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marky4l · 3 years

Text

without warning / ldh

pairing: Lee Haechan x fem!Reader

There is always a certain breaking point to a habit. For you, it was Haechan and not falling in love. It just happened in the most unorthodox way.

word count: 8.6k

genre: college au, fluff, angst (a little bit)

notes: reader is besties w nomin :)

hi!!! a bit overdue, but happy birthday haechan! also my photoshop crashed so please bear with the banner until i can make one that i enjoy seeing lol hopefully its okay :) ! I hope you like it pleaase leave feedback!

—

You like to pride yourself on the fact that you’ve never played into the mushy love bullshit.

You’re a stark contrast from your best friends, Jeno Lee and Jaemin Na, who, when boiled down to it, are basically a married couple who love to employ plausible deniability. They’re constantly teaming up to tease you/comfort you/set you up on god awful blind dates, and they’re self-proclaimed hopeless romantics. Which means there’s virtually no room for your anti-romantic philosophies in the apartment you share.

No, literally. Your DVDs are all romcoms. Your Netflix list is all Nancy Meyers. Your library is all cheesy romance volumes, overshadowing your preferred type of literature. It’s living hell.

“Are you ready for a date draw?”

“There’s Craig Cruz from my Bio class, Matt Lennox who’s my TA, Brad Aoki from my Spanish elective, Rex Smith from debate club, aaaand Lucas Wong from my football team.” Jeno offers the names to you, and before you can even form a coherent response, Jaemin is quick to follow up.

“Oh, have I got a roster for you. Nathan Davis from Physics, Charles Bass from my golf club, Jason Rodriguez from Creative Writing, and my mentor’s son’s best friend, Mark Lee. He studies in California.”

Jeno and Jaemin have long arranged date draws for you: a night where you pick out the blind date of your dreams, based on their extensive CVs, handpicked by your depressingly single best friends. (Any/every girl they manage to charm is scared off by how early they drop the L bomb.)

From your place propped up on the sofa, you hum contemplatively. Clearly, the two guys are nervous and stressed to see whose recommendation you’re going to pick: it’s always like this on date draw night, because it’s become somewhat of a competition between them to see who’s going to find your soulmate. Half the guys they recommend suck, and the other half, just a little less.

You spoon Chunky Monkey into your mouth. “Moving on to the next round: Lennox, Wong, Bass, Lee. Two even.”

You can’t deny the way you enjoy these biweekly nights of picking out your next date, even if the results are usually poor. They buy you ice cream and popcorn and let you watch something that doesn’t revolve around a couple falling in love in the Midwest/Paris/New York City (you’ve had enough of it.)

You hear noises of triumph as they quickly crumple up the paper resumes they have on your rejections. “Let me hear about Bass first.” Jaemin lets out a small yes! as he pulls up his file on Bass, reading aloud from it.

“Rich, golfer, business major. His philanthropy involves animals, cute baby animals, and he wants to run for mayor of New York one day. Rundown of pros and cons—rich, owns houses in Europe, but we have an unclear visual on his political stance.”

“Does he wear suits and talk like a douche?”

Jaemin’s silence is affirmative, so you follow it up. “Who’s his role model?”

“…Mark Zuckerberg and Jeff Bezos. Said it himself on his Facebook biography.”

You gasp.

“God, Jaemin! You can’t just leave that out! What if I picked him?!” You heave a spoonful of Chunky Monkey again. “Gross. Bass, out. Jeno, you’re up.” Jaemin groans, crumpling Charles’ paper and catapulting it into the garbage across the room.

Jeno speaks up, elated. “I’ve got Mark Lee for you. My writing mentor’s son’s best friend. He’s a church guy, but I hear through the vine he’s freaky in the sheets”—at this, you audibly gag and remove your ring to chuck it at him—“and he’s super ambitious. Wants to become a writer, settle down in the city with kids. Voted for Biden, but dislikes Biden—that whole shindig. Con: Soundcloud rapper.”

“Sounds okay,” you grimace, attempting to ignore the last bit, “but is he willing to do this long distance thing? Opposite ends of the country?”

“I was thinking it might be ideal,” Jeno explains. “So you don’t have to face the clinginess all the time.”

“So he’s clingy,” you deadpan. You allow no room for explanation and wave him off. “Jaem, go.”

“Damn it,” curses Jeno under his breath, frustrated. Jaemin is quick to remedy his previous mistake, fast in his talking.

“Lucas Wong, basketball star. 6’0, born in Hong Kong, knows how to cook. Con: kind of a man whore.”

“I don’t slut shame,” you respond, intrigued. “Go on.”

Triumphant, he proceeds. “He’s delicious, man. I mean, I’m saying this so honestly right now. He’s also super caring, a Chem Engineering major, and constantly shares his decent political opinions online.”

You sit up. “Oh, my God. He’s perfect.”

“Right?!” Jaemin’s smile is wide and he’s so, so close to reaching his victory. It’s cut off rudely by Jeno’s knowing scoff.

“Please. Jaem, tell her the real con.”

“Real con?” You quirk a brow, your head cocking to the side. “Jaemin Na, what is the real con?”

He falters, spluttering. “It’s—it’s nothing. A minor setback.”

You spoon the last of your Ben & Jerry’s into your mouth. “Now, Jaemin!”

“He has a girlfriend,” he says fretfully, refusing to meet your sharp gaze. At this, you burst into a loud yell, throwing your hands up in the air. “What the hell, Jaem?! Second straw much?”

He hides his face from view, but you persist. “Jaemin! You were going to turn me into a homewrecker, you enabler! You should be asha—”

“Tell ‘em,” Jeno says with a scornful smile. You turn on him immediately, though, eyes fiery.

“Oh, like you didn’t know and chose to use it against him so you could win today’s date draw. You make me sick! Both of you. The next five date draws are cancelled.”

The words are uttered with a vile, ugly tone that sends your best friends into a downward spiral. It’s evident immediately, what with the way their faces fall instantly and Jeno’s is the epitome of the world flummoxed. They quickly turn to each other, vexation in their eyes as they begin to swat at each other.

Being of similar height, the swatting quickly intensifies, but Jeno’s tendency to poorly control his strength results in Jaemin hitting back twice as hard.

“—I was gonna remedy that before you ruined i—” Poke.

“How do you remedy an ongoing, committed relationship—?” Hit.

“I have my ways, Lee!” Swat.

“If you just let me get to my final recommendation I would’ve won, Na!” Slap, smack, strike.

You tsk disdainfully, walking away to dispose of your Chunky Monkey. Considering the kitchen isn’t too far from the living room, your ears quickly pick up on the progression of their fight: you hear more chaos, then it fades away. It takes you five minutes to drink a glass of water and wash your spoon, and when you return, they’re cuddled up to each other on the sofa watching Me Before You.

“Insane,” you mutter dismissively.

“No non-romance for you,” says Jeno, through a mouthful of popcorn. “Rejecting our picks.”

“That’s the angle you took? 2 versus 1? Instead of you and I teaming up against Jaemin for condoning homewrecking?”

He ignores you.

But you’re blissfully unaware that the events of tonight would lead to you meeting the guy who would reach far beyond the standard set by Lucas Wong, your one that got away, so you shut your bedroom door behind you and work instead.

—

Jeno and Jaemin’s cardinal rule when it comes to date draws is to not interact with any male presence in a flirtatious matter for at least a week to purge yourself of any potential matches, so that you can fully immerse yourself in the experience.

Knowing date draws happen every two weeks, this allows you only one week to fully appreciate any cute stranger in your life. Knowing that, this basically declines your flirting skills to a good 6. You’re well aware of the pretty privilege card you hold, so it’s all you have, because your smooth talking skills have well diminished.

So here you are, perched on a bench, staring at the opposite one intently. Sat on it is a tall, and handsome guy reading—oh, God—Arendt?

The grip you have on your Journalism supplementary book turns your knuckles white, your mind struggling to think of something to say. You curse under your breath as your body gets up on its own accord, your body walking to him and offering a stuffy smile.

“Hello,” you giggle, breathy.

“Hi,” he says, and you melt inside. He must be some sort of dreamboat.

You take a seat beside him, hesitant but spurred on by his smile. You introduce yourself quickly, and he tells you his name is Hyunjin, and that he’s a Humanities major. You sit in tense, but comfortable silence, intermittent smiles and hums of affirmation filling the void of the conversation.

“Are you a fan of Aren—”

“You’re hot,” you say in one breath. What the hell.

“Oh,” says Hyunjin dumbly. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. You are. So gorgeous.”

He smiles, politely now instead of warmly, and makes up a shit excuse to save himself, walking away quickly. You groan inwardly at your mishap, slamming your textbook against your forehead in frustration.

This is one of many reasons you detest date draws.

—

You make your anger clear to Jeno and Jaemin by refusing to cook them Friday dinner. All of you can cook fairly well, but perhaps because of your natural affinity with a cookbook, you’re magical at it. So, every Friday is reserved for your amazing cuisine and the rest of the week is devoted to takeout and the others’ subpar cooking skills.

“You promised you’d cook us bibimbap,” gripes Jaemin. “Jeno and I miss home. How do you expect us to survive in a city populated by white people?!”

“Well, find a Korean restaurant and order a bowl for yourselves,” you say cuttingly. “I’m still upset over the entire date draw catastrophe from two days ago. I tried flirting with a cute guy today and, thanks to your cardinal rule, failed.”

“But you make good bibimbap,” sobs Jeno theatrically, ignoring the latter part of your sentiment.

You narrow your eyes and swat them both with your textbook. “I’m dying alone with my eggs shriveled up, and I want you both to know it’s all your fault.”

You tell them the full tale of your foiled coquetry from earlier that day, and they stifle guffaws behind their clenched fists. You hit them again, for good measure.

“You love us.”

“I hate you,” you say sharply.

—

“I love you guys. I’m serious,” you say delightedly, scooping more frozen yogurt into your mouth. You’re spending your Saturday in the Upper West, shifting through ice cream parlors and corner cafes and halal delis and watching Jeno show off his skateboarding skills. You’d stopped at a small frozen yogurt joint where you found the cups to be way too overpriced, and upon your defeat, instead found that an extended February 14 promo meant a couple gets one cup for free.

The plan was crafted ingeniously: you and Jeno would hug subtly to show that you were a couple, playing into the heteronormative bias of the cashier, and get two cups with unlimited toppings for the price of one.

However, in the middle of your planning, the shifts changed and the new cashier found Jaemin and Jeno to appear more lovey-dovey, revising the plan on the spot.

“Very cute. Love is love,” the middle-aged woman says. Jeno nods, smiling and holding Jaemin closer, despite the poorly disguised grimace on his face. You play along, a stuffy smile on yours.

So it goes that you get one for yourself and the other two fight over theirs, wooden spoons clacking against each other as they fight over the yogurt.

“Love you both, so so much,” you say happily. “So much.”

“Real quick, does this mean date draws are back o—”

“No,” you retort.

“Yeah. That checks.”

You glare at the mere suggestion, averting your attention back to your yogurt. Humiliation still courses through you, blazing your every thought with your fiasco at the park. Hyunjin is probably having a permanent freakout over your foolishness, and in your frantic attempt to pin the blame on somebody other than yourself, the fault falls on your two best friends.

Not even frozen yogurt can help it. But it’s getting there.

—

Your designated bench at the park is yours for a reason. It captures the breeze perfectly, and the sunlight filters just right through the trees overhead. You get a good view of the buildings, and the nearest exit gives you just a ten minute walk to your apartment. Granted, it’s “your bench” from 2PM to 6PM, since any other hour you’re either home or at class.

Yours anyway. Blissfully empty. Except it’s 1:15PM and somebody’s sitting on it.

“Hey—do you mind?” You gesture to the empty side of the bench and the guy sitting waves you off with a polite nod. Smiling calmly, you take a seat and draw out your study materials, getting to work on your latest news piece.

The sun is high and the park gets the brunt of it, heat surging through the walkways. Damn early classes. Now it’s too hot. You pout in mild frustration but continue anyway.

You’re in the middle of typing out your concluding paragraph, and your mind is in the middle of thinking of dinner, froyo, and the ducks at the lake altogether, when your train of thought is tersely cut off.

“Hey, aren’t you the girl who flirted with that guy on that bench? Like, four days ago?”

Fear floods your body and renders you frozen, your head inching bit by bit to face your certified day ruiner. Your eyes land on a guy about your age, nose buried in a Murakami book. He quirks a brow, beguiled by your sudden reaction. “So. Are you?”

Your jaw drops open, mouth spluttering for something logical to say. “Er, yeah.”

He laughs loudly, an unabashed guffaw leaving his mouth. “Woah. That sucked.”

“Did it really?” Your woeful tone catches his attention, his head whipping in your direction.

“Yeah—I mean, I’m not trying to insult you or anything. But I—”

“No, it’s okay,” you muse. “I’m just getting really bad at flirting.” You turn to him, a polite smile on your lips.

He smiles back. “Hyunjin’s an acquaintance of mine, you know. If you want another chance. He liked you.”

Your heart beats impossibly fast. Dangling in front of you is your chance at redemption, a date, possibly getting laid, and above all, proving to Jeno and Jaemin that you do not need their godforsaken date draws to find love.

You’re halfway through this epiphany when you realize—

“Who are you?” You blurt out, confused. “Sorry. I mean, what’s your name? I just met you and it feels like you already know me.”

“That’s ‘cause I do—I mean, when you flirted with Hyunjin, I was just over there”—he points at a nearby bench—“and then after it happened, I just saw your name being dropped on the groupchat.”

“I was made into groupchat material,” you fret. “That’s like, the worst of the worst.”

“Not really—it was talked about for five minutes tops and then somebody mentioned a deadline, so. I’m Haechan, by the way.”

“Oh,” you say simply. “Well, I’m glad that’s over. I was just. It sucked.”

“Sucked is an understatement,” says Haechan through gritted teeth. “Anyway, if you want a second date, I’d be happy to arrange that.”

You bite your lip, weighing the pros and cons in your head. You could earn yourself a new boyfriend and turn the flirting affliction into a meet cute story, but it could also go to shit. You could get laid, but who knows if he took some sort of celibacy vow. You don’t need a boyfriend, but you desperately need to prove your two best friends wrong.

“I’m in,” you say. “It has to be the best date ever. I’m talking dinner, a walk, a sports game, that whole thing.”

“Are you suggesting I help you arrange that?”

Roping a stranger into your dating agenda was definitely not on your list of things to try in your junior year.

But, well. “I’m graciously asking you to.”

—

Haechan Lee, you quickly learn, is an energetic, bubbly, class clown-y Econ major. He laughs at that’s what she said jokes and doubles over every time he sees the numbers 69 and 420, especially if he sees them consecutively (not hard, given the city’s size.)

You learn over the course of three coffee outings that he takes all his coffee with three extra shots of espresso. (He tries to make you freak out using this fact, but you combat it with Jaemin’s all time record of eight shots.)

You find out he always separates the corn bits in fried rice, and that he’s an oversharer. It’s obvious he is, considering you’d known all this prior information in the course of just seven days.

Maybe you just like to observe a little more, too, but that’s besides the point.

“I’m thinking you attend a Yankees game, dinner, then a Hudson boat ride. Hyunjin likes that stuff. He won’t admit it, he wants people to think he’s a rugged New York man, but he likes to get fancy. I’m saying this like we’re best friends, but. You get it. Boat, sports, the works,” he says through a mouthful of pad thai.

“I’m thinking you chew your food before talking,” you comment pointedly, and he nods, swallowing. You continue. “That’s nice, but I’m broke and I’m not willing to spend my existing money on a date. I said extravagant…ly cheap.”

“Boo,” he laughs. “I could get you Yankees tickets for free. Then…you split dinner and you rent the boat.”

“Perfect,” you say victoriously. Then. “This is weird. This is full on Pavlov-ing.”

“Mmm, no. Pavlov was the dog guy. Conditioning? Sound? Yeah, er, this is Cyrano-ing.”

You nod in agreement. “Nerd”—you gesture to him—“hot dude”—you gesture to yourself—“nerd helps me get the hotter girl. AKA Hyunjin.”

“If I’m going to be branded a nerd, this isn’t going to work out.”

“Oh, shut up.”

—

18 days until: JUNE 8 DATE DAY!!!!

You smile amusedly at the reminder ping on your phone that Haechan had set up for you. When you look up, the smile is quickly extinguished by Jaemin and Jeno’s trenchant expressions, piercing right through you.

“What are you smiling at?” asks Jaemin with faux nonchalance.

“A TikTok,” you fib easily. “Something about the whole Paeka issue.”

The conversation switches easily to the issue you’d mentioned, and soon Jeno and Jaemin forget you had even smiled at your screen, playing Call of Duty on their Xbox and leaving you to your own devices.

U busy? You read when you’re done downing a packet of Caprisun.

No, you type back. See u.

You’re well acquainted with Haechan at this point, having seen him regularly over the course of the past week. You’re growing less and less unused to the sight of him on the bench you’d previously branded as your own.

“Hello, Cyrano,” he says with a cunning smile. “Since we’re both free, I thought you’d like to know more about Hyunjin. Also, when I’m with you, I get free food because you get hungry so much.”

“It’s easy to fall into the quirky cafe temptations in the city,” you remark. “Isn’t the date supposed to make me get to know him?”

“Yeah, but remember—this is all for Jeno and Jaemin.”

You’d established your objective for this entire master plan of a date three days ago. As handsome as Hyunjin is, you know you’ll probably find some minor flaw about him and fixate on that. So, your motive is to charm him into maybe a fling-sized relationship so Jeno and Jaemin would lay off your back.

Working? So far. Ish.

“Alright, so Hyunjin Hwang, HH, HHJ, HJ, Jinnie, Jin, Hyunnie, he has lots of names ‘cause he’s popular. Philosophy major, writing legend, blazer wearer. Smartass. Hipster.”

“So every guy then,” you deadpan with an enigmatic smile.

“See, you get it!” He sits up a little, “For that, I’d like a cup of coffee.”

—

You spend the next week and a half bent over your master plan Google doc, which Haechan covertly names SEX TOY RECOMMENDATIONS :P under your name. Really, not at all infuriating. You find it funny, though, and it stays like that the entire time.

On the first day, Haechan sends you a Starbucks drink. Scrawled on it is the name Dildo, and you groan and hide it with your own Sharpie, lest one of your best friends find it in the disposal.

On the second day, Haechan introduces you to his dog. His height and his build gives you an impression that his dog would be, maybe, a bulldog or a Lab. Instead he approaches your usual park bench with a tiny, tiny Pomeranian in his hands, attached to a pink leash.

“This is Genghis Olaf,” he states proudly, his eyes crinkling with his smile of adoration.

“She’s very c—” you cut yourself off with your own chortle, attempting uselessly to hide it behind your sweater-clad hand. “She’s cute, I swear,” you breathe between bouts of laughter. “Just. Her name is what?”

“Genghis Olaf,” he says seriously. “A very nice name for my strong dog.”

“She looks so tiny, though,” you coo, but she bites deeply into your finger when you attempt to pet her. Haechan’s laugh rings treacherously in your ears.

On the third day, you watch Annabelle: Creation on Netflix Party. He makes big talk of not being scared, but half the time his camera is shielded by his blanket.

On the fourth day, you admit your unabashed love for Taylor Swift’s music, and Haechan admits his for One Direction. You sing Dear John and replace the “green eyes” lyric with “brown”, and it makes Haechan blush. He sings Drag Me Down and matches Harry’s high note.

—

On the fifth day, your meeting place deviates from one section of the park to another, to avoid the spookily overcast weather.

“It’s not so rainy here,” rejoices Haechan, doing a small happy dance. You roll your eyes and sit beside him.

You make it a good ten minutes with your laptops open working both on Hyunjin and your own schoolwork before you notice droplets of water growing more and more frequent on the spreadsheet you’d pulled up.

“Oh, shit,” you curse, wiping it hastily and stuffing it into your bag. Haechan follows suit, but the nearest exit is a ways to go.

“Could you run any faster?!” You wail, covering your head with your tote bag, to no avail. Your hair gets the brunt of it, and so does your black tee, since the mild drizzling intensifies into heavy rain within seconds.

“Sorry I’m trying to protect my phone!” He cries back, maneuvering between garbage cans and other people in your way who have actual umbrellas.

You make it out, though, after a chaotic five minutes, and you’re one subway ride from your apartment. Haechan’s is way nearer, though, so you part, both absolutely soaked.

Before you do, he tugs a dry shirt out of his bag. “You might get sick. God knows what kind of bacteria you contract with wet cloth in the subway. Maybe even murder evidence.” He plays it off but your heart blooms with gratitude, taking it.

“Thanks, dumbass.”

You skip the sixth day and meet on the seventh.

You’d officially grown used to each other’s company, nearing three weeks of knowing each other. You swap your usual park bench for a cafe, but on the cab ride there, Haechan constantly changes his mind.

It’s Indian first, then Thai, then American, then Korean. Then Chinese. Then coffee.

“We’ve been in this cab for ages,” you whisper-yell. “Have some shame!” But he doesn’t, persistently switching the destination. It turns into a minor roadtrip around the Upper East. You pull out your laptop to work on a paper.

It only stops when Haechan abruptly yells for it to, so he can puke his guts out. Well. At least you know he’s carsick now.

—

“Yours, hers, mine,” Jaemin says, gesturing to the folded piles of fresh laundry. “She’s never even home anymore, lately. I miss her bibimbap.”

“Could you just get to folding the clothes so I can play Overwatch with Sungie?”

“You don’t care that our best friend is never home?!” Jaemin’s voice is saturated with offense and betrayal. “She’s probably out partying.”

“You mean having fun, like people our age should,” corrects Jeno sternly. “Don’t be so worried and hand me that gray shirt.”

Jaemin grumbles, but does so, despite the reluctance in his actions. “Who knows what she’s mixing herself with out there? New York is a danger zone. Scaffolding is lethal enough.”

Jeno folds up the tee with an amused scowl on his face. “You know, she’s having fun, doing schoolwork, and if she’s happy, we’re happy. That’s how best friends operate.”

Across him, Jaemin pouts. He knows this is true, and beneath the petty feelings he harbors, he’s genuinely happy that you’re having fun. “I guess,” he grouches. “But I hope she’s not sad we cancelled date draws.”

“Temporary cancellation,” Jeno says. “Also, I doubt she’s sad. She insisted we cancel it. She ordered the cancellation, so. Shirt.” He chucks the folded tee into Jaemin’s pile.

“Touche,” sighs the latter, “but I gu—hey, what? This isn’t mine, dipshit.”

“Oh,” Jeno says. “It’s mine, then.”

“Wh—it’s not yours, either.” He unfolds it to reveal the faded, bleached pattern of the Sex Pistols logo, and they squint.

“Not mine,” says Jeno quietly. “Guess it’s hers.” He tosses it onto your pile, but Jaemin snatches it before it lands.

“No way it’s hers,” he comments, inspecting it. “She’s never worn this, and it’s not branded, but she hasn’t gone thrifting in a while. She did last week, and this wasn’t in her haul.”

“So? Some band geek’s laundry got mixed up with ours,” Jeno says, but Jaemin’s quicker to come to a different conclusion.

“Are you kidding? It’s the third week of the month. She got it washed herself at the laundromat self service. This is from our apartment. Is this what you think—are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jeno nods slowly.

“Say it, on three,” says Jaemin. “Go!”

“A guy is living in our ceiling!”

“She snuck someone into our house!”

“She snuck—yeah, that’s way more likely.”

—

On the eighth day, Haechan texts you to meet him at an entirely different part of the park. You get there, confusion written all over your face, and find him sprawled across the grass, denim-clad legs splattered with yellow paint and glitter.

“Hello,” you say, “I’m not at all confused by what I’ve walked into.”

“In exchange for being your Cyrano nerd,” he begins theatrically, “I only ask one thing.”

“All the cups of coffee I’ve bought you?”

“I only ask several things,” he remedies. “Coffee and your help with my little sister’s crafts project.”

You eye the expanse of white canvas on the grass, untouched by Haechan’s skills, or, rather, his lack thereof. You roll your eyes.

“Okay. What do you need to paint?”

“Anything yellow,” he says. “New York preschool art teachers are super hipster, so their assignments are graded on a college basis. I’m half-joking.”

“What makes you think I want to help you?”

“Your date thinks so.”

“I suck at crafts, Haechan.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Now, paint!”

You take the brush and get to work, dirtying yourself up in the process. By the end of it, you’ve crafted a kiddy-sized abstract masterpiece, dizzyingly yellow and sunny and bright. It’s just a bunch of brush strokes and fingerprints in a vast array of yellow, but you’re sure it’s a show stopper, since Haechan’s little sister is a five-year-old.

“If your sister is stamped a prodigy after this, I get a portion of her earnings.”

You beam down at Haechan, but you miss the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second, smearing a brushful of canary paint on his face.

A second.

Considering he’s the sole reason you talk to Haechan, you don’t remember the last time you talked about Hyunjin. You don’t mind, though, running along the open grass while flinging all sorts of shades of sun onto Haechan’s face.

—

“Honeys, I’m home!” You yell, dusting dried paint off the hem of your jeans. You deposit your keys at the entrance and make your way to the kitchen, sliding your shoes off. “What’s for dinner?”

“Thai, with a side of betraya—oomph!” You can’t catch Jaemin’s last word, Jeno’s elbow hitting his gut before he can enunciate it.

“Thai, with a side of biryani. Sounds perfect, you two,” you swoon with an appreciative smile. “Bibimbap next week, I promise!”

“Yup,” Jeno says through a strained breath. “Go get changed, you!”

You shrug off the odd behavior and follow suit, shucking your clothes off once you’re alone. You spot a neat, folded pile of fresh laundry at the foot of your bed and stop in your tracks upon seeing the familiar gray one atop it.

You touch it, a little hesitant. Jaemin and Jeno must’ve seen this, then. Your heart races inexpainably quick at the possibilty that the insinuation would be that you were dating the owner of the shirt.

But then again, Jeno and Jaemin probably couldn’t care less. You shrug indifferently, chucking the tee into your bag for Haechan’s taking tomorrow and walking back into the kitchen.

“Where’s the biryani?” You ask, confused, upon seeing its absence at the table. Jeno shrugs and mumbles some excuse about it being unavailable, and Jaemin grumbles a quiet agreement.

You eat in silence for a while. “How’s class, you two?”

“My professor,” says Jaemin, cutting off what Jeno had already opened his mouth to say, “was revealed to be in an affair this morning. It’s wild, honestly.” He rolls up the sleeves of his mint sweater. You gape through a mouthful of khao pad, brows raised. “Do tell,” you say simply, intrigued.

“Well, he was happily married to his wives—wife, his wife, and then he turned and had a nasty affair and now he can’t even face the betrayal he committed. Neither can the wife,” he says quickly, his voice laced with truth and hurt.

You nod slowly. “So. That’s it? No sordid mistress? Murder ploy? Money?”

Jaemin shakes his head, pouting. “None. Just plain”—he stares right at you—“betrayal.”

You nod again, and then your thoughts are full of khao pad.

—

Haechan picking up your dry cleaning, paying for three cabs, and accompanying you on three coffee runs is the only cause of your current predicament. Not debt—you’re not so unfortunate there, thankfully—but something much worse. See, you liked Haechan. You’d spent so much time around him it was dizzying, and he was funny and a great friend.

Which meant you’d do any minor favor for him. Which means—this. It means this. And that is how you find yourself seated on a neon green beanbag listening to a roster of Soundcloud rappers on a JBL speaker.

The room is lit only by a string of pink LED lights and the light emanating from the PC setup on the desk, shades of blue and purple radiating from it.

There are teddy bears strewn around the room, almost as many as there are Nike shoes that look extremely obscure and/or expensive. This is a very specific brand of person you’re dealing with. You take a drag from the joint in your mouth, eyeing the other contraband drugs on the desk but ignoring them for the sake of yourself.

Who else would own this kind of room—closed off, dark, lit by neon illumination only? You don’t need to look far. Spray painted in a glow in the dark green on the opposite wall is the name—

“Yangyang!” Haechan hollers when the former finally swings the door open. “Thought you’d never return. You were gone for, like, an hour.”

True enough, he was. He’d apparently left to fetch his wallet in his friend’s dorm, but never came back, granting you and Haechan plenty of time to plan for Hyunjin—well, talk, actually.

“I’ve gotta go again. Sorry, you two. Enjoy the ganja. Haechan, don’t leave yet. You have that favor you owe me!”

He slams the door shut again and you stifle a laugh. “I’ll get going if you don’t mind.”

“No,” he pleads. “We can exploit the weed and the air conditioning and everything.”

“Fine,” you say, because you weren’t planning on leaving at all. “Let’s plan.”

“Nice. Hey, you know I used to own a bear just like that?” He deviates from your suggested subject, probably unconsciously, but you find yourself being grateful for it. You follow his finger to the bear leaning against the wall opposite you, a huge brown one.

You hum. “Did you also spray paint red Xs over the eyes?”

“Yes, and on the genitals,” he says with a loud laugh. “God, no. My mom was always iffy about that stuff. We grew up well. Here in the city, I mean. Brownstone and everything. My little sister still has that life, but…yeah.” He dismisses the topic and you nod.

“I get it,” you say, leaning back and taking a drag. “Well, I don’t, but. I do.”

“Yeah. I miss my mom, and my dad hates my guts, so that’s that. I just find all the solace of the world in my sister.”

“She loves you, Haech,” you say quietly, a small smile on your face. He chuckles.

“I know she does. Me, though—I’m never good with that stuff. Gotta practice saying it somehow.” He turns to you, quiet. Then.

“I love you.”

The world slows, time melting into an indistinguishable, homogenous blob of pink and green and weed. You feel like you just ingested one of the smiley faces on Yangyang’s desk, if you’re honest. You open your mouth to respond but your eyes catch on the way his mouth is slowly curving into a smile, and you lose yourself in it. Your body bubbles in confusion and indifference—why the fuck are you so affected?

He grins. “So? Sounded genuine? I hate you, by the way. Can’t have you getting the wrong idea.”

Then the world ticks back into normal speed, a haze of lights and teddy bears, and you regain composure. “No. You sounded like a Republican apologizing.”

You brush him off, but the thought of him plagues you all the way home.

—

You dogsit Genghis Olaf for the first time on the tenth day of your planning.

You’d rather not talk about it.

—

Last edited 12 days ago stares cunningly back at you as you open the starkingly empty Google doc of your date plan. You tsk at the lack of progress, but inwardly, you don’t mind so much.

Your past weeks with Haechan have been busy, and eventually they grew to be less about Hyunjin and more about genuine conversations between the two of you. You’re not dumb. You know where this is leading—and normally, you’d start to shy away from it.

You’ve got six days until June 8th, and you can’t seem to remember the details of that date for the life of you. Your thoughts are just full of Haechan’s jokes, Haechan’s dog’s new dress, Haechan, Haechan.

It’s devastating. “—are you listening to me?” Haechan’s voice flows abruptly from your laptop, which rests on your bed. You hum loudly to say yes, pulling on a hoodie and taking a seat to show yourself on camera.

“Actually, I wasn’t. What were we talking about?” He groans at this statement, raising his brows in frustration and poking his tongue through his cheek. He does that a lot. It’s—

Your door swings open and, like clockwork, you slam your laptop shut, feigning nonchalance and getting up.

The thing is, you haven’t ever thought of Haechan in that way. In a non-platonic way. (Half truth.) But around friends like Jeno and Jaemin, who love to twiddle with stories until they’re worthy of Nora Ephron films, you can’t ever keep your mouth open, lest they think of Haechan as some sort of soulmate of yours.

So your rendezvous with him were kept a perpetual secret, and the shirt you had never returned was laundered in secret. You weren’t necessarily ready to tell them about Haechan Lee, because it would mean chronicling the past three weeks of spending all your days together.

So. “Were you watching porn?”

“Wh—what?! Jeno, you’re sick!” You toss a throw pillow at him and he catches it, scoffing.

“Porn is nothing to be ashamed of!” He yells back. “I’m just saying, if you shut your laptop so defensively, you were probably watching porn, or…” He narrows his eyes and makes a beeline for your desk, but you’re quicker.

You jump onto his back, estimating his strength perfectly and putting enough weight on him that he slows down but stays standing. “Get off me, you nympho! Probably watching foot fetish porn, but I don’t—oomph—judge!”

“Get away from my laptop, Jeno Lee!” You wail, digging a nail into his arm so he curses and stops. He mumbles in pain and an I’ll get back at you before jogging out of your room, ensuring your victory.

—

It’s 2AM and you’re an hour from home. It’s windy, too—that fact would prevail by a lot if they had a competition deciding what was most obvious. Your hair whips across your face until you splutter and resort to tying it up. Also, you’re on the 70th floor of a building, sprawled across the cement rooftop. That would probably win the competition.

You’re also in Haechan’s arms. Now, that—okay, you’re done with this whole hypothetical fact competition.

But subjectively, it’s nice, you know that well enough. It’s nice to be out at 2AM on a cold, windy night, 70 floors above the city, and it’s so nice to be resting your head against Haechan’s chest, arms loosely wrapped around your figure as he hums a song that you recommended to him.

The rational part of your head is reeling over in shock and offense. The other is—well. In Haechan’s arms. “It’s 2,” you say, “in the morning, Haech.”

“So?”

“I’m sleepy. And you dragged me up here.”

He laughs with incredulity, and you can’t help but join him. You both know that while it was suggestion to check it out, you’d been just as complacent, since the words Hey, wanna go up to the 70th floor of my friend’s dad’s uncle’s building? just seemed to ignite a thrill in you that caused you to nod.

“Then I’ll drag you down and to the subway and come back up here myself.”

“But,” you say, sitting up. He lets his arms fall and you turn, facing him. Your faces are way closer than you expected, and while you take a sharp breath inwards, you make no move away. “Then you’ll have fun without me.”

“Then stay,” he says. It sounds like he means something else.

You gulp. “If I stay, we should plan for, um. Hyunjin, then.”

Something you can’t describe, and you barely catch, quivers through his gaze, but he blinks and looks away, getting up quickly. You lose your balance, following suit, confusion written across your features at the way he’s acting.

“No kidding,” he chuckles. “What else do we need to plan?”

“Dinner? I—I don’t know. I was joking.”

“You probably really want this date, so. It’s in a few days, you know?” You nod, but your thoughts are roaring something else entirely. “Haechan, I—”

“Well, there’s a good Italian place near your apartment. I’ll text you the address. Settled. Let’s go.”

He bends back down to tug his bag up from the floor, and you’re hit with a sudden rush of vertigo, your confusion and the cold and your racing thoughts hitting you instantaneously. Your hair flattens against your face and you rake it back. “I’m—are you—is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” asks Haechan carefully, eyeing you.

You splutter. “I’m just asking.”

“It is,” he says, smiling. It’s forced. You can tell.

“It’s not,” you say, stepping closer.

“I’m serious. It is.” There’s soft solemnity in his face, but his gaze betrays it, flitting everywhere but your face.

“Haech—”

“Let’s just finish planning and, um, we can go back to being acquaintances.”

“Just tell me what it is, Haechan.”

“I—” he laughs, and it’s mirthless. “You don’t get it?”

You shrug, rolling your eyes. “Stop being so damn weird, face me, and answer me so I can.”

“I can’t look at you, goddamn it. I can’t see you, I can’t touch you, I can’t laugh around you, I can’t crack a joke around you. I can’t even mention your name. It—I. I don’t. I don’t know why, okay? I just—you’re so cool. You’re amazing, and you’re everything, and you’re funny and flawed, and bright and weird and hilarious and every other adjective I can’t think of right now. And when I see you, I feel all of that. I feel it all.

And it sucks, b—well, because, well, seeing you means hearing about Hyunjin, and everyday I think—what if it was different? What if. What if it was—I—fuck. I like you, okay? God, I do. I mean, who—wow. You’re just.”

He turns to the front of the building. “I like her!” He shouts. “And it feels good to finally tell you, but now, I just—I don’t—I.” He faces you, eyes hopeful, eyes sorrowful, and you open your mouth to form a reply.

It falls silent. It stays silent for a while.

—

JENO + JAEMIN’S Certified Heartbreak Checklist!!!

ben & jerry’s (preferred flavors: chunky monkey, cherry garcia)

taylor swift/early 2000s/dance music

feel-good movie i.e clueless, mean girls, 13 going on 30, superbad, project x

a round of call of duty with amateurs to make you feel better

sob session

“I don’t need this,” you say through a wad of snot. “I’m not heartbroken. I’m just confused.”

Jeno looks over to Jaemin, panic written all over his face. Jaemin mends it quickly, grabbing a Sharpie from the counter and scribbling over the word heartbreak, replacing it with the word Feelings?, much to your confusion. He does a bad job of it, though, and after he does it it looks more like Heartings?

“I’m okay,” you insist fruitlessly. You’d been crying your eyes out for two days, knowing not much other ways to cope with such a frighteningly confusing situation. You’d made a list of pros and cons before realizing you didn’t need any. You wrote down a speech for how to respond to Haechan, and you’d gone all over your usual meeting spots to recite it to him.

You couldn’t find him, for the life of you. You’d gone back home instead and recited a play by play of the events in your head.

“I hate myself.”

“Don’t. Haechan’s probably just not ready.”

Minor detail: you’d also spilled the totality of your predicament to Jeno and Jaemin, whose faces morphed from giddy to anguished to confused and back, much like your feelings. While this eliminated the need to hide Haechan’s existence from them, it also opened to you the copious amount of unsolicited advice.

You rack your head to try and find ways to apologize to him. That night, faced with bewilderment and feelings, you’d gasped in air until you couldn’t, shoving the exit open and running down flight after flight of stairs.

By the time the adrenaline had worn off, you’d just made it about six floors down. You took the elevator the rest of the way and kept hoping he would enter.

It sucked. However you chose to react, it was your mistake to remedy, and you didn’t quite know how. You still don’t.

You wallow in self pity and puzzlement and a spoon of Cherry Garcia before Jaemin bounds out of his room and into yours, smile broad on his face. “Yo, dude. I just saved your life.”

“Whose? Mine, I hope,” says Jeno offhandedly, walking into your room holding a slice of pizza. Jaemin glares at him.

“No, you dumbass. Hers.”

“Not to invalidate, but looking at my grades makes me feel like my life needs major saving.”

Ignoring him, Jaemin continues. “Listen—Haechan Lee, the guy you fucked over”—this earns him a flick of ice cream—“you want to apologize, right? But you never knew his exact address. But I’m telling you now. It’s his birthday, and…”

You’re sure Jaemin says the details afterwards, but your mind sticks itself onto the fact that it’s Haechan’s birthday: a fact he’d never told you before, and one you’d never thought to ask about. It’s his birthday. Birthday. His birthday. June 6th. It makes sense, and not even in an astrological point of view. It just does.

“I’m going,” you state blindly, getting out of bed immediately. “Now.”

—

Haechan’s apartment, you quickly learn, is a very nice one with nice windows and nice doors and a nice guest list. You heave the door open, Jeno and Jaemin teetering behind you, and find a room full of people. You tug it back shut instantly, nerves pulsating through you like a bad drug.

“I can’t,” you lament, biting your lip. Jaemin tugs on a lock of your hair.

“Don’t be a pussy and do it,” Jeno says sternly. “Own up.”

You pout, but push it open again and slip inside, your two friends following suit. You weave your way through the crowd and find groups scattered along the wide area—beer pong, weed, making out, there’s a space for everything. Judging by the way Jaemin and Jeno leave your side instantly, probably single hotties, too.

Your heart thumps with uncertainty, but it mellows down after ten minutes of futile search attempts. Every time you think it’s him, your heart leaps to your throat, but it never is.

So you take it as a sign. He’s probably getting laid in one of the two closed bedrooms, or buying more booze outside. You find your two henchmen—friends—in a throng of people playing Uno and tell them you’d be back.

You navigate the building’s elevator buttons until you find the rooftop one and wait in idle silence. Of course, he’s waiting on the other side when it opens.

His back is turned to you and you’re feet apart, the wide expanse of the rooftop separating you. You press the close button furiously, not ready to confront another rooftop confession yet.

A nasty deja vu cascades through you, and you shiver. The doors are closed for one minute and then they ding open, and you see him on the other side, and God he looks great. He’s in a black polo and black jeans and somebody’s written birthday boy on the space on his cheek, underneath his eye.

He enters the elevator, swallowing and clearing his throat. It smells like him. It’s stuck to his clothes.

“I’m sorry.” The starking silence is broken and in your shock, you can’t form a reply. Your head turns to him fast, eyes unblinking.

“Don’t,” you say, and then you inhale, deep. “Don’t be. I am. I—”

“But I’m—”

“Let me talk.” You say, facing him. You realize everything you’ve wanted to say is stored in your rigid script, so you take a deep breath and let it all out. To hell with being eloquent.

“I got nervous. I got—I got shocked, I got confused. The truth is, I’ve been running in circles trying to figure out how I feel for you. I mean, you’re funny. You’re cool and you’re—I don’t know, you’re just.” You take a deep breath, trying to stop yourself from rambling. “Okay. Well, I like you, too, and I like you a lot, and I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I like you! I have nobody to yell this to, but you, but you’re the only person who needs to know right now. I like you. And I like liking you. And I like not planning this date on June 8th because I don’t want Hyunjin. And—I don’t know—I’m scared, that maybe this will all go to shit, because I suck at these stuff, and so do you, but I don’t know, it feels like if I try, it won’t be so bad.”

Obviously, when you look back up at him, he’s sporting a shit-eating smirk.

“Happy birthday to me,” he says, and then you’re kissing him so he’ll shut up.

Your hands find his face, trailing your touch everywhere so you can feel the change of texture when you encounter the eyeliner smudged beneath his eye, the moles dotted across his face. He smiles into the kiss, deepening it, his hands finding your waist to bring you closer to him. It’s a kiss you’ve wanted for always, but one you never knew you’d wanted. It’s a soft kiss, but a deep one, one with laughs and one with breaths that smell of ice cream and mint.

“Give it up,” you mumble. “I hate you.”

“That’s very contradictory, considering I just received the best gift of my life.”

“Well, you’re about to get another one.”

—

It’s the 8th of June, and Hyunjin sits alone at the dinner table, wondering why Haechan, the guy from the groupchat whom he barely even knew, called him out of the blue and requested to meet him. The restaurant looked fancy, and expensive, and he began to feel nervous at the propect of having to pay for a meal.

He’s been waiting for ten minutes now, and both him and the waiters are beginning to grow antsy. He’s ordered water maybe six times, and to be honest, he’s getting a little pissed.

And then. “Hwang? Hyunjin Hwang?” He looks up, eyes gleaming in relief and then in bewilderment at his companions for the night. Politely, he cocks his head to the side, running a hand through his hair.

“Hi, do I know y—”

“Jaemin Na. This is Jeno Lee. We understand you’re in need of a date.” Two guys clad in matching black tees sit on either side of him, voices loud despite the quiet aura of the restaurant. Hyunjin doesn’t know how to react.

“I’m really not, y—”

“Trust us.” Jeno slams a manila folder on the desk, and opposite him, so does Jaemin. “We are high-tier selectors of love interests. Our past clients…client, rather, is extremely content with their love life.”

“Because you recommended their soulmate?” asks Hyunjin, confused.

“Well…no. Actually, she met her boyfriend elsewhere. But that’s besides the point.” Jaemin extracts ten papers from his folder and Jeno follows suit.

“Hyunjin Hwang, are you ready for a date draw?”

—

hope you liked it :) drop an ask! I absolutely love all types of feedback

#lee donghyuck #lee haechan #haechan #haechan imagines #haechan fluff #nct

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

Passing Through

Bishop Losa x F!Reader

Request by @masterlistforimagines: Okay so reader is passing through Santo Padre for some reason. Her car breaks down, and Bish is her mechanic. I’m thinking like super cute and flirty Bish

Warnings: language, alcohol, Bish being a flirt with a capital F

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I feel like I always let myself get carried away with requests from you. Like they almost always take on a life of their own once I start writing them. Thank you for loving me and continuing to send them to me regardless lmao. We get a few of our other MC boys in this fic too. Hope y’all enjoy! xo

Join my group-chat here: (X)

Bishop Losa Taglist: @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @multiyfandomgirl40 @sillygoose6969 @queenbeered @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @sesamepancakes @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @arveeee @mayans-sauce @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @themoonandthewicked @garbinge @bucky-iss-bae @encounterthepast @everyhowlmarksthedead @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @kkim120 @toni9 @shadow-of-wonder (If you want to be tagged in fics for Bish or any of my other writing let me know and I’ll add you to the taglist!)

You’d been driving for practically 2 days straight. It was your own doing—you wanted to go all up and down the coast while you had the opportunity. You didn’t know the next time you would get a few weeks off. However, the first leg of your journey you took your sweet time and didn’t really plan things out, which left you in the tiniest bit of a time-crunch as things were coming to a close. It was impressive that your car had made it this far to begin with. It wasn’t exactly new, but it had always gotten the job done. You knew that this was a big ask, though, and the universe was finally coming to collect.

You sat on the hood, soaking up the sun while you waited for the tow truck to get there. Music was playing from the speaker of your phone as you recounted all of the adventures that you had had so far. If it hadn’t been such a good trip already, this mishap would’ve been far more upsetting. You were in too good of a headspace to be upset, though. Whatever the deal was with your car, you’d figure it out one way or another.

When you saw the tow truck approaching, you shut the music off and hopped down off the hood of your car. You stretched out, trying to gear yourself up for whatever the next leg of your journey was going to be. The truck parked in front of your car and one man hopped out of each side of the vehicle. You bit back a laugh at how different the two of them seemed.

“Are you Y/N?” one man approached you with a clipboard.

You took note of his hands but expressly tried not to stare. Besides, the smile he greeted you with was contagious it was difficult to focus on much else as you nodded, “Sure hope so. Otherwise someone else out there is having just as bad of luck as me.”

He nodded as he handed you the clipboard, “Just need you to fill out this form here for me, Miss.”

You smiled as you took the clipboard and pen from him, “I think I can handle that,” you continued to speak to him as you filled out the paperwork, “What’s your name?”

“Chucky.”

Your eyes flicked up from the paper as you smiled at him, “Nice to meet you, Chucky,” you nodded towards the man who was in the middle of hooking your car up to the tow truck, “Who’s your friend over there?”

“The one and only Johnny ‘Coco’ Cruz.”

You laughed, “One and only, huh?” you handed the clipboard back to him, “Seems like you might know a lot of people who are one-of-a-kind.”

The drive back to the mechanic shop was much more comfortable than you thought it was going to be. Chucky never seemed to run out of things to talk about, which was refreshing. Coco was quiet for most of the ride, chiming in here and there but staying silent for the most part as Chucky drove. The two of them made you wonder what the rest of the people were like at the shop they were taking you to.

When you rolled into the lot, Chucky hopped out and motioned for you to do the same while Coco set about getting your car off the tow truck and into the shop. Part of you wanted to watch it all happen, but Chucky needed you to fill out the rest of the paperwork and answer a few more questions. When he asked you about a rental, you asked if you could see what the damage was on your car before answering that.

You walked over to where your car was being worked on. From the angle you were standing at, you couldn’t see exactly who it was that was working on your car. It was just a pair of legs sticking out from underneath your vehicle. You found a stool to sit on while you waited for whoever it was to resurface so you could ask what exactly was going on and if you were going to need to find a new car to get back home in.

After a few minutes, they rolled back out. He sat up, eyes immediately locking onto yours. You smiled, eyebrows raising slightly as you took in the sight of him. He wiped his hands off on the rag tucked in the pocket of his jeans.

“She yours?” he nodded towards the car.

You sighed, “Depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

He chuckled as he shook his head, “Nothing that we can’t fix.”

“Is it gonna cost me an arm and a leg?”

“It shouldn’t, no,” he stood up, leaning back against your car, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The simple pet name shouldn’t have made your face feel hot, but it did, “It’s Y/N. But you can keep calling me sweetheart if you like,” you paused, “You?”

He laughed at your response before holding out his hand, “Bishop.”

“Nice to meet you, Bishop,” it was hard to take your eyes off of his lips and beard. You shook your head to dispel the thoughts, “So, what exactly is wrong with my car? And can you fix it in the cheapest way possible? I just gotta make it back home.”

He smiled at you, “Back home?”

You nodded, “Yea. Had a couple weeks off between jobs and decided to take advantage of it. Probably should’ve used that time to go car shopping though, huh?”

He chuckled, “Maybe.”

You listened as he outlined what was wrong with your car and how he planned to fix it. You were focusing on what he was saying for the most part, but it was easy to get distracted as you watched the way the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed as he moved and shifted. You were practically salivating by the time that he finished talking.

“You got all that, sweetheart?” he asked with a laugh, knowing that you had definitely tuned out at a few different points as he spoke.

“I got the important parts,” you said, not trying to deny that you let your mind wander.

“How long are you in town for?” he asked, a curious glint in his eyes.

“At least until you fix my car,” you laughed.

“Maybe I should take my time then.”

You smiled, crossing your arms over your chest, “I don’t know how professional that would be of you, Bishop.”

“First you want me to call you sweetheart, and now you want me to be professional?” he laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges, “You’ve gotta pick one or the other.”

You smiled, nodding, “Fair enough,” you paused, “How about this?” you saw the curiosity written all over his face as you continued, “I’ll budget an extra night or two in Santo Padre into my plans, that way you don’t gotta drag out fixing my car. Besides,” you smiled, “I can’t afford to pay for three days’ worth of labor.”

He smiled and nodded, “Alright. That sounds fair. In that case I could have you up and running by tonight.”

“Just in time for you to take me out for a drink?”

He smiled, “Yea. But I wouldn’t make you take your car for that.”

“Oh? You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head as he gestured towards the row of motorcycles, “I’ll take you out on the town in style.”

You laughed, “Can’t wait,” you stood up off the stool, “I guess I’ll let you get to work then. I know I can be a bit distracting.”

“You’re a welcome distraction,” he nodded towards the building behind you, “If you wanna get outta the heat you can go wait in the clubhouse. My guys will take care of you.”

“Wow,” you tucked your hands into your pockets, “feel like I’m getting the royal treatment.”

He smiled, “Because you are,” he walked over to his toolbox and started taking a few things out, “I’ll come and get you when I’m done.”

You made your way over to the clubhouse. You glanced back over your shoulder and saw Bishop standing there, watching you walk away. You couldn’t help but to flash him a smile as you continued to make your way away from him.

When you pushed open the door to the clubhouse, suddenly everything began to make a lot more sense. You saw multiple men walking around with kuttes on, which explained why you got the feeling the place was a bit like the island of misfit toys. It took all kinds. However, despite the fact that it was home base for the local MC, it didn’t feel like an intimidating place to be. You felt perfectly comfortable as you approached the bar and took a seat.

“What can I get you?” the young man behind the bar offered you a sweet smile as he asked the question.

You clocked the prospect patch on his kutte as you looked him over, “Just water, please. Just trying to get outta the heat.”

“What brings you here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before,” he noted as he handed you a bottle of water.

You sighed slightly, “Car broke down,” you took a sip of your water, “One of your guys is working on it now, though. Bishop?”

The man behind the bar looked surprised, and the man who was sitting a couple stools down from you couldn’t refrain from making a comment. He turned towards you, “Damn, Bish is working on your car?” he chuckled, shaking his head, “Been a minute since I seen Pres get his hands dirty out there. You know him?”

You shook your head, “Don’t know any of you guys, actually.”

He moved to the stool next to yours, holding out his hand, “I’m Angel,” he nodded towards the man behind the bar, “That knucklehead is EZ.”

You laughed as you shook his hand, giving a courteous nod to EZ, “Nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N.”

The three of you sat and chatted while you waited for Bishop to finish up your car. You laughed as you listened to the two of them banter back and forth. For as much as you wished that your car hadn’t broken down, there were a lot worse people to be spending your afternoon with, so you really couldn’t complain.

“So I met Chucky and Coco,” you said as you sipped on your water.

“The dynamic duo,” EZ said with a laugh as he cleaned the glasses behind the bar.

“Is that right?” you asked with a smile.

“Nah, we all love Chucky,” Angel said, “But him and Coco are on the same wavelength sometimes. Shit’s weird.”

You were listening to the two of them dive into another story when a different voice cut through the conversation, “These guys bothering you?”

You laughed as you turned around to face Bishop, “Not at all. They’ve been perfect gentlemen.”

He raised one eyebrow as he looked back and forth between EZ and Angel, “I find that hard to believe.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, “What’s the verdict on my car, presidente?”

Angel and EZ biting back their laughter was audible. Bishop shot them a look but the serious expression only lasted for a moment as a smile broke out across his face, “So I see the three of you have been talking.”

“We have,” you leaned back against the smile, “I’ve also been informed that I have to be pretty high up on the totem pole in order for you to be the one to work on my car.”

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, “Something like that.”

“You decide to work on my car just because you thought I was cute, Bishop?”

“If I say yes are you gonna be mad?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Not at all.”

“Then…yes.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter at his response. And you also couldn’t help but to notice the surprised looks on the faces of EZ and Angel as they watched you and Bishop go back and forth. Something told you that the Bishop that you were talking to, wasn’t the Bishop that they were used to seeing. That in and of itself was very interesting to you.

“But in answer to your original question,” Bishop got the conversation back on track, “Your car should be good to go.”

“Perfect, thank you so much,” you hopped off the stool, “I’ll go square everything up with Chucky, then.”

Bishop shook his head, his hand catching you by the waist when you went to walk by him, “You’re all set.”

“Bishop,” you folded your arms across your chest, “I can’t just let you not charge me.”

He nodded slowly, “Alright. First round is on you tonight then. Deal?”

You nodded, knowing that that was as much as you were going to be able to get him to budge, “Deal.”

“Let me go clean up and change. I’m sure these two can keep you amused in the meantime.”

You laughed, nodding, “I think so.”

He let his fingers trail lightly across the small of your back as he walked away. This time it was your turn to watch him, biting down lightly on your bottom lip as you did. You stepped back and found your seat once more at the bar, not able to return your attention to the men in front of you until Bishop was completely out of sight.

“Seriously,” Angel said with a laugh, “who are you?” he shook his head, “Never seen Bish flex so hard around someone.”

You laughed, “It’s because he knows he’s on a time crunch. Can’t play the long-game.”

“Time crunch?” EZ spoke up.

You nodded, “Yea, I’m just passing through. Honestly, Santo Padre wasn’t even really a stop I was planning to make before my car shit the bed,” you chuckled with a shrug, “But now that I’m here I might as well make the most of it. Told Bishop I’d budget in some extra time here if he could make it worth my while.”

“Damn,” Angel shook his head with a smile, “you really put him on the spot like that, huh?”

“He certainly didn’t seem to mind,” you laughed.

“Yea, I’ll bet he didn’t,” there was a knowing smirk on Angel’s face as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips.

Before you could try to pry further into what he meant by that, Bishop reappeared in a fresh set of clothes and his kutte. You couldn’t hide the fact that you were gawking at him as he approached you. He smiled as he approached you, holding out a hand to help you hop down off the stool.

“Ready if you are.”

You nodded, “I was born ready,” you laughed as he draped an arm around your waist and guided you back towards the door to the clubhouse.

“Anywhere in particular you’re looking to go?”

You shook your head, “You’re calling the shots tonight, Pres.” You heard Angel let out a whistle from the bar at your statement and you couldn’t help but to laugh. You turned to look at Bishop as the two of you exited the clubhouse, “Your guys seem pretty happy for you.”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Yea, something like that.”

You let him guide you over to the bikes. You weren’t sure if you should mention to him that you had never ridden one before. But he must’ve seen the look of slight apprehension on your face because he gave you a reassuring smile as he handed you a spare helmet.

“It’s not that bad. Just hang onto me and you’ll be fine.”

You smiled at him as you clipped the helmet on, “That sounds like an easy direction to follow.”

He got onto his bike and helped you to do the same, giving you a moment to get situated. You draped your arms lightly around his waist, but the second the bike roared to life your hold on him instantly tightened, causing him to laugh. He checked one last time that you were good to go and once you said yes, he shot out of the compound. You were holding onto him so tight that you were afraid you were going to crack one of his ribs, but he didn’t say anything.

A few miles into the ride, you finally loosened your hold on Bishop a little, allowing him to breathe with ease. You could feel his body vibrating with laughter as you slowly found your comfort.

“You good, sweetheart?”

You laughed as you leaned against him, “All good.”

Of all the towns that you could’ve gotten stranded in for an afternoon, you were glad that it was Santo Padre. And if there was anyone worth switching up your travel plans for, you had a feeling that it was Bishop.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #bishop losa #bishop x reader #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #obispo losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa imagine #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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imagineredwood · 3 years

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🥀 Seven Deadly Sins - Coco 🥀

Summary: Coco’s injury has shifted his focus and frustrated him, making his wrath unhinged. His anger isn’t new, but you being on the receiving end is both unfamiliar and unpleasant.

Pairing: Coco Cruz x reader

Warnings: Mentions of injuries/blindness, mention of death, angst, breaking things, crying

Word count: 802

“What are you, my fuckin’ mom?! I already had one of those and she was trash, I ain’t looking for another one!”

Coco’s voice was booming as he yelled at you, the shout reverberating in the home. You sighed and shook your head, walking away from the steaming Mayan to sit down at the diner table and give both of you some distance.

“I’m not trying to be your mom, Coco. I’m trying to look after you the way I’m supposed to. You’re my Old Man. That’s what this whole thing was supposed to be about. You protect me and I protect you. We look out for each other and take care of each other. ‘Us against the world’ isn’t that what you said? What happened to that?”

You kept your voice level, not trying to antagonize him, but to get him to think and see. Metaphorically, of course, the eyepatch not letting him see things literally either. The injury had taken its toll on the man and you had been there every step of the way. Helping him, soothing him, guiding him. You had done everything that you could to help him heal both physically and emotionally from the fear of never seeing again. He had grown more and more bitter as the days went on though and now, he was at his tipping point. Angel had already called you up and let you in on the fact that he and Bishop had gotten into it in Templo today, the decision not to seek retaliation throwing the sniper into a fit of rage.

And now you were on the receiving end for trying to help.

You were trying to calm him down, trying to help him see logic and reason. His anger and fear of permanent blindness were not allowing him to care though. Instead, all he had was wrath.

His nostrils were flared in fury, eyes scanning the home for something to destroy, and as soon as they landed on the cookie jar, he was like a wrecking ball.

He picked it up and hurled it across the kitchen, smashing plates and throwing glasses, knocking over chairs, and shouting. You stayed out of the way, wanting to stop him but not wanting to get hurt. You knew he would never hurt you intentionally, but the wrath he was consumed by was what you did not trust. He continued for a few seconds more before crumbling to his knees, his voice hoarse as he lamented.

“What if I can’t ever fuckin’ see right again?”

Standing back up, you held your hands in front of you and walked toward him slowly, trying to avoid the shards of glass. Your voice was calm as you bent down to be beside him. With a gentle touch, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders, making sure he felt you there.

“I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. You’re injured and you feel betrayed because they aren’t cutting out their hearts like you feel they should be. Like you would for them. I know. Retaliation right now isn’t going to fix that though. It’s not gonna fix your eye and it’s not gonna fix Riz. He’s fighting for his life right now and you can’t see out of one eye. No one is denying that you should be angry, and no one is saying that they won’t make it right. Bishop just wants to figure things out before he lashes out. Everyone is on edge. The last thing we need is for more people to get hurt or god forbid end up dead because you guys went in guns blazing and didn’t think. I need you safe and I need you alive. So does Letty. We need you, and that’s why I get on you. I love you.”

His shoulders were shaking as he wept, long hair hanging down in his face, tears of frustration, fear, and hopelessness streaking down his one cheek. You wrapped your arms around him, offering him your warmth and love.

“It’s all gonna work out, baby. No matter what, you have me and Letty and we’ll be there for you every step of the way. If you do lose sight in that eye, we’re still gonna love you just the same, and so will your brothers.”

It was a simple statement, but it was enough to get the point across loud and clear, the sniper wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand before using it to grasp onto yours and standing with you. He looked exhausted as he hung his head.

“I know. I love you too. I’m sorry.”

With everything already forgiven, you shook your head, taking his face into your hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Let’s go take a bath.”

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @elcococruz @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @iambabyharry @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @saturnsaree @multiyfandomgirl40 @destynelseclipsa @sadeyesgf @queenbeered @ocetevasgirl

Mayans taglist

@dazzledamazon @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24 @angelreyesgirl @wrcn9fvlcver @peaches009 @capt-canadian @thesandbeneathmytoes @krysiewithak @bisexual-space-slut @appropriate-writers-name @cind-in-real-life @blessedboo

#imagines #mayans mc #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz #seven deadly sins anniversary drabble event #mayans imagine

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weheartchrisevans · 4 years

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BOSTON — So you're Tim Scott, the Republican senator from South Carolina who opposes Roe v. Wade and wants to repeal the Affordable Care Act, and you get a call from Chris Evans, a Hollywood star and lifelong Democrat who has been blasting President Trump for years. He wants to meet. And film it. And share it on his online platform. Can anybody say "Borat?" “I was very skeptical,” admits Scott. “You can think of the worst-case scenario.”But then Scott heard from other senators. They vouched for Evans, most famous for playing Captain America in a series of films that have grossed more than $1 billion worldwide. The actor also got on the phone with Scott’s staff to make a personal appeal.

It worked. Sometime in 2018, Scott met on camera with Evans in the nation’s capital, and their discussion, which ranged from prison reform to student loans, is one of more than 200 interviews with elected officials published on “A Starting Point,” an online platform the actor helped launch in July. Not long after, Evans appeared on Scott’s Instagram Live. They have plans to do more together.

“While he is a liberal, he was looking to have a real dialogue on important issues,” says Scott. “For me, it’s about wanting to have a conversation with an audience that may not be accustomed to hearing from conservatives and Republicans.”

Evans, actor-director Mark Kassen and entrepreneur Joe Kiani launched “A Starting Point” as a response to what they see as a deeply polarized political climate. They wanted to offer a place for information about issues without a partisan spin. To do that, they knew they needed both parties to participate.

Evans, 39, sat on the patio outside his Boston-area home on a recent afternoon talking about the platform. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans and spent some of the interview chasing around his brown rescue dog. Nearly 100 million people didn’t vote in the 2016 general election, Evans says. That’s more than 40 percent of those who were eligible.He believes the root of this disinterest is the nastiness on both sides of the aisle. Many potential voters simply turn off the news, never mind talking about actual policy.“A Starting Point” is meant to offer a digital home for people to hear from elected officials without having the conversation framed by Tucker Carlson or Rachel Maddow.

“The idea is . . . ‘Listen, you’re in office. I can’t deny the impact you have,’ ” says Evans. “ ‘You can vote on things that affect my life.’ Let this be a landscape of competing ideas, and I’ll sit down with you and I’ll talk with you.”

Or, as Sen. Lisa Murkowski (R-Alaska), who has appeared on the site, puts it, “Sometimes, boring is okay. You’re being presented two sides. Everything doesn’t have to be sensational. Sometimes, it can just be good facts.” Evans wasn’t always active in politics. At Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School, he focused on theater, not student government. And he moved away from home his senior year, working at a casting agency in New York as he pushed for acting gigs. His uncle, Michael E. Capuano, served as a congressman in Massachusetts for 20 years, but other than volunteering on some of his campaign, Evans wasn’t particularly political.

In recent years, he’s read political philosopher Hannah Arendt and feminist Rebecca Solnit’s “The Mother of All Questions” — ex-girlfriend Jenny Slate gave him the latter — and been increasingly upset by Trump’s policies and behavior. He’s come to believe that he can state his own views without creating a conflict with “A Starting Point.” When he and Scott spoke on Instagram, the president wasn’t mentioned. In contrast, recently Evans and other members of the Avengers cast took part in a virtual fundraiser with Democratic vice-presidential nominee Kamala D. Harris.

“I don’t want to all of a sudden become a blank slate,” says Evans. “But my biggest issue right now is just getting people to vote. If I start saying, ‘vote Biden; f Trump,’ my base will like that. But they were already voting for Biden.”

(In September, Evans accidentally posted an image of presumably his penis online and, after deleting it, tweeted: “Now the I have your attention . . . Vote Nov. 3rd!!!”)

Evans began to contemplate the idea that became “A Starting Point” in 2017. He heard something reported on the news — he can’t remember exactly what — and decided to search out information on the Internet. Instead of finding concrete answers, Evans fell down the rabbit hole of opinions and conflicting claims. He began talking about this with Kassen, a friend since he directed Evans in 2011’s “Puncture.” What if they got the information directly from elected officials and presented it without a spin? Kassen, in turn, introduced Evans to Kiani, who had made his fortune through a medical technology company he founded and, of the three, was the most politically involved.

Kiani has donated to dozens of Democratic candidates across the country and earlier this year contributed $750,000 to Unite the Country, a super PAC meant to support Joe Biden. But he appreciated the idea of focusing on something larger than a single race or party initiative. He, Kassen and Evans would fund “A Starting Point,” which has about 18 people on staff.

“There’s no longer ABC, NBC and CBS,” Kiani says. “There’s Fox News and MSNBC. What that means is that we are no longer being censored. We’re self-censoring ourselves. And people go to their own echo chamber and they don’t get any wiser. If you allow both parties to speak, for the same amount of time, without goading them to go on into hyperbole, when people look at both sides’ point of view of both topics, we think most of the time they’ll come to a reasonable conclusion.”

“What people do too often is they get in their silos and they only watch and listen and read what they agree with,” says John Kasich, the former Ohio governor and onetime Republican presidential candidate. “If you go to Chris’s website, you can’t bury yourself in your silo. You get to see the other point of view.” As much as some like to blame Trump for all the conflicts in Washington, Sen. Christopher A. Coons (D-Del.) says he’s watched the tone shifting for decades. He appreciated sitting down with Evans and making regular submissions to “Daily Points,” a place on the platform for commentary no longer than two minutes. During the Supreme Court confirmation hearings, Coons recorded a comment on Judge Amy Coney Barrett and the Affordable Care Act.“ ‘A Starting Point’ needs to be a sustained resource,” Coons says. “Chris often talks about it being ‘Schoolhouse Rock’ for adults.”

It’s not by chance that Evans has personally conducted all of the 200-plus interviews on “A Starting Point” during trips to D.C. Celebrities often try to mobilize the public, whether it’s Eva Longoria, Tracee Ellis Ross and Julia Louis-Dreyfus hosting the Democratic National Convention or Jon Voight recording video clips to praise Trump. But in this case, Evans is using his status in a different way, to entice even the most hesitant Republican to sit down for an even-toned chat. And he’s willing to pose with anyone, even if it means explaining himself on “The Daily Show” after Republican Sen. Ted Cruz of Texas posted a selfie with Evans. (Two attempts to interview Trump brought no response.) Murkowski remembers when Evans came to Capitol Hill for the first time in 2018. She admits she didn’t actually know who he was — she hadn’t yet seen any Marvel movies. She was in the minority.“We meet interesting and important people but, man, when Captain America was in the Senate, it was all the buzz,” she says. “And people were like, ‘Did you get your picture taken?’ I said, ‘Yeah, I sat down and did the interview.’ ‘You did an interview? How did you get an interview with him?’ ”What impressed Murkowski wasn’t his star power. It was the way Evans conducted the interview.“It was relaxing,” she says. “You didn’t feel like you were in front of a reporter who was just waiting for you to say something you would get caught on later. It was a dialogue . . . and we need more dialogue and less gotcha.”

“Starting Points” offers two-minute answers by elected officials in eight topic areas, including education, the environment and the economy. This is where the interviews Evans conducted can be found. “Daily Points” has featured a steady flow of Republicans and Democrats. A third area, “Counterpoints,” hosts short debates between officials on particular subjects. Eric Swalwell, a Democrat from California, debated mail-in voting with Dusty Johnson, the Republican congressman from South Dakota.

“Most Americans can’t name more than five members of the United States House,” says Johnson. “ ‘A Starting Point’ allows thoughtful members to talk to a broader audience than we would normally have.”

The platform’s social media team pushes out potentially newsworthy clips, whether it’s Sen. Mike Lee (R-Utah) discussing his meeting with Barrett just before he tested positive for the coronavirus, or Angus King, the independent senator from Maine, criticizing Trump for his comments on a potential peaceful transfer of power after November’s election. Kassen notes that the King clip was viewed more than 175,000 times on “A Starting Point’s” Twitter account, compared with the 10,000 who caught in on CNN’s social media platform.

“Because it’s short-form media, we’re engineered to be social,” says Kassen. “As a result, when something catches hold, it’s passed around our audience pretty well.”

The key is to use modern tools to push out content that’s tonally different from what you might find on modern cable news. Or on social media. Which is what Evans hopes leads to more engagement. He’s particularly proud that more than 10,000 people have registered to vote through “A Starting Point” since it went online.

“If the downstream impact or the byproduct of this site is some sort of unity between the parties, great,” says Evans. “But if nobody’s still voting, it doesn’t work. We need people involved.”

#chris evans #mark kassan #joe kiani #a starting point #the washington post #news

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ssfghfrrggf · 3 years

Text

Heavy is the Head Chapter 5: To Family!

ao3 link

“Am I the only one who feels like it’s been years since we managed to have Christmas day off?” Mouch asks looking up from his newspaper. It seems like they always end up on shift Christmas day, and spend the day putting out fires caused by people over filling their turkey deep fryers or Christmas tree fires. He’s not even sure why people do live christmas trees anymore; they’re just a recipe for disaster.

“That’s because it has been years,” Herrmann says flatly, and sips his coffee. He always seems to get more grouchy around the holidays because he’d rather be home with his family than on shift. “A shift always manages to swing it perfectly so they get Thanksgiving, Christmas eve and christmas off.”

“But we have it off this year,” Nathan offers helpfully. “Today’s Christmas eve so…”

“There’s always time for things to go wrong, kid,” Herrmann says dubiously. “Just ask Mouch.”

“Yeah, it’s scary how often C shift calls in with food poisoning,” Mouch agrees. It’s always something with that group.

“I’m not covering them this year. I’m not doing it,” Herrmann says firmly. “I’ve missed too many Christmases.”

***

“You don’t look to good there, chief,” Sylvie says, stopping by Matt’s office; he has his elbows resting on his desk and his face buried in his hands. “Is meeting my family really making you that nervous?”

Casey groans in response and runs his hands through his hair before leaning back in his chair. “No- I mean yes I am nervous, I’m just trying to figure out how to break some really bad news.”

“Oh no…”

“I’m not sure how an entire shift gets food poisoning all at once but-”

“C shift managed it again?” Sylvie finishes for him, her heart sinking. She knows Casey isn’t going to make anyone pull over time to cover the shift, but she also knows he’s going to lead by example and stay on shift with whomever else decides to stay. Which means no Christmas dinner.

“Yep, and half the A shift guys booked it out of state after shift this morning,” Casey sighs and stands up. “We can do day after Christmas with your family.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they won’t mind,” she says, trying not to sound too disappointed. She’d been really looking forward to the idea of a nice quiet dinner with her family and Casey.

“Well, I better go break the bad news.”

***

“Okay guys, bad news-” Casey barely has the words out before there’s groans spreading across the entire common room.

“Don’t say it chief. Don’t do it!” Herrmann says, backing toward the door, like he can escape what’s about to be said.

“C shift has somehow managed to get food poisoning-”

“Has a doctor verified that? If not you should require doctor’s notes from the whole lot of them!” Herrmann cries, he’s always the most desperate not to spend Christmas on shift.

“I’m not going to make anyone stay and pull overtime that doesn’t want to. I’ll pull floaters to cover who ever leaves, but I’ll be staying,” Casey finishes.

And Cruz lets out an exasperated sigh. “Well we can’t exactly let you pull a christmas shift without us.”

“We don’t have any better plans,” Stella says, taking a swig of her coffee where she’s sitting with her legs propped up on Severide’s lap. The Squad lieutenant nods in agreement.

“Ahh, Trudy’ll flay me for it, but holiday overtime pay is good,” Mouch says, and settles a little deeper into the couch.

“It’s either hang out with this loser off shift or hang out with him on shift,” Gallo says and playfully ruffles Ritter’s hair. “Might as well be useful.”

“Aw come on!” Herrmann protests. “I can’t be the only one not staying!”

“Herrmann, if you want to go be with your family that’s perfectly okay. No one here’s going to judge you,” Casey says understandingly. Most of them don’t have family outside of 51 anyway, so they all’d end up hanging out with each other anyway.

“I’m not gonna be the only one who doesn’t stay,” Herrmann says angrily. Casey can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. “Especially when Joe is missing Brian’s first Christmas. I’m staying.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t tempt me chief!”

“Okay, I won’t. And I’ll go let headquarters know we don’t need any floaters,” Casey says with a sigh. He hates that he had to ask them to do that. Even if they’d all end up hanging out with each other for Christmas, doing it not on shift is different than doing on shift. It’s more relaxing.

“Hey chief, can I duck off for about an hour?” Nathan asks, catching up to Casey as he retreats to his office. “I’ll keep my radio on and take my gear with me in case we get a call.”

Casey sighs, he’s not a big fan of letting people run off during shift, but he’s done his fair share of it in his day so he can’t exactly deny the candidate his request. “Yeah, just be back in an hour and make sure your lieutenant’s okay with it.”

“Yes sir, and you won’t regret it,” Nathan says and springs off to go do whatever it is he wants to do.

“That was lenient of you,” Sylvie comments.

“Yeah, well call it my Christmas present to the kid. He’s staying an extra 24 hours on shift,” Casey shrugs.

“And my family is about an hour away,” she adds with a smile and bumps his arm with her elbow.

“I thought they were going to come up when we could actually have a proper dinner.”

“They’re going to stay at my place until we get off. I think they’re planning on coming to visit the house,” she says.

“Are you sure you want them meeting everyone at once?” Casey snorts. He’s excited to meet her family, but meeting everyone at 51 can be a little much to take in all at once, especially when Herrmann has been thrown into full on grinch mode.

“Yeah, i think it’ll be fun,” Sylvie says confidently. “Don’t worry about it babe.” She plants a kiss on Matt’s cheek and then ducks off. “I gotta go do inventory.”

***

“Hey, Lieutenant, where’s our probie going?” Gallo asks as Nathan ducks out the back door.

“He’s running an errand and since we’re going to be here for two days I figured I’d let him,” Stella replies disinterestedly.

“Cool, can go run an errand too?” Gallo asks, prompting a glare from his lieutenant. “Kidding…”

“So what are we going to do for dinner tomorrow?” Ritter asks, spinning his chair around to face Gallo. “It’s too short notice to do a turkey, it won’t have time to thaw or anything.”

“Steak and potatoes?” Gallo suggests.

“We did that last year,” Herrmann says, instantly shooting down the idea.

“Shut up, you like steak and potatoes and you know it,” Cruz says, looking up from his magazine. “You get away with acting like the grinch every year, but this one. All your attitude does is make everyone else miserable.”

“Well maybe I was looking forward to spending the holiday with my family!” Herrmann retorts.

“And you don’t think I was too?” Cruz snaps back. “But I made my choice and so did you. The least you could do is try to not make everything so miserable.”

“I’m going to go do inventory,” Herrmann grumbles and excuses himself from the common room.

“This gonna be a long shift,” Gallo mutters under his breath. If everyone is already this snappy with each other it’s going to be bad by Christmas day, and only get worse.

“I’m going to go help him,” Ritter says and stands up to follow his lieutenant. “I’ll help you brainstorm Christmas dinner when we get done. And we’ll get Nathan to help us out too.”

“Sounds good,” Gallo says and gets up to find something to snack on. He’s pretty sure he’s the only one who doesn’t mind being on shift for Christmas, in fact he likes it. He likes being with his fire house family for the holiday, because when he’s not- when he’s at home alone all he ends up thinking about the family he lost and what he wouldn’t give to have one more Christmas with them, to watch his sister squeal for joy one last time…

***

“Hey Lieutenant,” Ritter says cautiously as he walks out onto the bay floor and approaches his lieutenant who is angrily making check marks on the inventory sheet and slamming compartment doors.

“What?” Herrmann snaps angrily, clearly displeased with the interruption.

“Are you okay?” Ritter tries, knowing it’s liable to get his head bitten off.

The lieutenant slams one of the compartments closed and turns to glare at him with a look that clearly says what do you think?

“Sorry,” Ritter mumbles and looks away. He wishes there were a way he could make the lieutenant feel better. He can’t count the amount of times Herrmann has picked him up off the floor and made him feel better, and he just wants to do the same for him.

Herrmann softens and lets his arms fall to his side, seeming to realize he snapped. “Sorry kiddo, I didn’t mean to get snappy with you. I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re not right now,” Ritter says looking back up at him.

Herrmann sighs and sets his clipboard down on the truck. “Just a little pissed. I’ll live though.”

Ritter nods. “I’m sorry you don’t get to go home and see your family.”

The lieutenant shrugs. “Cruz was right. I’m choosing to stay, so it’s no one’s fault but mine. Shouldn’t’a taken my anger out on you.”

“It’s okay lieutenant,” Ritter says, forgivingly.

“Nah, not really, but I appreciate that,” Herrmann says in a rare moment of tenderness, then shakes himself free of it and hands Ritter the clipboard. “Check stuff off as I call it off to you.”

“Yes, sir,” Ritter says, and help but smile at his lieutenant’s odd gruffness. It always kind of amuses him; he nevers stays soft and gentle for long before getting uncomfortable and reverting back to his default grouchiness.

***

“Truck 81, Squad 3, residential accident.”

“Finally, something to do,” Stella says and swingers her legs off Kelly’s lap that she was using as a footrest. Things have been a little down in the dumps since Casey gave them the bad news, and the atmosphere was just miserable to be around, so she’s glad for an escape from the melancholy mood and depressing hum drum that’s been dragging on for hours.

“Lieutenant, Marks isn’t back yet,” Gallo reports as he and Mouch meet her in the bay. And he seems slightly smug about it, like he’s been waiting for an excuse to bust the new guy’s balls about something. Gallo’s been nothing but welcoming to the new candidate, but she’s always kind of gotten the impression that he’s just waiting for the house’s golden child to trip up somewhere- and he is the golden child.

“Well we’re not waiting for him,” Stella says pulling herself up into the truck. They don’t have time, and he’s already late getting back from his one hour leave request.

***

“I told him not to try to move the bookshelf, I said there was no point in rearranging my whole house since he’d be leaving the day after Christmas, but he just had to go moving the damn thing, and then, big surprise, it fell on him!” the woman standing in the front door of the little yellow house they arrive at is hollering at them before Severide even has both feet on the ground.

“Cruz, you’re with me, Tony and Capp, stay behind, I’ll let you know what we need,” Severide says as he approaches the woman.

“What kind of shelf are you talking about here?” Stella asks, beating Severide to her by mere seconds, she has Gallo with her.

“I don’t know,” the woman says cluelessly. “A big one?”

It’s encouraging that she doesn’t seem super worried, there’s a good chance that means the scene inside isn’t that bad.

“I told you not to call the fire department!” they’re greeted with a not so friendly shout from the guy laying on the ground with the bookshelf tipped over on both of his legs. It’s not a ridiculously heavy or large shelf, and the man probably doesn’t have any broken bones, just bruises- it’s really something truck could’ve handled on their own, but Severide doesn’t mind being there. It’s something to do.

“Shut up! Are you ever not a dick? They’re here to help!” the woman snaps back.

“Well I don’t need it!” the man shouts back.

“Alright, how are you feeling?” Stella says squatting next to the guy.

“I’m fine, my bitch sister is just a drama queen.”

“Can you not be awful for five seconds!” the woman snaps at him angrily.

“Ma’am, we need you to back up and stop yelling at your brother, please,” Severide warns and pushes her back just a little.

“If i’m so awful then why do you always make me come up here to this horrible city!”

“I don’t! Mom does! If it were up to me I’d never look at your stupid face again!”

“Ma’am please,” Severide insists, patiently and pushes her back a little more.

“You’re legs don’t hurt or anything?” Stella asks, eyeing the shelf.

“How do you want to play this Lieutenant?” Severide asks, watching his girlfriend as she contemplates the shelf.

“The four of us can probably just pick it, and if he’s as fine as he says-”

“I’m not lying! I’m fine!” the man interrupts Stella.

“-than he can just pull himself free,” Stella finishes, and looks like she’s about 2 seconds from getting up and leaving the guy trapped under the bookshelf.

“I’m never coming back here,” the man grumbles as Stella gets up and gets in position on the book shelf to help lift it.

“Good-”

“Would you both please, shut. Up!” Cruz suddenly shouts, piping up for the first time, and sounds like he’s about to blow a gasket. “Just be grateful you get to spend time with your family for Christmas! At least pretend! Not everyone gets to spend christmas with their family, some of us have to work and help idiots like you guys!”

Severide lifts his eyebrows in surprise as the firefighter continues his rant.

“You people are lucky! Some of us would love to be home with their family, spending time with their son on his first christmas on the planet. But we don’t get to! So just shut up, and think about that!”

“Cruz-”

“Think about the sacrifices people are making-”

“Cruz!” Severide raises his voice, and cuts off the firefighter. He’s not angry with him, hell him yelling at these two idiots has worked to get them to stop talking, but he can’t have one of his firefighters chewing out a victim, even if it’s one who’s miserable to be around. “Go wait in the truck.”

“What?” Cruz demands, looking shocked.

“Go to the truck and take a breath. The three of us got this,” he repeats.

“But-”

“Go.”

“Yes sir.”

The woman watches Cruz go with her mouth hanging open, and her eyes wide. “The nerve-”

“Don’t,” Kelly warns, not about to tolerate some stranger trying to bad mouth Cruz, even if him yelling at her was out of line. He makes a mental note to talk to Cruz after the call. Nor to yell at him for his behavior, but because the guy’s been quiet the whole shift and is really seeming down.

***

“Cruz a word.”

Joe stops in his tracks at the sound of Severide’s voice behind him. The lieutenant doesn’t sound pissed, but he can still practically feel the talking to coming.

“Listen, lieutenant, I’m sorry but-”

“I’m not here to get on your case, Joe,” Severide says with a rare softness and understanding that takes Joe by surprise.

“O-oh, then what?”

“I wanted to check on you,” Severide replies, and Joe can see the concern on his face. “What you were saying on that call… you can take tomorrow off. Squad will be fine running as a three man.”

“That wouldn’t be fair,” Joe replies. If Herrmann isn’t going home to spend the holiday with his family, then he won’t either.

“It’s not fair that you have to cover for C shift because they all got food poisoning. It’s not fair that you have to be working for your son’s first Christmas,” Severide reasons. “If you want the shift off, it’s yours. You not being there isn’t fair to Chloe or Brian either.”

“I appreciate the offer lieutenant, but I can’t,” Joe says and turns to go. He wants nothing more than to go home and spend Christmas with Chloe and Brian, but he can’t make himself do it. Not while everyone else is staying behind. He signed up to be here. He chose it. He agreed to missing birthdays and first christmases, sporting events and school projects… It was never something he thought about as a younger single firefighter, and part of him wishes he had… not that it would’ve made him rethink becoming a firefighter. He might have just been able to prepare himself a little better.

“The job doesn’t always have to come first.” Severide’s words stop him. “We swore to serve this city, but sometimes it’s okay to do something for yourself.”

Joe smiles and look at him. “I know lieutenant, but I’m not going to leave while my crew stays behind and works just to make myself happy.”

“You’re a good man, Cruz.”

“You are too, Severide.”

“I don’t know about that, but it’s nice of you to say,” Severide says with a shrug. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

***

“I’ve got a gift for you,” Gallo says and pushes a mop and bucket toward Nathan as he comes out of the cold. “The lieutenant wants the bay mopped and then the trash changed.”

“What-” Nathan tries to protest. He’d been out trying to be helpful, and he’d had permission.

“You missed a run,” Gallo insists and pushes the mop into Nathan’s arms. “I don’t make the rules, but you shouldn’t have been late.”

“But-” Nathan makes a second attempt to argue and this time looks to Severide for help hoping the lieutenant will back him up.

“Don’t look at me kid, I’m not your boss, and as much as I hate to admit it, Gallo’s right,” Severide says with a shrug. “You’re best off to swallow it and just mop the floor.

“Yes, sir,” Nathan says ducking his head, and giving up on fighting his punishment. He’s got a lot of stuff to do before tomorrow, and now he also has chores to do as well so he’s going to have multitask to hard.

***

“So my family decided they aren’t actually going to stop by the station today,” Sylvie says coming into Casey’s office and plopping herself down on the couch without knocking. She sounds disappointed and upset.

“I’m really sorry, Sylvie,” Matt sighs, putting his paperwork aside to get up and sit next to her on the couch. “If you want take tomorrow off to spend time with your family while they’re here, you can. I’ll find you a floater-”

“Don’t even think about it, Matt,” Sylvie says and sits up. “I’m abandoning Mackey and letting her get stuck with someone awful like Ogle on Christmas.”

“Why’d they decide not to come visit?” Matt asks, resting one hand on her leg comfortingly. He can tell she’s putting on her “I’m trying my very best to be happy, but am actually super sad” face, and it hurts. He hates seeing her upset.

“They were tired after the drive, and didn’t feel like fighting city traffic to get here. Not that I can blame them,” she replies with a little shrug. “I get it.”

“Still sucks that you don’t get to see them until the day after Christmas,” Matt says, and wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulls her close to him.

“It’s okay, it’s all part of the job. Besides, I have family here that I get to spend the holiday with,” Sylvie says quietly and leans her head against his chest.

Matt smiles and rests his chin on her head; she always sees the positive- the best in everything. He’s still not sure what he did to deserve her.

***

“Hey, Cruz you okay, buddy?” Herrmann asks, walking past the squad firefighter who’s sitting with his head rested on the table.

“I’m fine,” he says in an uncharacteristically standoffish tone.

“Listen, uh, sorry I was being such a downer earlier. This just sucks ya know?” Herrmann says, trying to cheer Cruz up at least a little bit. He knows what it’s like missing big important firsts with kids; he missed not only Lee Henry's first birthday but his first christmas too. Cindy had brought him up to the station for part of the day both times, but it’s not the same. “All this- I’m sorry you’re missing Brian’s first Christmas.”

Cruz lifts his head off the table and looks up at him with sad brown eyes. “I was really looking forward to it.”

“I know you were,” Herrmann says and sits down next to him. “And hey, I know what it’s like, and you tell yourself missing this stuff is what you signed up for when you took the job, but it really don’t help.”

“No,” Cruz agrees sadly.

Herrmann wishes there were more he could do for Joe to help him feel better about all this, but the truth is it sucks. “I know it’s not the same, but you can celebrate the day after. There’s always room for new traditions. And he’s too young to remember it so at least he won’t be bitter about it.”

Cruz snorts and smiles a little. “Always the optimist, huh Herrmy.”

“Eh, well, you know someone’s gotta be. And I’ve done enough being negative for one day.”

“Thanks buddy.”

***

“You okay, Kelly?” Stella asks and stops walking as she notices Severide standing looking at the wall of fallen heroes.

“I’m fine,” he says quietly, but doesn’t sound like it; he looks a little lost.

“Are you sure about that?” Stella asks and sidles up close to him, wrapping her arms around one of his. He’s looking at the picture of Shay.

He sighs and glances at her. “It just hits me sometimes, you know?”

Stella nods and leans her against his shoulder. She never had the pleasure of meeting Shay but from the little bit Kelly’s told her about her, they would’ve gotten along.

“I know,” Stella whispers. It’s been years since the paramedic died, but she knows Kelly is still feeling it at least a little. That’s why he went and stole the door off the old 61 when it got scrapped.

“She was my best friend. I could’ve spent the rest of my life with her,” He says softly and then cracks a smile. “She saved my sorry ass more times than I can count.”

“Sounds like me and her would’ve had something to bond over,” Stella replies and gives his hand a little squeeze.

He snorts, finding amusement in Stella’s comment and nods. “Yeah, yeah you would’ve.”

“Excuse me,” Stella pulls away from Kelly, startled by the unfamiliar voice drifting timidly toward them.

“Hey,” Stella says turning around to face the speaker who’s standing with a man who’s probably her husband and a younger guy- a son maybe. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking Sylvie,” the older man says.

“Oh, um…” Stella glances at Kelly who gives a little shrug that says ‘how the hell should I know where she is?’. “She might be-” She catches sight of Mackey walking out toward the bay. “Hey, Mackey, where’s Brett?”

The paramedic pauses for a second. “I think she’s in the chief’s office.”

“Thanks,” Stella calls to her before turning her attention back to the family standing in front of her. “So she’s apparently in with the chief at the moment, not exactly sure why, but I can give her a message or you guys can leave contact info so we can let you know when she’s not busy.”

“Oh, we can come back. She had just said she wanted us to come by and meet everyone-”

“Woah, wait, are you guys her family?” Stella says, connecting the dots.

“Yes,” the woman laughs.

“Oh! Welcome to 51!” Stella cries, dropping her formality. “You guys can go in there and start meeting everyone. I’ll go get her-”

“She’s not busy?”

“No, it’s fine. The chief’ll wanna meet you guys too,” Stella replies waving off the notion. She’s entirely Sylvie’s told them that she’s dating the chief.

***

Sylvie can feel the nervous energy coming off Matt as they walk to the common room; it’s a little funny. She’s never seen him like this.

“Matt, it’ll be fine. They’ll like you. I promise,” she reasures him just before they walk into the common room.

“Sylvie! Hi sweetie!” Her mom cries as soon as she sets eyes on her and pulls her into a tight hug. It feels like forever since she’s got one of those hugs, and she didn’t even realize how much she missed it until now.

“Hi mom,” Sylvie mumbles, she wants to stay like forever, but she pulls away anyway. “Um, this is Matt, and it looks like you guys met everyone else.”

“I’m so happy to finally be meeting you, Matt!” her mom says enthusiastically and shakes his hand that he has extended out to her. “I’m Jan, and this my husband Craig.”

“Good to meet you sir,” Casey says politely and shakes her dad’s hand. Her dad gives Matt a small head nod, that says he approves; Matt’s the first person to have ever gotten that head nod on a first meeting.

“I’m Daniel,” her brother speaks up and takes his turn shaking Matt’s hand. In most families, it’s the dad’s approval you have to worry about, and while her dad definitely isn’t a quick sell, her brother is probably the hardest to impress. He’s younger than her, but he’s always been protective like a big brother.

“We brought you all some pizza,” Sylvie’s mother says and points to the stack of boxes sitting on the counter. “I know it’s not four course christmas meal or anything, but we thought you guys might enjoy it. Sylvie told us you guys are all pulling a long shift.”

***

“Nobody here is going to complain about pizza, you’d be amazed how quickly one of those things will disappear around here,” Stella says inviting herself into the conversation and grabbing four slices out of the box.

“Some of those better be for Severide,” Casey warns, knowing full well she’s more than capable of downing four slices.

The truck lieutenant stops like a deer caught in headlights, she was definitely taking all those slices for herself. “Yes chief… definitely. Takin’ em to Severide…”

Casey rolls his eyes. “As you can see we eat more than you might expect.”

Jan laughs at this comment, and Casey feels a small amount of success that he got one of his future in laws to laugh.

“Between Craig, Daniel, Sylvie and I, believe me, this family knows how to put away a couple boxes too. I’m no stranger to hollow legs,” she replies, clearly amused by what a hit the pizza is.

“Thank you Missus Brett,” Mouch says, being the first to show some real manners as he takes two slices. “But I’ve got to warn you, most of us here have two hollow legs and at least an arm. There can never be too much food, especially when it’s food like this. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, by the way. You did a fine job raising that young lady.”

“It’s our pleasure!” Jan replies with a pleasant smile.

“Randell Mcholand, by the way,” Mouch says, seeming to remember to introduce himself. “Everyone here calls me Mouch though.”

“And why is that?” Jan asks innocently.

“Well you see…”

***

“What do you think the probie’s up to?” Ritter asks as he comes up to Gallo. Gallo’s been acting distant and spacey all shift, and he’s about 90% sure that it has to do with the holiday and missing his family. But Nathan has been acting weird and secretive as well, and that can’t go unnoticed, it might even provide a good distraction for Gallo.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Gallo says looking out the window to the bay where Nathan is pacing back and forth talking on the phone. “This is the fourth phone call he’s made today.”

“You wanna ask him about it?” Ritter asks, hoping Gallo will tag along. He’s not one for mischief or messing with the new guy, but he knows Gallo is, and he knows it’ll cheer him up.

“I don’t think he’d tell us,” Gallo says squinting out the window.

“What are you two idiots up to?” Mackey asks, and pushes her way between them.

“We’re trying to figure out what the candidate is up to,” Ritter answers and watches the kid pace back and forth talking on the phone. He is a little curious.

“Did you try asking him?” She asks skeptically.

“He wouldn’t tell us,” Gallo says confidently, seeming to get a little more invested in the idea of figuring this out.

“Maybe,” Mackey says with a shrug and heads to the bay doors.

“Where are you going?” Gallo protests.

“To ask him,” she says disappearing through the doors.

“Should we follow her?” Ritter asks.

“No, We’ll watch from here,” Gallo replies as Mackey approaches Nathan and greets him. They exchange a few words that Ritter can’t make out and then Mackey smiles and heads back to the door.

“Well???” Ritter and Gallo both say in unison as she walks back into the hallway.

“Well what?”

“What did he say?”

“Sorry boys, it’s top secret,” she says with a coy smile and heads into the common room.

***

12 hours later...

Engine 51, Truck 81, Ambulance 61, Squad 3, house fire, smoke showing.”

“What a way to start off Christmas morning,” Mouch grumbles and hauls himself off the couch. Calls on Christmas are always the worst, they’re to be expected on Christmas eve, but Christmas Day? They suck. Always. Christmas is supposed to be a time of joy and happiness, not emergencies and fires and misery and heartbreak.

“Marks, we need a man behind today, you’re it.” Stella asks, stopping the young recruit before he can get on the truck. Mouch is pretty sure the kid’s still getting punished for missing the truck the day before.

“Please no lieutenant,” Nathan pleads desperately. Mouch can see him die on the inside.

“You have the least experience. You’re staying.” Kidd says with more force this time.

“Yes lieutenant.”

“We’re really riding short handed again?” Mouch questions, swinging up into the truck. It seems like a risky move.

“Yes,” Stella replies shortly. “Now roll us out of here.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mouch says and gives her a playful solute before turning the key and bringing the truck roaring to life.

“I’m not going to complain,” Gallo jokes and stretches himself out in the back. “There’s more space back here when it’s just me.”

“Maybe next time I’ll make you be the man behind,” Stella says flatley, promptly shutting Gallo up.

***

“The tree just went up! The whole living room-” a woman with a smoke stained face is crying frantically to Casey before he even has his white helmet mounted on his head. He’s first on scene even after doing his 360 check around the house, but he can see the trucks coming down the street. “My husband went back for the kids!”

Casey grits his teeth. Christmas trees always go from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds. It takes a matter of minutes for them to fully engulf a room. “It’ll be okay Ma’am. How many kids do you have?”

“Two,” she sobs helplessly, gripping Casey with desperate hands. “They sleep on the top floor.”

“Unit’s be advised, we have three confirmed rescues, all possibly on the second floor, and safety bars on all first floor windows,” Casey says into his radio as the trucks pull into place by the house. It’s only a matter of seconds after that the everyone is piling out of the trucks. “Squad 3 I want you guys on search, 51 you’re interior attack and cover for squad. This is gonna be a hot one, started with a christmas tree.”

“You got it chief,” Herrmann says energetically. “Ritter, pull the inch and three quarters.”

“Where do you want us?” Stella asks, approaching Casey. He can see she’s ready to jump in there, but that’s not a truck's job today.

“You guys are RIT,” Casey says.

“Chief-”

“That’s an order lieutenant,” Casey says firmly and turns his attention back to the structure that’s already belching dark smoke into the late morning sky as Squad and 51 make entry through the front door. He can feel the heat coming off the house just from where he’s standing. It’ll be a miracle if the family makes it out alive.

“Gallo, get the K-12 and start cutting the safety bars off the windows,” Stella orders walking back toward her crew. Casey knows being stuck on RIT sucks, but he’s glad to see she’s taking a proactive approach to it. “Mouch, me and you are going to put ladders on every second story window up there in case our guys need to bail out.”

“Battalion 25 chief to main, requesting a second engine company and two more ambos to my location,” Casey says into his radio as he waves Brett and Mackey over to check out the woman coughing in his arms.

“Acknowledged Battalion 25.”

He can tell just from looking at this one that it’s going to be an all dayer.

“It’s rolling pretty bad in here,” Severide’s voice crackles over the radio, making Casey shift nervously. The place looks like it could flash over at any second.

“You guys have one minute and then I want you out,” Casey replies, judging the smoke. A minute seems generous but there are three victims inside.

“Chief, we got the family and are coming out,” Severide reports no more than 30 seconds later, and Casey allows himself a small sigh of relief. They’re not out yet, but just the fact that they were able to find the family so quick seems like an act of God.

Squad 3 and 51 exit the structure with the father and two kids with them just as engine 91 rolls onto the scene to assist with fire suppression. The mother breaks off at a run from 61 to go to the family.

“Case, that was crazy,” Severide laughs, making a b-line toward Casey. The dad and two kids look relatively unschathed. “Like Christmas miracle crazy.”

“What do you mean?” Casey asks as the lieutenant reaches him.

“I mean I’ve never seen fire do what that fire just did,” Severide replies with a smile that only comes along when he’s coming down from inhuman amounts of adrenaline. “The dad and kids were in a stairwell that was somehow mostly clear of smoke- like the whole place was rolling and then I don’t know what happened. As we were coming out our path out cleared.”

“Don’t pull my leg, Sev,” Casey scoffs. He’s heard more than his fair share of crazy stories about fire doing crazy unexpected things, but he was never sure any of them were true, this one especially.

“I couldn’t make it up even if I tried. You should’ve been in there.” Severide laughs, and heads off to find Stella. It’s a simple off handed remark, one that probably shouldn’t even be taken right down to the letter, but it still hits Casey in a weird way. He hadn’t really thought about that kind of thing when he took the chief position- the impact it might have on Severide and even everyone else, that they might miss making entry with him. He can’t help but wonder if Severide didn’t actually mean it a little bit: he should’ve been in there.

***

Even the squad stays and helps with knocking the fire out; Herrmann can’t remember the last time he saw Severide pick up a hose line and use it, but he’s there right alongside everyone else helping throw water at what’s become a glorified bonfire. Casey ordered everyone out of the house and it’s all strictly defensive exterior fire attack now. The fire’s big, the people are all out safely, and it’s christmas. There’s no reason to be risking anyone's lives by doing interior attack. Even truck has been called off from venting. The only job now is to drown the damn thing, and with two engines and the combined force of all the companies they might actually get back to the station on time to have a decent dinner.

***

“You guys smell that?” Cruz asks, stepping off the truck, and peeling off his bunker gear as he sniffs the air. There’s the usual smells of diesel, floor cleaner, and the bitter smell of structure fire that makes his nostrils burn coming from everyone’s gear; the fire was a big nasty one with a lot of black smoke and nasty stuff. He’s pretty sure the house will be smelling like it for weeks if not months, and he’s also pretty sure the smell will be stuck in his nostrils for a long time, but there’s something else in the air too- something good. Something warm and inviting.

Mouch frowns and sniffs too. “Smells like turkey… and other stuff, but there’s no way Marks could make a turkey in the two hours it took us to take care of that garage fire.”

“Well it sure smells like he did,” Herrmann say, and leads the charge through the double doors leading inside. Everyone shrugs to each other and follows him inside.

Cruz nearly runs into the engine lieutenants as he stops right in front of him in the doorway of the common room. He barely has time to register why Herrmann has stopped when a shout rings out from the people gathered inside-

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” -it’s everyone- Chloe is there with Brian, Trudy, Boden, Donna, little Terrance, Cindy and all of Herrmann’s kids- even Brett’s family is there, along with Kylie who was under strict orders from Casey and Stella not to work on the holidays. He can barely believe it, and the joy swelling up inside of him as he makes eye contact with Chloe from across the room as she cradles their son in her arms- it’s the greatest gift he could ever recieve on Christmas.

Nathan is sitting on the counter grinning from ear to ear. He’s just made everyone’s day or possibly even everyone’s year and he knows it.

“I can’t believe you guys are here!” Joe cries and rushes over to his wife and son, wrapping them in a big hug. “I can’t believe it!”

“Of course we’re here, baby!” Chloe laughs, and kisses him.

***

“Candidate, what did you do?” Casey laughs and walks up to the house’s newest member. He could practically feel the whole house’s moral jump from zero to 60 as soon as they walked in the room. He’d known the candidate was up to something, but he never expected this- everyone’s here.

“I just pitched the idea to a good old retired chief,” Nathan replies. “He was the one who knew how to contact people.”

“Don’t let him give me all the credit,” Boden says sternly with a rare smile on his face. “He planned everything. I just made phone calls. But we should probably eat all this food.”

He gestures to the various platters of food sitting on the counters and tables.

“I second that,” Casey says and looks around at everyone already mingling with their loved ones.

“Alright, everyone listen up!” Boden announces loudly, silencing the room and demanding it’s full attention in a way Casey still hasn’t been able to master. “We’ll eat in just a minute, but first Nathan here gets to say some stuff because all this was his idea.”

Nathan looks a little taken by surprise, but doesn’t blanch at the sudden shift of attention on him.

“Um, I’ll make this quick because we all know how things go around here, but about 10 year ago Kelly- lieutenant Severide saved my life and ever since then this house has become like family. I haven’t been here long, but I know you all see each other as family and even your family’s outside 51 are family to each other- and family should be together on Christmas! Now lets eat before the tones drop!”

“Here here!” Herrman says, prompting everyone else to do the same. He’s the happiest Casey has seen him since this 48 hour shift started. “To family!”

***

“So, have you guys thought about tying the knot?” Sylvie’s mother asks, part of the way through dinner, and Casey nearly blows coffee out of his nose.

“Mom!” Sylvie scolds. Casey had a feeling this would be coming up, her mother seems like the kind of mom who would ask about it, but he just hadn’t expected it while eating dinner with the entire house present.

“You know what they say, Sylvie. Three times is the charm,” Daniel adds, and there’s a hint of disapproval in his tone.

“We want to make sure we’re both good and ready before we go down that road,” Sylvie says and looks over at him. “We’re taking it slow.”

“Right,” Casey says through a cough, and blinks his eyes as they start to water from him almost choking. He’s kind of grateful pretty much everyone else is too involved in their own conversation to have really heard the question. He does want to marry Sylvie. He’s sure of that much, and he’s even pretty sure Sylvie would say yes if he asked, but he’s not sure if he’s ready… Ready to put himself out there again, ready to try to start a family again, ready to open himself up to hurt again. And frankly he’s not sure if she’s ready either. She had her fair share of failed relationships as well.

“You know what that’s code for, right,” Severide whispers, leaning close to him so no else can hear him. “She wants you to ask.”

“Shut up Sev,” Casey hisses under his breath. “You’ve been beating around the bush Kidd way longer.”

Severide gulps awkwardly and scoots away from Casey in a hasty retreat. Matt gets it though. He knows Kelly would die for Stella, the same way he himself would die for Sylvie, but the Squad lieutenant has also had his fair share of heartbreak and betrayal. He’s scared, though he’d never admit it outloud, and Casey can’t blame him. People tend to look at Severide and his past actions and see someone afraid of commitment, someone like Benny, but that’s not Kelly. He’s one of the most committed people Matt’s ever met, he’s simply scared of heartbreak.

“Well, I guess it’s good to make sure you’re both ready,” Sylvie’s mother says before taking a bite of mashed potatoes, but Casey catches her undertone that clearly says, ‘ask my daughter to marry you already.’ Matt sighs. It could be worse though, Sylvie’s parents could hate him and be gunning for them to break up… he’s not entirely sure her dad likes him, but that kind of goes with dad territory.

***

“Hey, you did good with this, kiddo,” Kelly says and bumps Nathan on the shoulder gently with his fist as he comes to get a second round of food. There’s a proud look in the lieutenant’s eyes, and he’s smiling bigger than Nathan’s used to seeing from him.

“I didn’t do much,” he shrugs.

“Don’t undersell yourself, kid,” The squad lieutenant says and glances over his shoulder at the group of firefighters mingling with their families, and a fond loving smile drifts across his face. It’s a rare kind of smile, and not just coming from Kelly, but anyone. It’s soft and gentle, fond and loving, and content. This is Severide’s family, and he loves them. “This is the happiest any of us have been on Christmas in a long time, and you made it happen.”

“It’s what they deserve,” Nathan says simply. He didn’t do it for cool points or to in anyone good graces. He did it for the crew that saved him, the crew that protected the neighborhood he grew up in, the crew that built his school a library, the crew that took care of him… the crew that’s now his family, he did it for them because no matter how hard he tries he’ll never be able to thank them enough.

Severide looks at him with a mix of pride and fatherly love and smiles a warm smile. “The future of this house is in good hands.”

It seems to make perfect to Severide to say this, but it takes Nathan by surprise. He’s never thought of himself of being the future of the house, he’s just here to work and learn and help people and repay everything this house did for him. He also never really thought about how Severide might be worried about something like leaving the house in good hands, to Nathan he’s this unstoppable force welded into the fibers of 51 that can’t ever leave. He hasn’t been here long, but he can’t picture the house without Severide. He can’t even picture being a senior firefighter. The future is so big, none of it seems real- the only thing that seems real is the present.

He’s about to say something to the lieutenant that saved his life and gave it purpose, but before he can even open his mouth the tones sound prompting a groan from everyone in the room. It’s time for them to go back to work, to answer the call.

#chicago fire #chicago fire fic #oc fic #cf fic #cf fan fic #stellaride #brettsey #enjoy the fic!#have fun liking!#to all 30 of you!#I've said before why that number is so low :)#it's because of a lack of reblog #and yes. i will go on this little rant every time i post.#if you don't like it either reblog #or don't read my tags #:)

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rubix-writings · 3 years

Text

Punisher Pt. 3

Third part of Punisher. I apologize it’s taking me so long to post these, but want to make sure they’re good for you all. Thank you for the support so far!! This is a Chicago PD/Fire imagine with an original character. I don’t own any of the plot points or characters from the show. Also, it doesn’t follow any particular season or sequence in the shows.

Series Summary: Josephine (Jo) never expected to find support and pure love when she left Los Angeles. She ran away to Chicago and was content with living an insignificant, hidden life. But everything changes when she walks into Molly’s to get a job.

Josephine (OC) x Jay Halstead

The italicized lines are internal thoughts of the character.

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, long (!)

Things are going really well at Molly’s. It’s like falling into step during a choreographed dance. It feels odd to say that I’m comfortable and confident when it’s only my second shift. I’m working with Stella tonight, who to say the least had a lot of fun the night before. When she first walked into the bar she looked as if Casper made a stop in Chicago. At the start of opening she kept her jacket on and slammed down cups of black coffee. Her body seemed to stay in a permanent state hunched over the bar top while she only communicated through slow movements with her fingers. I couldn’t watch her pain any longer, so I used my break to grab a cheeseburger and fries so greasy the oil soaked the paper bag.

“You need to put something solid into your body,” I announce as I plop the white, greased bag on the bar top in front of Stella’s practically limp body. She slowly lifts her head with a deep groan and analyzes the bag.

“I’m a firefighter Jo, my body is a temple. I can’t eat this,” I can’t stop the laugh that escapes my lips.

“Are tequila shots a part of your ‘temple’s’ regimen?” she sniffs the bag and sighs.

“You see, the tequila actually kills all the bacteria in the stomach,” Stella examines the golden fry before taking a bite.

“Be sure to tell your theory to the doctors that come in later, I’m sure they’d love to hear that.”

“I will,” she says with a mouthful of cheeseburger.

Just like magic, Stella is back to her bouncy self. It amazes me how much like Hermann she is, she practically floats around Molly’s. She talks to everyone and makes sure they’re having a good time. Stella sets the tone of the entire bar, bringing life to every inch of the place. It’s nice to watch her interact with others, a part of me is envious of how natural it comes to her. A part of me is, also, envious of her relationship with Kelly. His eyes when he looks at her are filled with unconditional love and the way Stella looks at him when he’s not looking confirms that she feels the same. I’ve never had that… or will have it. The bar top serves its purpose as a closed door to the patrons on the other side, I open it as much as I want and they see what I want them to see. I’m in control.

It’s a busy Friday night, the bar filled quickly. The firemen I met last night stroll in with the same vigor as the night before, obviously hurting a lot less than Stella was a few hours ago. Stella plays it off as if she didn’t have a raging hangover, but Kelly quickly throws her under the bus. Cruz yells as he claims he’s known the truth all along, but Mouch steps in to deny it, leading to Cruz listing out facts about how he knew. I place a few beer bottles in front of the guys, trying not to get involved.

“I’m sorry about them,” Matt says.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. They’re funny,” I smile.

“You don’t have to hear it all day long,” Matt grumbles as he takes a long sip from his beer.

“This is true. I get them in concentrated doses,” I excuse myself to collect empties at the tables scattered around the room. With my hands full I turn to head back to the bar top, but crash into a hard body. I stumble back from the blow and the mystery man swiftly grabs my arms to keep me from falling. Once I get my footing back, he releases my arms.

“Sorry about that. Are you okay?” His voice is like velvet that draws my eyes up to look at his face. Wow. My mind fell into a haze barely registering his question.

“Um, yeah. Thanks,” he smirks at how long it took me to answer his question. Really smooth Jo. “I should get back to work, sorry about running into you,” I walk backwards a few steps, he immediately steps forward keeping the same amount of space between us as before.

“Let me at least help you with those, I’m heading to the bar anyway,” before I could object, his large hand cradles the numerous beer bottles that were once in my hand. Before my brain can spiral about his large hands, I spin and head back to the bar. I silently weave through the customer’s of Molly’s, I needed to get back to my safe zone to hopefully make his charm less effective. He gently places the bottles on the bar top for me to discard, I smile and thank him. Before I can ask for his order, the firemen and Stella welcome him to the bar.

“Hey Jay, haven’t seen you around here in awhile,” Stella mentions.

“Yeah I know. Um have you seen my brother anywhere?” Stella shakes her head no. Brother? I try to seem like I’m not listening while cleaning up behind the bar and get any excuse not to look at him again. One embarrassing moment for tonight is enough. Out of nowhere, Will pops up and slaps Jay on the back. They go in for a quick hug before Will says hi to everyone.

“Hey don’t kill me, but I invited Nat. I know it’s supposed to just be us, but she had a really rough day,” Will whispers, Jay shakes his head to let him know he’s totally fine with it. “Great, thanks man.”

I put two glasses of red wine on the bar top for two women that definitely want to take a firefighter home tonight. After how many women these men turned down the night before I highly doubt they’ll have any luck, but I’m kinda rooting for them.

“Hey Jo,” Will smiles.

“Hi Will,” I say in monotone to mess with him.

“Have you met my brother Jay?” Will slaps Jay’s chest which startles Jay a little, making me smile. Geez, these guys must have gorgeous parents. Will is handsome of course, but Jay...

“We kinda ran into each other actually.” I smirk.

“Oh that’s great, he’s a really good guy. He’s a cop, detective, sorry,” Will corrects himself, Jay is glaring at him.

“I’m not making you a manhattan,” he slaps his hand against the bar top.

“Worth a shot. Can I get a glass of chardonnay and a beer, oh and whatever Jay’s having,” I nod and grab Will his drinks. He slides me his credit card to open a tab then walks off to see Natalie at the table.

“I’m definitely missing something, why does my brother want a manhattan?” Jay finally asks.

“Oh Jay it was great!” Stella jumps in to tell a very colorful version of the events that happened between Will and I. As she finishes up she is swept to the end of the bar to take an order.

“She was drunk last night” I mumble under my breath. Jay smirks, knowing Stella’s retelling was probably fabricated. “What can I get you?” I try to change the subject.

“A beer please,” I nod. “You’re new here Jo?” He phrases it as a question, but it's definitely more of a statement.

“Yeah, started yesterday,” I hand him his beer.

“Thanks. Are you from Chicago?”

“No, LA actually, lived there my whole life,” I lean my forearms on the bar top in front of him.

“Wow, big change.” “Yeah, I don’t know if I thought it all the way through to be honest,” he smiles.

“Well let me tell you if you haven’t figured it out already, snow and winter are incredibly overrated.” “Ah yes, that’s exactly what I needed to hear. I can go back to LA now.” “Glad to be of service,” he shrugs. Jay stayed on the same stoll at the bar for the rest of the night. It was strange how easy it was to talk with him, he offered stories about his job and funny stories about him and Will growing up. It’s so beautiful to have those stories, that he’s gone through life with someone that deeply and come out the other side. I tell him that I don’t have siblings and mostly spent time with my mom when I was young. Jay was quick to offer up Will to fill the void.

“I’ll keep you updated on that,” I laugh.

“Are you and your mom still close?”

“Um no, she… she died about ten years ago,” even though her death happened so long ago it still felt so weird saying it out loud.

“I’m sorry Jo. I lost my mom to cancer a few years back.”

“So you get it,” he nods and offers a somber smile.

It wasn’t till Will and Natalie announced their departure, that Jay made any moves to leave Molly’s. The bar was slowly emptying out as last call was already declared.

“I should head out, it was really nice talking with you Jo,” Jay stands.

“It was really nice talking with you too Jay,” I say sincerely. He smiles wide before making a beeline for the front door. I can’t help but stare until he’s fully out of sight, my cheeks start to hurt from fighting the smile on my face. I tuck my loose hair behind my ear and start grabbing the empty glasses from the bar top.

“Have fun?” Stella questions, I jump slightly not realizing she was standing there.

“Another good night for tips, yeah,” she looks at Kelly who’s the last of the firefighters at the bar.

“Sure, doesn’t hurt that Officer Handsome was here all night either.” “I… I’m going to wash the glasses,” I pick up the large plastic crate with dirty drinking glasses and head to the back where Hermann showed me where the sink was. Stella didn’t mention Jay again, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done, Jay’s blue eyes and the way he got so passionate during a story were ingrained in my mind for the rest of the night.

***

Hermann asked if I could open Molly’s for him the next day as he was running late with paperwork at the firehouse. I had a short shift that night anyway and could use the extra money no matter how little. Hermann told me to meet him at the firehouse to give me the keys since they haven’t been able to cut me my own yet. The firehouse isn’t far from Molly’s, a couple blocks on foot. I prepared myself with my warmest coat for the trek since the wind chill makes Chicago brutally cold. I focus on the sound of my shoes against the wet pavement to take my mind off of how cold I really am.

The firehouse is a ball of color on this cold, dark Chicago day. The plain brick buildings surrounding it emphasize the reds and yellows. It somehow feels untouched by the rest of the city, a true sign of purity. As soon as I walk through the doors of the firehouse I’m met with the sweet smell of food cooking. It’s as if my feet have a mind of their own and take my body towards the magnificent smell’s source. The kitchen was buzzing with people cooking, talking, and playing card games.

“Jo!” Stella yells, “what are you doing here?” she walks over to me, leaving her conversation with Matt and Kelly, who both wave at me.

“I’m here to get the keys from Hermann, do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, he’s in the garage let me take you to him,” I try to argue that it could wait, but Stella insists. “Hermman!” she yells once we get into the garage.

“What?!” he snaps back. She giggles as we both walk towards the outburst. As we turn around the big fire engine, I see why Stella was so insistent about not waiting. “Oh hey, Jo,” he says calmer.

Jay is standing tall with a notepad in front of Hermann. Stella silently excuses herself from the conversation and makes her way back inside. Hermann pays no attention to his surroundings as he’s searching for the three keys I need to open Molly’s.

“Hey,” Jay smiles.

“Hi.”

“Here you go, I labeled them for you so you know what lock they go into. Once you get inside, lock the front door, just in case,” I nod and take the keys from him. The silver keys have thin pieces of masking tape on them with dark blue sharpie stating what they open.

“Thanks, I’ll see you there,” I back away from the men to head back to the bar. Hermann nods and waves.

“Hermann we’re done here right?” Jay asks.

“Yeah, let me know if you find anything,” Hermann states somewhat hopeless. Jay puts away the notepad in his back pocket of his jeans and jogs to catch up to me. The sound of Jay’s thick boots hitting the cement fills the sound of the garage. When he finally catches up to me, he moves ahead to open the door to outside for me.

“So you’re stalking me now?” He jokes.

“Um how did you get to that? Hermann asked me to come here,” Jay quickly fell into step with me, not that it was difficult as he’s much taller than me.

“I was here first,” he says plainly.

“Oh well, with that bulletproof logic…” he laughs.

“You headed to Molly’s?” we stop walking once we get to the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I’m opening today,” Jay slips the keys to his car from his jacket pocket.

“Let me drive you.” “Oh no, you don’t have to do that. It’s only a couple of blocks and you’re working,” I spew out trying to find an excuse that’ll stick.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m parked right here,” he brushes off quickly. I roll my eyes at his back and get into the car. Jay puts the car into gear and sets off towards Molly’s.

“So, is Hermann okay?” I ask since I couldn’t get his hopeless tone out of my head.

“His house was broken into, they didn’t get a lot, just some jewelry and a few Alexa’s. His wife came home which freaked them out and they bolted before they did any real damage.” “Jesus. Poor Hermann. Do you think you’ll find his stuff?” “Probably not, that sort of stuff is so small that they may keep it for themselves instead of pawning it, but we’ll try,” the car is silent for a little while till Jay pulls in front of Molly’s.

“Thanks for the ride.” “Course,” I get out of the car and make my way onto the sidewalk. “Hey Jo,” Jay says out of his rolled down window.

“Hey Jay,” I say while playing with the keys Hermann gave me.

“Are you working late tonight?”

“Not too late, I have a short shift.”

“How about I meet you here later and we get a drink?” Jay says casually. I bite my lip and look down the street in hopes to take my mind off of what he just asked.

“Maybe,” I say as I make eye contact with him again. “See yah Jay.”

“See yah Jo.”

I’m losing control.

#Chicago PD #Chicago Fire #chicago one #chicago fire x reader #chicago fire imagine #chicago pd x imagine #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader #jay halstead #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead x reader #punisher

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ikleesfiction · 3 years

Text

Will you follow through if I fall for you?

Fandom : One Chicago Word count : 3,762 words Disclaimer

Previously on this fic : Part 1 🞂 Part 2 🞂 Part 3 🞂 Part 4 🞂 Part 5 🞂 Part 6 🞂 Part 7 🞂 Part 8 🞂 Part 9

Part 10

It's been almost 6 months since you left Chicago. You spent those months working yourself to the bones as a way to forget Jay. It certainly was not a successful attempt, but at least you were too busy to think about him. You accepted Alex's idea to make a duo project and lazily named it "alex&y/n". You both started doing gigs at various clubs around the world. Pyramid, Alex's record company where you work for, continuously releases new sounds that you discovered. You keep writing and producing songs after songs. Really, your career is flourished. But deep inside, you're empty.

You never had a chance to go back to Chicago. Part of you was relieved that you don't have to deal with it yet. The other part of you was missing it so much. You might only stay four months in Chicago, but somehow the city (and its people) have marked their place in your heart.

You love Amsterdam. It's still your home, but its charm hasn't called you as it did before. Sure, you have your parents here. But you only got to meet them twice a week at best. Your work and their jobs don't leave lots of time to be together. Also, even though you have most of your friends in the city, you don't get to hang out with them all the time since you travel a lot for work. You get to make new friends along the way instead, just like you did in Chicago.

Case in point, you are currently in Norway, working on a song with Oliver Dahl, the number #1 DJ in the country.

Oliver's home studio is one of the best places you ever work in. The studio setup is practically the same as the one Pyramid has. But Oliver has a baby grand piano on one corner where through the window, you can see a tranquil lake with a green forest on its side. The view is calming and inspiring. So although Oliver is a much better pianist than you, you park yourself there and relegate him to a Korg keyboard.

"Hey, it's almost dinner time. Let's take a break," Oliver suggests to you. He guides you out from the studio and moves downstairs to his kitchen. The glass-paneled dining room has a door that leads to the back porch. You thought the view from the studio was great, but the view from down here is even better. You sit on a swing at the porch, take a deep breath of fresh air there.

Oliver comes out with two bottles of beer and hands you one, which you gladly accept. You switch your phone back on since you didn't want to be disturbed when you were working. It relentlessly buzzes once it's on. "Well, somebody is famous," teases Oliver.

You peek at your phone screen before grimacing at him, "Sorry. Nick needs something. I gotta call him back." You walk a few steps away from the porch. Without the roof over your head, you can feel slight drops of rain on your face. "Hey, boss. How's the meeting in Brussels go?"

"Infuriatingly slow. That is why I'm calling. I was hoping you can help us," Nick replies. He didn't sound too worried, so you thought it's going to be an easy request, "Sure. What is it?"

"Alex was supposed to have a phone interview with one of Chicago radio show, to talk about the new single of alex&y/n. Since our meeting here runs longer, could you do it in his stead? I know you don't like doing an unprepared interview, but I promise it won't be long, 15 minutes max."

"Alright, I'll do that." It's not like you can say no anyway.

"Great! I'll set it up. It's going to be in an hour. So don't mute your phone." Nick reminds you.

"I won't. It probably falls during our dinner here. I can keep my phone on."

"Thanks, y/n," Nick hangs up the call.

◢◤

Joe Cruz walks into the common-room of Firehouse 51 with his phone on hand. "Guys, Chicago Top 40 is interviewing Y/N right now!"

"Turn the volume up. I cannot hear it from here," Mouch complains from the couch as he mutes the tv. Joe pushes the side button of his phone and sets the volume to the max. Everyone continues doing their things quietly as they listen to the interview.

"We got one half of alex&y/n on the phone with us here. Dare I say the prettier half. Let's say hi to Y/N!" They hear the radio host cheers from Joe's phone.

"Hi, how are you doing?" you chuckle and greet back.

"We're all good here, thank you. So please tell us more about the latest single of alex&y/n? How did you guys come up with it?"

"We started writing this song probably about 8 months ago. I was in Chicago at the time actually," you start to explain.

"Oh, really? I didn't know you were in town," the host shortly interrupts.

"Yeah, it was back before we had any idea for this project. Alex came up with it when we made this song. It was supposed to be the first single of alex&y/n. But when I came back to Amsterdam, we wrote "Void" The team decided that it fitted better as the first single. Hence this song "Fiery Love" got pushed to be the second one."

The conversation regarding the song and the duo project goes on for another ten minutes before the interviewer wraps it up. Joe is about to close the radio app when he sees Jay Halstead and Hailey Upton step into the common-room of Firehouse 51.

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Y/N," says the host on air. "What time is it anyway in your place right now? I haven't got a chance to ask where you are,"

Joe's thumb stills above his phone screen. "It's almost 7 PM in Bergen, Norway," you inform the radio. Jay stiffens as he hears your voice.

"Oh, you got a gig there tonight?" the host asks curiously.

"No. Just a bit writing and studio session," you answer vaguely.

"It must've been in a studio with a view, unlike our four wall booth here," the host retorts.

You snicker quietly, "If I could, I'd trade you in a heartbeat,"

"Oh, stop it! You're too kind," the host says, thinking you're jesting.

You let out a tiny laugh, "But no, I'm serious. I wish I didn't leave Chicago," you admit candidly on air. Totally unbeknownst to the strained atmosphere in the Firehouse 51 common-room.

"Come visit soon. We'll show you our fancy dig here," the radio host returns jokingly. Joe finally decides to close the radio app, as Matt Casey addresses their guests. "Detectives, how can we help you?"

Jay looks at his partner, neglecting the fact that everyone in the room is watching him, "Can you handle this by yourself? I.. I think I left my phone in the car," Hailey is sure that Jay didn't leave his phone, but she gives him an understanding nod.

"We need to see Chief Boden," Hailey answers Matt. He then guides her to the Chief's office. When both detectives are out of range, Hermann asks the room, "It was a bit awkward, wasn't it?" Everyone ignores Hermann's comment and back doing things they did before. Kelly Severide determinedly stands up from his seat and goes outside. He finds Jay standing in front of the squad truck.

"Hey, man," Kelly greets him. Jay just nods to acknowledge him. After a few moments of silence, Kelly breaks first, "She always asks about you whenever she calls."

Jay scoffs his disbelief, "Yeah, right."

"She is not a brave girl, Jay. But she really loves you. She still regrets hurting you." Kelly tells him. Jay stays silent, taking in Kelly's words. "I don't think she's doing well out there." Kelly continues. Jay glances at him before opening his mouth to say something. But at the same time, Hailey comes out with Matt. "Let's go," she tells Jay. He nods at Matt and leaves with her without saying anything.

As both detectives walk away, Kelly shouts to Jay, "Will you pick up? If she calls you?"

Jay halts and looks over his shoulder. Not sure what to answer, he just shrugs in response.

◢◤

The following week, you find yourself working alone in Alex's studio. You go through some demos, try to find a song that you'd like to work on. The door is suddenly opened and reveals Alex and Nick coming in.

"You planning on going home tonight?" Alex says as he hands you a mug of hot tea. It's not unusual for you to stay all night working. While it was beneficial for the company, your well being is still his priority.

"Maybe," you just shrug as you accept the mug. "Thanks. So what's up?"

"I got an offer for alex&y/n gig for an EDM festival," Nick starts. "What do you think about it?"

"Cool, I guess.." you answer indifferently.

"Yeah?" Alex tries to reconfirm your agreement. You never play a festival before, so far alex&y/n only do club gigs. Even though you're basically doing the same thing, the stage and crowd size sometimes could be overwhelming, especially for someone who doesn't like to perform live.

"Uhuh," you nod before sipping your tea.

"Don't you wanna know where it will be?" Nick pushes.

"No," you say in disinterest, already looking back at your laptop. Nick raises his eyebrow questioningly towards Alex, which he answers with a subtle nod. "Alright then, I'm gonna go home now. You two get some rest. We'll talk again tomorrow," Nick informs you before leaving the room.

Alex drags a chair and sits next to you. "Talk to me. Please"

"There's nothing to talk about," you reply to your cup. Alex nudges you. Once. Twice. Thrice. "Stop it!" you scold him as you roll your chair away.

"You know I can do this all night until you talk to me," Alex says as he slides closer to you.

You exhale loudly in defeat before quietly tell him, "It's just... I'm exhausted."

Somehow he knows that you're not only talking about your body. "I'll talk to Nick. We can cancel the rest of alex&y/n gigs,"

"You know we can't," you rebuff his idea.

"We might be able to do that if I offer to take them instead?" Alex offers a solution.

"And let you be the one who burnout? Hell no," you deny his suggestion. You tiredly rub your face with your palm, "It's alright, Lex. I should have just suck it up and do it,"

Both of you stay silent for a moment. You pick your tea mug from the table when Alex unsurely speaks again, "That gig Nick talked about is in Chicago," You freeze up until Alex prods you, "Still wanna do it?"

"What do you think?" you weakly ask for his opinion.

"I think we should do it. It'd be fun. We can try to arrange a few days off. You can take me to your favorite places in Chicago, meet your friends.." Alex tells you. It sounds nice, makes you want to say yes. But you still have doubt in the back of your mind. "It's been months, y/n. Time for you to face it. Face Jay." Alex continues as if he knows your thought.

"I can't!" you shake your head in resign. "And why is that?" Alex pushes further.

"Because I still love him!" you forcefully drop your mug on the table, the tea splashes out of it.

"Then tell that to Jay! Don't make the same mistake as you did before!" Alex yells back at you. You instantly feel like you've been slapped.

Avoiding Alex's stare, you start to pack up your things from the table. "I think I need to go home now. Don't think I can work on anything tonight." You grab your jacket and hastily walked out of the studio.

A couple hours later, Alex comes by to your place with a canvas bag on his shoulder, "I got a box of chocolate and a six-pack of La Trappe Tripel here,"

"I don't think they can help me feel better this time," you quip as you open the door for him. Alex pulls the beers and chocolate out from the bag and puts them on the coffee table in front of the couch. He reaches again to the bag, "Don't worry, I come prepared. Got jenever in here too," He sets the bottle next to the chocolate. You go to the kitchen and bring out two clean glasses.

"Are we starting right away?" Alex asks you in confusion.

"Are you waiting for something else?" you start to open one of the beer bottles.

"Don't you want to eat dinner first? Or maybe have bitterballen to snack on?" Alex suggests to you. You open the chocolate box and pop one candy into your mouth. "There, I ate something," you declare sarcastically before sipping the beer in your hand.

"Okay then," Alex accepts his defeat. He goes to your kitchen and sees what you have on your fridge. "You don't mind if I finish this leftover stew, right?" he hollers at you as he puts the container in the microwave.

You snort your answer, "Go ahead. It's not like you need permission to raid my pantry anyway,"

Alex comes back with a bowl of stew and sits next to you on the couch. You fiddle with your phone for a bit before a ballad song playing on your home speaker. Alex starts to talk about various things as he eats, updating you about his sister Sara, his meeting in Belgium. He even lets you know what he had for lunch today. He keeps talking because he knows you're not gonna say anything.

Alex cracks open his second beer while you finish your third one and start to pour the gin into your glass. "I'll Be Over You" by Toto is playing on your speaker. Alex exasperatedly rolls his eyes, thinking that his best friend could really be dramatic sometimes. You sprawl on the couch with your feet on top of Alex's lap. "What if he's moved on?" you say after long contemplation, ready to tackle more serious conversation. "Ready" as in drunk enough to talk about it.

"Well, you face that with head held high and moved on too," Alex replies. "Easier said than done, I know."

"Big chance he doesn't want to see me anyway," you mutter to yourself. But Alex still answers you, "Maybe. Maybe not. You'll never know without going there,"

◢◤

It's been 7 months since you left Chicago and Jay Halstead still kept your last voicemail on his phone. Even when he's so mad at you, Jay never had the heart to delete it. Because somewhere deep inside, he could hear your sincerity. Jay is desperate to believe that you honestly love him and care about him.

Before Severide approached him the other day, nobody ever talked to Jay about his ex-girlfriend. Jay never apologized for pushing Adam. His friends guessed that his relationship ended, but no one ever said anything about it. His brother always abruptly changed the radio whenever your song was played on-air, acting all annoyed. But he knows Will is secretly still a fan of your music, just not in front of Jay. He thinks they're all worried that talking about you would raise his temper. But the truth is Jay misses you.

After his anger passed by, Jay could understand your position. You were left alone, befriending strangers in some city that far from home. While Jay understood that you missed home, he's still disappointed over the fact that you didn't tell him sooner. But it already happened, you made your choice. Now Jay is left with a bruised heart and silently pined over his ex.

Jay is lost in his thoughts. He jolts in surprise when he feels something cold and wet on his cheek. Jay looks up to find Will, who hands him a glass of beer. "How is the game going? Anything interesting happens when I'm gone?" Will asks Jay as he sits and looks down to the ice rink. They are at the United Center arena, watching a Blackhawks game.

"Nah, you don't miss much," Jay tells his brother. "Thanks for taking me here, man."

"It's nothing. I want to do something for your birthday, but since I have to work double shifts tomorrow, we just have to celebrate early." Will raises his glass for a toast. The brothers shout wildly during the game, chant together with other spectators in the stadium, basically having a good time. When the game is on a break, Will and Jay trade a light banter between each other. The jumbotron above plays adverts that they ignore.

"This summer, coming back to the Soldier Field Arena. We proudly present, Spring Awakening Music Festival! Featuring..."

When they hear the ad's narrator mentions "alex&y/n" Jay spontaneously looks up at the jumbotron. There was a picture of you and Alex, standing back to back, staring hard through the camera. Even with the cold gaze and unsmiling face, Jay still thought you look good. The announcement was certainly a surprise. Jay remembered when you told him that you don't like to perform in front of crowds. Now here you are, headlining a big stage. Time's changed, he thinks to himself.

Jay keeps looking at the gigantic screen, even though now it's showing another ad. If anyone asks him, Jay cannot tell what this new ad is about. His mind is busy thinking about something/someone else. Will glances at his brother and notices the tightness of Jay's shoulders. "I won't come to see them, even if they give me free tickets," he remarks wittily. Jay burst out a laugh and elbow his brother, "Thanks, man." he is grateful for his brother's understanding.

◢◤

Jay wakes up late the next morning. He spent the night listening to your podcasts and fell asleep with your voice on his ears. Seeing you on the jumbotron made him missed you more. His phone battery was drained, his alarm didn't ring. It's only because of habits from his ranger days that he woke up and gets ready in time to go to work.

Just as he walks out of his place, a delivery man is stopping him. "I got a package for Jay Halstead?"

"Yeah, that's me," Jay says distractedly, trying to recall if he orders anything online. The guy hands him a bag and a receipt form. Jay skims the paper before signing it. On the shipper box, it is stated, "Belgian Chocolatier Piron, Inc." He returns the signed form to the courier. "Thank you. Have a nice day, Sir", chirps the man. Jay pauses slightly, looking at the bag, before running to his car once remembers that he's late for work.

Once Jay arrives at the district, he puts the suspicious package on his desk. He opens the bag cautiously and pulls out a golden cardboard box with a black bow tied around it. He digs deeper into the bag but finds nothing more, no notes or cards, just this golden box.

"You got a box of Piron?! Can I have one? Please?" Jay hears Kim Burgess squeals at him.

"What the hell is a Piron?" Adam Ruzek asks loudly from behind her. Kim starts to pull the bow, but Jay moves the box away quickly. "I don't even know who it's from. We should be careful. I'll send it to the lab.."

"Is that Piron?!" Hailey Upton shrieks as she steps closer to Jay's desk.

"What? You know about this Piron too?" Adam baffles even further.

"They are like one of the best chocolatiers in town." Hailey impatiently explains to Adam. "Is it yours, Jay?" She sounds rather demanding than asking.

"Yes, it's Jay's. And he wants to bring it to the forensic lab. Unbelievable..." Kim says disapprovingly.

"I don't even know who send it! Aren't you worried if it turns out to be a bomb or a deadly virus?" Jay tries to reason to his teammates, who are now circling around him.

"What bomb?" They all jump in surprise when they hear Voight from behind them.

"Ah, it's nothing, Sarge. There are no bombs anywhere. At least not in the city of Chicago... Maybe..." Jay rambles.

"Are you gonna open that box, Halstead?" Voight cuts him off, pointing at the innocent box.

"I'm not sure, Sarge," Jay meekly admits. Voight pulls the black bow that was half undone because of Kim and opens the box gently. "Oh no, it's a bomb," Adam whispers as he hides behind Kevin Atwater but peeks over his shoulder. The girls are excitedly bouncing on their heels, seeing the rows of chocolate inside the box. Voight takes one and confidently bites into it. "You should never waste good chocolate. By the way, happy birthday, Jay." He pats Jay's shoulder before stepping toward his office. Jay gives Voight a small smile, though he still confounds about the situation.

Jay looks at the rest of the team. Hailey bites a candy on her right hand as she picks another with her left. Kim got half-bitten chocolate on her fingers. Her eyes were closed as she savors the taste. Adam's hand hovers above the box, cautiously looking at his teammates, "You girls feel okay? No dizziness, nausea, anything?" His questions were left unanswered since the girls were too busy munching.

Kevin offers Jay a handshake and continues with a quick hug, "Happy birthday, bro!" Jay clasps his shoulder, "Thanks, Kev,"

"So someone sent you this as a birthday gift, huh? Quite special, isn't it?" Kevin picks one candy from the box.

"I guess. If only I knew who sent it..." Jay wonders. He also takes one piece of chocolate and nibbles into it. The bittersweet taste suddenly reminds him of a particular someone. At the same time, his phone chirps on his desk. Jay checks his phone and finds a voice memo from an unknown, international number. He moves to a quieter place and listens to the message.

"Hi, Jay," Jay holds his breath, recognizing the voice on the other end. "It's me, y/n... I just want to wish you a happy birthday... Hope you enjoy the chocolate," He waits as you hesitate to continue. "Err... Stay safe, alright? I love you." As if just realizing what you've said, Jay hears you curse in panic, "oh shi.." and the message briskly ends.

Next on this fic : Part 11

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route22ny · 3 years

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By Timothy Snyder

Published Jan. 9, 2021 - Updated Jan. 10, 2021, 10:12 a.m. ET

When Donald Trump stood before his followers on Jan. 6 and urged them to march on the United States Capitol, he was doing what he had always done. He never took electoral democracy seriously nor accepted the legitimacy of its American version.

Even when he won, in 2016, he insisted that the election was fraudulent — that millions of false votes were cast for his opponent. In 2020, in the knowledge that he was trailing Joseph R. Biden in the polls, he spent months claiming that the presidential election would be rigged and signaling that he would not accept the results if they did not favor him. He wrongly claimed on Election Day that he had won and then steadily hardened his rhetoric: With time, his victory became a historic landslide and the various conspiracies that denied it ever more sophisticated and implausible.

People believed him, which is not at all surprising. It takes a tremendous amount of work to educate citizens to resist the powerful pull of believing what they already believe, or what others around them believe, or what would make sense of their own previous choices. Plato noted a particular risk for tyrants: that they would be surrounded in the end by yes-men and enablers. Aristotle worried that, in a democracy, a wealthy and talented demagogue could all too easily master the minds of the populace. Aware of these risks and others, the framers of the Constitution instituted a system of checks and balances. The point was not simply to ensure that no one branch of government dominated the others but also to anchor in institutions different points of view.

In this sense, the responsibility for Trump’s push to overturn an election must be shared by a very large number of Republican members of Congress. Rather than contradict Trump from the beginning, they allowed his electoral fiction to flourish. They had different reasons for doing so. One group of Republicans is concerned above all with gaming the system to maintain power, taking full advantage of constitutional obscurities, gerrymandering and dark money to win elections with a minority of motivated voters. They have no interest in the collapse of the peculiar form of representation that allows their minority party disproportionate control of government. The most important among them, Mitch McConnell, indulged Trump’s lie while making no comment on its consequences.

Yet other Republicans saw the situation differently: They might actually break the system and have power without democracy. The split between these two groups, the gamers and the breakers, became sharply visible on Dec. 30, when Senator Josh Hawley announced that he would support Trump’s challenge by questioning the validity of the electoral votes on Jan. 6. Ted Cruz then promised his own support, joined by about 10 other senators. More than a hundred Republican representatives took the same position. For many, this seemed like nothing more than a show: challenges to states’ electoral votes would force delays and floor votes but would not affect the outcome.

Yet for Congress to traduce its basic functions had a price. An elected institution that opposes elections is inviting its own overthrow. Members of Congress who sustained the president’s lie, despite the available and unambiguous evidence, betrayed their constitutional mission. Making his fictions the basis of congressional action gave them flesh. Now Trump could demand that senators and congressmen bow to his will. He could place personal responsibility upon Mike Pence, in charge of the formal proceedings, to pervert them. And on Jan. 6, he directed his followers to exert pressure on these elected representatives, which they proceeded to do: storming the Capitol building, searching for people to punish, ransacking the place.

Of course this did make a kind of sense: If the election really had been stolen, as senators and congressmen were themselves suggesting, then how could Congress be allowed to move forward? For some Republicans, the invasion of the Capitol must have been a shock, or even a lesson. For the breakers, however, it may have been a taste of the future. Afterward, eight senators and more than 100 representatives voted for the lie that had forced them to flee their chambers.

Post-truth is pre-fascism, and Trump has been our post-truth president. When we give up on truth, we concede power to those with the wealth and charisma to create spectacle in its place. Without agreement about some basic facts, citizens cannot form the civil society that would allow them to defend themselves. If we lose the institutions that produce facts that are pertinent to us, then we tend to wallow in attractive abstractions and fictions. Truth defends itself particularly poorly when there is not very much of it around, and the era of Trump — like the era of Vladimir Putin in Russia — is one of the decline of local news. Social media is no substitute: It supercharges the mental habits by which we seek emotional stimulation and comfort, which means losing the distinction between what feels true and what actually is true.

Post-truth wears away the rule of law and invites a regime of myth. These last four years, scholars have discussed the legitimacy and value of invoking fascism in reference to Trumpian propaganda. One comfortable position has been to label any such effort as a direct comparison and then to treat such comparisons as taboo. More productively, the philosopher Jason Stanley has treated fascism as a phenomenon, as a series of patterns that can be observed not only in interwar Europe but beyond it.

My own view is that greater knowledge of the past, fascist or otherwise, allows us to notice and conceptualize elements of the present that we might otherwise disregard and to think more broadly about future possibilities. It was clear to me in October that Trump’s behavior presaged a coup, and I said so in print; this is not because the present repeats the past, but because the past enlightens the present.

Like historical fascist leaders, Trump has presented himself as the single source of truth. His use of the term “fake news” echoed the Nazi smear Lügenpresse (“lying press”); like the Nazis, he referred to reporters as “enemies of the people.” Like Adolf Hitler, he came to power at a moment when the conventional press had taken a beating; the financial crisis of 2008 did to American newspapers what the Great Depression did to German ones. The Nazis thought that they could use radio to replace the old pluralism of the newspaper; Trump tried to do the same with Twitter.

Thanks to technological capacity and personal talent, Donald Trump lied at a pace perhaps unmatched by any other leader in history. For the most part these were small lies, and their main effect was cumulative. To believe in all of them was to accept the authority of a single man, because to believe in all of them was to disbelieve everything else. Once such personal authority was established, the president could treat everyone else as the liars; he even had the power to turn someone from a trusted adviser into a dishonest scoundrel with a single tweet. Yet so long as he was unable to enforce some truly big lie, some fantasy that created an alternative reality where people could live and die, his pre-fascism fell short of the thing itself.

Some of his lies were, admittedly, medium-size: that he was a successful businessman; that Russia did not support him in 2016; that Barack Obama was born in Kenya. Such medium-size lies were the standard fare of aspiring authoritarians in the 21st century. In Poland the right-wing party built a martyrdom cult around assigning blame to political rivals for an airplane crash that killed the nation’s president. Hungary’s Viktor Orban blames a vanishingly small number of Muslim refugees for his country’s problems. But such claims were not quite big lies; they stretched but did not rend what Hannah Arendt called “the fabric of factuality.”

One historical big lie discussed by Arendt is Joseph Stalin’s explanation of starvation in Soviet Ukraine in 1932-33. The state had collectivized agriculture, then applied a series of punitive measures to Ukraine that ensured millions would die. Yet the official line was that the starving were provocateurs, agents of Western powers who hated socialism so much they were killing themselves. A still grander fiction, in Arendt’s account, is Hitlerian anti-Semitism: the claims that Jews ran the world, Jews were responsible for ideas that poisoned German minds, Jews stabbed Germany in the back during the First World War. Intriguingly, Arendt thought big lies work only in lonely minds; their coherence substitutes for experience and companionship.

In November 2020, reaching millions of lonely minds through social media, Trump told a lie that was dangerously ambitious: that he had won an election that in fact he had lost. This lie was big in every pertinent respect: not as big as “Jews run the world,” but big enough. The significance of the matter at hand was great: the right to rule the most powerful country in the world and the efficacy and trustworthiness of its succession procedures. The level of mendacity was profound. The claim was not only wrong, but it was also made in bad faith, amid unreliable sources. It challenged not just evidence but logic: Just how could (and why would) an election have been rigged against a Republican president but not against Republican senators and representatives? Trump had to speak, absurdly, of a “Rigged (for President) Election.”

The force of a big lie resides in its demand that many other things must be believed or disbelieved. To make sense of a world in which the 2020 presidential election was stolen requires distrust not only of reporters and of experts but also of local, state and federal government institutions, from poll workers to elected officials, Homeland Security and all the way to the Supreme Court. It brings with it, of necessity, a conspiracy theory: Imagine all the people who must have been in on such a plot and all the people who would have had to work on the cover-up.

Trump’s electoral fiction floats free of verifiable reality. It is defended not so much by facts as by claims that someone else has made some claims. The sensibility is that something must be wrong because I feel it to be wrong, and I know others feel the same way. When political leaders such as Ted Cruz or Jim Jordan spoke like this, what they meant was: You believe my lies, which compels me to repeat them. Social media provides an infinity of apparent evidence for any conviction, especially one seemingly held by a president.

On the surface, a conspiracy theory makes its victim look strong: It sees Trump as resisting the Democrats, the Republicans, the Deep State, the pedophiles, the Satanists. More profoundly, however, it inverts the position of the strong and the weak. Trump’s focus on alleged “irregularities” and “contested states” comes down to cities where Black people live and vote. At bottom, the fantasy of fraud is that of a crime committed by Black people against white people.

It’s not just that electoral fraud by African-Americans against Donald Trump never happened. It is that it is the very opposite of what happened, in 2020 and in every American election. As always, Black people waited longer than others to vote and were more likely to have their votes challenged. They were more likely to be suffering or dying from Covid-19, and less likely to be able to take time away from work. The historical protection of their right to vote has been removed by the Supreme Court’s 2013 ruling in Shelby County v. Holder, and states have rushed to pass measures of a kind that historically reduce voting by the poor and communities of color.

The claim that Trump was denied a win by fraud is a big lie not just because it mauls logic, misdescribes the present and demands belief in a conspiracy. It is a big lie, fundamentally, because it reverses the moral field of American politics and the basic structure of American history.

When Senator Ted Cruz announced his intention to challenge the Electoral College vote, he invoked the Compromise of 1877, which resolved the presidential election of 1876. Commentators pointed out that this was no relevant precedent, since back then there really were serious voter irregularities and there really was a stalemate in Congress. For African-Americans, however, the seemingly gratuitous reference led somewhere else. The Compromise of 1877 — in which Rutherford B. Hayes would have the presidency, provided that he withdrew federal power from the South — was the very arrangement whereby African-Americans were driven from voting booths for the better part of a century. It was effectively the end of Reconstruction, the beginning of segregation, legal discrimination and Jim Crow. It is the original sin of American history in the post-slavery era, our closest brush with fascism so far.

If the reference seemed distant when Ted Cruz and 10 senatorial colleagues released their statement on Jan. 2, it was brought very close four days later, when Confederate flags were paraded through the Capitol.

Some things have changed since 1877, of course. Back then, it was the Republicans, or many of them, who supported racial equality; it was the Democrats, the party of the South, who wanted apartheid. It was the Democrats, back then, who called African-Americans’ votes fraudulent, and the Republicans who wanted them counted. This is now reversed. In the past half century, since the Civil Rights Act, Republicans have become a predominantly white party interested — as Trump openly declared — in keeping the number of voters, and particularly the number of Black voters, as low as possible. Yet the common thread remains. Watching white supremacists among the people storming the Capitol, it was easy to yield to the feeling that something pure had been violated. It might be better to see the episode as part of a long American argument about who deserves representation.

The Democrats, today, have become a coalition, one that does better than Republicans with female and nonwhite voters and collects votes from both labor unions and the college-educated. Yet it’s not quite right to contrast this coalition with a monolithic Republican Party. Right now, the Republican Party is a coalition of two types of people: those who would game the system (most of the politicians, some of the voters) and those who dream of breaking it (a few of the politicians, many of the voters). In January 2021, this was visible as the difference between those Republicans who defended the present system on the grounds that it favored them and those who tried to upend it.

In the four decades since the election of Ronald Reagan, Republicans have overcome the tension between the gamers and the breakers by governing in opposition to government, or by calling elections a revolution (the Tea Party), or by claiming to oppose elites. The breakers, in this arrangement, provide cover for the gamers, putting forth an ideology that distracts from the basic reality that government under Republicans is not made smaller but simply diverted to serve a handful of interests.

At first, Trump seemed like a threat to this balance. His lack of experience in politics and his open racism made him a very uncomfortable figure for the party; his habit of continually telling lies was initially found by prominent Republicans to be uncouth. Yet after he won the presidency, his particular skills as a breaker seemed to create a tremendous opportunity for the gamers. Led by the gamer in chief, McConnell, they secured hundreds of federal judges and tax cuts for the rich.

Trump was unlike other breakers in that he seemed to have no ideology. His objection to institutions was that they might constrain him personally. He intended to break the system to serve himself — and this is partly why he has failed. Trump is a charismatic politician and inspires devotion not only among voters but among a surprising number of lawmakers, but he has no vision that is greater than himself or what his admirers project upon him. In this respect his pre-fascism fell short of fascism: His vision never went further than a mirror. He arrived at a truly big lie not from any view of the world but from the reality that he might lose something.

Yet Trump never prepared a decisive blow. He lacked the support of the military, some of whose leaders he had alienated. (No true fascist would have made the mistake he did there, which was to openly love foreign dictators; supporters convinced that the enemy was at home might not mind, but those sworn to protect from enemies abroad did.) Trump’s secret police force, the men carrying out snatch operations in Portland, was violent but also small and ludicrous. Social media proved to be a blunt weapon: Trump could announce his intentions on Twitter, and white supremacists could plan their invasion of the Capitol on Facebook or Gab. But the president, for all his lawsuits and entreaties and threats to public officials, could not engineer a situation that ended with the right people doing the wrong thing. Trump could make some voters believe that he had won the 2020 election, but he was unable to bring institutions along with his big lie. And he could bring his supporters to Washington and send them on a rampage in the Capitol, but none appeared to have any very clear idea of how this was to work or what their presence would accomplish. It is hard to think of a comparable insurrectionary moment, when a building of great significance was seized, that involved so much milling around.

The lie outlasts the liar. The idea that Germany lost the First World War in 1918 because of a Jewish “stab in the back” was 15 years old when Hitler came to power. How will Trump’s myth of victimhood function in American life 15 years from now? And to whose benefit?

On Jan. 7, Trump called for a peaceful transition of power, implicitly conceding that his putsch had failed. Even then, though, he repeated and even amplified his electoral fiction: It was now a sacred cause for which people had sacrificed. Trump’s imagined stab in the back will live on chiefly thanks to its endorsement by members of Congress. In November and December 2020, Republicans repeated it, giving it a life it would not otherwise have had. In retrospect, it now seems as though the last shaky compromise between the gamers and the breakers was the idea that Trump should have every chance to prove that wrong had been done to him. That position implicitly endorsed the big lie for Trump supporters who were inclined to believe it. It failed to restrain Trump, whose big lie only grew bigger.

The breakers and the gamers then saw a different world ahead, where the big lie was either a treasure to be had or a danger to be avoided. The breakers had no choice but to rush to be first to claim to believe in it. Because the breakers Josh Hawley and Ted Cruz must compete to claim the brimstone and bile, the gamers were forced to reveal their own hand, and the division within the Republican coalition became visible on Jan. 6. The invasion of the Capitol only reinforced this division. To be sure, a few senators withdrew their objections, but Cruz and Hawley moved forward anyway, along with six other senators. More than 100 representatives doubled down on the big lie. Some, like Matt Gaetz, even added their own flourishes, such as the claim that the mob was led not by Trump’s supporters but by his opponents.

Trump is, for now, the martyr in chief, the high priest of the big lie. He is the leader of the breakers, at least in the minds of his supporters. By now, the gamers do not want Trump around. Discredited in his last weeks, he is useless; shorn of the obligations of the presidency, he will become embarrassing again, much as he was in 2015. Unable to provide cover for their gamesmanship, he will be irrelevant to their daily purposes. But the breakers have an even stronger reason to see Trump disappear: It is impossible to inherit from someone who is still around. Seizing Trump’s big lie might appear to be a gesture of support. In fact it expresses a wish for his political death. Transforming the myth from one about Trump to one about the nation will be easier when he is out of the way.

As Cruz and Hawley may learn, to tell the big lie is to be owned by it. Just because you have sold your soul does not mean that you have driven a hard bargain. Hawley shies from no level of hypocrisy; the son of a banker, educated at Stanford University and Yale Law School, he denounces elites. Insofar as Cruz was thought to have a principle, it was that of states’ rights, which Trump’s calls to action brazenly violated. A joint statement Cruz issued about the senators’ challenge to the vote nicely captured the post-truth aspect of the whole: It never alleged that there was fraud, only that there were allegations of fraud. Allegations of allegations, allegations all the way down.

The big lie requires commitment. When Republican gamers do not exhibit enough of that, Republican breakers call them “RINOs”: Republicans in name only. This term once suggested a lack of ideological commitment. It now means an unwillingness to throw away an election. The gamers, in response, close ranks around the Constitution and speak of principles and traditions. The breakers must all know (with the possible exception of the Alabama senator Tommy Tuberville) that they are participating in a sham, but they will have an audience of tens of millions who do not.

If Trump remains present in American political life, he will surely repeat his big lie incessantly. Hawley and Cruz and the other breakers share responsibility for where this leads. Cruz and Hawley seem to be running for president. Yet what does it mean to be a candidate for office and denounce voting? If you claim that the other side has cheated, and your supporters believe you, they will expect you to cheat yourself. By defending Trump’s big lie on Jan. 6, they set a precedent: A Republican presidential candidate who loses an election should be appointed anyway by Congress. Republicans in the future, at least breaker candidates for president, will presumably have a Plan A, to win and win, and a Plan B, to lose and win. No fraud is necessary; only allegations that there are allegations of fraud. Truth is to be replaced by spectacle, facts by faith.

Trump’s coup attempt of 2020-21, like other failed coup attempts, is a warning for those who care about the rule of law and a lesson for those who do not. His pre-fascism revealed a possibility for American politics. For a coup to work in 2024, the breakers will require something that Trump never quite had: an angry minority, organized for nationwide violence, ready to add intimidation to an election. Four years of amplifying a big lie just might get them this. To claim that the other side stole an election is to promise to steal one yourself. It is also to claim that the other side deserves to be punished.

Informed observers inside and outside government agree that right-wing white supremacism is the greatest terrorist threat to the United States. Gun sales in 2020 hit an astonishing high. History shows that political violence follows when prominent leaders of major political parties openly embrace paranoia.

Our big lie is typically American, wrapped in our odd electoral system, depending upon our particular traditions of racism. Yet our big lie is also structurally fascist, with its extreme mendacity, its conspiratorial thinking, its reversal of perpetrators and victims and its implication that the world is divided into us and them. To keep it going for four years courts terrorism and assassination.

When that violence comes, the breakers will have to react. If they embrace it, they become the fascist faction. The Republican Party will be divided, at least for a time. One can of course imagine a dismal reunification: A breaker candidate loses a narrow presidential election in November 2024 and cries fraud, the Republicans win both houses of Congress and rioters in the street, educated by four years of the big lie, demand what they see as justice. Would the gamers stand on principle if those were the circumstances of Jan. 6, 2025?

To be sure, this moment is also a chance. It is possible that a divided Republican Party might better serve American democracy; that the gamers, separated from the breakers, might start to think of policy as a way to win elections. It is very likely that the Biden-Harris administration will have an easier first few months than expected; perhaps obstructionism will give way, at least among a few Republicans and for a short time, to a moment of self-questioning. Politicians who want Trumpism to end have a simple way forward: Tell the truth about the election.

America will not survive the big lie just because a liar is separated from power. It will need a thoughtful repluralization of media and a commitment to facts as a public good. The racism structured into every aspect of the coup attempt is a call to heed our own history. Serious attention to the past helps us to see risks but also suggests future possibility. We cannot be a democratic republic if we tell lies about race, big or small. Democracy is not about minimizing the vote nor ignoring it, neither a matter of gaming nor of breaking a system, but of accepting the equality of others, heeding their voices and counting their votes.

Timothy Snyder is the Levin professor of history at Yale University and the author of histories of political atrocity including “Bloodlands” and “Black Earth,” as well as the book “On Tyranny,” on America’s turn toward authoritarianism. His most recent book is “Our Malady,” a memoir of his own near-fatal illness reflecting on the relationship between health and freedom.

***

Essay copied & pasted here in its entirety for the benefit of those stuck behind the paywall. Follow the link for the accompanying photos and captions.

#trump coup #american abyss #timothy snyder #fascism in america

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tinylilvalery · 2 years

Text

I posted 1,907 times in 2021

326 posts created (17%)

1581 posts reblogged (83%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 4.8 posts.

I added 2,110 tags in 2021

#wwdits - 553 posts

#succession - 239 posts

#fanart - 231 posts

#guillermo de la cruz - 224 posts

#colin robinson - 223 posts

#tomgreg - 160 posts

#laszlo cravensworth - 145 posts

#laszlin - 116 posts

#nandor the relentless - 115 posts

#nandermo - 104 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and misread all the characters their actions and the dynamics all for the sake of desperately saying that their character and ship are good

My Top Posts in 2021

Are we not gonna talk about the fact that Agatha was really the hero of Wandavision and that Wanda is prolly actually the biggest villain of the whole show but because it’s shown from her perspective people think that this means Wanda is the hero but she literally went to a town, enslaved all of its people and put them through hell (to the point where they were begging her to kill them). Agatha was gently trying to wake Wanda up from her self induced delusion but when that wouldn’t work (aka, Wanda knowing exactly what she was doing but still pretending everything was fine) she ditched her subtlety and forced Wanda to finally recognise what she was doing, made her reflect on why she was doing it, and then when Wanda STILL wouldn’t free the town, it was Agatha that actually set the townsfolk free. Agatha sought to take Wanda’s power because her actions had shown that not only did she not deserve her immense power, but she had used it MULTIPLE TIMES irresponsibly to the detriment of others around her with never any apology - as well as the fact that Agatha has actually studied magic and the Scarlet Witch and wants to divert the bad fate that Wanda set in motion anyway because she wanted to get back at Agatha for forcing her to wake up from her delusion and stop hurting others I guess?? And then Agatha, after saving the town, is the one that is forced to live in it under a delusion spell by Wanda, as if this whole mess was her fault and her penance to pay when it was literally all done by Wanda????????

776 notes • Posted 2021-03-06 14:17:31 GMT

Logan making Kendall suffer all season, pressuring him to leave, to cash up and fuck off,

and yet the moment when Kendall actually comes to Logan with civility, wanting to do just that, Logan denies him this. When Kendall wants to go on his own terms, because he doesn't want to be like his father - he doesn't want to be anyone, he wants to be a nobody - Logan turns and stuffs him right back into his pocket. With an abusive parent you don't get to do what you want on your own terms. You can't give up and go, you have to lie down on your back and submit to them in what way they want. And this is what it turns out that Logan wants from Kendall. It's what he got from him in season 2 and it's what he wants now. He doesn't want Kendall gone. He wants him broken and subservient to him and him alone.

837 notes • Posted 2021-12-06 02:57:49 GMT

oh she'll be just fine. let's talk.

987 notes • Posted 2021-08-31 15:22:13 GMT

tumblr_video

GETCHO FUKN DAWG MANNN

2972 notes • Posted 2021-08-11 16:22:59 GMT

underrated unhinged Guillermo moment

3753 notes • Posted 2021-10-26 01:49:41 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #crap #i hope this isnt too annoying on peoples dash #but id like it for myself\i was never expecting the brba edit to blow up sm :3 #nor the otto gifs :)))) hehehe

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

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* * * * LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

January 10, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

Unbelievably, it was only a week ago—last Sunday—that we learned Trump had called Georgia’s Secretary of State and pressured him to change the results of the 2020 election. Trump demanded that Brad Raffensperger “find” the 11,780 votes Trump needed to win Georgia. The news of the attempt to get an election official to overrule the will of the people was astonishing: at the time, it was the worst domestic attack on our democracy ever, coming, as it did, from a sitting president.

At the time.

Over the past several days, the picture of what happened on Wednesday, January 6, 2021, has become clearer, and it’s bad. While Washington, D.C., Mayor Muriel Bowser gave a press conference Wednesday night, there has been not a single official briefing from the White House, the FBI, the Department of Homeland Security, or Capitol Police.

The federal government has gone dark.

What we do know is that on Wednesday, January 6, 2021, egged on by Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani, Alabama Representative Mo Brooks, Don Jr., and especially Trump himself, Trump supporters stormed the Capitol just as Congress was meeting in joint session to confirm Democrat Joe Biden as our new president. They overpowered the Capitol Police—perhaps with the help of some of the officers—breached the doors, and smashed their way through the historic building, shouting for Vice President Mike Pence—whom Trump insisted was at fault for not overturning the count-- House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, and “traitors” who were counting the electoral votes for Biden. While many of the early pictures from inside the Capitol showed rioters gawking like tourists, ones released this weekend showed violent thugs, carrying plastic handcuffs and seeming to have information about where to find specific members of Congress. They breached the Senate chamber at 2:16, just a minute after the senators made it out.

The Capitol Police got the lawmakers to safety, but were not in control of the building. Lawmakers huddled quietly behind barricaded doors waiting for police that took hours to come. When they did arrive, they cleared the area and regained control of the Capitol. After janitors had cleaned the building, lawmakers counted the electoral votes that established Democrats Biden and Kamala Harris as the next president and vice president of the USA.

As videos have emerged and timelines been established, it has become apparent we came perilously close to seeing our elected representatives taken hostage or even executed on the makeshift gallows the rioters set up outside the building.

But here’s the thing: these were not outside insurgents; they were supporters of the Republican president. Trump enflamed the insurgents but he did not create them: years of demonizing Democrats and suggesting they must not be allowed to govern did that. As NPR reporter Kirk Siegler noted, Nevada rancher Cliven Bundy, infamous for years of standoffs with the federal government, wrote on Facebook that Trump “pointed towards Congress and nodded his head… [and said] go get the job done.” Republicans are now caught in a vise of their own making. They have to stand either with their own voters or with democracy.

The night of the attack, more than 100 Republican members of the House of Representatives and several senators, led by Josh Hawley (R-MO) and Ted Cruz (R-TX), continued to endorse Trump’s lies by voting to reject the electoral votes for Biden in key states. The next day, Trump’s supporters tried to argue that the rioters were “Antifa,” despite their Trump garb and the fact Trump invited them, incited them, urged them to go to the Capitol, and after the riot told them he loved them. (An AP investigation establishes that they were right-wing agitators.) When that didn’t take, supporters tried “whataboutism,” comparing the Black Lives Matter protests of this summer to the storming of the Capitol.

They are trying to rewrite the history of this week to downplay that we have suffered an attempted coup that killed at least five people, and that the people behind it are still in the highest levels of our government.

The realization that we are in the midst of a coup, abetted by Trump’s use of social media, prompted Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram to ban Trump permanently, and to take down QAnon accounts. That, not the Capitol attack and the murder of a police officer, has created outrage among Trump, who is allegedly “ballistic,” and Trump supporters. Republican lawmakers spent the weekend noting how many followers they were losing as Twitter took down QAnon, Nazi, and fake accounts. (Trump opponents noted that this was not actually a good thing to call attention to.) Parler has lost almost all of its supporting businesses and might go out of business itself.

Democrats are appalled by what Trump has wrought, and they are joined by plenty of Republicans. In the National Review, for example, Ed Whelan called the Capitol attack “an outrage that ought to have every genuinely patriotic American seething with anger.” He blamed Trump for inciting the attack, and said that “impeachment and conviction of Trump is an appropriate, and probably a necessary, response.”

In a powerful video, former Republican Governor of California Arnold Schwarzenegger called the Capitol attack the American equivalent to Kristallnacht, which marked the beginning of German Nazis’ systemic destruction of the Jews. To puncture the idea that the sort of behavior on display on Wednesday was manly, Schwarzenegger told the private story of his abuse at the hands of his father, who had been swept up in the Nazi movement in Austria, and celebrated the sword from his starring role in the 1982 film Conan the Barbarian as a symbol not of toxic masculinity but of democracy, tempered by adversity. He called on all Americans to rally around Biden and to work to make his administration a success.

White House appointees’ resignations show which way the wind is blowing. Trump’s former Chief of Staff Mick Mulvaney took to Fox News Sunday to say he had no idea that people might actually do something like attack the Capitol. “People took him literally,” Mulvaney told MSNBC. “I never thought I’d see that.”

Similarly, the rioters themselves, once found and arrested, are either apologizing and saying they were swept up in the moment, or denying they were part of the mob. One man apologized for his “indiscretion.”

Both Marriott, the world’s largest hotel chain, and health insurer Blue Cross Blue Shield have suspended their donations to lawmakers who voted against the counting of Biden’s electoral votes late Wednesday or early Thursday morning. The anti-Trump Lincoln Project has promised to target companies that donate to any lawmakers who voted against the counting of the electoral votes. Hitting closer to Trump, Stripe, the vendor that handles online credit card payments for Trump’s campaign, has announced it will no longer handle his account. And tonight, the Professional Golfers Association of America Board of Directors took the 2022 PGA Championship away from Trump Bedminster, his New Jersey club.

At the end of last week, Democratic leaders set out a three-part plan to punish the president for inciting an insurrection. They gave Pence an option to begin the process of invoking the 25th Amendment, which, considering the president had tried to get him killed, was not necessarily a long shot. Pence refused. They gave McConnell the weekend to convince Trump to resign. Trump refused. They announced that, if both of those things failed, they would begin impeachment proceedings on Monday.

McConnell promptly noted that the Senate could not take up such a proceeding until the day before Biden’s inauguration at the earliest. He is bargaining. It is possible to hold an impeachment trial even after a president is out of office, but he knows that Biden does not want the beginning of his term crowded with more Trump business, especially as coronavirus is raging and Biden wants to get it under control. McConnell doesn’t want Republicans to have to vote either for or against the president because such a vote will slice the Republicans in two and make it clear that some of them stand for insurrection. In the Senate, only Republicans Mitt Romney (R-UT), Lisa Murkowski (R-AK), and Pat Toomey (R-PA) have endorsed impeachment.

McConnell is hoping Pelosi will blink and the moment will pass.

She will not, and it will not. She notes, correctly, that the president is “an imminent threat” to “our Constitution and our Democracy,” and she is trying to give the Republicans cover to do the right thing. Tonight, she announced that the House tomorrow will begin proceedings on a resolution by Representative Jamie Raskin (D-MD) calling on Pence to mobilize the Cabinet to activate the 25th Amendment within 24 hours. If he declines, the House will turn to impeachment. She has asked for unanimous consent for the resolution to enable the Republicans to avoid a vote. If they refuse, the measure will go forward the next day anyway.

She also fired a shot across the bow of Republican lawmakers by asking her colleagues for their views on the third section of the 14th Amendment, the one that prohibits anyone who “shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion” against the United States, “or given aid or comfort to the enemies thereof,” from serving in Congress.

As I watch Republican lawmakers try to slip away from the crisis they have made, I think of Black Capitol Police Officer Eugene Goodman, armed only with a nightstick, luring the insurgents in the wrong direction to buy the time Senators needed to escape with their lives.

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#sedition #national emergency #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #insurrection #political #election 2020 #corrupt GOP #criminal GOP

23 notes · View notes

ambitionsource · 3 years

Photo

AMBITION Season 3 ♫ “Can You Dig It?” [ 3.07 ]

CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3

STAYIN’ ALIVE – After an unfortunate accident, the A class finds themselves working double time to fund their showdown performance. Charlie struggles to balance the past and the present, and Maya makes a desperate move. Farkle receives news that changes his life forever.

70 Minutes (33K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← The Comfort Zone ] [ S3 Synopsis ] [ Moment of Truth → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Music plays over the sound system, setting a comfortable and fun scene while most of the A class works together on the auditorium stage. The performers are working through showdown choreography or helping put the finishing touches on set pieces for the production, while the techies are split between those set pieces, the beginning of structures for their upcoming winter musical, and tweaking the lights. JEFF MONROE is up on the catwalk out of sight, NATE MARTINEZ perched on top of a scaffolding and passing him requested tools. DAVE WILLIAMS is balancing on a ladder against the scaffolding, helping hand things to Nate from below.

MAYA HART has taken over as dance captain, shouting commands at her classmates still running through steps. ZAY BABINEAUX watches from on top of the major set piece they’re building at center stage for the musical, unimpressed and maybe a bit envious. His injured left leg is now in a boot, wheelchair gone.

The conversation varies, from the impending showdown finals to college application deadlines. Everything is coming down the pipeline at record speed, right towards them, and they have to juggle it all at once. RILEY MATTHEWS glances around and asks where Jade is, which ISADORA DE LA CRUZ answers.

Isadora: She’s been locked up in the costume loft basically since last week. The deadline for her conservatory and apprenticeship programs is closing in, so she’s been working basically non-stop.

Maya: How does she not have enough samples already? Hasn’t she made everything we’ve ever worn in this school for the last three years?

A fair question, but it doesn’t get addressed. They’re all distracted by a new song coming on shuffle, playing loudly over the speakers.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Wonderland” as performed by Earth, Wind & Fire || Instrumental

Although the track is an undeniable bop, the assembled A class seniors don’t seem impressed. They all quickly pipe up to complain, calling for someone to skip it.

Darby: Where’s Jeff? Jeff! Hit skip!

Jeff, from above: A little busy right now!

Maya: Well someone better go change it!

Haley: And risk getting killed by Lucas because we dared enter the booth? No thanks.

Maya: Fair point. Riley, go change it.

Riley, in the midst of rolling paint on a set piece, raises her free arm in a shrug. Also a little busy. Zay shakes his head.

Zay: What is wrong with all of you? None of you have taste. Disco is classic. You should respect the excellence that came before you.

Maya: Sorry I’m not still living in the 20th century. It’s 2020, Zayby. Disco is dead.

Zay: You absolutely disgust me. If my foot wasn’t booted --

NIGEL CHEY finally relents amidst all their complaints, claiming he’ll risk his life to go change it if it will get them all to shut up.

For now, though, the boogie wonderland is ongoing. FARKLE MINKUS uses the opportunity to pick on Isadora, loosely disco grooving around her and trying to poke her into joining him. She laughs but tells him to cut it out, and when he gets too close, she playfully shoves him away.

Only she’s stronger than she looks, and he’s a beanpole, so she overshoots and pushes him a bit too hard. Farkle goes stumbling backwards -- right into the ladder that’s holding up Dave. Isadora yanks Farkle back just as the ladder falls out from under Dave, just missing Nigel, clattering to the stage next to them and creating a dent.

Dance! Boogie wonderland!

A bunch of the seniors cry out, scrambling away, now watching in horror as Dave dangles from the side of the scaffolding a dozen or so feet above the ground. He almost loses his grip, seconds from falling, and Maya screams. She backs away frantically and knocks into a paint can, spilling metallic silver paint all over their perfectly crisp black stage and splattering CLARISSA CRUZ, DARBY WINTERS, and SARAH CARLSON.

Ah! Ah! Dance!

Jeff and a couple of performers start shouting directives at Dave, trying to save him from a nasty fall off the scaffolding. Nate tries to pull him up, but it’s no use -- Dave is the giant after all, and Nate’s guns aren’t that swoll. Riley hides behind her hands, peeking through her fingers and unable to look away.

Riley: Oh my God, he’s gonna die.

Isadora takes over directing from below, instructing Dave to change trajectory and aim for the curtains to orient himself. Jeff objects to that, citing the integrity of the curtain pulley system, but he’s shouted down by the performers jumping on Isadora’s suggestion. Suddenly, everyone is yelling at Dave to go for the curtains, so that’s what he does.

Jeff: No, don’t -- !

All… the… love in the world can’t be gone!

Dave manages to latch onto the main curtain -- but it’s all downhill from there. That curtain is about as useless as Nate, and the pulley system holding it upright can only sustain so much weight (curtains are a lot heavier than they look). So the moment Dave latches on, it buckles underneath him, and seconds later the whole thing comes down in a spectacular show of destruction.

The A class scatters to avoid it, ducking down and covering their heads. Clarissa pulls HALEY FISHER down behind a set piece with her for cover; Farkle yanks Isadora out of the way and shields her behind him. Zay screws his eyes shut and hides behind his knee, thankfully a safe distance away. Then the dust settles, stunned silence giving way to the continuing groovy sounds of Earth, Wind, & Fire.

Riley pokes her head out from behind the set piece she was painting first, eyeing the heap of curtains and rods on the dented stage floor. She swallows.

Riley: … Dave?

For a moment, nothing but tense silence… from above, Nate releases a gasp.

Nate: Holy shit, we’ve killed him.

Then Dave emerges, pushing some dense drapery off of him and pushing himself into a sitting position. He seems dazed, but otherwise uninjured.

Jeff: Oh, thank God.

Isadora: Dave… you good buddy?

Dave blinks, then offers a thumbs up. Everyone releases a sigh of relief… just as SHAWN HUNTER and HARPER BURGESS enter into the scene of chaos, having rushed in after hearing the commotion from down the hall. In the opposite wings, LUCAS JAMES FRIAR returns with DYLAN ORLANDO and ASHER GARCIA, all of whom stop dead in their tracks when they set their eyes on the disaster they’ve stumbled into. Asher’s jaw drops open; Dylan drops the toolbox he was carrying.

Whoopsie. Boogie wonderland…

From his perch atop the set piece, Zay breaks the silence, shaking his head.

Zay: Shoulda never dissed disco.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

JACK HUNTER is seated at his desk, working to maintain a neutral composure as HARRISON YANCY paces his office. He’s haughty and on offense, demanding to know what happened with the auditorium and grilling Jack for details. Of all the things he planned to tangle with at Adams, vandalism and destruction of school property was not at the top of the list.

Yancy: But, then, I suppose I should’ve anticipated such a turn of events. Considering you’ve struggled with reining in destruction before, and insisted so vehemently on keeping problematic entities in your student roll -- and now they’re student leadership, in fact!

Jack: He had nothing to do with this. Lucas wasn’t even in the auditorium when it happened --

Yancy: How convenient for him.

Jack: And it was an accident. No ill intent involved. It was an accident, and all of the damage is repairable. The curtains can be fixed and replaced, the dents in the stage can be filled, and the spilled paint can be removed or painted over in turn. I think we should be more concerned with the lucky reality that no one was hurt.

Yancy: [ ignoring that point ] The damage is repairable, yes, but it won’t be free. And I certainly won’t approve its reparation on the school’s dime.

Jack points out that such a decision isn’t his to make -- he’s still the principal of Adams. And that’s true enough, but as Yancy effortlessly counters, he remains under close watch. That’s the reason Yancy is present in the first place. Every decision Jack makes is under scrutiny, and a figurative nod of approval from him matters. Jack must be wise enough to realize that.

Jack, begrudgingly: So what, then?

Yancy: So, it seems to me that the A class will have to proffer the money to pay for the damages on their own.

Jack: That’s ridiculous. They’re students, not entrepreneurs. And they’re already scrambling to raise money for their showdown performance, not to mention ways to bolster their scholarship initiative since you voted to deny them funding at the board level.

Yancy: Then they must be experts at it. What’s one more money-making effort? At least it’s teaching them meaningful life skills -- budgeting, consequences, the value of a dollar. All very sensible lessons to learn… something you used to complain this institution lacked at the same time you were decrying the actions of students you now fruitlessly defend, if I recall correctly.

Well, you got him there, Yancy. Jack deflates, knowing there’s no logical path out of this. Yancy has him cornered, and the more he invites reminders about how he used to be or the ways he’s already fumbled, the graver his prospects grow. Yancy emphasizes this as he makes his exit.

Yancy: We at the board used to hold you in high esteem, Jackson. We saw great things in your future. Now, with all these foolish mistakes... let’s hope that all your promise hasn’t dissolved with the Hunter I used to know.

The threat is buried deep beneath the thinly-veiled condescension, hidden in a simple choice of plural. Mistakes. This battle is just one in a long, growing list Yancy is keeping against him.

Like he could ever forget it. Jack releases a heavy sigh after Yancy leaves his office, slouching in his chair.

Lucas, pre-lap: I shouldn’t be surprised. This might as well happen.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Riley listens attentively as Lucas paces the booth, busying himself with gathering stuff for class for the sake of moving. Although his tone is sarcastic and indifferent, the weight of his words indicates he’s far from it.

Lucas: It’s not like I don’t already have enough to focus on, between the usual bullshit and the fundraising for showdown -- a showdown that we have to win if we want any chance of the scholarship thing actually taking off. That on top of the college applications I wasn’t planning on doing three months ago but now have to make really good, because suddenly I have dreams or whatever, even though I’m basically the most rejectable candidate on the east coast.

Riley: Okay, you know that’s not true.

Lucas: Fine. Most rejectable candidate in the greater Manhattan area.

Riley: You literally won an election.

Lucas: And the world is still wondering how and why.

Riley rolls her eyes, but she is sympathetic. She agrees that the stage accident was definitely an unexpected speed bump on everything they’ve got going on, but they’ll figure out how to handle it. There’s no way it’s going to be entirely on them, anyway, and they don’t even know how much damage was actually done yet.

She takes the opportunity to broach another topic, though, easing into a deeper conversation about college. She asks how his applications are going, which he claims are fine, in spite of the stress surrounding it.

Lucas: The only stuff I’ve got left are recommendations and personal essays. And I know I’m fucked on the recs considering you’re supposed to ask for those months in advance, and I know no one impressive, least of all who would sing my praises.

Riley: You could always ask my dad for a recommendation. I’m sure he’d have glowing things to say. Instant acceptance, I bet.

Lucas, flatly: You are hilarious. It’s no mystery how you managed to reel me in.

Riley: Well, that and my effortless charm and insanely dazzling visage.

Lucas gives her a look, but to be fair, he doesn’t argue her on it. She simply beams in response, sliding closer to him and halting his pacing by taking his hands.

Lucas: Honestly, I’m not really stuck on the recommendations. I think I’m going to ask Joe for one, because he can at least speak to my work ethic or whatever, and the other… I mean, it’s whatever. I’ll figure it out.

Riley: But…?

Lucas: But… I don’t know. With the rest of the app…

It’s clear there’s something else he’s really stuck on. Riley starts to offer him advice, or maybe just encouragement, but they’re interrupted by a knock on the booth door. Jeff appears moments later at the stairs.

Jeff: Class is starting. Judgment day is upon us.

Lucas and Riley share an apprehensive look, then follow the lighting technician out of the booth.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Harper, Shawn, and ERIC MATTHEWS are on the stage, assessing the damage while the A class gathers in the front and center section. The destroyed curtain has been removed, the pock marks in the stage even more visible in its absence.

ANGELA MOORE emerges from the wings, Janitor HARLEY KEINER in tow. She’s just barely starting to show her pregnancy, but the flowy tops she’s wearing now conceal it fairly well.

Harley: Old curtain’s out back. Trash company will be by this afternoon to take it away.

Angela: I have to say, I picked a great day to stop by and visit. Never a dull moment.

Harper: Girl, tell me about it.

Angela laughs knowingly. Been there, queen. Eric and Shawn turn their attention to the seniors, coming towards the front of the stage.

Eric: Who wants to explain what exactly happened?

A whole bunch of them immediately launch into retellings, talking over each other and definitely exaggerating elements of the story. The camera jumps around to each of them, catching snippets of their perspective.

Sarah: If Jeff had just changed the song --

Jeff: I was in the catwalk!

Nate: So Jeff’s up in the catwalk, and Dave is handing me shit -- I mean, uh, stuff -- on the scaffolding --

Darby: Isadora pushed Farkle --

Isadora: I lightly nudged Farkle --

Maya: Farkle is like a house of cards and all it takes is a little wind to knock him over, so he goes flying into the ladder --

Clarissa: Paint splatters --

Yindra: The ladder goes crashing down and nearly takes off Nigel’s head --

Jade: Oh my God, what?

Nigel, pointedly: No, it did not. [ softer, to Jade ] No, it didn’t.

Yindra: It did.

Haley: Not like the curtains almost took out Dave!

Yogi: This class is a circus act.

Eric holds up a hand to halt them all, waving them down. He can’t figure out what any of them are saying when they all talk at once, so he asks for a volunteer to give the rundown. A few hands up go up, but Eric wisely selects Zay.

He pulls himself to his feet, gingerly, for the effect. Then he clears his throat, speaking plainly and matter-of-fact.

Zay: Farkle got knocked into the ladder. Ladder falls, dents stage. Dave almost falls, Nate is no help --

Nate: Whoa, okay then. Hater.

Zay: Maya stumbles back and knocks silver paint can over. Performers tell Dave to grab curtain, Jeff objects --

Jeff: Justice. Thank you.

Zay: Dave does anyway, whole thing comes down. Also, no one in this class has taste and for that they evoked the wrath of God. But apparently God can’t kill Dave Williams.

Dylan: So metal.

Eric: Thank you, Zay.

Zay does a pithy salute, lowering back into his seat. Harper goes on to explain the total damages done by the incident as well as relay the total cost of the repairs -- without saying a definitive sum, suffice to say it’s not cheap.

The A class immediately breaks into chatter again, trying to divert blame off themselves. Shawn notices one student doesn’t seem particularly vexed -- in fact, he appears to be laughing to himself behind his hand.

Shawn: I’m sorry, Friar, do you find this funny?

Lucas: What? Oh, no, no. Very serious business. [ clearing his throat ] It’s just… it’s so nice to not be the one responsible for once.

The performers immediately boo him. He simply smiles. CHAI FRESCO is the one who manages to redirect the conversation.

Chai: What exactly is he doing here?

All eyes turn to Janitor Harley, who stands sheepishly next to the faculty. Harper says she’s glad Chai asked, claiming that if anyone deserves an apology for what they did today, it would be him. He puts a lot of effort and care into maintaining their sacred space, this auditorium, and the damage done today walks all over that.

Darby: It really was an accident.

Harley: No hard feelings, Miss Winters. Mighty nice as it was for Harper and Shawn to invite me here, rest assured I know there was no ill intent or disrespect. And I can assure you that with the time and proper resources, we will return this stage to tip-top shape in no time.

Maya: Lovely. Problem solved then, no?

Eric: Not quite. You do still have an assignment to attend to, especially as it’s your last major one before finals.

Harper: Since it is a weird time in the calendar and we don’t want to barrel another assignment next week right before showdown, Shawn and I agreed that this assignment would be a two-week stretch, and ideally lower stakes.

Shawn: Even better now, considering how you all just doubled pressure on your own.

Harper: And since you’ve also in turn given Harley more pressure and work to attend to in this time, we thought it only fair that he decide your focus for the project.

With that, they pass the floor over to Harley again to make his declaration. The performers don’t seem all that unnerved -- it’s Harley Keiner. What’s the worst he could do? Clean-up anthems? He clears his throat, clasping his biker-gloved hands together.

Harley: When I’m in a particularly rough spot, or working through a grueling task, I have always found that a little music can really liven the task.

Yogi: [ under his breath ] Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere…

Harley: But nothing gets me more fired up, ready to take on a challenge or dance to the beat, than some classic tunes from my early youth. And I’ll tell you kids, no one knew music better than the radio hits of my day.

Slowly, the possibility begins to dawn on the A class what decree awaits them. Dylan is counting backwards on his fingers, trying to calculate just how old Harley actually is, but Asher next to him has beaten him to it.

Asher: Oh no.

Harley: Ladies and gentleboys, we’ll be taking it back to the ‘70s this week for your musical assignments.

Dun dun dun. The A class expresses their obvious disdain. Well, all except Zay, who cracks a smug grin.

Zay: Heh heh… karma.

There’s only more grim news. Considering the stage is going to be undergoing repairs thanks to all this, they’re all essentially ousted from the auditorium for the time being. No sense practicing or rehearsing in a space that’s going to be under construction. JADE BEAMON sits up straighter, shooting her hand in the air.

Jade: We can still access the lofts, right? Like, I can get in the costume loft --

Eric: Yes, all the technical spaces, as well as the dressing rooms, are still fair game. But stay away from the stage.

Harper: And you might not get much work done when they’re doing things like drilling and hammering, so be forewarned.

Haunting… Jade hides in her hands, already stressed. Nigel tentatively pats her on the shoulder.

So yeah, all in all, some unideal circumstances right before some of the most important events of their high school career.

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Maya is in surprisingly good spirits in spite of the financial issues confronting the class, preening and showing off Valerie’s faux fur coat. She wears it effortlessly, entertaining Darby, Sarah, and a crop of underclassmen at a table as she shares the tale of her and Valerie’s instant starlit bond. When Darby reaches out to feel the coat, Maya quickly smacks her hand away.

Maya: You’re welcome and encouraged to look, but no touchie. Golden diva rule.

A couple of tables over, Riley and Isadora watch her showboating with amusement. Riley claims it was really generous of Isadora to give her the coat, but she shrugs it off.

Isadora: Seriously, she’s way more at home in it than I would ever be. Can you ever see me pulling that off?

Riley: I think you can deliver any design you endeavor, you know that. [ off her raised eyebrow ] But yeah, a bit out of your element. Ironically, maybe.

Isadora: Even that’s a stretch. But it really wasn’t a hard decision. As much as it inflates her ego, my mom did see something in her. Maya can use it as a bragging tool all she wants, and people probably won’t believe her because of it, but they probably would be in cahoots if Val were still here. [ a beat ] A lot of things were going to happen if she were here.

Oof. Riley senses the gloom impending, searching for a quick change of subject. She asks if Isadora found anything else cool in the boxes from the estate.

Isadora pauses, mouth parted open. The answer is plenty -- including the mystery hidden way deep down underneath everything else. But for whatever reason, she hesitates explaining what she found.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to respond anyway. Dylan swoops into their conversation, dropping down into the seat next to Riley and smacking a piece of paper onto the table. It’s a flyer for scheme one of their fundraising efforts: a community dance, now officially ‘70s themed. Isadora turns it around to get a better look at the very bright poster.

Dylan: Hot off the presses, ladies. Another instant classic from the one and only ambassador of public relational fun and enthusiasm, comma right hand advisor, comma prime minister of the techies and secretary of kissing, mainly to the secretary and official marketing and communications director for the Friar administration.

Isadora: Colorful…

Dylan: Shout-out to Harley for basically choosing our theme for us. We’d been sitting on it for ages because Asher and Maya kept fighting over it.

Isadora: Really? What theme ideas could possibly be worth scrapping over?

Dylan: Nothing. Neither of them actually had an idea. I think they just automatically hate anything that comes out of the others’ mouth.

Isadora: Wow, just like a real body politic.

Riley excitedly swipes the flyer, praising Dylan for his enthusiastic design. She snaps a picture of it on her phone and explains she’s texting it to Charlie.

Riley: I’m so pumped for this. Disco isn’t my favorite thing, but it is fun.

Dylan: Bouncy.

Isadora: Jaunty.

Dylan: Ooh, thesaurus bonus.

Dylan and Isadora exchange a quick high five. Riley beams at them, then continues.

Riley: Besides, with how extremely crazy everything is right now between college apps and showdown and now this fundraising debacle, I think it’ll give all of us some much-needed serotonin. A nice evening of… disco dopamine.

Dylan: Oh, you know you just wanna see Lucas in some sick bellbottoms.

Isadora: [ with a gag ] God… please, I’m sitting right here...

Riley shoves Dylan playfully, then reiterates the point. It will be fun. A nice, well-deserved stress reliever after working their asses off these next couple weeks.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

And boy howdy, that could not be truer for Jade. She is in full frenzy mode, skipping lunch and hunkered down in the costume loft to work. It seems like she’s been there for days, her space under the loft essentially a nest of costuming supplies, her belongings, and discarded snack containers. Her hair is a mess of tangles falling half out of a ponytail, three different tape measures are draped around her neck like graduation cords, and she’s wearing an old button up paint smock about 3 sizes too large that only exacerbates the crazed hermit energy.

Asher and Jeff listen as she multitasks on cataloguing some of her projects and marks another in progress on the table in front of her, the former visibly disconcerted by Jade’s general state of being while the latter seems mainly tickled. She speaks around a pin caught between her lips as she explains the reason for the chaos -- college applications are due right around the corner, as are apprenticeship applications, and she needs to have all her portfolio pieces in perfect condition before she hits that submit button.

Asher: Again, I know this is hypocritical coming from me, but girl you need to relax.

Jade snaps her head up to glare at him, even scarier with that pin in her mouth. She removes it to stick something down while Jeff asks her what she has left to do. Apparently, she’s just about done after days of relentless work, so she’s on her last application assignment now: pick a decade and create a sampling of as many unique -- but historically accurate -- costumes as possible in her designer’s mind.

Jade: Luckily, Janitor Harley did me the favor of having to pick a decade. If we’re doing ‘70s stuff this week anyway, then we’ll probably need costumes, so I can knock out two birds with one stone.

Jeff: I don’t know if I’d say need…

Asher: Yeah, with the auditorium boarded up for the time being I doubt we’ll be doing any major productions.

Jade: With Maya and Farkle, you can never be too careful.

Case in point, she is way too swamped to even think about the fundraising bullshit. She feels bad, but there’s no way she can split her time. Jeff and Asher assure her it’s no big deal.

Jeff: I think the performers will let you off the hook considering you’ve made… every single costume they’ve ever worn since freshman year.

Asher: Least they could do.

Jeff: Yeah. You deserve a week off!

Jeff’s turn to receive the Jade Beamon death glare. He clears his throat, scratching his ear.

Jeff: Well, you know… not for you, but...

Jade stabs the pin cushion pointedly.

Zay, pre-lap: I guess if my clear eternal damnation is good for anything, it gets me out of fundraising to fix another problem caused by Farkle and the Pips.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Zay and Nigel are taking their lunch in the boys dressing room, both on their laptops while they eat. They’re working on finalizing college application stuff, Zay sitting on the counter with his injured foot propped up while Nigel is leaning against the mirrors on the floor.

Nigel: Guess it’s worth it then.

Zay: Ha ha, so funny. If I could afford to move, I would kill you for being such a damn comedian.

Nigel: I’m more of a tragedies man myself. [ a beat ] What are you planning to do, exactly? For the applications.

Zay: [ with a sigh ] Just putting the pieces together and hoping for the best. Thank fuck I recorded a couple runs of my routine when I was going through my obsessive drills at the start of the year.

Nigel: Glad Diva Zay was good for something.

Zay: They’re not as polished as I want, but they’ll do. Not like I have any other options. I’m just going to convince myself via self-hypnosis that they’ll see the rough edges as loose, natural charm. Between that and other samples I have from shows and recitals and West Side Story, all I can do is hope that’s enough. And if I get far enough to book an audition… I’ll be better by then.

He says it like a guarantee -- he can’t consider the alternative. Nigel isn’t sure how to respond, but he’s spared from figuring it out as they’re interrupted by YINDRA AMINO entering with a few showdown costumes to replace on the rack. All of them freeze as they glance at one another, Yindra and Zay holding one another’s gaze for a few moments longer. Then Yindra brushes past the awkwardness, shrugging and focusing on the costume rack.

Yindra: No need to go on defense, boys. I’m only here on business.

She keeps her eyes on her task. Nigel picks up the conversational slack, explaining that they were discussing their college applications. He asks how Yindra is doing in plotting her college plans, as last they talked she didn’t have much set in stone.

Yindra, matter-of-fact: I’ll be applying to a couple of schools as a safety net, but my main trajectory remains Los Angeles. The current plan right now is to skip over the bureaucracy of academics I don’t care about and go out there to start striking while the iron is hot. Talent speaks for itself.

Nigel, ever the pragmatist, still seems uneasy about such a plan, but it’s Zay who beats him to the punch. He breaks the silence between him and Yindra with a snort, tone teasing but friendly.

Zay: Straight to Los Angeles with no foundation? Now that’s just asking for trouble, and that’s coming from a diva like me. Haven’t you seen Fame?

Maybe that kind of friendly fire passes when they’re on good terms, but it falls flat now. Yindra stiffens her shoulders, giving Zay a diva glare of her own.

Yindra: [ without looking at him ] Nigel, will you please inform Zay that despite what his superiority complex might think, I’m not an idiot?

Nigel: Oh, um --

Zay: Come on, Yindra. I didn’t mean it like that.

Yindra: And Zay might find it interesting to know that my dad is considering moving to Los Angeles as well, if I plan to be out there, so I don’t see how I’m swinging with no foundation. And I’ll be using the money that we would’ve wasted on tuition for studio time to record a demo, so there is in fact a method behind the madness. Just because I’m not following the same musty, beaten path as everyone else doesn’t mean I’m not on any path at all. [ haughtily ] And even in spite of his broke attitude, I wish him all the best with his less-than-ideal circumstances. Least of all this week -- I’m sure not being able to show off while he discos is simply killing him. Thanks for letting him know, Nigel.

Nigel: … you’re welcome...

With that, Yindra spins on her heel and exits. Zay rolls his eyes, but it’s clear that the state of their friendship is really bothering him. Nigel awkwardly attempts to move past it, commenting that the two of them are about as dramatic as a Shakespearean comedy of errors before coming back to Yindra’s closing point.

Nigel: It’s a shame about this assignment though. You’re probably the only one in our class who could truly thrive this week.

Zay smiles half-heartedly, both of them focusing back on their computers. After a moment, his smile dims.

Zay: Didn’t use to be…

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - HALLWAY - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER is at his locker, reading the texts from Riley. He pulls up the photo of the flyer for the dance fundraiser, boasting the disco theme for the end of the semester in all its groovy glory.

Yes, it is a tragedy that Charlie isn’t there to participate. Another disco gay, barred from the dance floor. It’s clear from his expression that he’s bummed about it.

He’s only pulled out of his fugue when EVAN SCOTT approaches. He pats him on the shoulder as he passes and asks if he’s ready for rehearsal. With senior showdown finals so close around the corner, Brandon is going to be drilling them more than ever. Now it’s game time for real.

Charlie nods, putting his phone away and shutting his locker to follow him. But that melancholy still lingers in his features.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

But he’s not the only one grappling with an unideal situation. Lucas is the king of that, settled in his usual chair across from Jack, only this time he’s not alone. Maya has been called in with him, the two of them waiting uncertainly as Jack prepares to share why he brought them in.

And the reason for his apprehension is obvious once he says it. He finally breaks the news to them that the school board declined to fund their scholarship initiative -- and that’s not even the worst part.

Maya: Nothing?

Lucas: They’re not going to contribute anything?

Jack: I know, it’s disappointing. To be honest, I was anticipating at least a partial donation, but for whatever reason it was shot down wholesale. It was close, though.

Maya: Well. That’s just lovely. Could the state of the AAA union get any more despicable?

Jack: To put it simply? Yes.

Uh oh. Jack reluctantly informs them of the other bomb blowing up their administration -- that Yancy has insisted they pay for the damages to the auditorium since their class caused it. Both Lucas and Maya erupt in complaints, the latter literally leaping out of her chair and launching into a frantic pace behind it. She fans herself, taking deep breaths.

Maya: Okay. This is fine. No money, no problems. It’s fine. It’s fine!

Jack: … Miss Hart?

Maya stops behind her vacated seat, gripping the back of it. She takes in a deep breath, holds it, and releases it theatrically. Then she opens her eyes, plastering on her winning star smile.

Maya: It’s okay. Yes, everything is fine. The situation is unideal, in a word --

Lucas: More like bullshit.

Maya: Also a word. But money and I have been tussling my whole career. It won’t be getting the best of me now. We’ll come up with another way to fundraise alongside the dance social and then we will win showdown and absolutely everything will work out exactly how I want it to. It always does.

Jack: That so?

Maya: Thanks to the two powers that be, Principal Hunter -- star and will. And I’ve got both in spades. [ another breath ] Okay, damage control. Need new ideas. Gotta pool resources… brainstorm. I need to brainstorm. I’m thinking… I’m scheming...

Maya hums, entering zen diva mode as she gathers her things. She backs out of the office and assures Lucas she’ll update him as soon as she’s figured out their second moneymaker. Once she’s gone, Lucas and Jack wait a moment to let the Maya pheromones dissipate before continuing the conversation.

Jack: Say what you will about her, can’t pretend she doesn’t have moxie. An interesting choice to partner with you.

Lucas: Believe it or not -- and I’ll deny it if you tell anyone -- I think she’s the best second-in-command I could’ve picked. Somehow her brand of insanity is just right for the Minesweeper that is Triple A student government.

Hard to argue with that. Jack apologizes again for the fact that so much seems to be piling on him at once. He really did think they would get more help from the board… but they’ll keep marching on regardless. The initiative is worth fighting for, and besides, their fundraisers could really outsell their expectations. Especially with a theme like disco, their dance will probably be a smashing success. Lucas can’t help but smirk.

Lucas: Yeah, you’d know all about that, huh? Bet you were just a disco king back in your day.

Jack, flatly: How old do you think I am to have been discoing in the ‘70s?

Cheekiness notwithstanding, the prospects seem good. Not all hope is lost. Jack switches gears, checking in with how Lucas is doing on his applications with deadlines fast approaching. Lucas gives the same general response he gave Riley, tiptoeing around the challenge of the essay component and focusing on the fact that he might get it done at all. Now that it’s so close, it feels more and more daunting… not to mention all the other pressure that seems to be landing on top of him right at the same time.

Jack hears that, and dismisses Lucas so he has time to go deal with all those pressures. Before he walks out, Lucas pauses and turns back for one more thing. He struggles to articulate it since asking for any sort of help feels like specialized torture, but he manages to ask if Jack would be willing to write him a letter of recommendation for the applications. The request surprises Jack, which Lucas reads as discomfort.

Lucas: I know it’s like, pretty last minute and stuff. And there probably isn’t a lot to say about me, so it’ll take some work to throw something compelling together. I should’ve asked sooner, or like, bothered someone else. So I totally get it if you don’t have time or have too much to do or just, you know, don’t want to --

Jack is far from opposed, though. In fact, he’s touched by the request, expression softening to a smile.

Jack: Lucas. [ waiting for him to quiet ] I’d be happy to write one for you. It’s no problem at all.

Lucas: … okay. Cool. Um, thanks.

Jack: You’re quite welcome.

Lucas: I’ll send over the links and stuff later. Today. Later today. So it’s not any later.

Jack: Whatever works for you.

Lucas: Okay… okay. Cool.

Any more bashful vulnerability and Lucas just might implode. He mutters one more quick thanks and scampers away, Jack holding back his amusement long enough to spare Lucas further embarrassment. He chuckles to himself as he shifts back to his work, shaking his head.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Surrounded by various textbooks and scripts and with her laptop propped in front of her, Isadora sits on her bed. A half-finished essay about how the horror genre has developed over the years is open on her screen, but has been entirely abandoned in favor of the mysterious letter Valerie had in her belongings. Isadora holds several handwritten pages, eyebrows furrowed as she reads her mother’s words. She moves the first page to the side, and we catch a glimpse of Val’s loopy handwriting:

Dearest Zachary,

How lovely it is to hear from an old friend! I’m so glad that you’re doing well. Send my well wishes to that darling wife of yours.

To answer your question, I wasn’t entirely sure of who Isadora’s father was when I discovered I was pregnant -- as you well know, I often got rather drunk back then, so couldn’t be entirely sure of all my actions. However, upon reflection, I have come to the same conclusion as you.

Well, damn. Heavy stuff, even if somewhat rose-tinted through Valerie’s flowery language. Isadora bites her lip as she continues reading, clearly conflicted about this sudden revelation.

Eric, off-screen: Dinner’s ready!

Isadora doesn’t seem to hear Eric’s yell, so after a moment, Eric comes to her room to tell her directly. She still doesn’t look up from the letter, peaking Eric’s interest.

Eric: What are you reading?

Isadora: Hm? Oh, nothing.

She folds up the papers and shoves them under one of her notebooks nearby, giving Eric a small forced smile. He narrows his eyes at her, jokingly suspicious, which Isadora laughs off. She hops off her bed and asks what’s for dinner, successfully distracting him.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - DAY

Farkle is meeting with DR. MICHELLE HAN, assembled in their usual positions with her in her arm chair and him sprawled across the couch. He’s relaying the drama of the week and his unfortunate instrumental role in all the destruction, though at least this time it was far from intentional. But it’s clear he feels guilty about it, and he admits that his uncanny knack for making things worse is definitely not helping him combat those low moods that seem to creep up on him out of nowhere.

Dr. Han perks up at this, taking the opportunity to gear the conversation. She gently asks if they could discuss that further for a bit, his experience with the high and low moods. Everybody has off days, of course, but based on their previous discussions, she’s interested to hear more about how Farkle describes these different emotional states and the other factors that come with it.

It’s not hard to get Farkle to talk. He obliges without hesitation, launching into details about how it feels when he’s feeling especially frenzied -- sort of the opposite of what he’s dancing around now, but such a vivid experience when he’s in it that he remembers the sensation and always can vibe when it’s coming on. Dr. Han listens carefully, flipping to a clean page in her notepad to jot down his thoughts.

Farkle doesn’t think anything of it, but it seems like Dr. Han might be onto something more than just the typical one-on-one chat. A pronounced clapping counts us in...

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - DAY

BRANDON RIVAS is clapping along to the downbeat while the Havies run through their showdown routine, the instrumental from How to Succeed playing on the speakers. He’s keeping a watchful eye on his classmates while they run through the choreography, shouting out when someone is off a beat or not sharp enough on the steps.

Charlie is definitely one of those people. He’s a couple of steps behind today, mind elsewhere, and when he accidentally bumps into BILLY ROSS he receives a glare in response. What’s the matter with you, man?

Brandon: Come on, Gardner! This is your choreography!

Fair point, Brandon. Charlie tries to get back on track, but lucky for him he’s far from the only one struggling this week. DWEEZIL HOWARD is out of step too, and his mistakes reverberate way more as he accidentally sends half the boys into a wave of near stumbles. Brandon yells for everyone to stop, shaking his head as Evan jogs to pause the music.

Brandon: This is not the time to get soft, guys. Showdown is right around the corner.

Havie: So what? It’s not like Adams is any competition. Six years of success speak for themselves.

Brandon: And complacency is the first step in breaking that streak. You want to be credited when that takes us down? [ off his head shake ] So, what’s going on? Is there some contagious case of vertigo going around that makes you all unable to balance on your own two feet?

Charlie chews his lip, shying away from the disappointment. He’s not the only recipient, but he knows he doesn’t have a good excuse -- and certainly not one Brandon would want to hear. But Dweezil answers first anyway, much more visibly frazzled than him.

Dweezil: I’m sorry, Brandon. I’m just really stressing about the MIT app.

Others murmur agreement, mentioning their own upcoming dream school deadlines and the pressure of finishing their applications. Charlie nods along as if that’s his problem too.

Brandon considers this for a long moment, scanning over his peers. He may have high expectations, but he’s not without compassion for his boys. He relents and expresses sympathy for everybody’s stress, claiming they can call it quits early today and cut down on afternoon rehearsals for the next few days while everyone is wrapping up applications.

The boys breathe a collective sigh of relief, thanking Brandon and starting to disperse. Brandon shouts after them to send those apps in fast and get ready to come back to work harder than ever -- they’re not going to slip and fall to AAA on his watch. Billy exchanges a handshake with him and suggests he take some time off to focus on himself, too, but Brandon shrugs this off.

Brandon: No, it’s fine. Think I’ll be able to make use of the time… might have to make some adjustments to the numbers anyway. [ quirking an eyebrow ] Make sure we’re the best we can possibly be.

For what it’s worth, the statement seems less than innocuous. It kind of feels like Brandon knows something we don’t, and based on Billy’s smug reaction, he’s in on it too. They exchange another fist bump before Billy heads out.

Charlie is one of the last to leave, pausing in packing up to check his phone. He’s got a surprising amount of texts on his lock screen, all from Daisy. He opens the thread, finding just under a dozen texts of her sharing live updates with him of an argument that apparently broke out between Rosie and Eleanor. Although her observations are characteristically dry and analytical -- a technical play-by-play rather than biased record -- the fact that she’s telling Charlie about it at all is a sign that she’s concerned about it. The final message she sent kind of sums up the looming stakes without saying so:

“Didn’t this happen with Bridgette?”

Either way, not good news. Charlie frowns. Before he figures out how to respond, Brandon startles him.

Brandon: All good, Charles?

Charlie: Uh, yeah. Yeah, just, you know. Lots on my mind. It was cool of you to give everyone a break right now.

Brandon: Well. [ with a shrug ] Nothing too serious going on with you, I hope. We need your talent to up our dance credentials -- I assume you realize by now how valuable you are to the team.

Charlie: Oh, well…

Brandon: Can’t afford to let anything distract us right now if we’re to come out victorious against Adams. [ a beat ] Least of all Adams itself… you know, it’s okay if you’re feeling conflicted…

Conflicted might be a bit strong -- although Charlie lives basically every day of his life conflicted -- but the notion that Brandon is even close to sensing what’s actually going on in his head sets him on edge. He clears his throat, frantically attempting to throw him off the trail.

Charlie: Oh, no. No. It’s um -- just family stuff. Stuff with my sisters.

Brandon: Ah… sibling nonsense. I get that. I’ve got two older brothers, and even though they’re not at home anymore it’s like I’m still carrying their baggage around.

Charlie: Big shoes to fill?

Brandon: Well, one was valedictorian and is starting his first year at Harvard Law, and the other is starting his third year in prison. So kind of high bars in either direction.

Well. No idea how to respond to that little fun fact. Brandon spares Charlie the awkwardness and lets him go, wishing him a good afternoon.

But pleasant as he is, it’s evident he doesn’t fully buy Charlie’s excuse.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Isadora is at the counter at Chubbies, discussing all of the impending stressors with Lucas during his shift. They’re especially mindful of how Lucas’s scholarship plan is now basically hinging solely on a victory at showdown, which is feeling more and more like a long shot. With Zay no longer able to bolster their performance, they’re short star power.

Isadora: And since Haverford has Charlie, who is basically his counterweight, suddenly the scales are tipped heavily in their favor. We’ll be lucky if we can create some Frankenstein performance around the gaping hole Zay leaves behind.

Lucas: Have you thought about stepping up in his place? Not that you’re anywhere near the level of dancer that he is, but you do purportedly have star power.

Isadora: Gee, thanks. I’m honestly shocked you’re suggesting this.

Lucas: Believe me, it hurts. But I’ve got stakes riding on this too, and I know you’re talented. Maybe you could help prop things back up so we’ve got at least a shot of winning.

Isadora: I don’t know… I mean, I know I performed the other week, but it was all about that assignment, you know? It was specifically because it was out of my comfort zone. [ a beat ] Though, why, I don’t even really know anymore…

She feels more confused about performing these days than averse, with all the grieving she’s done over Valerie, but confusion still feels dangerous. Probably safer to just stay on the sidelines… probably...

Speaking of dangerous tasks, Isadora shifts to college applications. She submitted her NYU film school application ages ago, and she’s got a couple of other things in the pipeline, but she’s much more interested in how Lucas is dealing with his. When he feeds her the same lines he’s been telling everyone else, she raises her eyebrows. Not buying it.

Leave it to Isadora to see right through him. Lucas sighs, relenting and explaining that the essays are killing him. It’s like, everything else he can scrape together, fake, pull off like he’s scraped through everything else in his life. But the personal statements…

Lucas: I hate writing about myself. Why should all of my potential rest on how well I can sell myself in some 500-word anecdote? As if that paints the complete picture. Not that I want that either -- the full picture isn’t pretty. How am I supposed to convince some strangers to take a chance on me when I don’t even believe it? If I had the choice whether or not to know myself, I wouldn’t.

Isadora: Wonder what that says about those of us who do choose to know you.

Lucas: And what am I going to say? Howdy, I’m a son of a bitch, please let me into your school and give me your money to do so? Great fucking deal.

Isadora rolls her eyes. She points out that although he doesn’t want to hear it, when it comes to finances he knows she can help. Once the money from her inheritance fully comes through, she’ll have plenty that she doesn’t know what to do with. If she’s going to use it to help others -- especially those she cares about -- then helping him pursue his dreams is a non-issue. But, predictably, Lucas recoils at the suggestion.

Isadora: I swear, you are impossible. And you have such a weird hang-up about money.

Lucas: Yeah, views that you shared until about a month ago.

Isadora: Well, I’ve grown. I can see the nuances in money now and how it goes around. And I’m just saying that if you’ve got all these complexes around who has it and who can give it to you when you’re stuck on the bottom rung, then --

No doubt it’s a complicated series of complexes. As Isadora is settling into her rant, MISSY BRADFORD enters the diner. Lucas glances over Isadora’s shoulder and spots her, immediately clamming up.

Isadora: ...it’s what Reagan sold as trickle-down economics, but the thing is if you don’t give any money to the lowest income households from the get-go, then they never --

Lucas: Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ve got to go to the back.

Lucas retreats from the counter without waiting for permission, causing Isadora to scoff. She wasn’t finished! But he’s already gone, leaving her high and dry. But he also successfully avoided Missy, who steps up the counter for a pick-up order and is helped by another employee instead. She doesn’t acknowledge Isadora, who eyes her judgmentally from her stool.

As Missy collects her order and leaves -- glancing over her shoulder one last time for her usual Chubbies worker -- Dylan and Asher enter with Farkle. They join Isadora at the counter, asking where Lucas is. She shrugs, claiming he disappeared to deal with something.

Farkle: You ready to go? Is Maya here yet?

Isadora: Not yet. Figure she’ll be a bit late after the “atomic bomb” Jack dropped on her and Lucas -- her words, not mine.

Asher: What are you all up to?

Isadora: Since Farkle and I were technically responsible for the destruction in the auditorium --

Farkle: One could make the argument that I should have died last year.

Dylan: That would be a sick personal essay.

Isadora: We thought it was only fair that we put in the time to help Maya craft whatever last-minute fundraising effort we’re going to pull together to cover it.

As for Dylan and Asher, they were just stopping by to catch up with Lucas before going to practice their assignment for the week. Isadora commends Asher for performing again, considering it was so out of his comfort zone.

Farkle: Yeah, that’s not -- you’re not thinking of making that a habit, are you? Not asking for any reason, just curious. Not because you’re also a tenor. I’m just wondering.

Isadora: Smooth.

Asher: No, not planning to change career paths. Rest easy, Farkle. Just getting this out of the way sooner rather than later. [ nodding to Dylan ] It’s not as bad since we’re doing it together. And besides, can’t ignore the pull of the funk.

Dylan, wisely: Disco is for the gays.

Asher: Gotta pay our dues and get down with the boogie.

Far out, fellas! Isadora and Farkle wish them luck and head out together. Isadora asks Farkle how his therapy appointment went, and while his answer is unbothered, he definitely seems to be a little spacy this week. Isadora notices and considers asking him about it, but opts not to press further. They’ve got enough going on right now.

INT. GARDNER HOME - ROSIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

ROSIE GARDNER is huddled up in her bedroom, begrudgingly working on homework. She’s got Niall Horan playing, and the volume is turned up loud. It takes multiple knocks on her door before Rosie hears, shouting over the noise.

Rosie: Go away! I’m busy.

Charlie, from the hall: It’s me. Can we talk for a minute?

Rosie sighs, but gets up. She opens the door and spins back around to drop back into her seat at her desk, not bothering to greet him. But she let him in, which is more than anyone else has managed this evening.

Charlie blinks as the pop music assaults his ears. He gently closes the door behind him, raising his voice over Niall.

Charlie: Think you could turn Niall down for a second?

Rosie: Huh?

Charlie: Turn your boyfriend down so we can actually hear each other!

Rosie: Ugh. You’re so not funny.

And yet, she relents and lowers the volume. Charlie makes a show of shaking off the ringing in his ears, knocking his ear slightly.

Charlie: Just checking for significant damage. Need industrial strength noise-cancelling headphones to come in here. Like they wear when they guide airplanes onto the runway.

Rosie: You are so annoying. Did you want something, or?

Charlie explains that Daisy texted him that afternoon about a fight she apparently had with mom. She seemed pretty concerned, so he just wanted to check in. Is everything okay? Rosie rolls her eyes.

Rosie: It’s so whatever. Daisy is exaggerating.

Charlie: I don’t think Daisy is capable of exaggeration. We took all the drama genes, there wasn’t any left for her.

Rosie: Well, she is. Yeah, mom and I argued, but it’s like… it’s dumb, whatever. I don’t even care.

Charlie: You’re listening to your sad 1D playlist.

Rosie: I said I don’t care, Charlie. And I can listen to whatever I want whenever I want.

Charlie: Okay, well, can you at least tell me what it was about? Or what’s --

Rosie: Ugh. It was nothing! Can you mind your own business and leave me alone? I’m trying to work.

Yikes. Rosie has always had a little bit of early teen venom in her, but this feels like more than that. Charlie doesn’t want to just let it drop, but it’s more than obvious she will not be having any productive conversations right now.

Charlie: Okay. I’m only -- if you want to talk about anything, you know you can tell me. I’m here to listen. [ a beat ] Okay?

Rosie: [ not bothering to look at him ] Okay. Whatever. Thanks.

She turns Niall back up, effectively ending the talk. Charlie hangs around for a moment longer, words he wants to say on the tip of his tongue, but for now there’s nothing to be done. He reluctantly retreats, the ghost of the past looming over him.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Farkle, Maya and Isadora are spread out around Farkle’s bedroom as they brainstorm ideas for fundraising. Maya paces around, occasionally picking up little trinkets and inspecting them before putting them back down in the wrong place. Isadora, meanwhile, is laying down on Farkle’s bed on her back, her head hanging upside down off the side. Farkle has gathered a blanket around him as he sits at the other end of the bed.

Maya: You need to add some meat to that stick of a body, Farkle. You can’t keep living like an orphan who’s freezing to death on the streets of Victorian London.

Farkle: It’s not my fault I have a fast metabolism. You’re just jealous.

Maya: Yes, I’m very jealous of the boy who looks like he’s dying of scurvy.

Isadora snorts in amusement, for which Farkle shoots a glare at her.

Maya: Go get us some snacks, orphan boy. We’ll fatten you up Hansel and Gretel style.

Farkle: This is offensive to orphans everywhere, I hope you know.

Isadora: As the only orphan here, I’m not offended. Maya, you may continue your bullying.

Maya grins, but Isadora frowns as she realizes what she said. Technically, she isn’t an orphan, if her father is out there alive... despite rolling his eyes, Farkle does get up to get snacks, blanket still tightly wrapped around him.

Once she and Maya are alone, Isadora sits up straight and turns towards her, lips pursed in thought as she considers what she wants to say.

Isadora: Do you know who your dad is?

Maya stops wandering around and looks at Isadora in surprise.

Maya: Where’d that come from?

Isadora: I don’t know. Just wondering about the orphan thing, I guess.

Maya: Izzy, that was just a joke. And directed towards Farkle. All jeers are reserved for our darling beanpole -- I’m not stupid enough to drag you.

Isadora: Appreciated. [ a beat ] I know nothing about my dad.

Maya: [ with a shrug ] I know my dad’s name and some basic facts about him, like his job, but nothing else.

Isadora: Have you ever considered getting in touch with him? What if he’s out there somewhere? Mine or yours.

Maya: When I was younger I thought about it… but he abandoned me, so what’s the point? If he wanted me in his life, I would be. He knows who I am and how to contact me, but he hasn’t. Why waste my precious time and energy dealing with him when I already have my mom? She’s all I need.

Isadora nods, considering this. Her father situation is quite different to Maya’s, so not all that helpful. Regardless, it’s something to think about. Maya is pensive, too, mind now occupied by thoughts of Katy. Isadora notices her shift in mood.

Isadora: You miss her?

Maya: [ with a theatrical sigh ] Always. [ then, a bittersweet smile ] It’s okay, every artist has to have their tragic backstory. It’s good. Gives me personal agony to work through.

Isadora: … well, actually --

Before she can say anything further, Farkle returns with an armful of snacks. He tosses them at Maya and Isadora.

Farkle: Here you go, little piggies. Oink oink.

Maya: You can’t say that to us, we’re women.

Isadora: We could have you cancelled for that.

Maya: Besides, as the only poor one present, I reserve all rights to the word pig. [ eyeing them ] Capitalist swine…

Farkle: Yeah, speaking of lack of funding...

The conversation moves on, back to fundraising, but Maya gets out her phone to send Katy a quick message letting her know that she misses her.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Shoes” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Asher Garcia & Dylan Orlando

Kicking off the first official performance for the ‘70s theme, Asher launches us into number with an impressive opening note. He starts at the top of the stairs in the atrium, starting down the steps while singing towards Dylan, who’s waiting down below. When he sings “boy, to be with you is my favorite thing,” Dylan playfully points to himself and beams. They’re both dressed in modern-day approximations of disco garb -- colorful dress shirts, glossy vests with matching flare pants, funky patterned ascots.

And they’re setting the standard for what performances will be like without the usual stage of the auditorium. Their chosen location is the atrium, mostly empty as it’s during class hours, the rest of the A class scattered around the space to watch and provide back-up vocals (as well as their usual reactions and applause). Zay is particularly torn, clearly flipping between jealousy that he can’t be dancing and basically vibrating with the infectious groove.

In the case of Dylan and Asher, there is plenty to cheer for. They’re simply undeniably a joy to watch, especially with each other, and Dylan was right when he said disco is for the gays. They’ve got the night fever, full of energy and charm as they dance together. On the “woo!” during the bridge, Dylan lifts Asher in a funky little hop moment. And Asher’s vocal runs throughout are nothing to scoff at either.

It’s a smashing way to start the assignments off right!

INT. AAA - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

As strong a showing as that little number was, the upbeat mood doesn’t last long. Stress dominates in the meeting between Maya, Yindra, Farkle, Jeff, and Isadora, who are deliberating on the current status of their showdown setlist. They’re attempting to analyze it and rework with the knowledge that Zay will not be able to participate, but it’s easier said than done.

Lack of focus doesn’t help matters. Farkle is noticeably zoned out, lost in his own head, and Maya has to snap at him to get him back at attention. This is not amateur hour! No time for spacing out, Farkle! He apologizes, but Isadora notices he still seems far away somehow.

The fervent discussion is immediately halted when Zay enters the studio, realizing they’ve all convened to work without him. He asks what gives.

Maya: It’s not personal, Zayby. But considering your current situation...

Zay: I’m still choreographer. Even if I’m not performing, I should be included in meetings. Especially if you’re talking about altering the routine.

Jeff: We’re not.

Farkle: At least, not right now.

Isadora, diplomatically: We just know that not being able to participate is difficult for you, so Riley suggested… we figured it would be better not to like… force you to deal with it. Or rub it in your face.

Maya: Exactly. See? We’re doing this for you.

How sweet. But Zay isn’t moved. He grows defensive, nodding along but dripping with sarcasm.

Zay: Great. Thanks. Well I guess if you need to drag me out of the recycling bin to comment on choreography, you all know how to reach me.

He storms out -- a bit unevenly on his boot -- leaving them awkwardly in his absence. Farkle clears his throat. The only who doesn’t seem uncomfortable is Maya, who shifts gears back to the matter at hand effortlessly. It’s just business, after all.

Maya: So star power --

INT. THRIFT SHOP - DAY

Riley is searching the racks for an outfit for the ‘70s dance, Charlie in tow. Every now and then, she’ll find a vintage shirt that’s his size and hold it up against his chest just on instinct, always on the lookout for her friends even if they’re not looking themselves.

Riley: It’s amazing how every color looks good on you. You should really consider branching out beyond neutrals and inoffensive shades of blue.

Tell us something we don’t know, Riles. Charlie brushes off her compliments, keeping his focus on the topic at hand while they shop. He’s seeking advice on how to handle arguing family members, since unfortunately, Riley has plenty of relevant experience with that. He’s had it in his family before with Bridgette, but he can’t remember much of it and honestly, one of the keys to their family dynamic is how most unpleasant things occur behind closed doors. Most of the time, they don’t even know when something is wrong with each other.

Riley: Do you have any more details? I feel like context would help.

Charlie: Nope. I only heard about it through Daisy, and when I tried to talk to Rosie, she wouldn’t budge.

Riley contemplates and admits she’s hesitant to try and give advice when the context is so vague and wide open, but ultimately the most important thing she thinks he could do is to continue being there for Rosie. He told her he was, and that’s the best he can do under the circumstances. If he actually witnesses another argument for himself, then that’s a different story.

Riley: But no matter what happens, try not to let yourself get caught in the middle of it. I mean, you should help where you can, but there’s nothing worse than trying to fix problems that aren’t yours and you can’t control. It’s between them, not you, and trying to mend it from the outside is only going to result in failure and frustration. You have to look out for your own well-being first. I wish someone had told me that before my parents fell apart.

Very important advice. Charlie thanks her and expresses sympathy for her messy parental situation again, but she shrugs it off and moves past it. Instead she finds another cute ‘70s material button down in classic sky blue, enthusiastically lifting it up to measure against Charlie.

Riley: Pair a blazer with this, and you’d be all set to boogie. Makes your eyes pop too… ugh, you’re so pretty it’s disgusting.

Charlie: I thought we were shopping for you, not me. I’m not the one who gets to disco.

Riley: Well, that’s not necessarily true. The fundraiser is open to everyone -- that’s the only way we’re going to make any profit, after all. And you know you’d be more than welcome.

Charlie: Yeah, maybe… with showdown so close and everything…

Riley: Charlie. [ holding his gaze ] You’re family. Forget showdown, forget east and west side. As long as I’m around, you fit. And I know for sure I’m not the only one who feels that way. Got it? Can you dig it?

Charlie, grateful: I can dig it.

Riley: Righteous. I’m serious though, what you should dig is this shirt.

As Riley shifts back to searching for her own look, they jump to chatting about college applications. Charlie asks how hers are going after she explains Lucas’s poorly concealed stress about them, and she claims they’re going fine.

Riley: I’m a pretty textbook candidate, all things considered, and my poor tragic backstory of being bullied out of school and divorced parents sure makes for great personal essay fodder.

Charlie: Kind of weird how they teach us to exploit our own trauma…

Riley: I’m definitely applying to Barnard, and I’ve decided I’m going to throw my hat in the ring for Tisch even though it’s basically the longest shot there is. Add in a handful of second choice picks and you get the idea. But honestly, I’m not all that pressed about it right now. I feel like it’s going to be way harder when acceptances and rejections come through and it’s all… real. I can throw any application out there I want and I don’t have to do anything about it. When I actually know what my options are… then it’ll be real. You know? When I actually have to decide what path I want to take. Because right now, I feel like I have no idea what I want that to be.

Charlie nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. He definitely knows the feeling of not having any idea what he wants the future to be… as the low hum of an unfamiliar instrument floats in…

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Amazing Grace” as performed by The Military Band of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards || Performed by Dave Williams

In what is probably the weirdest performance AMBITION has seen to date, Dave stands alone in front of the classroom and goes to town on the bagpipes. Yes, apparently, Dave Williams can play the bagpipes (though whether he plays them well is a whole other story). And he gives it his all on this immensely famous tune, bewildering his peers and rendering them speechless.

That being said, while they can’t find any words, that doesn’t stop the A class from reacting. The expressions range from confused to stunned to struggling to keep it together. Maya stares in disbelief and then scrunches her face, looking around to see if anyone else is seeing this. Zay and Nigel are on the verge of tears from stifling their laughter; Yogi is misty-eyed from sheer emotion at his best friend’s… powerful performance. Nate mouths trying to sing along to the screechy tones with an absolutely delighted grin, while Dylan emulates the patriotic vibe by standing and giving a salute. Asher shakes his head from next to him, also hiding laughter behind his hand.

When Dave finally concludes, releasing a big exhale, the room is filled with silence for a long moment. Yogi starts the applause that the others uncertainly mimic, until Isadora finally, bluntly breaks the silence.

Isadora: Okay, I’m just going to say it -- what the hell, Dave?

Dave: What? Is something wrong?

Sarah: Where the hell did this come from? Are you seriously damaged?

Yindra: Forget that. I’m dying to know when you learned to play the bagpipes. And why have you deprived us of it for so long?

Farkle: The assignment is ‘70s music. How did you end up on “Amazing Grace?”

Dave, baffled: I don’t get what the big deal is. I found the song on a ‘70s playlist on Spotify, I can show you. And I looked it up -- the fig Newton dude wrote the song in 1779.

Clarissa: Fig newton --

Zay: [ at his wits end trying not to laugh ] I can’t. I can’t --

Dave: 1779! So it’s from the ‘70s.

All, in unison: 1970s, Dave!

Dave: … WHAT?!

The class descends into hysterics. Harper attempts to thank Dave for an… interesting performance, if nothing else.

Harley: I found it quite spirited. Very much enjoyed.

Dave huffs, marching back to his desk. He drops his bagpipes on the desktop --

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

Which becomes a soapy sponge landing with a splat on the hood of a car, Haley working to scrub it clean. A few more quick shots help establish the setting -- Jeff and Darby untangling hoses; Riley and Chai filling up buckets of water; Asher ringing out a washcloth as far away from his body as he can stretch it, mildly disgusted.

Yes, Maya’s new fundraising scheme is in full swing -- a car wash! Cars are lining up for the A class to give a shining clean-up. Considering they threw the concept together in just a couple of days, it’s really not a shabby showing. Maya is praising her own quick thinking by the pay table, where they’re also selling baked goods. Zay is manning the cash box, since he can’t do much else.

Maya: I swear, sometimes my own mind amazes me. Never lets me down. And you can’t go wrong with a good old-fashioned classic.

Zay: Yeah, except car washes are usually in the summer. Not the dregs of autumn when we’re all going to get hypothermia.

Maya: It’s actually unseasonably warm today. And that’s the brilliance of it. Who else is doing a car wash in this weather economy? No competition, big bucks.

At least the weather is nice. With them out in their cotton shorts and tees to do all this work, Zay’s right to have reservations. But the sun is out, and the income has been steady thus far. Nate finishes off drying a car with Dylan, who has his hair pushed back with a tie-dye bandana.

Nate: You know, we should all just wet our shirts. That will get the girls and gays to come running.

Maya: [ into her bullhorn ] Don’t accelerate the hypothermia, Martinez. Keep it classy.

Nate: You’re turning down a million-dollar idea!

Maya waves him off, gesturing that he get back to work. And they all put it together real fast when another customer pulls up at the end of the line, EVELYN RAND emerging from her nice SUV and coming over to greet them. She commends them for their efficient set up.

Maya: That’s all thanks to me, Maya Penelope Hart. Vice President and overall go-getter. I’m the one that makes things happen.

Evelyn: And modest as they come, too.

Evelyn happily accepts Maya’s handshake, but she tosses a wink to Zay and Clarissa working the bake sale table. She claims she’s eager to help the cause, and she’s sure they’ll do an excellent job with her car. While she waits, she’s hoping to have a brief chat with Jack, so can she just leave her keys with them? She trusts them to move her vehicle twenty feet when it’s her turn.

Maya: Of course. We here in the A class pride ourselves on our care and attention. Your vehicle is safe with us.

Zay snorts, turning it into a cough. Evelyn hands over her keys pleasantly, waving to the rest of the kids working as she heads into the building. Maya spins the key ring on her finger for a moment, contemplating.

Maya: Can’t afford to screw this up. Gonna need someone extremely anal and annoyingly cautious to handle this one. [ into the bullhorn ] Garcia! Get your persnickety nonexistent ass over here!

Nigel arrives at that moment with a takeout bag in his hands. He tries to weave through the cars and avoid drill sergeant Maya as he heads towards the back entrance to the school, but unfortunately he’s not slick enough.

Maya: Chey! What do you think you’re doing? Cars are over here.

Nigel: Oh. Yes. Well, Jade’s holed up in the costume loft with all the projects she’s finishing…

Maya, unmoved: Uh huh.

Nigel: And I know she isn’t great about eating when she’s under this much stress, so I brought her some food to eat while she works. And I thought I’d go… give it to her… [ quickly ] okay, check you later.

He turns and speeds towards the entrance, making his swift escape. Riley saunters over to join them at the cash table, tilting her head fondly.

Riley: That’s so sweet.

Maya: Meh. A convenient excuse.

Zay: And how are you one to talk, Maya? You realize standing around shouting orders at everyone isn’t work.

Riley: Come on, Madam Vice President. Time to put in a little elbow grease.

Zay raises his eyebrows, accenting Riley’s challenge. Pride in jeopardy, Maya sniffs and relinquishes her bullhorn, placing it on the table. She spins and flips her ponytail over her shoulder, marching over to contribute to the cause. Riley and Zay exchange amused looks, while the boombox blasting the iconic opening hand claps takes over the soundscape...

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Car Wash” as performed by Rose Royce || Performed by Maya Hart (feat. AAA Seniors)

You all knew it was coming. The moment we started scrubbing those fenders, you should’ve seen it coming. Maya leads the A class in a funky rendition of the disco classic, swaying her hips and swinging her ponytail as they put in the hard work (though, somehow, Maya still manages to avoid most of the heavy lifting). She handles most of the verses, though Yindra also takes some of the spotlight with vocal runs. Nate perfects his slutdrop as he cleans tires.

In the midst of the grooving, the business is bumping. Interspersed amongst the performing we see Clarissa and Dylan charming patrons at the bake sale table, money changing hands, and Zay dutifully keeping track of everything as he mans the pay station.

On the last chorus, Maya has made her way onto a roof of one of the cars, Yindra, Haley, and Darby emulating her on the other cars they’re working on. The A class does some rad synced choreography to take the number home, Maya sliding down the front windshield and kicking up her leg before Farkle makes the finishing swipe of a washcloth across the hood.

Car wash! Zay deposits another payment into the cashbox, snapping it closed with a flourish.

Evelyn’s car is now closer to the front of the pack, and more business is still coming. Charlie makes his way over from the parking lot, waving to Riley as he makes his way over to the tables. Clarissa and Dylan greet him cheerfully, Riley and Maya jogging over from the line of cars. Zay doesn’t say anything, but offers a hesitant smile, which is better than nothing. Charlie mirrors it.

Clarissa comes out from behind the table to give him a hug, but warns him not to let Haley see him -- she’s soaked and will probably get him all damp. Charlie claims he didn’t plan to stay long, he just wanted to come by and see how things were going, as well drop off some baked goods they could sell that he and his sisters made. Dylan takes them happily. Maya asks where his car is and what kind of wash he wants, which Charlie awkwardly laughs off.

Charlie: I wouldn’t make you guys do that. But I can make a contribution --

Maya: Please, what do you think this is, a pity party? We don’t accept charity.

Zay: Yes we do.

Clarissa: We’ll take all the charity you’ve got.

Maya: This is a business, and we provide a service. So put your boring little sedan in line and turn your patronization into profit.

Riley: Maya, if he doesn’t want --

Charlie: You know what? Okay. [ raising his hands in surrender ] I’ll take whatever the easiest job is. Meet in the middle.

Fair enough. Maya relents, going back to shouting orders at others. Zay shows Charlie what their pricing options are, and though Charlie is going for the cheapest one, he overpays anyway.

Charlie: What Maya doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Zay: Yeah, and it’ll probably save us.

They exchange something close to a conspiratorial wink. Riley senses that they’re actually communicating without imminent disaster, so she comes over to join them. Charlie asks how business is going -- it seems to be moving pretty swiftly. Riley is optimistic, claiming that between this and the dance -- which is garnering a lot of buzz on social media -- they may just cover their expenses yet. At mention of the dance, Riley makes a quip about how Charlie should’ve bought that shirt at the thrift shop to wear, which catches Zay’s attention.

Zay: You’re coming?

Charlie: Oh, no. No, I wasn’t, um… I hadn’t really thought about it.

Zay: Oh.

Charlie, shyly: … would it be okay if I did?

Zay meets his eyes, uncharacteristically timid. He doesn’t know what to say, because he honestly doesn’t know how he feels about the possibility. Things aren’t as tense as they were before, and they’ve managed to break some of the ice that’s frozen them in place, but it’s far from thawed. He doesn’t know if he wants it to be or not. It’s all confusing, and being put on the spot proves just how much.

He’s spared from answering when Isadora pipes up from the curb.

Isadora: Oh, fuck no.

Charlie jumps, turning to search for the problem. Zay leans around him to look too. The issue is not hard to identify.

The Haverford boys. A whole bunch of them, rolling up in their classy cars, totally filling up the back end of the car wash line. Billy honks obnoxiously in his, waving to the washers working further down the row.

Brandon hops out of his car, the rest of the boys following suit. He leads the saunter over to the tables, where Maya, Farkle, and Isadora rush to head them off. Charlie stares as they approach, obviously mortified that they’re here; Zay frowns, glancing at him suspiciously.

Maya: What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re blocking the line.

Dweezil: Blocking? Is that any way to speak to a customer?

Isadora: One we’re about to kick the hell out, yeah.

The congregation bristles, but Brandon holds up his hands -- both out of innocence and to signal his crew to halt. He remains smooth and unbothered as ever, calmly stating that they’re simply here to support the cause.

Brandon: It’s the least we could do, showing up for the less fortunate. We want showdown to be a fair fight, don’t we?

Maya: Oh, if that’s what you’re looking for, we can give you a fight.

[ Brandon raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by Maya’s sharp spunk. ]

Farkle: How did you all even hear about this?

Brandon: Why, I would think that’s obvious. Charles told us.

[ Many eyes throw to Charlie at once. He swallows, dipping his head. ]

Brandon: Well, technically, he told Evan, but I don’t see why he didn’t just share it with the boys. Evan was more than happy to pass the message along, though, and we all thought it was just a swell idea. Quaint, really.

Billy: Yeah, where’s the lemonade stand? You should jump on that hot market next.

But belittlement aside, they really are here to get their cars washed. That’s all. The A class can take it or leave it, but if they choose to turn away willing customers then that’s their prerogative.

Well… business is business. Maya forces a smile, keeping her diva daggers locked on Brandon as she instructs Isadora and Farkle to go start filling the buckets. Brandon holds her glare, evenly matched with his cool, subtle smirk.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is enjoying a catch-up with Angela over coffee, in generally good spirits all things considered. As he says, it’s nice to take a moment to forget all of the stress and just chat with a good friend. Angela is touched, placing her hand on her chest. She claims if her visit will be good for anything then, that’s a great reason.

The two of them get on the topic of her pregnancy, and how she’s feeling about impending motherhood. She confides that Shawn is way more nervous about it than she is, but ultimately she feels okay about it. Pregnancy isn’t the most fun experience in the world, but she has always thought that a family would be part of her future. Considering she’s not getting any younger, it feels like the right time.

She asks if Jack ever thought about having kids, and he grows a bit more somber. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it… and to be honest, he figured if he did he’d beat Shawn to it, but clearly that wasn’t in his cards. And now here he is, coming off a failed serious relationship, already in his 40s…

Angela: It’s never too late, Jack. If it’s something you really want. I mean, hell, look at Eric! He skipped all the hard stuff, too.

Jack: I guess that is one way to look at Isadora’s tragic loss…

Angela: I’m just saying, never say never. You’re a great mentor, responsible and fair, and you care. You care a lot. If you chose to try, whether by yourself or with a partner, I think you’d be a great dad.

Maybe… it all just feels so out of the realm of possibility. Besides, he argues, he basically has 200 kids at any given time to take care of. It’s not the same, no, but he watches out for the Adams students as seriously as he would his own. And you know, sometimes…

Jack: Every once in a while, it kind of feels like they are.

It’s not hard to guess who he’s thinking about. Angela starts to question him further, thinking this is probably a meaningful discussion to have, but they’re interrupted by Evelyn knocking briskly on the door. She greets both of them cheerfully.

Evelyn: So nice to see you again, Angela! I do hope I’m not intruding on anything important -- I meant to come sooner, but I got caught up in a riveting chat with Mister Keiner.

Jack: No, of course not.

Angela: In fact, I was just getting ready to head out, so I will get out of your hair.

Jack: I just wasn’t expecting you.

Evelyn: No need to rush, Angela. [ to Jack ] I’m just here to participate in that splendid car wash you’ve got out back. They’ve got a great little operation going, I have to say. And that Maya Hart -- talk about a firecracker.

Jack: Trust us, we’re quite familiar with her spark.

Angela bids both of them goodbye, promising Jack she’ll see him later. Once they’re alone, Evelyn commends Jack on inspiring his students to find creative ways to fund their financial endeavors. Especially given how their original proposal for the scholarships was voted down at the school board. In her opinion, she was hoping they’d at least contribute a portion -- she thought it was a nifty idea.

Jack: Yes, they weren’t thrilled to hear the decision either.

Evelyn: It’s disappointing, although hardly surprising considering the way Jefferson campaigned behind closed doors. He’s got a fairly influential stake in the voting bloc, unfortunately.

Jack: What? What do you mean?

Evelyn: Oh, Jack, I thought you already knew. It was an extremely close vote on the board to provide funding, but Jefferson tipped the scales against it. He and Yancy basically talked it down for days with colleagues before the actual tally.

Um, no, Jack did not know about that, and it obviously pisses him off. He’s speechless, trying to process the blatant partisan maneuvers being played against them within the inner workings of the board. Especially from someone who is now working within the walls of AAA. He knew Yancy didn’t like him, but this…

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

The Haverford boys are loitering while they wait for the A class to finish cleaning their cars, showing how completely unbothered they are to hang around and watch their competitors sweat. Charlie is also hovering to nervously keep an eye on things, staying with Clarissa at the baked goods table and nibbling on a sugar cookie.

From where he’s scrubbing Dweezil’s windshield dry, Nate glares at them derisively.

Nate: Rich pricks. I should smash this damn window…

Yogi: Easy, bulldog.

Dave: Just smile and wash, boys. Smile and wash.

Thankfully, they’re efficient, and it doesn’t take them long to grit their teeth through the work. Maya slaps her washcloth against Brandon’s hood, declaring it finished, then marches her way back over to where he’s slouched against a lamp pole near the pay table.

Maya: Alright, knock-off Warblers, your cars are done.

Evan: Warblers?

Dweezil: From Glee.

Billy: Ha! She thinks we watched Glee.

Bottom line is, their business here is done, so they can roll their asses out. Maya essentially shoos them, but Zay pipes up from the pay table.

Zay: Um, they can’t go yet. They’ve still got a tab to settle.

Maya: They didn’t pay upfront?

Billy: Well, couldn’t very well do that. Why would we pay you before we get any proof that you’re going to do a good job? It’s simply smart shopping.

Clarissa: Well, the job is done now. So you can pay up.

Brandon: Ooh… see, I think there might’ve been a misunderstanding here.

Charlie tenses, sensing impending doom. He steps out from behind the table in case he needs to mediate, just as Isadora and Farkle march back over with their buckets and rags to see what the hold up is. They’ve got other potential customers waiting.

Brandon: Another smart business practice is to agree on the terms and conditions before you make a deal. Now, we always knew our payment was going to be contingent on the quality of the work. Sure, Babineaux here laid out the pricing for us, but we didn’t get anything in writing. You didn’t get our John Hancocks signing off on it.

Zay: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Charlie, nervously: Come on, guys --

Maya: So you mean to tell me that we just spent the better part of an hour scrubbing your ungrateful little shits until they shined, and blocking other well-intentioned customers from coming in the meantime, only for you to stiff us at checkout?

Dweezil: At least we made you look busy.

Billy: Yeah, consider it practice. We know you could use all of that you can get.

Brandon: [ with a shrug ] Should’ve gotten it in writing.

Isadora: Yeah? Well how about you fucking get this --

She and Farkle snap first, lifting their buckets and sloshing them directly at Brandon. It catches him off-guard, totally dousing him in sudsy water.

Charlie: Oh no.

Riley, from the curb: Oh no.

Billy: Oh, hell no!

Hit the queen bee, feel the sting of the workers! The Havies immediately fire back, grabbing whatever they can get their hands on -- hoses, abandoned buckets -- and lobbing it back at Isadora and Farkle.

And with that, it’s a full-on brawl. Water and soap flying in every direction, the other Havies and Adams seniors launching into the battle without hesitation. Maya shrieks as she’s soaked, shouting for her classmates to take the Havies out. Zay salvages the cash box and dives under the table, taking cover.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is still searching for what to say in response to the bombshell information Evelyn dropped, but Harley leaps in the doorway and gets both their attention.

Harley: Major problem at the car wash. It’s completely devolved.

Jack exchanges a quick look with Evelyn, then jumps up from his chair.

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

Jack and Harley emerge as the water fight is in full swing, and basically everyone is dripping in soap water. Jack takes control and marches into the fray, stepping into authoritarian mode and demanding that all of the nonsense cease. The Adams students drop their weapons immediately, not daring to get even a drop on their principal.

Though he doesn’t command the same respect with the Haverford boys, they don’t push it any further. They got what they came for, managing to derail the car wash and pull a fast one on the A class. They cackle with laughter as they sprint back to their cars, piling inside in record time and peeling out of the parking lot.

Brandon’s car is one of the last to leave, catching the eye of Maya, Zay, and Charlie through the passenger window. He smirks and tosses a wink in their direction, but it’s impossible to say who it was meant for. Maybe all of them.

None of them look especially pleased either way. Maya shoots a death glare at Charlie, even though he arguably got the worst of it, completely drenched from head to toe. If he was in on the whole thing, he looks pretty miserable about it.

Break 1.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Now in fresh, comfy clothes and bare faces, Riley, Isadora and Maya lounge around in Isa’s bedroom. Maya’s hair is up in a towel wrap, while Riley’s is down and in the process of drying, and Isadora’s is pulled back into a messy bun. Isadora is also wearing her glasses rather than usual contacts. With a stretch, Maya hops from the bed.

Maya: I never want to work like that ever again. I’m exhausted, in pain, and starving. Is this Hell?

Riley: You truly weren’t built for working class, were you?

Tell her about it! Maya disappears to raid Eric’s fridge, leaving Riley and Isadora free from her complaints. Isadora uses the opportunity to pick Riley’s brain.

Isadora: What do you think our chances are in the showdown? Full disclosure.

Riley: Full disclosure? Not great. [ with a sigh ] But we could still pull through. If we work hard enough, and come together to --

Isadora: I don’t need the full spiel, but thanks. I know how stressed Lucas and Maya are about it, and I’m considering -- considering is the key word here -- offering to perform. You know, if it would help.

Riley’s face lights up, but upon seeing Isadora’s level glare, tries to suppress her smile. She fails.

Isadora: Don’t look at me. Forget I said anything.

Riley: Aw, come on. I’m happy you’re thinking about it yourself instead of, like, being peer pressured by Maya or something.

Isadora: She’s very nearly at her breaking point, I can tell. Every day her will to just let me be is deteriorating bit by bit.

Riley: I think… not to get too Uncle Eric here, but I feel like because you keep thinking of performing as doing it in front of an audience, like being judged, it’s holding you back. You should just do it for the joy of it. Why were you drawn to performing in the first place?

Isadora, reluctantly: … because it was fun...

Riley: Exactly! Because it’s fun. You have to have fun with it.

In fact… Riley brightens with an idea, reaching for her phone and searching for a song.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lady Marmalade” as performed by LaBelle || Performed by Riley Matthews, Maya Hart & Isadora De La Cruz

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

As the bass and keys begin, Riley stands up on Isadora’s bed, pulling her up with her. Riley sings the initial “hey sister, go sister” to Isadora, who stands awkwardly in the middle of the bed, not looking all that impressed.

In the first verse, Maya walks into the room with her haul from the kitchen. Her mouth opens when she sees Riley singing.

Maya: Are we doing this? Okay, we’re doing this.

She drops the snacks without a care, jumping onto the bed to join Riley -- just in time for the chorus. They move around Isadora as they belt out iconic vocals, trying to get her in the groove.

Maya takes on the second verse with Riley on the backing vocals. Although Isadora tries to remain stoic, she can’t help but begin to vibe with them. By the end of the next chorus, she’s singing along, too. In French, no less! But maybe let’s not look up the lyric translation…

In the instrumental break, the three girls get down from the bed and strut forwards towards the door. They pass through it one at a time, puffs of makeup and glitter blowing around them in slow-mo as they do.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

This time, the temporary performance space is the lecture hall, which is an inspired choice since it actually has a pseudo-stage and lighting capabilities.

When they emerge onto the small stage, they’re in full glam. Hair glossy, makeup glowing, and outfits iconique. They each wear a skintight jumpsuit along with oversized faux fur coats. Riley’s getup is a white jumpsuit and yellow coat, Isadora’s is a blue jumpsuit and pink coat, and Maya’s is a pink jumpsuit and white coat. They strut to the front of the stage, spotlights on them.

Isadora takes charge of the next verse, confidently singing and dancing with her friends by her side. Riley and Maya come in towards the end, before all three complete the rest of the song together. It’s glamorous, it’s sultry, it’s powerful. Foxy, ladies!

We fade out of the performance to see the rest of the class and Harper as they applaud. Although the girls don’t look quite as glam out of the performance-dreamscape, they look just as badass. Lucas and Farkle in particular seem stunned by the performance.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Zay hands over the cash box from the car wash to Lucas.

Zay: Despite the carnage, the most important thing survived.

And, in spite of the disastrous end, it seems like they made good for their work. They raked in a pretty penny for all the scrubbing and washing -- it’s far from all that they need, but it should make a sizable dent in the auditorium accident debt. And that’s not nothing.

Lucas thanks Zay for his help and for watching the money, getting up to put it in a safe place in the booth. He claims he can’t do it until Zay leaves, though, since there are certain things only he should know about the booth. Zay rolls his eyes but obliges, throwing in an offhand comment about how weird he is before slowly making his way out.

As he’s heading down the steps, he passes by Missy, who is casually making her way up into the booth. Like she goes up there all the time, like it’s no big deal. She even greets Zay as they pass, which he uncertainly returns. He frowns at her over his shoulder as she heads on up, obviously confused by her presence.

As confidently as she enters, Lucas evidently wasn’t expecting her either. He jumps when she addresses him, moving away from wherever he stashed the car wash cash. When he realizes it’s her, his posture grows even more defensive.

Lucas: What are you doing in here?

Missy: Only what anyone would deem visiting this musty space worthy for. I’m looking for you.

Lucas: I don’t know if you missed the memo, but people don’t waltz in here whenever they want. No matter how privileged they are.

Missy laughs, allowing him the dig. Following their increasingly common rapport, back-and-forth that straddles the line between friendly fire and hostility depending on your lens. She maintains innocence as she waits for him to settle back in his usual chair, claiming she only wanted to discuss the current A class financial crisis.

Missy: I heard your little car wash wasn’t half-bad. Congratulations are in order. Though I don’t believe I heard much about you out there breaking a sweat to wash those vehicles...

Lucas: You can congratulate the rest of the class when you see them.

Missy: Shame. I’d think if we put you out there front and center, you might’ve garnered a greater profit.

Lucas: Please.

Missy: You shouldn’t undersell yourself, Lucas. It worked for Chubbies, did it not?

If her increased patronage is any indication, then technically, yes. But Lucas doesn’t seem keen to acknowledge that. She moves closer and hops onto the lighting booth table, crossing her glossy legs where they are in perfectly accessible view. In a place where Riley often sits. It just feels wrong. Lucas averts his gaze, looking down at the soundboard instead.

Missy: Anyway, as cute as the fundraising effort is, I don’t exactly see the point.

Lucas: Well, for those of us not in the 1%, there’s this annoying everyday thing we have to do called “acquiring money.” I’m sure that’s probably confusing for you --

Missy: I meant for Adams. Or for the A class, more specifically. I don’t see why you all should be out there sweating through manual labor… when you could just ask me for the money.

Oh. Well that’s… an interesting proposition. Lucas is surprised she’s even offering it, enough to lift his head again to meet her eyes.

Lucas: … it’s hundreds of dollars…

Missy, coolly: Drop in the bucket. [ looking him over ] Surely you would know that by now.

Lucas hesitates, contemplating. Missy observes him, watching for the chinks in his armor. Those rare moments when he’s not as aloof and disdainful as their banter leads her to believe.

Lucas: I don’t see why you would help when it does nothing to benefit you.

Missy: Isn’t helping the class helping me in the end? [ off his skeptical eyebrow raise ] And oh, they’ll find a way to pay us back somehow. Every debt gets paid eventually. Name on an auditorium seat, plaque outside the lecture hall. That’s the charity solution to everything, slapping your name on something. I’m sure daddy would love to have the Bradford name in gold somewhere in this heap considering the chilly reception Hunter gave us when all this started.

Missy found about a dozen unintentional trigger words to throw in that sentence to change Lucas’s tune. Whether the most credit can be given to the word “charity,” or invoking Jack in a negative light is debatable, but Lucas is suddenly even stonier than before. He clenches his jaw.

Missy, softer: It’s not like you haven’t already accepted donations from the Bradford fortune… and that’s lightened the load, hasn’t it? Nothing wrong with that. [ a beat ] And you and me… I wouldn’t call us friends, but we certainly have… our own thing here. Don’t we? We… mean something. To one another.

Lucas drops his gaze again, cornered. The very insinuation that they have a relationship in any capacity makes him uncomfortable… but then, it’s not wrong, is it? If he’s willingly taking her money, knowingly, then that does symbolize some sort of association. He can’t in good conscience deny it, not when her money is a big chunk of the reason his future is even possible. And she could take all the pressure off them, off him, in an instant… no more fundraising… no more sweating over showdown… scholarships guaranteed…

But his instincts are stronger than that. It’s too good to be true. Everything comes with a cost, and while he might be willing to risk that here and there for his own feeble endeavors, he’s not going to tie his legacy and the rest of the class to it. He returns her eye contact, resolute.

Lucas: If your family wants to donate to the cause, then by all means do. But I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t beg.

Well said and well meant! For what it’s worth, Missy doesn’t seem put off by the rejection. If anything, she seems impressed by his stubborn resistance, even if she knows damn well it’s full of contradictions. Impressed, and definitely stirred by that same fire that captivated her the first time they met during the school board trial. The tension in the air makes that loud and clear.

Missy: No, no you don’t, do you. All part of your… provocative charm.

Message received, it appears… some message, at least… Missy slips off the table and begins to make her exit, assuring Lucas that she understands his perspective. Some things are better kept quiet, and she gets his need to maintain appearances -- and his pride.

Missy: It’s our little secret. And I get where we stand. [ with a smirk ] I think we understand each other better than one might assume.

The mere notion makes Lucas a bit queasy, but he keeps his mouth shut. Missy bids him adieu and disappears down the steps, wishing the Slumdog President the best of luck with his continuing financial campaigning.

Even once she’s gone, Lucas can’t shake off the discomfort of her presence. He has to get up, walk it off, gathering his things and fleeing from the space -- one of the few he’s never felt the need to escape from before.

EXT. HAVERFORD PREP - COURTYARD - DAY

Charlie is having lunch with BRIDGETTE GARDNER, occupying their typical table in the grassy outdoor space. She listens attentively as he catches her up on all of the stuff with their sisters, Charlie clearly seeking counsel from the one person who has been on the other side of this potential falling out. Does she think he should be worried, based on her own experience?

Bridgette: And you haven’t seen any of this for yourself?

Charlie: No, at least not yet. But I don’t think that means much -- I had no idea most of this stuff was going on with you until it was already way too late. When I first saw you having arguments with mom, it was volcano level.

Bridgette: To be fair, you were what, 14? Even younger than that when it all started. But true. Our family is really good at concealing the ugly, and then pretending it doesn’t exist when the moment has passed.

Charlie: And this is coming from Daisy. You know she wouldn’t make things up just for the hell of it.

Bridgette: Also true. She sure is an unaffected little freak. [ a beat ] I say that with love. Every Gardner has to be fucked up one way or another.

Still, with so little firsthand information, it’s hard to say. She doesn’t think Charlie should tie himself in knots trying to problem-solve something he can’t see, but…

Bridgette: Look out for Rosie if you can. You know, keep an eye out. If history is going to repeat itself, and she’s following in my forsaken footsteps… I don’t want her to go through that. She shouldn’t have to go through what I went through. Not that I’m not fine now --

Charlie: Right.

Bridgette: But she’s not tough like I am. And I mean that in the best way possible. Rosie… she’s sensitive. Sweet. Her heart is right there on her sleeve, even if she tries to act like she’s all grit. [ softly ] Reminds me of another sibling I’ve got.

Charlie smiles, but underneath the kind words she’s confirming his concerns. If the stormy energy around Rosie does whip up into a hurricane, then it’s looking more and more likely to be an unavoidable disaster. History may just repeat itself -- and more brutally than before.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Rosie isn’t the only one in a tempestuous mood. Jade is in full-on crunch mode as her deadlines loom ever closer, and even though she’s been basically holed up in the costume loft at all hours she still feels miles from the finish line. She’s skipping lunch to wrap up a couple of last-minute additions to another piece of her portfolio, using Asher as her mannequin. Currently, he’s sporting a rather fancy, outlandishly patterned and bold blouse over his maroon polo. It looks like it could be a ‘70s dance shirt, or the wardrobe of a funky, flamboyant villain, or perhaps an especially stylish swashbuckling pirate… but it’s a Jade Beamon original, so it looks fantastic.

If only the job of mannequin was as fun as the clothes he’s modeling. Asher is gritting his teeth so hard they might crack, cringing every time Jade threads her needle through a piece of it or sticks a pin somewhere. She’s an expert, a professional, but given her stress level she’s missed the mark more than once the last couple of days.

Jade, snapping: If you didn’t wince every two seconds like a little baby, then maybe I would stick you less.

Asher: [ through his teeth ] The two dozen pin prick battle scars I have beg to differ!

Nigel picks that moment to enter, catching the tail-end of their sharp exchange and clocking the vibes immediately. He hesitates by the door, not sure whether he should come in and interrupt anymore or not, but Jade spots him before he can duck out. She immediately loses some of her unpleasantness, straightening up and clearing her throat.

Jade: Nigel.

Nigel: Um… hello. [ holding up lunch ] I know you’re working through lunch again, so I just thought I’d bring something by.

Jade: Oh, that’s… that’s nice. You don’t have to keep doing that.

Nigel: It’s all good. I like being able to help. It’s the least I could do, make sure you eat.

Asher: Someone should.

Jade: I’m still holding pins, Asher…

As if that wasn’t signal enough, Nigel bravely ventures the question of how costuming is going this afternoon. Jade claims it’s all fine, and Asher repeats her comment in a tone that makes it very clear he doesn’t agree. Sensing that the best friends might benefit from a break from one another, Nigel offers to hang around and be her stand-in for a while.

Jade: Really?

Asher, hopeful: Really?

Nigel: Sure. All I have to do is stand there and look pretty, right? Think I can manage that. You know, if I clear the costumer’s standards, of course.

Jade: No, no you -- of course. Of course you do. You’re more than -- obviously, you’re up to standard. I mean, above. I, um…

Asher can’t help but laugh, but he hides it behind a fake sneeze. Jade shoots him a glare, then states it would be preferable actually for him to take Asher’s place for now. It seems like Bird Bones agrees, hopping down from the step stool and carefully removing the fanciful top.

Asher: It’s for the best anyway. I’m supposed to be helping Dylan proofread his college essays. I want to check mine one more time too -- Jade says reading them over seven times is more than enough, but pot meet kettle.

Nigel: A Dylan Orlando personal essay, huh? I’d pay to see that.

Asher: I’m sure he’d let you read it for no charge. One of the applications he’s filling out had the prompt to “describe a work of art from the last century that surprised, inspired, or challenged you and in what way,” so he wrote a whole thesis statement on why Taylor Swift’s album Lover is the most important contribution to art, culture, and society since the invention of music.

Nigel: Wow.

Jade: Of course he did.

Asher: I’ll be genuinely surprised if it’s not a video essay on his vlog in like four months. But you know what, no admissions officer can say he doesn’t have enthusiasm.

True that! Asher makes his grateful exit, handing the piece over to Nigel and wishing him luck. Jade giggles nervously once they’re alone, Nigel smiling and asking if he should just put the shirt on and stand where Asher was. She confirms, avoiding her gaze by digging through her sewing kit until he’s all set and ready to be pinned and needled.

Nigel: I hope I’m doing your work justice.

Jade: You, um… it’s good. You’re good. Ha ha.

She nervously pushes some hair behind her ear, then steps closer to get back to work. If anything can overpower shyness, it’s the stress of an impending deadline upon which your entire future rests. Jade softly explains to Nigel what she’s doing as she does it, since he’s never been her model before, and reassures her that he’s not worried and she can do whatever.

Nigel: I trust you, Jade. You are the expert, after all.

Jade glances up at him, processing the compliment. The declaration of trust. The fact that they’re standing so close, that if he just stepped down off the stool they’d be close enough to… it’s a lot. Sophomore year Jade would probably have ran and hid by now, if not passed out.

But this is the present, and Jade has work to do. So she swallows her butterflies and focuses on her needlework.

Quiet settles over them for a minute, then Nigel speaks again, barely above a whisper.

Nigel: You’re incredible, you know that?

Jade: Huh?

Caught by surprise, Jade’s hand slips… and accidentally sticks Nigel with the needle. He winces and she immediately launches into apologies, retracting her hands to drop the needle and asking if he’s okay. He promises he’s fine, keeping her from spiraling over it by taking her hand so she can’t drift any further away in retreat.

Nigel: Really, I’m good.

Jade: … so you were saying?

Nigel: Yeah. I just wanted you to know… I hope you know how amazing you are. I know you’re super stressed about all this and what these schools and programs are going to think of you, but they’d be insane to reject you.

Jade: I don’t know if I’d go that far.

Nigel: I would. I mean, you’ve made basically every costume we’ve worn for the last three years -- which I know everyone keeps throwing back at you -- and they’re fantastic. Not just because they look good, which they always do, but they’re durable. No matter how gorgeous they look, they can withstand a lot. When we finish a production, they’re worn in, but it’s still as if they’re freshly stitched. That’s impressive. Trust me, I’ve been in enough local Shakespeare productions to say so. One time a piece of my tunic fell off in the middle of the first act.

Jade laughs, charmed by the story and calmed enough by his gentle tone to actually breathe. Nigel smiles at her, fond.

Nigel: You’re reliable. That’s the best thing a person can be, in my opinion. And you’re talented to the extreme, hard-working, humble… I mean, is there anything you can’t do?

Jade: [ with a snort ] Socialize.

The word slips out, and Jade is instantly embarrassed by it. She hides her blush in digging to grab her needles again, going back to work as an excuse not to elaborate.

Nigel: Seriously? You’ve never struck me as without company. With the techies --

Jade: Oh, yeah, that’s the height of engagement. Just me and a bunch of emotionally inept teenage boys plus Dora, getting up to the same old shenanigans. Every girl’s dream. [ with a sigh ] Don’t get me wrong, I love them. Especially Asher, he’s my best friend. And I’m not saying I’m like, a recluse or anything, I have friends, I just… I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m talking about this. Sorry.

Nigel: No worries. I don’t mind. But for what it’s worth, I don’t see you that way. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend. I know I am. [ a beat ] Or like, any kind of relationship…

Jade coughs, not prepared for that. She giggles compulsively again, frantically brushing off the thought as she focuses intently on pinning a piece of the fabric into place.

Jade: I haven’t… ha, I’m so busy, I… a relationship… I don’t have the time to even…

Though she can’t form a coherent sentence, Nigel gets the message. Not available right now. And he admittedly looks a bit disappointed, but he puts his acting credit to use and swiftly covers with another smile.

Nigel: Well, again. Anyone would be lucky. And in the meantime, I’m just happy to support you however I can. Even at risk of puncture wound.

Jade absorbs this, unable to hold back her shy smile. She murmurs a thank you, then hides by throwing all her attention to the task at hand.

But for Nigel, the only thing he can focus on is her. So incredible… and so close… as the easy bass line floats in…

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “How Deep Is Your Love” as performed by Bee Gees || Performed by Nigel Chey (feat. Dylan Orlando)

The lights are low and the set-up is simple, just Nigel on the stage with a microphone stand and sporting the finished product of one of Jade’s ‘70s costumes -- a glossy gold suit, styled like Saturday Night Fever, over a black silk shirt. He’s shimmering like a disco ball under the stage lights, reflecting the whimsical, dreamy quality of the number.

The only other person on the stage with him is Dylan, accompanying him on bass and providing back-up vocals. He’s dressed much simpler, dressed in black and wearing his custom-made Jade Beamon original suit jacket from junior prom. His hair is the ‘70s-ified element, swept up and combed back like John Travolta. While he happily lets Nigel hog the spotlight, he does take a moment in the performance to wink to Asher in the audience.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Intercut with the performance, we check back in with Nigel and Jade in the loft, doing a metaphorical dance of their own around each other as Jade costumes. There’s something surprisingly amorous about the set-up when it’s paired with the ballad. Jade remains oblivious, studiously sewing away, but the romantic tension is more than apparent, in Nigel’s expression and the smooth delivery of his vocals as he looks at her.

And you may not think I care for you When you know down inside that I really do…

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

While she’s good at avoiding him while at work, Jade can’t keep her eyes off Nigel during the performance. Clarissa, Haley, and Asher cast knowing glances at her, but she doesn’t pay them any attention. In the back seats, Nate, Dave, and Jeff sway along to the beat playfully.

Cause we're living in a world of fools Breaking us down when they all should let us be

Ultimately, though, even if certain truths remain unsaid, what can’t be denied is an excellent performance. Nigel brings it home with grace, understated as always but, in this case, pretty swoonworthy.

We belong to you and me…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay is on the phone with Riley, the latter walking him through all of the bulletins from that day’s showdown discussion. He listens eagerly, living vicariously, but it’s obvious he’s also frustrated that he’s being excluded. He reminds Riley that they can call on him at any time to brainstorm on choreography or reevaluate concepts, but she gently waves him off by insisting she doesn’t want to put any additional pressure on him.

Zay: Well, to be honest, not being consulted kind of makes me feel more --

Riley: Oh, shoot, Maya’s here. She’s supposed to be meeting with Farkle after his therapist appointment this evening, so I’m sure she just has a bunch of notes she wants to Maya-splain to me first.

Zay: If she wants to get on speaker, then she could --

Riley: I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? And I’ll let you know if anything major happens. Love you!

Zay: But Riley --

She hangs up before he can get a word in, even a goodbye. He sighs and drops his phone on his bed, pulling his laptop back towards him. He has his applications webpage open, where he’s painstakingly attempting to piece together the final elements of his portfolio. It’s not in bad shape, but with the glooming reality of his booted foot and inability to make anything more, it doesn’t feel like enough. It feels like being trapped.

He grabs his phone again, obviously wanting to talk to someone about it. But he can’t talk to Riley -- he knows she’s busy. He can’t talk to Yindra. He can’t talk to Maya -- and nor would he want to, thank you very much.

Charlie…

He could talk to Charlie. God, he wants to talk to Charlie. And they’ve opened up the lines of communication again, haven’t they? Couldn’t it be easy, like it was before? All he has to do is say something… but he doesn’t know what that would be. It’s still confusing and twisted up inside him. And whatever happened with Haverford at the car wash is admittedly suspicious, though it just doesn’t feel right to think Charlie would do something like that.

Confusing. Complicated. Stuck. He’s stuck, stuck, stuck.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Farkle plops down onto Dr. Han’s couch, releasing a dramatic sigh and telling her there’s much to discuss (as there usually is). He starts to rattle off about the showdown drama because of Zay’s injury and how he and Isadora dumped water on their greatest rival at the moment, but Dr. Han carefully interrupts. She explains that there’s actually something she wants to open this appointment with, something that she thinks it’s important to start exploring as soon as possible. Farkle is confused but intrigued, sitting upright and gesturing for her to go on.

She turns to her notes, pulling out a couple of prepared informational sheets and taking on a gentler, more professional tone. She explains that after their last few meetings, she thought a lot about some of the patterns Farkle had been mentioning in his recovery. She decided to follow her hunch and do a little more research, and she thinks she’s landed on what might be the root after conferring with his primary care physician.

Dr. Han: It’s my belief that you show all the clear symptoms of bipolar disorder.

It’s like all the air gets sucked out of the room. Farkle freezes, staring at her, but words stop making sense. She continues to explain how common it is for it to be misdiagnosed as depression, how now they can focus on proper treatment for his actual affliction, how it’s just as manageable with the right approach, but it’s like she’s talking underwater. Everything feels hazy, static, like Farkle is suddenly a thousand miles away.

Farkle: No. No, I -- I can’t be.

Dr. Han: I understand that an unexpected diagnosis can be intimidating. And bipolar disorder, like most mental conditions, is shrouded in a lot of misrepresentation and stigma. But with the right perspective --

Farkle: I’m not. I can’t… I have to go.

Farkle blankly gets to his feet, suddenly certain he has to get out of there. It’s like he’s underwater now too, like he can’t breathe. Dr. Han warns that he’s likely just having a strong reaction to the news, anxiety, but she assures him that the diagnosis does not change anything about him or his prospects. If anything, it will improve things, because now they can confront his reality with the right tools. And it will be safest for him to just relax here and process it during their session.

But no, Farkle can’t stay. He numbly repeats that he has to go, ignoring Dr. Han’s disagreement and stepping out of the office.

INT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - HALLWAY - NIGHT

Farkle doesn’t stop until he’s fully out of her space, back in the endless office sprawl of a building like this. He waits a moment, dreading Dr. Han chasing after him and dragging him back in there, but she doesn’t come. He collapses back against the door, releasing a shaky exhale and screwing his eyes shut.

Bipolar. He’s bipolar.

A gentle piano begins to play, an iconic familiar riff while we stay close on Farkle’s face.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “All By Myself” as performed by Eric Carmen || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Zay Babineaux

Farkle takes the first lines of this legendary ode to isolation, singing them softly as the camera slowly eases away from him. The further away we pull, the more his sense of smallness grows, dwarfed by the hallway that seems to stretch on forever.

When I was young, I never needed anyone… those days are gone…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay pushes off his mattress and rises to his feet, going a bit too fast at first out of habit and nearly stumbling on his bad ankle. He cringes, falling back on the edge of the bed to right himself. He huffs and hides his head in his hands, easing into the next lines.

Living alone, I think of all the friends I’ve known But when I dial the telephone, nobody’s home…

EXT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - NIGHT

Farkle emerges onto the steps of the building in the financial district just in time to launch into the chorus. He carries on singing as he begins to make his way home, weaving through the streets and other passersby as if he’s invisible. Although he’s clearly emotional, it’s evident the information hit him hard, because he’s not at all at his usual level of verve.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay keeps it tamped down whenever it passes back to him as well, though his limitations are outside of his control. He spends his portion of the vocals at his window, leaning out to breath in the life and excitement of the city he loves that he feels so locked out of.

Whether within or without the city, for vastly different reasons, both Zay and Farkle are feeling the same ache.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

Farkle makes it home in time for the piano solo, showing off his proficiency on the instrument lest we dared to forget. Then he and Zay harmonize on the final, showstopping chorus, delivering a whammy even when they’re not quite in top form.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay rounds out the number, stepping away from his window and shutting it forlornly.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Maya is back to brainstorming in the Minkus home as promised, pacing in front of the moodboard they’ve been working off of for weeks. She’s avidly running through potential pitfalls to their showdown prospects, which seem to be piling up by the minute, while Farkle is seated on the edge of his bed. He’s stone-faced, truly lost in his own head now, and Maya doesn’t fail to notice. As she’s ticking off more items on their doomsday list, she halts and gives him an unimpressed glare.

Maya: … and an inattentive diva. [ snapping in his face ] Farkle! Earth to Farkle!

Farkle: What? Oh, sorry.

Maya: I swear, you have been exceptionally offbeat this week. Of all the times, too, naturally it would be our greatest time of crisis that your zany passion eludes us. Honestly, Farkle, where for art thou? Why have you abandoned me in our time of need?

Farkle: I’m bipolar.

Maya: Okay? And I’m a narcissist. Just because we use pretty words doesn’t change the state of the union, darling.

Farkle, shaky: No, like, I’m literally bipolar.

Maya pauses, actually looking at him. His tone convinces her that he’s not being cheeky, and his sallow expression drives it home. Her demeanor shifts instantly, dropping much of her diva arrogance.

Maya: What?

Farkle: I’m bipolar. I don’t know how many more times I can say it.

Maya: I heard you, I just -- when? How?

Farkle: My whole life, presumably. How, ask God for me.

Maya: Well… well, like, what does that mean? Like, so you’re bipolar, well, what does that mean for --

Farkle: I don’t know. I don’t know, my psychiatrist just told me. I didn’t… I didn’t do a great job of listening to what came after that.

Wow. Silence reigns as Maya attempts to process this new information. Farkle speaks again, even more uncharacteristically timid than before.

Farkle: I know this is bad timing. Just… with this, and everything at school, I don’t know how on top of it I can --

Maya: No, no, of course not. Shh. It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about all that. You need to focus on yourself. On this. Don’t worry about Triple A. I’ll handle it.

Farkle: But Maya --

Maya: I’ve got it. It’s okay.

She pats his shoulders reassuringly, then turns it into a hug. Farkle hesitates for a moment before returning the embrace, desperately leaning into the comfort. Maya remains stalwart for the both of them, features intense as her mind runs to problem-solve a million miles an hour. Based on the furrow of her brow, it seems she might already be onto something.

Maya: I’m going to handle it.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Riley, Isadora and Eric sit around the dining table, chatting casually after finishing their meals. Eric looks between the two girls with a warm smile before offering to clear up.

Riley: I’ll help.

Riley gets up to help Eric clean away the plates, but Isadora places a hand on Riley’s arm to stop her. Riley gives her a questioning look.

Isadora: I actually… I have something I want to show you. In my room. [ to Eric ] If that’s okay?

Eric: Of course, go ahead. I’m perfectly capable of filling up the dishwasher on my own.

Intrigued, Riley follows Isadora into her bedroom.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Isadora goes straight to her desk and opens up a notebook to reveal Valerie’s letter. She passes it to a confused Riley, who takes a moment to look over it. When she realizes what it is, she looks up at Isadora with wide eyes.

Riley: Is this…?

Isadora: [ with a nod ] A letter to my father. I found it in one of Val’s boxes. You’re the first person I’m telling so don’t… don’t tell Eric or anything.

Riley: Oh, totally. Sure. [ a beat as she scans through the pages ] Why aren’t you telling him, though?

Isadora: I don’t really know how I feel about it yet.

Riley guides Isadora to her bed, where they both sit. She collects her thoughts.

Riley: Did you know anything about your dad before now?

Isadora: No. I asked about him a few times, like ages ago, but Valerie always claimed she didn’t know who he was. I can’t tell if she was lying or not; I don’t even know when she wrote this.

Riley: It seems like she didn’t really think about it until he wrote to her. And it definitely seems like he wants to be part of your life. [ a beat ] Do you want him in your life?

Isadora: I don’t know. I don’t even know what that would look like. My gut is screaming at me that it’ll end in disaster, like it always did with my mom, but at the same time… like, I’ve gotten by fine without a dad until now, but it does feel there’s a part of me missing. What if it’s him?

It’s clear that she’s been thinking it over a lot. Riley admits that she isn’t sure what she could say to help considering her complete lack of experience in this department, but suggests again that she should talk to Eric.

Isadora: I’m scared to.

Riley: What? Why?

Isadora: I don’t want him to think that he’s not enough for me. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to ruin it.

Riley places a hand on Isadora’s shoulder and offers a sympathetic smile. Isadora responds by resting her head on Riley’s shoulder, so Riley moves her arm to wrap around her.

Riley: You know how much Eric cares for you. There’s nothing you could do to ruin it. You’re part of the Matthews family forever now, no matter who your father is and whether you meet him or not.

Isadora: You’re my favorite cousin.

Riley: I won’t tell Auggie you said that. And you’re my favorite cousin, too.

Riley plants a kiss on Isadora’s cheek with a ‘muah.’ Isadora pulls a face of disgust and escapes from her grasp as Riley giggles.

Isadora: Minus five cousin points. Auggie’s in the lead now.

Riley: Nooo!

She chases after Isadora, trying to engulf her in a hug as both girls laugh.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Charlie is back from a late rehearsal for showdown, changing out of his Haverford uniform. He strips off his shirt and places it in the laundry hamper, checking how his clothes from the car wash are faring.

Still damp. At this rate, it feels like they’re never going to go back to normal.

Suddenly, the house below him erupts with sound, voices being raised in the kitchen downstairs. It goes without saying, but raised voices are almost non-existent in the Gardner household. Charlie freezes, listening intently until he recognizes exactly what he’s dreading -- a higher-pitched, defensive voice. Rosie’s voice.

He drops the wet clothes and reaches for the first top he can find -- which just happens to be an AAA sweatshirt -- and yanks it on as he rushes into the hall.

INT. GARDNER HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

This time, there’s no question as to whether there is a fight. Rosie and ELEANOR GARDNER are more heated than we’ve ever seen either of them onscreen, yelling at one another and cheeks flushed. Rosie is particularly loud, in near hysterics since she’s young, emotional, and also on defense; Eleanor maintains a cool, superior tone even as she raises her volume.

Charlie slides into the room right in the thick of it, jumping in the middle without hesitation and questioning what the heck is going on. When he can get them to acknowledge him, Eleanor actually seems pleased by his presence, openly welcoming him into the argument.

Eleanor: Oh, perfect, just what we needed. A second opinion. Rosamund, why don’t you tell your brother why you’re in trouble? Go on.

Rosie, on the other hand, is not receptive to Charlie joining the conversation. She loses a lot of her fire, shrinking back and face flushing in embarrassment. Eleanor scoffs, though it seems like this is exactly how she expected her to react.

Eleanor: What’s the matter? Are you suddenly shy? You sure were loud enough arguing back to me about it, and now you won’t tell Charlie?

Charlie: Can someone just tell me what’s going on?!

Eleanor: Gladly!

Eleanor pointedly places Rosie’s phone on the countertop, which she’s been holding the whole time. It’s open to an Instagram photo on an unfamiliar page, one of Rosie’s new friends at her gifted high school. It’s a series of photos from some hangout the freshmen were having, but the photo in question surprisingly features another familiar player -- a bunch of the freshmen are sitting around and laughing, and Rosie is grinning while sitting on the lap of URI MINKUS.

It’s pretty innocent, but the implications are enough. Eleanor relays the whole tale, how one of Rosie’s friends from Catholic school told their mom about the photo in her tagged images and the mother was kind enough to inform Eleanor about it. This is already after a discussion she had with Rosie over this boy when she saw them interacting in a less-than-acceptable manner after school when she picked her up. She thought they had cleared it all up, but apparently not, between this photo and the fact that the text messages between her and this Jewish boy are nothing if not flirtatious.

Rosie: You shouldn’t have even been going through my texts anyway!

Eleanor: Oh, shouldn’t I? I didn’t realize you were the authority now! Privacy is a privilege, Rosamund, and you’re continuing to prove that you haven’t earned it!

They continue to escalate again, Charlie bewildered as he slides the phone towards him to get a better look. The photo really is so… nothing, and the whole argument feels so blown out of proportion. But Charlie knows the patterns, he knows what Bridgette warned him about, and all of the shouting and conflict is making him lightheaded.

Charlie, weary: Stop arguing.

Eleanor: I knew we shouldn’t have let you go to the gifted school. I knew you’d be better off staying in the Catholic system.

Rosie: Then why did you let me go?!

Eleanor: Maybe I shouldn’t have! Maybe that’s the thing I shouldn’t have done! In fact, maybe I’ll have to put a call into the deans and see if they can’t transfer you back --

Rosie, mortified: Mom, no!

Charlie: Stop…

The room is starting to spin a little bit. Charlie braces himself against the countertop, screwing his eyes shut and trying to block out the yelling. But he can’t run from it. He can’t hide.

Rosie: Charlie got to go to a different school! He got to go somewhere new without you breathing down his neck!

Eleanor: Because Charlie is responsible enough to handle it! You don’t see him posting suggestive content, flirting shamelessly, making questionable decisions. I don’t need to monitor your brother because he doesn’t give me any reason to be concerned!

Oh, Eleanor, if only you knew… it’s being invoked and talked about in such a discordant way that acts as the final straw. Charlie tries to catch his breath, but it’s not coming back, and it’s like the whole world is slipping away from him…

If anything will stop an argument, passing out probably does the trick. Charlie stumbles and then collapses onto the tile floor, shocking both Eleanor and Rosie out of their anger. Rosie shrieks and rushes to his side.

Eleanor: Charlie?! Ambrose! [ rushing to the entryway ] Ambrose, Charlie’s -- come quickly! Hurry!

Charlie’s down, all right. Rosie rolls him onto his back, checking for obvious injury -- lucky he didn’t crack his head open or something -- and trying to rouse him. But he’s out like a light… all of the tension slowly fading away…

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Meanwhile, Brandon is staying late at Haverford once again, only this time he’s not alone. He’s meeting with a mysterious figure, a HIPSTER 20-something man who is probably into photography or a wannabe filmmaker. But he’s clearly there on business, Brandon and the man speaking in hushed tones as they converse even though they’re the only ones around.

Brandon: And you’re sure you’ve got the whole thing? I’m not paying for poor quality or fractions.

Hipster: I’ve been doing this for six years. Think I know what I’m doing at this point. But yes, it’s all there. Professional quality. You’ll be able to see whatever you need to see.

Brandon deems this response satisfactory enough, nodding. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wad of cash, trading it off with whatever object the hipster is offering. When they retract their hands, Brandon comes away with the secret item -- a flash drive.

He scrutinizes it idly while the hipster quickly counts the bills, then they exchange a nod, Brandon thanking him for his service. The hipster makes his exit, Brandon pacing for a bit on the stage and turning over the flash drive in his fingers. Whatever it is, he seems pretty satisfied to have it in his grasp.

He loses some of his easygoing confidence when he hears the auditorium doors open. He slips the flash drive into his blazer pocket and straightens up, narrowing his eyes to assess his new company. When he recognizes who it is, though, an intrigued smirk blooms across his face.

Brandon: Well, well, well. I have to say, this is an unexpected surprise.

Maya Hart. Dressed in one of her sharpest ensembles, Valerie’s fur coat giving her that extra oomph, matching Brandon’s cool sophistication effortlessly. She leisurely saunters her way down the aisle towards the stage, taking her sweet time.

Maya: So this is the fabled Haverford Prep. [ pursing her lips ] I have to say, I was anticipating greater grandeur.

Brandon: It’s hard when the indigent experience excellence for the first time. Never quite meets the expectations of their hapless daydreams… [ off her sneer ] Is there something I can do for you, Hart? Let alone at this late hour?

Maya: Don’t flatter yourself. It’s 8PM.

She’s made her way to the stage now, coming to stand opposite Brandon front and center. There’s a healthy distance between them, keeping them staunchly on opposing sides, but they regard each other with respect. Maya claims she just wanted to come have a little chat, clan leader to clan leader.

Brandon: That so? I thought Friar was your figurehead.

Maya: We both have our respective areas of expertise. I like to think of myself as the Cheney to his Bush. Conservative politics notwithstanding.

Brandon: Was going to say. I don’t see Cheney being much of a swinger for socialist handouts like you all are gunning for. [ sizing her up ] But I’ll admit, I pegged you for a captain rather than a lackey. You sure took front and center at the car wash.

Maya: Ah, yes… the function you so ceremoniously soiled.

Brandon: Hope you’ll forgive the incursion. It’s only business. A little competitive spirit is all.

Maya: Oh, no arguments from me. I’m more incensed I didn’t see it coming. Wish I had thought of it myself.

Brandon chuckles, perhaps a bit won over by her… unique Maya charms. He claims he got the sense they were more alike than different… in fact, if circumstances were different, and they weren’t sworn rivals… Maya catches onto his drift right quick, mirroring his smug charisma as she feigns sympathy.

Maya: So you like what you see. Don’t despair, you’re far from the only one. But I’m afraid that’s a forgone impossibility.

Brandon: [ processing what might be a rejection ] Ah. I see. [ like they’re confidants ] You play for the other team?

Well. That’s a pretty bold assumption to jump to just because she doesn’t want to get with you, Brandon. But Maya maintains her coolness, unperturbed by such arrogant conclusions. She makes a face, as if she’s contemplating.

Maya: … no team. Let’s put it that way.

Brandon: And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?

Maya: The only team I play for is Triple A. And that’s what I’m here for.

Brandon backs off his advances and allows her the floor, back to all business. She tactfully begins to discuss negotiations around senior showdown, dancing around the details of everything going wrong inside the ranks of the A class but letting just enough of her cards show to indicate that she’s only here due to dire circumstances. Then she subtly tries to charm her way to an ideal outcome, brokering a deal where maybe, just perhaps, Haverford might find themselves on the losing side of the showdown confrontation.

You know she’s desperate if Maya is trying to arrange a thrown victory. And Brandon can sense that too, even as aloof as she’s acting, which just makes the whole situation more amusing to him. Though he feigned listening to her pitch, he is all too eager to shoot it down. Why would Haverford want to throw the competition, he muses, when their winning streak is so hot and their competition is apparently so weak?

Brandon: I knew you all were hardly a threat, but this is even more pathetic than I thought. I mean, you and Friar coming to me trying to cut a deal for an easy victory -- what a leadership duo. You all must be in harsher condition than I imagined.

Maya: Wait, what?

Brandon: … you didn’t know? That your president already paid me a little visit earlier in the semester?

Maya doesn’t respond, but the way she’s lost her easy confidence as she stares at him answers for her. Brandon laughs, shaking his head.

Brandon: What presidential teamwork. Clearly, the future of Adams is in outstanding hands. But with such low confidence, and even lower moves you’ll stoop to… no, I believe Haverford is just fine where we are now. We’ll beat you handily, as we have for the last six years, and rest assured Hart, it’ll be with immense pleasure. [ a beat ] You should probably be going, then. The security doesn’t take kindly to riff-raff hanging around our hallowed halls.

He swivels and swaggers offstage, leaving Maya alone and humiliated in enemy territory. She’s fuming, gritting her teeth and fists clenched at her sides.

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Riley is seated at the counter with her laptop, keeping Lucas company while he works the late shift. She’s running through analytics of the RSVPs they’ve already gotten for the dance fundraiser, which she claims is looking pretty good.

Lucas isn’t in a very optimistic mood, commenting that even if they get half of Manhattan to show up, it probably won’t be enough to cover all their expenses including the scholarships. With their chances at showdown dwindling by the minute… who knows. Maybe he’s not doing absolutely everything he can to make it happen…

Riley closes her laptop, giving him her undivided attention.

Riley: Don’t count Triple A out of showdown just yet, please and thank you. But I think I know what this is really about.

Lucas hesitates, freezing up.

Lucas: You do?

Riley: Yeah. You act like you’re so hard to read, like I don’t know you well enough to figure out when you’re not telling me something.

How could she know… did Zay tell her about seeing Missy in the booth? He swallows. She reaches across the counter and takes his hands, giving him a sympathetic look.

Riley: You’re freaking out over the college essays.

Lucas: Oh. [ a beat ] Yeah, well, I guess I am.

Riley reminds him that he doesn’t have to keep that kind of stuff from her and act like he’s unshakeable all the time. And honestly, she gets why he’s nervous about them. It sucks writing about yourself no matter what -- unless you’re Maya -- but it’ll be even harder for him given the things he’s been through. He hasn’t exactly been encouraged to view himself favorably, at least not until recently. Old habits are hard to break.

Riley: But that’s not necessarily what they’re looking for anyway. You don’t need to prove to them that you’re the most perfect shining candidate to ever apply, you just need to give them a really good story. Make them invested, get them to care about you. Show them a bit of your individuality, your personality -- which you are not short of in either department. And I know for a fact you can draw people in…

She is, after all, a prime example. Lucas still seems doubtful, but her perspective does help. And her belief in him continues to astound him, forged in steel even when everything else feels so unpredictable. Riley leans forward to give him a soft kiss, which lingers between them.

It’s impressive, too, how being with her grounds him. How their closeness doesn’t feel like an intrusion… and somehow, feeling cornered by other forces or put on edge just makes him want to be with her more. Lucas initiates another kiss, forgetting everything else for a moment, taking shelter in that inexplicable safety with her. Riley has no complaints, leaning deeper into it and tightening her touch on his hand.

Then the front door bangs open, the bell jangling ominously. Both of them jump and pull apart. Maya marches into the diner, indignant and blue eyes burning.

Maya: What the hell, Friar?

Lucas: What’s the matter with you now?

Riley: Is everything okay?

Maya: When were you going to tell me you shook down Brandon?

Riley: [ whipping to look at him ] What?

Lucas clams up, straightening upright and taking on a defensive stance. But the sheepish expression on his face gives him away. Busted.

Maya: You know, I think that kind of mercenary maneuver is exactly the sort of decision your VP should know about. Were you just never going to let me in on it?

Riley: Why the hell did you do that?

Maya: I don’t care about that. Friar’s a shady bastard, we all knew his methods were going to be far from clean. Who gives a shit. I’m pissed he decided not to keep me in the loop! Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for me to roll up there only for Brandon Rivas to hand my ass to me on a silver platter? Cocky prick, like he knows absolutely everything --

Riley: Wait, wait. [ eyeing her ] Why were you confronting Brandon?

Oh. Well. Cough. Maya flips her hair off her shoulder, but she can’t give a good excuse that doesn’t make her just as culpable as Lucas. He raises his eyebrows at her, emphasizing that if he’s going down she’s going with him. Riley closes her eyes, trying to catch up to this turn of events.

Riley: Let me get this straight. Both of you went to our competition, at separate times, to try and threaten them into… what? Giving up? Throwing the showdown?

Lucas: I just thought that --

Maya: Our prospects are in shambles even without the money. I was just --

Lucas: And I didn’t want you to be disappointed --

Maya: Everyone is counting on me, we’ve all got a lot riding on --

Riley: Okay, okay, stop. Enough!

Riley holds her hands up, getting them both to shut up. She takes a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath, then she jumps into fixer mode.

Riley: This must be the week for damage control, because now you’ve really done it. You realize now we’re going to have to bring it even harder, since you’ve made it perfectly clear to Brandon and the Havies that we’re spooked. You wouldn’t go and grovel for mercy if we weren’t.

Lucas: That wasn’t --

Maya, scoffing: I do not grovel --

Riley: I cannot believe you would do something so stupid. [ to Lucas ] And that you would do something like this and not tell me…

Oof… hit him where it hurts, Riles. Lucas lowers his head, avoiding her eyes. Case in point, it doesn’t make anybody look very good. And now, Riley proclaims, she has to fix it once again.

Riley: We’re going to have to brainstorm fast for showdown and make sure everything is in pristine shape, which we already know is a shot in the dark. Call Yindra, tell her to come by our place in twenty. I’ll see if we can get Jeff and Isadora too.

Riley puts her belongings back in her bag and hops off the stool, Maya already heading out. Riley goes to follow her, but she pauses in the doorway and glances back over her shoulder at Lucas. She shakes her head, obviously disappointed.

Riley: I can’t believe you.

She leaves it there, pushing through the doors without another word. Lucas looks after her, ashamed, then curses to himself and lightly hits the counter with his palm.

Break 2.

EXT. DANCE LOT - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT

Charlie is sprawled on the asphalt, just like when he collapsed, the city uncharacteristically quiet around him. When he comes around he jolts upright, spooked at being outside and on his own. He looks around in confusion, no clue where he is or how he got there. He slowly gets to his feet, recognizing the dance lot as a place he’s been before, but unsure where exactly it is or where to go next.

Only one clue exists to help guide him. Music.

It’s quiet, muffled, but he can hear it. A thumping bass, hypnotic beat… he spins until he zeroes in on the source. A heavy metal door installed into the wall opposite him, propped open just slightly, with a neon sign above indicating it’s likely some kind of club. Colorful light leaks out from the crack, mesmerizing and more than intriguing.

But it’s really the music that wins him over. He’s a dancer, and he cannot resist a compelling groove. He cautiously approaches the door, pulling it open and then stepping inside… as the faraway rhythms slowly become a familiar tune...

INT. DANCE CLUB - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Voulez-Vous” as performed by Mamma Mia! Original Movie Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors & Haverford Seniors

The rambunctious ABBA classic kicks off with a bang, music loud and boldly setting the scene. The lighting is mysterious, electric, the fully romanticized version of what a sultry, exciting disco scene might be like. Charlie is no longer dressed in his everyday clothes but is suddenly styled to match the vibes, sporting a sleek disco suit with Riley’s aforementioned blue dress shirt completing the look.

And as he ventures deeper into the club, he discovers he’s not alone. The place is packed with his classmates both current and former, Haverford populating one side and Adams the other, but all dressed in similar, near identical, disco suits. All eyes lock on him the moment he’s within view, judging him, waiting for him to make a move -- or pick a side.

The vocals start, and Charlie does neither, jumping down from the steps and sliding into the center of the glowing dance floor -- right down the middle of party lines. He starts the number dancing alone, challenging the established status quo in the club, tension mounting around his transgression of crossing lines…

Until Zay pushes through the crowd on the A class side. On both feet, looking fly as ever, no injury in sight and nothing holding him back from showing his stuff.

And here we go again, we know the start, we know the end Masters of the scene

Charlie pauses, locking eyes with Zay. For a moment, finishing up the pre-chorus, they just hold eye contact… letting that tension bubble over…

Then Zay jumps into the center of the floor with him, joining in the dance.

Voulez-vous!

For the first chorus it’s just Zay and Charlie, dancing sometimes together and sometimes in contrast, epitomizing the back-and-forth pull between them. But it’s them, so the dancing is remarkably good, and especially satisfying considering how long it’s been since we saw them share a routine. Their timing and chemistry is just as sharp as ever, and it’s also a relief just to see Zay be able to move again.

Throughout the second verse, they weave back into their respective schools, Charlie’s peers still eyeing each other suspiciously and reluctant to break rank. But Zay manages to get Riley out on the dance floor (with Lucas in tow), and then Charlie nudges Evan. Bit by bit the classes mix and mingle, caught somewhere between dancing in tandem and facing off like foes. This becomes especially pronounced during the bridge about 3 and half minutes in, when the chorus becomes stripped and just relies on “ahas,” Charlie leading the Haverford delegation and Zay fronting the A class as they mirror movements and poses.

Then they officially bleed together, classmates crossing into opposite territory for the final chorus. For those who don’t already have a pair in their respective class (unlike say, Dylan and Asher), they pair with someone from the opposite school, like Brandon and Maya.

And, naturally, Zay and Charlie. They’re back together at the center of it all, intensity rising with the music, choreography much more intertwined this time and very close together. If not breaking charged eye contact were an Olympic sport, they would win gold easily.

The flash. The glamor. The drama. ABBA would be proud! When they round out the final seconds and strike their final pose, Zay and Charlie’s faces are so close, all it would take is a centimeter in either direction…

Zay: Charlie...

Charlie’s eyes flit down to his lips, as if he’s contemplating that very thing…

Rosie, faraway: Charlie!

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Alas, not meant to be -- even in dream sequence. Charlie rouses awake when he’s shaken by Rosie, sitting on the bed next to him.

Oh, well. Wouldn’t be the same as doing it for real anyway.

Charlie blinks to adjust back to reality, Rosie releasing a momentous sigh when she sees he’s conscious again. She snaps at him for scaring her, informing him that his fainting spell totally freaked her and Eleanor out. Ambrose is on the phone with their doctor friend right now. He manages to sit up and apologizes for worrying them. It’s probably just… stress.

Rosie: Either way, bad party trick. Mom was so bugged out. You shouldn’t tell her you think it’s stress, or else she’ll probably yank you out of school too and back into Catholic prep.

Charlie: Yeah, speaking of… you really think she’s going to do that to you?

Rosie: … after you passed out, the conversation was basically dropped. If I keep quiet and don’t do anything else to incriminate myself, I think she’ll let it go. [ embittered ] Though sucks that I can’t even text who I want without her knowing every message I send. I doubt she’ll even let me speak to Uri now.

Charlie: Pro-tip? Change his contact name. Mom only goes looking for what she thinks is a problem. If you give him something inconspicuous, she’s never going to know otherwise.

Rosie stares at him, shocked her saltine brother would even think of something like that. I mean, he might be an alcoholic, but still… but it’s good advice all the same. Charlie goes on to explain that he was worried about her, too, and he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s trapped or she has to lash out. You can negotiate with Eleanor, you just have to be clever about it. He doesn’t want her to make the same mistakes that Bridgette did.

Rosie: Yeah, I know… thanks for looking out for me.

Charlie: So… Uri Minkus, huh?

Rosie: Ugh.

Charlie: He’s really that worth sneaking around to text?

Rosie: … I guess you could say… perhaps… maybe… that I have like, the tiniest crush on him. Just a little bit.

Charlie can’t help his smile. He jokes that she should be careful, not because of Eleanor’s concerns, but because if they get married then Farkle is going to become their in-law, and she has no idea what she’s in for if that happens. She groans and nudges Charlie, telling him to shut up, but it’s clear she’s already in better spirits than most of this week. She asks if he’s okay given that all his “stress” is literally making him pass out. Is everything okay with Adams? Charlie admits that he wishes things were easier to navigate than they are.

Charlie: Honestly, I think I’m just naturally gifted at making everything worse. [ with a weak laugh ] Probably should’ve listened to dad when he asked if transferring during senior year was a good idea.

Rosie points out that maybe some of that stress weighing on him is just stuff he creates in his own head. Not to demean it or anything, but like… does everything have to be an anxiety-inducing dilemma? If he wants to go hang out with his friends, from either school, then he should just go do that. He’s allowed to enjoy himself every once and a while and take a break from being the perfect saltine protective older brother. You know, have fun.

Rosie: [ holding up a finger ] Sober fun.

Charlie’s turn to laugh and nudge her. But maybe she has a point. And there might be just the perfect upcoming event where he can relax and have some fun…

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

We join Eric and Isadora in the midst of their conversation. Eric reads Valerie’s letter while Isadora watches with her lips pressed together. Once he finishes the letter, he takes a moment to process it.

Eric: Wow. That’s… a lot.

Isadora: What do you think?

Eric: I think that what I think isn’t important at all right now. What do you think? Do you want to get in contact with him?

Isadora thinks about it as she wrings her hands.

Isadora: I’m not sure. But… you aren’t upset?

Eric: Why would I be upset?

Isadora: If I do want to meet him, I’m worried you’ll think that you’re not enough for me or something. I don’t want to hurt you.

Eric: Isadora, that could never happen. I’m not hurt at all, I just want what’s best for you, and a relationship with your father could be something really good.

Isadora: What if it isn’t, though? I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. Again.

Eric: That’s understandable. You don’t have to make a decision now, though. You have all the time you want to think it over. [ a beat ] If you want, you could write a letter to him yourself. You don’t have to send it, but it can be cathartic to write out everything you’re thinking and feeling about the situation.

Unsure, Isadora pulls a face. Eric reminds her again to just think about it -- no major decisions necessary right now.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas is meeting with Jack one last time before the dance fundraiser to grab another cash box and go over any last minute details. Jack questions if he’s going to be dressing for the occasion, to which Lucas rolls his eyes but begrudgingly admits that he thinks Riley would be even more upset with him if he didn’t. Though he doesn’t have all the details, Jack assures Lucas that he’s sure Riley isn’t going to be angry for long.

One can only hope. Jack wishes Lucas luck and then he heads out, leaving him to his work. He settles back into it until he lifts his gaze and catches Yancy heading out of the building, checking out for the weekend.

All of Jack’s frustration from his conversation with Evelyn bubbles back up again. He pushes out of his chair, jogging out of his office.

EXT. AAA - DAY

Jack catches Yancy on his way down the steps, telling him that they need to talk. Yancy claims whatever it is can surely wait until Monday, but Jack isn’t having it.

Jack: No, I don’t think your active sabotage of my school can wait another damn second.

Yancy is stunned by his coarse language, effectively halting him long enough to have the confrontation. Well, what then? Jack questions when exactly he planned to let him know about his ongoing anti-campaign against the student government’s scholarship endeavors, or what would drive him and Graham to work to pit the board against them. He knows that they aren’t fond of him, especially after his stunt at the trial, but taking it out on the students? Who does that benefit? What do they gain from that?

Yancy, sharply: Actually, Jackson, you’ve hit the nail on the head. After your little unprofessional display, why wouldn’t we be invested in halting any other schemes you deem a good idea? Particularly when your chosen favorite himself just miraculously managed to become student body president in a school that hates his very existence?

Jack: You have no idea what you’re talking about, and Lucas won that election on his own merit. It had nothing to do with me.

Yancy: It has everything to do with you! Everything does! So long as you are at the helm of this ship, making all the calls, everything ties back to you. And we used to trust you with that power. But all this behavior as of late -- declining lucrative offers, favoring delinquents --

Jack: He is not a delinquent!

Yancy: Or how about cavorting with a fellow employee? [ off his shocked expression ] Oh, come on, Jackson, I’m not naive. Did you and Eric really believe you could flaunt your little flirtation right in front my face and I wouldn’t notice a thing? As if my whole purpose at that school isn’t to keep it from collapsing under your unprofessional whimsy and desires!

This whole time, he’s been observing, watching the operation of AAA from the inside out, trying to determine if Jack remains fit to head the institution. Yancy admits, when Graham first put him up for the job, he was skeptical -- he’d always had great belief in Jack as an educator. He was doubtful that he had really slipped so far… but now he’s seen for himself. There is a certain way things are done, and it seems Jack has forgotten all of his proper perspective in service to that law and order.

Yancy: When I finish my report to the board at the end of the semester, they’ll be the judge of whether or not you deserve to stay where you are. But believe me, if I had it my way, you’d be out of that position and filing for unemployment faster than lightning.

Jack: You can’t do this. You can’t eject me from the role simply because your perspective is too old-fashioned to be flexible. Or empathetic. And unwilling to examine context --

Yancy: Well, we’ll just let the board decide that, won’t we.

Guess we will. Yancy fussily buttons his coat.

Yancy: I would watch yourself if I were you, Jackson. In my opinion, it’s far too late, but we both know how easy it is to tip the scales slightly in your favor. Maybe you’ll salvage this yet. Otherwise, I’d start contemplating alternative paths. Have a good evening.

Yancy stomps down the steps, not waiting for a goodbye. Jack swallows his panic, trying to remain resolute in the face of so much pressure. Scrambling to figure out what to do next...

A groovy disco track bleeds into the soundscape, totally dissonant to Jack’s dread --

INT. DANCE VENUE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Streetdance” as performed by Disco Street Machine || Instrumental

The ‘70s dance fundraiser is in full swing, and it seems to be doing well! The venue is packed not just with Adams students but other community members, promising at least some greater revenue from the whole ordeal. The scene is set with funky lighting and a dance floor, along with some flower-power type decorations and a fun mirrorball hanging above it all.

It’s mainly cool to see everyone leaning into the theme and dressed in their best approximations of ‘70s garb. We’ve got funky vests, blazers for days, chunky platform boots, a few bohemian chic vibes, you name it. A few establishing shots show us all these looks and more while the assembled crowd grooves to the disco track. Yogi is wandering with his camera, capturing footage for posterity and social media.

Lucas is manning the check-in table, this time keeping control over the money in his own hands. He maintains a cordial enough demeanor as he interacts with potential patrons, and he is giving some semblance of ‘70s as promised in his collared-shirt-under-sweater look. He’s serving like… gothic Fred Jones, which is about as much as you’re gonna get from him.

Asher and Dylan, on the other hand, are representing much better. Asher is repping the funky vest and puffy sleeve shirt vibe, matched well with some maroon bell-bottoms and swooped back hair, while Dylan is truly going disco with a silky vibrant shirt tucked into silver pants, a huge, chunky pair of Elton John tinted glasses the cherry on top of the ensemble. They ask how cash flow is going, and Lucas claims fine, but they’re not out of the woods by a long shot.

Lucas: If things don’t pick up, I’m going to start pickpocketing.

Asher: Yes, that’s exactly what we need. A literal crook for president.

Dylan: Isn’t that like every president?

Anyway, Lucas needs to chill. Or as Dylan puts it, surrender to the boogie. Which is what he and Asher are going to go do right now -- the dance floor beckons them. Asher leads the way, Dylan walking backwards so he can maintain eye contact with Lucas and literally disco groove away from him as encouragement to give in to the funk. Lucas just shakes his head, unimpressed.

When Lucas gets back to work, who should be waiting to purchase a ticket in but Charlie Gardner. He’s dressed for the occasion too, dressed in dark pants and a white blazer… with Riley’s chosen blue shirt underneath. It seems he followed her guidance and went for it after all. Lucas greets him and commends him for turning out, considering all the bad blood between Haverford and AAA right now. Brave of him to show up.

Doesn’t he know it… but he wants to be here. Lucas takes his money and nods for him to go on in, sending him into the fray.

Meanwhile, Zay is parked at one of the tables, not in the best mood considering he’s surrounded by the boogie and can’t participate. Nigel is doing his best to cheer him up, but it’s sort of a fruitless effort. When Zay catches him eyeing Jade, who the techies managed to extract from the loft to at least enjoy the dance, he sighs and tells him to go have fun. He doesn’t have to waste away with him. Nigel argues against that take, but Zay nods him onward, insisting.

So Nigel bounces to his feet, thanking Zay before cutting through the crowd in the direction of Jade. Zay watches him go, bittersweet at being left alone again.

Charlie skirts the edges for a bit before finding companionship in Farkle, who greets him plainly. He’s dressed like Eric Forman, wearing a simple button down and bellbottoms combo with a loose brown corduroy jacket. He and Charlie briefly catch up, commenting on how the turn out is and how great the aesthetic is. But Farkle is still a bit lost in his own head, and Charlie notices. He elbows him lightly.

Charlie: You okay?

Farkle: [ with some of his usual humor ] Chuck, that’s like asking the sky if it’s red. I think you already know the answer.

But he’ll live. Once he figures some things out… it’ll be fine. It has to be. Vagueness aside, Charlie can tell there’s more to it, but he opts to focus on distraction rather than problem-solving. He’s had enough problem-solving for a lifetime this week. He invites Farkle to go dance instead, playfully challenging him to show what disco moves he’s got up his sleeve.

Farkle: Oh, you’re going to regret this -- and not because I’m good.

Charlie laughs, gesturing for him to lead the way onto the dance floor.

Maya jumps up onto the small stage set up with the DJ booth, taking the microphone and briefly thanking everyone for coming out. No applause necessary for putting it together, really… and she waits until the audience feels compelled to applaud. Then she waves them off “humbly” before reminding them of all the ways they can support the Adams senior class while at this benefit -- mainly financially! And by getting down and boogie-oogie-oogying. Peace!

Lucas shakes his head at Maya’s speech, lightly amused, but all of his calm is wiped away when Missy walks through the door. She’s dressed in simple ‘70s, a gorgeous and slightly revealing silk disco mini dress and with her hair blown out like Farah Fawcett. She cheekily compliments him on his get up.

Missy, sarcastic: An ensemble that elaborate must’ve taken ages to throw together. I see you really put an effort in.

Lucas: Maybe. And what’s your excuse?

Missy: Not everything needs to be silly and over the top. In fact, I think the richest things in life are those that go understated. Left unsaid… makes everything a bit more exciting, anticipating whatever more there might be to explore. [ a beat ] Same goes for fashion.

Lucas: … so are you paying, or what?

Missy: As I understand it, Adams seniors get in free. But since I can afford it…

She reaches into her small satin purse, pulling out a wad of cash. She siphons off about half of it -- way more than a ticket would cost -- and drops it into the cash box for him. He eyes it suspiciously, then flits his glare towards her.

Missy: I thought about our little chat. And you’re right, maybe there needs to be something in it for me -- which in this case is a victory at showdown. We’re embarrassing enough right now as it is. At least with the funding, we’ll look good when we crash and burn. And as for the rest…

She folds up the remaining bills in her hand and holds them out for him, gesture subtle but unmistakable. Lucas stares at the money, then glances around them nervously to make sure no one else is looking.

Lucas: What the hell are you doing?

Missy: Come on, Lucas. Don’t be noble. We know how things are between us. I’m just trying to help. And it stays discreet. Think of it as… a bonus, for all the hard work you’re doing for the A class. [ quieter ] I heard you in the booth. You don’t ask for help. Well, sometimes, you don’t have to beg. You can just take… whatever you want.

She raises her eyebrows, subtly challenging him to take it. Lucas hesitates, holding his breath… it feels like a test, he knows it is… but he’s already taken plenty from her without asking. What’s a little more…

Missy: Davis isn’t going to pay for itself, is it?

No. No it isn’t. She’s right, and he knows his chances of reeling a scholarship are slim to none. Does he really want all of this stress for applications to be for nothing?

Reluctantly, Lucas takes the money from her and slips it into his back pocket. Missy smiles, genuinely pleased, though why it’s hard to say. But it’s clear, now more than ever, that whatever little arrangement they’ve got going on here is a pattern now. It’s not just going to flutter away on its own, and the consequences that might come of it remain a mystery.

Missy: Groovy. Enjoy the dance, Lucas.

Lucas doesn’t respond, using the cash box as an excuse not to look at her. But based on flipping through the amount of money she handed over for the fundraiser, they’re way closer to their goal than before. And that has to make it all worth it, right?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “September” as performed by Earth, Wind, & Fire || Instrumental

One of the best songs of the decade comes on next, earning an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. Riley weaves her way through the throng and rushes up to the entrance to find Lucas, Nate in tow. She’s dressed in a shimmery lavender-mauve jumpsuit, a complimentary hair scarf tying together the groovy look. She pushes Nate in front of her.

Riley: Nate here is taking over table duty.

Nate: You know how I love dem bills, my brother.

Riley: So that you can come dance with me.

Lucas cringes, weakly putting up a fight. Oh, no, no, no… but Riley’s already got her hands on him, and her smile is so damn cute, it would be impossible to refuse her. So he lets her drag him out into the crowd.

Once they’re actually on the dance floor, Riley beams at him and pulls him closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Lucas does his best to be a good sport and play along, especially since he’s already in trouble, placing his hands on her hips and casually swaying to the beat.

Lucas: So… does this mean I’m off the hook for the Brandon thing, or…

Riley: Hm… so as long you’re dancing with me and you look so cute in that sweater, I suppose you can be forgiven.

Better than nothing, though Lucas still clearly feels guilty about disappointing her. Just one of many ways he feels like he’s letting her down… but for now she’s happy, so he’ll just focus on touching her waist and how hot she looks in her jumpsuit.

Across the dance floor, Dylan and Asher are in conversation with Jeff and Yindra, Dylan with his arm draped casually around Asher’s shoulders and bouncing to the beat. They’re discussing the everchanging stakes of their showdown routine -- at this point Yindra claims they should just scrap it all and start over, they’ve got equally as bad a shot with the shoddy routine they have now. But Asher claims that would be a disaster, and they should only cross that bridge if they absolutely must.

Dylan spots something that seems to capture his attention, his eyes widening in excitement. He pinches Asher’s ribs and leans closer, Asher tilting his head to listen to his murmur.

Dylan: Shakespeare in Love, straight ahead.

Asher squints through the dancing crowd and finds what he’s talking about -- Nigel and Jade. He’s actually managed to pull her onto the dance floor, engaging in loose and easy grooving together. She’s laughing, waving off how bad a dancer she is, but he holds one of her hands and assures her she’s good.

Totally radical. Asher and Dylan exchange knowing looks, unable to hold back a grin.

Zay is less enthused, mainly because of his current view -- Charlie, dancing with Farkle of all people to one of the greatest songs there is. Not that there’s anything to be concerned about, really, since they’re clearly just goofing around with each other and Farkle is as promised quite an embarrassing disco dancer. But he’s up and moving, free, having fun, making Charlie laugh -- with Charlie looking disgustingly attractive in his expertly chosen shirt -- and it kind of feels like a perfect vignette of what’s locked away from him.

Everything Zay wants, desperately misses, but can’t have.

His brooding is interrupted when Isadora plops down into the chair across from him, giving him a nod in greeting. He asks why she’s not out there grooving on the dance floor, and she sagely says she’s not interested in getting up to boogie so… publicly. She’s amazed Riley got Lucas out there, but that’s only because of her unique Riley charms. It’s torture in her eyes.

Zay: Speak for yourself, but you’re entitled to your whack opinion.

Isadora: I know, I know. This is killing you. And I respect that. Just not for me. [ a beat ] Maybe it’ll give you some peace to know that you being benched is an undeniable tragedy for all of us.

Zay: The considerate part of me says no, but the egotistical side does love it, thank you.

Isadora: You’re welcome. [ with a sigh ] Now there’s talk of changing the routine if we can’t figure out how to fill your vacancy. Not that I don’t think we could pull it off, but it would take all hands on deck and everyone on board, and I don’t see that happening unless there’s no other alternative. Right now, if we could just find someone to fill your spot -- never as strongly, of course --

Zay: Again, my ego thanks you. You’re not going to take the spot?

Isadora: Uh… I mean, I don’t know. A couple of people suggested it, but look, we know I’m no you. I don’t learn as quickly, and I’ve got enough of a track record with performance mishaps on my own. I mean, what if I do it but I completely freeze the moment we have to go out there? My mom’s parting gift to me was giving me the one thing she never had -- stage fright. Doesn’t that seem too risky to throw in there when the stakes are higher than ever?

Zay: Man, I don’t know. I get what you’re saying, but all I know is that I would kill to be able to perform right now. And if you’re debating it at all, then to me, that means you want to -- and if I had the ability to do it, I wouldn’t waste it for a second on what ifs.

Very insightful, Zay. Isadora contemplates this… then she points out to Zay that just because he’s off his feet doesn’t mean he has to fade into oblivion. He’s got to take the time to heal, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be involved in the class or productions. He just has to find new ways to involve himself rather than what he’s used to.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Y.M.C.A.” as performed by Village People || Instrumental

Another classic! In an instant, Riley appears at their table, teeming with enthusiasm and reaching for Zay’s hands. She insists that he get up dance with her -- to which he reminds her that he’s booted -- but she points out that anyone can do the Y.M.C.A. It’s just shouting and arms! So he relents, allowing her to help him to his feet, but his grin betrays his aloof demeanor.

Farkle slides over moments later, telling Isadora that she better get up and join them too. If Zay can do it, she has no excuse. She rolls her eyes, but she really can’t argue with him on that.

So the dance wraps up with a flourish, the full class laughing, sing-shouting and goofing off together to the party favorite that literally anyone can do. Nigel and Riley each support Zay on either side, and he looks about as joyful as he has in weeks. Asher and Dylan prevent Lucas from escaping, keeping him on the dance floor and trapping him in the Y.M.C.A groove too. Charlie dances with Haley and Clarissa, who take turns twirling under his arms.

Yogi and Dave make their way through it all, capturing all the joy of a successful fundraiser on camera so they’ll never forget it.

INT. DANCE VENUE - LATER - NIGHT

The party has wrapped up, only the A class hanging around to clean up. Well, the A class and Charlie, who insisted it was no problem to stay back and assist in tidying. He’s working with Nigel and Yindra at stacking chairs, the latter of which comments playfully that he really is too helpful for his own good.

Yindra: Such a good little Christian, truly. It’s like God injected his compassion mission into your cute white boy veins.

Charlie: Well… not that good, admittedly. [ a beat ] I think if he was going to make his prototype golden child, he would’ve skipped the part where he made me gay.

Oop. Wow, a casual coming out -- and with a little humor, too! Charlie is getting better at this. Yindra raises her eyebrows at him, assessing for a moment whether or not he might be joking… and then she breaks into a wide grin, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Yindra: Oh, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie… I always knew I liked you. And I should’ve known, considering that awful Les Mis kiss still haunts my nightmares.

She asks how long he’s been out, or at least telling people, and Nigel slides in to proudly note that he told him before Yindra. She rolls her eyes. Charlie admits it’s slow-going and hasn’t been easy, especially with the community outside of AAA, but it feels good every time he does it. Hopefully the rest of his world will turn out tolerant too.

Yindra invites him to her church that Sunday for a change of pace. She’s performing a solo in the choir, so it’ll be guaranteed entertaining, and it might be good for him to see an actually accepting church environment for a change.

Nigel: She just wants to force you to see her ‘70s performance before she shares it with the class on Monday. The more people she can force to be her audience, the better.

Yindra: Hey, now, I don’t care for your sass, Chey Chey.

Either way, her church runs later than his, so it shouldn’t conflict. And Nigel will be there too -- she’s bribing him with brunch -- so it’ll be like a fun little outing. Charlie just seems happy to be connecting with his peers again, so he happily agrees.

Nate, pre-lap: 70… 80… 90…

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Lucas, Maya, Riley, Dylan, Asher, Isadora, and Farkle are convened in and around the back corner booth, watching nervously as Nate counts the final income from the dance fundraiser. All of them are holding their breath… Maya is pacing like a wildcat, ready to pounce and tear him to shreds if the number is too low.

Isadora: Jesus, Nate, can’t you count any faster?

Nate: No, I don’t cut corners when it comes to money. Now shut up, or I’ll have to start over.

Farkle, exhausted: Hush, Isa. Don’t make him start over.

Silence settles over them again… and Nate finishes counting the bills from the cashbox. He lifts up a finger to halt them from asking, writing the number down and then pulling up the calculator app on his phone. After combining the total from this with the car wash haul…

Nate: We did it. Crazy sons of bitches, we did it!

They officially made the money to pay for the damages and fund their showdown needs. Victory! All of them cheer, hugging each other and clapping enthusiastically. Riley wraps her arms around Lucas and kisses his cheek, while he’s looking pretty relieved.

Nate: I gotta say though, the numbers seem kind of skewed based on the actual attendance we had. Someone must’ve made a huge donation. [ to Lucas ] Did you notice anyone drop some major cash?

Oh, interesting… Lucas pauses, then breezes past the question. He claims it doesn’t matter who donated what -- they’re in the clear, and now they can focus on what matters. It’s time to kick Haverford’s pretentious privileged ass at showdown.

Hear, hear! The group cheers again, exchanging high-fives and reveling in their hard-earned success.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Isadora arrives home, shedding her jacket and shoes at the door. She’s relaxed, and has a relieved smile on her face. From where he sits on the sofa, Eric looks over to her.

Isadora: We did it! We raised all the money we need.

Eric: Oh, amazing! Well done, I’m so proud of you all.

Isadora sits down next to him and exhales. It’s been a long day.

Isadora: I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’ve decided to write a letter to Zachary.

Eric: Tha --

Isadora, interrupting: I don’t know whether I’ll send it or not, but I do think it’ll help just to get my thoughts out there.

Eric nods his agreement, and reminds her that he’ll always be there for her. Just as she starts to ask for help on what to include in the correspondence, there’s a knock at the door. Eric goes to answer it, pleasantly surprised to find Jack waiting on the other side. Although he’s happy to see him, Jack seems stressed, so Isadora gets the hint that she should probably give them some space. She wishes Jack a good night and retreats to her room, leaving them alone.

Eric: Did you hear that they made the money to cover the auditorium damages? I’m honestly impressed, but I guess we should never doubt the A class.

Jack: Yeah… yeah, I did. From Lucas. It’s great.

Eric: … okay, what’s going on. You’ve got your thin voice going, how you get when something is wrong.

Jack doesn’t even bother to ask what that means -- Eric knows him well, it’s hardly a surprise at this point. He releases a strained sigh and explains what happened with Yancy, both about him sabotaging the scholarship fund from within the board and then the confrontation they had on the steps. Eric listens raptly, absorbing some of his dread with every word.

Eric: That sick… I always knew there was something off about him. He’s a corporate sellout through and through -- has been since he joined the board. And he has the gall to lecture you… we’ll get him for this, Jack. We just have to strategize --

Jack: No. No, we can’t do anything. Not right now. Not with so many things on the line.

Jack mentions the other piece of Yancy’s threat -- that he might be put on probation for real and potentially let go. Eric scoffs at this, disbelieving. Jack is well-known in the community… no way he’d get ousted. It’s an empty threat.

Eric: What’ll probably happen is that if anything, they put you off contract, and the position would reopen for applicants. So all you’d have to do is apply again, and Evelyn would hand it back to you without question. Yancy is just reaching, he can’t --

Jack: But Evelyn isn’t the only vote that matters, Eric. If they can flip a decision on something like the scholarships… that affects the students… and I don’t think he’s bluffing. I mean, he brought up Lucas, he mentioned… he mentioned you and me…

Eric shrinks a bit at this. It’s uncomfortable that someone is using their relationship as leverage, implying it’s a bad thing, but he’s also nervous about the way Jack is taking it. He knows how much he cares about AAA. He’d do anything to keep it afloat, to do what’s right for the school.

Eric: So… [ with a deep breath ] What do you want to do?

Jack, softly: Right now… I just think we need to… we need to step back. Put things on hold until the dust settles. My examination period should be over soon, and when this is all sorted, then… then maybe we can…

But for now, they can’t. There’s too much at stake… things both of them care about more than themselves. Although Eric is reluctant, he does his best to keep his emotions in check and nods along. He places a hand on Jack’s shoulder, letting it rest there for a moment. Stroking with his thumb, soaking in the touch for all it’s worth. Who knows when he’ll comfortably get to do it again.

Eric: Whatever you need, Jack. I understand. [ with difficulty ] I’m with you.

Jack nods, grateful. More grateful than he’ll ever know. He holds his gaze for a long moment, then leans forward and presses his lips softly to the corner of his mouth. So close, yet so far… Eric closes his eyes, trying his best not to crack.

Jack pulls back, swallowing hard. He clears his throat and nods, back to a fragile shell of professionalism.

Jack: I’ll see you at school.

Eric returns the nod, but he can’t meet his eyes. Jack hesitates for a moment longer, wishing it wasn’t this way, wishing he could stay… then steps back into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Like he was never there.

INT. YINDRA’S CHURCH - DAY

Charlie and Nigel are in one of the pews amidst the usual congregation of Yindra’s church, waiting for the choir following the service to begin. Charlie seems excited but nervous, liking the high spirits and jovial energy but worried he’s an imposter just like he is everywhere else. He leans over to Nigel.

Charlie: I stick out like a sore thumb, don’t I?

Nigel: Mm, yeah. But it’s okay, [ patting his arm ] you can’t help that you’re skim milk.

Thank you for that, Nigel. Charlie opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, so it’s a relief when Yindra steps down front and center in her church choir robes to address the congregation. She cheerfully greets them and explains that she got to choose the song for this week, which she used to also fulfill the requirement for her art school lesson. Two birds, one stone, am I right?

Either way, she wants to dedicate the heart of this performance to her peers at school and in attendance this afternoon. She knows they’re all going through stuff, and even though it feels like the end of the world right now, it’ll all be water under the bridge one day. All they can do is take it day by day, and by the grace of God, everything will end up the way it’s meant to be.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Yindra Amino

If anyone could deliver soulful, impressive vocals to rival and honor Mercedes Jones (for those of us who did watch Glee, unlike the Havies), it would be Yindra Amino. And deliver she does, both in the church and on the atrium steps at AAA where she splits this performance. The rest of her choir backing her up gospel style really does add a certain something something, but the true emphasis of the number is the meaning.

Your time has come to shine All your dreams are on their way See how they shine, oh, if you need a friend I'm sailing right behind

When she makes it to the latter half and the gospel kicks off clapping to the beat, the entire congregation leaps to their feet and eagerly joins in. Charlie and Nigel are right there with them -- as is the A class in the atrium intercut of the performance.

Yindra brings it home with a spectacular vocal run, and you have to wonder if she really could make it out there in L.A. on her vocal chops alone. The church erupts into gleeful applause as she wraps up and takes a bow with the choir, beaming bright.

Charlie mirrors her smile, enthusiastically clapping along. Experiencing for an instant what it’s like to feel comfortable in church -- allowed to just be himself.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Lucas is anxiously sitting opposite Riley in the usual booth, watching as she carefully reads over his personal essays. She’s doing her best to maintain a professional and neutral expression while she goes, but it’s impossible to hold back the slightest smile on her lips as she reaches the conclusion. When she lifts her gaze to meet his, but purposefully builds suspense by not saying anything, he cracks.

Lucas: Well? They’re terrible, aren’t they? You can just say it if they are.

Riley: … [ breaking into a grin ] They’re great, Lucas. Brilliant, honestly. Not that I ever had any doubt you could pull it off.

What a relief. Lucas exhales a sigh, thanking her for taking the time to read them. Then he continues, softly apologizing for not telling her about what happened with Brandon. Even though he had good intentions, he knows it doesn’t matter. And if he wanted so much not for her to know, then obviously it was never a good idea to begin with.

Riley: You know it’s fine for you to mess up. I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me.

Lucas: [ after a beat ] I guess I didn’t… it’s like the stupid personal essays. I know that… I’m not a shining example of a good person. I don’t think that’s exactly a secret.

Riley: I don’t think that.

Lucas: I know. I know you don’t, and I think that’s why I didn’t want you to know. Because it’s like every thing I do that shows you that, the more you realize that I’m… less than ideal, then…

Riley tilts her head, giving him a sympathetic look. Then she gets up and comes to join him on his side of the booth, sliding in next to him and leaning forward a bit so he’ll meet her gaze.

Riley: I told you that I wanted a relationship with you, and I meant it. And that’s all of you -- everything, the good and the bad. Even if you make a mistake, or I get disappointed, it doesn’t change that. We’ll find a way to work it out. I want you.

Her way with words makes everything sound so easy, so simple… and maybe it is. Maybe it can be just as simple as wanting each other, loving each other, and making it work. Lucas absorbs the sentiment, smiling shyly and thanking her again.

Hard part out of the way, Riley asks him how he managed to break his writer’s block and write those killer essays. What was his secret? Lucas hums, thinking about it.

Lucas: It was kind of what you said. You know, changing my perspective. When I was trying to write it from my lens, it was… well, you know. But then I just tried to think… what would Riley say? If someone asked you about me. And when I thought about it like that, I don’t know… suddenly, it was easy.

Riley chews her lip, smile blossoming on her face. She pulls him into a gentle kiss, one that he returns before swiftly stealing another one. She nudges her forehead against his, fondness shining in her eyes as she looks at him.

It’s no mystery how thinking like her made for some unbeatable work.

Billy, pre-lap: I knew it. I knew he wasn’t loyal.

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - SENIOR LOUNGE - DAY

Dweezil’s phone is sitting on the tabletop, open to the Adams social media page. Displayed are a handful of photos Yogi took during the ‘70s dance… including one clearly featuring Charlie, dancing with Haley and Clarissa. Although it looks like he’s having a swell time, Billy and Dweezil don’t seem happy for their classmate at all.

Dweezil: He’s never really jumped ship. We know he’s always hanging out with Riley anyway. This is just definitive proof.

Billy: Showdown is in a week. If he’s still this comfortable with his old chums, who knows how much shit he’s telling them.

Dweezil: And what if he finds out about the plan? No way he’s going to let us do it.

Billy: I say we take care of this now. Before it interferes with our performance.

Dweezil: He might blow everything.

Billy: Brandon. You have to have an opinion on this shit.

Opposite them and seated at the table, Brandon is examining the photograph for himself. He’s unperturbed as usual, thoughtful and contemplative. He doesn’t comment until Billy and Dweezil basically demand input from him, at which point he offers a calm smile.

Brandon: It’s nice to see him enjoying himself, isn’t it? I like Charles. He’s a nice kid. [ a beat, then suavely ] And a coward.

Brandon gingerly places Dweezil’s phone back on the desk, reclining back in his chair.

Brandon: I’m not worried about him.

Billy: Man, you’re kidding --

Dweezil: And what if he decides to --

Brandon: Don’t you get it? He’s not going to do anything. If there’s one thing you can count on with Charles, it’s that he’s spineless. He’s not feeding them information, and even if he does take offense to something we do, he isn’t going to do shit. Gardner is soft, and he’s the least of our worries. But in a week it’s not even going to matter. Especially not when we’ve got this.

Brandon retrieves the flash drive from his blazer pocket, placing it on the table between them. Billy and Dweezil eye it with interest -- they all clearly know what it contains.

Brandon: Once we crack into this, it’s over. We’re going to crush Adams like we do every year -- whether Charles helps or not.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Ah, to be back in the warm embrace of the auditorium -- even if it’s still a bit banged up. It’ll take a little while longer to get the auditorium back in tip-top shape, but the A class can at least come home to roost in it again, which is where they gather for the kick off the next week.

All of them give a round of applause to Harley for his assistance in repairing their mistakes, and hope that he enjoyed the performances of the last few days. He assures them he did, though as he understands it, the week isn’t quite over yet. He steps back and allows Jade to take front and center.

She thanks all of them for being patient with her while she finished up her portfolio materials, and at this point she only has one more request. Behind her, Dave and Dylan roll out the racks with her ‘70s portfolio costumes, and she explains that she needs models to pose for the photographs she’s going to include in her application of all her hard work. Now hm… where on Earth is she going to find suitable, available models for free who she just happened to know all the measurements of and would fit perfectly into these custom costumes…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Shake Your Booty” as performed by Forever In Your Mind || Performed by AAA Seniors

Riley beams, claiming she thinks she knows where they could find a few volunteers. The A class launches to their feet, rushing the stage to see what Jade has in store.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The boys kick off this energetic, bopping closing number, changing into their Jade ‘70s ensembles and grooving in the dressing room. Sliding through the wall --

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The girls are doing the same, fluffing their hair and doing each other’s make up as they sing into the mirrors. Once they’re all set, Yindra leads the way out into the dressing room hall…

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Where they meet up with the boys, strutting in their fierce, authentically ‘70s looks. They make a mad dash for the auditorium --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And reclaim their stage, breaking into disco grooves as they toss around solo lines and show off their outfits. Jade stands with Yogi and helps him direct the costume shoot, both of them dressed up as well with Jade sporting the stereotypical but Jade-infused bohemian flower power girl look with a flowy white dress with puffy sleeves and a leather headband laced with wildflowers.

On the bridge, we get a montage of all of the A class posing in their outfits as they dance to get their pictures taken. This highlights not only how much we love this silly crop of seniors, but also how fantastic and individualized Jade’s costumes truly are. Paired with the earnest and jubilant performance, it’s a truly lovable showing.

Then they bring it on home with a disco line dance, all breaking into the same groovy choreography and all in their ‘70s garb. Zay watches from the audience with Lucas and the faculty, for once seemingly not in despair over being benched and still getting a custom outfit of his own. Dylan and Asher are front and center, and they pull Jade into it on the last few lines, so she also gets her boogie in before the day is done.

If one thing is clear, it’s that disco is far from dead, thank you very much! And while the A class has a lot on their plates -- and insurmountable stakes ahead -- it’s hard not to feel hopeful when they’ve got each other.

Whether that’s enough, well, soon we’ll find out.

END OF EPISODE.

#episodes #307 #S3 #WEEEEEEEEEEEE #s3 round 2 lets go girls!

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