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jtl-fics · 1 year

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Fluent Freshman - Part 07

The thing about Nicky knowing that FF knows Russian and therefore understands every single excruciatingly sweet, ear-reddingly spicy, or shockingly mundane thing that Andrew and Neil say to one another is that he is objectively the 3rd worst person to know this secret.

First place is, of course, Andrew Minyard the man who has now asked him about his family 3 times in the last week and a half. FF doesn’t really care if Andrew goes after the majority of his ‘family’ since it’s just his step brothers and step dad but Andrew might go after his Grandma too so he just says “We don’t talk” every time it comes up and deletes his entire chat history with his grandma that way Andrew won’t know how close they are. If that means that Andrew thinks that no one would look for him if he happened to disappear into a shallow grave FF doesn’t know. He’s already doomed so the least he can do is save his gran.

Second place is, of course, Captain Neil. Captain has mentioned quite a few times that a lot of people stay with friends or people they’re close with over Thanksgiving break. It’s meaner than Captain Neil usually would be off of the Court reminding FF that he has friends but none close enough who would want to spend a holiday with him. He plans to go see his Gran for Thanksgiving and she plans to feed him a truly ridiculous amount of food. It’s the same plan he’s had pretty much every year since he was 13.

Third place is Nicky Hemmick. Nicky is a very nice guy who got him a paperboy to hyperventilate into a couple times and would absolutely never intentionally OUT somebody and compromise their safety! Nicky’s talked with FF about some of his background so FF has full confidence that it’s never going to be something that Nicky intentionally outs to anyone. But there are two main reasons why Nicky is the third worst person to find out about this secret.

The first reason is that Nicky Hemmick just unabashedly loves gossip. FF has heard that with the graduation of the girls the previous year had gone Allison Reynolds who had multiple running bets on multiple teammates and a whole cache of gossip. Now Nicky has access to the ultimate accidental gossip magnet in the man who no one notices, who knows any language the Foxes speak and is too awkward to get up and leave when they start talking.

Nicky will never tell another soul his secret but he also HAS to know what Neil and Andrew are saying to one another and when Nicky lies to cover for him the charge is one free conversation translation.

He’s absolutely hooked on getting translations the since the first time he had asked what Andrew and Neil are hissing at one another one morning practice.

FF translated it awkwardly feeling like a creep and like he’s invading their privacy but Nicky had helped him eat the four slavic letter flashcards he had made up to help a friend study the language when Captain Neil and Andrew had come back early from a weekend alone in Columbia.

Nicky had even assured him afterwards that the ink was probably non-toxic and given him floss so he could get the flashcard wedged between his molars out.

So….

“Andrew’s mad that Captain Neil skipped breakfast because they’re working to make him eat something for every meal. Captain Neil’s mad because Andrew’s the one that kept him in bed so long that he didn’t have time to make anything.”

Nicky squeals in delight

The second reason, which is just compounded by the first, is the fact that Nicky had promised not to tell another Soul. However Nicky Hemmick, the romantic that he is, believes that he and his Fiancé Erik share one soul since they are soulmates. Therefore Nicky Hemmic had barely even registered FF’s tears of gratitude before he was calling Erik to tell him about FF.

The sheer number of close calls that have happened because Nicky HAS to tell Erik about something Andrew and Neil said to one another or something someone else is saying is the reason FF started getting ulcers.

Watching Nicky talk to Erik about him knowing Russian is like watching a member of the three stooges walk through a construction site blindfolded. FF nearly kills himself stopping Nicky from outing him numerous times and at the end Nicky’s smiling, unscathed and unaware of the sheer number of close calls he had sauntered through.

FF can’t wait to go home and bury his face in his grandma’s lap, stress eat two apple pies, and tell her about how he thinks he might just become an electrician or a plumber or an underwater welder because one of his language professors wants him to come and speak to a lower level class (a gen-ed with over a hundred people in it) about the usefulness of LATIN for all their majors since they can parse the meaning via root word and he had panicked and said ’Sure’.

***

The thing about being the only person on the team that knows that FF speaks Russian and is riddled with social anxiety is that it’s absolutely hilarious most of the time.

Every once in a while he has to step in to help the guy.

So sometimes he’ll eat flashcards. Sometimes he’ll distract his cousin with a salacious comment so FF can escape a dangerous conversation with his drunk friend. Sometimes he pushes FF to go talk to Abby about his tummy troubles. Sometimes he’ll hand over one of the brown paper bags he keeps in his backpack nowadays so FF can wheeze into it and sometimes he’ll assure his cousin that FF’s passing out after he offered to teach him how to use a knife was probably because of his stomach ulcers not because FF is terrified of Andrew stabbing him.

Nicky is the only member of the Foxes that FF regularly seeks out on his own to hang out with and Nicky just loves how hard Andrew and Neil are trying not to be jealous about it.

“I want to ask Smith if he wants to come spend Thanksgiving Break with us.” Andrew says out of the blue a week before the aforementioned break when it’s just Aaron, Neil, Nicky and himself in Nicky’s dorm room.

Nicky thinks about FF talking about going back to his hometown in Washington State and how he waxed poetic about spending Thanksgiving Break with his Grandma and how he was going to eat his weight in pie and Macaroni and Cheese.

“He’s planning on going and seeing his grandma. He won’t shut up about it.” Nicky says still glad that FF has a family member like his grandma.

Everyone else in the room look at him.

“He won’t shut up about it?” Aaron asks with an eyebrow raised. Aaron likes FF just fine and appreciates how FF has helped Katelyn start to grasp the fundamentals of the German language so quickly so she can understand what’s being said. “So what he said it twice?” He continues.

Nicky remembers FF’s ability for catastrophizing every conversation with the Foxes into one where it comes out that he speaks Russian and Andrew stabs him. As far as the other Foxes are concerned he’s a man of few words.

“He’s been talking about it all month. If I hear about his grandma’s apple pie recipe one more time I might demand he sneak a slice back for me through TSA.” Nicky loves stoking the flames, especially when the fire is harmless. He watches Aaron shrug and the skin around both Neil and Andrew’s mouths tightens. “You can ask him, the worst he can say is No.” Nicky shrugs.

Nicky is there when Andrew does ask him and he can see the prolonged internal scream of terror on the utterly blank face (or maybe he just imagines it.) and in a way Nicky is a little sad when FF shakes his head and says “No, I have plans with my Grandma.” In an utterly blank voice that means he has functionally blue-screened before turning and walking towards the nearest door so he can reboot in solitude.

“The offer stands if you change your mind.” Neil says and Nicky is impressed with the seemingly very casual thumbs up FF gives as he power walks away.

A little less than a week later Nicky finds Andrew next to FF and FF looking down at a cancelled flight notification after coming in from a truly monumental storm.

Andrew offers Thanksgiving in Columbia again.

Nicky tries to stop it from happening he can see that FF is a little lost in his disappointment over not being able to see his grandma and not thinking clearly but before he can snap him out of it.

“Sure.”

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242

#Fluent Freshman AU #Andrew internally: I was able to help out someone. Bee's gonna be proud.#FF: HE WAITED UNTIL I WAS AT MY WEAKEST TO ENSNARE ME. I'M GOING TO WAKE UP IN A REVERSE BEAR TRAP.#FF spends the next 12 hours watching Saw movies to prepare himself mentally on escaping from any and all torture devices #Nicky: Can't you just reschedule your flight?#FF: No it was the only day she could borrow a car to pick me up from the airport #FF: Any other day my step fam would find out that I was back in the state :(#Nicky not fully up to date on the Step situation: And that's bad?#FF: And that's bad.#FF: Please cremate me so that my granny doesn't have to see my mangled remains #FF: Give her my ashes and let her know my last thoughts were of her.#Nicky: I really gotta find you a girlfriend.#Fluent Freshman #Nicky Hemmick #Andrew Minyard #Neil Josten #AFTG #AFTG AU #AFTG Shitpost #AFTG OC #AFTG Fic #My Fics #FF - Pt. 07

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perriewinklenerdie · 4 years

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Do no harm (Ethan x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hi guys! How are we doing? We got some info this chapter, huh? Not everything was what we expected (yes, Louise, I'm looking at your 'reasons' for leaving), but the chapter, while it definitely could have been better (especially LIs heading in the direction of a committed relationship instead of pulling away, since, you know, MC just almost died? ffs?), but it did have some sort of a nice balance of humor, romance (a bit, i'll give you that pb), medical cases and serious issues. My brain tried to think of a rewrite, but as soon as the chapter ended, my attention was pulled towards the idea of a certain conversation that could potentially happen between C and Louise (I don't see pb doing it, but who knows, it's pb). So here we are :D

I struggled a bit with what was supposed to happen in this conversation, simply because I didn’t want to overstep or make light of what the situation was. This is what I came up with, I hope I didn’t screw up too badly.

Summary: Some time after Louise moved to the rehab clinic, Claire decides to visit her and talk to her alone.

Enjoy! <3

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„You want to do what?” Ethan sighed, leaning against the wall on the far end of the diagnostics office, his arms folded across his chest. Claire smiled timidly, taking a hesitant step in his direction, throwing a quick look over her shoulder to make sure they were truly alone.

“I want to borrow your car.”

“And just why would you need it?” he asked, observing how she stumbled over the explanations. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to drive his car; she’s done that before, so he knew she’d be safe. “If you need to pick something up, I can drive you.”

“I know, but the store closes in thirty minutes and we can’t both leave the hospital for that long. I’d go by bus, but the books are incredibly heavy. I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”

His eyes focus on her, on the way she shifts her weight from her right to her left foot, anxiousness rolling off her in waves. Shaking his head, he fished out his car keys from his pocket, handing them to her.

“Please, be careful.” He muttered when the skin of their hands brushed against each other, sending a lone spark up his arm. Claire nodded, a mischievous grin appearing on her face when she dove towards him, kissing him on the lips briefly before retreating quickly, as though she only then remembered their own rule.

“Oops.” She winked at him, then walked out of the office in a great hurry, giving him no time to respond, but plenty of time to process what had happened. With a grin that made him look like a fool, he walked over to the desk and picked up one of the charts, reluctantly going back to work.

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Books that Claire mentioned to Ethan had a very specific name. Louise Ramsey. And they just so happened to be in a driving distance, on the path that she dimly remembered from the trip they took not that long ago. She parked the car and turned the engine off, taking a moment to breathe in and out. It wasn’t too late to back out, Ethan’s words ringing in her ear like a warning.

No. She came there for a reason.

The same lady greeted her at the reception, smiling at her insecurely when she remembered how both Ethan and Claire threatened to make the facility close down if they even so much as thought about mistreating their patients.

“How can I help you?” the woman asked, her back a bit straighter. Claire stepped towards the counter, feeling a bit out of place.

“I’m here to see Louise Ramsey?” her voice shook only for a split second and she prayed that the receptionist didn’t notice.

“What’s your name, if I may ask?”

“Clarissa Herondale.”

Nodding, the woman smiled and turned towards the book she had on the desk, checking something that Claire couldn’t possibly know. A moment later she excused herself, picking up the phone and disappearing behind the door leading to the back room, leaving Claire alone with her thoughts. Hesitation began to drip into her mind. She no longer knew if she was doing the right thing. What if she didn’t want to talk to her? What if Ethan got mad at her?

She didn’t have more time to overthink everything, because at this exact moment the receptionist came back, smiling warmly at her. “Please, follow me.”

A short walk along an even shorter hall left her standing in the threshold of Louise’s room, by which point she was left alone. Ethan’s Mother was sitting on her bed, looking out the window in deep contemplation, an open book in her lap. Claire cleared her throat to gain her attention.

“Ms. Ramsey?” she called out, taking a hesitant step and then waiting for the invitation. If she didn’t want to see her, this was the moment she could tell her to go to hell. But that didn’t happen.

Louise’s face lit up in a smile, clearly happy that someone visited her, but surprised that it was her. Closing the book and setting it aside, she sat up. “Dr. Herondale! Please, do come in.”

Claire walked over to her slowly before, finally, sitting down on the chair by the bed. The older woman watched her every move, like she was analyzing her based on the way her feet worked. Sitting a close distance away from one another, Claire could almost see how Louise’s brain tried to work out the situation. She didn’t blame her; the only times they saw each other, besides that one time at the store, was with Ethan by her side. Now, they were alone, and that, if nothing else, was an entirely new territory for both of them.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Louise asked, smiling at the woman that she knew for a fact, held an important place in her son’s life. Ethan most likely didn’t know that she knew, but it was impossible for her not to notice how he acted around the young doctor. If there wasn’t anything between them now, there definitely would be something between them in the future.

“I wanted to check in on you, see how you are settling in.” Claire responded with an unreadable expression. Not giving too much information, prompting questions.

“Does Ethan know you’re here?”

“No. He doesn’t.”

That surprised Louise. In the blank face of Dr. Herondale, she could suddenly see wild determination, like she was on a mission and she’s just found the purpose of it. Her entire posture changed into a straighter and more serious one, but right as the blonde opened her mouth to speak, her gaze turned soft, like she was thinking about something she felt deeply for. It didn’t take a genius to know exactly what, or more specifically, who the young doctor what thinking about.

“You care about him. Ethan. You two are together.” Louise added things up, coming to the only logical conclusion. The blush that immediately appeared on Claire’s cheeks only proved her theory to be correct. “He cares about you too, though I’m sure you already know that. He’s got that look in his eyes.”

Claire let her gaze fall onto her shoes, unsure how she should proceed. They were extremally careful around the hospital, but outside, that caution was nonexistent. For Louise to put the pieces together that fast, it meant that they were either entirely obvious or just so taken with each other that no amount of plotting could hide it.

“Alan thinks so too, by the way.” Louise continued, smiling knowingly at the young woman in front of her. Deciding that she’s made her point clear, she moved back to the subject at hand. “I’m so happy that you came to see me. Ethan visited two days ago, and Alan is here almost every day, but it’s nice to see a new face for a change.”

“I know Ethan visited you. He, uh, he asked me to come with him.” Claire twisted her fingers nervously, confirming further what the older woman already knew.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I thought that you two should have the opportunity to talk alone, so I stayed in the car.”

Louise nodded in understanding, the silence falling between the two women like an itchy blanket that made you more uncomfortable with each passing minute. Something didn’t add up about the situation they were in currently, and someone had to break the ice.

“Why are you here, Dr. Herondale?” she asked, watching the doctor with curiosity. She knew that Ethan didn’t send her there, otherwise he would have known about it. Something else was at play here. Claire’s face morphed from looking mildly unsure to troubled in a matter of seconds.

“One way or another, Ethan is a big part of my life.” she began explaining, unsure how much of her relationship should she let Louise know about. “I’ve been by his side when he learned that you wanted to talk to him again. He was with me that day when we ran into each other in the store.” Louise’s face twisted at the memory of the day she met Claire for the first time, not knowing who she was at the time. “I was with him when you came to the hospital. I don’t want to talk about your reasons for leaving, or about what happened while you were gone. I don’t want you to tell me anything about that, because it’s not me you should be telling that to. It’s Ethan and Mr. Ramsey that should hear it. If Ethan decides that he wants me to know about it, he’ll tell me himself, when he feels ready.”

As she finished the sentence, Claire felt out of breath. Louise’s eyes hardly left hers, observing her with intensity that kicked the air out of her lungs; like she knew something and was waiting for Claire to confirm it. Shaking her head, Ethan’s Mother spoke once more.

“If you’re not here to find out the truth about anything, then why are you here? Without Ethan even knowing?”

The blonde doctor cleared her throat, taking a deep breath to steady and remind herself that this is what she came there for in the first place. “I want… need to hear you say that you won’t hurt him again.” her voice was filled with desperation and the fierce protectiveness was evident in the way she spoke. “He’s been through enough, he doesn’t deserve to fall apart again.”

Louise watched the woman in front of her, speaking about her son with the depth of emotion that made her own heart ache. She’s wasted so many years while being away, hurting him beyond belief, but to see him have someone who wants to take care of him made her smile in relief. He had someone that smoothed out his rough edges and parted the clouds in the sky when they appeared. It’s all she could ever want for him.

“I’ve spent the last ten years thinking how to apologize and wishing I had enough courage to do so.” She tried to assure the younger woman, to no avail it seemed, as the next words that rang in the room were accompanied by a shake of the head that made blonde locks flow gently. Her voice, however, was stern and determined.

“Not what I asked for, Ms. Ramsey.”

“I promise I’m not here to hurt him. That’s the last thing I want.” Louise tried again, knowing that she would have to uncover all the thoughts she had hidden within her mind. “Even if he lets me see only a fraction of who he is, that will be enough.”

Claire considered what was said, then nodded slowly. Her shoulders fell in relief, her face breaking out in a fleeting insecure smile. “I’ve never been that person, to threaten others. Having said that, though, be warned.” She leaned forward a bit, schooling her expression into a serious one again. “If you hurt him, or Alan, you’re going to regret it. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, Dr. Herondale.” With a serious tone, the older woman nodded, understanding that the younger one wasn’t kidding. Claire breathed out deeply, clearly thankful that it was over. She glanced at the clock, her eyes widening in slight horror.

“I really have to go. I took a break from work, and while my boss doesn’t have a problem with that, I should get back to my patients.” She smiled as she said that, shaking her head in mock obviousness. “I promised Ethan I’d be back quickly, and I want to talk to him before my shift picks up again.”

As she stood up from her seat and turned towards the door, Louise spoke up again. “I hope we can talk more, some other time.”

“We’ll see.” Looking over her shoulder, the blonde allowed herself a hint of a melancholic smile. “Take care of yourself.”

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Ethan was waiting for her to return in the same place she left him two hours prior. Sat on the couch with an article in his hand, he greeted her with a smile that got wider with every step she took towards him. She handed him the keys, standing in front of him in a safe distance. They didn’t say anything at first, the wordless atmosphere eventually getting cut short by Ethan.

“How’s Louise?” he muttered, looking up at her just in time to register her surprise, followed immediately by guilt. His knee nudged hers to reassure her that he wasn’t mad or upset. “The receptionist called me. The only people authorized to visit her are my Dad and I.” he clarified, making her face light up in understanding.

“So, you knew? And you didn’t stop me?”

“I believed you would tell me anyway. Though, I must say, I’m curious about the reason for your trip.” Ethan explained, wrapping one arm around her hips to pull her closer to him. She fell onto the couch with a giggle, trying to break her fall with her hands.

“She’s okay; a bit surprised that I was the one to walk through the door, as you can probably imagine.” She smiled at how a fraction of stress left his body at her words. “I wanted to hear her say it. That she wouldn’t cause you more pain.” Claire told him, muttering after looking at him in silence for a while. Ethan’s gaze softened at her words. “I even threatened her.” she recalled in disbelief, unsure how she managed to do it, given how unlike her it was.

“Is that so?” his smile grew wider, his eyes sneaking a look at the hall outside the office before he allowed himself to display his affection towards her. “My fierce ‘whatever-we-want-to-be’.” He whispered, inching closer to her. Them being in the hospital was the only thing that kept him from moving her into his lap. Instead, he stroked her calf with his foot, the corners of his lips rising higher.

“I don’t think she expected that.”

“I didn’t either.” He nudged her shoulder with his own teasingly. She scoffed, focusing her gaze at him with a mix of seriousness and playfulness.

“Hey, I feel protective of my ‘whatever-we-want-to-be’, okay? No one is hurting you on my watch.” Claire grinned happily, leaning into his touch when he brushed her hair behind her shoulder and kissed her forehead. Ethan smiled to himself at the feeling of warmth that flooded his chest, three words rising to the surface in his mind and almost falling from his lips.

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#open heart #ethan ramsey #choices #my writing

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #235: Havoc on the Homefront!

September, 1983

Welcome to the Wizard’s Mansion of Mechanized Mayhem!

This cover has got it going on!

Where “it” is “multiple things.”

Still, I love covers that are just like ‘here’s a couple things happening today’ and this is a great version of that concept with the things being viewing screens that the Wizard is looking at.

He’s watching the Avengers in various peril channel.

This is a good cover!

So last time: uh, a couple things. Wasp called Vision and Scarlet Witch in as reservists when Annihilus tried to blow up the universe with an invisible dome. The two basically contributed nothing but Vision was thrown into a robotic coma.

Wanda and Vision in a tube moved into the mansion while he recovers and Wanda recapped her entire backstory including new retcon that Magneto is totally her dad.

Then she had a Dr. Strange crossover. Since it also involved Monica, two Avengers makes it notable enough to synopsize in brief. And its titled Assault on Avengers Mansion! so its like its baiting me.

Dr. Strange astral projects to bother Wanda when she’s trying to get some grief reading in. He wants to find the Darkhold and she’s the last known possessor or vice versa because thats when she was possessed by Cththon and had to be saved with a care bear stare from the Avengers. But Dr. Strange really wants the Darkhold to stop Dracula from getting it. Yes, Dracula.

Since the Darkhold is being stored in a vault at Avengers Mansion after Beast brought it back from Wundagore, Dracula’s cult attacks and manages to break into the Mansion. Dr. Strange, Wanda, and Captain Marvel all fight off Dracula’s cult and then Dr. Strange trolls Dracula by teleporting the Darkhold somewhere else.

Also, Avengers Mansion got trashed in a break-in in Fantastic Four #257. Dammit. Whats with all the intertextuality in this era?

So that story there is: mostly a lot of Galactus eating the Skrull homeworld and fallout from aforementioned Annihilus story. Only the last two pages are relevant.

Mr. Fantastic shows up to Avengers Mansion to check on Vision, Wanda goes to make him tea, and then he’s teleported to a space trial leaving a giant melted hole in the mansion.

Honestly, I don’t know why FF got asterisked instead of the Dr. Strange issue. They both messed up the mansion but the Dracula cult was more of a break-in than someone leaving a giant hole in the wall. Although that’s more mysterious.

Anyway, with two different ‘read this also’s between issues that messed up the mansion, no wonder the opening splash has to be devoted to a repair crew patching things up.

Wasp is putting her size-shifting to good use to literally micro-manage. Zipping around at tiny size telling everyone how to do their job.

Captain America who is also supervising and impressing people with how buff he is gets annoyed and goes to tell her to stop but stops himself.

Captain America: No... No. She’s in charge here, and I have to let her handle things as best she can. Her methods do seem to bring results... They’re just not my methods, that’s all. Yeah...

And then he sulks off, ignoring Wasp when she asks what he’s muttering to himself.

Hm. The new leader honeymoon period is off, it seems. Cap was Wasp’s biggest supporter as chairperson and now he’s grumbling and second-guessing.

Dang.

I hope this isn’t snapback to Wasp not being leader because she’s flighty and silly. I hope we’re not just going to do that.

Cap wanders over to where Vision-inna-tube and Wanda are. Wanda is still glued to Vision’s side. And either Wanda can read minds or Cap says something between panels because we have Cap wondering in a thought bubble whether if Vision has shown any signs of improvement and then Wanda answering that he hasn’t shown improvement or worsened.

Cap(tain) America: “Well, don’t let yourself get too worried, Wanda. That husband of yours has been through worse scrapes than this. He’ll pull through!”

Scarlet Witch: “When you say it, Cap, I can really believe it!”

Inspirational Cap! Charisma rolls: Very.

Still, Wanda is sad because Vision is lying in a tube helpless and she can’t even touch him.

Cap wanders off again, without even saying goodbye (rude) while musing how much it sucks.

Cap: Blast it! Those kids were just starting to make a life for themselves, and this had to happen! Why was it that of all the Avengers who went up against the threat of Annihilus -- it had to be a couple of reservists who suffered most?

And then starts musing how weird it is that Scarlet Witch and Vision as reservists since they were active Avengers for so long!

Remember, Wanda joined the Avengers not very long after Cap did! Only a couple months in-universe! She was one of his Kooky Quartet!

Cap: At times I wondered if the Avengers would survive -- but somehow, through all the tumult and changes, the team not only survived -- it grew stronger! I pray it always will... with the menaces we so often face, we can’t afford to weaken. We’ve gone through so many changes lately. We’ve picked up two fine new Avengers in Captain Marvel and the She-Hulk, but we’ve lost Hank Pym... and now we’ve lost Iron Man, too. Even Thor has taken himself off the active roster to pursue a personal mission. I hope he won’t be gone too long.

Cap is clearly in some sort of dour Mood.

A dour and monologue-y mood.

And what’s Thor up to leaving the team roster OFF PANEL?

(Sigh)

Well, since the asterisk is telling me to see Thor #334... oh geez, Don Blake is under suspicion of killing Jane Foster. Thor, and Lady Sif take Keith Kincaid (the non-Thor love interest of Jane) on a trip to get the Runestaff (long story) and restore Jane Foster (long story).

Annoyingly, the Thor issue does show him telling the Avengers he’s going to be gone for a while and to take him off the active roster. And borrowing a Quinjet.

I think that it would have been nice to see at least a panel of that. Or something. I don’t want the book bloated with ‘see alsos’ but I’m confused why it put the most emphasis on the FF one when it was literally two pages where Reed manages to ruin the wall while getting kidnapped.

Whatever.

Anyyyyway.

Even though he thinks the new Avengers are good, Cap worries about having both Thor and Iron Man off the team.

Especially Iron Man.

He was their science/technical guy. And on the current team, the only one with any sort of science expertise is new trainee Starfox.

Who is busy making out and not being on time for his daily training session.

At least he remembers that he has a prior obligation.

And he’s only two minutes late. Or to put it another way, he’s a whole two minutes late. And Cap(tain America) is a notable stickler for punctuality.

Cap: “Punctuality may be an anachronism in this day and age -- and, for all I know, it may be unheard of on the planet Titan -- but in my day, it was something that was expected of people!”

Wow, Cap really pulled a ‘in my day.’

Frankly, I’m surprised he doesn’t pull that more often.

Starfox does seem contrite and apologizes for putting pleasure before business which sends Cap into an introspection about why he’s really being so harsh on Starfox.

Protip: It’s Tony. It’s almost always Tony.

Cap: Pleasure versus duty, that’s what it always comes down to. It was Tony Stark’s ‘pleasure’ which led him to giving up his Iron Man identity... leaving the Avengers. Some ‘pleasure’! He’s crawled so far into the bottle, he may never get back out. And there’s nothing I can do to pull him out... Nothing any of us can do, unless he lets us. That’s what’s really bothering me... isn’t it?

And he accepts the apology with a “just don’t let it happen again.”

You sound so old sometimes, Cap.

Meanwhile, She-Hulk is off on a jog through New York, listening to some Beach Boys’ California Girls.

An overeager driver scoots forward and cuts her off at the crosswalk and (I assume) in frustration, she punches the hood of the car.

And given it’s She-Hulk, she kinda punches a hole IN the hood. And probably engine.

The guy being either an idiot or incredibly unperceptive runs after She-Hulk to grab her arm and yell at her.

She does not care for that at all.

Like, why would you? She’s seven feet tall and green and just punched a hole in the hood of your car.

Luckily for the guy’s skeletal integrity, Spider-Man pops out of nowhere to be Friendly Neighborhood and mediate this conflict.

They both air their grievances.

She-Hulk: “This creep grabbed me!”

Creep: “Hey! She... she crunched the front of my car!”

She-Hulk: “That was you who cut me off in the crosswalk? You’re lucky I didn’t rip out your axle!”

Spider-Man: “Now, now! Let’s keep this friendly! Sounds like you’re in the wrong, chum! The lady had the light!”

Creep: “Lady?!? She’s no --!”

Spider-Man: “I wouldn’t say that if I were you! That’s the She-Hulk, dummy! Remember what she did to your car? Well, just imagine what she could do to you!”

Creep: “Oh yeah.”

And with the power of Spider-Man’s bomb-ass mediation, the guy realizes that he was in the wrong, apologizes, and leaves in a hurry.

(Her skeptical glare cracks me up for some reason)

Moral of the story: Don’t be a jerk. Stay behind the line when the little man is lit up.

After the guy takes off, She-Hulk praises(?) Spider-Man’s amazing mediation skills by saying he should have been a lawyer. And then they catch up.

She-Hulk is still having trouble adjusting to the East Coast lifestyle and lack of beaches so Spider-Man suggests checking out the Jersey Shore.

She-Hulk: “My big problem right now is housing. Avengers Mansion is nice, but I want a place of my own.”

Spider-Man: “It’s tough -- rents are pretty steep.”

She-Hulk: “The real trouble is finding a place I like. With the thousand a week I get as an Avenger, rent’s no big deal.”

Spider-Man: “I guess not, if you’re making a... a thousand A WEEK?!? I passed up a chance to become an Avengers, and they make $1000 a week?!? Oh, NO!!”

Ha ha, that ol’ Parker luck.

Maybe Thor should have mentioned the money when he tried to recruit Spidey.

Meanwhile, at a federal penitentiary in Vermont, a scene change.

Bentley Wittman, aka the Wizard, aka the Wingless Wizard, aka the adult man who thought the best use of his time was bullying a teenager, is being questioned about Plantman Sam Smithers’ escape from jail.

The Wizard claims that he knows nothing about Plantman’s escape and that he barely knows the guy anyway. They were airlifted from Ryker’s in the same helicopter and that’s it.

But a convenient x-ray tells a different story.

And that story is that “the Wizard” doesn’t have any skeleton bones.

... Were we really at the point in 1983 where we didn’t know about the dangers of overexposure to x-rays? They just causally scan both “the Wizard” and the guy questioning him?

Anyway, the ruse being rumbled, the fake Wizard rips the bars out of a window and jumps out to his death.

Or it would be death if he wasn’t just animate wood wearing a fake skin suit.

Kinda gross if you think about it.

Anyway, where is the real the Wizard?

Obviously, he escaped jail a while back. Not only is he a sinister criminal mastermind who has sinister masterminding to mastermind but also he was tired of the prison hair code. Because dammit, he wants to rock the goatee!

(Literally a comment he makes, calling the prison barbers butchers)

The Real Wizard gets a BLIP-BLIP-BLIP priority alert that informs him that the plant-him has been discovered which means that the authorities will be looking for him now.

Wizard: Now every law officer in the nation will be looking for me. Well, let them! They’ll not find me, unless they look here! And if they do look here, they’ll have a fight on their hands! The Wizard will not bolt and run like some common criminal! My home is my fortress! They’ll never get me out of it! Never!

Anyway, within an hour of the discovery of Plant-Wizard, a disgruntled agent of the national security council named Mr. Sirkorski receives a briefing.

Usually, this problem would be Gyrich’s problem but he’s busy somewhere else, probably making mutants miserable if I had to guess.

-checking- Yup, he’s over in the X-books, being involved in Project: Wideawake, the project that will later accidentally shoot Storm with a demutantifying gun that will take away her powers, leading her to kick Cyclop’s ass, leading to him leaving the team and feeling sad about being happily married.

Wow, Gyrich, you’re the worst.

Anyway, since the Wizard is tied to the presidential hostage crisis via Plantman, that makes it Serious Business.

Hence, Mr. Sikorski’s serious business.

And he hates it.

He hates this bonkers superhero universe. He just wants to live in a spy thriller universe without all this specific nonsense.

Mr. Sikorski: “Oh, great! Plant-Men... criminal scientists... prison breaks! Don’t they think I have enough to do, just keeping track of what the Russians are up to?”

Also Mr. Sikorksi, on the following page: “And it’s up to me to call in the appropriate parties. I feel a little weird doing this! It’s hard enough for me to believe there are such things as Avengers! I certainly never thought I’d be calling them for help!”

This guy is great. I hope he becomes a recurring and just continues to be low-key pissed about what genre he lives in.

SCENE CHANGE TO AVENGERS MANSION’s actually looking cooler than ever meeting room.

The table looks enormous and theres a giant viewscreen that they can display stuff on.

Only misstep in my opinion is that the seats don’t have personalized icons on the back.

On the big viewscreen map, Cap(tain America) is displaying for Captain Marvel known properties and hideouts that the Wizard has used in the past.

And then big boss the Wasp comes in with She-Hulk to start the meeting.

Since the government has requested that the Avengers help search for the Wizard, Captain Marvel suggests that she could zoom around and check off the whole list in no time flat by using her lightspeed.

Cap(tain America): “You probably could, C.M. -- that’s up to Jan to decide, of course. It would save us some time. After all, the Wizard could be in any of these places... or none of them!”

Wasp: “You think so? If I’d escaped from prison, I’d want to go home. But that’s just me, I suppose.”

Cool contribution, Jan.

I don’t mean to mock, its just she makes a goofy face.

(Hey, I wonder if her new costume was inspired by the FF’s negative zone’d ones. It’s kinda got a similar palette and rough design)

Anyway, Scarlet Witch asks whether she can be excused from superheroing for the day to keep an eye on the Vision.

Wasp: “Why, Wanda! I should say not! You agreed to fill in for Thor while he’s off in space, and I intend to hold you to that! I’m the chairwoman, and I’ll decide who goes where!”

In fact, since somebody does need to watch the Vision, Wasp chooses the most reasonable candidate.

Captain Marvel!

Who needs her to get the task done in five seconds! She can watch the coma-robot.

You make interesting decisions, Jan!

The remaining Avengers will split up into squads.

Captain America will take Scarlet Witch and She-Hulk to check the hideouts on the east of the map. Wasp and Starfox will check out the western ones.

She-Hulk: “You and Starfox, huh? That’s rich... the All Flirt Squad!”

Pfft.

Cap(tain America) isn’t feeling the humor and tells She-Hulk to save her jokes for when they don’t have a job to do.

Minutes later, the Avengers land a Quinjet on the front drive of the Wizard’s Long Island estate. He has one of those.

Cap: “Come on Avengers -- let’s get this over with!”

Good attitude, Cap.

Wanda notes that the grounds look neatly tended considering that the estate has been empty for the past several years but She-Hulk thinks a gardener was probably kept on retainer.

The Wizard was stupid rich.

When they get inside, Cap changes his tune. The place looks too tidy and ready for occupancy to be empty so maybe the Wizard is here.

So he pulls a ‘lets split up gang’ and splits up gang with each Avenger taking a wing.

Cap: “Oh, and She-Hulk, try not to break anything if you can help it. This is private property!”

Priorities!

Granted, She-Hulk is known to break things. Why just today she broke some dude’s car.

The Wizard is watching all of this on his home security system and springs individual traps on the individual Avengers.

She-Hulk finds herself in a series of identical small non-descript rooms, each more identical than the last.

So identical that its the same room, looping.

Wizard: “Through the circuity in that doorway, I’ve activated a dimensional matrix which will keep your walking back and forth ad infinitum through the same room!”

Except without seeing herself leaving which you’d think she’d be able to see.

It’s a smart way to trap a Hulk, provided they don’t run out of patience or get frustrated and smash something.

Meanwhile, Cap gets locked in a chamber where an anti-gravity field has been activated, leaving him flailing through the air.

Oh, and dozens of high-intensity laser torches pop out of the walls and start trying to carve up Cap.

Meanwhile, Scarlet Witch’s individualized trap is the most individualized of all.

Because She-Hulk’s and Cap’s could be used on any number of people really. But Wanda’s feels like it was created to counter Wanda. Pretty on the ball from the Wizard considering he doesn’t often fight the Witch.

When Wanda enters the room she suddenly starts spinning out of control, flies across the room, and lands in a chair.

Wizard: “Marvelous! I’ve ensnared the Scarlet Witch within something against which her astounding hex powers are useless. My field effect devices have generated a pocket of non-causality within that test chamber! Within the area, all actions have an equal chance of occurrence. Therein, all probabilities are skewed. She won’t be able to stand, much less cast a hex!”

Wow! That’s some high octane comic book nonsense science!

The point being that every time Wanda tries to do something, something random happens instead because its all equally likely. She tried to walk into a room and ended up standing on the roof. She tried to back out of the room, she started spinning. She tried to stop spinning and she flew into a chair.

Sure.

With the Avengers all trapped, the Wizard turns his attention to deciding how to dispose of them.

Except, as cleverly foreshadowed by my snide comments, She-Hulk’s trap is only as good as Jen’s patience.

Which is good forrrrrrr. Two dozens loops.

At that point, she’s sure some bullshit is up and scratches the wall with her nails to leave a tangible mark. When she sees the same mark in the ‘next room’ her suspicion is confirmed.

And now that she knows someone is jerking her around, she decides to ignore Cap’s suggestion to not break private property by breaking private property and rips the doorframe (and the dimensional matrix) to crap.

There’s a backup trap that drops slabs of six-inch omnium steel around her but yeah she’s a hulk and she’s not playing considerate anymore. She starts KRUNGing the walls with her fists.

Meanwhile, Cap uses physics to get out of his jam. He throws his mighty shield to break some lasers so action/reaction will propel him backwards and he can jump off the wall, grab his shield back, and uses one of the broken-off lasers against the others.

Also, meanwhile, Scarlet Witch tries to figure out her own, incredibly specific trap.

Scarlet Witch: This is like a nightmare! Whatever I try to do, something else happens. Just in making the attempt to call on my hex power, I wound up falling flat on my face! I can’t even... wiggle my fingers? I... I can! Oh, but only very close to the floor! Whatever is causing my actions to go awry must be weaker near the room’s outer surfaces! Then there’s HOPE -- !”

Wizard must have gone cheap on the pocket of non-causality projector for that room if it’s not completely covering the area. Sure, the area it doesn’t cover is relatively small but now what’s about to happen is going to happen.

So Wanda gets as low as she can go to the floor and uses her probability-altering powers.

This causes the non-causality field to reverse because why wouldn’t it? And causes feedback through the circuitry which causes the master control to shock the Wizard.

It also causes every logic circuit in the master control to overload and the whole dang thing explodes, Wizard barely flying out of the control room in time.

Right in She-Hulk’s path.

She’s not happy. He’s not going to like her not being happy.

She-Hulk: “After what I’ve been through, it’s gonna be a real pleasure to pound that helmet down around your ankles!”

Wizard nopes right out of her way and decides to abandon fortress.

Then Scarlet Witch probability alters his battlesuit flight controls to malfunction to halt his escape and make him crash to the-

...

I’m pretty sure his neck is broken now.

I mean, it’s apparently not because he keeps talking and moving and living but he look at that panel. Guy should be dead as movie Zod.

Y’know, if the Avengers are going to kill the Wizard, the FF should really get them back and kill one of their villains. I suggest Grim Reaper.

Anyway, surrounded by Avengers, Wizard pulls his trump card.

Wizard: “Your confidence is ill-founded, Captain America. There is one resource I can yet draw upon. There is a thermonuclear devise beneath my house -- powerful enough to destroy half of Long Island and make the remainder very unpleasant for a very long time. Much as I hate to see this place destroyed, I would press the button, so to speak.”

“You being such renowned public heroes, would hate that even more. But unless you allow me to go unharmed, I shall active the timing sequence of the bomb’s detonator.”

And Cap is like ‘do you mean this detonator’ and pulls out one he prepared earlier.

HAH!

You know, ironically, if he had just hidden in a safe room or on the roof or something, the Avengers probably would have came and went without noticing him. Springing traps on them really backfired in oh so many ways.

The threesome return to the mansion, presumably after turning Wizard over to the authorities, and Wasp comments that it sounds like they had a bit of excitement (Starfox grumbling to himself more excitement than he had searching the Bronx with the Wasp ha ha).

Cap(tain America): “You’ll be glad to know, Wasp, that your instincts were correct. The Wizard had indeed gone home. He gave us all a pretty good challenge... a welcome challenge, I dare say.”

Wasp: “Looks like I assigned the right people to search the right place, huh?”

Cap: “Yes, Ms. Chairwoman, I’d say you did!”

And elsenow, Wanda goes to the medical bay to check in on Vision and relieve Captain Marvel.

Scarlet Witch: “Can you hear me, darling? I hope you can. I was feeling awfully blue today... And I was given a duty that first seemed annoying, and later became dangerous. But I didn’t give up... I came back, and I won. I know that you can come back, too, darling! It’s just a matter of time... and hope.”

“It’s funny! I thought the Wasp was silly for sending me on that mission. But -- in a way --it was something I need. I think the others needed it, too!”

Captain Marvel: “Then that’s why she sent you, Wanda... because she knew what you needed! And that’s why she leads the Avengers!”

Secret friend mastermind Janet van Dyne sends you out for punch therapy when you need to punch something.

Reminds me of when Captain America picked a fight with Goliath Hank Pym to lift his spirits. Except with a lot less fighting her own friends and more pointing them in the right direction.

Something I love about this era of Avengers and with the big shift in Wasp after Hank’s court-martial is that while her character has changed she’s still recognizably and uniquely herself. She’s still a bit goofy. She’s still playful. And on top of that, she’s proven that she’s a good leader for the Avengers. It’s not mutually exclusive.

Cap (previously Wasp’s biggest supporter as leader) started this issue grumpy and even had his own ideas what the best tactic for searching for the Wizard would be, but by the end he agrees that Wasp made a good decision.

Despite playing the ditz for a long part of her career, Wasp isn’t dumb. And she’s got a good head for the interpersonal challenges of running a team too.

I’m reminded that during the much later Busiek run, when the Avengers need to expand and modernize to match up to expanding challenges, Captain America turns the leadership of the team over to the Wasp.

My point being, I was worried that there’d be snapback on Wasp being leader because she is flighty and silly. But instead, she can be flighty and silly and still a good leader.

I’m pleased with this take, Stern.

Follow @essential-avengers because there will probably be more Wasp being a good leader. Fingers crossed. Also, like and reblog this post maybe if you also like Wasp being a good leader.

#avengers #the Wizard #the Wasp #Captain America #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #Scarlet Witch #She Hulk #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #the great feud between witches and wizards #wasp does a leadership #Cap be like hey don't break this supervillain's doom fortress its private property

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lockdownuk · 4 years

Text

Lockdown Diary Part 2

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 31: I went to Tesco’s at Hampton at @8pm. It was weird. But I made it less weird by buying (amongst all the legit stuff I needed and some stuff for Karen’s mum) more booze. I have, atm about 30 assorted cans and 60 assorted bottles. I’m gonna stop buying booze now until I’m down to the last dozen. I don’t want owt to happen and I leave many behind!

Day 32: More than a calender month! I was rung up by a recruitment agent today about a contract with DHL as a remote support engineer to their aviation section. €400 a day! I’ve applied. Few beers tonight, watching a new Netflix release (Extraction) and catching up with Fog, Ham, Andy and Rog later at 10:30pm - yikes, might be pissed.

Day 33: Typing this on day 34. Dossed around during the day, few beers and another video call with fog, Ham and Rig plus I invited John Monk along. He was his usual self and signed off from the call with a moonie! Later on I had the pleasure of Scottish Louise video calling me! She was pissed, in her shed drinking den at her home with some neighbour called Ronnie and her daughter Ellie. She was her usual outrageous self who imaprted such gems as “Tim, you look old” and “Roger on coke is the only time I’ve taken it up the arse”. Nice.

Day 34: Today I skyped Laurie and ‘met’ Matthew and Nicholas for the first time. It was bloody fantatsic. Janine was there as well.I cannot believe it takes lockdown (plus an idea to get Laurie to add me to his regular Monday skype chat with Dad) that managed to get us doing something that should have happened years ago! It was so great to talk to them all face-to-face. Janine hasn’t changed a bit, Matthew is very quiet with Nicholas being the more gregorious twin. And Laurie is still Laurie. I’m reminded of how much I sort of miss him! It was all so comfortable. I loved it! Tomorrow is Dad’s 85th hence the 3-way chat idea. I hope it comes off!

Day 35: So dad and Laurie and I skyped. It was OK but my video feed was very dark, (still dunno why) and Lauire’s kept freezing. I dropped out so as to leave them to it, my thinking being the extra person takes up bandwidth, with the promise I’d call dad later. Before I could, Rita called me and suggested Dad and I skype, which we did. So, all in all, a good day of comms! And Dad seems his happy usual self - 85 years old! Amazing.

Day 36: I am really struggling to motivate myself this week. Today, I’ve done fuck all of note. That is all.

Day 37: A similar day to yesterday. All I have really managed to do is lay down audio from Pink Floyd (Absolutely Curtains) to a video I shot of a cow on yesterday’s walk. I am having a downer of a week without any good reason why, ld aside. I have worn my new walking boots today (’cos my old ones are leaking, I found out yesterday) and they fucking hurt, despite having tried to wear them in for months, albeit pathetically. Also, a few days ago (Friday 24th April), I got notification from HM Revenue & Customs that I’m getting tax rebate (from 2018-19) of £392. Yay!

Day 38: I received notification today that I’ve got a speeding ticket…last Thursday back from Tesco’s - 87mph somewhere between the A1 and Elton. I am hoping it’s a fixed penalty. I dunno whether it is yet, I just have to send the form off confirming it’s my car and I was driving. I spoke with Lynda from Woodfords asking her to ask for a rent reduction before I sign for another year. Plus, I let her know that I will be Howard and Sue’s eyes as the look at rental properties in Oundle - I do hope they return although it would be a shame for them that their plans have been scuppered (she’s lost her job in Oz due to Covid-19)

Day 39: Today I started another piece of exercise - up and down the stairs 26 times. Not sure why 26 - it was some thing online to do with the London Marathon, I think. It fucking killed. I used 13 clothes pegs for a counting system. I asked Karen to pick up some stuff when she was shopping (burgers, radishes) - Dan dropped them off, He was with Shaggy (driving his van) and going to see Jonah. That pisses me off - they should be social distancing, ffs.

Discoevered, today, that Cornershop, post-Brinful are fucking excellent. listening to the album ‘England is a Garden’ as I type.

Day 40: That 26 times up and down the stairs is fucking hard. I did videos about it today. My legs are aching like fuck right now.

Day 41: Just done Young Sam’s (Sam Clews) quiz. 3rd week running and it’s now become a habit and something I look forward to. Out of all the internet driven socialising I’m undertaking in ld, this is the weirdest - I feel totally detatched from all others taking part but, now, would feel pissed off if I didn’t or couldn’t join in. I got 47/70 this week. My best score and only about 8 off the winning score - most others aren’t doing it on their own!

Today’s walk was a cloudy one - I captured some fine, dramatic pics of the clouds. I am getting into this photography lark, albeit very amateurish. But, when I post any pics online (mostly FB), they seem to be widely appreciated, which is nice.

Day 42: Applied for a remote service delivery job with a firm called TTEC. £60k. Finished watching The Outsider. The creepiest TV show I have seen in years. Really great use of background music.

Day 43: Finished Mindhunter S2 last night. It’s so good but I cannot quite put my finger on why. Today has been a nothing day apart from day 2 of me not typing the letter ‘e’ in any post or comments on FB for a week. It’s hard.

Day 44: Watch Anna last night. A Luc Besson film that starts a kick-ass suprermodel. It’s right down my street. Today I have been lazy af. I need to pick up my online learning again…tomorrow, maybe! I watched Andy Murray Resurfacing. A documentary on Amazon. Fantastic. What a top man he is. Completely human and completely inhuman!

Day 45: Much talk in the news of possible lockdown relaxation. I am off the opinion we should stay the course until we are completely assured of beathing this thing i.e. a working, widely available vaccine. Dad and I Skyped - he is doing well, as usual. So is Rita. They both seem very happy in lockdown! Today has been a glorious day, weather wise. I had my walkk at 10ish this morming and it was very warm. Hottest day of the year so far I reckon.

Day 46: Bank holiday Friday (75th anniversary of VE day). Nice walk. Chat with Karen letting her know about being caught speeding just in case I am banned and need some out of town shopping. Watched second episode of DEVS by Alex Garland. It’s good and intriguing. Now, @7pm, gonna eat and hit the beers and smokes.

Day 47: Typing this at 15:45 on day 48. I had lots of beers and a good old chat with Rog…

Day 48: Today’s daily press conference was eagerly anticipated today with rumours of a relaxation in lockdown. It seems it was a fuss about nothing with no clear instructions - I didn’t watch it but, skimming the BBC news site, I shan’t be doing anything different over the next few weeks, not that I would anyway - furlough and self isolation are the order of the day and I won’t change that until I am sure it’s safe. Meanwhile people, including Danny flaunt the rules, it’s been pointed out to me plus I know he spends time with Jonah and Marc. It really fucks me off. So, the actions of the few mean I will lock myself down for as long, if not longer, as it takes. Attended Sam Clews quiz again. It passes the time. Also, I had half a scotch bonnet chilli with tea tonight (roasted veg, cous cous and sausages). Ridiculously hot!

Day 49: Received the speaker I ordered a few days ago (from eBay). It’s an AudioPro Addon T10. I got it for a very reasonable price from a German shop. As a result, the power lead isn;t three pin and that has seriously fucked me right off!

Meanwhile, I did my 26 stair climb before my daily walk today. It was easier than usual (surprise surprise) and I did 7km - but that was tough! ‘Cos I am on (yet another) free trial of Amazon Prime, I am ramping up watching stuff available. Last night I watched Booksmart - really nice little film with a great soundtrack. I am listening to Dan the Automater as I type. Today I watched half (3 eps) of The Night Manager and the film ‘The Founder’. The former is a superb series, the latter an OK film about Ray Kroc - the supposed founder of McDonald’s. Except he wasn’t; he was the wrong side of ambitious and a cunt.

Day 50: Stripped the 2 pin cable from the speaker I received yesterday and wired up a 3 pin plug and it worked. Win. And it sounds great. Win-win. Went to go shopping in Hampton but the car wouldn’t start. Loss. But it was the battery so I managed to borrow Karen’s jump starter which worked. Win.

Spent £107. Loss. But just under £40 was booze plus £10 for two big pizzas, two sides (dirty fries) and some dips. Win. Didn’t do any online learning - seriously fucking letting myself down. Loss.

Did my usual walking and 26 stair climb. The latter is hard but defo getting easier. Win. Day 51: Sam’s 51st birthday on day 51 - coincidence! Today I received my face mask from Lou - House of Stewart tartan. I’m pleased with it and that I have got a mask now. I managed to get up at a reasonable hour, just left 09:00, and revisit my web design course. Module 1, lesson 5 and I am fucking stuck. Trying to code an online CV with a side nav bar and I cannot get it to fucking work. Grrrrrr. Later, i got into a FB dispute (easily distracted due to the above) with someone over his statement of fact (Tim Martin’s treatment of Whetherspoons’ employees) when he doesn’t know it’s fact. It probably is, but that is not the fucking point. I wish I could leave these sort of spats alone. I am drinking, at 20:45, peppermint tea as I type. Jeez, what’s happened to me?

Day 52: Well, last night took a swift chnage. Rog message me and, to cut a long story short, I hit the beers, also called Foggy later, got trashed. I got up today at gone 1pm. Sam posted on fb that Paul had forgort her birthday yesterday. Oh dear! The 26 stair climb and walking each day is noticeable for how knackered my legs feel all the time, I noticed today!

Day 53: My birthday! Nice comments and banter of FB. Rachael brought round a bottle of whisky; gobsmacked. Karen popped round some beers and sausage rolls. Sam sent a card, as did dad with a £50 cheque. Dan’s ordering me a pizza later.

Chuffed! Day 54: I went to bed late after a lot of beers, huge pizza and chips, a few smokes and a long call with WWJ and video chats with Fog then Rog. Got up around 1pm and dossed with my usual exercises and I made fish pie with a scotch bonnet. Day 55: Late one last night but up early today (11ish). Really fretting about hospital tomorrow. Nervous anyway but the safety aspect, in terms of Covid-19, isn’t helping.

Day 56: Hospital appointment was just for an eye scan so the consultant can review it. I was very surprised to see how few people were wearing face masks! I did two lots of washing today. (After the hospital) I went to Morrsions, Asda (queue too long though), B&M (queue too long though) then Tesco’s. All to buy a baseball cap ‘cos I’m fucked if I’m going to wet my hair each time I go out and want it to look presentable! In Morrsions (no mens’ clothing apart from underwear!) I stocked up of 10 cans of sugarfree apple Caraboa….I was only thinking of this drink just the other day. Yesterday I finished The Night Manager on Amazon. I liked it a lot but, also, expected much, much more from it consdiering the hype. Hugh Laurie has come a long way from comedy sketches with Stephen Fry!

Day 57:Received an email from Sueanne yesterday asking ( as designated spokesperson for everyone) how I am. The most interestring piece of news in a rather uninformative email was that the US has started to open resorts!

Day 58: I am writing this on Day 59. I started a two walk a day regime. The first walk I do is shorter, around 4km. my aim is to be ready for 1,000,000 steps Diabetic UK challenge (throughout July, August and September). I need to do just under 11,000 steps a day. The relaxation in ld rules makes this achievable. On that score, I am allowed to visit a friend’s house, as long as it’s just the two of us, outside, 2m apart. I went round Karen’s last night. I was desperate to have a Happy Hour (I allow myself a midweek beer - today (well, yesterday) is/was Wednesday!) of sorts with another human (rather than a video chat). I was there for about 2 hours, very enjoyable, and then came home. Then I had usual roasted veg with rice and sausages but I couldn’t eat it. I used half a scotch bonnet rather than the usual birdeye chillis. It was too hot, had to sling it! Had a few more beers and, hence, neglected my diary duties!

Day 59: It’s 01:20am. I don’t know why I am still awake and up, but I am. But, also, I am now going to bed. Nothing else to report, really.

Day 60: Half way through 12 weeks furlough. I was discussing this with Dad and Rita earlier - I am expecting that, at the end of 12 weeks, I’ll be laid off. I hope I’m wrong but I reckon it’s well on the cards. Off to have a beer round Karen’s in a sec which will be pleasant. Just a hour or so. It’s fucking windy today so I shall wrap up!

#diary #Tumblr diary #lockdown #COVID19 #lockdownuk

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lastbluetardis · 5 years

Text

Family of Six (10/14)

After James and Rose bring their newborn twins home, they work to find a balance between all four of their children, and each other. Ten x Rose AU, Soulmates AU.

This chapter: Teen, 6700 words

Ages of the Tyler-McCrimmons at the start of the chapter: James: 39, Rose: 34, Ainsley: 9, Sianin: 6, Twins: 2.5 months

If you like reading my stories, consider leaving me a tip? Or leave a reply on this post to tell me what you thought? And as always, reblogs are very much appreciated so more people can see this.

Next update: October 22nd

AO3 | TSP | FF | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14

“My tummy hurts,” Sianin whined over breakfast one morning in mid-May. She pushed her fried egg around her plate with her fork, pulverizing it with the tines and resulting in a goopy yellow mess.

“Where does your tummy hurt?” James asked, reaching over to dip his toast into the broken yolk.

She circled her hand vaguely in front of her stomach. Very helpful, he thought with a sigh.

“Do you feel like you might throw up?” James asked. She shook her head. “Do you need to poo?”

Again, she shook her head. He pressed the backs of his fingers to her forehead. She wasn’t warm, but her lack of appetite indicated she wasn’t faking it.

“Do you think you can make it through school?” he asked, standing to take her plate.

“I guess,” Sianin said.

“If you’re really feeling poorly, go to the infirmary and we’ll pick you up.”

“Who’s feeling poorly?” Rose stepped into the kitchen, a twin in each crook of her arms. James stepped forward to take one from his wife, allowing Rose a free hand.

“My tummy hurts,” Sianin said.

“She doesn’t feel warm,” James said, absently bouncing the baby he was holding. “But she didn’t eat much of her breakfast.”

After a brief examination, Rose agreed with James’s conclusion for Sianin to attempt the school day. She and James hovered near their phones though, waiting for a call from the school telling them to come get Sianin. But no such call came. However, when James went to pick the kids up from school, it was clear that Sianin still wasn’t feeling well.

He found his daughters on a bench, Sianin half-bent over and hugging her middle while Ainsley rubbed her back.

“Tummy still hurting?” he asked, crouching in front of her. She nodded. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Let’s go home; I’ll give you something to help your tummy.”

He watched Sianin carefully as she walked to the car; her steps were slow and shuffling, and there was a slight hunch to her shoulders, as though she couldn’t bring herself to stand up straight.

When he helped her into her car seat, she grabbed his hands and said, “Daddy, don’t strap me in too tight.”

“All right,” he said. He kept the buckles as loose as was safe. He kissed her forehead, testing her temperature and giving her comfort at the same time. Her skin felt a little warm. “Love you, Sian.”

Sianin was quiet for the drive home, not contributing to the conversation and only giving a brief account of her day. Her silence unnerved him, and his heart broke for his daughter.

When he got home, Rose ambushed Sianin at the front door, asking about how she was feeling and how her stomach was all day. She answered her mother’s questions succinctly, then went right over to the couch and laid down.

Ainsley followed her sister and crouched by her head, talking softly. A moment later, Ainsley patted Sianin’s cheek then went down the hall.

“I’m going to get paracetamol,” James announced to no one in particular.

Rose followed him to their room. “What do you think it is?”

“Not sure,” he admitted, hating the answer. He couldn’t help Sianin if he didn’t know what was ailing her. “I think she’s starting a slight fever though. Hopefully that will help burn off whatever bug she’s got.”

“Could it be constipation?” Rose asked.

“I don’t know.” He found the liquid paracetamol and went back to Sianin. She was standing beside the couch with her jeans off. Ainsley was handing her a pair of stretchy cotton trousers to slip on instead.

“I’ve got medicine for you, darling,” James said, shaking the bottle. “Take a bit of this, then you can lie down again.”

Sianin dutifully swallowed the dose James gave her, flushing it down with a glass of water Rose handed to her.

“Are you hungry?” Rose asked, brushing Sianin’s hair out of her eyes.

“No.”

“Did you eat any lunch?”

“A little.”

“Do you think you can try a bit of soup if Mummy makes some?”

Sianin shrugged.

“Well, it will take a little bit to make it,” Rose said. “We’ll see how you feel when it’s ready. Just rest, love.”

“Want Daddy to sit with you?” James asked. When she nodded, he slid onto the couch beside her. Instead of laying down, she curled up against him with her head on his chest and her knees pulled up. He absently stroked her hair, hating that she was sick. “Are you sure you don’t need a poo?”

“No, that hurts.”

“What do you mean, ‘that hurts’?” he asked, alarmed.

“When I try to push… it makes my tummy hurt worse.”

“Have you gone poo today?” he asked.

“A little bit,” she answered. “I don’t wanna talk anymore. I wanna sleep.”

“Okay, darling. You can sleep.”

The evening passed quietly, with Sianin dozing against James’s chest for most of it. She swallowed down a few bites of broth when it was done, but she eventually pushed it away, saying she didn’t want any more.

Her fever gradually built, and by the time James and Rose put her to bed, her face was burning up. They wanted to keep Sianin in bed with them, but she resolutely refused—the irony of her not wanting to share their bed after months of co-sleeping was not lost on them.

“I don’t wanna hear the babies all night,” Sianin said.

They couldn’t exactly argue with that. So they tucked her into her bed after giving her another dose of medicine, both to help her fever and to help her sleep.

“Please come to me and Mummy tonight if you need to. If you throw up or start feeling worse. Promise me, Sian.”

“I promise,” she mumbled, tugging her blankets up to her neck.

James didn’t sleep well that night. He awoke at the smallest of sounds, sure it was Sianin coming to get him and Rose. And any sleep he did manage to find was interrupted by dreams that he was awake and fretting over Sianin.

The twins woke up twice during the night, and after tending to their babies, James and Rose peeked into Sianin’s room to check on her. She was asleep each time they looked, but she was always in a different position.

“I think we’ll need to take her to the doctor,” Rose said when they curled up in bed together at nearly four in the morning. “She’s getting worse.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.

“I don’t know what it could possibly be,” Rose said, frustration straining her voice. “It’s not food-borne, ‘cos none of the rest of us are ill. And we haven’t gotten a notice that a stomach bug is going ‘round the school.”

“Unless she’s the start of it.” James pressed a kiss to the top of Rose’s head. “We’ll take her to hospital tomorrow morning, first thing.”

Rose remained in James’s arms for the rest of the night, and judging by her fidgeting and occasional sigh, she wasn’t sleeping either.

It was a relief when they heard Ainsley get into the shower a few hours later. At least they didn’t need to pretend to be sleeping any longer.

They went immediately to Sianin’s room, but she was dead asleep. Deciding to let her rest for as long as possible, they closed her bedroom door and got ready for the morning.

“Aren’t you going to get Sianin up?” Ainsley asked as she slurped down her yogurt and fruit.

“We’re keeping her home today,” James said.

Ainsley frowned. “She still doesn’t feel well? Are you taking her to the doctor?”

James nodded, then moved down the hall to wake Sianin. He and Rose had agreed he would take Sianin along when he dropped Ainsley off for school, then he would go with Sianin to the hospital.

Sianin was curled onto her side with her blankets twisted around her hips and her stuffed dragon hugged in a death grip. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her hair was a little damp with sweat. His heart squeezed.

“Rise and shine, darling,” he murmured, crouching beside her bed. He pressed the backs of his fingers to her forehead. She was burning up, worse than she was the night before. “Sianin, sweetheart.”

Sianin moaned and turned her head out of his touch. Her eyes fluttered open, then her entire face crumpled as she let out a sob.

“My belly hurts. It really, really hurts now!”

James’s heart began to race at his child’s distress. “Show me where. Let Daddy see.”

He brushed her hair away from her clammy forehead as she rolled to her back. She hovered her fingertips over top her belly button.

James pressed down where she indicated, and when he palpated the right side of her lower abdomen, she cried out and slapped his hand away.

“That hurts! Don’t touch!”

Dread unfurled through his gut as a niggling suspicion clawed at his mind.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. “The doctor’s gonna make you feel better. Can you get up for Daddy?”

Sianin sat up, then her face went white and sweat popped across her forehead before she vomited all over the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, crying.

“It was an accident,” he said rubbing her back gently as she retched again. “Let’s go wee, then we’re gonna go to the doctor. Can you stand?”

Sianin slowly eased onto her feet. She looked wobbly, so James went with her to the loo. When she was finished, he guided her back to her bedroom.

“I’m gonna get Mummy. You wait here. I’ll be right back.”

James smoothed a hand down her hair and kissed the top of her head. Then he turned down the hall and to the kitchen. Rose was sitting at the table with Ainsley.

“Rose,” he said, interrupting whatever Ainsley was talking about. “Can I borrow you for a sec?”

Rose must’ve read the urgency in his face, because she jumped to her feet. James went to the sink and grabbed a roll of paper towels, then bent to the cupboard beneath and grabbed carpet cleaner.

“Did Sianin throw up?” Ainsley asked.

“‘Fraid so,” he answered. “Finish up your breakfast, then Mummy will take you to school.”

Rose frowned at him, but followed him down the hall.

“Something’s very wrong with Sianin,” he said once they were out of earshot of Ainsley. “She threw up, and her belly hurts to touch. God, I think it might be her appendix. That’s on the right side of the stomach, right?”

As they approached Sianin’s bedroom, they heard muffled sobbing coming from the bathroom instead. Their six-year-old was kneeling a few paces in front of the toilet beside a small puddle of vomit. Tissues and toilet paper were tossed on top of the mess, as though Sianin had attempted to clean it up.

“I didn’t make it,” she hiccupped, rubbing at her streaming nose.

“It’s all right, baby,” Rose cooed, dropping beside their daughter. “Daddy’s gonna get you some fresh clothes, then he’s gonna go with you to see a doctor so your tummy will feel better.”

“It hurts, Mummy!” Sianin wailed, tears and snot streaked on her face. “I don’t feel good!”

“I know,” Rose murmured, pulling Sianin into her arms. She met James’s eyes, then cocked her head to the door.

He turned on his heel and went to Sianin’s room. He quickly cleaned up the worst of the mess Sianin had made, hoping Rose wouldn’t mind cleaning more thoroughly later. He then went to her dresser and grabbed soft leggings, a loose shirt, socks, and comfy slip-on shoes.

When he returned, Sianin was sitting on the lip of the tub in only her pants as Rose gently touched her stomach. She was running her fingers along Sianin’s skin and inspecting it closely, as though she could physically peer inside of their daughter and find what was hurting her.

“Not there!” Sianin cried, catching Rose’s hand as it meandered to her lower abdomen. “Please, Mummy, don’t touch it.”

“I got clean clothes, darling,” he interrupted. “Let’s get you dressed and we’ll go.”

“I’ll help her,” Rose said. “You get dressed.”

He realized he was in his sleep clothes of boxers and a t-shirt. He turned away from his family and went to his and Rose’s room. He grabbed clean clothes from his closet, not even caring what they were. He dressed in record time and slipped on his shoes before going back to Rose and Sianin.

“Let’s go, darling,” he said, hefting her into his arms.

“Wait. Can I bring Elliot?”

“Of course,” James said.

“I’ll grab him,” Rose said.

As James moved to the front of the house, Ainsley appeared.

“Is Sianin okay?” she asked, her brow pinching when she saw her sister curled up in their father’s arms.

“Her tummy is just really hurting,” James assured her. “So I’m gonna take her to the doctor and get it all fixed.”

“I threw up,” Sianin croaked, turning her head to look at her sister.

Ainsley reached up and rubbed her hand up and down Sianin’s arm. A moment later, Rose breezed down the hall with Sianin’s stuffed dragon in her hands.

“Here we go,” Rose said, handing it to her daughter. “Feel better, my love.” She brushed a kiss to Sianin’s forehead. Then she kissed James’s cheek. When she rocked back onto her heels, her face was solemn. “Let me know when you know anything.”

“I will,” he said, bending down to peck a kiss to her lips.

Then he turned and went to the car. He buckled Sianin in as carefully as he could, then he drove them to the hospital.

He could have praised all of the gods that ever existed in the entirety of human history that there was hardly anybody waiting to be seen. He got his daughter checked in, then he sat with her in his lap in a hard-backed wooden chair.

As they waited, James pulled out his phone and they played Sianin’s favorite game: dots and boxes. Thankfully there were no more vomiting episodes, but it was clear his daughter felt miserable. Her entire body felt hot and soon he was sweating in the jumper he’d donned despite it being a warm spring day. Nevertheless, he kept his arms around his little girl, holding her close.

“Y’know, your mum and I used to play this when we were kids,” he said, trying to keep her distracted. “It was one of our favorites. But we didn’t have fancy schmancy phone apps. We had to continuously draw and wash the game board off our arms.”

That made Sianin smile a little. “Me, Elena, and Juliette do that with Pictionary. Daddy?”

“Yes darling?”

“My hair is annoying me.”

Indeed, her fringe kept falling into her eyes.

“Want me to braid it back?”

She nodded, and gingerly spun on his lap until her back was facing him. He fluffed her hair out away from her sweaty face and neck, then gathered tendrils of the fine strands between his fingers to weave into a simple French braid.

“You have such beautiful hair,” he murmured to her as he fastened the end of the braid with a hairband he found in his pocket.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she said, running her fingers overtop the braid to feel the ripples and bumps. “You should grow your hair out so I can braid it.”

“Grow my hair out?” he repeated incredulously. “I don’t think I’d look good with long hair, eh? But you can braid my fringe if you’d like.”

Sianin turned in his lap until her knees straddled his thighs. With her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth, she mussed his hair to get it to fall forward over his forehead. He ducked his head so she could reach more easily, then sat motionlessly while Sianin played with his fringe.

When four little braids were standing out of the top of his head, Sianin’s name was finally called. James stood with Sianin on his hip and walked her towards the nurse that had summoned them.

The nurse efficiently gathered Sianin’s height, weight, and temperature—she was running a fever of nearly 39C—and took detailed notes of her symptoms. Sianin remained folded up in James’s lap for as much of the process as she could.

When it came time for the physical examination, James could do nothing but watch as Sianin cried on the exam table while the physician poked and prodded her stomach.

“You’re doing great, Sian,” he encouraged, holding her hand. “Squeeze as hard as you need to. The doctor’s nearly finished. You’re doing so well.”

Next came a blood draw. James helped hold his daughter still as the nurse pricked her arm, and he forced Sianin to keep her eyes on him instead of the needle and vial of blood they were taking.

While the nurse left with Sianin’s blood sample, the doctor came back with an ultrasound machine.

“The doctor’s gonna use this to see inside your tummy,” James explained. “Do you remember the pictures of the twins that Mummy and I showed you while they were in Mummy’s belly? A machine just like this is what took those pictures.”

“It’s completely painless,” the doctor chimed in. “I’m gonna squirt a little bit of jelly onto your belly, then I’ll scan you with my magic wand.”

Sianin eventually reclined on the exam table and let the doctor scan her abdomen with the probe. The doctor was as gentle as possible throughout the scan, but James saw the discomfort on his child’s face.

Even though James already suspected the diagnosis, it didn’t make it any easier to hear it confirmed from the doctor’s lips.

“She has appendicitis. This means she has an infection that has inflamed her appendix.” The doctor rotated the ultrasound monitor towards James. She traced her finger across the screen as she talked about Sianin’s prognosis: her appendix was blocked and swollen and if they didn’t remove it soon, it could burst and cause infection to her entire abdominal cavity.

“When can she get in for surgery?” James asked faintly. “How serious is this?”

“I want to get her rehydrated and started on a course of antibiotics,” the doctor said, “but I would like to get her in for surgery today, if possible. The sooner the better with this kind of thing.”

“Daddy?”

James looked down at Sianin, who was pale-faced and close to tears. He forced his face to relax, then he smiled at her. He rested his hand atop one of hers and said, “Your pesky little appendix has a small injury. So the doctors are going to go inside of you to fix it right up. That will make you feel loads better.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s nothing to be scared about, Sian. You’re going to be all right.”

Sianin didn’t look particularly convinced, but she didn’t make too much of a fuss when she was transferred to a different room and hooked up to an IV line to replenish her fluids.

“We’ve got her on antibiotics and pain medicine,” the nurse murmured to James. “And we’ve also given her a small dose of an anti-anxiety medication. It should help her to relax. We will let you know as soon as we can get a surgeon scheduled.”

“Thanks,” James said, scrubbing his palms across his face. When he pulled his hands away, he saw writing on his wrist.

How is she?

Has she seen a doctor yet?

Hello?

Are you still waiting?

James, what’s going on?

For god’s sake, answer your bloody phone or write me back!

“Bugger,” he mumbled.

When the nurse left the room, James pulled a pen from the nearby desk. He tugged his phone out of his pocket before sitting by Sianin’s bedside. There were several texts from Rose waiting for him, demanding an update. He set the phone on his thigh, electing to use their soulmark.

“She’s got appendicitis. Going to need surgery,” James wrote. “They’re giving her fluids to rehydrate her. Not sure when the surgery is yet. Possibly later today.”

Barely fifteen seconds later, his phone lit up with Rose’s name and a photograph of the two of them, but he ignored it. Instead, he wrote, “I will give you a call, I promise. But please make sure you’re calm. Sianin’s nervous enough as it is and I’m here in the room with her.”

The phone call ended. A moment later, Rose wrote back, You arse. Let me talk to my daughter.

“I will. But please, love—”

I am bloody calm, so answer my goddamn call!

He exhaled slowly, and the next time his phone lit up, he answered it.

“Don’t you ever ignore me again,” Rose growled the second he accepted the call. “Not when it’s about one of our kids. I’ve been worried sick, James!”

“Hello to you, too,” he said cheerfully.

“Is that Mummy?” Sianin whispered, shaking his arm to get his attention.

“Yep, wanna talk to her?” he asked, already putting his phone on speaker.

“Hi Mummy!”

“Hi baby,” Rose replied softly, all traces of her agitation with James gone. “Daddy tells me your appendix is what’s making your tummy hurt.”

“Yeah. It’s infected,” Sianin said, sighing gravely. “The doctor said I hafta have surgery to get it taken out.”

“Wow. How are you feeling?”

“My tummy hurts still,” she answered. “But not as much. It reeeeeally hurt when the doctor was pushing on it. I didn’t like that. But Daddy told me to squeeze his hand really really hard.”

“Nearly bruised my knuckles,” James interjected playfully just to hear Sianin giggle.

“Good,” Rose muttered, and he frowned at his phone.

“The doctor put a needle in my arm,” Sianin said, not having heard her mother’s jab at her father. “It feels weird and hurts when I touch it.”

“Don’t touch it,” Rose and James said at the same time.

“Do you want Mummy to come wait with you before your surgery?” Rose asked.

“Yeah, I’m so bored,” Sianin moaned. “They have TV here but no good channels.”

“I’ll bring along a game,” Rose promised.

“Can you also bring an overnight bag?” James asked. “Change of clothes for me and Sianin. Shampoo and things.”

“Er…?”

“They said she’ll probably be staying the night,” James said. “I’d rather not wear these manky old clothes tomorrow, too. Obviously I’m staying with her.”

“Obviously?” Rose repeated, her voice sharp.

James clenched his jaw.

“Me and Daddy are gonna have a sleepover in the hospital!”

“Sounds like fun,” Rose said. “Daddy and I need to have a private chat. I’ll talk to you later, sweetheart.”

“Okay Mummy. Don’t forget to bring a game,” Sianin said.

“I’ll remember. Love you.” Rose made a kissing noise through the phone, and Sianin echoed it.

James groaned internally as he switched the phone off of speaker mode. He pressed it into his chest and said, “I’m going to be right outside the door, Sian. Okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

Sianin nodded, and he exited the room. He put his phone to his ear and said, “Right, where were we?”

“You were being a twat,” Rose snapped.

“Rose, come on. Be reasonable…”

“Why is it automatically assumed that you will stay with Sianin?” Rose asked.

“Well for starters, I’m already here,” James said.

“That’s bullshit,” Rose spat. “I can be at the hospital in twenty minutes.”

“Someone needs to stay with our other three children tonight,” James answered.

“You could come home after Sianin’s surgery,” Rose said.

James bit back a growl. God, she’s stubborn. “You’ve got to be there to nurse the twins, Rose.”

“Excuse me, the last I looked, you were more than capable of feeding our babies.”

“All right, fine! Come stay with Sianin. Pump in the hospital room every couple of hours. Be my guest. Oh, but good luck finding a place to keep the milk cold, unless you want to let it go to waste. And I guess I’ll be switching the twins over to formula when I’ve gone through the small supply of milk in our fridge!”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and James exhaled raggedly, his exasperation gone. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” she said, her voice quiet. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m being unreasonable.”

“You’re worried about Sianin,” he said gently. “That’s understandable. But Rose…” He scrubbed his hand along the nape of his neck. “You’ve made me feel like you don’t trust me to be here with Sianin.”

“No, James, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that. Of course I trust you with her. Of course I do. I just… I want to be there with her, too. My baby.”

“I know.”

“But you’re right,” she said. “It makes more sense for you to stay with her.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Come wait with us before the surgery. We’re just sitting in her room watching TV. Sian would love the company, and you promised her a game.”

“I’ll bring an overnight bag for you,” Rose said. “I’m going to drop the twins off with your dad, then I’ll be there.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed a finger into his tired eyes, then murmured, “I’m very sorry I didn’t give you updates like I said I would.”

Rose was quiet for a few seconds, long enough that James thought their connection cut out, when she finally said, “Two hours of silence from you, James. Two hours. Do you know how scared I was?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I was focusing on Sianin and, well…”

“Forgot about me?” Rose teased weakly.

“Maybe a little bit,” he admitted sheepishly. “Really, though. I’m so sorry, Rose.”

“I want to be furious with you,” she said, letting out a noise that he couldn’t distinguish between a laugh and a sob. “God, I want to be so furious with you. But how can I be when I know you were singly focused on our daughter?”

James didn’t know what to say, so he just said, “I’m sorry. I love you very much, Rose.”

“Love you, too,” she replied. “Right, I’m gonna get ready to go.”

“I’ll let Sianin know you’re…” James trailed off when he saw the doctor walking towards him. “Rose, I gotta go. Doctor’s here. I’ll call you back when I get a free moment. Love you. Bye.”

He disconnected the call and stuffed his phone into his pocket. “Has she been scheduled for surgery?”

“Yes, in a half hour,” the doctor said. “There was a sudden last-minute opening.”

“A half hour?” James repeated dumbly. “Is she ready for surgery that soon? Is the surgeon ready?”

“Has Sianin eaten this morning?” When James shook his head, the doctor said, “Then she’s fine. Shall we?”

James opened the door, guiding the doctor into Sianin’s room. She beamed at her father, but the expression slipped when she saw the doctor.

“Hiya, darling,” James said, walking up to sit on the edge of her bed. Sianin shuffled closer to him. “Looks like the doctors are ready to take care of that appendix for you.”

“In a few minutes, you and your dad are going to be moved to a new room, where we’ll give you something to help you fall asleep,” the doctor said gently, standing at the foot of Sianin’s bed. “And as soon as you’re asleep, we’re going to take you back and get that nasty little appendix out.”

“What if I wake up?” Sianin asked, clinging to James’s hand.

“The doctors are very good at their job,” James told her, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. “You won’t wake up during the surgery. You’ll be sleeping deeper than you’ve ever slept before.”

“Promise?” she asked solemnly.

“Cross my heart,” he said, making an ‘X’ over his chest, then hers.

“When we’ve finished getting your appendix out, we’re going to take you to a new room where your dad can join you again.”

“No, Daddy, I want you to stay,” Sianin pleaded, turning her big brown eyes on him. They were welling with tears, and his heart fractured. “The whole time. Please? Please can’t you stay with me?”

“I’m gonna be with you whilst they put you to sleep, and I promise—I promise—I’ll be there when you wake up,” he whispered, swiping his thumb across her fallen tears. “You’ll be so deeply asleep, you won’t even miss me.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Sianin hiccupped.

“I know, darling.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tucked Sianin into his side. “I know.”

“I’ll be back in a couple minutes,” the doctor said, before she left the room.

“You’re being very brave, Sianin,” James said as he continued to hold his trembling child.

“I don’t feel brave,” she said, burying her face into his chest.

“Well, you are. Being brave isn’t not being scared. It’s okay to be scared. But you’re not letting the fear win out,” he said, leaning down to plant kisses across the top of her head.

They sat in relative silence for a while before the doctor came back, along with a team of nurses. James kissed the crown of Sianin’s head and slid off her bed.

“Daddy!” she cried, reaching for him. “No, you promised!”

“I’m right here,” he said soothingly. “But the doctors need to wheel you into a new room, and they don’t want to be pushing my weight around. I’m gonna walk.”

“You’re coming with me, right?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “No one on this planet could stop me.”

Sianin relaxed back into the mattress, and James followed the nurses as they pushed Sianin down a long corridor and into a sterile-smelling white room. The nurses left, and in walked a second physician.

“Hello, Sianin. I’m the anesthesiologist,” he announced.

“He’s the man who is gonna give you something to help you fall asleep,” James explained to his daughter.

“Hi,” she said meekly.

“We’ve got this cool mask for you to put on,” the doctor said, wheeling over a cart and showing her the gas mask.

Sianin’s glanced at it, then at James. He smiled reassuringly and stepped closer to her.

“When you put this on, a magic gas is gonna come out of it,” he said. “You’ll be asleep in no time.”

“You’ll stay ‘til I’m sleeping?” she verified to her father.

James nodded.

“And be here when I wake up?”

He nodded again. “Mummy will be here by then, too.”

“With a game?”

“With a game,” he said, even though he knew Sianin wouldn’t be up for a game after coming out of surgery.

Sianin looked up at the doctor.

“Ready?” he asked.

When she nodded, the doctor slipped the mask over Sianin’s nose and mouth. James smiled at her reassuringly when he saw panic rising in her eyes.

“Can you tell me about your friend there?” the anesthesiologist said, gesturing to her stuffed dragon.

Sianin clenched her fist around its neck and said, “He’s a dragon. His name’s Elliot. My gran got him for me when she and I went to…”

Her voice suddenly died off and her eyes rolled back slightly before her eyelids slipped shut.

James exhaled raggedly, and he pressed a kiss to Sianin’s forehead.

“We will get you the moment she’s out of surgery,” the doctor promised, then with that, they handed Elliot to him and wheeled his baby out of the room.

“If you come with me, I’ll show you where you can wait.”

He turned mechanically towards the voice, and saw a nurse standing at the doorway. He followed her to a room with a bunch of chairs, where he was then given a pager. He took the pager and walked outside into the warm spring day to call Rose.

He ran his fingers through his hair and hissed when they snagged in the row of short braids Sianin had made at his fringe. They’d loosened over the course of the morning, and were now a row of snarled tangles. He teased them free as the phone rang at his ear.

“Hey, everything okay?” she asked. “It’s been a while. I just dropped the twins off and am on my way to the hospital. How is she?”

“They’ve taken her back for surgery,” he said, absently running his thumb across Elliot’s sequined wings.

“They’ve what? Already? But… but I thought they didn’t have a time for her yet.”

“Something opened up,” he answered. “They just took her back. Our baby… our baby’s getting surgery.”

Rose was quiet for a few long seconds. “She’ll be fine, James. It’s a routine procedure.”

“She’s having one of her internal organs taken out!”

“At least it’s not an important one,” Rose joked weakly. James managed a small snort. “I’ll be at the hospital as soon as I can. I’ve got a bag packed for you.”

“Thanks. A game too? Sianin made me double check. I don’t think she’ll be well enough to play anything, but I promised her I’d ask you.”

“A game too. I love you. I’ll be there soon.”

“Love you.” He disconnected the call, then strolled back into the hospital to wait.

Nearly a half hour after Sianin was taken into surgery, he heard his name being called out. Rose was walking straight towards him. He stood on stiff legs and opened his arms for her. They held each other tightly for a long minute, then they sat down on the uncomfortable chairs to wait.

“How long did they say it’d be?” Rose asked, chewing her thumb cuticle.

“Hour and a half, thereabouts,” James replied, pulling her hand away from her mouth and twining their fingers together instead.

“And how long’s it been?”

“Twenty-eight minutes.”

Rose sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, keeping silent vigil.

Another half hour passed. Then an hour. An hour and fifteen minutes…

Finally, just as James was about to go to reception and ask for any available updates on their daughter, his pager blinked. He and Rose strode to the front desk, where a doctor was waiting for them.

“We’ve successfully removed Sianin’s appendix,” she announced with a comforting smile. “There were no other signs of trauma or infection. All in all, it was a very routine procedure.”

“Will this have any effects on the rest of her life?” James asked the doctor. “Like when someone has their gallbladder removed they can’t really eat greasy foods and such.”

“She didn’t get her gallbladder out, James,” Rose said tightly.

“I was just drawing a comparison,” he hissed back. “Excuse me for wanting information about my daughter’s health.”

“What, and I don’t?”

“There shouldn’t be any lasting effects,” the doctor interrupted, glancing between them warily. “Really, the appendix is one of the most vestigial organs in the body. She should make a full recovery and never once miss her appendix. I’ll give you some information packets to read. I can take you to her now; she’s in a recovery room and sleeping off the rest of the anesthesia.”

“Yes please,” they said in unison.

James threaded his fingers through Rose’s as they followed the surgeon through the long, endless corridors of the hospital. They eventually reached a room that had Sianin’s name scribbled on a whiteboard on the door.

It was eerie to see Sianin asleep in a hospital bed. It made her look too small. She was pale, and her head looked like it was propped at an awkward angle. Rose breezed past him to sit at Sianin’s head, where she gently adjusted the pillows.

James came up and stuck their daughter’s stuffed dragon at her side. He pulled up a chair next to Rose, and he reached for Sianin’s hand, which was lying limply on the bed.

“Her hair looks nice,�� Rose murmured. “I assume that was you?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. I didn’t mean to make you feel silly about your questions. I’m glad you asked.”

“I’m sorry too,” he said softly. “We’ve both been out of sorts with each other today.”

“We should’ve been comforting each other today, not bickering.” Rose scooted her chair closer to his. She rested her free hand on his thigh and her cheek on his shoulder.

“This is a first for us. First time our child has needed any type of surgery, let alone emergency surgery. We’re stressed,” he said, kissing her temple.

“I know. But I’m still sorry.”

They both descended into silence as they waited for their baby to wake up.

It took Sianin about twenty minutes to wake up from the anesthesia, and when she did, she wasn’t entirely cognizant. She woke up for a minute, then drifted back to sleep for another five. This pattern went on for a while, frightening James and Rose even though they were assured by the nurses that this was a common reaction to anesthesia.

Finally, she opened her eyes and remained conscious for more than a few minutes.

“Mummy?” Sianin slurred, blinking slowly. She moved to rub at her eyes, but paused when she got a look at the back of her hand, where a needle was stuck. “There’s something in my hand.”

“It’s just there to give you medicine,” Rose soothed. “How are you feeling, baby?”

“Tired,” she said.

“Does your tummy hurt?” Rose asked.

Sianin shook her head, then furrowed her brows. “I can’t feel my tummy.” She tugged her blankets down and her hospital gown up to look at her stomach, as though to verify she still, in fact, had one. She poked it for good measure.

“The doctors gave you some medicine to numb you,” James explained. “Let us know if it starts to hurt again.”

Sianin nodded, her eyes fixed on the gauze covering the incision. She then looked at her mother with a sleepy smile on her face. “I got surgery, Mummy.”

Rose smiled. “I heard.”

“They took my appendix out,” she said.

“I heard that, too.”

“What did they do with it?”

“Chucked it into the rubbish bin out back,” James said with a quick wink. Sianin’s eyes widened, and he chuckled. “Nah, doctors have a special sort of rubbish bin that they put body parts into.”

“That’s neat,” Sianin said, yawning. “When can I go home?”

“Probably tomorrow,” James answered. “The doctors want to keep you overnight to make sure everything’s all right before they let you go.”

“You’ll stay, right Daddy? You promised.”

“I did,” he said, nodding. “And I will. I’ll stay with you for as long as the doctor wants to keep you here.”

Sianin looked at Rose. “Will you stay, Mummy?”

Rose pursed her lips. “I need to go home and take care of your sisters.”

Sianin bobbed her head in acceptance. When she next blinked, her eyes rolled back a little bit.

“Are you still sleepy?” Rose asked, stroking Sianin’s cheek.

Their daughter nearly purred and tilted her head into her mother’s touch. Rose continued her ministrations, and Sianin melted into the mattress. Five minutes later, she was asleep again.

Rose’s happy demeanor evaporated as her shoulders slumped.

“Hey,” James said, taking Rose’s free hand. “She’s fine.”

“I know. I just… I hate that she got so sick. We should’ve taken her to the doctor sooner.”

“We would’ve received the same diagnosis,” James said gently, even as his own guilt threatened to swallow him. He’d sent Sianin to school while she was suffering with an infected appendix. “She would’ve needed surgery regardless.”

Rose cracked a small smile, one that James returned. “Will you ever stop being logical?”

“Nope!” he said, beaming manically. “It’s one of the things you love best about me.”

Rose chuckled quietly and threaded their fingers together, lapsing back into silence as they watched over their sleeping child.

If you’ve read to the end, consider leaving a comment or reblogging? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

30 notes · View notes

calciseptinefic · 7 years

Text

stay (it doesn’t have to hurt)

Gravity Falls || Stanford Pines/Stanley Pines || Part One notes: Written for Summer of Stancest. All my love to Blue, who organized this event, gave me encouragement, and was over-all an amazing human being. ♥ ¶ also available on AO3 warnings: mentions of blood and poverty as a theme

The motel television has nine channels and, as he has every day since he arrived in New Mexico, Stan spends his day mindlessly switching back and forth between them. Images shift. Noise fluctuates. It helps him ignore the gnaw of hunger in his belly and the squeeze of anxiety around his lungs. There is no remote. Any time a program becomes unbearable, Stan has to get up and manually change the station.

It does little to ease the restlessness in his stagnant bones.

Eventually—when the heat of the day dissipates into evening, and the setting sun illuminates Stan's room in red—Stan gives up the distraction. He switches the television off and plops back down on the sagging edge of his mattress.

Stares at the matted shag carpet.

Runs a hand over his uncombed, sweat-damp hair.

Sighs softly and—

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Stan's head jerks up. His heart begins to race.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Stan can only think of two people who would visit him at this hour. The first is the owner of the motel, a skeletal man with beady eyes and a bald head. The second is Rico, a man from whom Stan unwisely borrowed money.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

In the sinking pit of his stomach, Stan knows it must be Rico. The motel owner already came by that morning, asking after overdue rent and threatening to get the police involved. All Stan had was a wrinkled five dollar bill, which he handed over; the other man sneered at the last of Stan's money and spat tobacco on the concrete near Stan's feet.

"Ain't worth the phone call," he said before he stalked off.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Just give me a few more days, Rico!" Stan shouts as he grabs the baseball bat lying next to his bed. He immediately chokes up on the wooden handle, his knuckles white and bloodless. "I'll pay your goons back, I swear!"

Stan has said the same thing for the past three months. He was lucky, last time, to be sent home with nothing more than a pair of black eyes and a five thousand dollar deadline. He knows he won't be shown the same generosity this time around, but if Rico and his lackeys are expecting him to go down without a fight, they are in for a very rude awakening.

A second passes.

Two.

Yet instead of the telltale sound of the door being kicked in, there is the simple, metallic whisper of the mail slot. A single piece of cardstock falls to the floor. It seems innocuous, but Stan has been on the wrong side of business long enough to know that a bullet may follow.

A minute passes.

Two.

With the bat clutched in one hand, Stan gets up and creeps towards the door. He tries to keep his footsteps silent and his breathing even, but his movements seem thunderously loud in the still quiet of the room. Slowly… slowly… slowly he bends, pinches the postcard between his fingers, and—

swiftly and without finesse—

Stan sprints back to the safety of his unmade bed.

When nothing continues to happen, Stan inhales deeply and lets go of the tension in his shoulders. Then he looks at the postcard. The front is a generic picture of a forest, coniferous and verdant, complete with a perfect blue sky and a waterfall. The center of the card is dominated by a bold font that entreats:

VISIT SCENIC GRAVITY FALLS OREGON

Stan raises an eyebrow. He's been to all forty-eight contiguous states, seven Canadian provinces, and every country between Mexico and Columbia, but he's never heard of a place called Gravity Falls. It's probably some small, backwater podunk, he deduces before he flips it over. Who the hell—

PLEASE COME!!!, the postcard reads

- FORD, the postcard is signed.

A storm of emotions travels through Stan at the sight of those three words, hastily written and underscored thrice. Rage is the easiest to recognize because of course Ford contacts him when he's in trouble. It was just like Ford to turn to Stan and expose his vulnerability when the going got tough; Stan could never say no to Ford's big blue eyes—or, in this case, his tremulous scrawl—and Ford knew it. He knew that Stan wouldn't be able to ignore a such a summons. Unconsciously or not, Ford was using the fact of Stan's loyalty to his advantage.

"Fuckin' typical," Stan spits. The postcard strains in his hands and, for a moment, Stan contemplates ripping the damn paper in half.

He doesn't.

Instead, Stan's anger dims, his grip on the postcard loosens, and worry edges in. For such a smart guy, Ford could sometimes be an unbelievable idiot, frequently letting his curiosity overrule his common sense. He was never incompetent nor was he liable to do something he didn't want to, either, so ff he needs help, and is willing to ask Stan after ten years of silence, then he's probably way in over his head.

Goddamn, Stan thinks as he reads the plea again. Ten fuckin' years.

This is sorrow. It is a heavy thing, bone-deep and pervasive, and unlike his other feelings, Stan always carries it with him. Part of it is due to the unexpected turn his life took—Stan never planned on being estranged and homeless—but a majority of it comes from losing the one thing he always thought he'd have.

The other half of him.

His brother.

Ford.

Stan exhales shakily. Rubs the damp off his skin with his callused fingertips. Looks down at the card in his hand for the thousandth time since he picked it up and traces the lines with his eyes.

P-L-E-A-S-E-C-O-M-E-!-!-! -F-O-R-D

The last thing Stan feels that night is resignation.

In the morning twilight, when the desert sky is a wash of pale rose and gray, Stan leaves Dead End Flats with a single suitcase full of clothes and a wooden baseball bat. Dust kicks up behind the wheels of the El Diablo, billowing up behind him like clouds. He grits his teeth at the obviousness.

An hour passes.

Stan drives with his heart in his throat. He constantly checks his rearview mirror to see if he's being followed. He is less concerned about skipping his dues on the motel owner and more concerned about Rico and his network of sour-faced lackeys.

Another hours passes.

The sun rises high enough over the horizon to turn everything yellow and brown.

Three hours later, suburbs begin to bloom in the red sand. Houses spread inward, becoming denser and denser until they rise into the city of Albuquerque. Gaudy skyscrapers made of steel and glass glitter like diamonds amid the tired landscape. Stan would be impressed if he hadn't learned to hate cities after spending a long winter dodging cops in Columbus, Ohio.

Albuquerque fades quickly.

The desert looms.

San Ysidro. La Jara. Counselor. Nageezi. Farmington.

As he nears the border between New Mexico and Arizona, Stan keeps an eye out for a medium-sized town with a gas station slash diner. He finds one right out of Shiprock, pulls in, and fills his tank among a slew of vacationing families and grizzled truckers. He brings his enormous, dog-eared road map into the diner with him, and grins when he's seated at a booth instead of the counter.

"A pot of coffee," he tells his waitress, a woman several years his senior. Her dark hair is pulled into a fraying bun and there is a huge ketchup stain along her sleeve. She keeps glancing at the toddler two booths down, a small monster who is smearing mac-n-cheese across the table. "And the number seven, and a cherry pie milkshake."

When Stan gets his double bacon burger, fries, and shake, he devours it. He hasn't eaten in nearly three days and the uncomfortable bloat of fullness is a welcome change to the scratch of emptiness.

"Check?" the waitress asks when she comes to collect his plate.

"More coffee, please," Stan replies, gesturing to the road map opened in front of him. "Need to decide where to go next."

Her returning nod is harried and her eyes remain on the toddler. The unruly child has recently graduated from wiping his food on the table to throwing handfuls on the floor and giggling.

It doesn't take Stan long to map out the next leg of his journey. The quickest route to Oregon is to take U.S. Route 191 through Utah, but in order reach said route, Stan needs to either continue west into Arizona or head north into Colorado. The problem arises from the fact that Stan has outstanding arrest warrants in both states. The Arizona detour is shorter, but the charges—

Two booths down, the waitress tries to tell the toddler's parents to control their son's behavior. The father does not take this well and begins to shout.

That's my cue, Stan thinks.

And as the rest of the diner turns to watch the waitress and the father get into a screaming match about appropriate child care, Stan drains the last of his coffee, rolls up his travel atlas, and walks out the front door without spending a dime.

Stan heads west into Arizona and spends fifty uncomfortable minutes on Route 64. He passes Teec Nos Pos then turns north at Red Mesa. By the time he crosses the Utah border, he has seen a grand total of seven other cars.

Bluff. Monticello. Moab. Price.

Utah is made of the same red-brown dirt and pale green scrub that is present in New Mexico, and after twelve hours on the road, Stan isn't paying as much attention to the road as he should be. This is why he panics when a mule deer appears suddenly in front of him; he inhales sharply, slams on the breaks, and knocks his nose hard against the leather steering wheel.

"Shit!" Stan curses loudly, clutching his face. Unhurt, the deer prances off. "Shit—fuck—ow, ow, ow!"

Blood leaks warm onto Stan's hand as he pulls over onto the gravel shoulder and parks. He reaches blindly into the back seat, grabs the first thing that feels like a t-shirt, and waits for the bleeding to stop. It takes several minutes. The numbing flush of adrenaline wears off before Stan pulls the worn cotton away.

"Goddamnit," Stan curses when he sees that he managed to grab his last good button down. Blood blooms vivid across a stretch of pale blue, like the desert sun setting west on the winter horizon, and not all of it was captured. Stan's hand is smeared pink and huge drops fell on his t-shirt, where his belly swells fat beneath the fabric. "God fuckin' damn it."

Stan's only stroke of luck is that his nose is not broken. It's tender, so much so that he hisses as he gingerly taps the bridge, but he knows this from vast experience that the bone is intact.

Once Stan cleans as much of his blood up as he can, he gets out of the car and pulls his shirt over his head. It is colder than he expects. The chill hits him hard and his teeth immediately begin to chatter. It's pathetic for a man who was New Jersey born and bred, but Stan has spent the last four years in the deep south and beyond; even in the middle of winter, it was an easy fifty degrees in New Mexico.

Utah is much colder.

Stan quickly stashes his bloodied shirts in the trunk, then grabs his suitcase out of the backseat. There is nothing warm inside. Stan curses as he grabs his least stained article of clothing, a once white shirt that's gray with age and yellow under the pits. It smells like aged leather and stale sweat. Unpleasant. He pulls it over his head. Ignores the stench. Gets back in the El Diablo and cranks up the heat. Stan shivers. It is only going to get colder the further north he goes and he doesn't have a coat, or gloves, or a hat.

Or money.

He looks up at the picture of Ford he keeps above him. Ford smiles so hard it is nearly a grimace and Stan beams. Stan remembers how Ford felt tucked against his side, warm and pliant, both when the picture was taken and later that night when Ford crept into the bottom bunk.

Stan sighs.

"The things I do for you, Sixer," he mutters, and gets back on the road.

Colton. Soldier Summit. Tucker.

Mapleton. Springville.

Provo. Orem. Pleasant Grove.

Salt Lake City.

Stan stops as at every gas station he sees. His tank is running towards low, but he never fuels up. Instead, he scrounges for fallen change: for pennies turned black, for scratched nickels, for thin dimes worn flat, for rare and defaced quarters. He hates the pitying looks he gets when he scavenges and ignores them the best he can, hunched against the deepening cold.

Woods Cross. Bountiful. Centerville.

Another Farmington.

Kaysville. Layton. Clearfield. Roy.

Stan's pockets are full and the El Diablo is empty when he pulls into the parking lot of a darkened thrift store. It's midnight. His eyes itch. He's hungry. He's thirsty. He's cold. He grabs the remaining clothes out of his suitcase and piles them atop his body in an attempt to shield himself from the night. He thinks, This ain't got nothin' on Ohio, and pushes his seat back as far as it will go.

Closes his eyes.

And sleeps fitfully till the morning sun breaks white and weak over the pavement.

Stan has been to hundreds of thrift shops in the past ten years and he has never understood how they can all smell the same. Like a pair of old shoes and an abandoned house and musty clothes, faint and all at once, familiarity edged with disquiet.

He hates it.

Walking through the racks, Stan searches for the heaviest coat he can find. The best options are long gone, however, picked out before winter could reach its brutal peak, and Stan ends up with three hangers. The first is a heavy leather bomber with no visible tears and a soft collar; the second is a wool peacoat that falls to his knees; and the third is a red parka lined with synthetic fur.

Stan tries the peacoat on first. It's a size too small, unable to stretch over his shoulders and the thickness of his waist, and the fabric smells like spoiled milk. Stan wrinkles his nose as he takes it off and puts it back on the hanger. The peacoat is a definite no.

Next, Stan tries on the leather jacket. It fits well. Really well. So well that Stan takes a peek at himself in the dingy mirror at the end of the makeshift aisle. He looks big, yes, but in a good way: brawny instead of fat, rugged instead of homeless, nineteen instead of thirty-one. Unfortunately, Stan's vanity cannot give the leather jacket another layer of needed insulation, nor can it lower the price tag that reflects its good condition. So he sighs, takes it off, and ignores the sting of want.

The last coat is Stan's best option. It's heavy, it has a hood, and there aren't any rips or thin patches of fabric. The zipper pulls up smoothly. Indeed, the only detriments are the motor oil stains on the shoulder, sleeve, and hem, but the faint scent of detergent Stan smells means that the parka was obviously washed before being donated.

Stan hasn't done laundry in months.

Decided, Stan then searches the store for some gloves. He can't find any. Instead, he finds a hat and a matching pair of mittens; all three pieces are dark and smell like damp, but Stan needs them. The El Diablo's heat can be intermittent in the extreme cold—often not working at all—and it hurts Stan's hands to hold a frozen leather steering for long periods of time.

"Better than nothin'," Stan tells himself before he scoops up the hat and mittens and heads up to the front of the store. He goes to the only cashier working, a reedy teenage boy with a thin face, a thin mouth, and a thin mustache. Skinny doesn't greet him, merely begins to punch in the prices after Stan sets his stuff down.

"Seven fifty," he intones when he's finished bundling everything into a plastic shopper.

Stan digs in his pockets. Dumps all his dirty change on the counter. Skinny exhales through his nose in irritation at the small pile, but says nothing as he sorts the coins and adds them to his till: quarters first, then dimes, then nickels, then pennies.

"You owe forty-three cents," Skinny says.

Stan is too tired to argue. Too tired to be sarcastic. He just shrugs and says, "S'all I got, kiddo."

For the first time since Stan walked up, the teenager lifts his gaze from the counter and looks at Stan. Stan has no illusions about what the kid sees. He's a fat, middle-aged man with an uncombed mullet, bags under his eyes, and a gross t-shirt. Skinny probably sees someone like Stan every time he works. Sees the symptoms of poverty—the weary slump, the flat eyes, the resignation—

Skinny closes the drawer and hands Stan his purchases.

"Have a good day," Skinny says.

"Yeah," Stan gruffs. "You too."

Stan dons his new coat in the parking lot. Tosses the hat and mittens onto the passenger seat. Starts the El Diablo and freezes when it takes a moment for the engine to respond. Thanks a god he never believed in when a familiar rumble fills his ears.

"Halfway there," Stan tells the dashboard. "Just one more day."

The fuel gauge sits dangerously low until Stan can find a small, slow gas station at the edge of town. The attendant manning the till inside looks up and waves. Stan returns the gesture with a smile before he fills his tank.

Stan looks up. The attendant waves again. Stan smiles again even as unease begins to prickle beneath his skin. He needs the attendant to be distracted so he can drive away without the police being called or his license plate number being taken down. Thankfully, most people are easily bored, and Stan only needs to spend a few minutes cleaning out his car for the attendant's attention to turn elsewhere.

Ha! Stan crows silently as he slips into his car. Gotcha!

And a minute later, when the attendant looks up from her big book of crosswords, the only thing left outside will be a bin full of garbage.

Willard. Brigham City. Tremonton.

The earth turns tan. Naked aspens and thin pines sprout out of the ground between knee-high shrubs. Little towns with names like Blue Creek and Snowville pop up and disappear faster than Stan can blink.

Less than two hours after Stan has left Ogden, he crosses the border into Idaho.

Juniper. Sublett. Cotterel. Burley.

By the time Stan hits Twin Falls, the temperate drops below freezing.

King Hill. Chalk Cut.

Mountain Home.

Mayfield.

By the time Stan hits Boise, he sees snow for the first time in years. The heat of the desert has softened his remembrance of it, made him forget how deceiving it was, how pervasive. White flakes falls from an unchanging gray sky and build on the black pavement of western-winding interstate. He skids twice on unseen ice and nearly ends up in a ditch before he remembers to mind his lead foot.

Nampa. Caldwell.

Then a green sign says in white: Welcome to Oregon.

Vale.

The towns begin to shrink—the towns begin to s t r e t c h—

Harper.

The towns begin to hide behind the boughs of dense conifers—to peek through the skeletal branches of sleeping deciduous trees—

Juntura.

The towns begin to whisper secrets in the stillness—

WELCOME TO GRAVITY FALLS

part two

#fandom: gravity falls #pairing: stanford pines/stanley pines #rated: e #stancest

56 notes · View notes

sambethe · 7 years

Text

CS FF: Casual Fridays

A/N: For @lifeinahole27, who long ago left me the prompt of ‘Captain Swan - casual Friday.’ Thanks go to @lenfaz for reading this over.

Summary: It was supposed to be just another one-night stand, but somehow she got carried away with this one.

Words: 4000 | Rating: M | ao3

+++

Emma was pretty sure that if she wanted to take the time, she could write a really useful guide on what not to do when looking for a potential one night stand. Forget warnings like not being too drunk, not forgetting to pack a condom, and texting a friend to let them know where you are, these seemed like a given. There was plenty of more useful advice that could be shared.

For instance, don’t go for the guy at the bar with too much hair gel. It will end up with him getting all too handsy before you’ve even left the bar, and you’ll be lucky if he’s ever taken the time to figure out where a woman’s clit is given how long he’s spent getting his hair like that. Or don’t pick up the bartender of your local bar, unless you have no plans to return. Ever. Or avoid the guy in the corner of the coffee shop with the ponytail, he’s definitely going to recite some sort of poetry in your ear while trying to get you off and it is just going to kill it for you.

Or, much like the bartender scenario, don’t fuck your neighbor. No matter how hot or enticingly accented he may be, if your entire goal is an orgasm (or two, if you were lucky) and to never see the guy again, fucking your neighbor is counterproductive.

Emma was pretty sure this point couldn’t be high enough on said guide.

(Even if said neighbor delivered three.)

The stakeout could have gone better. Four hours in a car in the sweltering heat with no leads gained pissed her off. But four hours wasted was nothing on the fact that she was now also locked out of her apartment thanks to a bumbling trip to the door to meet the pizza delivery guy gone entirely wrong.

At least she had the pizza, she told herself with a snort. Too bad it was nearly midnight and she was in a tank top and sleep shorts. Probably not appropriate attire to greet the pizza guy in, but Emma was beyond caring at this point. She had no shoes, no keys, no lock pick, no phone, no beer. No fire escape on the building she could hope to scale and jimmy open her bedroom window.

Just the one neighbor she knew, down to the way his eyes rolled back when she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” she muttered, thumping the back of her head against her apartment door.

He’s probably not home – it is Friday night, she reminded herself as she stood and grabbed the box of pizza. If he is, you can just borrow his phone and call Mary Margaret and the building super. Easy. Simple. Nothing to it.

It was only upon knocking on his door that she became acutely aware of the fact she could also add no bra to her earlier list. She hoped the pizza guy had enjoyed the view.

The door opened and she was greeted by the sight of Killian clad only in pajama pants, shuffling his weight to one foot, and squinting at her as he ran his hand through his already mangled hair. “Swan?”

“Hey,” she offered lamely, distracted by his chest and the memory of that hair rough beneath her fingers.

He blinked once before a grin curled across his lips. “What brings you by on this fine evening?” He kept his eyes on hers a moment before glancing down and taking in her ensemble, the tip of his tongue playing at the corner of his mouth as his gaze traveled back up to her face.

She gave a mock frown and furrowed her brow. “I got locked out,” she said and held up the pizza box in explanation. “You don’t happen to have a lock pick set?”

He leaned against the doorway, his fingers drumming at his hip. “Afraid not.”

She tried not to stare at his hand, or the way his pants sat low at his hips. She swallowed, wishing his pants dipped just a bit further. “Hair pins? A phone I could borrow?”

“Think I could help you with the latter.” He opened the door wider and gestured her inside.

While she did end up calling the super, she never did get around to Mary Margaret. It was late she reasoned, and Killian’s, well, everything, was a distraction. Plus, somewhere in the middle of her second slice of pizza, he ended up hauling her into his lap and you really can’t blame her for wanting a repeat performance.

It’s only when she woke the next morning that she realized it was the first time she’d spent a full night in someone else’s bed since Walsh.

She felt intensely grateful when Killian pressed his nose to the back of her neck while his hand inched down her stomach and to her core, providing yet another well-timed distraction.

It shouldn’t have become a habit from there. She shouldn’t have allowed Killian to enter his contact info into her phone.

And, yet.

They didn’t really talk outside of Fridays. Either he would text or she’d show up at his door after her case work was done. She usually didn’t spend the night, but when she did she was rewarded with coffee – good coffee – and another round in the kitchen or against the couch. There was one particularly inspired morning in the shower that left her pleasantly numb and smelling of his soap for the rest of the day.

And it was nice. There was no pretense, no pressure. Sometimes it was just sex. Sometimes they’d share a meal or a drink, vent a little about their day. He didn’t try to cajole her if she wanted to head home when they were done, but always welcomed her the nights she chose to stay.

It’s only when he needed to head out of town for a couple weeks, a trip back to England to see his brother, that she realized how effectively he managed to fit into her routine. And how little it was they knew about one another.

“You’ve been what?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at Mary Margaret and picked a slice of lime off of the plate between them. She licked at the side of her wrist and sprinkled a little salt along the same path. “You heard me,” she answered before licking at her wrist again and downing the shot in front of her.

Mary Margaret scoffed and took her own shot. “I know what I heard,” she said once she dropped her lime into the empty shot glass. “I’m just surprised. You’re not one for repeats.”

She grinned, the tequila warming her throat and her belly. “Trust me, if you knew the things he could do with his tongue, you’d br-”

“Oh my god, Emma!”

“What?” she asked, affecting her most innocent tone and signaling for another round of shots from the bartender.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s just if one of us is going to overshare, it’s usually me.”

Emma snorted.

“Wait!” Mary Margaret turned on her bar stool and jabbed a finger towards her. “You like him!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I barely know him.” Emma nodded as the bartender dropped off the next round. She slid one of the glasses to Mary Margaret, whose only response was to arch an eyebrow at her as she picked up the salt shaker.

Emma rolled her eyes and licked her wrist again. “Just because I know my way around his cock, doesn’t mean I know him.”

“That can’t be true,” Mary Margaret countered, handing her the salt shaker.

“Why not?” She sprinkled on the salt and then set down the shaker, taking up the shot glass in its place. “We’re just having fun. It doesn’t have to be anything. I mean he’s out of town and I don’t even know the name of the brother he’s visiting.”

Mary Margaret handed her a lime. “So ask him.”

She could hear her phone vibrate somewhere to her right, but her head was pounding, making it difficult to focus. She reached out her hand in a half-hearted attempt to find it while also doing her best not actually to move. When she finally slapped her hand on it, she brought it to her nose and squinted to read the message that came in.

Liam. Why?

She groaned, remembering Mary Margaret’s insistence that Emma might want to, you know, get to know the guy she was fucking on a regular basis. She dug her other hand out from the mound of blankets and typed out a response.

Just curious.

Is that so?? was his reply, followed by a winky face and a horned smiley face.

Emma snorted and shoved her phone under her pillow. She heard it buzz again, but pulled her blanket above her head and went back to sleep.

She woke a few hours later with most of her headache gone. She had forgotten about the texts until after her shower. When she finally dug her phone out from beneath the wall of pillows she found two texts from Killian.

Are you planning to be home later? Or do you have some cheating spouse to follow about?

I’m in for the day. Why? she replied, pocketing her phone and heading to the kitchen to make some coffee. She was dumping fresh grounds into a filter when her phone vibrated.

I’m about to get on the plane. Want to come over later?

It’s Wednesday.

I know.

You that hard up, Jones? She tagged a smirking face to the end.

It took a few minutes for him to reply, and the message that did come through almost caused her to choke on her coffee.

Oh, darling, I am not sure you can handle just how hard I am.

She was working on a response when another message came through, this one a picture of his hand at the crotch of his jeans, his fingers resting on the very obvious ridge of his erection.

She deleted the reply she had started. You aren’t about to send me a dick pic from the plane are you?!?!? Emma leaned back against the kitchen counter, wishing she could hear the laugh she knew he’d give at her response.

If I thought the flight attendant wouldn’t throw me off the plane…

You won’t you be jet lagged?

Probably will be. But I want to see you.

Emma smiled into her mug. Ok.

I’ll text you when I’m in a taxi.

He must have been barely out of the terminal and on the road when the stream of texts started – a litany of his fantasies from the past weeks and a few directives on what he wanted to find her in when she arrived at his doorstep. Emma wanted to bristle at being given instructions, but that voice was easily overridden by the jolt of want that accompanied the requests.

When she arrived at his door, she had scarcely knocked before Killian was pulling it open. He was shirtless and the button of his jeans already sat open. She arched her eyebrow and he smirked.

“You’re overdressed,” he said, biting his lower lip as he looked her up and down. He reached out, tugging on the belt of her jacket and she allowed herself to be pulled forward. She draped her arms over his shoulders, the fingers of one hand drifting to the nape of his neck.

“Well, there was the small matter of the two flights of stairs and the neighbors.”

He slipped the end of the belt through its buckle. “Pity,” he murmured, his hands moving to her hips as her coat opened. He finished pulling her into his apartment and kicked the door closed, pushing her back against it as it slammed shut. His hips pinned her back as he dragged his hands up her ribs and the sides of her breasts before settling on her shoulders. He pushed her coat off and down her arms, letting it drop to the floor, leaving her in her underwear.

“That what you wanted?” she asked, leaning in to drop a kiss to his collarbone, her hands dropping to finish opening the fly of his jeans. She snaked one beneath the waist of his briefs, wrapping him in her hand.

His eyes shuttered and he growled, leaning in to rest his forehead against her own as she began a slow drag of her hand down his length.

“It’s a start,” he said with a roll of his hips, pressing him further into her hand.

Emma didn’t spend the night. As much as she wanted to, and despite Killian’s groggy protests, she peeled herself from his bed and into her own. But when the weekend rolled around, she found herself lingering, letting him tell her about his trip, his brother, and his months-old niece over breakfast. It was evening by the time she made to leave, still dressed in the t-shirt and sweatpants she had borrowed from him that morning.

Killian reached out at tugged at the hem of the t-shirt. “What are the chances I’ll see this shirt again?”

“You might have to come get it.” She leaned against the open doorway and smiled.

He hummed and backed her into the door jamb, a hand slipping beneath the shirt and settling at her waist. “Is that an invitation?” he asked, his nose pressing into the side of her neck.

Emma took a breath, realizing what she said. The nerves she would have expected didn’t seem present, but that could have been because of the steady swipes of Killian’s thumb at her rib. “Yeah,” she said, tilting her head back.

He smiled against her neck and then pulled back, resting his head on her forehead. “Perhaps one night this week?”

“Perhaps,” she teased, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. She reached up, tangling her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. “Tuesday?”

“Aye, love. Whatever’s best for you.”

“Tuesday,” she repeated and kissed his cheek.

“You’re late.” Mary Margaret pulled a glass out from the cabinet and slid it across the counter as Emma unwound her scarf and hung it and her coat on the hook by the door.

Ariel laughed. “She was busy,” she said, pushing her tongue against her cheek and bringing a clenched fist towards her mouth in a gesture Emma didn’t want to look too hard at.

Instead she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “I was on the phone with a new client.”

“Uh huh,” Ariel said with a smirk.

“Vodka? Gin? Bourbon?” Mary Margaret asked, her head buried in the pantry.

Emma sat down next to Ariel. “It’s going to be that kind of night, huh? Gin, please.”

“So, how is tall, dark, and nameless?” Ariel nudged her shoulder with her own. “Have you guys managed to leave the apartment yet?”

Emma groaned. “Make mine a double, M.”

It took three drinks before she started to talk. She hadn’t meant to even start, but Ariel kept wheedling, and Mary Margaret kept dropping hints of the little Emma had told her. And once she began, she found she couldn’t stop. She told them about the first night she slept with Killian. How she’d seen him around the building for months and the smile and the wink he would always give her. How that night they were both sitting in the laundry room and he was teasing her about her duckling socks and collection of yoga pants. How she kissed him to shut him up. How it somehow escalated to him bringing her off, her back to his chest, her hands pressed against the wall. How she followed him upstairs, both with laundry baskets in hand, and followed him into his bed. How it just kept happening.

“You should ask him out.”

“M!” She sat up, spilling some of her drink on her jeans.

“Don’t M me,” Mary Margret replied, waving her off. “You’re what? Fucking him two times a week?”

“Three,” she interjected despite herself.

Ariel arched an eyebrow and Mary Margaret snorted. “My point exactly. If you’re brave enough to fuck him on a regular basis, for months now I might add, you should be brave enough to ask him out.”

“Whatever!” she huffed before downing the rest of her drink.

She didn’t mean to select his floor when she got into the elevator, but her fingers – or the alcohol coursing through her – seemed to have other ideas. She knocked on his door and then picked up one foot, pulling at the strap of her shoe in an effort to remove it. She teetered as she tugged, nearly losing her footing as it came off in her hand. Knocking again, she swayed as she tried to work on the other heel. When he finally answered, it was obvious she’d woken him by the flattened hair at the side of his head and the way he was squinting at the bright light of the hallway.

“Emma?” he asked, reaching out to take the one shoe from her hand as he steadied her while she tugged at the second strap.

“Hi,” she said, holding up the second shoe with a smile and returning her bare foot to the ground.

“Hi,” he whispered, smiling back as he took the second shoe from her. He moved his free hand to her waist and pulled her inside and shut the door. “Did I miss a message?”

Emma shook her head and reached out, brushing her hand up his stomach and running her fingers through his chest hair. “Was out with some friends.” She hummed as her hands reached his shoulders and she reversed her course, her hands moving to linger at his belly. “We were talking about you…”

“Really?” he drawled, crowding her up against the door as he opened the buttons of her coat. “And what were you saying?” He nipped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Her moan morphed into a laugh when his hands slipped into her coat, his fingers finding the gap between her sweater and her jeans. “Cold,” she breathed out between laughs.

“You told them I’m cold?”

She rolled her coat off her shoulders and down her arms, letting it spill to the floor while Killian continued to push up on the hem of her sweater. “No,” she slurred and helped him pull the sweater over her head. “You’re hot.”

Killian laughed and leaned back, eyeing her as he dragged one finger underneath the strap of her bra. “Just how much have you had to drink, love?”

“Only a little bit of gin,” she said with a shake of her head. She reached out, hooking her fingers into the waist of his pajama pants.

He hummed and followed her hands, wrapping his own around her wrists and pulling hers up to his mouth. “How about we get you to bed?” he asked, placing a kiss to her knuckles before tugging her away from the door and guiding her to his room. “You can tell me all about how you find me hot, in excruciating detail, come morning.”

Everything hurt.

Emma groaned. Every muscle in her body ached and she was pretty sure something was drilling at her head. She wanted to shift, she was pretty sure her neck had a cramp, but even the thought of moving was upping the pace of the drilling.

A weight settled at her hip and she stiffened as she felt fingers press into the skin below her bellybutton. What the fuck did you do last night, Swan?

“You awake?” a muffled voice asked into the back of her neck and she relaxed as she recognized it for Killian’s.

She groaned again and stretched out as his fingers fell to the crease of her thigh, teasing at the skin there.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, his thumb dipping beneath the fabric of her underwear. “But you should sleep more. Let me get you some water and ibuprofen.”

She hummed but didn’t move as he pulled away. When she woke next she was alone in bed, but the ache in her head and her neck had subsided. She sat and found Killian had left her one of his robes at the end of the bed and her own clothes were folded in a neat pile on the chair by the window. She sighed and looked down, finally noticing she was dressed in one of his t-shirts. She wondered again what she did last night and how she ended up here.

Hoping to cut her embarrassment to a minimum, she slipped out of bed and changed into her own clothes before heading out to the living room to find her shoes. She found Killian curled up on the couch, a book open in his lap.

“Hey,” she whispered, folding her arms across her chest as she hovered in the doorway.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, closing the book and putting it down on the coffee table. He held his hand out to her, but she stayed where she was.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” His brow furrowed as he looked her up and down. “Why are you dressed?”

She shook her head, feeling awkward. “I shouldn’t have bothered you last night. I can barely remember getting here, let alone what I…”

Killian stood up and crossed the room to her as her voice faded. He reached one hand out to touch her arm while the other cupped her face. “Emma,” he said, swiping his thumb at her cheek. She glanced at him and he stepped into her space, bringing his one hand up her arm and resting it at her shoulder. “You are welcome here any night or day you want to be here. Don’t you know that?”

She tilted her head, trying to look for the lie in his words but finding none. He smiled at her, a small, soft thing that seemed to play more at his eyes than his lips, and she couldn’t help but return it with a wobbly smile of her own.

“I’m not good at this,” she whispered.

His fingers at her cheek worked back to the strands of her hair tucked behind her ear. “What’s that, love?”

“Dating,” she said, cringing at the way her tone rose like a question.

His smiled broadened into a full, dazzling one, and he swayed a step closer. “Are we dating?”

She tensed and tried to look away, but he caught her chin and pulled her gaze back to his. “Don’t misunderstand the question, Swan.”

She took a breath, trying to steady the race of her heart before she asked her next question. “Do you want to be?”

He nodded. “Aye,” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit, and Emma bit back a nervous giggle at how eager he looked. “Will you allow me to escort you out tonight?”

She threw her head back and laughed at his words as reached up to circle her arms around his neck. “Yes,” she answered when she caught her breath, looking back up at him with a smile.

“Good,” he whispered, leaning in and running his nose along hers. “So go home.” He brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “I’ll pick you up at eight.” He dropped a kiss to her cheek and another to her shoulder before pulling back and waggling his eyebrows at her. “And I expect to hear all about how you told all your friends that I am hot.”

She groaned and slapped at his shoulder. She then ducked out from under his arm and walked towards his door, hoping to avoid him seeing her blush. “We’ll see, Jones,” she called as she slipped out his door. “We’ll see.”

#cs ff #cs au #cs smut #captain swan #cs crew #my ff ouat #prompt me

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captain-swan-coffee · 7 years

Text

Getting Warmer

Killian gets Emma warm the only way he knows how!

Rated M