#--AM pried it outta their skulls) would be good. very good

[babbushka]

Two’s Company (3/5)

1989 and New York City is a mess. Life was shit for all but you and Pale, who found that among the rubble and rubbish, there existed peace and calm and hard hot fucking. That is, until, an unwanted visitor makes themselves known, throwing this happy dream into a tumultuous nightmare.

Pale x Reader ; Chapter 3 of my sequel to Blue Moon!

Word count: 7.3k ; Warnings: Angst, drug mention, minor violence

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You almost wanted to laugh when you saw her.

Almost.

Not because she’s funny, just because she’s almost exactly how you pictured her. She’s standing at the door, at his door, at your door, in a long brown fur coat, hair teased to high heavens, pearl necklace around her neck and pretty white heels on her feet. She’s standing there smokin’ a Virginia Slims, has it stuck between her two fingers that are manicured and polished with long red acrylics.

She may have moved to Miami, but she was still very much a Jersey woman.

A Jersey woman who, while neither in Jersey or Miami, was standing there, at the door, staring you down.

“That’s right, I’m his fucking wife.” She sneered, shifted her weight back and forth making her hips bob up and down like she’s hot shit. She appraised you, looked down on you up up up in those heels of hers, smoked her cigarette. “And what are you, his whore?”

Well, you thought, Jersey women have nothin’ on the women from Queens.

“Yeah,” You said, stepping around Pale from where you had been holdin’ him back, stepping around him and stepping into her space, crowding her, teeth bared at her, “I am his whore.”

Her eyebrows shot up at that, not expecting you to be proud of it. But how could you not? How could you be anything other than proud of Pale, of your man? You’d shout it off the fire escape for all the city to hear, you didn’t give a shit.

She looks like she’s distraught then, right in that moment, and she barreled further into the apartment, threw herself down onto the couch in the living room. You wanted to scoff because fuck, you’ve never seen someone acting so badly, crocodile tears running mascara down her cheeks.

“God, Jim, did you have to stoop so low? I leave you for what, three years? And you stoop this low.” She wailed and wailed, loud and mighty, accent thick and voice pitched high, “Shacking up with some tramp, how much do you pay her huh? How much does she get for suckin’ your cock?”

And just like that the tears are gone, replaced with the hard stare of a woman scorned.

Your patience had worn out, officially drained at the accusation, the assumption, and you marched over to the living room, yanked her off of your couch by her ankle, sent her crashing to the floor with a sharp, hey!

“Nothin! He gives me nothing! And I don’t ask for anything unlike you!” You shouted, losing it, losing your patience. You had been having such a good fucking day, such a wonderful fucking evening, before she crashed it and ruined it like she did everything else. You had never even met this woman, and she had already ruined everything.

“Unlike you I love this man. I love him more than you ever fucking did, could, or would. I chose him and he chose me and I love him. I don’t go abandonin’ him for three fuckin’ years – do you even hear the words comin’ outta your mouth?” You snapped, all in her face, and she’s standing again, scrambling to not let you have the upper hand.

She jabbed you in the shoulder again and again, antagonizing you, and you only could grit your teeth.

“Oh yeah right you love him, bullshit. Bullshit, how much is he paying you?” She demanded to know, hysterical, absolutely hysterical.

“I’m not a fucking prostitute!” You didn’t know how many times you were going to have to fucking explain it, but you were getting sick of trying. “And you know what, even if I were, I’d have more dignity than you.”

You almost didn’t register it when she slapped you, hard across the face with those nails of hers. All you knew was that you were on the floor, a stinging burning pain already numbing your cheek.

Without a second fucking thought, you swiped her leg, sent her crashing down to the ground, and an all-out brawl began.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had to fight someone, the last you had ever even thought about fighting someone. It had to have been in high school, had to have been years ago. But like most things in life, it all came rushin’ back when you needed it, when you had to put up your fists and defend yourself. And it was defending yourself, but it was more than that – it was defending your man.

Your man, who, was standing stunned for all of one minute before inserting himself into the middle of where the two of you were goin’ after one another.

“Hey get the fuck off of her!” He pried Barbara away from you, grabbed at the back of her neck and hoisted her up like she was some feral cat, “Why are you here – where are the kids?”

“They’re still in Florida you piece of shit, God, how’d I know I’d find you like this?” Barbara was out of breath, panting, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand to smear away some blood from where you had clocked her pretty good.

You were still on the floor, and Pale unceremoniously dropped his seething wife to come to your aid. He crouched down next to you, so tender, hands all over you to check for serious damage. You could feel the sharp sting of scratches from her nails, and your scalp hurt where she had yanked on your hair, but other than that, the most overwhelming thing was the adrenaline thudding thudding thudding in your ears, in your brain.

“You don’t get to fucking call him that, not after what you did to him.” You said, voice hoarse and angry, so angry for him, for Pale.

“What I did?” Barbara scoffed, already reaching into her purse and pulling out a fancy golden compact, checking her appearance.

“Yeah, what you did, you cunt.” You scoffed right back, absolutely fucking incredulous at this woman, at the gall of her, the nerve of her. Pale helped you stand up, and you indelicately re-tied your robe, concealing your body from where the sash had come undone in the scuffle, all the while continuing, “You think I don’t know? You think I didn’t find out about all the shit you did to him, said to him, made him do?”

“Jimmy didn’t do nothin’ he didn’t want to do.” Barbara shook his head and that’s when Pale decided to speak up again.

“That’s a fuckin’ lie and you know it.” And now he’s shouting, now he’s angry angry angry, and you sigh, because fuck all you had wanted for tonight was for him to relax, him to enjoy himself. “What do you want from me, how come you’ve been blowin’ up my fuckin’ phone this whole goddamned time?”

“I thought it’d be obvious you jackass, I’m here to take you back!” Barbara shouted, leaving both you and Pale speechless.

You looked at one another, and then at her, and then back at one another, both of your mouths agape.

“…What?” Pale asked, not even angry, not even yelling, just…so fucking confused.

You were both so confused.

You needed a drink to deal with this, needed something.

Without another word, you left to go into the kitchen, to rummage around for a bottle of whiskey and two clean glasses. Barbara and Pale were still arguing in the living room, but thanks to the new modern open plan design, you were still privy to all of it.

“Yeah, you know. I’m here to bring you back home.” Barbara tried explaining to an only dumbfounded Pale.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He asked, asked seriously, like he was worried she had hit her head too hard when you had knocked her to the ground.

“Pale is home.” You tried getting that through her thick skull, but that only started up the yelling again.

“Pale Pale Pale!” She shouted, yelled, snapped, spit, “That’s not his fucking name, his name is James, Jimmy if you’re friendly – if you’re his wife.” She was close to hysterics again and you were genuinely worried that the cops were gonna get called, that the neighbors were gonna file a noise complaint.

You had half a mind to call the cops yourself, but no, there was too much drug shit out in the open, and that could get the both of yous in trouble. So you poured the drinks instead, handed a shakin’ glass to Pale who downed nearly half the cup in one big gulp.

“Yeah well you ain’t my fuckin’ wife no more Barbie, don’t you get that?” He asked, sat himself down on the couch.

“What are you – ” She started, and he only sighed, sick of yelling.

He motioned for you to come over to him, to sit on his lap, and you did, of course you did. You carried the second glass over and settled right on his knee, sitting sideways and loopin’ your arms around his neck in the way you always did, kissed at his cheek in the way you always did.

You wondered how that looked to Barbara, who stood all by herself, awkwardly on the other side of the room. You hoped she felt uncomfortable, hoped she felt awful, for coming in here and starting this shit.

“Do you see a ring on my fuckin’ finger? Huh?” Pale asked, “Do you see your ugly mug all over the walls, do you see your clothes in my closet? No. I meant what I said down in Miami. I can’t believe you burned my money to fly up here just to piss me off and attack my girl – that’s a real new fuckin’ low for you.”

“Last time I checked I didn’t sign no divorce papers.” Barbara crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a challenging stare, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Because you had to be the biggest fucking cunt you could!” He sounded truly exasperated now, and you let your arm stroke up and down his chest where it too was exposed from the robe starting to fall open, “I begged you to fuckin’ sign them, don’t think I wanted to stick around, I didn’t have a god damned choice, you didn’t give me a choice.”

“So you cheat on me.” Barbara pouted, all sad eyes that you all knew would get her nowhere. Jesus, you thought, what a fucking manipulator, especially when her chin wobbled with false sorrow and she began to cry again, “You don’t cheat on someone you love, Jimmy!”

“Well maybe I don’t fucking love you anymore!” Pale threw up his arms, let them fall back down with a smack on his muscular thighs, “Maybe I don’t love you anymore.”

You wondered just then, in the dark of the living room, if they had ever talked about this. If this was the first time any of this discussion was actually coming to light. The way Barbara’s expression began to change and shift from anger to sadness to confusion said that maybe they hadn’t.

“What?” She asked, quiet in a way that was loud.

You just sat there, on Pale’s lap, watching his hand clench and unclench, watching his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath and gave her a hard stare right back.

“Maybe I haven’t loved you for a real long fuckin’ time.” Pale said, and you could see the way she visibly flinched, could see how those words stung. “How is it cheatin’ on you when I ain’t hear from you for 11 months outta the year, huh? How is it cheatin’ on you when you’re a thousand fucking miles away? You told me, Barbie, you told me.”

“Oh yeah, what’d I tell you?” She asked, defiant.

“’I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of being here – tired of you.’” Pale recited, a line from a letter you had read a year ago.

It hurt you to know that Pale had it memorized. You wondered how many times he had read the letter she left, wondered how many times he had scanned the lines again and again. You wondered how it felt, to come home after working a twenty hour day, and finding your family packed up and gone away.

You never wanted to find out.

“Yeah okay okay, sure, paint me as the bad guy.” Barbara grumbled, lit up a cigarette, and your temper came back, all sympathy for her gone.

“You are the bad guy! Are you delusional? Are you high? Did the flight fuck up your braincells?” You asked.

Pale’s grip on you tightened, which you thought was kinda funny, because it was like him preventing you from lunging at her throat, preventing you from springing off of his lap and tackling her to the ground. You didn’t know what had come over you today, why you were so aggressive.

You were just so annoyed at this woman.

“Did you know?” She asks instead of answering you, not that you really wanted an answer anyway.

“Did I know what?” You shot right back, even though you do, you did.

“That he was married? Did you know.” She clarifies, and you do laugh then.

“Yeah of course I fucking knew.” You said, said it like she was stupid, because really she had to be stupid. “I knew and I didn’t give a shit because I figured he ain’t got a good marriage anyways, if he’s out here fucking me all day and night.” You pointed out, and maybe she didn’t expect that either, because her eyebrows shot up and she turned her attention back to him.

“You fucked her?” She asked Pale, but you didn’t take too nicely to being talked over, talked about like you weren’t even there.

“We were fuckin’ just now, and havin’ a real good god damned time about it too until you came to ruin the mood.” You said, and she looked so confused, as if it were a shock anyone would enjoy sex with Pale.

“Why is it his birthday or something?” She asked, and Pale got up then, shifted you off of his lap and stood up, downed the rest of the whiskey and sighed out real low and long.

“Sixteen years we were together and you don’t even know it’s my birthday.” He said, swirling the last stubborn drop of the drink round and round in the glass before setting it down on the coffee table. He turned away, fully intending on heading back to the bedroom, tired of wanting to deal with this insufferable person anymore. “Why am I not surprised, you selfish bitch.”

He got only a couple steps in, before Barbara lit a new cigarette and blew the smoke out through her nose like some ugly beast and said,

“I wish you had died instead of your queer brother.”

Pale stopped walking then, his legs coming to a screeching halt, like he had been struck by lightning, lost in time and space.

“Get out of my apartment.” You said, turning to face her.

“Your apartment?” She challenged, but you weren’t in the mood to entertain her, not now or ever again.

“Get out!” You snapped, your heart breaking for Pale who was still so quiet, so still, frozen frozen frozen.

He’s still frozen when she finally realizes that she’s unwanted, unwelcome.

When she leaves, she leaves all the tension in the air. It’s so thick you felt like you could cut it with a knife, and that loud silence is back. It’s just you and Pale again, in the penthouse. Just you and him, together and alone at last, and Pale still hasn’t spoken, and that’s more unsettling to you than anything else, because Pale never shuts up.

“Honey, don’t listen to her.” You said softly, taking a careful step around to the front of him, to see how he aches, how his face is pinched with sadness.

There’s wetness in his big brown eyes, a shine that’s reflecting all the lights from the city outside, and when you go to cup his cheek, you can tell he is torn between embracing you and pushing you away.

“She’s right.” He whispers after some time, after deciding to embrace you, after letting you smooth your hand over his cheek, rub small circles there.

“Pale, she isn’t.” Your voice cracks, and then you’ve got tears in your eyes too, because his are sliding down his nose.

How had everything gone to shit in so short of a time? Only moments ago it felt like you were both in paradise, on top of the moon. Now, the world felt dark and grey and the familiar face of grief has reared its ugly head in your man’s chest, has stoked the fire of his mourning, has caused that sick guilt to surface once again.

Pale fell to his knees before you, wrapped his arms around your legs. He let out a long, anguished shout, one that had you gasping, one that had you cradling his head against your stomach, desperately trying to soothe him as those wracking sobs hit him once again.

You’d kill her, you decided, right there in that moment, if she ever showed up again. You’d go to the fancy knife block and kill her, for what she’s done, what she did, what she’s doing.

Pale shudders and shakes beneath your palms, and you want to kill her.

“No, she is. She’s right, it should have – it shoulda been me.” He shoves his face between the soft plush fabric of your robe, shoves it up into your skin, buries his face in your flesh as he hiccups and cries, “I shoulda been the one to kick the fuckin’ bucket, not Robbie, it shouldn’t have been Robbie – ”

He’s wrecked, wrecked from this, and you cursed under your breath because he had been doin’ so good lately, hadn’t been so raw lately.

But now, now it was nothing but raw, grief pure and brutal and angry.

You’re angry for him.

You’re heartbroken for him.

“Come here, come here.” You say, voice soft and gentle. He needs soft, needs gentle. God knows he never got it, never got it when he needed it, from Barbara or anyone else. “Let’s go back to bed, okay? It’s cold out here, you’re going to get cold.”

And you know he doesn’t, won’t, not really. He runs so hot, but still. Something about sadness made people grow cold, and though his skin is sweating and warm, you know inside he’s gotta be feeling the chill of it.

“(Y/N),” He sounds so young then, so young. Not like the nearly-forty that he was, and you only keep trying to coax him up up up into your arms. He finally rises, winds his arms around you, holds you so tight as he cries into your shoulder, “(Y/N) it shoulda been me.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” You assure him, wanting him calm, needing him calm. Calm before he hurts himself somehow, mind flashing back to a year ago when he had stumbled in, drunk and high out of his mind, bleeding all over your floor. You hug him, ground him, soothe him, all the while telling him, “Come on.”

He lets himself be led into the bedroom, and you sigh.

All around the carpeting are scraps and pieces of black lace where only an hour or two prior, he had been so happy, so eager to tear them off of your body, a birthday gift just for him. Now the whole evening was destroyed, and you watced with sad eyes as he collected himself enough to strip off his robe, let it fall to the ground.

He sat naked on the mattress and you watched as it dipped under the sturdy weight of him. He patted his lap but you hesitated only for a moment, deciding he could probably, desperately use a cigarette. So instead of going right to his lap like you normally always would, instead you walked to the night-table where he always kept a few extra packs of Barclays.

You stuck one in between your teeth, holding it just long enough to light it. Only when it was lit did you shuck your robe off too, did you move to where he was waiting for you, did you give it to him and climb into his lap.

“Here.” You said, pressing the cigarette between his own lips, and he eagerly sucked down the nicotine.

“Thank you, thank you – fuck – oh god, fuck.” He said, tears stinging stinging stinging has he smoked and smoked, trying to let the flood in his lungs soothe him from the inside out.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Is all you said, not wanting to push him, but wanting him to know he was safe with you, could let it all out with you.

With his grip on you tight, he moved the two of you backwards so you were lying down, on top of the messed up covers, greyish blusish smoke wafting up into the air.

Pale was crying into your hair, but it was a quiet cry this time, not the shuddering gasping mess he had been only a few minutes before. You in his arms soothed him more than the cigarettes ever did, but you knew they helped, were glad that they helped.

“He didn’t deserve to die,” Pale said, sighed, eyes pinched shut, “It shoulda been me. No one woulda cared if it was me. No one would be surprised, they’d say ‘oh yeah that’s about right’ if they’d heard it was me. Family fuckup, that’s me. Not doin’ nothin’ with my life, failed career failed marriage failed – ”

“That’s not true.” You shook your head, craning your neck up to look at him from where you were curled against his chest, a familiar comforting weight on his body.

“It is! It is.” He insisted, flicked his ash onto the carpeting, “Robbie was gonna be somebody. Anna…Anna said he was good, he was the best. He was gonna be somebody, (Y/N). What am I? How am I better?” He asked, and you frowned.

You didn’t know who Anna was, didn’t know, didn’t care. She didn’t matter, it’d been a year and he’d never mentioned her, so you figured she couldn’t matter much. Robbie mattered -- but Robbie wasn’t Pale’s fault.

“We’re all gonna be somebody. All of us in our own way, doing our own thing. Your career ain’t failed, it’s just gettin’ started. You have so much ahead of you, and you know that. You know it.” You said, and he pinched at your nose, smiled sadly at you. You smiled right back, sighed and with a nasal voice you said, “I would have cared.”

“You wouldn’t have known me.” Pale let out a deep big breath then, and you could feel the tension starting to melt from his shoulders, could see the tears starting to slow.

“I still would have cared.” You insisted, rolling onto your back and tugging him against your chest, letting him settle his head on your breast, letting him smoke and smoke and breathe just how he needs to. You carded your fingers through his hair, lightly scratched against his scalp and licked your lips, wet your dry throat, “I woulda felt something out there, in the great big unknown. I woulda felt it, you goin’. I would’ve cared.”

“C-can you keep talkin’? Please? Fuck, I can’t – please just – please?” Pale whispers, eyes closing, mouth sucking down the last of the cigarette all the way down to the filter.

You nodded, let your own eyes close too.

“You know I heard once, a long time ago, maybe I read it, I dunno; that when a person dies and there’s no one to mourn em, the sadness has nowhere to go. So it wanders around and around, lookin’ for somewhere to live, someone’s chest to be there to feel it. I think the same is true for love, you know? When someone’s got all this love to give and no one to give it to, it wanders too. I think you were wanderin’, your love was searching, and it led you to me. And I’m grateful for that, that I get to house your love, instead of your mournin’. But I would have taken your mournin’ too.”

In your head it was calm and peaceful, all the rage you had felt long gone.

Outside, snow began to fall. Soft flurries that whirled past the window, wind whipped in pretty swirls. You felt like you were in a snowglobe, felt like this penthouse was you and Pale’s own personal world, kept safe and warm and contained, away from the big bad world outside.

Pale was breathin’ against you, gently, softly, but you knew he wasn’t asleep.

“I ain’t got many people, you know? Before you, I had a couple of friends I saw every month or so, a couple regulars at the diner. I got Fish and Chaya but they’re like parents to me, my parents in a suburb a suburb away. I think I had too much love too, and it was wanderin’ too, and there you were, angry and big and crass and willin’ to take it all.”

You continued, let your fingers twist in and around his soft locks, glad that he had washed his hair with you that morning. You loved the way it feathered and fell through your fingers, silky wavy and black as midnight.

You wondered if it was midnight now, if it was later. You couldn’t see the clock, didn’t want to even open your eyes to look.

“You didn’t have to take it all, but you did. You coulda fucked me and been done, a one night stand with a stranger, but you stayed. And you kept comin’ back, and I kept lovin’ you. Right from day fuckin’ one I loved you.” You said, quietly, voice so quiet and yet loud enough that there was no way to miss what you were saying, “I woulda cared.”

You and Pale laid there for a long time, the two of yous just soaking in the feeling of one another.

You wondered if he had been scared, when Barbara showed up. If he had been worried. Maybe he thought that once you saw her, you’d be angry with him, you’d want to leave him. Maybe he thought she’d convince you to leave him, like she had done years and years ago.

You wondered now, if he was relieved, that you hadn’t. That you weren’t planning on going anywhere, nowhere at all. You were his, pure and simple.

It snows outside, and Pale sighs, but this time it’s not so shaky as it had been. This time, it’s more resigned than anything else, as he pinches the cigarette between his fingers.

He gets up off of your chest to stick the butt of it in the ashtray, to squash it down. You take the opportunity to get more comfortable, to get onto the bed properly, instead of having your legs hanging down over the side of the mattress like the had been.

Pale puts out the cigarette and slides under the covers, the two of you facing one another.

“You woulda loved him.” Pale said finally, after a real long time of being quiet. “Robbie, I mean. You two woulda gotten along like two fuckin’ peas in a pod. You both have that light. Some people are real dark, heavy. But not you, not…not Robbie. He was light. You woulda loved him.”

“Where’s he at?” You asked, reaching out a hand for him.

“How’s that?” He frowns just a little, taking it nonetheless, rushing to grasp it in his own hands.

His hands were so much bigger than yours, and you smile a little at the sight of it.

“The cemetery, which one?” You clarified, and he hums, trying to think.

“Jersey City,” He replied after searching through the memories in his brain, “He’s in Jersey City.”

“We should go, one day. One day soon, I think. We should go visit him.” You suggested, and his eyes widen just a little.

“You would go do that? You’d go with me to see him?” He asked, and your heart broke all over again, at the sheer surprise of the question.

“Yeah, I would.” You nodded, squeezing his hand real tight, scooting yourself forward on the bed enough so that you can press your forehead up against his, “I’d do anything for you.”

Pale didn’t say anything to that, just nodded his head up and down real slow, leaned in to kiss you even slower.

His lips felt like the words coolest drink against yours, and you wondered how anyone could be so cruel to him, so heartless. He was tough, yes, rough around the edges, even more so. But underneath all that – and not even very deep underneath – he was just another kicked dog desperate for love.

And as you settle against him, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you, all the aches and pains from the hard fucking all coming rushing to your joints, you decided that no matter how rough around the edges he was, you’d always give him that, that love.

                                                    ---------------

You don’t remember falling asleep, but then again, does anyone? You don’t remember waking up either, and that’s always a little strange; that fleeting moment where you’re fighting the day, trying desperately to cling on to whatever little sleep you managed to get.

But the day has won, and sleep has lost this round, and you’re stretching your limbs out and rousing Pale in your wake, as you stick your freezing feet between his legs and he groaned to life.

“What day is it?” He grumbled, making you have to do mental calculations for a minute.

“Sunday?” You said, not entirely sure, but that sounded right.  

“Thank fuck.” Pale huffed, making you chuckle. Sundays were your day to be wholly and completely together, without a care in the world. Monday could be dealt with when it arrived, and all the baggage and bullshit that went with it, but Sundays were special, just for the two of you. Pale reached down and grasped your ankles, making you laugh and laugh as he pried your cold feet from his overly warm skin, asking, “Did yesterday really happen?”

“Yeah.” Your laughs died down a little, “I’m sorry.”

The both of you finally succumbed to being awake fully and completely, getting up out of bed to go walk barefoot and naked to the bathroom. Pale always let you use the toilet first, something of a gentleman. You both brushed your teeth side by side, pinching and poking at one another to make the time go by just a little bit faster, so that you could crawl back into bed together feeling more like humans.

“Why the fuck are you sorry?” Pale asked after spitting out toothpaste and rinsing his mouth, gargling alcohol disguised as mouthwash, blue into the sink.

“Because she ruined your birthday.” You replied, following suit.

“She ruins every birthday.” Pale sighed, before turning to you more fully and groping your tits right there in the bathroom, pinchin’ at your nipples as he let a small smile grace his lips when he asked for a, “Kiss?”

You were glad to see he wasn’t still so fucked up about it, last night had you worried, more worried than you’d been in a long time about him. But he was okay now, looked okay anyway. And you kissed him, with no hesitation, no thinkin’, just love.

He smiled against you more fully, pushed you up onto the bathroom counter. You winced a little as your bare ass hit the cold marble, but that shock only lasted for a moment. Pale was already wriggling his way between your legs, prying your knees open.

Surprisingly though, he didn’t shove his cock right into you like he was wont to do most mornings. No, you knew he’d fuck you later in the warm light of the living room, languid and slow. He wasn’t gentle, but he could be slow.

No, instead of fucking you right there, he instead used the grey morning light to inspect your body. A long time ago in a leaky bathtub you had once joked that a wild animal had mauled you, and you couldn’t help but feel that way now. You were covered in marks and bruises, ones he pressed his thumb into and made you hum out in pleasure-pain.

His hands roved across your skin, searching for something, you didn’t know what. You just watched his face, looked at him. You loved him like this, sleep-rumpled. His hair was a train wreck, and his face a little blotchy and red from the night before, but he was handsome and at peace, at least for the moment, before he started bitching and moaning about whatever it was that was bugging him.

You knew what he’d be bitching about today.

Eventually, he found what he was lookin’ for – scratch marks on your arm from where Barbara had grabbed you and tried to shred you up with her long acrylics. She hadn’t broken the skin or anything, but the lines were puffy and red, and he sighed.

You cupped his cheek, a silent affirmation that you didn’t care, that she wouldn’t scare you off that easily.  

“What are we gonna do about her?” You asked, and that familiar frown came back as he got all aggravated.

It was kind of a funny sight, him standing there naked, hair angry and face angry as he rummaged in the medicine cabinet, looking for a cigarette. You helped him light it, his hands a little shaky from the lack of nicotine in his system.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck she was thinking, coming here. She wants me back? Yeah fucking right, she needs something from me and is going to be a real bitch about getting whatever it is. I just don’t know what that could fuckin’ be, especially since I don’t got none of her shit in the apartment.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“How’d she even find you?” You asked, hopping down from the counter.

“Right?” He asked, shaking his head and smacking your ass lightly as you headed back into the bedroom, plopped yourself down onto the mattress. The clock read eight in the morning, slept in late once again. “It’s not like I told her my address or nothin’. But she’s been calling everyone I know tryin’ to get a god damned hold of me and it’s pissin’ me off.”

“Yeah she called here too.” You said, realizing that the woman who you had thought was the commissioner’s secretary, hadn’t been no secretary after all.

“She did?” Pale’s eyebrows shot up, and he groaned, scrubbed a hand over his face as he crawled back into bed next to you. “She called the diner, Fish thought…”

“What, did he think you were cheatin’ on me?” You grinned, so fond of that old man, of your friend. He was always looking out for you, Fish was.

“Yeah.” Pale said with a big huff and puff, puffing on his cigarette before grabbing your jaw in his hot hot hot hand, palm sweaty against your chin, “You know I’d never do that, right?”

“I know.” You want to nod but he’s holding you in place, crowding into your space, licking into your mouth. “I know. I meant what I said yesterday.”

“Which part?” He asked, voice soft.

It was a wonder, sometimes, how he could be so vulnerable. And then other times, it only made perfect sense.

“All of it.” You replied, kissing and licking right back into his, not minding the taste of Barclays one bit. You hummed against his lips for a long while, kissed and kissed, let yourself get wrapped up in the all-consuming feeling of Pale, before pulling away slightly and asking, “Do you send her money?”

“’Course I do.” Pale said, “She’s got the kids and everything, I can’t let them fall through the cracks.”

“How much do you send her?” You wondered, because you thought, had an inkling, that this is what it was all about.

He had gotten a lot more money recently, from his commission work. He had composed some scores for some big blockbuster movies, and was now in a deal with the Philharmonic, and you knew, you just knew, that she was here to take advantage of that – of him.

“It depends. Like two grand a month, but more for the holidays.” He scratched the back of his neck, and you froze right there in his arms.

“Holy shit.” You whispered, feeling your entire stomach sink. “Pale that’s a lot of money.”

You unwrapped yourself from his arms and sat up in bed, suddenly feeling the huge gap that there was between you and him.

“Yeah well, she got used to a certain lifestyle when we were married, me workin’ my fuckin’ ass off. And I didn’t want her accusing me of desertin’ her with nothin’, so I figured it’d just be easier to send her whatever she needs.” Pale shrugged, like it was nothing, like throwing away two grand was no big deal.

“How much does that leave you with?” You asked. You had never really asked about his finances, because you had figured it was never really any of your business.

You knew he had to be well off, because of the way he dressed and this penthouse and his car, but you had never figured it was this much.

“A little over six a month.” He said real quiet, catching on to why you were beginning to grow quiet.

“Christ.” You said, looking down at your fingernails, picking out something that wasn’t there from underneath them, just because the sudden realization of just how well off he was hit you deep in your chest, “That’s as much as I make in a year.”

Pale stubbed out the cigarette and sat up with you, chased you with his lips. You had never been embarrassed before, about anything. But for some reason, now, now it did.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” Pale said, shuffling to sit cross-legged in front of you, taking your hands in his and holdin’ em real tight as he tried to get you to look at him, “Now do you get why I want to give you nice things? Buy you nice shit?”

“I just…” You sighed, “I ain’t used to any of it, you know? Any of this. I’m comfortable with what I got, what I work for and earn. It’s more than enough for me. I can’t imagine having that kinda money, not in a million years.” You said, because it was true.

“Anything I got is yours now, you gotta know that.” Pale said, said like it was obvious, like it was the understatement of the century, “Any of my shit, my money, anything. It’s yours. I’ve been doing some thinking, and when I kick the bucket I want it all to go to you.”

“Pale I don’t like you talkin’ like that.” You shook your head, not wanting him to spiral, not wanting him to get it in his head that he’s dying any time soon.

“No no, I’m serious. I’m bein’ practical. I’m gonna get it in writing and give it all to you. God willin’, you won’t need it, because I’ll be here to give it to you. But, heaven fuckin’ forbid, if I, I dunno get shot or hit by a truck or somethin’, no one’s gonna fight you for it, it’ll all just be yours.” He said, put his hand on his heart like he was swearin’ to something he didn’t believe in, just for you.

“What about your kids?” You asked, looking at him, really looking at him.

“They got trusts set up, they’ll be fine.” He waved them off, and you bit your lip, casted you gaze out the window, to wherever Barbara was staying, spending the night, spending the day.

You wondered if she had gone right back to the airport, or if she was up running her credit card somewhere in some swanky hotel in Manhattan. You figured it was probably the latter, figured you weren’t done with her yet, not yet.

“What about your wife?” You asked, but Pale only kissed you.

“Who?” He asked, playfully, trying to get some humor back behind your eyes.

“Pale.” You said, trying your best and failing to be serious.

He cast his gaze out the window too, and then looked back at you, really looked back at you, through you, into you in that way he sometimes did when he was high off his ass and too honest.

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m lookin’ at her.” He said, and you sucked in a breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t ever gettin’ married again, no fuckin’ way. And I ain’t really about having any more kids. I did the whole American nuclear fuckin’ family white picket fence green lawn bullshit, and well. You saw how it all turned out. But you, us, this? This is more than enough for me. You wearin’ my chain and suckin’ my dick and holdin’ me and laughin’ at my jokes – that’s more than I ever got when I was married, you’re more my wife than she ever was.”

You used to think you’d be used to it, these passionate declarations of his, but you never are. You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you, and you wondered, wondered how long he had kept that speech locked inside his chest.

Outside the snow falls, but in the snowglobe, you’re safe and warm, warmed from the inside out.

You kiss him, because you can’t resist, can’t prevent it from happening, not that you want to. You kiss him because you’re afraid if you don’t, you’ll cry.

Maybe you cry a little anyway, but who’s there to judge?

He curls his hand against the nape of your neck and breathes into your mouth and you breathe back in the way that you know makes him dizzy dizzy dizzy, and your eyes are shut but still, somehow, you can see him, can see his soft brown eyes and the glint of gold around his neck, the same gold that you wear, that you’ll always wear.

When you pull apart, you’re grinning, because the words have settled deep into your bones and you feel like you’ve accidentally done a bump or two.

“I ain’t gonna force you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” You said softly, whispered against his lips, smiling smiling smiling, “But…you sure you don’t want no more kids?”

Pale huffs out a laugh against your mouth, makes a face, one you can’t really read. But it’s playful, and it’s considerate, in Pale’s own way.

“Maybe one day.” He settles on with a grumble, rolling his eyes when you laugh, but then he’s pinching your nose, your cheek, your ear, smacking a kiss to your lips as he says, “But not today.”

“Good enough for me.” You beam, moment interrupted by the loud grumbling of his stomach, which only makes you smile wider when you asked, “Breakfast?”

And when you looked at him, and he looked back, you knew that you’d be able to get through all this together. You’d figure it out, figured out what Barbara wanted, and then she’d go away, and everything would go back to normal.

But until then, until you had a plan, there really was only one thing to deal with, and Pale knew it just as well as you, and he nodded when he agreed,

“Breakfast.”      

                                                  ---------------

Tagging some Pale lovin’ pals! As always, if you’d like to be put on the taglist or taken off of it, just let me know :) 

@fullofbees​​ @spinebarrel​​ @dreamboatdriver​​ @thecurlycaptain​​ @bourbonboredom​​ @driverficarchive​​ @rosalynbair​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​ @adamsnackdriver​​ @glitzescape​​ @adamsnacc-kler​​ @kyloxfem​​ @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne​​ @attorneyl​​ @jedihbic​​ @bens-rose​​ @callmehopeless​​ @formerly-anonhamster​​ @thepilotanon​​ @hippieface​​ @tinyplanet-explorers​​ @satansstrawberry @riseofkylo​ @whiskey-bumblebee​ @helloimindelaware​

#reader insert #pale x reader #pale burn this #burn this broadway #my writing #blue moon verse #blue moon sequel

[badwolf-in-the-impala]

~Whiskey Lullaby~

~Chapter 5~

|| Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ||

Image Credit: Me. Pictures not mine obviously, but the collage is.

Rating: NSFW-18+

Warnings: Alcohol and drug abuse, violence, suggested sexual/physical abuse, kidnapping, sexual content, angst.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of underage ((consensual)) sex, past alcohol/substance abuse, lots of angsty feely things...don’t hate me lol

-----------------------------------------

Teagan groaned quietly as she rolled over, one eye cracking open to check the time on her alarm clock; stiffening when she felt the arm around her waist tighten it’s grip. The previous nights events flooding her brain as her eyes sprang open, more than awake now as she scrambled for the alarm clock beside the bed that was facing away from her. Turing it around to check the time, cursing herself quietly as she started to gently untangle Chibs’ arm from around her waist.

It was already after 8:30am...most of the guys would likely already be milling about the Clubhouse; her brother included. That was the last thing she needed right now was Tig losing his shit over something that hadn’t even happened yet. Not that she wouldn’t deserve it...she had lost his respect many years ago, and she wasn’t exactly doing a great job at earning it back.

Sighing to herself she slipped out of the sweatpants he had lent her and folded them neatly before placing them on the end of the bed. Smiling to herself as Chibs snored softly; disappointed that she couldn’t stay until he woke. The thought of waking up in his arms giving her a sense of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a lot of years. 

Being careful not to draw too much attention to herself, she crept quietly for the door. Peaking out to make sure no one was in the hall before she made her escape; yelping in surprise when a hand reached out and snatched her by the ear, dragging down the hall and into her own room. 

“Jesus- what the fuck?!” Teagan stumbled forward a little as the hand released her ear and closed the door. Turning to find Gemma standing with her arms crossed over her chest as she stared her down with the disapproving ‘Mom’ look.

“I swear to God, it’s not what it looks like Gem!” Teagan stated in a rush, holding her hands up innocently. Gemma looking less than convinced as she pointed to the bed. Teagan backing up until she found it, sitting abruptly. Swallowing hard as Gemma advanced with her hands on her hips. 

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doin’?” She questioned sternly.

“I promise Gem, really! Nothing happened. I got up to get a bottle of water, and saw he was still up and I don’t know...I was still drunk and didn’t wanna be alone. But I swear, we did not have sex...I just-- He felt bad, he even gave pants to sleep in for Christs sake!”

“Mhm.” I’m sure he did.” Gemma replied sarcastically. Still skeptically as she stared down at Teagan like a Mother about to ground her teenage daughter.

“You can ask Filip!” 

“Filip, really?” Gemma mused with a smirk, watching as Teagan’s faced turned red with embarrassment.

“Chibs! For fucks sake Gem, just ask him! Just please-- PLEASE don’t tell Tig!” She begged, breathing a sigh of relief when Gemma nodded with a small chuckle.

“Calm your tits, sugar. I’m not gonna tell anyone.” Gemma replied, her body language relaxing as she took a step back. “Besides, your reaction told me everything I needed to know.” Patting Teagan’s cheek with a grin, she turned to leave the room. 

Teagan groaning as she flopped backwards onto the bed, hands over her face as she gave a dramatic sigh...it was definitely too early for this shit. She need a shower, and coffee. Lots, and lots of coffee.

An hour passed before she felt it even safe to consider exiting her room. Making sure that Tig was a least gone before making her way into the kitchen and grabbing a cup of coffee before slipping out the back to the storage units. Sighing as she rolled up the door, revealing the old primer painted Chevelle. Shaking her head as she leaned up against the driver side fender. So many memories...

Wiping at her face as a tear slipped out, she drew in a deep breath. Trying to rid herself of the overwhelming emotions that seeing it brought back. Turning instead to the piece of paper and pen she brought out with her. Pausing every now and then to think as she compiled a list of parts she needed to go track down.

It was a waste to let the old beast simply rot in a storage unit...even despite the painful memories. She knew that’s not what he would’ve have wanted. Besides, it wasn’t like she had much of anything else to do right now. 

Finishing her list, she folded it and tucked it inside her pocket before polishing off the remainder of her coffee. Rolling the door closed behind her as she made her way back inside to grab her leather jacket; dropping her coffee cup off in the sink. Stopping by the Office on her way to her bike, finding Gemma inside doing paperwork. 

“You takin’ off?” She asked, not looking up from her paperwork as Teagan walked in, peering through the blinds into the shop. Noting both Tig and Chibs were gone.

“Yeah...I’m gonna see if I can order some parts for the Chevelle.” She replied, gaining Gemma’s attention as she looked up. 

“I can order ‘em.” Gemma offered, pulling her glasses off. “Just let me know what you need?”

“I got it.” Teagan dismissed the offer with a half smile. “This is something I need to do...ya’know?” 

“’Course, Sweetheart.” Gemma gave an understanding nod as she stood and gave the younger woman a hug. “You let me know if there’s anything you can’t find though. I’ll track it down.” 

“Thanks Gem.” Teagan kissed her cheek before leaving the office. Crossing the parking lot to her bike and climbing on. Clicking the buckle of her helmet into place before kicking the stand out from underneath her bike; the engine roaring to life beneath her as she started out of the lot. Passing her brother and Chibs  as they pulled back in with the tow-truck. Both men turning to stare as they watched her speed off and out of sight.

She returned about mid-afternoon, sighing when she found her original parking spot was not taken. Grumbling to herself crankily as she backed herself in at the end of the row. Stripping out of her leather jacket and slinging it over her shoulder as she beelined it for the Clubhouse. In desperate need of a drink and some air conditioning as she pushed the door open; the sound of voices drowning out her thoughts. 

“Teagan?” She froze at the sound of her name, puzzled for a moment before turning around in search of who had spoken it. Squealing in excitement when she caught sight of Kozik who was grinning like the cat who ate the canary. Her jacket falling abandoned onto the floor as she crossed the room and leaped into his arms. Hugging him tightly as he spun her once and set her down.

“What are you doin’ here, Koozy?” She beamed, ignoring the random looks she was receiving from around room. Including those from Chibs and her brother. Tig glaring so hard from across the room that she was almost certain he would melt a hole through Kozik’s skull. 

“Couldn’t leave without seein’ my favorite little Jailbird.” He replied with a mischievous grin, wincing as Teagan punched him in the shoulder. Glaring playfully as he chuckled. 

“Fuckin’ gag me...” Tig muttered into his beer, Teagan rolling her eyes in annoyance as they turned to look at her brother.

“You got somethin’ to say Trager?” Kozik turned, attempting to hide the cocky grin that was threatening to go full blown.

“Yeah I got somethin’ to say.” Tig slammed his beer down as he started across the room, chest to chest with Kozik as he got in his face. “How ‘bout you try to refrain from fuckin’ my sister this time?!”

“Yeah? Last I recall, she enjoyed it.” Kozik antagonized, staggering back a little as Tig shoved him hard in the chest. Teagan stepping in to keep them from tearing each other apart. 

“Jesus, are two ever gonna get over yourselves?!” She scolded with a hand on her hip. “Put your dicks away and get the fuck over it.” She caught Tig by the collar of his Kutte as he stepped forward, shoving him back a little harder as she planted her other hand behind her on Kozik’s chest.

“I mean it!” She warned with a stern look between the two men. “No fighting!” 

“Aye, listen to the lady.” Chibs stepped in as he grabbed Tig up by the arms, holding him back as he tried to get at Kozik from around his sister. “Or at the very least, kick the shite outta each other outside?”

Tig pried himself out of Chibs’ grasp and stormed off outside. Leaving a tense air of silence hanging between the other two men and Teagan; who rubbed at the back of her neck awkwardly as she edged out from between them. 

“Well, this has been awkward.” She muttered more or less to herself as she approached the bar. Retrieving her jacket before flagging down Half-Sack for a bottle off Tequila.

“I’m gonna go drink myself into a coma now...” She stated; a sardonic edge to her voice. “It’s really good to see you again Koozy.” 

Giving a half smile as she pushed back between him and Chibs. Disappearing down the hall and into her room, gathering up a few things before heading up to the roof.

“The girls got some shit goin’ on...” Gemma stepped in, pointing a finger between the two men. “Don’t go complicatin’ it with your feelings.” She made sure to emphasize the last bit for good measure before stepping around them, throwing the door open as she stepped out to chase down Tig.

“She’s probably on the roof...s’where she always used to hide out as a kid.” Kozik sighed with a shake of his head as he started for the hall. “I should go check on her.” 

He was stopped by the hand that grabbed a fist full of his Kutte and pulled backward. Turning around he gave the Scot a questioning look, but remained silent.

“‘Am sensin’ ye might be part of the problem.” Chibs stated as he released the blonde from his grasp, stepping between him and the hall as he finished. “I’ll go.”

--------

The sun had begun setting slowly over the small town of Charming. Turning the late Summer’s sky vibrant hues of purple, reds and gold. Teagan sat in a lawn chair, watching with her feet propped up -- knees bent slightly -- against the ledge. Her sketch book balanced carefully in her lap as she took a pause in drawing, to light up a cigarette. Twisting the cap off the bottle of Tequila before taking another sip, setting it up on the ledge. Wincing at the fiery sensation it created on the way down her throat.

She was only about three shots in, her nerves still fraying at the seams. But slowly, the liquor began to quell her anxieties. Allowing her to focus more on the mock sketch she had started for the old Chevelle. Her attention turning a few minutes later to the sound of the door squeaking opening loudly. Watching as Chibs stepped onto the roof, hands tucked into the pockets as he looked out at the sunset.

“Gemma send you?” She inquired, her tone flat as she turned her attention back to the drawing in her lap. Chibs shaking his head ‘no’ as he took a seat on the ledge beside her feet. Remaining silent for a few minutes as he watched the lines on the paper come to life beneath her hand. His warm gaze shifting up to meet hers as she stopped, brows furrowed as she stared at him.

“You’re not gonna ask?” 

“Not my business, love.” He replied with as shake of his head. “’Am not goin’ to pry abou’ things ye dinna wish to tell me.” 

Teagan remained quiet for moment, green eyes studying the older man who sat in front of her. Somehow trying to wrap her brain around why he was being so nice; why he cared so fucking much. Anyone else would likely be pressing her for some kind of answer to all the shit that had been going on, but not Chibs.  

“I slept with Kozik when I was 17...” She sighed, Chibs quirking and eyebrow as he listened. Surprised she was actually telling him. “SAMCRO shindig...I was blitzed out of my goddamn mind. Tiggy obviously walked in and lost his fucking mind...” 

“Explains the tension.” Chibs chuckled quietly.

“It was of my own doing...I was young and I was drunk.” She shrugged, closing the book in her lap as she tossed it down beside her chair. Dropping her feet as she reached for the bottle of Tequila on the ledge.

“Aye, ye were pretty drunk last nigh’ as well...” Her green eyes burned into him as her head snapped up at his comment.

“Yeah? And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” She snapped.

“I-- no, tha’s how I meant--” Chibs started to defend himself, only to cut off as Teagan continued. 

“No one ever said I was goddamn Saint, Chibs. I’ve done shit I’m not fucking proud of, and I’ve gone through shit in my life that NO ONE should ever have to. Yeah, I’ve got issues, big fuckin’ WHOOP! I don’t need your judgement, nor your fuckin’ pity!” 

“I wasn’ tryin’ to judge, love. I was jus’--” He shook his head, standing, which only caused her to take a step back.

“I don’t need to be saved, alright? I’m not a goddamn charity case! So if that’s the only reason you’re being nice to me, don’t.fucking.bother.” She turned on her heel to leave, ready to abandon the rooftop when Chibs grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. Teagan about to swing in order to get her point across when he leaned down, crashing his lips into hers unexpectedly.

All the pent up tension suddenly eased away as her eyes slipped closed. Her left hand instinctively sliding up to rest against his chest as the other hesitantly wrapped around his neck. The kiss remaining slow and gentle as he reached his own hands up to cup her cheeks. Right thumb smoothing over her cheekbone softly.

It was nothing like their heated make-out session the night before. It was soft, and passionate; even as his tongue tentatively slipped past her lips to gently move against her own. Her head whirling with a million different emotions as her heart raced inside her chest; feeling as if it would beat straight out if it wasn’t for the rib-cage that kept it prisoner. 

Never in her entire life had anyone kissed her the way the Chibs was in this exact moment. As if she were drowning and he was throwing her the lifeline that she so desperately needed. His hand gripping the back of her head lightly as he broke the kiss; resting his forehead against hers. His warm brown eyes filled with a kindness that made her owns brim with tears...guilty for assuming he had been judging her. 

“I would never, ever, judge ye f’er’ yer past, Lass.” He spoke sincerely. Face completely serious as he stared into her eyes, wiping away a stray tear that rolled down her cheek.

“None of us are perfect, lovey.” 

Teagan nodded, forcing herself to hold back tears the best she could. Chibs placing his lips against her’s again as he pulled her close. The sound of the door to the roof opening, falling on deaf ears until--

“You have got to be fuckin’ kidding me?!” 

They sprang apart, startled by the voice and sound of boots that stormed towards them. Teagan’s eyes widening as she caught sight of her brother’s furious form.

“Tig, don’t!”  But it was too late as her brother’s fist collided with Chibs’ jaw. Teagan scrambling to throw herself between them, pushing at her brother in an attempt to keep the fight from escalating. 

“STOP!” She yelled again, her hand slapping hard against her brothers face when he didn’t. Looking back at her with a stunned, but furious, expression as he took a step backward. Giving her enough time to turn and stop Chibs who had regained his senses and was now advancing on the oldest Trager.

“Don’t!” She warned, her tone menacing; but the look in her eyes was pleading that he trust her. “I got this...just go.”

Chibs nodded stiffly and turned for the door. Leaving the siblings as the door slammed shut behind him loudly. Making Teagan flinch as she turned back towards her brother, his blue eyes filled with anger, disgust...and hurt.

“Do you not remember the last time?” He snapped, stepping towards her. Pointing an accusing finger at her as if her were scolding a child. “Or are you just hellbent on ruining another goddamn Brotherhood?!”

“Fuck you, Alex!” She yelled. “I was a kid--”

“You were a goddamn druggy screw up!” He cut her off angrily, running his hands through his hair. Turning as he tried to ignore the hurt that flashed through her across her face.

“This isn’t like that like, Tig!” She pleaded. 

“Bullshit!” He rounded on her. “You’ve always been this way. Always trying to ruin my relationships with the guys-- with the Club!”

“Oh what, so now I’m a whore?” She scoffed angrily, her bottom lip quivering as she stared at her brother. “You’re never gonna let me live down my fucking past, are you? -- ‘Cause I mean, last I checked, yours wasn’t much better!”

“And the last I checked, mine didn’t have a body count involving a Club Member!”

The air around them fell silent as they stared at each other. Tears now streaming down Teagan’s face as her green gaze blazed with an intense hatred that frightened even her own flesh and blood. His own eyes filled with anger...but also guilt. Turning his gaze away from his sister as he ran a hand over his face.

“Wow, Alex...” Teagan spoke shakily through her tears. “That’s low...even for you.”

“Teagan, wait--” Tig reached out for her hand, but she pulled away. Grabbing her things before storming off the roof blur of anger and tears. Leaving her brother behind, mentally scolding himself for line he had just officially crossed...knowing that there was no taking back the words he hadn’t meant to say.

--------------------------------------------

TAGLIST:  @penny4yourthot @jacksonroth @cole-winchester @stacie-marie-bloom @journeyrose

#Whiskey Lullaby #Sons of Anarchy #SOA #SAMCROW #SAMTAC #Chibs Telford #Chibs #Filip Chibs Telford #chibs x oc #Filip Telford x oc #Tig Trager #Jax teller #gemma teller #Teller-Morrow #soa kozik #Herman Kozik #Tommy Flanagan #soa fanfiction #fanfiction #Fanfic #writing #tara knowles #Clay Morrow #Happy Lowman #juice ortiz #bobby munson #wayne unser #opie winston #piney winston #sons of anarchy fanfic

[cortex-reaver]

Chapter 63: Jailbreak Prep

Warnings: language, cyberspace surreality

Masterpost

Been a while. I’ve had this with a 15-plus chapter buffer sitting on my hard-drive for a while. Just now starting to get back into things again.

Chapter 63: Jailbreak Prep

Warnings: drugs, language, cyberpunk horror-ish mention

Hacker stared morosely at the Cortieball in his lap, gently running one hand along its surface. Cortie's gaze darted around uneasily as she contemplated the psychological clusterfuck that would be his rescue mission.

He sighed.

A clatter interrupted his reverie. He glanced up to see the Stooges shuffling in to watch the goings-on. He waved half-heartedly.

“You think you guys could give me a quick Reaver c-space tutorial?” he asked tiredly. “I took a look in local c-space already and it's nuts. Also there might be some monitors out there. I noticed a couple floating skulls like the old-time Reavers”--

Moe: Dude that was us. Didn't you see the glitch art?

Larry: DUDE I had the whole Pirate Pixels hack going. BOOYAH.

Moe: C-space here is WICKED SICK!  You're gonna love it. Well once you're over the whole neon overload shitfest. It uh, takes some adjusting.

The Stooges grinned in perfect unison, letting out little burbling moans. Hacker blinked. Then blinked again. Cortie giggled from his lap.

“No wonder you didn't freak out when we showed up at the door, huh? Okay then. Anything I need to know?”

Larry: Bottomless 1-ups. Seriously. Infinite c-space reloads. Get zapped, come back pronto.

Moe: You're still gonna feel those hits, but they're just not gonna wear you down. You've got a big-ass machine, CPU and all, sprouting outta your brain. So you can take 'em better.

Curly: You also got a deeper health pool. Like, triple cuz of the cyberware. AKA: More hitpoints. I mean, from the gamer perspective....

“Nice. Now I just gotta brace for the incoming Berserker trip dipped in acid and Stam-Up then,” Hacker muttered, then fished in his armor's pockets. “Pretty sure I got a patch in here somewhere.”

Larry moved forward, waving their hands to catch Hacker's attention. He glanced up in surprise at the Reaver's wicked grin.

Larry: Nawww you're not gonna need that. Our rigs feed us the pharma shit. Yours probably does too. Just look for a Stam-Up option in the menus.

Moe: DUDE do you reaaaaally wanna enable him?

Curly: Do you seriously NOT want to enable him? We're in SHITFUCK CENTRAL here. Better he know where to get his Stam-Up NOW before he needs it. Cause we just TOLD him about the health rundown, 'member? Not as fast, but it's still gonna happen. Specially with SHODAN-flavored c-space shit.

Moe: Good point, bro. Good point.

Dazed, Hacker checked his menus.

Sure enough, there was a pharmaceutical menu with such a long list of assorted drugs to replicate for his body. He knew only half of them. Fortunately he recognized the Stam-Up option, and cackled softly.

Moe: Don't forget the Genius stuff. We get those by default whenever we go into c-space. Probably why you got back out as fast as you did. Helps with the fast reloads. Annnd you're gonna want a double-dose to start.

Hacker: Oh yeah right. Lemme just turn both of those on...

“Permanent life-time supply of Stam-Up,” he said in wonderment as his new Reaver frame promptly began feeding his body a moderate dose of both drugs. The world felt brighter, crisper, even more saturated now. He grinned.

“If I'd known a Reaver rig could do this”--

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU TELL HIM THAT?!” Goggles yelled in exasperation.

All three Reavers backed up. Slightly. They shot her offended looks, folding ther arms.

Larry: He's gonna need it! Specially Genius. Dude's not used to the c-space here.

Curly: C'mon, you don't know how SHODAN is in c-space. We heard plenty from the Cerberus guys here. He's going up against all her crazy-ass shit.

Moe: HE'S TOTALLY GONNA NEED IT OKAY? This IS SHODAN we’re talking about here--

“I'm gonna stop you right there,” Goggles let out a low growl as she clapped a hand to her face, then dragged it down to stretch out her skin. “I've fought SHODAN in an FTL warp that turned c-space into fucking reality. I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“SHe d-dOesSS,” SHObeta hissed.

“AnNd he WiLL neED aLl the Help he Can gET,” Cortie spoke up.

Goggles sighed, then held up her hands as she backed away.

“Okay. Fine. Ignore the sensible voice in the room.”

“All right, anything else before I go in there to break Cortie out?” Hacker asked the Stooges.

“MiND yoUR RanGE,” Cortie interrupted softly. “YoU Will KNow whaAT I meaAN. I am UNabLE to SPeaK theEEr-r-E, so I wiLl w-waRn yoU nOOW. I suSPect The SUper-ReaAVer-r-rRs kneW how To bYpasS it. It wAs the ONly DeFEnSE I haD RuNNinG TheEEe-RE.”

Hacker froze, his entire Reaver rig raising abruptly.

“You kept...that system?”

“HOw DO yOU thiNK I PuLled mY ForRK out of RebeCCA's boDY?” she asked so pointedly that SHObeta flinched.

Goggles and Hacker could only stare.

The soldier dug into one pocket, and pried out a large black bandanna, and passed it to Hacker. Only then did he realize he'd broken into a sweat his new Reaver technology couldn't counter. He gratefully took it and dabbed at his face.

Cortie drooped inside the ball, her eyes wide and sad.

“I wouLd Not be ABle to StoP thE neuRaL RoOTKit if tHe ProtoCols actiVAte it,” she whispered, her eyes welling with glittering digital tears. “P-p-p-pLeASe...s-t-t-taAY saAFe.”

“Y-yeah. Okay. N-no problem,” Hacker squeaked out. “But it's being run by an ethics program, right? That limits the kinda commands it's gonna try running on my brain...r-right?”

Cortie blinked.

“What's the worst a neural rootkit run by an ethics program gonna do, paralyze him?” Goggles asked, surprised.

“I...w-w-wOUld raTher-r-r NOt KNoOW,” she whispered. “JuusSt StaY s-s-saFE.”

“R-right.”

He closed his eyes, blocking out all his various inputs as he settled himself back on the regenerator room's floor. He settled into a nice comfy cross-legged position, and put Cortieball securely in his lap.

He tried to replicate the search for the Visible Spectrum View. Two tries flavored by constant mental cussing later, he finally found the C-SPACE ENTRY button he'd missed in his earlier fumbling.

Cyberspace bloomed in his mind, all neon outlines and utter blackness beyond. As he squinted in the new landscape, he spotted distant shapes in the darkness past the glowing walls of his immediate area.

Three large pixilated skulls hovered in front of him. One sported an equally pixilated eyepatch, while the other had animated red-and-blue flames playing across its face. The third gleamed a brilliant silver which rippled lazily from gunmetal gray to dazzling platinum.

Hacker recognized them as the ones he'd seen earlier. Then he wondered how he'd assumed they were hostiles when they looked like flying retro-ware hacker icons instead of Citadel programs. He mentally shook his head. His brain's been through a lot right now. Best to forgive and move on.

Moe: Yo.

Curly: DUUUDE that is a sick-ass avatar.

Larry: DAAAAAAMN man that makes me look like a sad troll.

Hacker: Oh? What do I look like?

The pirate-decorated skull spat out a gleaming metallic mirror which unfolded, then floated to hang between it and Hacker. He stared at it, then reeled backwards while screaming in horror.

He looked like a hyper-realistic neon green skull, complete with glittering fractal-covered orbs for eyes, and crackling lines of energy for teeth.

“WHAUGH!”

He blinked as the regen room swam into view in front of him. He glanced about wildly as Goggles eyed him quizzically.

“Dude, you okay?”

All three Reavers burbled mischievously. Hacker quickly rearranged his disarrayed Super-Reaver limbs back around him, and forced himself to settle down. Cortie stared up at him with confusion.

“Eh, not a big deal. I just...”

Larry: Little avatar shock heh heh heh.

Moe: I guess skulls aren't your thing huh?

Hacker shot the Stooge an irritated glare as he straightened. Goggles snickered as she realized what the Stooges meant, shaking her head with a lopsided grin.

“Big bad Super-Reaver scared of his own face,” he heard her mutter.

He flipped her the bird. She folded her arms while still chuckling. He rolled his eyes, then turned to the Stooges.

“I can change that, right? Is there a menu for those kinda things?”

Moe: Oh yeah sure it's probably the same on your stuff as ours. Look for Avatar Customization. You could prolly set it back to your old c-space avatar. Go to the menus before coming back, ok?

Hacker: Okay, will do.

Moments later, he found the menu he'd been looking for, and plowed into the customization options. Another few moments got him a decent replica of his old c-space avatar – a copy of his younger self's appearance with simplified polygons making up its shape. It was very in with the pixel-rave style at the time of Citadel, something he remained fond of even when it was forty years out of date.

Once he was sure he had his appearance the way he wanted it, Hacker returned to cyberspace.

The skulls looked him up and down, then nodded in unison.

Moe: Totally you, dude.

Larry: Yo Hacker, welcome back. Smart move going with your old Citadel look.

Curly: Oooh likin' the whole pixel-retro getup there. Sweet.

Hacker: Thanks. Suprised you guys even remember that interview I showed it in. Some things...eh...back to business. So where are we? Local regen-room c-space or a junction?

Hacker peered about the room. The walls here glowed from deep blue-green grid, rippling with lines of energy and code. One set of green lines pulsed horizontally from the left to the right, while a set of blue lines pulsed vertically from top to bottom. Code streamed along the lines here and there, sparking blue and purple pixels where they intersected. Beyond them lay a rippling black nothingness, which was a real feat of virtual rendering - he registered it as both a squirming solid surface and a complete utter void.

A quick scan with his software told him the walls were made of a super-dense, multi-layered ICE that would require considerable time and processing power to crack. It was the cyberspace equivalent of bending a black hole into the shape of a room. No signals got out past it, and no signals got inside.

Moe: Actually, both. It's the Med room but Cortie stuck a junction in for us. Asked us to monitor it for her. Keep out any skeeveware or whatever else her bitchzilla fork stuck in the station. As for the room? It's rigged as a Max-Sec Area surrounded by sickass ICE walls. Cortie's stuff.

Curly: It's wicked strong. She also put in in this network of high-end EMF blockers, so no signals get in or out of the area. You basically walk inside and you don't exist, as far as the station cares. Might as well be a Faraday Cage. Cept a Faraday Cage is like, Stone Age shit compared to this.

Larry: The defense perimeter is ten meters in all directions past the doorway. She took out all the cameras between the elevator and here to help with that. So the station and by extension, Crazyfork, doesn't know what you've been doing with a dead Super-Reaver. Heh heh heh.

Curly: OK back to the present, kids. Look to your left, Hacker. That's all the regenerator systems. You'll see the other operations systems as little diamonds around the room. They'll shoot data around here and there. Don't interrupt 'em. They'll bork up systems in the room if they don't get their bits and bytes.

Larry: You got into the junction when you popped in the first time cause you were just outside the doorway and inside the perimeter. So long as you're in the perimeter or in the room, you'll pop up in here whenever you reload. Got all that?

Hacker: With you so far.

Larry: If you go outside of all this, you ain't popping up here, and well, I'm not gonna speculate on that. Cause FUBARDAN.

Hacker: Oh. Thanks.

He turned to face four large glowing green wireframe boxes lined in a row. Within them moved dozens of shapes resembling bones or organs made up of very tiny flickering pixels. They floated in groups, resembling stacks of Tetris blocks coming together in lines as the regenerators went through their restorative work. Once the icon of an organ or other biological system turned from red, through yellow, and finally green, it dropped from the top of the box into orderly rows of green items at its bottom.

One box had more green icons piled at its bottom than the other, with a timer indicating sufficient cycles to equal roughly fifteen minutes. Judging from the patient picture plastered across one of the box's walls in bright black-and-yellow, Hacker guessed he was looking at Rebecca's regenerator. The other three boxes indicated bodies in worse shape – particularly the one for Suzi.

Not too different from the other regenerator icons I've seen...hmm...basically just higher-resolution, and higher complexity to match. Hokay. Making more sense here now.

Nodding to himself, Hacker did a slow 180-degree turn. Now that he had a better sense of how this higher-resolution c-space worked, he could figure out what everything was.

He quickly recognized the assorted software and data-input icons for the replicator hovering in an orderly multi-colored sphere to one corner. Then he spotted the flat blue-gray diamond shapes of the local systems icons – life-support, lighting, temperature control, gravity, and the doorway. Indicators glittered and flashed from their surfaces in shades of red, yellow, and green. Data, arranged in lines of bright geometric icons, flicked between them in orderly rows of pixels zipping across the room's c-space.

The systems' indicators were mostly green, except for a haphazard flicker between red and orange glowing from the doorway's diamond. Data sputtered erratically from it to the other systems. An error icon blinked above it, indicating some sort of software conflict with the outer doorway mainframe in the station. He was too far away to read its message to be sure.

Then came a familiar sight hovering in the empty space between the regenerators' systems and the replicator's.

A familiar cone, twice the size of his c-space avatar, drifted lazily near him. Its smooth  surface shone a dark gray covered in tidy blue and gray lines. A staticky face stared at him from its flat circular top, its eyes wide with horror. Unlike SHODAN's avatar from Citadel's cyberspace, this cone didn't have the curving tentacles along its top at quarter-intervals. Nor did it emit SHODAN's characteristic green glow.

Hacker: Damn, Cortie. You're definitely locked down. Oh. Right, you can't talk. S-sorry.

He watched as the cone continued its slow floating trajectory, nearly bouncing off a flitting data icon racing between a regenerator and the replicator. Its face flicked through several expressions – horror, anger, sadness, hopefulness, and then sadness again.

He glanced to his cyberspace weapons menu, noting that a Super-Reaver had a lot more options than he ever did on Citadel. Pulsers. Megapulsers. Rapid-fire virus projectiles. Energy beams for weakening ICE shields. ICE picks, even.

Between his loadout and his Super-Reaver capabilities, Hacker would likely survive whatever battering Cortie's ethics systems put him through long enough to get her free. The problem was more how close he'd have to get to Cortie to send that code to her.

Hacker: Okay guys. If I get close to her, the ethics params are gonna pick me up as an intruder and start shooting. My range on the filesend is about the same as her brain-rootkit system, so I'm gonna have to chance it on the range to get null.ethic to her.

Moe: Right.

Hacker: Fan out and try to keep any projectiles or shit from hitting regenerator systems. It's gonna get ugly real quick in here.

Larry: Gotcha.

Moe: Good idea, that.

Curly: We'll back you up if you need it.

Well, here goes nothing.

Hacker headed towards the tumbling cone, pulsers at the ready.

Intruder detected. No Tri-Optimum authorizations activated. Security systems online, spoke a familiar voice – SHODAN's flat pre-hack voice – as the ethics systems' ICE suddenly activated.  A glowing blue bubble popped into existence, encapsulating Cortie's cone.

Hacker: Figures. Let's see if I can punch a hole in that...

Hacker opened fire with both the pulser in one hand while holding an ICE pick in the other.

#System Shock fanfic #post system shock 2 #The Hacker #Goggles #SHODAN