening. Heading for Anthony's truck, it only now dawned on Clem that she hadn't actually see him at breakfast this morning, which was odd since he was usually the first one to show up to any meal.

After receiving no response from knocking on the camper door, Clem moved the front of the vehicle to retrieve the keys. Devlin insisted everyone knew where all the vehicles' keys were in case they ever had to leave in an emergency, and so it was agreed the keys would be kept in magnetic boxes hidden near the left front tires. Heading back to the camper, Clem was about to unlock the door when it swung open, revealing Anthony standing in the door.

"What… what the hell are you doing with those?" asked Anthony through his respirator as he pointed at the keys.

"I got worried when you didn't answer the door," answered Clem.

"Well, I'm all right, so do you mind if I have those back?" Handing the keys over, Clem noticed Anthony was wearing long rubber gloves.

"Why are you wearing those, and that?"

"Me? I was just cleaning my gun," said Anthony as he pulled his mask off. "I don't have good ventilation in here so those chemicals were starting to get to me."

"Have you been doing that all morning?" asked Clem.

"Have I?" Anthony checked his watched. "Dammit, why didn't you guys get me for breakfast?"

"Because you never miss a meal," reminded Clem as Anthony tossed off his gloves.

"Yeah, well, I guess this business with our new guest has been putting me off my appetite," said Anthony as he tossed his respirator aside and clipped a sheathed knife to his belt. "So is lunch ready at least?"

"Actually, I'm here to let you know Jet figured out that guy's notebook." Anthony spun around upon hearing that. "He said there wasn't much, but that we should all look at it."

Anthony followed Clem back into the house without further coaxing. Heading into the living room, everyone was gathered around a pair of notebooks laid open on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Like I said, it's not much," said Jet.

"It's nothing," dismissed Sin.

"What's nothing?" asked Anthony.

"The notebook," said Patty as she looked up. "Jet translated it and it's just the same few words repeated on different pages."

"That and numbers in the corners that I couldn't figure out," added Jet. "They're not in order, so they're not page numbers, and they don't look like dates either."

"They're likely code for wherever this kid has been," said Devlin. "The military makes specialized maps that troops can use to find certain locations with just short sequences of numbers. Keeps things nice and covert."

"Shit, does this mean the kid could be working for the military?" asked Anthony. "Or whatever's left of it?"

"Typically, military maps have four digit numbers at the shortest; all the ones in this book are two-digit," said Devlin. "Also, I've never seen these symbols the words are written in either."

"I haven't either, but they were all just substitutions for letters," explained Jet. "I figured it out by starting with the vowels and just kind of guessing."

"The military likely would use something harder to crack," said Devlin. "But then again, it's obvious the chain of command has long since broken down. Who's to say what's left of the armed forces would do at this point?"

"I was thinking, considering everything that's happened, we should use the word Ceres instead of Owens for our code word," suggested Jet, sounding nervous as he spoke. "We'd use the same system, but we'd just mark the letters as if we spelled Owens instead. Like underlining the 'R' in Ceres would be where the 'E' is in Owens, and we'd know to go east, but no one else would."

"That's good thinking. Everyone understand that?" Devlin looked around as everyone nodded in response. "It's agreed then… hopefully we won't need it."

"I understand it's the same amount of letters as Owens," said Sin. "But why exactly did you pick the word Ceres?"

"Because, that's the name of our farm; Ceres Acres."

"It is?" asked Anthony.

"Yeah, you all know that, right?" The group gave Jet a look that made it clear they hadn't heard that name before. "Great, why'd even bother making that sign?"

"I knew," said Clem.

"I know you did."

"What about the photo Clem took?" asked Patty. "Did you translate what it said?"

"It said danger," said Jet. "And there was the number twenty next to it."

"Danger?" repeated Anthony. "From what?"

"I don't know, that's all I could see in the photo."

"It was written on a road, so it might be a warning for others," stated Devlin as he picked up the journal. "And this is clearly a log, probably so if the kid doesn't come back and they find his body later, they got at least a partial record of what went wrong."

"They?" asked a nervous Clem.

"It's clear he's a scout," announced Sin.

"Biters, scraps, and literally the word null, over and over again is what he wrote," added Patty. "He's clearly looking for something."

"Did… did he write any other words?" asked a nervous Clem.

"A few. Here, you can read it if you want," said Jet as he handed Clem a journal. "I made sure to write everything down in a separate notebook, so he wouldn't know we translated it."

Clem started thumbing through the journal, looking for jackpot, near mint, dash, and clean. Much to her relief, she didn't see any of those words, but she did find it disturbing how often the word 'biters' and 'null' appeared on the pages. The last page with writing on it read 'THERE IS FUCKING NOTHING'.

"Here wrote this?" asked Clem as she showed the page to Jet.

"I think so," said Jet.

"You think?"

"The handwriting on the last page was really hard to read. I had to guess a little with the letters, but I don't know what else it could have said."

"So we're right back to square one," concluded Patty. "He's working with some group of people and he was hungry. That's it."

"We might know one other thing," said Jet. "Written in the same letters on the inside of the notebook's cover was another word that I think is 'Pedro'. That might be his name."

"Oh, great, that does us a lot of good," said Anthony.

"We know something else," said Devlin as he examined the original notebook. "Whoever he's with, they're organized. I doubt Pedro here picked the route he's taken if he's writing things like 'there's fucking nothing' in his log. Someone else probably picked the locations he was going to, which is what the numbers represent, which would mean they'll have known where he's gone, which could mean if he never comes back, they may come looking for him."

There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone digested what Devlin said. Clem looked around the room at the others, who just appeared to be looking at each other for answers that no one had. The first voice to break the silence was Omid's, who light crying crackled from the baby monitor set on the table.

"I'll go take care of him," said Sarah as she grabbed the baby monitor and hurried upstairs.

"I know some of you don't want to hear this, but we're gonna have kill this guy in the end," announced Anthony.

"We don't know that," insisted Jet.

"He wrote scraps right? He's scouting for food, and he's part of group of people who are probably as hungry as he was," listed Anthony. "What do you think is going to happen if he gets back and tells his group he found a whole farm guarded by a few people, a couple of kids, and a baby?"

"We don't know his group would attack us," said Jet.

"Don't we?" retorted Sin. "You and I saw it in Houston more times than we care to remember. The military hoarded everything and gave the rest of the city mere scraps to live on."

"Same goes for Miami," added Patty.

"Why would these people be any different?"

"Because they're not the military, or they would have just rolled in here and taken our farm already," stated Jet. "Not send out someone who doesn't look much older than me to find stuff on their own."

"That's how OKC operated," spoke a bitter Devlin. "They didn't bother with scouts, they just rolled their whole caravan up to the edge of Tulsa."

"This group is probably just people like us who want to survive, but not at any cost," suggested Jet.

"Or they might pretend to be just long enough to get a chance to stab us in the back," suggested Anthony. "That's how people in Gulf Port operated, they pretended to be your friends until you weren't useful to them anymore, then they'd kill ya."

"The tactics differ, but we've all seen that resources are scarce enough now that people will kill each other just for something to eat." Sin turned to Devlin. "Even when you offered to share with Oklahoma City, they still attacked you. Surely you can't think letting this boy go is safe?"

"I'm not sure what to think," said Devlin as he stood up. "Clem, how about you and I go ahead and talk to him, before lunch? See if we can stress the importance of establishing a dialogue now instead of later."

"Okay." Clem stood up and followed Devlin over to the window.

"We're all hungry and looking for food these days, but if… son of a bitch!" Clem watched in disbelief as Devlin pulled the window open and clambered out through it. As Devlin rushed across the yard, Clem could see the intruder squeezing past a partially opened shed door.

"Shit!" Clem rushed over to the closet under the stairs.

"What's happening?" asked a panicked Jet.

"He's escaping!" Clem threw the closet open and found a pistol, shotgun and hand grenade all inside. She hopped up and grabbed the pistol and its magazine off the top shelf while Patty grabbed the shotgun resting in the bottom half of the closest. While Patty grabbed a fistful of shells, Clem raced outside just in time to see Devlin tackle the intruder. He tried crawling out from under the man while Clem loaded the gun, cocked it, switched the safety off, and aimed into the air.

A single warning shot was enough to freeze the intruder in place as Devlin placed his knee into his back. Patty came racing over, cocking her shotgun as she ran, and everyone else came rushing up behind her. While they all gathered around the recently recaptured intruder, Clem moved over to the shed to examine it more closely.

The lock was still on the door, and instead the door had been partially opened from the other side. Kneeling down, Clem could see the hinge on the bottom of the door had been crudely bent and pried free from the frame, allowing the door to be pushed open slightly on the bottom. Pulling on the door and peering inside, Clem could see an empty bowl and a severely bent fork resting on the ground.

"Little bastard." Clem turned around to find Patty looking over her shoulder. She scowled, then headed towards where Devlin was still holding the intruder in place. "That must have been a challenge," announced Patty in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Angling that fork through the crack in the door to bust the hinge. Did you refuse to eat in front of us this morning just so we'd leave it with your damn salad?" accused Patty as she cocked her shotgun, expending an unused shotgun shell.

"Where are we going to put him now?" asked Jet.

"The storm shelter," announced Devlin.

"There's no lock on the outside," reminded Sin. "And he could lock us out of it if we put him in there."

"And then a storm could hit and we'd be screwed," added Anthony.

"Can't lock anything with your hands tied," insisted Devlin as he held the intruder in place on the wet dirt. "Anthony, get me some rope."

"Clem!" Clem spun around to find Sarah rushing over. "What happened?"

"That guy got out the shed, but Devlin caught him," informed Clem.

"I heard a shot," said Sarah.

"That was me. It was just a warning shot."

"So, what's happening now?"

"Now… we're putting him in the shelter." Clem watched as Devlin tied the intruder's hands behind his back. Moving alongside him, Clem felt sick as she watched his scared face flinching as Devlin pulled the knot taut. She could almost feel the fibers of the rope digging into her own wrists and found herself nervously tugging on her own bracelet.

The group gathered around as Devlin forced the intruder to the edge of the storm shelter's hatch. He turned around and looked at Devlin, possibly for mercy, but Devlin offered none. Instead, the intruder turned back to the dark hole in the ground and sat down on the edge, struggling to do so while his hands were bound behind his back. He sat there for a second, then finally scooched past the edge. He hadn't even hit the floor when Devlin slammed the hatch shut.

"I told you keeping him here was stupid," said Sin as the group walked back towards the guest house.

"It was the best option at the time," argued Devlin as they crossed onto the porch and out of the rain.

"But not anymore."

Devlin stared at Sin for a few seconds before answering. "No," admitted Devlin. "This isn't sustainable. We need to make a decision, today."

"What do you mean a decision?" asked Sarah.

"You know what he means," said Anthony.

"We don't have to go as far as killing him," argued Patty, sounding conflicted. "If we just… punish him first, then—"

"We're not doing that," dictated Devlin.

"You're really going argue about how it's not right to cause him any pain after what he's pulled?" asked Patty.

"It ain't about what's right, it's about what works and what doesn't. Roughing the kid up but then letting him go is a half-measure; he stills go back to his people, and with an additional reason to attack us."

"So we just let him go, and that's it?" asked an aggravated Sin.

"That… or we kill him," stated Devlin. "Anything else is no good."

"That's not true," argued Jet. "You said in Tulsa you would punish people and only killed the worst ones. We—"

"I said there were people we didn't feel right letting loose," corrected Devlin. "Back then, when we had a whole town worth of people, that was only the worst of the worst. But here, just the few of us, I'm not sure we can risk letting some kid loose if he's out scouting for a bigger group."

"We have to," insisted Sarah. "We can't just kill someone because we're afraid of what he might do."

"What he might do?" repeated Patty. "You forget the part where he shot me!"

"Forget? I'm the one who sewed up your leg!" barked Sarah.

"Do you want him bringing back a bunch of people and have him shoot the rest of us?" accused Patty.

"Do you want to shoot a scared boy in the head just because you're more scared!" retorted an angry Sarah.

"I want to talk him!" announced Clementine in the sternest voice she could muster. "Then we can make a decision."

Devlin sighed. "I doubt he's got anything to say but we might as well try, maybe he'll realize we're running out of patience. I'll go in first and—"

"I want to talk him, alone," informed Clem.

"What? No," dictated Sarah.

"We only see him in pairs, in case he tries something or—"

"And he's never said anything," reminded Clem.

"And you think talking to him alone will change that?" asked Patty.

"I'm the youngest one here, after Omid. And like Devlin said… I've got experience with what he's going through," reminded Clem, trying to sound confident. "Maybe if I just go by myself, he won't be so afraid and finally say something."

"Or maybe he'll see an opportunity in taking the youngest of us hostage," suggested Sin.

"He's tied up," reminded Jet.

"He was locked up until just a few minutes ago," retorted Sin.

"Clem has a gun and—"

"I'm not taking a gun," announced Clem.

"What?" asked Sarah.

"Clem, that's suicidal," said Patty with concern instead of anger now.

"Everyone who sees me with a gun always thinks it's wrong. Like the people I'm with are bad, or I must be bad for having it or… seeing someone has a gun has never made me feel more like talking to them."

"Really?" asked Anthony. "Not even in New Orleans?"

"No," retorted Clem in a harsh tone. "Them holding guns to our heads just made it harder to talk… I could barely think."

"Me either," said Patty in a whisper.

"I want to talk him, alone, without a gun."

"Clem—"

"I want to do this Devlin."

Devlin just stared at Clem for a second. "Actually, I was going to say if you go down there alone, it's better if you don't have a gun. If he were to get loose and get it away from you, he could use it against the rest of us."

"Oh…"

Devlin looked conflicted as he rubbed the back of his head. "I—"

"That's two reasons I shouldn't have a gun then," concluded Clem.

"And another reason you shouldn't go," said Sarah. "It's not safe, we—"

"We can either kill or let him go," stated Clem as she looked over at Devlin. "Right?"

"We clearly can't keep him locked up at this rate, and anything else at this point would be a half-measure," he repeated.

"That's a big decision, so we need to do everything we can to make sure we make the right one," concluded Clem.

"But why you?" asked Sarah. "I'm young too, I've been through… some of the same stuff you have."

"I… I'll go," volunteered Jet, his voice cracking. "I—"

"I want to go," asserted Clem. "Do you?"

Jet didn't answer Clem, choosing to look away instead.

"You want to do this?" asked Sarah in disbelief.

"Yeah, I do…" repeated Clem.

"But… why?"

"I… I just feel like this is something I should do," insisted Clem. "If he's a scout for bad people then we know what'll happen. But if he's not, and we kill him… then we killed someone just because we were scared and… that's wrong, really wrong."

"You know he still might not talk?" said Devlin. "It's possible we're gonna have to decide this based just on what little we already know."

"I still say he'd talk if you let me rough him up a little," insisted Anthony.

"You beat someone hard enough and they'll eventually talk, they'll tell you whatever you want to hear," said Devlin. "But it doesn't mean a lick of it will be true. He'll just make up whatever he thinks will make you stop beating his ass."

"If he can even thinking of anything that'll make it stop…" said Clem as she found herself instinctively reaching for her back.

"And if he's smart, he could use that to talk us into delivering ourselves into some kind of trap, and would feel justified in doing so," added Devlin.

"We're not getting anywhere talking about this," realized Clem. "I'm going."

"What makes you think he'd tell you the truth anyway?" asked Sin. "He might think because you're young he could lie to you."

"I'll be ready for that if he does," asserted Clem.

"Will you?" asked Sin.

"Granddad," scolded Jet.

"We still don't know if he will even talk to Clem, so there's not much point in arguing about it," shrugged Patty. "And I doubt he'd feel more like talking if we're all in the same room as him."

"At least then, the rest of us would hear the conversation," said Sin.

"There's not going to be a conversation if we all go," reminded Jet.

"What if you took this?" Sarah unclipped the baby monitor from her belt. "The one for Omid doesn't have a speaker in it, so it wouldn't make any noise, and then the rest of us would hear what's happening in case… in case anything went wrong."

"We'd be spying on him," realized Jet.

"He spied on us first," noted Anthony.

"That might be for the best. More ears means more of a chance one of us could hear something the others missed," said Devlin. "We can probably clip the monitor to the back of Clem's belt and hide it behind her shirt and jacket." Devlin looked directly at Clem. "Assuming, you're okay with this."

"I… I think that's probably a good idea."

Sarah hurried back to the house and everyone waited impatiently until she returned, carrying a couple of baby monitors along with Omid in one of her arms. Clem handed over the pistol she had taken while Patty clipped Omid's baby monitor to her back and tucked it under her clothes. A quick check revealed even when someone was speaking in front of her, their voice was mostly clear on the receiving monitor. With everything seemingly ready, Clem moved towards the storm hatch.

"Wait," said Sarah as she stepped in front of Clem, a blissfully ignorant Omid giggling in her arms. "I… Clem…"

"I love you Sarah," announced Clem.

"I… I love you too," the pair embraced and kissed each other's cheeks.

"I love you too Omid."

"Muh-boo!" cheered Omid before giggling as Clem kissed his cheek.

"The rest of us can hold up in my living room," said Devlin as Clem let go of Sarah. "There's a window in there that overlooks the storm hatch, so if something happens we can be outside in seconds."

"Got it," said Clem.

"Here," said Jet as he handed Clem a lantern. "I remember it being dark down there, so you'll probably need this."

"Thanks," said Clem as she switched the lantern on.

"Try to get him to tell you his name," suggested Devlin.

"Why?" asked Clem.

"If he says Pedro, we know he's probably telling the truth about at least one thing; if he doesn't, then we know he's probably lying about at least one thing," he explained. "It's not much to go on, but it's better than nothing. Either way, don't actually say that name, or anything else they would tip him off about cracking his log's code."

"Anything else?" asked Clem.

"Just… try to make him think you're his friend. He's already afraid of us and hasn't said a thing. If he thinks he can trust you, he might start talking. And be careful what you tell him. If we do let him go, anything you tell him might be something he ends up telling his people, so think about what you want to say before you say it."

"I will."

Devlin led Clem back to the storm shelter. He pulled the door open and briefly stuck his head inside. "He's sitting in the far right corner," whispered Devlin as he turned to Clem. "I wouldn't get too close to him, just in case."

"I won't." Clem took a deep breath, then headed over to the hatch. She looked over her shoulder to see everyone looking at her in anticipation from the porch, except Omid, who was just smiling. Clem took a breath, then climbed down the ladder, the hatch slamming closed behind her. Even with the lantern in hand, the darkness felt suffocating. Swinging the light around, Clem nearly gasped as she suddenly saw the frightened eyes of the intruder staring at her from the far corner of the shelter.

"Um… hi," said Clem, struggling to think of something else to say. "I… I'm Clementine," she introduced. "And… I just want to talk, okay?" Clem could practically feel the baby monitor poking her in the back as she said that, but she did her best to keep a straight face. There was no response from the intruder, prompting Clem to take a few steps closer to him. "Look, I know you're afraid of us right now. I… I would be too right now.

"We're all afraid. We're afraid, if we let you go, you'll come back with a lot more people and attack us." Clem studied the intruder's face carefully for any changes, but he just looked like he was trying to hide how frightened he felt. "I… I had a nightmare this morning, about someone breaking into our bedroom and shooting me. And right now, I'm worried the people you're helping would do that to all of us. To me, and my best friend, and to our little baby."

Clem could see the intruder's eyes widening upon hearing the word baby. "His name is Omid. He was the baby of a man and a woman who used to take care of me. His father died before he was even born, and his mom… she got bitten by a walker a couple hours after, and me and my best friend have been taking care of him ever since… he had his first birthday just a couple of months ago."

Clem could tell from the intruder's intense stare he was at least listening to her, but she still had trouble reading his reactions beyond that. "I'm sorry for locking you up, and… I'm sorry we tied you up. I… I know what both those things are like. You're scared, and feel sick, because you know you're helpless, and you have no control over what happens next. I… I don't blame you for trying to escape, I would have too… I have."

Still no response from the intruder beyond him carefully observing Clem as she sat down in front of him. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone; none of my friends do. But we have to know you don't want to hurt us too. What happened in the field a few days ago…" Clem noticed the intruder's eyes looking away from her now, possibly from guilt.

"I want to believe that was just an accident that happened because you were scared. I… I know what's that's like too, being out on your own, all alone, and… suddenly you see you're not alone and your terrified of what'll happen next and you think if don't do something… you'll die." Clem felt her nails digging into her palms as she tried to stop her hands from shaking.

"Please, just… tell me something; something so I know you're only being quiet to protect your group, and not because you're waiting until they get here, or anything like that." The intruder merely turned away from Clem slowly, as if to signal he didn't wish to be defiant. "My friends didn't want me to come in here alone, they're afraid you'd hurt me, but I don't think you would. I could tell you didn't want to shoot me in the field and, this will sound strange, but I was locked in a shed by strange people once myself."

This seemed to catch the intruder's interest as he turned his head to face Clem again. Slowly, she rolled up her sleeve and revealed the large scar running across her forearm. "I got bitten by this stray dog while out in the woods one day. The man taking care of me, Omid's father, carried me back to the cabin we were staying in, and then we saw someone talking to Omid's mom. He watched them talk through the scope of his rifle, and someone watching us saw that and thought the worse so… they shot Omid's dad, then locked me in a shed because they thought I had been bitten by a walker."

Clem pulled her sleeve down and took a deep breath. "The weirdest part is… we helped each other after that. Not that Omid's mom wanted to, or me either at first, but these people weren't bad people, we were all just scared, but we took some chances with trusting each other anyway, and… I'd do anything to have them back right now."

Clem looked up to see the intruder appeared wide-eyed with interest again. "Maybe you think because of how we met, we'd never forgive you, or that you'll never forgive us for locking you up, but you'd be surprised. The one person from that group who is still alive is my best friend now. I love her, and I wouldn't have her now if I didn't talk to her dad, who was the one who locked me in a shed on a cold night." Clem looked at the intruder directly in the eyes, expecting him to say something; he remained silent.

"Look, just, tell me anything," pleaded Clem. "It doesn't have to be where you're from, or who you were with, or why, just… say anything, anything so that I know that you care enough that you don't want anyone else to have to get hurt." No response. "Just… just tell me your name. Okay? That's not anything important, not anymore, and then I know you at least want to talk to us, even if you feel like you can't." Clem looked into the intruder's quivering eyes, expecting him to speak any second, but instead he turned away again. "Forget it." Clem grabbed the lantern and headed for the ladder.

"Pedro!" Clem heard a young voice yell out as she placed her foot on the ladder. "My name is Pedro, okay?" Clem turned around and moved back towards Pedro, studying him carefully. He was doing his best to put on a brave face, but Clem could still see hints of fear in the corner of his eyes as she drew nearer.

"Why haven't you said anything until now?" Pedro didn't answer Clem. "If you're just going to be quiet again—"

"You people have a biter chained up in your field," stated Pedro. "Why?"

"It's just to keep the birds away," explained Clem.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Have you ever had a farm?"

"No, but—"

"Then you don't know what it's like having to work hard every day from sun-up to sundown just to see a bunch of stupid birds eat everything," ranted Clem. "We put up wind chimes, we chase them off when we see them, one of us even just started shooting them one afternoon, but there were always more and we only had so many bullets. So, after we noticed animals don't go near walkers, we found one, cut off his hands, then put a helmet on it so it doesn't bite people."

"I did see that," said Pedro. "But I figured that was just so it didn't kill any of you, and that you probably take the helmet off when you're not around, like a guard dog or something."

"No, it's so it doesn't bite anyone," assured Clem.

"Not even the birds?"

"It's not worth the risk of it biting one of us. We talked about knocking out its teeth, but we thought it was too risky, getting that close to a walker's teeth just to scare off crows, so we used the helmet instead."

"If you killed me, how would you do it?"

Clem found herself disturbed by that question. "We wouldn't—"

"Isn't that why you're down here right now?" said Pedro, more accusing than asking. "You're trying to figure out if you're going to kill me or not, because you think I'm dangerous."

Clem sighed. "We wouldn't let a walker eat anyone."

"Then what?"

"I… I guess we'd shoot someone in the head if we had to kill them," confessed Clem, grimacing as those words moved past her lips.

"Is… is that what you did to the last person who came here?"

"You're the first person we've seen since we've moved here."

"Then where did that bloodstain in the shed come from?"

"I told you, it was from a deer."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"So, I'll be the first person you've shot in the head here." Clem racked her mind for a rebuttal, but nothing came to mind. "I… I guess at least it's not painful," Pedro said, his frightened tone betraying his attempt to sound brave.

"It's still wrong, really wrong," insisted Clem as she sat down in front of Pedro. "I've seen people shot in the head, more than once… I don't want to ever see it again."

"If you really feel that way, then just let me go," pleaded Pedro.

"My friends are still worried you're going to hurt us… so am I."

"Nothing I tell you will change that," insisted Pedro.

"How do you know until you start telling us?" challenged Clem. "What if you told us your people wouldn't hurt us?"

"Then you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me," said Clem as she crossed her arms. "I've had a lot of people lie to me before, so I've had a lot of practice with figuring out when they're trying to trick me or not."

"What?" asked Pedro in disbelief. "You're like… what, eleven?"

"Ten," corrected Clem in a harsh voice. "And I was nine before that, and eight before that, and the whole time since this started I've had people lying to me because they think I'm just a stupid kid they could trick. If you really don't want to hurt us, then look me in the eye and tell me that if we let you go, no one will come back and hurt us afterwards."

Pedro looked directly at Clem and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped before making a sound, turning away once again instead.

"You can't say it because it's not true," concluded a dismayed Clem.

"It's not that," insisted Pedro. "If I start telling you things about what the people I'm with will and won't do, and I keep talking, and then you start figuring out stuff about them I didn't mean to tell you, then you might find out where they are, and… you're not the only one here worried about being hurt."

"They told you all that, didn't they? That if you ever got caught, just to say nothing?" Pedro didn't answer. "So that's a yes then."

"They told me not to believe anything I heard and just try to get back," stated Pedro. "They also told me to make sure no one follows me, which means I've got to take a really long, convoluted way back home, just in case any of your people try to, assuming you even let me go."

Pedro let out a long sigh. "I'm going to die."

"We—"

"If your friends don't kill me, then something else will on the way back, assuming I don't just starve to death," rambled Pedro, whatever little resolve he had been keeping in his voice melting away now. "Even before I came here I figured I'd be dead within a couple of years, no matter what happens."

"Yeah, I know that feeling," admitted Clem. "That's why Sarah wanted to start this farm, so we could hopefully start growing our own food, and live a long life."

"Who's Sarah?"

"My best friend."

"Is she that girl with the glasses?"

"Yeah."

"She was the one who told the others not to kill me," noted Pedro.

"She's the nicest person I've ever met," said Clem.

"But she doesn't get to decide what happens to me," concluded Pedro.

"We all decide, together."

"Really?" scoffed Pedro.

"Yes."

"Really?" repeated Pedro, genuinely asking. "Even though you're… ten?"

Clem nodded. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," answered Pedro. "Those people really listen to you, and her?"

"Most of the time. We always kind of have to prove to people we can take care of ourselves first, but everyone here listens to us. Like I said, my friends didn't even want me to come down here, but they listened when I said I wanted to."

"That must be nice," mused Pedro.

"Nobody listens to you?"

"Never. I didn't even want to do this."

"Do what?" Pedro didn't answer Clem. "Okay, what—"

"Looking for food. I told them I shouldn't do this, but they said we're running out and everyone has to pitch in and that they'd send me somewhere mostly safe, somewhere where they already checked the bigger towns nearby."

"Did one of your people write those messages in the road I took a picture of?" Pedro didn't answer. "They… we figured they were probably a warning or something, but—"

"I don't know who made those. I mean, it was probably one of our people, but I don't know where they go, I've never done any of this stuff until now, so I don't know. All I know is… there isn't any food left anywhere."

"Is that why you were taking stuff out of our field?" asked Clem.

"I was starving, and I saw your field, and I figured if I just take some and leave, that might be enough to get me back home, enough where I don't pass out from hunger on the way."

"Does that mean you were going back to tell your people about our farm?" Pedro didn't answer Clem, but he looked nervous upon her asking that. "I mean, if you were looking for food for them, and—"

"I can just not tell them about this place, I'll say there was nothing here, okay?" offered Pedro in a hasty fashion. "I never wanted to do this anyway. I just want to go home, okay?"

"Okay." Clem swallowed hard as she thought about what she was going to say next. "What happens after that?"

"Huh?"

"Would someone else come here next?"

"I said I wouldn't tell them about this place."

"But if they're looking for food, doesn't that mean they send someone else out to look for food next?"

"Um, I don't know, probably," shrugged Pedro.

"So, so they'd send some else here and—"

"I'll tell them I checked the lake in the area and there was nothing, okay?" insisted an increasingly desperate sounding Pedro. "They… they wouldn't send someone to check somewhere they already know is empty."

"Aren't they already doing that?" asked Clem. "I mean, that warning I took a picture of, it's not far from here, so that means—"

"I don't know, okay!" insisted Pedro. "I don't make decisions like that, they don't even listen to me most of the time."

"If they knew there was a farm, I mean, even if you didn't tell them, but they still found out somehow, what would they do?" Pedro suddenly became silent again. "They'd attack us, wouldn't they?"

"We don't want to start anything, they even told me to avoid people if I ever saw anyone… I should have listened to them," lamented Pedro. "But they don't want to attack anyone, we're just looking for food."

"Which we have," reminded Clem.

"I knew it. I knew you wouldn't believe me no matter what I said," lamented Pedro as he turned away from Clem, sounding like he was trying not to cry.

"I believe you, it's just—"

"You don't," insisted Pedro. "You might as well kill me right now."

"We're not going to kill you," insisted Clem.

"You already said if you did, you'd shoot me in the head," reminded Pedro. "You might as well just do it already."

Clem tried to think of something else to say. Pedro was clearly upset now and she didn't see a way through this conversational impasse. She believed him when he said his people didn't want trouble, but couldn't be sure trouble wouldn't follow anyway. Clem didn't want to hurt anyone either, but if she needed food, or if Omid needed food, she couldn't be sure of what she would do, especially if she knew there was somewhere out there with food left.

"Wait a minute…" Clem turned back to Pedro. "What if I told you there was a way we could help your people?"

"I'd be suspicious, really suspicious" answered Pedro bluntly.

"Yeah, I would too," confessed Clem. "We needed a lot of food to start our farm, but the place we took it from had more left, a lot more."

"And where's that?" asked Pedro.

"In… I'm not going to tell you right now."

"Why not?"

"Because, then you'd have no reason not to attack us," said Clem.

"I told you—"

"I know what you said, but I don't know the people you're with, or what they would do," stated Clem. "So, if we let you go, and nothing happens to us, then maybe you could come back later, and we could tell you then, after we know we can trust you."

"That's it?" asked Pedro.

"You expect more?" asked Clem with a hint of resentment. "You stole from us, and shot my friend, and—"

"Yeah, I know, I just mean… I barely made it this far. I don't even know if I could make it out here again, alive anyway. I mean, my gun was fully loaded when I left."

"Walkers?"

"You mean biters?" Clem nodded. "God I… I wasted most of my bullets just trying to shoot one in the head before it got to me. I can promise you I won't tell my people I was ever here but… I don't know if I could get back here by myself again even if I tried."

Clem thought to herself for a moment, and a new idea formed in her head. "What if I give you something else? Something other than food?"

"Like what?"

"Like how to get past the walkers."

"What do you mean?"

Clem took a breath and thought carefully about what she'd say next. "There's… ways to get past them."

"Like what?"

"If… if you cover yourselves in their blood and guts, they don't notice you and you can just walk past them."

"No way," dismissed Pedro.

"It's true."

"If that's true, then why do you need a mask on that biter in your field?"

"It's smell awful. We put their blood on raincoats, and we still have to wear masks over our faces so we can stand it. Also, it's not foolproof. Rain can wash away the walker stuff, then they notice you again. They also notice you if you make a lot of noise, or if you are bleeding, they smell that. Well, they probably don't actually smell at all, but they know when you're bleeding somehow."

"But they don't know you're there if you're not bleeding and are covered in their… blood and guts?" Clem nodded. "That… doesn't make any sense."

"To be honest, we really don't know how it works, but trust me, it does," assured Clem. "It's a big reason we've made it this far."

"This sounds like you're trying to trick me," accused Pedro. "I cover myself in that stuff and then it turns out they attack me faster, or I get sick and turn into one of them."

"The only way you can turn into a walker is if they bite you, or you die some other way that doesn't mess up your head, then you come back as one anyways."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because before we used raincoats I had to just rub that stuff all over my clothes," recounted Clem with a shiver. "It's gross, and made my skin crawl, and once I even tasted it by accident and threw up. Someone I know also cut his hand on a machete that had a walker's blood on it, but we're still here."

"None of this makes any sense," said Pedro as he shook his head.

"I know it doesn't, nothing about the walkers really does," admitted Clem with a shrug. "But that's what happens. One of us even wrote it all down in a guide."

"A guide?"

"Yeah, he called it the Outbreak Survival Guide," recalled Clem.

"Why did he make a guide?" asked Pedro.

"We realized a lot of stuff we knew most people probably didn't, so he wrote it down and left some copies in a place we visited so it would hopefully help whoever found it. We… we could give you one, and you can take that back to your people. It's not just the trick for getting walkers to ignore you, we wrote down all kinds of stuff that helps us deal with them."

"And, you'd give us this guide?" asked Pedro.

"That's why we made it, to help other people. And, if that works, maybe you could come back later, and we could talk more about your people then, maybe tell them where to find more food if they still need it after that."

"That… that sounds good," realized Pedro. "If this trick you're telling me about actually works, that'd make a huge difference for us."

"It does, and we wrote down a lot of other stuff that would help," said Clem as she stood up.

"So, this means you're going to let me go, right?" asked a hopeful Pedro.

"I have to talk to my friends first. Like I said, we decide things together."

"But they're going to listen to you, right?"

"Yeah, they will."

"And you're going to tell them to let me go, right?"

Clem tried to force herself to say 'yes'. "I'll talk to them," she said instead. Clem left the lantern on the floor, figuring Pedro wouldn't like being stuck in the dark, the headed for the exit. "One more thing," she said before stepping on the ladder. "Have you ever heard of someone called Corporal Cruz? You don't have to tell me anything about them but—"

"I've never heard that name before," answered Pedro. "Is… is that someone bad? Someone we should be afraid of?"

Clem thought on how to answer him. "No," she said. "You don't need to be afraid of her." Clem stepped onto the ladder. "You're not the one she'd want to hurt…" Clem mumbled under her breath as she climbed outside.

It was still raining, but no more than before as she headed for Devlin's house. As she moved across the yard, Clem realized Corporal Cruz knew how to get past walkers too, and probably wasn't part of Pedro's group; this realization did little to ease Clem's racing mind. Stepping past the front door and into the Devlin's living room, Clem looked up to see everyone staring at her.

"Kem-men!" exclaimed Omid as he waddled across the living room.

"Hey Omid," said Clem as she picked up and hugged the boy. Looking at the others, she could see they were all decidedly less enthusiastic. "He—"

"We heard him," assured Devlin.

"You did?" asked Clem.

"We could hear everything Clem," assured a melancholy Patty as she put out a cigarette in an ashtray sitting next to baby monitor resting on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

"Yeah, it worked," said Sarah as she moved to Clem and removed the monitor clipped to her back.

"What were you thinking?" asked Sin in a subdued but still hostile tone. "Offering him the food in Tulsa?"

"I—"

"She got him to talk," stated Devlin. "And all she said is there was food somewhere; she didn't say where."

"Still, now he has expectations, and she told him how to get past the walkers."

"And we haven't decided if we're even letting him go or not," stated Devlin in a stern voice. "So, let's decide already."

Devlin words prompted Clem to take a seat, which she found with Sarah and Jet on an old couch across from a couple of chairs where the others were sitting.

"Here," said Sarah as she handed Clem a stuffed elephant. "He usually sits still for a while if you give him this."

"El-muh," said Omid as he reached up to take his favorite toy.

"You just be good for a minute while we talk to everyone." Much to Clem's surprise, Omid started chewing on one of Elma's legs, which did keep him relatively quiet. Looking up at the others, Clem's eyes fell on Devlin as he cleared his throat.

"I guess I'll go first," he said. "I vote we let Pedro go."

"You can't be serious," snapped Sin.

"I am," stated Devlin. "You want to hear my reasons?"

"By all means," said Sin with a hint of sarcasm.

"The biggest deciding factor for me is that, if what Pedro is saying true, he's probably just one of a bunch of scouts for his group, and if he doesn't come back another one will probably come this way, if just to see if there was any food in the area Pedro was scouting.

"I always figured Tulsa is where we'd make contact, but inevitably we're going to cross paths with other people again. We give him the guide like Clem offered and we could possibly make an ally for the future, or at least appease these people enough to make them reconsider straight up attacking us. We kill him, then we might make an enemy, or at best, just put off another chance meeting for a little while."

"Or for a long while," retorted Sin.

"You're voting we kill Pedro," accused Jet. "Aren't you?"

"I don't take any pleasure in it, but yes," answered Sin coldly.

"I can't believe you," spoke a disgusted Jet.

"Do you want to hear my reasons?"

"No," said Jet flatly.

"You assume we could be making an ally by helping his people," Sin told Devlin while ignoring his grandson. "We could be strengthening a possible enemy."

"Who might have other enemies," said Devlin. "One of his people wrote 'danger' one a road not too far from here; it's possible they're worried about bigger threats we don't know even know about yet. It's a risk either way, but I honestly feel killing Pedro poses a bigger one than just letting him go."

"The only known risk is this boy's people," said Sin. "They're the real threat here."

"We don't know that yet," stated Devlin calmly.

"Don't we? Clementine practically had to verbally batter Pedro just to get him to say his people wouldn't attack us, but he talked plenty about how he didn't want to do this, couldn't use his gun, didn't know what to do, and how he's only sixteen," listed Sin. "What kind of people send some scared teenager out to do their dirty work? Not good ones."

"We use guns, and we're all younger than him," reminded Jet.

"You weren't forced to use guns," corrected Sin.

"I didn't want to learn to use a gun, but you thought I needed to."

"And I never insisted you, Sarah or Clem go out in place of me, Patty or Anthony," retorted Sin. "We agreed to take sensible precautions, but we all agree children shouldn't be our first line of defense."

"So you want to kill the kid they sent out because the people who sent him are wrong?"

Jet's words caught Sin off guard. He sat there for a moment, his face twitching as he thought to himself. "It's a grim necessity to protect ourselves," said Sin in a quick and quiet voice, like he was forcing himself to speak.

"That's just the kind of thing they'd say back in Houston," accused Jet.

"Houston kept up us safe for a long time," reminded a reluctant Sin.

"Until it didn't, because everyone hated living in such a shitty place, and we couldn't even go back to tell the people there how to hopefully survive outside it because we were so afraid of what the military would do to us if we even got near the city," ranted Jet.

"I don't agree with a lot of things the military did in Houston, but some of it really was a necessary evil dictated by the situation… some things they had to do to keep the people already inside the city safe."

"And then people attacked Houston, and we had to leave," reminded Jet in a harsh tone. "Their grim necessities and necessary evil didn't keep us safe; they probably made things worse!"

"How would you know?" spoke Sin in a decidedly unfriendly tone. "You spent almost your entire time there in your room, either in Houston or in Port Arthur. I was—"

"Because I couldn't go anywhere else, and the one time I did it was because they bombed our house!" retorted Jet. "People like them and people like you always—"

"You're comparing me to—"

"Always make excuses for doing horrible things, and act like being selfish is smart, but it's not, you're just selfish and you don't want to help anyone!"

"I never said—"

"The whole time I lived in Houston I told myself the terrible stuff they did to others was necessary— a necessary evil and there was nothing I could do about it. But it wasn't necessary, it was just evil, and I can do something this time, so I vote we let Pedro go."

"It's a bad idea," commented Anthony while staring out the window.

"Of course you think we should kill him," said Jet in a biting tone.

Anthony turned around and looked at Patty.

"You remember what I was like when you people found me?" he asked.

"Yeah, you were starving, and had that awful caveman beard," said Patty.

"And what I'd say when I saw you and Clem and Sarah, all nice and clean and well fed and with that big RV pumping diesel out of the ground?"

"You wanted to join us," recalled Patty.

"That's right, because I saw a good thing, and wanted in," said Anthony. "This kid, he sees the farm, he tasted our crops, knows we know how to deal with the dead, and he just wants to get away from all that?"

"He had just shot one of us," reminded Clem as she watched Omid chew on Elma's ears. "I told him we could still maybe help each other anyway, but it took time for me and Christa to trust the people who shot Omid."

"And even then, we were about to leave each other when we got chased out of the cabin," added Sarah. "After everything that's happened, and after what he did, Pedro probably didn't feel like we'd let him join us."

"And did you have a whole farm back then with food ready to be harvested any day now?" asked Anthony.

"Well, no," said Clem. "But—"

"I pointed a gun at you when I first met you, and you and Patty pointed ones right back, and I still told you I wanted to join you because I was literally starving and I could see none of you were," said Anthony. "This kid, if he's so hungry, should be begging us to be a part of our farm. Instead, he hushed up immediately after we figured out he was part of a bigger group and tried to get back to them the first chance he got, probably because he's already got it in his head they can take this place away from us if he can just tell them where it is."

"That's not fair," said Sarah. "Just because he wants to go home doesn't mean it's because he wants his friends to take our farm."

"He doesn't have to," said Anthony. "If he'll spill his guts for Clem, then he'll definitely tell his people what he saw here today."

"He promised he wouldn't," reminded Clem.

"He promised his people he wouldn't say anything if he ever got captured, and we saw how that turned out. How hard do you think it'll be for the people he already knows to convince him he's their friend? They'd just tell him they'd never lay a finger on us, then send someone here to kill us in our sleep. I mean, how would Pedro even know? He admitted he couldn't even get out here again, so how often do you think he'd check to make sure his people are keeping their word?"

"You don't know any of this," stated Sarah in a harsh tone.

"I know I saw shit like this before in Gulf Port," said Anthony. "People there would pretend to be your friend as long as they were getting something out of it, then slit your throat the second you became an inconvenience."

"So we kill Pedro because someone is using him?" asked an angry Jet.

"Like your granddad said, grim necessity," shrugged Anthony. "And that's assuming Pedro isn't in on it. We've been feeding him fresh food, maybe the only fresh food left in the country for two days, and he still tried to escape, and never once asked if he could stay. I think that tells us who he's loyal to."

"And that means he must be bad?" accused Sarah. "That he's only trying to get away so he can tell his group to come take our farm?"

"That's the safe guess," declared Anthony.

"Well it's wrong," declared Sarah. "If that's what he wanted he would have just been lying to us the whole time, telling us what we would want to hear, or scaring us by saying that warning is about a group of people only they know about, or anything that would get us to let him go. But he didn't, he didn't say anything until now because he wants to protect his people."

"Now who's talking about the kid like they know him?" asked Anthony. "And he said he knew we wouldn't believe him. Maybe he's smart enough to know not to peddle cheap lies that would hurt his chances of getting away."

"That doesn't even make sense," said Jet. "He's smart enough not to sell us cheap lies, then doesn't tell us anything at all? He barely talked to Clem just now. When was he going to launch this master plan of his exactly?"

"He could be pulling a long con?" suggested a half-hearted Patty with a shrug.

"I really doubt that," said Clem. "Like Jet said, he barely wanted to talk to me as it is, and he had all day yesterday to think up lies we might believe."

"And he's clearly afraid of us," added Sarah. "He's just a scared boy, not some… lying, planning, evil genius who wants to kill us."

"Even if he isn't, you want to stake our lives on none of his people being manipulative scheming sociopaths themselves?" asked Anthony.

"Yes," stated Sarah. "And I'm sure Patty doesn't want to kill him either, so…" Turning to Patty, Sarah could see the apprehension on her face. "Patty, you can't—"

"I'm sorry Sarah," spoke Patty in a pained voice. "I don't want to kill him but between our choices… I don't think we can risk letting him go."

"Risk letting… you mean we have to kill him, that's what you mean," accused a bitter Sarah.

"Murder him," added Jet in a biting tone. "Call it what it really is."

"I'm sorry, but—"

"Well it doesn't matter because Clem…" Clem found Sarah suddenly looking right her, and Clem found herself at a loss for words. "You… you too?"

"I… I don't know Sarah," confessed a nervous Clem as she clutched a fidgeting Omid with both hands. "I… I don't want to kill anyone, but I want us all to be safe here, and—"

"I can't believe this," said Sarah, the disgust in her voice wounding Clem.

"So that's four to—"

"I said I didn't know!" Clem snapped at Anthony.

"Well you'd better start knowing, because it sounds like you're the last undecided vote," said Anthony.

"Patty, you can't really be voting to kill someone, not like this," pleaded Sarah.

"Sarah, I—"

"I know you're mad because he shot your leg, and that was horrible, but I think that was just an accident," rambled Sarah. "Like when you tossed that grenade and almost killed Clem."

"What?" said Jet. "When did that happen?"

"That's not the same," answered Patty in a biting tone. "I had no idea anyone was in there—I had just seen that house was empty earlier the same day, and I practically begged for forgiveness from you two when I found out what I… I had almost done. This kid came into our home, took our food, shot me when we found him, and then hushed up the second we found out he was with a bigger group.

"I don't agree with Anthony about a lot of things, but it does sound like even after nearly killing me, Pedro is still more worried about his people, which doesn't strike me as a good sign. Either they're a bunch of really great people he thinks deserve protecting more than us, which I doubt seeing as he was complaining about them sending him out here, or he's fine with a group of assholes who might come here and kill all of us to take the farm."

"You don't know that," repeated Sarah.

"And you don't know he meant a damn word of what he said," retorted Patty. "And even if he was telling the truth, he could be some spineless kid who rolls over for vicious assholes. He could mean it when he says he doesn't want to hurt us, but be too chicken to stand up to whoever sent him off to find us in the first place."

"Like Deacon," said Clem with more than a hint of bitterness. "And if he was a scout for good people, he'd probably introduce himself first, like… like Corporal Cruz."

"Wait, who are you talking about?" asked a confused Jet.

"You mentioned Corporal Cruz when you talked to Pedro as well," noted Devlin. "Who is she?"

"She was someone we met when we first started living on the road, way back in South Carolina," explained Sarah. "She said she was a scout for a settlement and that we could come with her, but Clem thought it would be better if we just stayed on her own."

"But I'm guessing she didn't just spring up from nowhere and shoot one of you?" Anthony's question made Clem's heart beat a little faster.

"No, she announced herself, then put her gun down, then we let her in the Brave," recalled Sarah.

"That sounds more like behavior I would expect from someone associated with a well-meaning settlement," reasoned Sin. "Not like this boy who opened fire on the first thing he—"

"It was a mistake, he was just scared!" Omid started whimpering at Clem's outburst, and she found herself struggling to stop her hands from shaking as she coddled him. "I'm sorry yelled, it's okay," she said in a whisper as she did her best to preempt a possible crying fit. "Pedro being scared and shooting someone doesn't mean he's a bad person, okay?" rambled Clem to the group. "It… it just means he made a mistake."

"It was a pretty big mistake." Clem had to bite her tongue to keep herself from shouting something in response to Patty's words.

"Does… does he deserve to die for his mistake?" asked Clem, barely able to finish speaking that sentence.

"I… I don't know, probably not." Clem felt a tinge of relief to hear Patty say that. "But that's not the issue, the issue is letting him go or not, and I think it's too risky."

"Too risky to not murder him you mean," clarified a still angry Jet.

"Yeah, too risky to not murder him," repeated an irritated Patty. "Like I said, I don't like it, but I hate the idea of losing everything we've worked so hard to build here even more, and Pedro didn't sound so sure that wouldn't happen if we let him go."

"That could happen even if we do kill him," said Jet. "Just like Devlin said."

"But it feels a lot more likely if we let him go," said Patty. "So for me, that's the worse of two bad options."

"Clem, you don't think that, do you?" asked a desperate Sarah.

"I… I don't know," mumbled Clem as she shook her head.

"We can't just kill him, it's not right," insisted Sarah.

"I'm sorry Sarah, but I think this is something we've gotta do," spoke a reluctant Patty. "This isn't an easy choice for me either. I know it's different for you since you've never had to kill someone before but—"

"I've never had to kill someone? Fuck you Patty!" Everyone watched in shock as a furious Sarah jumped to her feet and marched over to where Patty was sitting. "You don't fucking have to!" Patty nearly fell out of her chair as Sarah screamed at her. "You never have to kill, you choose to! You do it because you're scared or you want to, but you never actually have to do it! No one ever has to kill! They choose to do it, but then they say they have to so they can act like it's not their fault! They say that to pretend like it's okay to kill people! They say they had to so they can sleep at night and… and…"

As a trembling Sarah trailed off, the sound of Omid's crying filled the room. Spinning around, Sarah hurried over to the wailing boy and collected him from Clem's arms. "I'm… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I…" Sarah briefly looked at the others, then hurried out of the living room, cradling Omid as she walked.

"Jesus…" muttered a shaken Patty under her breath.

"We… we still need a decision," spoke a stunned Devlin. "Clementine, what's your vote?"

Clem swallowed hard as she thought to herself. Everyone was looking at her now, waiting for her decision. Her hands were trembling as she forced herself to consider her options. She didn't think Pedro was lying to her, but he said himself his own people don't listen to him, and if they sent him out without even bothering to teach him how to take care of himself, then how much would they really care about strangers; strangers with a lot of food no less. Then an image of Pedro being shot in the head flashed into Clem's mind. "We're not killing him," she announced suddenly.

"Clem, we—"

"That's my vote, so that's what we're doing," Clem told Patty directly. "You're only alive because I took a chance and saved you in Titusville."

"And now we have to take a chance on this person?" asked Sin.

"Clem and Sarah took a chance saving us outside of Port Arthur," reminded Jet.

"I think that's a little different from this situation," said Anthony.

"But it's not that much different from yours, and we took a chance on you even though our group was half the size then," reminded Clem. "And I'm only alive because of a lot of people taking a chance to help a little kid. None of us would be alive right now if someone else didn't take a risk and help us at some point; the least we can do is take a risk for Pedro, and hope he does the same for us."

"His people might not return the favor," admitted Devlin as he stood up. "But killing him because they might not value life wouldn't speak well of any of us."

Patty groaned, then stood up and hurried out the door.

"Anthony, help me gather up his things and load them onto his bike," instructed Devlin.

"All right, but I'm telling you, this is a mistake," stated Anthony.

"Jet, you still got one of your guides you can give Pedro?"

"Yeah, I brought a couple with me when I left Tulsa, in case we ever met anyone… I guess we finally have."

"Before you give it to him, you should take out everything you wrote about where we've been," instructed Sin. "If we're making this deal Clem offered him, we don't need to be giving him clues to where the food she mentioned is."

"I could take out the page about Tulsa, but taking out that whole section would mean taking out the warnings about New Orleans and everywhere else they should avoid," realized Jet. "We can't—"

"Sin's right, we don't need to be giving them clues about where we were. Even Pedro is honest, it would only take one person in his group connecting the dots to figure out Tulsa is where we came from," stated Devlin. "And we don't want them figuring that out without us because it would take away the only leverage we would have if these people aren't… affable."

"We… uh… okay," conceded Jet before walking to the door with his granddad. Devlin looked at the Anthony, and the pair headed outside next, leaving Clem by herself. She stood up and followed the path Sarah had taken to find her friend playing with Omid on Devlin's bed.

"Peek-a-boo!" announced Sarah as she moved her hands so Omid could see her face. "Where's the baby?" asked Sarah as she covered a giggling Omid's face. She waited for his giggling to stop, then ripped her hands away. "There's the baby!" exclaimed Sarah to an outburst of laughter and squealing from Omid.

"You feel any better?"

Sarah looked over her shoulder at Clem, and almost instantly her smile was replaced with a frown.

"I'm… I'm okay," insisted a shaken Sarah as she turned back to Omid.

"You don't have to be," assured a sympathetic Clementine as she placed her hands on Sarah's shoulders.

"It's just… her saying that," Clem could see Sarah's face scrunching up in agony. "I…"

"It's okay," insisted Clem. "Just, try not to think about it."

"I… I haven't in a long time." Sarah took a deep breath. "How… how did you vote?"

"We're letting him go," informed Clem. "It's the right thing to do."

"Yeah… but the right thing is hard sometimes… a lot of the time."

"Yeah, well, hopefully it won't be too hard this time." Clem watched as Sarah picked up Omid.

"I'm just gonna take him back to his room," said Sarah as she adjusted her grip on the boy.

"You be good for Sarah," Clem told Omid as Sarah got off the bed.

"Muh-boo," giggled Omid.

"Love. You," repeated Sarah as she looked at Omid. "Can you say love you? Love. You."

"Lub-yoo."

Hearing that made Sarah smile, which made Clem smile. The pair headed back outside. It was still cloudy but it had stopped raining. Sarah headed right to the house and Clem was going to follow her when she noticed Patty tucked away just past the corner of the porch, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

"Hey," said Clem as she walked over to the woman. "Are you okay?"

"I… guess so," said Patty with a shrug. "Is… is Sarah okay?"

"I guess so," spoke an unsure Clem.

"I keep thinking back to our first trip out together," said Patty before taking a drag off her cigarette. "When we were talking about… having killed people, I can't remember if you said both you and Sarah had done it, or just you."

"That was such a long time ago. I don't remember either," admitted Clem.

"Maybe you did but in my head I just kept thinking there's no way someone like Sarah could ever kill someone." Patty looked over at Clem. "What… what happened?"

"Someone was holding a knife to my throat… and Sarah shot him."

"Jesus…"

"The first month we lived together, Sarah kept having nightmares about killing him."

"Wait, about killing him?" asked Patty.

"He was just a boy, only a year older than me."

"And… and he was holding a knife to your throat?"

"He had been hurt by people so bad that he didn't know what to do anymore but kill people and take what they had. He killed Omid's mom and Nick just because he wanted what they had, and he planned on doing the same to us."

"And Sarah felt bad for shooting him?"

"She tried talking to him, telling him we wouldn't hurt him if he just let us go. He listened to her, but he was still so afraid Sarah would shoot him if he let me go that he tried to take the gun from her… and that's when she shot him."

"God damn… she… she must hate me right now." Patty looked over at Clem. "I guess you hate me too."

"I don't hate you," assured Clem.

"But."

"But… I'm just surprised. You just seemed so sure we had to kill him, like you didn't even have to think about it."

"I…" Patty turned away, then took a deep breath and looked back at Clem, shame hanging off her face. "I really didn't, did I?"

"Huh?"

"Have to think about killing him. I… I never thought it would be that easy, I always figured if something like this happened I'd have to agonize over it… but no." Patty dropped her cigarette butt on the ground and stomped it out. "I'm starting to think it was easier living on the road. When we saw trouble then, we could just drive the hell away."

"We couldn't live on the road forever, you know that," said Clem.

"Yeah." Patty walked off towards the driveway.

"Where are you going?" asked Clem.

"Nowhere I guess," she said with a shrug. "This is where we live now."

Patty disappeared from view behind the Brave, leaving Clem alone again. Turning around, she could see the others gathered around the hatch to the storm shelter and moved to join them. Nearing the group, she watched as Pedro climbed out of the hatch, Anthony following right behind him. He stopped in front of Devlin, who was holding Pedro's bike upright in one hand and his backpack in the other.

"You okay?" asked Devlin as Pedro rubbed his wrist. "I didn't hurt you when I tied you up did I?"

"Not tying me up," said Pedro as he looked at Anthony. "He nicked me a little when he cut my ropes off just now."

"I barely scratched you," dismissed Anthony.

"It's fine though, I'm okay," assured Pedro.

"I just want you to know, we don't mean you or anyone any harm," said Devlin as he handed Pedro his backpack, which he opened and examined the contents of. "We're just trying to stay alive, like everyone else."

"I know, and… I'm really grateful you're letting me go, and… feeding me, even after I shot one of you," said Pedro as he held his head head low in shame. "Those salads were the best thing I've eaten in a long time. We've talked about growing stuff ourselves, but none of us really know how."

"It's hard—really hard," stressed Clem. "We're new to it ourselves, and Sarah had an anxiety attack trying to figure out everything we need to do."

"I wrote a section in my guide about farming," said Jet as he handed Pedro a day planner. "But I wrote it before we actually tried it ourselves, so it's just stuff I copied from books. Still, it might help. I actually check the chart I made for crop growth times every now and then so I'll know when the corn will hopefully be ready."

"Wow, you guys wrote a lot about the biters," awed Pedro as he flipped through the pages. "I mean, they told me you can distract them with loud noises but, I didn't think about using fireworks. And… aim for the ankle?"

"They never heal," informed Clem. "So if you break their ankle, they'll never walk again, and they're a lot slower crawling on the ground."

"If… if I had known all this before I left, I probably could have gotten into that big gas station I wasted all my bullets on." Pedro looked up from the guide. "They could go into a lot of places full of biters and clear them out with this stuff."

"Yeah, that's what we've had to do," said Clem. "And there's usually more food in areas with lots of walkers because most people stay away from them."

"Yeah, I… I see that right here," said Pedro as he eyed the guide again.

"That's why we made the guide," stated Devlin. "Clearing out a few city blocks just the seven us, we figured other people need to know how to fight these things so they could do the same."

"This… this could make a huge difference for us," stated Pedro as he looked up from the guide.

"What are you going to tell your people when they ask you where you got that guide?" asked Sin.

"I'll just tell them I found it in on someone's body," shrugged Pedro.

"And if they ask where you found the body?"

"I'll say it was somewhere in the opposite direction of this place."

"Will you be able to make it back to your people on your own?" asked Devlin.

"Yeah, I think so. I'm a lot less hungry since coming here… again, sorry for taking from your field." Pedro put his backpack on and turned to Clem. "Do you still want me to come back after a while, like we talked about?"

"To talk about the food I mentioned?" asked Clem.

"Maybe, but really I was kind of hoping that we could help you. I mean, this guide you gave us is probably going to help a lot of people," spoke a gracious Pedro. "Is there anything you need?"

"We're fine," insisted Sin.

"For the moment," added Clem as she eyed the dark clouds in the sky. "But if you want to come back in, a month, maybe we can talk more then?"

"All right, that'll give me time to learn all the stuff in your guide so I can make it out here a second time," said Pedro as he pocketed the book.

"Come on, I'll unlock the gate for you." Everyone followed Devlin to the front of the driveway and waited as undid the padlock.

"Whoa, hold up." Clem watched as Patty came rushing out of the Brave. She walked right up to where Pedro was standing with his bike, then cleared her throat. "I um… I brought a peace offering," stated Patty in an awkward fashion as she thrust a bottle of wine forward. "Just so you know there's no hard feelings, okay?"

"You're really giving this to me, even though I shot you?" asked Pedro.

"Yay, I'd appreciate it if you didn't remind me," snapped Patty. "But, thinking about it, if I had been in your shoes, I might be wondering about the people who tossed me in a shed and wouldn't let me go because of a mistake, and I thought this might help a little in convincing you that we're not bad people."

"I don't think your bad people, and I really appreciate this," said Pedro as he took the bottle. "Although, I don't drink."

"Now would be a good time to start," suggested Patty with a limp shrug. "Drinking always helps me when I have traumatic experiences."

"Is… is that the red wine?" asked Devlin as he eyed the label.

"Yeah, I'm not giving him the booze I like."

Devlin rolled his eyes at Patty, then turned to Pedro as he stored the wine in his backpack. "I know what we did to you may have been a little extreme, but it's only because we were worried about what else is still out there."

"I know what you mean," said Pedro as he mounted his bike. "And I'm really glad I found this place instead of somewhere else." Everyone watched as Pedro pedaled down the dirt road. They stood there in silence until he was just a distant dot that eventually disappeared from sight behind the trees surrounding the farm.

"What do you think he meant by that?" asked Sin. "That he was glad he found here instead of somewhere else?

"I think he just meant he's glad he ended up somewhere that didn't kill him," said Jet with a hint of annoyance.

"Or he's glad he found somewhere that can be useful to his people," suggested Sin.

"I really doubt he stayed quiet for two days just to hint at attacking us right before he left," dismissed Jet.

"It doesn't matter, it's done now," declared Devlin.

"So now what?" asked Anthony.

"Now we get back to running a damn farm," reminded an annoyed Patty.

"Right," said Clem with a sigh. "It's stopped raining, so I'll go ask Sarah if there's anything we need to do in the field today… there's always something we need to do."

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#three orphan pilgrimage #TOP #Chapter 77

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