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mi6-cafe · 3 years

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WEEK 3 DRABBLES ARE HERE!

Now, let’s refresh your memory about the prompt

We have asked our writers to write between 100 and 150 words of an acrostic drabble for NO TIME. (We wanted each paragraph to start with the given letters.)

THEY DID SUCH AN AWESOME JOB!

Now, how to vote?

Yup, that’s pretty much the method, although the writing of the individual feedback full of love is very much optional. (And yes, we’re reusing this meme from last week.)

Read the drabbles below the line (or on wordpress) and GO VOTE when you’re done!

Title: Little Prick Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: Just some bondy banter.

Now, that was just rude, Q thought, sipping his tea with his eyes on the computer screen and giving a weak attempt at not looking amused.

Other than the potted plant in the corner, nobody was convinced of said attempt, and neither was Bond at the other end of the satellite connection, and he couldn't even see Q.

The hand gesture Bond waved at the hidden camera was still rude, though less original.

"I can hear you laugh into your tea; don't think I can't," Bond's crystal-clear voice echoed through Q-Branch.

"Mmm," Q hummed in agreement. "I have to get my kicks from somewhere, Bond, and you're usually a reliable source."

Ever the gentleman, Bond conceded with grace. "Alright, you win," he said. "Provided, of course, that you stop laughing for long enough to get me out of here, so I can come home."

Title: White Knight Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: bratty agents really do get on Bill’s nerves

"No."

"Oh, come on!"

Tanner arched an eyebrow at the raised tone of voice 009 was directing at him: he definitely didn't appreciate being talked to in such manner by a bratty agent - how the man was Q's favorite (besides Bond, of course), Bill would never know.

"I'm not messing around with the line-up just because you want to go to Malaysia."

M cleared his throat from the entrance of Tanner's office, looking coldly at 009. "Of course you're not. You should go get kitted for your own mission, 009: I believe R is waiting for you in Q-Branch."

Exhaling loudly, 009 pursed his lips and left with a stiff and parting nod - it was absolutely satisfying to watch. "You didn't have to come and save me," Bill pointed out, smiling up at the other even as M bent down to kiss him. "Thank you, though."

Title: Another Door Opens Author: soufflegirl91 Warnings: None Summary: Eve contemplates a door, and what led her to it

Now or never.

One way or another, things were about to change forever. In a way, everything from the moment she had shot James Bond off that bridge in Turkey had been leading to this.

The door loomed ahead, waiting for her to take the next step. There had been a time when she thought that with that one shot, she had ruined things forever. That any opportunity she had to prove herself in the field, any chance of a career, had crashed into the water with Bond’s body.

Instead, it had merely opened another door for her. Given her a chance to learn things she never would have in the field. The people, the politics. All the little games the field agents never saw.

“M,” her secretary greeted.

Eve nodded back at her, and walked through the door to her new office.

Title: Inside Information Author: starrboned / MrKsan Warnings: content warning: alcohol Summary: Bond is back again and bets are placed.

“No,” Q said over his glass of gin, finishing it off in one swig. “Not doing this again.”

“Or you could stop being such a wet blanket and place your bet already,” Moneypenny said, poking him in the ribs. He swatted at her, scooting closer to Tanner. “We all know Bond will ‘retire’ soon enough.”

“That’s all everyone’s talking about,” Q huffed, staring at his empty glass. “He’s back, he’s off again - it’s a never-ending cycle.” Almost wish he'd stay gone, he didn't say.

“It is,” Tanner sighs, nudging his half-full pint towards Q. “But even Mallory wagered a full six months."

“Mallory did?” Q almost choked on Tanner’s beer. “That’s - that’s unusual of him.”

“Eh, said something about how ‘Bond has something to prove' this time around.“ Tanner grinned. Q felt his cheeks warm under his knowing gaze. "Maybe he has some inside information, huh?"

Title: No Time Like The Present Author: storm_of_sharp_things Warnings: none Summary: Felix had been wondering if it was ever going to happen

“Not that you need to answer, but did you ever sleep with him?” Felix looked up from his glass as MI6’s Chief of Staff dropped into the chair next to him at the bar and quirked an eyebrow. It wasn’t how Felix would’ve started this conversation, but...

“Once,” he admitted. He tossed back the rest of his drink. “You?”

Tanner nodded, his gaze distant. “Once,” he said with a faint smile. “Seemed a good idea at the time.”

“I don’t regret it,” Felix said. Then he shrugged and smirked. “I think we’d have shot each other if we’d really tried to make it work. But I do miss him.”

“Me too.” Tanner paused long enough that Felix wondered if he’d follow through. “Listen, I’ve got some good bourbon back at mine. Want a drink where it’s quieter?”

“Easy answer,” Felix grinned. “Hell yes, thought you’d never ask, let’s go.”

Title: Entanglement Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: In which 007 and Q trade places...

“Now take your clothes off slowly,” said Bond softly. “Goddammit, Q, I said slowly.”

“Oh, do piss off, Bond,” Q hissed, dropping his shirt to the floor while Bond continued to watch him through the CCTV live feed. “Now, help me with the leathers.”

“That actually sounds very sexy, coming from you,” Bond said conversationally, his eyes drifting all over Q’s bare midriff before focusing on the contraption strapped to him.

“I suppose it does, yeah,” replied Q archly. “Never mind my predicament.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Bond, unfazed. “Not enough time. The straps will have to stay for now. I’ll start, then.”

Entanglements such as this were usually Bond’s lot, not his, but what was he to do when someone had attached an IED to his person? At least he’d dispatched his would-be kidnapper. He sighed, relieved, as Bond typed in the code he’d devised to remotely disable the ticking bomb.

Title: Time Well Spent Author: IrishWitch58 / captain-magicalkitty Warnings: None Summary: A conversation over coms.

“Nine bloody days and the target hasn't moved at all.” Q could almost see the exasperated expression. Bond hated the need for surveillance and made his displeasure known.

“Once he does, I'm sure the resulting excitement will more than make up for your current boredom,” Q soothed. He managed to hide his smile from the rest of the branch late shift.

There was a disgusted snort from the coms. “You'll have to do better than that to make this up to me.” The tone was suggestive but only in the general Bond default setting. Q wasn't concerned about anyone overhearing.

“If you're still angling after an exploding pen, dream on.”

“Miser,” Bond accused, fond tone at odds with the statement.

Eventually the target would move and Bond would get the job done. Until then, they enjoyed time spent together, even far apart.

Title: N O T I M E Author: hexiva Warnings: Character death Summary: Bond confronts Blofeld.

No time to think as James rounds the corner, gun in hand, and comes face to face with Blofeld, with Franz.

Only hatred in Franz’s eyes, he reaches for his gun.

Trigger burning against James’ finger, all he has to do is pull it, end this, end this, but -

Ivy leaves underfoot, the sky blue above them, and they’re bickering but they’re just children still, not the killers they will become, and Franz laughs as James trips, and he reaches down to offer him a hand -

Many years ago, they were brothers. Franz knew him before he was 007. He’s the last man left who did. Everyone else is gone, and James is tired of being alone and tired of being a killer.

Every muscle in his body aches with weariness as he lets his gun drop. And he looks Franz in the eyes as Franz pulls the trigger.

Title: A Change of The Story Author: scarytheory Warnings: (a little bit of) sci-fi Summary: She has seen the future. What she’ll do with it is up to her.

No time to waste when she’s got a glimpse of the future. She had seen Bond devastated by loss and full of rage. She had seen Q who was absorbed in his job, bitter and sad. And herself – composed and nice and so, so lonely. Or was it possible to change it? She decided to go to that beach instead of Bond. But before she left, she whispered to him: “You’ve got a secret admirer in the Q branch.” Will it be enough? And the girl on the beach… will she manage to save her? “Tracy!” she screamed as she was trying to get her out of the water.

“I don’t know you.” Not yet.

“Moneypenny, Eve Moneypenny.”

Eve decided that this time she wasn't going to let them be burned by the inevitability. This time, Tracy would live.

#10

Title: Let the Record Show Author: anyawen Warnings: None Summary: They've read the same reports, but have arrived at differing conclusions.

"No, I don't think so," Q disagrees with forced lightness. "Not this time."

"Oh, honey," Eve sighs, not fooled in the least. She reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. "Every time. He always comes back."

"There's no reason for him to come back, not anymore," Q insists. "M is dead, and he's finished the last mission she ever gave him. He can retire now. Live a peaceful life with a beautiful woman. And a beautiful car."

"If you think he'll be happy with a peaceful life, you don't understand him as well as you think," Eve laughs.

"Maybe he doesn't want peaceful," Q allows, "but we've read his file. He doesn't want m— this either, or he wouldn't keep trying to leave."

"Eventually, he will come home. And when he does," Eve says, sitting back and angling to speak to someone over Q's shoulder, "you should tell him."

#11

Title: TO DIE Author: Merc / moon_of_mercury Warnings: This one is depressing. Sorry! Summary: The End.

Never again...

Observing from behind his screen, Q takes in the smoking, crumbling scene of destruction. Police cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens swarm the streets. A familiar silhouette blends in with the by-passers, slipping out of his view around the corner.

This is the last time James Bond holsters his gun, dusts off his suit, and heads for the airport to catch a flight Moneypenny arranged for him.

“It’s done,” Q says into the expectant stillness of the room. It hurts a little, even though he’s relieved. The showdown could have gone so much worse, but this is just as final.

Memories of this mission will haunt him for different reasons than usual. Their blazing victory is a bittersweet consolation.

Everything ends here; even those things that never began.

#12

Title: Mission Goal: Ideas Author: Venstar /1amvengeance Warnings: none Summary: well someone had to think of something.

“Now you're just showing off.” James’s voice drawled against Q’s ear.

“Oh, I'm showing off. Did you have any other ideas? No. Spies should have faster reflexes than asking me to 'Quick hide us!' My time and equipment are very expensive.” Q hissed quietly. They were still on a mission after all.

“That kiss was a far better idea than anything I had in mind. I'm happy to pay your asking price. Are you okay Q, your face has gone all red.”

“I will murder you in your sleep. I will end you. I will scatter your body parts to the farthest corners of the globe as a warning to those that think about blaming me for coming up with all the ideas!”

“Maybe instead of murder, you should think about our target. He’s escaping.”

“Escaping my arse. Someone is going to pay for your lack of ideas.”

#13

Title: Losing and Having Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: None. Summary: Bond reflects and knows he can't have it any other way.

Never in all his life had Bond felt quite this level of terror.

Or – well, no. That wasn’t quite true.

There had been one other time.

In the murky water, watching everything he’d allowed himself to love and depend on slip away into oblivion. The fear had clutched him then, shaken him and wrecked him.

Maybe he should have listened to his own damn self when he’d designated the heart as nothing but a target.

Even so, even knowing this, Bond clutched Q’s hand, eyes locked on his bruised and battered quartermaster who had only just returned to him, and knew it was worth it. The fear of loss was nothing against the euphoria of having.

#14

Title: Dreisamkeit (Or: Bliss comes in threes) Author: Misha / artsytarts / jelly-mish Warnings: Sickly sweet fluff, watch out for cavities Summary: Della, Felix and James are toying with the idea of having a lazy day in.

Nestled between the warm bodies of her boys, Della felt content.

“Occasionally, I’d like to just... stay here. All day.”, she said, letting her fingers brush through their hair in lazy strokes. James tightened his grip around her and made an approving noise.

Then the beeping started. Felix moved, banging his fist on the alarm clock. “Gosh darn it,” he growled. Della pouted in response, until a thought struck her. What if they took a sick day? Food poisoning? Good enough story. She suggested it out loud.

“If you take the blame,” James mumbled sleepily.

“Me? If anyone, it’d be Felix,” Della grinned at her husband's dirty look and carried on: “Remember when you forgot to add water to the pasta? The fumes were noxious.”

Eventually, reluctantly, they broke up their haven of safety and rolled out of bed. Della sighed. There never seemed to be enough time.

#15

Title: Augment Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: Every week Q argues his case and wins. "No," M says, squinting and displeased. "Absolutely not."

"One million," Q attempts with a half-hearted smile, but he knows well enough that it wouldn't work in any other situation. He's not even trying that hard at this point, because he knows he'll win this argument every single time. "It's not that much. I should probably ask ten times that with the amount of shit Bond breaks. Remember last week? I deserve a better budget."

"Then stop supplying him with expensive equipment," M suggests, unsympathetic at best.

"I'll have you know he'll get his hands on it whether I supply it or not," Q says crossly.

"Maybe you aren't doing a good enough job at security."

"Exactly, I need a better budget!" Q insists, eyeing M with a bit of a manic expression as he sets down the tablet in front of him. "Now sign it or deal with the consequences."

Go Vote!

#00Q #00Q fic #drabbles #james bond fanfiction #james bond #LDWS #ldws 2021 #ldws2021

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 3 years

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HASO “The Best Outcome.”

Just wrapping up a few loose ends from the past few months stories. I hope you all like it. And feel free to give me some ideas on what you want to see, or who you want to see more of. I will try to do my best :)

Breaking News tonight from the Apollo 11 memorial landing site as Admiral Adam Vr and Captains Warren Richarards and Mary Chavez were rescued from the Pacific Ocean following a journey that was supposed to be historical, turned harrowing. Amy Grey comes to us this morning with the story.

Thank you Julie, it was only a week ago here on the historic Cape Canaveral launch site, that the reconstructed Saturn V rocket was launched by the UNSC International Space and Aeronautics Division on the two thousand and fifty first anniversary of the original Apollo 11 mission. On board The reconstructed rocket were astronauts Fleet Admiral Adam Vir head of the UNSC deep space exploration division, Captain Warren Richards five year veteran and historical aeronautics expert, and Mary Chavez six year shuttle pilot veteran, and communications specialist.

The reconstructed Saturn V rocket took off thirty minutes behind schedule at 10:03 GMTJuly 16 after delays attributed to engineering standbys. However, reports by UNSC investigation early this morning indicate that the delays were called for by engineering head Jade Clein who noticed something strange during her final checks of the Saturn V recreated rocket. In an interview early today, flight director, Aaliyah Seif of the Apollo re-creation mission informed outlets that there was evidence of attempted tampering on the hull of the Saturn V rocket. The tampering case in the shape of these small silver tape strips covering loosened bolts along one of the Saturn V side panels. Engineers stated that the tape was not heat resistant and would have burned off in time to rattle the bolts loose and, likely, cause a devastating spin that would destroy the rocket.

While this attempted tampering was thwarted, the mission would only become more dire. A sudden and shocking report by Mericanda News 5 showed an uncut image of an unknown alien hybrid woman claiming that the UN President had ordered th attempted assassination of Admiral Vir, in conjuncton with an audio recording by Admiral Colter Massie, Head of the Galactic intelligence division an known isolationist, that admitted to the attempted assasination of Admiral Vir, and the acquisition of twenty thunderhawks which were used to harry the Satern V on it’s way to the moon. Admiral Kelly, long time friend of Admiral Vir, corroborated the story, saying she caught General Massie just after he ordered the deployment of the twenty thunderhawks. During their conversion he attempted to kill her before being detained by two members of Admiral Vir’s crew, and was later seen being escorted into custody by Military Police.

Indeed footage has been captured from the hull of the Saturn V showing approximately twenty thunderhawks attempting to destroy the rocket while Rundi remote piloted drones and an unknown group of what appear to be racing jets, fought back to delay the attack while word was sent to the UNSC to deploy F-90 darkfire pilots to assist. This all after communications between Houston and the rocket were sabotaged shortly after leaving orbit. The F-90 darkfire pilots were able to arrive on time to rescue the rocket, though a hole was reportedly torn in the hull sucking Admiral Vir out into space, though he was later recovered and returned to his ship without any injuries. Patch teams were then able to repair the torn hull and the astronauts completed their mission landing to crowds on the moon and returning to earth on time on time landing in the Pacific ocean only nine miles away from the waiting ship.

All three astronauts were recovered and are reported to be in good health.

The investigation into the UN president’s involvement is still ongoing at this time, however preliminary reports from the Global Bureau of Investigation suggest evidence is both staggering and damning to the current UN president, who earlier today, attempted to cut all ties to the sabotage efforts saying she was framed. Political experts report that, even assuming her innocence, she will likely not last to the end of her term.

International News Network was able to interview Admiral Vir shortly after his landing while still on board the rescuing ship UNSS Victory.

Here is what the Admiral had to say.

“I find it…. Really very disheartening that someone we all trusted, and someone that we all should have looked up to could do something like this. It really is a heinous demonstration of what political corruption can lead people to do.”

“And how do you feel, personally about all of this.”

“Personally, I…. well to be honest I am hurt and appalled. Not to mention that I fear for the safety of my family and my friends. Every day I wonder if my involvement with them is going to get someone I love killed…. The thought haunts me, but I hope after all of this is over I… and all of us can breathe a little easier.”

“Were you scared?”

“I don’t think that even needs to be a question. Of course I was scared, getting sucked out of your spaceship isn’t ideal.”

“What do you hope will happen now?”

“I hope that justice can be upheld to those who deserve it.”

“What do you have to say to the UN president.”

…

“I have nothing to say. Wouldn’t want to waste the air.

****

What followed would be one of the largest scandals in recent political history. At some point an unknown number of classified government documents was leaked onto the internet, and after that it was all over for the Presidency. Thousands of enterprising humans, and aliens alike, viewed the documents to discover all the underhanded and dirty things which had been going on in the UN governmental body over the past few years. Forensic accounting experts (mostly Tesrtaki) uncovered plenty of fiscal tampering which shed light on plenty of isolationist related projects and bank accounts. There was even evidence that they had something to do with the original assassination attempt against Admiral Vir so many months ago. The drama had even managed to capture the attention of Rundi political experts and Vrul computer science geniuses, and together they unearthed a world of unfathomable, but not unexpected corruption. The process to remove the UN president from office was probably one of the fastest movements of human government ever seen by UN congressional leaders, who were likely trying their very best tro distance themselves from association with the president, who despite not being the only one involved, had become the political scapegoat for everyone else that had a supposed link with isolationism.

Even the VP fell under suspicion and was watched closely for the rest of his term.

Admiral Massie and the UN President were placed under arrest and set up for court dates in the nearing future, though everyone saw a long and arduous litigation process ahead. Even Ramirez’s family had filed for damages against the government after the news came to light confirming that their son had been shot as collateral in one of the UN presidents plans to assassinate Admiral Vir. They settled out of court to the tune of an unknown, but impressive sum of money.

No one really knew how much, but a couple months later Ramirez’s younger sister was seen training at one of the most prestigious olympic academies on earth.

Ramirez himself was suddenly able to afford housing on the moon in a condo just next door to his best friend, though no one else inquired further.

The Rundi chairwoman came forward with her own investigation admitting to being suspicious for a long time though she feared accusations without proper proof. Admiral Vir was seen having lunch with her not so many months after the events took place, suggesting that the trust between the two of them had not been completely dissolved. With much of the isolationist element gone from government, public policy began to lean heavily towards integration with the alliance. The occasional isolationist demonstration or protest was held, but none of them managed to gain traction.

Admiral Vir was finding himself more important than ever, though it was to his chagrin that his ship was grounded for the intervening months while the investigation continued.

No one was entirely sure what the future held.

***

Admiral Vir stepped into Admiral Kelly’s office. The last time he had actually visited her here had been over a few years ago before his promotion to captain of the Harbinger. It seemed so distant now, and he never expected to walk into her office with a star on his shoulder. She stood as he entered, and the two of them shook hands, ignoring all the stuffy formalities that usually come with the meeting of two military officers.

The wall behind her was decorated with a myriad of metals and awards she had received over her career, and he couldn't help but note the slight tinge of grey he could see forming in her hair. He knew that feeling, he was going prematurely white much to his chagrin. She stood and the two of them shook hands.

“Vir.”

“Kelly.”

She motioned him to sit and he sat sighing lightly as he had been on his feet all day consulting with political figures and other members of the UNSC.

“A strange couple months wouldn’t you say.”

“Tell me about it.”{

Kelly reached under her desk and withdrew an amber bottle which she placed between them, “I always forget; Do you drink?”

“On occasion.”

“Well consider this an occasion.” She said popping off the top and pouring two glasses for them. She handed his across the desk and he leaned back in his seat cupping the cool glass in both hands.

She swirled the amber liquid around in her glass, “So what are your plans after all this.”

He took a sip of water warmed by the burning liquid, “Hoping things will go back to normal and I can go back to traveling the galaxy.”

Kelly grunted, “A simple man with simple motivations.”

He laughed , “Sometimes I think a stupid man with simple motivations.”

She chuckled then grew serious, “A lot of people make the mistake of assuming simple people don’[t have the intelligence to match. Some people assume that trusting means gullible means dumb. Just because we are trusting and expect others to do the right thing is not necessarily a fault. I believe there is a kind of beauty in assuming the fundamental goodness of humanity.”

\Admiral Vir shook his head, “How can you after seeing what we have seen.”

“How can you not?” She shrugged, “We always knew that politicians were corrupt, but think about everything else we have seen.”

Admiral Vir nodded slowly, “The enthusiasm for the Apollo 11 recreation mission, the people who flew up to help us. All of those people who went digging through years of information just to uncover the truth.”

SHe raised her glass, “Precisely. Goodness in humanity is all around us, but we tend to overlook the good in favor of the bad.” She placed her hat on the desk and sighed, “It is up to good people to keep their goodness going even when it might seem easier to give into the bad. I I have and will always believe in the fundamental good of humanity. Some may call it naeve, or even stupid. Others have said I have a romanticized view of a species that is fundamentally broken.” She turned her head to look out the window a contemplative expression on her face before turning back to look at Adam.

“You understand me, I think.”

He nodded slowly.

“People need to be believed in. You tell someone for long enough that they are fundamentally bad at their core and they will begin to believe you. For thousands of years pessimists have gotten it into our heads that we are no better than animals, worse even since animals don’t fight in wars. But I believe that is wrong, I have seen people, I have met people, and I have interacted with people who prove to me that humanity cannot just be fundamentally bad or else these people wouldn’t exist.” She tapped her nails against the glass, “I think it is easier to corrupt purity than wash away a stain,”

He listened quietly as she continued.

“Humans are born good, Adam, and life stains us. We aren’t born stained while some of us are wiped clean. “ She shook her head, “Doesn't make sense to me.” She caught him with a look pinning him to the spot with her intense stare, “People like you convince me of this every day.”

“Me….”

She held up a hand. “Adam Vir, I am convinced that the best outcome this universe ever had, was when a happy go lucky science fiction freak was lucky enough to be the first man to meet aliens. Any other way things would have gone horribly wrong.” She leaned across her desk, “The universe needs men and women like you, and not only that but the universe needs people who are going to support men and women like you.” She sat back, “Which is why I have made a decision.”

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity not entirely sure where this could be going.

She smiled, “I have decided to run for President.”

He nearly spit his mouthful of expensive scotch onto the table but managed to choke it mostly down.

Eyes wide he set his glass down, “Are you serious.”

She smiled, “Seriously serious.”

“Well shit, you have my vote for sure.” He raised his glass to her, “I couldn’t think of a better outcome.”

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howtosingit · 3 years

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Fic: this space between us is weighing me down

Carlos finds out about TK’s life-threatening incident.

A missing moment from 1x08.

1.4K | Also on AO3

- - - - - -

It’s actually Paul who texts him.

He’d been driving the Ackermans back home when he heard the call from dispatch, a report of shots fired at the location that he’d just left. Two other officers were already on the scene - the ones who had originally been called to the Crump’s house before he had unexpectedly come across Mrs. Ackerman and the two calls had converged. They’d agreed that Carlos should get the Ackermans home as soon as possible, for Mr. Ackerman’s safety, so he’d briefly watched the 126 gather their gear before he’d pulled away.

And now, gunshots.

He waits with bated breath, listening for the call for backup, wondering if he should just turn around. He looks in the rearview mirror, taking in the distressed state of both of his backseat passengers. Carlos doesn’t want to take them back there, knowing that it could very well be another trigger for Mr. Ackerman. He turns to his partner, opening his mouth to ask what she thinks they should do, but before he can speak, the radio crackles to life again.

“Scene is secure, no backup required. Dispatch, alert the nearest hospital that we have an incoming adult male gunshot victim, through and through to the left shoulder.”

Carlos’s heart pounds in his chest, but he refuses to let himself consider the worst. There were so many people on the scene, and while he likes everyone that he’s met from the 126 and would hate to see any of them hurt, he can’t be sure that the victim is one of them. He really, really can’t be sure that it’s the one person he needs it to not be.

It takes another 40 minutes before he gets the text.

He’s at his desk, filing his report for the evening, his mind struggling to make sense of the truly bizarre sequence of events. He glances down at his phone, sighing at the confirmation that he still has a few hours left of his shift. Carlos rubs at his tired eyes, reaching over to grab his coffee from the corner of his desk, and hears his phone vibrate next to him.

It’s a text from Paul, and the message causes him to freeze, the blood draining from his face as a cold shiver runs through him.

Hey, man. TK’s in surgery right now at St. David’s North. It’s looking pretty bad, so I thought you’d want to know.

The words roll through him, churning into a destructive storm in the pit of his stomach. His eyes prickle with the threat of tears, and he grips the edge of his desk tightly, trying to control his emotions. His breathing is shallow, the air pushing painfully through his lungs, and the room begins to spin slowly around him. He closes his eyes, trying to make it all stop.

He’s at work, he’s in the middle of a shift, and he cannot afford to freak out right now.

Somewhere beneath it all, he feels this huge onslaught of guilt and regret.

It’s been four days since TK had come over and they’d gone for a run. Four days since his grief over losing Iris again caused him to step over the line that he had so firmly drawn and kiss TK. Four days since he and TK had last spoken to one another.

It’s his fault, the silence. TK has acknowledged him on pretty much every call they’ve responded to, his mouth pulled into a thin line as he waved across the scene. Carlos always waved back, hoping that his own expression might convey everything that he has yet to say. TK always responds with a nod, as if he understands that Carlos just needs time.

Time that he might no longer have, now that TK is fighting for more.

Carlos thinks back to the past few nights, sitting on his couch with his phone in his hand, his fingers hovering over TK’s number, daring himself to call the other man. He wanted to reach out, to be near TK again, to talk to him and touch him and make things right. But, every time he came close, the guilt would overwhelm him, and he’d decide that the right thing to do was to give TK space.

The truth is, there’s a chasm between them, and it’s one of his own making.

More than anything, he wants to drive to the hospital right this minute and be by TK’s side. He wants to hold him and kiss him and tell him how sorry he is for pushing him away. He wants to tell TK that, while he knows things will be messy and hard and scary, that he wants all of that if it means that he gets to have him, too.

He just wants to be with him, no matter what.

The reality is, he can’t leave. There’s three hours left of his shift, and his sergeant won’t just let him leave for a person who, to an outsider, is just a one-time hookup-turned-friend. Besides, if TK is in surgery for a gunshot wound to his shoulder, there’s no telling how long it’ll be before he can have visitors.

So, Carlos stays where he is, trapped at his desk with his heart somewhere inside St. David’s North Medical Center, miles away from the precinct.

The rest of his shift passes in a blur, with him pushing paperwork and filling out a number of forms that all begin to look the same after a few hours.

When he finally clocks out, locking up his desk and grabbing his keys, he doesn’t even hesitate before driving in the direction of the hospital. Paul had updated him on TK’s condition only a few minutes ago, letting him know that he’d made it out of surgery, but that his blood loss had been a major concern for the doctors. They’d apparently repaired the firefighter’s collapsed lung, but currently had no idea what kind of long-term damage may have happened to his brain before they were able to get him into surgery.

Paul doesn’t say it directly, but Carlos knows how to read between the lines, all too familiar with the dangers of blood loss from a gunshot wound.

His heart refuses to believe that he’s spoken to TK for the last time, even when his brain tries to prepare for the possibility.

Carlos angrily wipes away the tears on his cheeks as he makes his way down the halls of St. David’s, the bright fluorescent hospital lights giving him no shadows to hide in. Nurses and doctors pass by, some looking worried as they stare up at him. He’s sure he’s quite a sight to see: a police officer on the edge of losing it.

He can’t be bothered by their concern.

The moment he spots TK’s pale face resting against the pillow, he nearly lets out an anguished cry, his feet stopping in the doorway of the room. He swallows down the sudden urge to vomit, his stomach rolling around like a monster that refuses to be tamed.

Captain Strand finally spots him, inviting him inside. Carlos responds, the polite lie coming after years and years of conditioning, though he can’t stop the way his breath hitches. His brain screams at him to run towards TK, to hold him tight and never let him go, but he pushes that thought down. He can’t lose it, not now that he’s so close.

TK’s dad passes him, resting a comforting hand on his neck. He wants to say something, possibly thank you or I’m sorry or something else that feels equally inadequate, but he doesn’t. Now that the room has been cleared for him, all he wants to do is be with TK.

He moves slowly towards the bed, taking in TK’s stillness. It’s not a trait that he associates with the other man, and it takes a moment for his brain to reconcile the person before him with the man that he’s known for months.

Seated by the bed, he hesitates only a moment before reaching out, his fingers dancing across TK’s knuckles where his hand lays near his hip. He lets out a breath, the sound stuttering through him, as he drags his palm up TK’s forearm to gently grip his elbow, feeling the faint pulse of blood coursing through his veins.

Another tear falls, but this time Carlos ignores it, his vision blurring as he stares at the blank face of the man in front of him.

The man who holds him in his orbit, the man Carlos is pretty sure he won’t be able to handle losing.

The man he’s falling in love with.

It’s the closest they’ve been in days, and yet they’ve never felt farther apart.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #tk strand #carlos reyes #I wrote a thing #tarlos missing moments collection

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fandompitfalls · 3 years

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Prodigal Son and why Living Shouldn't Be Controversial

Originally posted 1/27/2021

After my last post I wasn’t sure what I would write about. Several of my upcoming posts are research intensive and potentially controversial so as far as I’ve gotten on them was to put them in my book for blog post ideas and that’s about it.

And then Season Two of Prodigal Son aired. So what am I doing? A research (not so intensive) and potentially controversial post. At least I’m on brand.

For those who don’t really know the show: In its second season Prodigal Son is the story of ex-FBI profiler Malcolm Bright who was fired for his risk-taking habits and came back to the NYPD at the request of Captain Gil Arroyo. Malcolm Bright is also Malcolm Whitly, the son of the influential and extremely wealthy Whitley family. The Patriarch of the Whitly family, Dr. Martin Whitly, a convicted serial killer known as “the Surgeon”, is currently in a secure psychiatric facility. His son Malcolm put him there. Malcolm now works for the NYPD under Gil’s team that includes Detectives JT Tarmel, and Detective Dani Powell and Medical Examiner Edrisa Tanaka. While not solving crimes, Malcom must deal with his tenacious television reporter sister Ainsley Whitly and their wealthy, hovering mother Jessica Whitly. As well as his father who is trying to make his way back into his family’s life via Malcolm by assisting via telephone with certain cases.

Except for the Whitly’s (who while wealthy are probably not very good role models), the entire main cast is made up of people of color: Filipino, Black, Asian. While the first season was introductions to everyone and dealing with Malcolm’s lost memories regarding his father, the father/ son dynamic, cultivating a loyal fanbase and potentially starting some ships both purposefully and accidentally (I’m looking at you Brightwell and Maldrisa shippers), this second season started off with a bang. Something that might have been relegated to a side plot, I feel, had become larger than this season’s overarching plot and will end up and absolutely deserved to be in equal standing.

In the first season, we are introduced to JT, the by the book detective who doesn’t like Bright in the beginning but by the end of the first season, they’re…okay. We also meet JT frankly adorable wife Tally and discover that he’s going to be a dad.

In season two, months have passed, and JT is acting Captain while Gil is out on medical leave. He brings Bright in on a case involving a justice killer. At the end while back up is being sent to Bright’s apartment for the final conflict, Dani rushes up while backup is on its way and JT is right behind her. He arrives moments before the back up and when they arrive, he directs them up to the apartment. What happens instead is something we’ve all seen on the news this past summer. The first cop that arrives tackles JT and presses him against the wall, baton at his throat telling him to stop resisting. The terror in JT’s eyes is startling as he realized that these officers, the one holding him and the other five who have their guns trained on him are not going to let him explain that he’s a cop. It isn’t until Dani runs out holding her badge and Malcom following close behind, both of them yelling to stand down, that he’s a cop does the office let go of JT and step back. Back at the station, Gil is furious and wants to take it to I.A., but JT insists it won’t do any good and he needs to think about it. He has a family now and he doesn’t want the retaliation. The scene ends with Gil, Dani and Bright supporting his decision and telling him they have his back. JT is emotional and for good reason. The people who are supposed to be working with him just tried to kill him.

Episode two didn’t let up; in the middle of a chase, Gil tells JT to call for back up and what happens is enraging. As JT calls on his police issued walkie for backup, the person manning the other end tells him that the line if for police use only and uses the term “boy” before disconnecting. Later, it shows JT and Dani standing outside the office watching Gil yell at the dispatch for not sending officers for a potential hostile situation. JT decides to not file a report mentioning that he has a family to worry about and he must work with these people. It is harassment and emotional terrorism at its worst.

In the first episode this season, Dani and Bright are talking and Dani mentions the institutionalized racism she’s been dealing with. With this show being categorized as a police procedural, showing this sort of dangerous institutional racism within the police force is both tricky and important. While police shows have mentioned an episode or two of racism within the force, it’s usually an episode and the one bad cop is taken to task by the white Captain and the entire thing is brushed over. The good thing about this show is so far, all the people in power we’ve seen on the force have been people of color. It also makes it harder to pull the “white savior” role as Bright, while on the team, has no real standing with the NYPD and could be kicked off cases in a heartbeat. Jessica, with all of her wealth and ties (or not, make up your mind Jess) to Gil, can’t really do anything expect throw money at the issue. The brunt of the conflict will lie between Gil and his team facing the police force including these cops who “are just doing their job” and the veil of secrecy that lies within the Thin Blue Line. It’s not something that can be erased in a five-episode arc and I really hope it’s not. The racism within the department has been established, it can’t be erased with the firing of the cop who attacked JT and it can’t be addressed with the Commissioner coming in to make everyone go to training to make it all magically go away.

The showrunners spent the entire first season introducing us and making us love these characters and given the current climate of the world, this was a bold and correct decision, one that needed to be addressed. I know there is talk on message board stating that this season is too “political”. Black Lives Matter, is not political, institutionalized racism within the police force is not political. Men and women of color that are on police forces are risking their lives to do good and make streets safer and do not deserve to wonder if they’re going to take “friendly” fire from one of their own. This year we’ve heard too many stories of officers who were threatened out of uniform and officers who spoke up only to be removed from duty. This isn’t a new thing. Nobody should be murdered for living their lives, for sleeping, for complying with proper police requests.

Personally, as a white person, watching these scenes hurt. Watching JT’s reactions hurt. Hearing someone who was supposed to have his back use a term that has racist undertones when said as it was, made me furious. Which is what it’s supposed to do. But this is also a dangerous road the showrunners are taking. There is no clean and easy way out of this, to have it discussed and “fixed” isn’t reasonable nor believable anymore, to ignore it after three episodes isn’t doing it justice. I don’t know how this will turn out, but it absolutely needs to be addressed this season. To the extent of having it a plot equal to Malcom’s covering up a murder and hiding the body without getting caught.

If you want more information or want to get involved, please look at the websites linked. It shouldn’t take a television show to spread awareness, but if it does, so much the better. People are starting to get involved with activism because media and it’s good (sometimes). Television should start a conversation, that’s when it’s working best.

#FPBlog #Prodigal Son #racial tension #televison #blog

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cheri-translates · 4 years

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In Third Person (a translated one-shot)

This one-shot was originally written by 礼里图 on Weibo, who has given me permission to translate it!

“Love possesses not, nor will it be possessed. For love is sufficient unto love.”

[ 1 ]

It had taken great pains to be transferred to the Special Task Force. Your father, with glittering medallions on his chest, was vehemently against you throwing yourself into such a dangerous den. He only authorised the transfer after you threw a fit for several days.

He thought that your stubbornness stemmed from a youthful vigour, and an unwillingness to simply idle away under his protection. But you weren’t that ambitious. While leading an idle life was your ultimate goal, settling down was your life’s ideal.

Well, if it wasn’t for that person.

The person waiting for your arrival is Eli. After reading out the word on his name tag, he shoots you a smile, revealing a set of straight teeth as he exudes an aura of gentility. “Nice to meet you, MC. I’m Eli. Follow me. Captain Gavin is waiting for you.”

You thank him, maintaining an external appearance of calm. Trailing behind him, you murmur in your heart: What kind of a paradise is Loveland City? Why are there so many dashing men?

The Special Task Force isn’t large, and you are soon brought to your destination. Eli opens the door for you, and you see the back of someone standing tall and straight near the window. He turns around at the sound of the door opening, wearing a polite smile on his face.

The afternoon sun encases him. Against the light, you are unable to tell for a moment which one is of a lighter colour - his hair or his eyes.

He gives you a mild smile. “Hello.”

Dizziness consumes you, and it’s as though cotton is lodged in your throat. There are so many things you want to say, but you have no idea where to begin.

He doesn’t remember you. You know that.

“MC.. MC, wake up! Don’t go to sleep! The support team is on its way. Wake up!”

The gunshot wound on your lower abdomen is oozing with blood. You seem to be in someone’s arms. Fading in and out of consciousness, you hear someone calling your name in an unpractised manner. You want to respond, but blood rises up your throat the moment you breathe, leaving him to call out on his own.

In this lifetime, no one has ever called your name so many times before. When the helicopter makes its way to the scene, his relieved and slightly trembling voice propels you to struggle in opening your eyes. But all you see is his defined chin and his name tag coated in blood.

“Gavin?”

“Mm?” The man looks at you, slightly confused.

“Oh, mm... hello.” The profile in your memory and the person in front of you separate from each other. You react with a start, responding incoherently.

Fortunately, the other party doesn’t seem to mind your odd behaviour. He offers you his hand in a polite and business-like manner. “I’m Gavin. We welcome you as a member of the Special Task Force.”

“It’s an honour.”

He shakes your hand. His palm is dry and warm - different from the cold attitude he displays.

“Your Evol is stagnation? You can avoid any physical attacks, and within a set distance, you can indiscriminately freeze your opponent’s Evol.”

You hear a sharp intake of breath coming from Eli behind you. Suppressing the sense of pride in your heart, you look at the wad of documents in his hand, and nod.

“It’s a very unique and powerful Evol.” He places the documents on the table. When his eyes flit to yours this time, you can see that the amicableness in them is more genuine. “We welcome you.”

[ 2 ]

You came here because of Gavin.

During a special police training drill three years ago, the both of you were allocated to be in the same group. At that time, you were arrogant and condescending, looking down on everyone else. During the self-introduction, you didn’t even bother listening to what his name was. Back then, you were certain that given your abilities, you’d be able to get through this drill alone, even though historical data showed that 90% of the special police failed at this stage.

Your confidence wasn’t grounded in nothing. When it came to practice drills, every Evolver was important. So, there typically wouldn’t be any risky weapons like gunpowder. And you were certain that you could get rid of every Evolver within your range.

It couldn’t be helped. In this line of work, talent triumphed over everything else.

But things were unusual during that practice drill. You never expected that people from Black Swan would infiltrate the drill. He didn’t intend to expose himself, but you had once read about his Evol.

Young and overly confident, you wanted to stand out, so you pointed him out immediately. Panicking, he chose to fire a gun. Although Gavin had tried his best to control the wind to alter the bullet’s trajectory, he was too far away, and time was too tight. In the end, you received a bullet to your lower abdomen.

That was the first time you had such a close shave with death. Many nights after that, it was only after recalling the warmth of Gavin’s palm on your wound, and that phrase “wake up”, that you could flee from nightmares.

You had to find him.

[ 3 ]

The life of a civil servant is a boring one.

“Are there any Grade A or Grade S missions today?”

“Nope.”

After asking Eli the same set of daily questions, you sit in the relatively comfortable office.

Special Task Force missions are split into six levels of difficulty - S, A, B, C, D, E. Grade S and A missions are typically led by Gavin, while Grade B and C missions are led by Eli.

Although your Evol is powerful, you’ve only been sent out on trivial missions during your past month in STF. Perhaps it was at your father’s behest, or because you were a newbie. You’ve always been led by Eli, and don’t get to see Gavin much. The first time Gavin saw you lifting up and Evolver with ease, he subconsciously scratched his nose and said: “Truly an overkill.”

You also found that it an overkill. Which is why you’ve been trying to get yourself roped into more difficult missions.

Each time, Eli would give you a look which said that you were being too thick-skinned. “Miss, it’s a peaceful and legal era we live in. We don’t get that many major cases. Also...”

“Also what?”

“Also, it’s not time for you to be deployed.” Eli points at your name tag, then at his own. “You’re blue. I’m green. When you’re green, I’ll help you make an application.”

“Get lost. You’re the one who’s green! You’ll be green soon!”

[Trivia] In Chinese, being “green” means that you’re being cheated on.

“Why are you so agitated?” Eli leans closer. “Why are you so sensitive? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Who says boys aren’t interested in gossip? You roll your eyes at him. “Not for now.”

“That means you do have someone you fancy!” Eli nods contemplatively, a knowing look on his face.

You should have someone you like.

At least, if you don’t have a mistaken definition of what "like” is.

[ 4 ]

It’s a fact that the swivelling chairs in the office are not suitable for working. After using the chair for nearly a month, you get a stiff neck one day when you get up too quickly.

While laughing at your posture, Eli points you towards the infirmary downstairs, and tells you that there’s a kind-looking elderly physician who is experienced in Dit Da.

When you push open the door, you don’t see the physician. instead, you see Gavin, who you haven’t crossed paths with in a long while.

His face is deathly pale as he huddles on one of the sick beds. He looks incredible drained, and is currently asleep. The back of his hand is hooked onto an IV, and the top half of his body is exposed, bandages wrapped around his torso. His back is covered with pinkish bruises and brown scars, both old and new.

The door suddenly opens from behind, bringing with it a gust of fresh air.

“Who are you?”

You adjust your breathing quietly, suppressing the urge to retch. You turn around to see an elderly man in his fifties walking in. He should be the physician Eli mentioned earlier.

“Hey! Why is this man asleep?” Before you can respond, the physician walks over, adjusting the flow of the IV, then tugging the blanket upwards slightly.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Gavin?” The doctor looks you up and down, his gaze settling on your name tag. “STF Member C-24. Are you this fellow’s subordinate?”

“Mm.” You nod, and repeat your question. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Small issue.” The physician holds up the medical record book at the side, pages rustling as he flips through it. “When does this fellow not bring back a body full of injuries after returning from a mission? Do you see that scar on his collarbone?” He gestures at his own collarbone. “If it were three centimetres deeper, it'd have reached his aorta. Even the gods wouldn’t be able to save him.”

Without waiting for you to express your opinion, the physician continues.

“Why are you young people working so hard? You’re already doing such dangerous work, yet you don’t cherish your bodies. Heading out on missions every day and night. Will the Special Task Force cease to operate without Gavin? He’s still in his twenties, yet he’s so tired that he needs to have an IV... ah, did I wake you up?”

You peer at the bed to find that Gavin has indeed been roused from his sleep. His eye bags display layers of fatigue. In a hoarse voice, he asks, “Why are you here?”

“My... my neck is stiff, so I’m here to have the physician do Dit Da for me.”

“...”

The room lapses into silence. Even without lifting your head, you can sense the physician left aghast at the different severity of injuries between the both of you.

“All right.” The doctor sets down the file in his hand, then walks over to you, placing his hands on your neck. “This is simple. Just twist... and done. Hey, why are you crying?”

The doctor points at your face, stunned. At a loss, he looks at Gavin, as though trying to prove that your tears have nothing to do with him.

You touch your face, and only then discover that your face is damp. Astonished by this involuntary reaction, you use the back of your hands to wipe the wet stains off. But the floodgates have opened, and you just can’t seem to wipe your face clean. In the end, you decide to lower your face, burying it in your palms.

The tightening sensation in your heart grips you in waves. You have no idea where this sorrow stems from. Or maybe you do. Maybe you have known since a long time ago.

But you don’t dare to admit it, and especially not in front of this person - that your uncontrollably trembling shoulders have left you feeling ashamed. In countless nights after this, you’ll definitely toss and turn in bed, regretting this moment.

You don’t want him to be curious about why you’re crying. You’re afraid that his curiosity would lead to him uncovering a secret you wish to tell him, but have no idea how to broach.

“Eh... Miss, why are you crying? Did I hurt you earlier?” The doctor sees that you’re crying even harder now, and starts scrambling around for tissues. “I don’t remember exerting that much strength. Ahh, stop crying! I’ll give you some safflower oil?”

“I’m fine...” You summon your entire body’s worth of strength to bring your sobbing to a halt. Doing your best to control your sniffling, your eyes are hazy as you look at Gavin. You ask hoarsely, “Next time, could I go on missions with you?”

Gavin’s gaze lingers on your face for a very long time - until your sniffling gradually disappears. Only then does he ask simply, “The reason?”

“I’m very incredible. I’m really very incredible.”

Seeing his calm, unmoved expression, I hurriedly rack my brains, and elaborate. “My Evol allows me to control any Evolvers within range, I have a keen perception, and even attained the first place in school.” His expression remains unchanged, and you end with a conclusion, hoping to salvage the situation. “Trust me, Captain Gavin. With me around, you... and the other colleagues from STF will no longer get injured.”

After this speech, it occurs to you that you might have been overly straightforward. You decide to add, “STF lacks an Evolver with spirit. I feel duty bound to answer this call, and step forward bravely.”

The more you speak, the more you feel like you’re building a weak case for yourself, and all you want to do is bury your head into the ground.

As expected, Gavin doesn’t appear to be impressed, and doesn’t even bother altering his expression. In the harsh environment of STF which requires one to numb oneself to life and death, not many people are willing to choose such a path.

But people like you who harbour talent and the mentality of a new soldier wanting to save the world are more common. After all, battlefields always require people who are willing to die in the name of their convictions. They might not be strong, but they are loyal. When it comes to honouring their duty, they are mighty.

He has likely seen too many people similar to you. People who volunteer their services in the heat of passion. With an official tone, he gives you his response. “The STF has its regulations. If you pass the probation period, you’ll naturally have the chance to go on missions with everyone.”

“Also,” he adds. “Reality is much more cruel than what you imagine. Instead of crying over someone else’s wounds, why not think about how to make yourself even stronger - this way, you won’t let yourself or other people get hurt.”

With this, he shuts his eyes, resuming his rest.

He had stapled a non-romantic definition to the reason for your tears. And you have no way of telling him that they were not simply products of a young woman’s fragile emotions.

Crying is a meaningless act, but what else can you do?

Poverty, coughing, and romantic affection are unable to be controlled.

And you tears are unable to be controlled either.

[ 5 ]

Unable to get past the 887th stage of the mobile game, you’re in the midst of strategising your next move when Eli tosses a green ID card onto your office desk. It lands with a “thump”.

You lift your head, looking at Eli as he sits at the desk opposite yours. He throws you a can of beer, and a: “You’re amazing!”

Catching the can, you use a coin to crack it open. The mildly bitter taste flows down your throat, and it’s so cold that you shiver. Even though you already tried suppressing the happiness in your heart, a smile still creeps onto your face.

“So-so.”

“There’s no need to be so humble!” Eli cracks open his own can of beer. His tone is direct. “I’ve been here for so long, but it’s the first time I met the Director. And it’s all because I assisted a little employee with a transfer. I’m truly basking in your glory.”

You take small sips of the beer, saying the phrase that you once used countless times, and garnered much envy and hate from. “You’ll get used to it.”

Eli bursts into laughter. Before you can roll your eyes at him, he suddenly asks, “Do you like Gavin?”

He’s referring to Gavin. Not Captain Gavin.

You resist the urge to spit out the beer in your mouth. While swallowing it carefully, you crunch the empty can underneath your feet, then toss it into the dustbin situated three metres away. Although it flies in the air in a beautiful arc, it regretfully lands beside the bin.

Eli picks up the crushed can, throwing it into the bin. Then, he holds up his unfinished drink towards you.

“Don’t get so agitated. I was just wondering why someone like you - with such a good family background and powerful abilities - would join a dangerous place offering you such harsh conditions. So I read through your file, and found that you, Gavin, and I were from the same police academy. No wonder you acted a little odd when you met him the first time.. Right from the start, you joined because of him. Right, MC? Or should I call you... Junior?”

You smile, neither admitting nor denying it. Instead, you counter with a question. “Does Gavin know that you’re this gossipy behind his back?”

Throwing his now-empty can into the bin, he straightens his clothes and responds. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t know it yet. It’s a good thing we’re considered friends. So I’d know if he brings you up.” He pauses, then continues. “You should stop caring about Gavin.”

“Why?”

Eli walks over, giving you a pat on the head. “It’s a long story, and I can’t explain it succinctly. In short, if you can forget about him, forget him. If you can’t forget about him, run away quickly. This is the prime of your youth, so there’s no need to waste it on the STF, and there’s no need to waste it on Gavin. Also, we have a Grade S mission tonight, and you’ll be following Gav... Captain Gavin. Make sure you’re prepared.”

Whenever people fall into the river of love, people often say that you shouldn’t waste your youth on one person, as though youth is something amazing.

But when you think about it, you find that the thing you most cherish in youth, and the thing worth returning to over and over again, is the time you devoted your entire heart to wasting.

[ 6 ]

It’s been two months since you last saw Gavin.

In the break room just before the mission commences, you see him decked out in full military gear. He looks so handsome that his picture could be used as promotional material for the National University of Defense Technology.

Expressionless, he scans the team. Finally, his eyes land on you. Furrowing his brows, he asks, “Why aren’t you wearing a bulletproof vest?”

You stare at the new vest at the side, giving him a shrug. “I don’t need it. The enemy can't hurt me.”

Also, you’re worried that the bulletproof vest would be too bulky for your somewhat petite frame.

“Put it on.”

He speaks in a tone which leaves absolutely no room for discussion, and he exudes a rare, imposing manner of a high-ranking official.

Quietly, you pick up the vest and wear it.

Likely sensing that his tone was overly harsh earlier, he steps closer a little unnaturally to explain. “In every mission, there are many uncertain factors. Being overly confident is being irresponsible to yourself.” Saying this, he seems to realise that you aren’t the type of person who would be responsible for yourself. So he adds, “Think about the people who care about you.”

The reason suffices to convince you, although it would have worked better if he had said: “Think about the people you care about”.

When you disembark from the vehicle and see a huge, disorderly mass of civilians and Evolvers rushing over, you get goosebumps.

Evolvers and ordinary citizens have never had a difference in actual strength. The difference lay in talent. Although you were especially terrifying to Evolvers, you couldn’t do much about normal citizens.

On this evening, five of you have been deployed to the scene, and can be considered to be the elites. It shouldn’t be a problem dealing with ten or fifteen Evolvers.

But when you see the vast group of people before you, you can’t help but feel anxious.

“We’ll buy time while waiting for assistance.” Gavin commands in a soft voice, frowning. “I’ve already contacted the armed police. We just need to handle the Evolvers. The civilians will be left to the police.”

Eli and the others nod. Using the car as the base, they form an inverted triangle with you in the middle. This formation takes into account how your Evol provides the strongest assistance. To an Evolver, losing his abilities is akin to being a sheep out of its enclosure.

But your Evol has its weaknesses. And its greatest weakness is you.

You feel dizzy at the sight of blood.

It’s likely a shortcoming resulting from the time you were shot in the abdomen and felt warm blood gushing out of your wound. Since then, whenever you see a patch of crimson or smell the scent of blood, you’d feel dizzy and experience heart palpitations.

Which mission wouldn’t involve blood?

You force yourself to concentrate on the swarming flood of enemies as they rush forward, so that you can use your abilities at the earliest possible instance.

Gavin is standing on your left. It’s obvious that he is on the alert. The veins on his arms are evident, and the surrounding wind rustles from his Evol.

The battle is about to begin.

The other side has also come prepared. Knowing about the existence of someone harbouring the “stagnation” ability, they plan to adopt a human wave attack. But Gavin’s wall of wind prevents them from taking a step closer. Naturally, most of the firepower is targeted towards him, preparing to break your team’s small but sturdy formation by taking him down first.

You know that Gavin has always been good at fighting, even though many claimed that he rose to his position at such a young age because of his father. But how could the glory of one’s family bless one from escaping death time and time again?

However, even the most fearsome lion isn’t impervious to the bite of a stray dog. He’s gradually unable to hold off the firepower. A small tear appears in the wall of wind. And this is the chance the other side has been waiting for. Without a hint of hesitation, someone takes aim and shoots at the hole. It’s too late for the team to react, and they can only watch as the bullet whizzes towards Gavin.

You lunge forward without a thought.

Perhaps you were always waiting for this moment, ever since you saw him wounded in the infirmary.

You’re not brave.

But you like him.

And it’s precisely because you like him that you’re brave enough to move forward.

The collision of the back of your head with the solid car results in an earth-shattering noise. The sudden sharp pain makes you blank out for a few seconds, and you hear someone calling your name loudly before you sink into a boundless darkness.

[ 7 ]

When you regain consciousness, you’re in the hospital. Eli is sitting at the edge of the bed, paring an apple.

Noticing your gaze, he responds before you can even open your mouth. “I know what you’re going to ask. Gavin was here earlier, but left after the doctor said you were fine. There are still many things he has to deal with.”

You nod, eyes drifting to the drip tube attached to your hand.

“You’re okay, just a mild concussion. It’s a good thing you had the bulletproof vest on, or you’d be in the ICU right now.” He hands you a poorly pared apple. “Was it worth it?”

Goosebumps appear on your skin at his words, which sound as though they were extracted from a soap opera script.

You take a huge bite of the apple, the sour yet sweet juices filling your mouth. “Don’t ask me whether it was worth it. Ask if I’m happy or not.”

Not waiting for Eli to respond, you continue. “I’m happy. I was able to do something for him. I did it gladly.”

Eil’s hand trembles slightly, then he pats the top of your head gently. “You’re truly a fool...”

Later, Gavin pays you a visit. You’ve just woken up from a sweet dream, and the sky is already darkening. He’s standing at the window in a daze. Although you wish to stare at him for a while longer, he’s too sharp, and quickly realises that you’re awake.

“Feeling better?” He turns around and asks.

You nod.

He draws the curtains, letting the remnants of sunlight stream in. Then, he picks the sofa farthest away from the bed, and sits down. You know what he’s going to talk about.

“I hope this wouldn’t happen again.”

It’s exactly what you expected. You shut your eyes. In a hoarse voice, you defend yourself. “You don’t need to care about it.”

After all, you did it willingly.

He frowns and glances at you, as though he’s trying to find the correct words to say. Finally, he leaves you with a stiff sentence. “You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for other people.”

You smile, wanting to respond with: “But you aren’t 'other people’”.

After thinking about it for a very long time, you decide that you lack the guts to say it.

In the end, you respond with what’s expected of you.

“Got it, Captain Gavin.”

[ 8 ]

It’s an old STF tradition to gather for a meal after a successful mission. When you see Gavin dealing somewhat awkwardly with the service staff’s overly enthusiastic ‘interrogations’, you feel like chuckling.

The world works in strange ways. Just a week ago, you were at death’s door. But right now, you’re standing here, watching as Gavin struggles between a half-spicy and half-mild hotpot or a mala hotpot.

Truly, the most ordinary things bring the most comfort.

Foodies love talking about their feelings over a meal. Before, you had mostly interacted with Eli. In the span of a single meal, however, you find yourself growing much closer to the team. Gavin is exceptionally quiet at the table. The person whose expression doesn’t change when faced with ferocious enemies, the most difficult circumstances, is currently red in the face and neck from the spiciness of the dishes. Even the tip of his nose is coated in a sheen of sweat.

He looks ravishing. It’s the first time your heart has fluttered so much during a meal. He seems to be ill at ease, and keeps checking his phone.

In the middle of the hotpot, you receive a call from your father. Gripping your phone, you head to the only quiet spot you can find.

After exchanging a few words with your father, you hang up.

The clamour from outside drifts over, and you rub your slightly swollen temples. Suddenly, you don’t really feel like going back. You’d rather embrace this rare moment of tranquility.

Coincidentally, once this thought flits through your mind, you hear footsteps approaching. You’re standing on one of the higher stairs, which happens to be cloaked in shadows. If one doesn’t pay attention, they wouldn’t be able to spot you.

The owner of the footsteps leaves you frozen in place.

It’s Gavin.

He has removed his jacket, and is only wearing a white t-shirt. The look in his eyes is even deeper than the shadows. Ever since the two of you reunited, this is the first time you get the chance to observe him from such a close distance.

He coughs lightly at the seemingly empty corridor, then takes out his phone, preparing to make a call.

Despite this unexpected turn of events, you have no intention of eavesdropping. However, making an appearance now would just make things awkward.

While you’re still mulling over what would be the best course of action, the line gets through.

It’s as if someone flipped a switch on him.

For the first time, you see a gentle expression on his face.

“What are you up to?” He says softly, reminiscent of someone afraid of waking another from a dream.

You can’t hear what’s being said on the other end, but you can see his tender gaze and the insuppressible tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Just coming off a mission. I'm tired.”

He leans against a railing next to the stairs, subconsciously loosening his tie. At this moment, all his accumulated fatigue finally pours out in torrents.

He doesn’t say much after this. A faint smile lingers on his face. It seems the person at the other end of the line is planning something, and his smile grows more and more evident as he keeps agreeing with “mm”, “sure”, “anything you say”.

In the end, he glances at his watch, realising that he doesn’t have much time left. Softly, he says, “It’s late. Rest early. Goodnight.”

It’s a beautiful scene - giving someone a call after a busy day of work, talking about weekend plans, sharing each others’ lives, and basking in the joy of having someone concerned about you.

The only regretful thing is that the person on the other end of the line isn't you.

[ 9 ]

Only after a long while after Gavin leaves do you drag your numb feet out of your hiding spot. You spot Eli at the end of the corridor, smoking a cigarette. He looks you up and down, as though trying to verify something.

“Are you okay?” He asks hesitantly.

“I’m fine.”

The moment the words leave your lips, you feel your face heat up. Tears spill from your eyes, and you use the back of your hands to wipe at your face.

“It’s just an old habit. I'm like this whenever I get too emotional. Could you give me a cigarette? It’d help me calm down.” You explain, realising that Eli has no idea what happened.

With a conflicted expression, Eli retrieves a cigarette box from his pocket. He picks one cigarette bud and hands it to you. Placing it between your trembling lips, he lights it. It works wonders. The moment you inhale, you feel your entire body immersed in a warm scent. Encased in smoke, you hear Eli speak. “The last time, I mentioned that it was a long story. But if you want to hear it, I can cut it short.”

“I want to hear it.”

“That person is his junior. Gavin has known her for many years, and has liked her for just as many years. All these things you're doing...” He glances at you, then lights a new cigarette. “They don’t mean much to him. You saw the way he looked when he was making the call, right? It’s only for one person in the entire world. Nobody else.”

The tears surge forth once again. While you rush to wipe them away, you berate Eli. “Damn it! Why can’t you be more considerate to how I feel?”

Seeing that you’re crying even more fiercely, he stops his cutting remarks. Instead, he tousles your hair, then rifles through his wallet for a picture of Gavin. “It’s not for sale. I’ll give it to you as a souvenir.”

You take the photograph from him. It’s one that was taken a very long time ago, and its edges are curled. Under the dim lights, you take this old photograph in your hand, and are transported to the time of Gavin’s youth. He’s standing on the roof of the school, his blue and white uniform blowing with the wind. One hand is on the railing, and another is holding on to a paper airplane. With a slight smile, he turns back to look at the camera. Behind him is the azure sky.

Back then, none of these regrets blossomed yet.

“I don’t know if I appeared too early, or too late.”

Eli stares at you, his gaze sympathetic. “Sometimes, it’s not about whether you’re early or late. I’m not sure if you’ll understand if I put it this way - There won’t be another person. There’s only her. Gavin isn’t the sort of person who would like someone because they treat him well. It’s only when he likes someone that he'd accept that person’s kindness.”

“But,” he continues. “Even if the ending remains the same, you can change its course. After all, if you want a wound to heal completely, the best way is to remove the rotten areas. Perhaps what other people say is useless. You could try listening to his answer directly.”

You nod.

Loving someone requires devotion. One will always have to experience all sorts of hardship before it can come to fruition.

[ 10 ]

By the time you and Eli return, the meal has almost reached an end. Your colleagues are preparing to head over for karaoke next door. When you are all packed into the lift, you happen to stand behind Gavin. He has his jacket on, and his sleeves are pulled up, revealing a black plaited bracelet on his wrist. No matter how slow-witted you are, you’re able to recognise that it’s part of a couple set advertised by a certain brand a long time ago.

Behind you, a couple of drunk colleagues start causing a ruckus and bumping against your back. In the crowded lift, you shuffle your feet, trying to steady yourself, and trying to maintain a certain distance between the two of you.

Sometimes, you can’t comprehend your strange ego and pride. You’ve seen girls showering the guys they like with gifts, and wearing beautiful dresses to invite them out to movies. But you’ve never thought of imitating them. You’d even secretly celebrate when they get rejected - You were so glad that you were different from them.

But today, you realise that you aren’t that different from them. You aren’t even as candid as they are.

The lively atmosphere is a stark contrast to your mood. Upon entering the karaoke room, you find a corner and isolate yourself with popcorn. Despite giving out clear signals that you’d rather not be disturbed, the officers pull you over to play ‘Truth or Dare’, calling it a necessary rite of passage for new members.

The rules are simple - when the mouth of the bottle points at you, you have to choose to answer a question truthfully, or do a dare.

You have very good luck, and the bottle continually points at other colleagues, and you get to hear all sorts of gossip, and witness several 'dares’.

After a while, the person responsible for spinning the bottle starts targeting you. When the mouth of the bottle finally points at you, you actually heave a sigh of relief.

It’s better to get this over and done with.

Without any hesitation, you pick ‘dare’. After all, there’s too big of a risk in choosing ‘truth’. A bespectacled colleague reads out your task.

“Choose one guy in the room, lean in close to his ear, and say the words: ‘I love you’.”

You freeze in place, a million emotions bustling in your heart.

Honestly speaking, you never really believed in coincidences before. You felt that these were just things used to dupe the superstitious. But at this moment, this meaningless game started making you believe that coincidences do exist.

Perhaps this is what people often call “fate”.

In the midst of the hooting from the audience in response to your task, you deliberately ignore the conflicted expression on Eli’s face. You stand up while your colleagues whip out their phones, ready to snap pictures and videos. They’re all ready to, as usual, capture memories they can look back on fondly each year.

Everyone is exuberant, and nobody notices your apprehension.

Your eyes fall on Gavin, who is seated at a corner. His brows are knitted slightly, expression indifferent. The black earrings on his ears reflect the cold light. When he doesn’t speak, he gives off an aura of not being close to anyone.

You imagine how he must have been like in high school - a bad boy with his hair dyed, riding a motorcycle, causing a ruckus in school, attaining poor grades, and always pretending to be cool by having earplugs in his ears while sitting at the corner of the classroom.

Until this day, a certain impatience can still be felt from this man. It’s very obvious, and can be noted with a single glance.

When your colleagues realise that your target is Gavin, the clamour grows even louder. Choosing a superior as a target of a dare - they must think that you have a playful spirit. You pause before Gavin, and the exaggerated exclamations are about to burst through the roof.

But when you muster the courage to lean in Gavin’s ear to say that phrase “I love you”, the surroundings lapse into silence almost immediately.

Maybe your expression was too serious. Maybe your tone was too sincere. Either way, everyone’s reaction tells you very clearly - you messed it up. The colleagues who were holding up their phones earlier in anticipation are now feeling awkward and not knowing what to do.

All is quiet.

That is, until Eli breaks the silence. “This round doesn’t count - it’s so boring. Let’s change the target. MC, what about me?”

Gavin purses his lips into a slight smile, patting Eli’s hand which is resting on his shoulder. “Get lost. Don’t use our female colleagues to joke around.”

With this, the tension in the air dissipates. Everyone diverts the topic, and they begin the next round.

In the next few hours, you drink a lot. You puke a lot too, and it feels as though your guts are about to spill out.

Eli is the one who sends you home. He supports you into the car, and you hear Gavin telling him softly, “Give me a call when you’ve reached.”

Because of what he says, you end up crying all the way home.

To you, he’s the perfect superior. A worthy comrade-in-arms. A righteous stranger. But he’ll never a reliable lover.

That night, you have a dream about Gavin.

In it, you can’t see his face clearly. He’s wearing a loose school uniform, and is alone in the basketball court, dribbling a ball, a plaster on his hand.

It’s a very realistic dream.

You’re sitting afar off and watching him. Occasionally, the ball would roll to a place near you. When you finally think of picking it up, you see Gavin running over. He’s so close that you can see strands of sweat-drenched hair on his forehead. You try reaching out to touch him, but you just can’t do it. It’s as though there’s a transparent film between the two of you. No matter how close you are, you can only be a member of the audience.

When you wake up, you’re facing the ceiling. Someone once told you that you’d forget the contents of your dreams the moment you turn. So you lie stiffly for a very long time, trying to remember as many details of the dream as you can.

Sunlight streams in through the curtains.

You finally turn to your side, and tears stream down the side of your face.

Even in dreams, you can’t obtain a happy ending.

[ 11 ]

After that night, because of your father’s position and how you faint at the sight of blood, you are quickly transferred to a commanding post instead of having to be deployed on missions.

In an instant, you become Gavin’s superior.

Unlike in fiction where female superiors who experience unrequited love torment the target of their affections, or use their position to seduce them, you have no intention of doing so. Instead, you simply treat him much more coldly than a normal superior would.

Occasionally, in the middle of night, you’d have the urge to ask him a question.

"Why can’t it be me?”

But you know that this question has been buried in the last page of your diary, hidden in the corner of your bookshelf. It decomposes in your innermost heart - a place where no one has ever seen.

Because you already know the answer.

On the night when make-believe turned out to be reality, you had leaned in close to his ear, and said “I love you” in a trembling voice. Back then, he had turned his face away slightly, his expression grave and stern, reminiscent of the marble stone that you used to touch when you were small.

You know that it’d never be you.

Sometimes, when Eli takes Gavin’s place to give reports, you’d pull him out for a meal and drinks.

On one particular evening when you had drunk quite a fair amount, he leaned on the table and looked at you. “Have you let go?”

You secretly stole a prawn from his plate. While munching on it, you responded, “I’ve let go.”

You truly have.

Which is why afterwards, when you and Gavin were selected as stellar graduates to return to your alma mater and give a speech, the emotions in your heart were not turbulent.

You vaguely remember that the sunset on that day was very beautiful.

The yellowish golden sun was gradually disappearing below the horizon, as beautiful as a painting - the most beautiful sunset in your life.

He stood by your side with a depth in his eyes - the most detailed stroke in this painting, etched onto your heart.

Although you tried to suppress the urge, you decided to speak. “I always hoped to get a chance to return to this place with you again. I didn’t think it’d come true. I’m left with no regrets.”

He frowned slightly. Even though he tried to conceal it, you could sense a twinge of awkwardness. He looked as though he wanted to speak, but didn’t.

You chuckled.

“I once thought that the reason why I came to STF, why I went on missions with you, and helped you take that bullet, was for you. But now I know that it was to complete myself.”

“I don’t need a response from you. In my years of youth, meeting someone like you was already my fortune.”

He froze, lapsing into a long silence. In the end, he says: “Thank you.”

His shoulders relaxed, as though he had set down a large boulder, and was relieved of a heavy load.

You had nothing much to regret. What’s there to regret? As compared to yourself, you’d prefer for him to get what he wanted.

Thousands of years ago, a poet called Su She once said that the flow of the river and the waning of the moon are simply temporary changes. From a broader, long-term perspective, they are never-changing.

When you first heard it, you weren’t able to draw any lessons from it.

But when you flipped through Khalil Gibran’s collection, you were finally enlightened. After being troubled for so many years, everything finally made sense with just one sentence.

Gibran said: “Love possesses not, nor will it be possessed. For love is sufficient unto love.”

[ Permission to translate ]

礼里图: You can move it over if you state the source. It’s even better when more people can like it~

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #I'll never recover from this one-shot but it's okay

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thelordofdarkreunion · 3 years

Text

Magnificent Scoundrels- Grand Tour

I decided to write about Thomas Drake and his crew for this one. As usual, I do not own any other characters except Drake and his crew. Enjoy the story.

“I am not a good person, but I am an honest one.”

-Thomas Drake

“You said you wanted to take a tour of my ship, so, here we are.” Drake gave an elaborate, formal bow. “Welcome aboard the Apocalypse. You all have your engineers with you?” He looked around the group of, who did, indeed have all their engineers with them. “Good. Everyone is invited, and if you are able to replicate anything you see here from memory, then I think it’s yours, fairly won.” Which cut right into the heart of why everyone had their engineers here.

Drake turned into the hangar bay, beginning the tour. “The Apocalypse is an Apricus Industries 745-class light cruiser, heavily modified by us, of course. Originally named the Summer’s Light, it was renamed something more appropriate for a warship after me and my merry band of maniacs stole it during the Jerrick War. It was, uh, well, upgraded, as I said before, and now includes reinforced shielding on the hull, better engines, best in class, as a matter of fact, heavy railgun batteries, more point defense batteries, and nuclear launch tubes, of which I am particularly proud of. Unique amongst most capital sized ships from my home galaxy, it can enter atmosphere, a fact that I have come to appreciate in my line of work. Now, this,” he waved vaguely at their surroundings, “is the hangar bay. We only need a couple of shuttles, so for the most part, it’s open and used by the armsmen for training. Speaking of which,” he nodded in the direction of a group wearing a collection of military-looking uniforms watching two of their number spar, “those are the armsmen.” Drake gave a sharp whistle, and the armsmen stopped what they were doing. Three of their number walked over to the Scoundrels, while the rest milled around, apparently taking a break from what they were doing.

Drake gave the classic back-and-forth gesture that has accompanied introductions since the dawn of time as he called out the three individuals. “Derrick Saul, commander of 1st Squad.” The armsman furthest to the left, a deeply sunburn man with hair cut so short he may as well have been bald, gave them a polite nod. “Jean Garang, commander of 2nd Squad.” The armsman in the middle, a tall woman with exceptionally dark-hued skin and short cut black hair also gave a nodd. “And Rilgaldis, commander of 3rd Squad.” A massive reptilian alien, well over seven feet tall, gave them a salute. “Scoundrels, Saul, Garang, and Rilgaldis. Rilgaldis, Garang, and Saul, the Scoundrels.” Drake gave a moment’s pause. “Well then, now introductions have been made. Why don’t you three tell my glorious compatriots exactly where you come from and why you’re galavanting across the galaxy with an unstable mercenary?” Drake’s joking manner broke the formal and somewhat strained atmosphere. The Scoundrels relaxed, and Saul grinned.

“Fine. I’ll go first. Born on Europa, joined the 317th Federal Expeditionary Division. I’m here because, well, you pay more than the Federal Army, Captain.”

“Same thing with me. Born in Sudan, joined the Army, got put in the 5th Guards. Drake pays more than the Federation,” said Garang.

“And you, Rilgaldis?”

“Born into the Dracus Army, left, joined the Imperial Foreign Legion, left, joined you because you pay better,” said Rilgaldis.

“Yes. The three leaders of my armsmen. Matter of fact, it’s a wonder you two,” he indicated Saul and Garang, “get along as well as you do.”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” asked Kirk. Saul and Garang grinned at each other.

“You see, we are on opposite sides of one of humanity's oldest questions. Matter of fact, Garang, let’s settle this once and for all. You all seem like you know what you’re talking about.” The Scoundrels looked at each other, hesitant about what the question would bring. “So, here we go, and I know that you’ll all agree with me: 9 milimetre Parabellum or .45 ACP?”

“What?” replied Vir. The other Scoundrels seemed to be equally bemused by the question.

“Are you not a soldier or a weapons enthusiast? Don’t pick up guns like the rest of us?”

“I was a pilot, now an Admiral.”

“Oh dear me, the flyboys have their heads so high in the clouds they don’t know the answer to life’s greatest mystery. Any of the rest of you? No? Bullets don’t exist where you come from or something?” Kirk, Shepard, and Cain shook their heads to the negative.

“.50 cal.” Master Chief added his input. Saul whistled.

“Jesus Christ. Although,” Saul walked up and compared his height to the Chief’s, “if anyone can handle a .50 calibre handgun on the regular, it would be the two meter guy made entirely of muscle.”

“Wonderful. Now that we have that out of the way, onwards!” exclaimed Drake. The rest of the Scoundrels followed, threading their way out of the hangar and through the winding grey passages of the starship. Most were neat, clean, and paneled with easily cleanable grey metal, although one particular passageway they crossed was under repair, the panelling ripped away to expose a myriad of interconnecting pipes and wires. A mixed group of aliens and humans, all wearing grey jumpsuits, were hard at work, fiddling with various tangles of sparking wires. A short woman jumped from atop a ladder where she had been perched, examining the ceiling, and offered Drake a vague salute.

“We’re almost done, Captain. Wiring in this sector should be back up in no time.” She seemed to notice the group following him for the first time, and gave them a cheery wave. “Tor Herald. In charge of...well...nothing in particular. We,” this was accompanied by a wave encompassing the various workers, “are unofficially known throughout the ship as the ne’re-doers. Unspecialized specialists, jacks of all trades, masters of none, we’re the crew that keeps the Apocalypse running. This ain’t a military vessel, so we’re just on as regular crew members. Nothing to do with most of the money and explosions that seem to follow the Captain around.” One of the wires in the background started to spark alarmingly. “Ah, shit. Love to talk, got to fix this.” She ran to the problem, an odd-shaped tool in hand.

“Best keep going, then,” said Drake. He gave the group a ‘follow me’ motion, and led them deeper through the halls. “I get crew members from all over the place. Most of the armsmen and specialists are ex-military, but the crew...I have from all over the place. Which I said before. Don’t really know how else to put it. Got crew members from Earth, Vorketh, Aequalitas, Narcan, Delstrovic, and everywhere in between. Now,” he turned and gestured to a section of more pleasant looking and open hallways, “as your esteemed colleague Jack Cooper can attest, these are the crew quarters. They are located throughout the ship, so vital personnel can sleep next to their stations, but the bulk of them are in this area.” He led them past the crew quarters to a pair of large sliding glass doors. “And this is what we call the weapons room. All our personal weapons are created, reparied, and tested here.” It was a brightly lit room covered in stark white plastic, but what drew everyone’s attention were it’s two occupants, who, although fiddling with various bits and pieces, seemed to be in the middle of a fierce argument.

“You see, the problem with your theory is, at the very heart of the matter, you’ve got it wrong. The purpose of a government is to help its people by any means it finds necessary,” said a short, lean, black-haired man in the midst of inserting a new power core into a plasma gun.

“No, the purpose of a government is to protect its people’s rights and protect them from foriegn invasion. Otherwise, it should leave them alone,” replied a muscular, brown-haired man of medium height as he tightened the bolts on a massive machine gun.

“Ah, but the thing is, the government can help people. And at the basic level, why would you not help people? You’re a Christian, and it is at the core of your philosophy to help others,” countered the black-haired man.

“Individually. It is our duty to individually help other people. You’re a student of history, and you know what happens. If the government helps people in the way you’re suggesting, then it gains control over them, and thus should it turn bad, the common people are helpless.” The Scoundrels filed into the room behind Drake as the two argued, apparently oblivious to their presence.

“The core problem with you is that you’re just an ignorant, uneducated farm boy who’s clinging to a dying philosophy,” sneered the black-haired man.

“And you are a stuck up city student who has absolutely no idea how the real world works,” shot back the brown-haired man with a vengeance.

“You’re a stupid moron who follows people who will plunge the world into despotism.” At this, the brown-haired man threw down his wrench and cracked his knuckles.

“I’d be very, very, careful if I were you,” he warned. The tension in the air was almost like a physical being. Several of the Scoundrels standing behind Drake tugged on their collars as if to escape from an oppressive heat. Kirk stepped forward as if to mediate, but Drake held out a hand to forestall him.

“Or what? What are you going to do?” replied the black haired man snidely.

“This.” And before anyone could react, the brown haired man stepped forward, wrapped his arms around the shorter man, and pulled him close into a passionate kiss. They broke apart, and upon seeing the shocked faces of their various watchers, both started howling with laughter.

“Oh, you should have seen your faces,” said the taller of the pair in between wheezes. The other man was clutching his midsection and had tears streaming down his face. He made some sort of strangled gasping noise and grabbed the edge of a counter for support.

“We got ‘em!” He broke down into hysterics again. “We got you!” Drake merely rolled his eyes.

“Everyone, meet Mark,” he nodded towards the brown haired man, “and Oliver,” this was accompanied by a wave to the black haired man, “Danis-Holden, two of my three weapons specialists.” The two, still trying not to laugh, stood up straighter and nodded as they were introduced. Noting the still bemused faces of the Scoundrels, Drake sighed. “So, you guys want to tell them who you are, where you’re from, why you’re with me and what was going on here?”

“Sure!” replied Mark cheerfully. “So, I was born on Enlalda, a colony world on the edge of Federal Space. It’s an agrarian planet, and most people there moved from the center of Federal space because of religious persecution. Like ninety-ish percent of the population are old school Evangelical Christian conservatives. I was born and raised on a farm; grew up as a...well, old school Evangelical Christian conservative. Always liked to tinker with things, got really good at repairing vehicles and the various guns you’ll find all farmers have on colony worlds. But, I always thought there was more to life than just farming. I wanted adventure. I wanted to do something with my life. So, one day a mercenary starship shows up,” he paused his narrative for a moment and looked queringly at Drake, “wasn’t that the Helidon job?” Drake rubbed his forehead.

“Oh. Yeah, it was. Now that was a weird operation. But I digress. Please continue.”

“Yep. So, as I was saying, the Captain here showed up near where I was. I heard he was looking for a weapons specialist, and I had some experience in that area, so I decided to offer my services, and you accepted, and I joined the crew. And that’s where I met this idiot.” He gestured at Oliver.

“Damn straight. But before we get into that, I have to tell you my story,” replied Oliver. “I was born on Tyvander. Metropolitan planet near the center of Federal space. I grew up in a middle class family near one of the bigger cities, Menvander. Like a lot of people, I went to college there: majored in political science, minored in specialized engineering. Unlike some planets, Tyvander isn't super rich or famous, and there is no specialized educational infrastructure there, so if you want to go to college, you pay for it. As it turns out, being a political science major does not pay the bills, so when the Apocalypse showed up looking for a weapon’s specialist, which I was qualified for because of my technical skills and engineering expertise. So I joined up, and my debts and old, boring life didn’t follow. The University of Menvander is not going to hunt you down if you declare bankruptcy and go galavanting across the galaxy with a group of mercenaries,” he finished.

“I’ll pick it up from here,” said Mark. “How shall I put this…” he stopped to consider for a moment. “Oliver was already aboard as a weapons specialist when I got here. We worked together, got to know each other, and, as it turns out, the phrase ‘opposites attract’ is a very true one. I always had the feeling that I was, well...gay, but, considering where I grew up, I never told anyone. Didn’t really bother me. I was perfectly fine doing what I was doing, and never saw anyone who peaked my interest. ‘Till I met him, of course.”

“I’ve always been a hardcore liberal, been gay, and known I was gay. Got here, met him, got married,” said Oliver.

“Wait, how did that work?” interrupted Shepard. “You guys are all mercenaries who don’t really have legal residence anywhere, so…”

“Ah, yes. We had a ceremony on the ship. Was one hell of a party, actually,” replied Drake. “Legally though…” he pursed his lips in thought. “We’re all registered as Guild citizens for legal and infiltration purposes, so that might count...but for the most part, no legal or religious ceremony. Doesn’t really matter though, all things considered,” he said with a shrug.

“Yep. So now we spend all day repairing and creating weapons while bickering about politics,” interjected Oliver. “It’s fun, actually. Still don’t know why you support that outdated philosophy and religion when it doesn’t allow for homosexuality. Which, you are.”

“Just because one part of a philosophy is wrong, doesn’t mean all parts of it are wrong. Plus, you’re a hardcore liberal who supports the right to bear arms. Like, all forms of weapons,” replied Mark.

“Eh, good point. Goes with the job, I guess.” They grinned at each other.

“Deviant freaks?

“Deviant freaks!”

“Goddamn right?”

“Goddamn right!” They gave each other high fives then went back to their work. Drake sighed.

“Okay. Let’s continue.” They passed through the weapons room and into more of the winding grey hallways. Drake spoke up as he walked. “I should have probably told you, but everyone on this ship, myself included, is kind of nuts. You see, being a mercenary means you kill people for money. It does not attract the most...uh...stable of individuals. Stable people stay near where they were born and go to college, or to some other form of school, or join the military. Stable people do not go running around the galaxy and get into all sorts of weird things with me.” He turned back to the Scoundrels and suddenly grinned. “And by that logic, none of you are stable! Welcome to the club!” He turned another corner and walked into an enclosed room covered with constricting panels of all sorts of strange dials, knobs, and buttons. The area was lit by yellow bulbs enclosed in metal cages, and the floor itself was made of metal grating, allowing one to see a series of tunnels underneath it. The entire room was pervaded by a low, incessant humming noise. “Now, this is the engine room. It’s a lot bigger than it looks, but we need all the panels to keep the reactor functional, so it seems rather enclosed. The engineers should be somewhere around here.” He sighed again and gave a whistle. “Oi! Where are all of you guys?” Without warning, a grey-jumpsuited woman slid from a small rectangular access hatch beneath one of the larger panels.

“Right here, sir! Fixing the 5130’s.” She had a round, cheerful face framed with wispy brown hair. She grinned up at the Scoundrels. “Well, well, well. Looks like we have visitors, everyone!”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said a muffled, echoey voice that seemed to emanate from the ceiling. “I would come down to introduce myself, but I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“Visiters?” A blond haired man poked his head from behind another panel. “Pleasure to meet you. Engineer First Class Boweman, at your service.”

“Engineer Baily,” said the woman, who had at this point gone back into the hatch.

“Engineer Khatri,” came the muffled voice.

“K’rik Vhle’krik,” said someone else. A large, brown insectoid alien turned the corner. It looked like a cross between a centipede and a lobster, and stood on six hind legs, with eight more waving in the air in front of it. Its back was protected by a large brown exoskeleton, and its eyes were mounted on two stalks on its head. Cain tensed, his hand going to his sword. Drake noticed the movement, but said nothing of it and instead made introductions.

“Scoundrels, my engineering crew. Engineering crew, the Scoundrels.” He turned and addressed the ceiling. “Are you busy at the moment?”

“A bit,” the alien replied in an odd, unnaturally exaggerated American accent. “We’re trying to reroute the cooling systems of the 5130’s.”

“Well then, I shall leave you to it,” said Drake in response. “Moving on.” The group walked through the engine room and through another hallway beyond. “I would introduce everyone, but the cooling systems are very important in making sure everything goes un-exploded.”

They passed into a large room covered with science equipment and what looked like the shell of a large bomb sitting in the middle of the room. A woman with frazzled brown hair, wearing a welder’s face mask and a leather apron and gloves was standing over a strange device, pouring a red liquid into a stainless steel beaker. She finished what she was doing, flipped up the mask and smiled at the newcomers.

“Jennifer Muelka. Ordnance and explosives expert.”

“The remaining third of my weapons specialists,” interjected Drake. “Brilliant at all forms of making things go boom. A little too brilliant sometimes.” She smiled sheepishly.

“I do try my best to be careful.”

“So, I’m interested. Why are you here?” asked Shepard.

“Oh that’s easy,” she replied with a laugh. “No one else will let me do what I do here. I create all sorts of nasty things. Plasma, napalm...nukes, on occasion.”

“You...you, a mercenary, have nukes on this ship?” asked Vir.

“Yes. No one’s complained, because if I do use them, I use them correctly. I am very proud to say that the number of innocent civilians we have killed with nuclear weapons remains zero.”

“That’s...kinda reassuring?”

“Hey, if you’re hiring me, you get the best of the best,” said Drake. Leaving Muelka to her work, they moved on. THey walked through one long, spacious, and brightly-lit hallway before they reached a gleaming set of double doors. “Now this is the bridge. It’s located at the center of the ship to prevent anyone from targeting and destroying it.” The doors slid open, revealing a large, spacious room lined with all sorts of computers. The area seemed to be further divided into subsections, each with a semi-circular area accompanied with a chair. Large windows adorned the entire length of the bridge, and upon noticing this, Kirk frowned.

“You said we were at the center of the ship. So what are those ‘windows’?”

“Computer screens, showing the space surrounding the ship. Wouldn’t be a proper bridge if you couldn’t see outside, would it?”

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“Now then.” Drake rubbed his hands together. “I would like to introduce you to the two most important people on the ship. Sarah Ordelphine and Eric Richter.” He gestured to a lithe woman of medium height with short cut black hair and a man wearing a grey jumpsuit. He too was of medium height, and his hair was brown, straight and cut short to the scalp. A large scar ran across his forehead, the relic of some forgotten fight. They both nodded curtly at the Scoundrels. “Ordelphine is my chief navigator and pilots the ship, and Richter is my second in command. So, why did you guys join with me?”

“I was and am the best capital ship pilot in the galaxy. The Federal Navy and all of the corporations I was with before didn’t recognize that. You did and still do, Captain,” replied Ordelphine.

“Damn right. You’d think we were in a fighter, with some of the maneuvers you can do. And you, Richter?”

“I didn’t have anything to do at the time. Joined you. Never had a reason to look back.”

“Fair enough.” Drake spun around the room with a theatrical gesture. “And so, the grand tour of the Apocalypse. Met some new and interesting people. I hope you enjoyed it.”

Hope you liked it. The scene with Mark and Oliver might have been a little awkward or weird, but I am firmly of the opinion that most people are trying their best, and you can still like, love, or get along with them if you disagree politically. If you have any comments, criticisms, questions, or requests, feel free to contact me. And remember to sit back and enjoy your day!

#magnificent scoundrels #thomas drake #crossover #ultimate crossover #sci-fi #writing #story #humans are weird

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saiilorstars · 4 years

Text

Dare To Forget Me

Ch. 21: Birthday Blues

/ Previous chapters /

Fandom: Law & Order SVU

Pairing: Rafael Barba x Original female character

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ` 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter Summary: Montserrat makes her decision about her transfer and returns to Manhattan on the night of her birthday...the day she'd been dreading so much. Rafael wants to help, part of a way to make up to her for his past mistake, but will it turn out fine this time?

While things with Heba's case had died down, though not with a good ending, SVU gradually seemed to fall back into its normal routine that week. There was only one thing that was still up in the air for everyone to see.

Montserrat was on her way out of the bullpen while Rafael was coming in. He walked on like nothing but despite his efforts to keep going, he came to a stop anyways. He had fresh new thoughts thanks to one Carisi who, for some reason, had gotten the idea that he, somewhere along the way, had developed some feelings for Montserrat. Rafael thought that was probably the moment he ever felt so much anger towards one person. Needless to say, he'd thrown Carisi out of his office with the threat that he better not say such ridiculous things in his face again.

That had been this morning. It was lunch time now which had given him some time to think about Carisi's words, no matter how uncomfortable it made him.

"Montserrat?" Rafael had gone back to the hallway and stopped the detective halfway towards the elevator. She turned back and, for the first time that week, she didn't look like she would kill him on the spot. "I know you're not speaking to me but...I just need to say that I'm sorry. Again. I'm really sorry. I was never owed any of your secrets and...I still screwed up."

Montserrat could immediately see differences between now and then. She had finally managed to control her feelings. Before today, she was furious beyond belief. If this was still before, she wouldn't have heard Rafael out - she'd probably curse him and then leave. But that hadn't been getting her anywhere expect for fueling more rage. For her sake - and for the sake of her blood pressure - she needed to calm down. After all, like she once admitted to her therapist, Rafael accidentally letting her secret out took away the fear of having to do it herself. She hadn't been brave enough to tell the squad of her plans. And now, with a clearer mind, she could straight away see the guilt on Rafael's face.

"I know," Montserrat said quietly, even nodding her head to show she'd heard him loud and clear. The mere fact she'd listened was already surprising for Rafael. "And I'm sorry it took me this long to understand."

Rafael gave her an uneasy look. She was acting too strange, too...180. "... you're not upset anymore?"

"I mean, I am but…" Montserrat drew in a deep breath and sighed, "I'm... I'm leaving for Brooklyn," she instead said, now truly surprising Rafael. "I'm visiting their Homicide division for a few days. I think it's a good idea to put some space between me and everything here."

"Right," Rafael agreed, although he wasn't sure why he would. He didn't like it.

"I should be back on Friday."

"Your birthday?"

There was visible dislike for that reminder. "Friday," Montserrat reiterated. She offered him one small smile then turned to leave.

There was a feeling in the pit of Rafael's stomach warning him that even if Montserrat returned, things would not be the same as before. He didn't quite like that either.

~ 0 ~

Montserrat packed light, after all she was only going to be gone for two days. She argued with Kara probably during all her packing and preparation time.

Kara was relentless that Montserrat was running away from problems. And she was not quiet about it either. "Montserrat Irene Novak, this is the most childish thing you have ever done!"

Montserrat scoffed after shoving in a blouse enter suitcase. "Really? Going to observe a different division is childish?"

"When you're doing it to avoid facing reality, uh, yeah it is!"

Montserrat rolled her eyes and continued moving around her room to get the last of her things into a suitcase. "I promise you, Kara, that I am not running away. I really think some space is what I need to clear my head and maybe get rid of any lingering anger I have. Hell, I think it might even be good for us to have some space. We might end up killing each other."

"I think you're doing things wrong," Kara folded her arms. "And it is kind of scaring me because I've never seen you act like this before."

Okay, that one Montserrat would give to Kara. She was confused herself why she needed to do all this just to be okay again. But the point was that she needed to do this.

"It'll just be for a few days and then I'll be back," Montserrat said with a cheery smile.

"Well, what if you end up liking it there?" Kara frowned for a second. "And you don't want to come back."

Montserrat thought about that possibility and could only shrugged. "Then I like it."

"Montserrat!" Kara whined.

"What?" Montserrat laughed for a bit. "Kara, you and I were supposed to be only temporary roommates, remember? I was supposed to find my own place eventually."

"Well, yeah, but…" Kara shifted on her feet, looking more like a child than an adult right now. "You're my best friend. It's kind of fun living with you."

"Thanks," Montserrat offered the woman a smile. "But I just have to go. I'm sorry."

Kara saw there wasn't no point in arguing with her. She'd made her choice to go, but it didn't mean Kara would stop hoping Montserrat hated the place.

~0~

Two steps into the Brooklyn Homicide bullpen and everyone already knew who Montserrat was. She felt bombarded with all the "hello's" she got as soon as she walked in. There was a moment where Montserrat felt overwhelmed enough to turn around and leave.

"Miss Novak," a tall, older man emerged from the Captain's office. He was already gray on the head but he had piercing green eyes that looked like they could catch anything wrong in a second. "You made it. And I see that my squad has already given you a vibe of our dynamic."

"Uuh, yeah," Montserrat couldn't come up with anything to actually say right now. She didn't like being the center of attention from strangers.

"Captain Delisle," the man held a hand to shake with Montserrat. She smiled and shook hands.

"Montserrat Novak. Can I ask how everyone knew who I was before they even saw me?"

"Simple, you're the only redhead we know in the building," one of the detectives answered from their desk. Montserrat turned to give a strange look, making the man laugh. "Kidding. We know your cousin? ADA Novak? You guys got the same hair."

"Oh," Montserrat didn't know if that was worse or better than the former explanation.

"Alright, Detective Novak is here to observe how we run things in this precinct so let's make a good impression," the Captain said. "Novak, if you'd stay you'd be Mulvoy's partner," he directed her towards a man who'd risen from his desk at the call of his name.

"Jake Mulvoy," the detective introduced himself as he crossed through the desks to shake hands with Montserrat.

"Montserrat," she smiled politely. He looked nice enough, though there wasn't that playfulness Sonny seemed to naturally carry.

"Please treat Montserrat well as she visits us. She might become one of ours by the end of the week," Delisle said playfully then spoke to Montserrat. "We can talk at the end of the day to see how you like it here and discuss other things."

Montserrat nodded and was freed to mingle through the bullpen. She got to know the rest of the detectives, which she immediately could tell would not be like her SVU squad. For one, Detective Miranda Kim was, to put it in simple terms, was a downright bitch. It appeared that Mulvoy's previous partner was Kim's best friend who was transferred to a different department. In Kim's eyes, Montserrat was there to replace her best friend.

Great.

Detective Xavier Lance, Kim's partner, was a somewhat better person. He was tall, had a charming smile, and was kind to newcomers. He lamented their old detective's transfer but was excited for the prospect of a new co-worker. He kind of reminded Montserrat of Nick, except that Lance could be a bit more snippy once you started asking questions about their specific cases. It was as if Lance thought Montserrat was there to steal the cases they were already working on.

"Don't worry about them," Detective Connor Shein brought Montserrat to his desk. He wasn't as tall as Lance but he was still taller than Montserrat. He had nice blue eyes and rather shaggy brown hair. "They're a little more on the reserved side. But they're good detectives."

His partner, Detective Paulina Quell, was a smiley blonde woman that made Montserrat instantly think of Amanda. The only difference was Paulina was taller. And no accent. She came to stand beside Montserrat and placed a gentle hand on Montserrat's arm. "Yeah, if you stay they'll warm up to you."

"Would you like to see some of our cases right now?" Shein asked Montserrat and gestured to the files sitting on his and Quell's desks.

"Sure," Montserrat gave a nod. "It'll almost be like a trip down memory lane since I used to work homicide back in Queens."

"You did?" Mulvoy suddenly asked then exchanged looks with Shein and Quell stopping to glance at each other then to look at the ginger.

"You've been around then," chuckled Quell. "Homicide and SVU? Which one do you like better? If that's not a weird question…"

"Well, they each have their own things," admitted Montserrat. "Homicide you don't know how to deal with live victims which saves you a lot of sleepless nights and standoffs with the victims and their families. But SVU gives a little bit more of a satisfaction because when you do get the victims' culprit, you got the satisfaction of knowing that you got the guy and you made justice for someone who's alive to see it." And as Montserrat said these words, she grew distant with thoughts. SVU, however challenging at times, always brought a different type of satisfaction when they were able to put the culprit away because more than often the victim was still alive to see it happen. They could see the impact they made on the victim. Homicide didn't offer that.

"Do you mind if we ask you why you're thinking about transferring here?" Shein asked quietly. "I mean, you've started making a name for yourself back in Manhattan."

"I have?" blinked Montserrat. That's the first time she heard any of that.

"Yeah, you and SVU as a whole. You guys are pretty good at what you do over there," Quell said and had the agreeing nods from the other two detectives. "I mean, don't get us wrong, we would love to have you on board with us but we're just a little curious why you would want to leave that department that's doing so well?"

"Fair question," Montserrat nodded. "It's just personal reasons. Um, just wanting to see if Homicide is my true calling." Well, she couldn't very well say the truth here could she? Still, the answer was deemed good enough for the two detectives.

For the rest of the day, Montserrat spent her time going through cases with Mulvoy, Quell and Shein, featuring remarks from Lance but absolutely nothing from Kim. She got to know a few of the officers lingering in the office, and most importantly she began to get the feel of the squad as a whole.

"So, how do you like it here?" Captain Delisle asked once they were both seated in his office.

"It's different than what I'm used to now," Montserrat began with, considering it was the easiest things you could say that didn't involve a lie.

"I'm sure it is," Delisle nodded. "I've talked to your sergeant and she doesn't seem like she wants to let you go. But that didn't stop her from giving me good remarks about you."

"Olivia's very kind," Montserrat said with a small smile. "Too kind."

"May I ask why you're looking to transfer?"

If Montserrat was score how many times she'd been asked that question today, she'd probably lose count. It was a fair question, she knew, but it didn't mean she wanted to keep hearing it. It involved a lot of things she couldn't (and didn't) want to talk about.

"I used to do Homicide," Montserrat began with what Delisle probably already knew, "And it was hard, sometimes, to see what we had. The corpses. The way they died. But sometimes, SVU is a little harder. We typically have live victims and...hearing what they've gone through…"

"It's tough," Delisle nodded. "But someone's gotta do it, right?"

Montserrat took those words more to heart than she planned to. "...yeah…" She felt her phone buzz inside her pocket but didn't get it right away.

"Well, we'll see you tomorrow then. Hopefully by then you'll have made your decision regarding where you want to be," Delisle got up to shake hands with her then led her out the door.

As Montserrat checked her phone, Detectives' Mulvoy, Shein and Quell called to her from their desks.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Mulvoy's question didn't register for the first few seconds as Montserrat had focused too much on her phone.

A smile came to her face after checking the new text message she'd received from Rafael.

If you haven't already had dinner, try Morgan's Barbecue. I think you might like. Your type of food I...

"Hey, Novak?" Quell's voice finally broke through Montserrat's concentration.

The ginger looked up from her phone with blinking eyes. "I'm sorry?"

Quell only chuckled. "We were just wondering how'd it go with the Captain."

"Oh, it's fine. I'll be back tomorrow to keep observing. Thank you for letting me do that, by the way. I know it's probably annoying to have some newbie looking over your shoulder."

"Nah, it's fine," Shein assured. "Better to know what you're getting into before you put in your papers."

Montserrat nodded. She looked down at her phone for a quick second then smiled. "Would either of you know where Morgan's Barbecue is?"

~0~

As much as they offered, Montserrat reassured the Homicide detectives that she was fine eating dinner on her own. She was tired anyways so she wasn't sure if she'd even eat inside or just do take out in her hotel.

She had to admit the restaurant was nice, though. Its lights were dim to give it a nightly look, but gave off a relaxing atmosphere from the moment one stepped inside. When Montserrat saw bar right on the side, she immediately pictured Rafael coming in at least four times a week. The stock looked pretty full...and good.

She eventually found herself drifting towards the bar counter after having enough of looking around. From there, she looked at the menu and, to her delight, found that there was indeed many barbecue options. After ordering, she started going through the wine selection and was surprised to see so many options. They seemed to have a lot on whiskey so of course Rafael would know the place.

"Now I know why you came here," she mumbled her thought about Rafael. He could get over the barbecue because of what was at the bar. She was so focused on choosing a drink, she didn't notice someone taking a seat beside her.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Montserrat, of course, flinched and looked up from the menu to find a blonde sitting next to her stool. "Me?"

The man nodded. "Who else? You're the only pretty redhead in this place."

Montserrat cleared her throat and offered one polite smile. "Thanks, but...no thanks."

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"No, but I'm not interested. I've got...things going on." What things Montserrat spoke about she had no idea, but neither did the man anyways.

"I'm James," the man first introduced himself, giving Montserrat the indication he was not leaving soon. "I come here every week, so believe me I know the best drinks here."

"Well, my friend probably came here everyday so I'll just go with his recommendations, thank you," she smiled ever-so-politely as she got up from her stool and picked up her menu and bag, "And just so we're clear, this is my definite no. Don't need to show you my SVU badge, do I?" her snappiness came as a surprise to James but she didn't stop to see his full reaction as she stormed off to take a seat at the very end of the bar.

Okay, maybe she shouldn't have been that snappy since the man hadn't really done anything except ignore her first 'no'.

One of the bartenders, a woman who looked just a bit older than Montserrat, stopped by Montserrat's new seat to chuckle. Montserrat could see the name 'Elise' written on the bartender's name tag. "Nice one. I don't see a lot of snippy women around here. It's like they're too scared of being mean or something."

"Well, I'm a bit guilty right now, so…" Montserrat admitted.

"Oh don't be," Elise waved a hand to the side. "That guy's in here every night trying to pick up women. And let me tell you-" she leaned an elbow on the counter, "-that he is not interested in dating, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, well in that case, screw him," Montserrat nodded, making the bartender chuckle.

Elise gave an approving nod of her head. "What can I get you, then?"

"Honestly," Montserrat put a hand over the closed menu on the counter, "I have no idea. I'm from Manhattan and, really, the only reason I'm here is because a friend who used to live here in Brooklyn told me I should come here. Though now that I think more about it, I assume he only ever came in here for drinks than actual dinner. Rafael's more of a eat-while-on-the-job guy than actual breakfast, lunch and dinner."

Elise seemed to pause for a second, something Montserrat caught but wasn't sure how to ask about it. Luckily, Elise spoke up after a few seconds of pondering. "You wouldn't happen to be talking about Rafael Barba, would you?"

Montserrat blinked, and somehow nodded slightly. "...yeah...how did you…?"

Elise smiled at the woman's confusion. "You said SVU before and then Manhattan, plus what you mentioned about a friend living in Brooklyn? The name was just a bonus."

"Wow, maybe you're the detective in this conversation," Montserrat tilted her head, honestly impressed by the woman.

Elise laughed for a moment, but Montserrat seemed dead serious which just made Elise laugh even more. "Okay, you're definitely his type."

Instead of snapping like she usually tended to, Montserrat quietly sighed and closed her eyes. "I'm not…" she didn't even bother with the same response. She opened her eyes and came at it from another angle. "Can I ask you something?" Elise nodded her head. "I literally said 'friends' like two or three times so...why would you say something like that to me?"

"What -- the being 'his type' thing?" Elise asked and Montserrat nodded. "Rafael used to come here every night, literally every night, when he worked for the Brooklyn DA's office. So believe me when I tell you I know him very well."

"Were you and him…?" Montserrat found herself asking and when she realized it, she felt a warmth on her face. "Sorry. Didn't mean to ask that…"

Elise just smiled again. "Nah. We just really bonded over what drinks were the best. Though due to his profession I lost almost every argument."

"He's snippy but not impossible to win, believe me," Montserrat said all too proudly. "I've won a few rounds against him."

"I believe that based on how you got rid of that guy earlier," Elise smirked. "I told Rafael he'd meet his match sooner or later. Too bad it's not yet happened, huh?"

Montserrat was more pensive than she would've liked to be. As Elise recommended some of the drinks she thought were good, Montserrat's head was somewhere else - more specifically on someone else.

~ 0 ~

"Okay, just, please change if you get a stain or something," Kara trailed after Sonny into the bullpen, ignoring his looks for her to stop talking and the others' amused smiles.

Sonny went straight to his desk and plopped down, but that didn't stop Kara either. She was a woman with a plan today and she was getting things done. "And you said you'd be out by 7:00, right?"

"I guess," Sonny shrugged.

"What's going on, Carisi?" Amanda just couldn't stop smiling at the pair. "You had lunch for an hour, what could you possibly have done in that hour?"

"Nothing," Sonny scowled, and thankfully Kara was still there to clarify.

"I'm just making sure everything's good for Montse's birthday," the woman smiled excitedly.

"Oh right, that's today," Amanda looked to Fin and Nick, all three realizing it was indeed Montserrat's birthday today.

"Yup! And I'm expecting everyone at eight o'clock today. It's Montse's favorite restaurant," Kara wagged a finger at them as if she were speaking with children.

"Yeah, but, Montserrat's still away in Brooklyn," Nick thought Kara needed a reminder since the woman was probably going detail-crazy. "What if she's not back today?"

"She said she would be," Kara shrugged. "I don't think she needs more than 2 days to realize Brooklyn ain't happening."

"How are you so sure?" asked Fin.

"Because I'm Montse's best friend and I know she's not going to stay in Brooklyn," Kara seemed very sure of herself they almost believed it. "So-" she clapped her hands together, "-we're all set for eight, right?"

"Set for what?" Olivia asked as she'd only caught the last part of Kara's question.

Kara looked back to see her and Rafael coming into the bullpen. She grinned, though, because now she had all of them in one place. "Montserrat's birthday, remember?"

The two in question looked at each other then nodded.

"Yes, what about it?" Rafael was the one to ask.

"What do you mean?" Kara raised an eyebrow. "It's today."

"Yes, and she asked us, many times, not to celebrate it," Rafael reminded her, looking pretty serious in that he'd be following the request.

"But that's what everyone says," Kara rolled her eyes.

"But she means it," Olivia said, internally sighing because she knew without a proper explanation Kara would never give up this birthday party. "And that's what Rafael and I are going to do."

"You're not coming?" Kara's face fell but was quickly replaced with offence. "Neither of you?"

The two shook their heads. Behind Kara, the rest of the squad exchanged confused looks amongst each other.

"It's what Montserrat wanted," Rafael reminded once again but with a touch more annoyed.

"Oh of course you're going to listen to her," Kara waved him off. "You still want to get into her good graces."

"I decided that a long time ago. I don't need your incessant shouting for us to do something Montserrat specifically asked us not to."

Seeing Kara getting actually mad, Sonny shot up from his seat with the intention of removing the stressor - which in this case, unfortunately, was his girlfriend. "Kara, let me take you to your car."

"Fine," Kara said and only because she was on a tight schedule. She let Sonny walk her towards the exit but she stopped at Rafael's side. "But you and I both know that Montserrat would want you to come. And you want to be there anyways."

The glare Rafael was giving Kara wasn't something anyone wanted to be caught under, but Kara just smirked and went on her way rather proudly.

Sonny mumbled a quick 'sorry' to Rafael as he followed Kara out into the hallway. Of course once they were out of hearing shot, he had a go with Kara. "You can't do stuff like that!"

Kara just rolled her eyes while she waited for the elevator to open. When they finally did, Sonny blocked the way inside with an arm.

"I'm serious, Kara. That wasn't okay!"

Kara's eyes flickered to the detective, getting annoyed by the second. "Let me go through, right now. I have plans I can't be late for." With a sigh, Sonny did but he followed her in. Kara pressed the down button then stepped back and allowed a heavy silence to fall on them for a couple seconds. "I'm not choosing to be an ass, you know."

Sonny still lightly sighed. "I didn't say that-"

"-no, but you're thinking it."

"No," Sonny said loudly for it to be clearly clarified. "I just disagree with how you're taking this whole...situation. I don't think it's your place-"

"-my best friend is in Brooklyn right now, thinking about staying to live there!" Kara exclaimed and walked out the moment the elevator door opened again. "I have to do something and, unfortunately for Rafael, he's the only one I can think of who can stop Montse. And you know why, Sonny, so stop pretending like those two are."

"Okay," Sonny put his hands on Kara's shoulders, hoping to calm her down before she left the building. Now that he saw where her mind was, he could help better. "You don't want Montse to leave and that's completely understandable. What's not going to work, however, is you harassing both Montse and Rafael. It's not going to end well and you know that."

"I'm desperate here!" Kara frowned. "I don't want her to leave, and much less run away from someone. Doesn't it feel like that?"

Sonny bobbed his head while he considered the idea. "On some level, sure, but...we can't be 100% sure about it. We'll just have to wait for Montserrat to come back and tell us her decision. In the meantime, let's just make sure she has a nice welcome back party."

"It's a birthday party," Kara pointed.

"Well she didn't want that so let's call it a welcome back party or she might just hurt us."

"Good point," Kara nodded.

"So...we good…?"

Kara's smile said it all. "Yeah." She let him hug her tightly for a few minutes before it was time for her to really go.

~ 0 ~

"Just out of curiosity, will you be going to this party?" Rafael simply could not help himself with the matter. He watched Olivia drop her things at her desk and give him quite a look.

"I thought you were smarter than this," she said bluntly. "Of course not. I respect Montserrat's wishes and I wished everyone else did too." Now it was Rafael's to give her a look. She noticed it after sitting down. "What?"

Rafael tilted his head at her, continuing to stare at her until she shifted in her seat. "You know more than I do."

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not getting what he meant. "What?"

"You're the only one actually not going," Rafael continued with his words, letting Olivia wallow in confusion for the next minute, "And that can only mean you know exactly why Montserrat hates her birthday. Like Casey."

Olivia shook her head, doing that noise with her mouth that Rafael had come to learn was her 'You got me but I'm not admitting' noise.

"Casey's also not attending," he said for her sake. "What is it that made you and Casey so trustworthy that Montserrat decided to confide in only you two?"

Though Olivia would never openly admit that he was right, she did turn her gaze back on him. "Why do you sound so bothered by it?"

"No so much 'bothered' as I am tired of this same subject."

"Look, I cannot say anything except what you already know. And what we know is that this party will only hurt Montserrat, and us attending - just as everyone else - will only show that we don't care what she decided."

While that sounded logical, Rafael had to disagree. He didn't say it because there was no point. Olivia knew what he didn't, and no matter how much he asked her, she would never tell him because Montserrat wouldn't tell him.

But there was this idea of his that compelled him to do the opposite of what Olivia and Casey were planning. Sure, Montserrat would hate anyone who attended this godforsaken party, but if he, Olivia and Casey didn't go then she would be stuck with the clueless people who believed she wanted the party. At least if one of them went, they could help her out.

~ 0 ~

When Montserrat entered her apartment, it was a literal twenty minute hug-fest from Kara. Montserrat felt truly loved in that moment, as well as a little claustrophobic.

"I'm just so glad you're back!" Kara exclaimed as Montserrat was finally able to peel her off. "And happy birthday!"

As Kara went for another hug, Montserrat dove to the side and wheeled her suitcase towards the hallway. "Thanks, but...please don't."

"Oh c'mon, don't go to your room," Kara tailed after the ginger down the hallway. "Let's go out for some drinks. My treat."

"I'm not in the mood for it, Kara," Montserrat opened her bedroom door and walked in, along with Kara.

"But it'll be fun! And relaxing! Plus, you can tell me about Brooklyn. You can start with whether or not you'll be moving."

Montserrat sighed as she brought her suitcase to her bed. "I just...Kara, I've said this before over and over...I don't like my birthday. I'd really rather stay in my room."

"Well that's just depressing," Kara folded her arms over her chest. "And I'm not leaving until you say you'll get drinks with me."

"You're being extra childish today," Montserrat took notice. "Who pissed you off today?"

Kara would love to say it was her almost boyfriend but she knew if she did Montserrat would never agree to going out. "I'm a little upset you won't come out with me, that's all."

With another sigh, Montserrat turned to her roommate. "I'm sorry. I really did miss you, though."

A smile returned to Kara's face. "Then c'mon! Let's go out! Couple drinks and then we can come home."

Montserrat nearly rolled her eyes. She knew this 'drink night' was really Kara's surprise party that wasn't such a surprise. She did have to hand it to Kara in that she was persistent and thoughtful. She should be more grateful, she knew, but her birthday still felt...wrong. Like, what was she meant to celebrate? Her rapist was still out there, living his own life, while she had to switch jobs, move cities, make new friends.

But you did have some good times, she thought after a moment.

Yes, she did switch jobs but she did find SVU to be a good place. The city was okay too. And her new friends? Yeah, they were good too. She couldn't deny she hadn't been handed some good things this year but...it was hard to focus just on that when the bad was so...impacting.

"Montse?" Kara was now putting her hands together to plead. "Let's go out, yeah? For a little bit?"

"I'm going to regret this," Montserrat mumbled under her breath before agreeing.

Kara was ecstatic and, to Montserrat's surprise, she already had an outfit in mind for the night. Though after a moment, Montserrat realized she should've seen this coming. Still, she told herself to be prepared for this party and its livelihood she wasn't quite ready for.

~0~

Montserrat's mind raced the moment she stepped into the restaurant. Everyone screamed 'Surprise!' and while they cheered for her and wished her a happy birthday, Montserrat kept a tight smile on her face as she thanked each person. It shouldn't have been that hard considering these were people she liked. There was Sonny, Fin, Amanda, Nick...there was Madison and Caroline. Her father was even there, sans Damian, Gael and his daughters.

"Yeah they're still away on that seminar," Montserrat's father said after giving her a hug. "But he wishes you a happy birthday too."

"Thanks Dad," Montserrat said.

"How does it feel being 30 now?" He picked up his glass of bourbon from the table.

"Honestly, not that great," Montserrat knew that was as much as she could say without lying.

He didn't get it of course. "Yeah, I remember that one. But this doesn't mean you're old, sweetie. Just means a new chapter of your life is starting." Montserrat nodded, listening to his words but as seconds passed by she felt like she had to breathe harder. "Could be that this is the year you finally settle down…"

"Oh, Dad…" Montserrat knew this topic definitely wouldn't help her feel any better.

"I'd like some more grandkids, dear--"

Montserrat nearly choked on her saliva. A certain memory was popping into her mind and it was not letting her breathe easily. As her dad went on and on about new grandchildren, Montserrat started to feel like she was going to drown. Eventually, she just couldn't do it. "Sorry Dad, I gotta go." She turned away and made a hasty stride for the entrance doors. She practically shoved some people out of the way, ignoring their dirty looks, till she could see the doors. Her heart was racing and she honestly felt like if she didn't breathe in fresh air she would pass out.

Am I having an anxiety attack? Montserrat realized this was a possibility. It never really manifested past biting her nails but it certainly wasn't impossible. She had feared her birthday for months and now that it was finally here she was spiraling.

She practically slammed the doors behind her and leaned against them, breathing hard and fast but at least she was outside now. Oh dear Lord help me. She closed her eyes for a moment and focused on just breathing.

"Montserrat?"

Montserrat nearly fell from the door - if that was even possible considering she'd been leaning against it - but got her balance in time. She saw Rafael cautiously approaching her, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her. "You came…"

"Yes, and I know you didn't want this--" Rafael made a nod at the restaurant where they could hear the loud party going on, "--but I'm not here as a guest."

"You're not?" She leaned away from the door and looked him over. He wore a white collar shirt with a dark jacket and matching pants. "Because you're dressed like one."

"I could say the same about you," he countered with the same accusing tone she used, only his came with a smirk.

Montserrat wore a sleeveless, tight, black dress that hugged her body and ended a bit above her knees. There was a golden necklace around her neck, bringing some attention to her plunging neckline. Her red lips didn't smile nor smirk like they usually would.

"It wasn't my choice," she frowned. "Kara had everything planned…everything."

"You don't look good…" he noted her nervousness, accompanied with a frantic glance at the restaurant.

"Yeah, I'm not," she didn't hesitate to confirm. "I'm, well…"

"Not good?"

"Yeah," she bit her lower lip. She awkwardly folded her arms over her chest. "I thought I could handle it but it turns out that I can't, and if I don't get out of here I'm going to lose it."

Even though it was a quick paced ramble, Rafael followed perfectly. "Do you want to go home? You know that's why I came. I may not know what's going on but I would like to help you."

Montserrat could appreciate that and she would take it. She glanced at the restaurant before deciding she really did need to go. "Let's have drinks. Somewhere away from here."

"Are you sure--"

"--yes," she said rapidly. "Let's go!"

Well, he wouldn't argue with that. She looked like she would chew someone's head off at the first chance she got and he was not putting himself on the line. Luckily for her, he was an expert at knowing places that had great drinks.

Once Montserrat was in the presence of a new, peaceful restaurant she seemed to act more like herself. "Thank you." Her gratitude was so quiet Rafael almost missed it.

"Of course."

The two had sat down at a particularly empty bar counter. They'd already ordered some drinks and were just waiting.

"So you came to this party just to...help?"

Rafael bobbed his head. "More or less. My logic was that I'd be the only one who knew you actually hated the damn party so I could actually help you out."

"Well thank you," Montserrat honestly said, and meant it too. Who knows where she could've ended up if he hadn't shown up. "I needed it."

The bartender passed by to hand out their drinks at the same time. Rafael picked his up first and with a light smirk on his face he said, "Not-so happy birthday to you."

Montserrat chuckled as she picked up her own drink to clink with his. "Sure."

"Thirty is an awful year."

"Really? You still remember yours?"

Rafael rolled his eyes. He took a drink from his glass then set it down to reach for something inside his jacket. "Even though it's not a wanted birthday, I hope you'll accept this."

Montserrat's eyes blinked when he set down a small rectangular black box on the counter. "Please tell me you didn't actually buy something…"

"My mother would kill me if I went to a birthday party without bringing a present," Rafael said and looked dead serious about it too.

"I gotta meet your mother some time," Montserrat smirked for a moment then looked down at the present again. "But, I mean, you shouldn't have. And I know that's what a lot of people say and don't mean it but in this case I do. You shouldn't have because I said I didn't even want a birthday."

"But I'm happy you made it to another birthday. It's a small win but an important one nonetheless. And I don't know what your year was like before coming to Manhattan but I am glad you made it here."

Montserrat blushed against her better instinct. "Wow, didn't think you could say things like that." Rafael frowned for a moment, about to ask what she meant by that when she spoke up again, "... I'm staying at SVU." She rested her arms on either side of her drink.

The sweet smile on her face unintentionally reminded Rafael of a time, months ago, when they had drinks together after working their first case; though now Montserrat had shorter hair and was far more comfortable with him. Whether or not he'd wanted to, he ended up smiling as well.

"What made you decide that?"

"Honestly? It's just not the same as Manhattan," Montserrat shrugged. "Everyone's nice there, but...I like it here."

"I did say Brooklyn wasn't as nice as Manhattan," Rafael picked up his glass again to take a drink.

"Well, there were some things that...were good," Montserrat had a secret smile on her face that grew when she said, "I, uh, went to that restaurant you suggested and wouldn't you know it? I met your old friend, Elise."

Rafael choked on the alcohol in his mouth. "What?" came the scratchy voice a second later.

"Yeah," Montserrat started bobbing her head. "She remembered you and she had a lot of stories to tell."

"Don't…"

"Should we start with June 2012? The day you-"

"-I said don't, Montserrat," Rafael warned. Even the way he said her name had become sharp, but not at all terrifying. In fact, she started to laugh instead.

It didn't stop her from re-telling all the stories Elise had confided in her. And boy was there a few. With each story, it got harder for Montserrat to say it without laughing...until she just couldn't stop.

"And here I thought you went to Brooklyn for work," Rafael sourly said, side-glancing her laughing figure. He had to admit, however, that he preferred this Montserrat over the version he had earlier. She was happier, livelier...just her.

"I did, I did, but-" Montserrat couldn't help it. She just couldn't do it. She brought a hand up to her mouth to cover her laughter, but she had to lean away to get all of it out.

"Happy birthday I guess," Rafael raised his glass to the air as if toasting before taking a last drink.

"Okay! Okay! Okay! I'm done! I promise!" she had to take in a deep breath in hopes of finally calming herself down. "Here, let's switch subjects." She raised her hands to show she was done, or at least that she was going to try and be done. She noticed his present was still sitting on the counter, unopened, and that just couldn't be. "I know what'll help."

"Will it though?" Rafael sent her a hard look that subsided once she smiled again. She really had a knack for that smiling thing. Her nose seemed to crinkle each time.

Montserrat ignored his snippy question, as well as his look, in favor of the present. When she took its lid off, she found a rose-gold necklace inside with a pendant in the shape of a ballerina. The ballerina was in a dance pose - one foot on the other leg - with her skirt outlined with silver stones.

"That is...beautiful," Montserrat gawked with widened eyes. "This could not have been a $20 gift."

"You are not guilt-tripping me for this," Rafael warned, but she could see he was shifting in his stool. She was right.

"I can't take this," she shook her head. "It had to have been expensive. I can't--"

"Well, you have to because I'm not taking it back," he looked her dead in the eyes and told her the same thing with them. "It's for you." Montserrat opened her mouth as if to protest but...there wasn't much to do if he'd already decided against it. "It's for you and your ballet dancing dreams."

The fact Rafael still remembered that she'd once said she'd originally wanted to become a dancer was...it made her feel special.

She smiled so widely it could've cracked her face in two. "Can't believe you remember that."

"I remember everything you say," he said matter-of-factly then smiled for a brief moment, "Even when you're yelling it at me." She chuckled but gave that to him.

"Thank you," she said softly. She drew her hands to the back of her neck and unfastened the necklace she was already wearing. She put it down on the counter and gingerly picked up the new necklace.

"You need help?" Rafael asked her after watching her trying and failing to put on the necklace on her own.

"Please," she said and handed him the necklace. "But don't break it. You break it, you buy it."

"Because I haven't already done that?" He got up from his seat like she did.

She turned away and raised her hair off her back, giving him perfect access. As his hands moved forwards on each side of her neck, she could smell whiffs of his cologne. Each time she smelled it, she remembered she loved it. Get ahold of yourself Montserrat, she berated herself. She always did this. Every time. Without fail. Like it was a--

Rafael's fingers had brushed along her skin. He hadn't meant to, of course, but it was impossible to avoid.

Oh dear Lord. Montserrat felt chills and she really wished she could stop acting like a teenage girl but it was so difficult.

Putting a necklace on someone shouldn't be taking so long, but for some reason Rafael doddled with the task. He could smell Montserrat's perfume from where he stood and each time he did he felt like backing away was out of the question. He couldn't budge from his spot even when he was more than unprofessionally close to her. He'd never stand that close to, say, Olivia? Or Amanda?

But Montserrat was different. She always was. Whether it was her ability to keep up with his mouth or handle his snark, she always had something to throw back at him. It was like she had the perfect talent - the perfect ability - that allowed her to pull the right strings with him. And he really liked it...but it was really wrong. When his fingers touched her skin, he felt her flinch in surprise. Yet when he set the necklace on her and let his fingers stroke down her exposed skin, she didn't shy away from it.

Montserrat turned around to face him and let her hair fall back over her shoulders. "How does it look?" She asked, raising her head to give him a better view of her necklace, though Rafael could see a little more than just her neck.

"...good," he said, sounding like he needed more air. Even his nodding was off. Maybe Montserrat knew why, maybe she didn't...but she probably did. "We...should probably go," Rafael's suggestion went right over Montserrat's head.

"It's not that late, is it?" She stepped closer to him, if it was even possible, and brought her hands to his chest.

Rafael was pretty sure it wasn't late but that's not what he was going for. For someone who rarely felt nervousness, this was probably his worst case. She smelled absolutely delicious, and if he got into how she looked right now...I'm losing it. How the hell am I losing it?

Montserrat smiled sweetly and unknowingly answered his question. He watched her fingers stroke circles over his chest, playing a wicked game with him. His hand suddenly snatched one of her wrists and after taking her second one, Montserrat thought enough was enough. She kissed him.

It was surprising but Rafael wasn't ready to pull away. Her lips tasted of alcohol and when he put his hands on her waist he discovered she was curvy. He wrapped his arms around her, unknowingly reminding Montserrat that, apart from his scent, she loved the feeling of his arms. It was probably the first thing she ever noticed about him. Back when she was his witness, 9 months pregnant, he'd caught her in a moment of imbalance. He was able to once again see the very light freckles under her eyes and she saw the flecks of brown in his green eyes. He was strong, and the way he held her made her feel...protected? She didn't know if that was the right description, but it was close enough. To have him back, like this, was even better.

The two seemed to find their fit with each other in a matter of seconds (which, if they'd been more in-tune with reality, they would've been surprised by). It could've been minutes of beautiful bliss if someone's cell phone hadn't gone off.

Rafael was in a daze as he got to his phone in his pocket. He wasn't even sure if he'd actually answered it but upon hearing Sonny's voice on the other end of the line, reality started settling again. Montserrat watched him with more or less of the same daze in her eyes.

"Have I seen Montserrat?" He repeated what he was being asked. He saw Montserrat silently shake her head, almost looking like a plead. "No. I didn't even go." Rafael scrunched his face for a second, looking like he was getting irritated by the second. "I know what I said, Carisi, but I didn't! Go find her yourself!" He ended the call with that snap and turned away from Montserrat. He pressed his hands on the bar counter and leaned forwards, closing his eyes for a moment.

She recognized the look on his face. It was regret. And it hurt.

"I'm sorry, Montserrat," he apologized quietly. She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off before she could say anything, "It's unprofessional. And it's…" he leaned away from the bar counter and faced her once more. He looked her over, wishing nothing more than to have her all to himself.

But it wasn't right.

Least that's what he kept telling himself over and over.

Montserrat, being who she was, couldn't take his words without protest. "You can't tell me this after a kiss like that. You want me like I want you." The fact the words slipped through her lips so easily didn't even faze her at the moment. She'd need a few hours.

"Yes, but it's not--" Rafael forced himself to stop before he got more upset. He took a deep breath in and started again, though he knew he had to keep it short so that he could get the hell out of there without falling back. "It just wouldn't work. Your age, our jobs...the way we are with each other? It just can't."

Montserrat's eyes widened slightly at his words but only briefly before anger started settling across her face. That was the moment Rafael knew he had to leave. He knew if he faced her while she showed clear pain that he caused, he would not be able to leave her. At least with anger he could tell himself she'd hate him and that'd be the end of that. If he was lucky, maybe it would work out that way.

Either way, he didn't know because he finally walked out.

He was right, though, because Montserrat only spent a few minutes in rage before anguish sought her.

#ocappreciation #svu #rafael barba #svu fics #rafael barba fics #svu imagines #oc: Montserrat Novak #fic: dare to forget me

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

The good Villain - 1

Pairing: Loki x Reader (eventually) Content for series: Murder, crime, violence, angst, lots of gore, sadness, trauma, innuendos, sexual themes (maybe even detailed - we’ll see), political undertones (not a lot), Avengers, Guardians, Captains, Asgardians (of sorts), loneliness, desperation, humour (attempts, at least), friends in unlikely places. A/N: Based on the prompt “You’re the villain and you know that you just want the ‘good guys’ to understand why”. Let’s just say that a loooot will happen, but I hope to keep it relatively short.

… Reader …

The translation is delayed by a second, but long enough for the Terran to scrunch her eyebrows in concern. “On a scale from zero to ten, where ten is the worst imaginable…how bad is the pain?”

Right now, you can remember a lot of different injuries and neither they nor the current one are anywhere close to real agony. That kind of pain, the kind that takes over your body in a rush until there is nothing else, they are rarely physical in origin unlike the thumping ache in your arm.

“Three,” you answer, bending to study the odd angle of the limb, “can you heal it?”

She seems puzzled by the question even as she makes note on a chart before ripping off the paper and sends you on the way with it to something, she calls an “Ex Ray”. What is it now if not a ray? Deciding not to worry about that for now, you follow the line on the floor she has told you to follow.

… Loki …

The conference room is eerily silent as each Avenger studies the files Carol Danvers has sent. Now and then someone sighs, or Romanova whistles softly as a way to express that she (for once) is impressed – although not in a positive way. Everyone on the team has seen their share of horrors, created at the hands of criminals and maniacs alike. Very, very rarely have they gotten close to something of this level of cruelty.

“Don’t….don’t check out ‘ny o’the appendixes,” Stark croaks with a shudder.

Mortals, Loki rolls his eyes, always so weak. Scrolling rapidly through the data, he reaches the part they have been warned about. Images, perfectly sharp and with small descriptive texts and arrows to help the person studying the information in case it proves difficult to identify what is what. His stomach churns, bubbling threateningly until he can taste the sour tang in the back of his mouth. By the ancients.

“Carol thinks it…she…the killer’s here?” The normally brave Wilson appears ashen as he closes the device.

“Yeah, hopping from planet to planet…” Rogers pauses briefly before completing the sentence, “killing and burning children and anyone who gets in the way…”

Not even I committed such atrocities. It is of little comfort, of course, for the Asgardian to have found someone more hated than himself. Still, he cannot help but wonder what demented reasoning is causing the Betan to inflict such madness, although he is loathing to grant her evil ways the benefit of the doubt.

“Why kids and why those kids?”

There is no answer for Barnes’ question, though, so it is added to the list of information they need to obtain while hunting down the villainous female.

… Reader …

Considering the primitive methods of healing (well, anything), it seems improbable to you that Terrans have managed to not just survive but thrive for as long as they have. The healers have done the best they could after you refused surgery. Now your arm has been set, fixed, and wrapped in in a clumsy cast that will prove an additional challenge in and of itself – however, you are already plotting how to improve the situation with a few upgrades of your own.

As you navigate the crowded streets of the city, you keep an eye out for the reason you are here: Leeches. Soul Leeches, to be exact. Once a respectable commander of the Rescue Forces of Sirius Beta, your first encounter with the invasive species had almost wiped out your entire crew because their manner of proliferating is…sneaky. Even now, the terror-fueled respect has your skin crawling as shadows turn into monsters dressed up as innocent charades.

And here? Oh, this is a playground for the Leeches. Adults and younglings mingling closely, all with empty eyes glued to little screens or their ears filled by sound-emitting devices. Hermits drifting in a sea of people. Not that you are overly sociable yourself, but unfortunately that type of numb behaviour makes it a lot harder to identify the victims, the Leeches, and those untouched.

First things first, though. You need a place to crash and reconsider your course of action. The planet holds other dangers, such as the non-automated vehicle. What other planets still use manual transportation devices? It’s ridiculous!

… Loki …

Despite the black umbrella, Loki’s trouser-legs are drenched. The rain is carpet bombing the asphalt, bouncing back up with the dirt and grime of the busy city. Still, the only way the horrible weather affects the hustle and bustle of the citizens is merely by making them marginally grumpier, their own umbrellas becoming improvised weapons if someone moves too slowly through the downpour. No one pays attention to the God of Mischief and Chaos as he stands by the mouth of the alley.

Blind fools. As opposed to his brother who has come to adore the Midgardians, Loki rarely considers them anything but dimwitted bordering on useless. It is no wonder, then, that they are continuing through their life without paying attention to the danger lurker among them.

Since Danvers brought the case to the Avengers, newly including him, the Betan has been working quite efficiently. She has struck at random, already killing four children and most of their families. In one instance the infant brother had been spared – left outside the neighbour’s door as though the murderer suddenly had grown a conscience. Impossible. Sympathy and conscience is lost, worn away by the callous acts rather than the other way around. But what could explain why the baby was spared, then?

“Get outta ‘ere!”

The angry voice makes the slender man turn to find the origin, spotting a small grocer yelling at someone. Fist raised, a broom grabbed hard in the other hand, he appears to be more of a threat than his victim is willing to take on although instincts clash for an instant – wanting to escape attention while simultaneously unwilling to risk the wrath of the weather (a task that seems paradoxical with the sea-coloured hair).

Tilting the umbrella slightly, it is possible to observe the dash from one inadequate shelter to the other. She. Few males on this planet move as this person does especially when encumbered with a cast on one arm and a heavy laden grocer’s bag on the other. Just as the woman reaches the corner at the opposite end of the intersection, her stride falters as if controlled by an outside force and her body turns. As if in slow motion, inhumanely black eyes lock onto the small shape of a child who is following closely behind the parents and the mouth twitches to avoid contorting into a sneer…but the next second the woman slips around the corner while the oblivious family continues.

Coincidences do happen, just like accidents do. Sometimes. Thriving on chaos, however, means that Loki is intimately aware of how rare true randomness is.

The sleek phone presses softly against his ear, and he finds himself to be holding the breath until the dialing tone is broken.

“What’s up, reindeer games?”

“I believe I’ve seen our killer.”

#loki x reader #Loki fanfiction #Loki mcu #Loki x you #Loki Avenger #loki odinson #reader insert #reader #Loki #Mcu #mcu Fanfiction #The good Villain #Prompt #Mcu Fanfic #Avengers #Crime and mystery #more tags to come

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tenzoyamato · 4 years

Note

Kase waited outside the door to the men's Anbu changing room, her hands fiddling nervously with the hem of her new black uniform shirt. She had been going over everything she knew about the man she was waiting for in her head.

Tenzo. Call sign Cat. He had previously served under Captain Kakashi as a member of Team Ro before being promoted to captain himself. He was the only wood style shinobi in the village and his origin was unknown.

It put her at ease a bit to think that that he was like her that way. Granted, her past was a bit less of a mystery, but she hoped that meant he wouldn't be like so many others who gave her scathing glances and muttered "outsider" when she walked by.

She reached down to touch the still unfamiliar weight of the Anbu mask hanging down on her thigh and closed her eyes, trying to keep her breathing from speeding up and making her nerves worse as she waited to report her assignment to the Mokuton user.

-@katsaguri-kase-rp

The Mokuton user was currently gearing up, pulling on his gloves and placing his arm guards, the final touches to his uniforms ensemble were made. Today was important, he was to recive a new member to his team. Although he read her file once the the night before, he figured he would give it another read over for accuracies sake.

Taking the file from out of his locker, Cat skims over her abilities to memorize them. Chakra Nature: Water & Lighting. Age: 17. Strengths In Order: Stealth, Taijutsu, Genjutsu & Ninjutsu. As he continued to read on, he noted that her specialties were sealing jutsus and ninja tools. It was quite an extensive and impressive list of capabilities that she had at her disposal and would be beneficial to the team he was putting together for himself.

Moving further, he rereads that she wasn't orginally from Konoha but was raised in the village since age six after being found in the woods near a village at the edge of the Land of Lightning. It wasn't that concerning of a detail for the recently promoted Anbu Captain, even though he was warned by his Commander about the possibility of espionage. Tenzō took the information with a grain of salt, considering his own past with Root and how much he was distrusted for his first three years within the Black Ops.

Once satisfied that he had retained enough information from the file, Cat replaces it back inside his locker and shuts the door before spinning his combination. He then reaches for his mask along his waist belt and unfastened it to place over on the side of his head for easy access. Adjusting his uniform once more and taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for introductions to his first recruit under his command.

Cat was nervous, and though he had no reason to be given his abilities and tenure with Anbu, it was still a hefty weight of responsibility being placed on his shoulders. He didn't want to fail them, and he especially did want harm to come to them under his charge. Faliure wasn't an option as death would be imminent if they weren't careful.

"I suppose I should go find her now..." he softly to himself before taking one more deep breath and making his way towards the locker room doors. Upon opening them and stepping out, he almost runs into a woman standing just outside.

"Oh! I beg your pardon, Miss... I uh... I wasn't expecting anyone to be standing outside of the doors." There is a hint of embarrassment expressing on his features amongst the remorse in his voice as he excuses him with a polite apologetic bow of respect. It isn't until he stands upright to look at her that he notices she is his new recruit.

"Kestrel, right?" Cat calls her by sign as it's unprofessional to use real names when your mask is on your person unless you're of higher rank. "I'm Captain Yamato, or Cat if you will. Welcome to Team Chi. Unfortunately, it only consists of you and myself at this moment."

Shifting his weight on his feet slightly, the brunette places his hands on his hips and gives her a quick size up. "Why don't we head out to the training fields and we'll see what you can do? Reading about it is one thing, but seeing it in action is completely different." Cat explains with a small welcoming smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Along the way, you can tell me a little about yourself. If you're alright with that, of course... I'd like to hear it from your prospective, rather than read the boring way they write about people's history in files. It will also help me gauge your personality better."

@katsaguri-kase-rp

#Kase & Tenzō #Anbu AU

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haledamage · 4 years

Text

The Officer’s Ball

It’s finally finished! at just over 9000 words, this ended up waaaay longer than I expected it to. thanks again to @queen-scribbles, both for the encouragement and for all your lovely posts about Keme and Jorgan that got me back into SW:TOR and led to this fic. It literally wouldn’t exist without you :)

Vesiya Hallis/Aric Jorgan, sometime in early act 2? After Balmorra but before Hoth, but nothing canon is mentioned anyway so it doesn’t matter.

"Captain Hallis." Ves heard General Garza's voice from the comm as she passed through the room and snapped to attention almost automatically. "Good, I'm glad I caught you before you disembarked."

Those were never good words to hear. "Is there a problem, General?"

"For once, no, there isn't. I'm happy to say I'm calling with possible good news for a change."

Vesiya Hallis had never in her life believed something less than she believed Garza right now, and the general's next words only confirmed her suspicions. "Captain, you may or may not be aware, but there's an annual Officer's Ball being held in about three weeks' time. It's a chance for senators, high-ranking military personnel, and other influential figures of the Republic to socialize outside of work and strengthen the bonds of the Republic's leadership." She was clearly reading from a script or an invitation. "The Senate has asked that Havoc Squad be in attendance this year."

Ves stood in silence for several long moments, staring unflinchingly at the hologram of her commanding officer and waiting for her to say she was just kidding. When that didn’t happen, she said as politely as possible, “With all due respect, sir, don't we have bigger things to worry about than a party?”

“That isn't your decision, Captain,” Garza said, tone sharp, before her posture relaxed just the slightest amount. “Unfortunately, it isn't mine either. I happen to agree with you, but command has made it clear this is not a request.”

“Yes, sir,” Ves said, because there was nothing else she could say. She wasn't going to pick a fight over a party invitation, tempting as it was.

“Good. Oh, and Captain? It's a black tie affair. You may want to invest in a dress. Garza out.”

Vesiya stared at the empty holocomm after Garza ended the call. She stayed until she heard the telltale sound of boots on the durasteel deck of the ship - Dorne’s deliberate footsteps, light but purposeful, coming from the medbay, and Jorgan coming from the armory, his stride faster and determined, but also quieter, still moving like a sniper.

Dammit. They were going to be even less happy about this new development than she was.

-------

“She wants us to what,” Jorgan growled. At the same time, Dorne said, “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Havoc Squad is cordially invited to attend the Officer's Ball,” Ves said with much more enthusiasm than she was actually feeling. "It's in a little more than three weeks, on Coruscant."

"You can't be serious, sir." Jorgan already sounded like he wanted to argue with her about it and was just trying to find the right angle of attack.

"I wish I wasn't." Vesiya leaned a hip against the wall across from both of them. "Garza made it clear that we don't have a choice in the matter. It's an order, from somewhere above her."

"How far above?" Dorne was clearly trying to find a way out of their unwanted shore leave as well, but where Jorgan got angry, Dorne got calculating. Ves could almost hear the numbers running in her head.

"Far enough that she wouldn't tell me who the orders come from." She held up a hand, forestalling more arguments. "For now, we finish the job we're on. We should be able to finish up our business here in the next few days, and then we would be headed back to Coruscant anyway. We'll just stay a little longer than we originally intended."

"I'd like to go on record as being completely against this, sir."

"You and me both, Jorgan." She clapped a hand on his shoulder. He didn't immediately shrug her off, so she was pretty sure he wasn't as angry as he claimed to be - or at the very least, he wasn't blaming her for it. "But unless we want to refuse a direct order, we're just going to have to deal with it."

"We've refused orders before," he said, quietly enough that it was just meant for her, amusement in his voice.

Ves fought to stay serious, but didn't quite succeed. "Don't encourage me, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

-------

Vesiya hated clothes shopping on Coruscant, especially in the Senate districts. No matter where you went it was always too crowded, the shopkeepers either completely ignored you or wouldn’t leave you alone (depending on how many credits they thought you had), and she always had the distinct feeling she was being watched everywhere she went. It had been years since she'd needed anything that required a trip to the upper level markets, and even then it was usually something for her mother, not herself.

Yet here she was, bright and early in the morning, with her squad's expense card and her medical officer.

Dorne was trying her best not to look like a tourist and not quite succeeding. Her eyes darted between the gleaming storefronts to the affluently dressed shoppers to the distant lights of the Senate tower. Even in their civvies, the two of them stood out like a sore thumb - and not only because Ves was one of the few non-humans out shopping today.

"First time on Coruscant, Elara?"

“Yes, sir. Considering my background,” she said vaguely, since they were very much not in a safe place to be specific, “Command thought it unwise to allow me this close to the heart of the Republic.”

Ves bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something rude about Republic Command. Elara had proved her loyalty in every way a person could; she deserved better than the way she was treated. Only a little of her anger leaked into her words when she said, "Maybe at first, sure, but it's been years."

"I'm sure they thought that level of caution was necessary," Elara said lightly. "I take it this isn't your first time here, then."

Ves allowed her the subject change. “I grew up here. My mother is a senator, my father's a retired admiral, my twin brother is SIS, and I have a little brother who's a Jedi. Or a student Jedi, anyway. I'm not entirely sure how it works.” She probably knew all of that, though. It was all in her file; the only part that was classified was Vitrin’s SIS status, and Elara had high enough clearance to have access to that information. “My whole life has orbited around Coruscant.”

"You don't talk much about your family," Elara said quietly.

Ves shrugged. "I was always worried about being judged by their merits instead of my own. The less I talk about them, the more I get to be seen as 'the Commander of Havoc Squad' instead of 'the Admiral’s Daughter.'"

"I can understand that."

"You know, I thought you might." Dorne was a big deal name in the Empire as much as Hallis was in the Republic. It could be hard to grow under such a big shadow, but they were both doing okay. "So what about you?"

Elara hesitated. "I believe I've told you about my family before."

"You have. I meant where are you from? What's it like?"

"I grew up on Dromund Kaas, the Imperial homeworld." Elara sounded like she was giving a report, clipped and professional, like her homeworld held no emotional significance to her any longer. "It's a forest world, steeped in the history of the Empire all the way to its foundations. As for what it's like… well, that would depend on how much you like rain, sir."

Ves grinned at how serious her friend was. Even when they weren't working, she never seemed to fully relax. "You don't have to 'sir' me, Elara. We're off duty. You can just call me by my name."

"Yes, sir… Vesiya."

She laughed at her friend’s awkwardness. "You call call me 'Hallis' if you're more comfortable being on last-name basis. Works for Jorgan."

"I have always wondered about that," Elara said slowly. "I didn't feel it was my place to ask."

"Well, you have my permission to speak freely."

"You and Lieutenant Jorgan seem close," Elara said immediately, as if she'd been holding back on commenting on it for months.

“I… suppose we are,” Ves said carefully. It was an understatement. She and Jorgan had been through hell together and dragged each other out the other side. There was no one she trusted more in the entire galaxy; not even her twin brother came close. He was her best friend and her biggest rival and lately, possibly something more. There had been a few moments that she could feel a real spark between them, but neither of them were quite ready to cross that line yet.

Of course, she couldn’t tell any of this to Elara. Could she? Ves was fairly sure she was breaking some regulation or other just thinking about Jorgan the way she did, much less speaking any of it out loud.

The look Elara gave her said she wasn’t doing a very good job keeping it to herself anyway. She raised an amused eyebrow and continued, “Then why are the two of you still on a last-name basis? You seem to have no issue calling me by my first name.”

"I'm not entirely sure Jorgan knows my first name," Vesiya said dryly, then sighed. "It's… complicated. When we first met, we… butt heads, a little. A lot. He pushed and I pushed back and we were… not antagonistic, but certainly not friendly." She scratched absent-mindedly at her forearm, at a faded burn scar there. She didn't like to think about Ord Mantell. "His joining Havoc Squad involved a demotion and getting put under the command of a rookie. It took us a while to move past that. At this point, I think we're both just waiting for the other one to take that step first." In more ways than one, I think, she added silently.

"With all due respect, sir--Vesiya, you have to be the two most stubborn people I have ever met." It was impossible to tell if Dorne meant that as a compliment or an insult. Maybe both.

Ves took it as a compliment anyway and grinned, wide and proud. "I know. It must really suck to be our enemy." She laced her arm with Elara's and got them moving again before they got swept up in the crowd. "Come on. I thought we were supposed to be having a girls’ day out. Bonding time. There’s this great little noodle place around the corner here, we should stop in once we’re done shopping."

-------

Vesiya stared at herself in the mirror. She wasn't quite sure what she thought of the woman that stared back.

She wore her hair loose for what must be the first time in years, falling in dark red waves past her shoulders. The sleek, pale orange dress she wore complimented her dark green skin, and it was sleeveless and backless, emphasizing the toned muscles of her arms and shoulders. She felt naked without her assault cannon, but she doubted they'd let her waltz into the party with it; maybe she could say it was her plus one.

She looked great. She also looked like a completely different person. She just wished she knew if she wanted to; maybe that was the point.

She sighed and let it go, leaving her quarters to find the others.

“You ready to go?” Ves asked as she stepped into the bunk room. Elara was nowhere to be seen, but across the room, Jorgan was engaged in a battle against his bowtie, and it seemed to be winning.

She took the opportunity quickly look him over.

Some men carried a tux better than others, just like some carried a full suit of armor better. Aric Jorgan, it seemed, could look effortlessly good in both. It was a simple tux, classic black and perfectly tailored, drawing attention to his broad shoulders. His tie, like Ves’s dress and the detailing on Elara’s, was Havoc orange - they may be mingling in high society, but none of them would let anyone forget who they were. It looked very good against his tawny fur.

She shook herself before she got caught staring. “Problems, Lieutenant?”

"I’d like to meet the person who invented these," Jorgan said, not bothering to conceal his annoyance. Not that he ever did. "I have a few choice words for them."

He looked up at her, and the half-tied tie unraveled as soon as his attention drifted from it. He didn't seem to notice. He glanced over her like she'd just done to him; it took him quite a while before he made it back up to her face, but there was clear appreciation in his eyes that made her feel warm everywhere his gaze touched.

He lingered for a long time at her throat, where she wore the necklace he'd given her, the gift to congratulate her on her promotion to Captain. He looked shocked to see it there. Did he not expect her to wear it? Or was he just surprised she was doing so in public?

"Here, let me." Ves said, when it was clear he wasn't going to be the one to break the silence. She took pity on him, taking the poor tie from his hands before he mangled it further. "Look up."

“I hate these parties,” Jorgan grumbled, but he did as she ordered. “I still don't see what good it does anyone to force us all into a room to make small talk for four hours.”

"It's good publicity. Forces the higher-ups to remember that we're people, not just cannon-fodder." Maybe if she said it enough, she'd start to believe it. "And hey, worst case scenario, we piss them off enough that they send us back to war just to get rid of us."

Jorgan scoffed. "Politics." He tried to look down at what she was doing, but she tilted his head back up out of her way with a finger under his chin. "Where did you learn to tie a bowtie?"

"My dad used to go to the Officer's Ball every year until he retired. I always helped him with his, for as long as I can remember. Even went as his date a few times." She remembered how proud she was, walking into the hall on her dad's arm in a dress made entirely of ruffles. "It was a lot more exciting when I was eleven."

"Well, aren't you just full of surprises," Jorgan murmured.

“You have no idea. There.” He tilted his head back down, watching her as she finished straightening his tie. She fixed his collar, trying to ignore the way her fingertips brushed the back of his neck as she did, then smoothed out his jacket. “You clean up nice, Jorgan.” It was an understatement, but she didn't say it.

“Thanks.” He looked like he was going to say more, but he didn't.

Ves hesitated, reluctant to step away from him. She met Jorgan's firm, serious gaze, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him, the calming, steady beat of his heart under her palm, smell the subtle cologne he was wearing.

One of his hands settled on her arm, just above her elbow. Her fingers tightened slightly on the lapels of his jacket. His eyes never wavered from hers. She'd much rather stay right here than go to the ball. What would he say if she told him that?

Ves took a step back, trying not to let her reluctance show. “We should get going.”

"I'll go tell Dorne we're ready to go," Jorgan said after a brief moment of hesitation. He waited until she nodded before turning to leave, only to turn back after three steps. "Hey, Hallis. You look good."

"Thanks." He only made it another step before she called out to him. "Hey, Jorgan? Save me a dance?"

"Count on it." He nodded and left without another word.

-------

The Officer’s Ball was every bit as elegant and extravagant as one would expect from a party for the Republic's elite. Everything was draped in gold and blue, with warm, faux-natural lighting and bouquets of fresh flowers in the center of every table. The tables were set up around the edges of the room, some with chairs and some tall, made for standing at while drinking and making conversation. Serving droids mingled near the walls, holding trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres and desserts. The center of the floor was left open, for dancing or mingling; there were several couples already sweeping across the dance floor. On the opposite side of the room from the door, a small stage was set up with a band playing something gentle enough that it wouldn’t distract from conversation.

Havoc Squad walked into the hall and every eye in the place turned to watch them. They must have been quite a sight, Jorgan standing tall and confident, expression completely stoic, with a beautiful, powerful woman on each arm.

"Not sure why they’re staring," Ves said quietly as eyes continued to follow them as they found their way through the crowds near the door. She tried to avoid looking at any of them, preferring to keep her attention on her squadmates. "I thought that was a pretty subtle entrance by our standards."

"We’ve had subtler, sir," Elara said in the same hushed tone. She was stunning in a bold red dress with pale orange embroidery at the neck, hem, and wrists. More than one person watched her appreciatively as she walked past, but she didn't so much as glance their way.

"Had louder, too," Jorgan muttered. Several people looked his way, too, but he stared them down until they looked away again. "Maybe we should have brought Fourex. Or Vik. That would have gone over well."

Technically, the invitation had been for all of Havoc Squad (minus Fourex, since he was a droid), but after weighing her options, she'd decided she'd get in more trouble bringing Vik than she would leaving him behind. It had been very easy to convince him to stay home; she'd simply told him it was an order to go with them and he was suddenly and conspicuously absent.

Ves had to cover her mouth to quiet her laughter. "Oh, they’d have kicked us out immediately."

"Probably. Might’ve been worth it."

“It would have absolutely been worth it.”

“Perhaps we should keep that strategy in mind next time we’re invited to one of these,” Elara added dryly. She pulled them toward an empty table, one of the tall standing ones close to the dance floor. It was a good vantage point, close enough to the crowds that they could claim they were being sociable but far enough away that they were really only keeping each others’ company.

A droid approached them immediately with drinks. Ves grabbed a tumbler of what turned out to be Alderaanian brandy; the bottle of it probably cost more than her starship did. "Not bad," she said because she knew it would piss off at least one eavesdropper. "Not my favorite, but not bad."

"What do you prefer, then?" Jorgan asked. He'd somehow managed to snag an actual bottle of beer. Ves was extremely jealous.

“Corellian whiskey. Or beer.” She shrugged. “I'm a pretty simple girl.”

“Good to know.”

She smirked slyly, raising an eyebrow at him. “Why? You planning on buying me a drink?”

Jorgan smirked too, but attempted to hide it by taking a sip from his beer. “Well, I would, but I think all the drinks are free.”

It didn’t escape Vesiya’s notice that for the rest of the night, whenever her drink was empty, a bottle of beer would find its way to the table in front of her. Jorgan never said anything about it, so neither did she.

A lot of people stopped by their table to talk to them, mostly generals and admirals that recognized them or senators that they’d worked with in the past, but also some new faces who just wanted a chance to speak with Havoc Squad. Ves did most of the talking. She didn’t like the way people kept side-eyeing Elara as soon as they heard her accent, and of her and Jorgan, she was the more sociable - if only slightly.

Quite a few people approached the three of them with offers to dance. They refused most of them, though after a few glasses of wine, Elara started to relax a little and allowed a few clearly besotted young senators to pull her out onto the dance floor. Ves begrudgingly accepted an equally begrudging offer from Senator Krasul; it was the longest and most painful five minutes of her life, and her life these days mostly involved being actively shot at.

Jorgan wasn't there when she got back to their table, but Elara was.

“Lieutenant Jorgan went to get us some more drinks, I believe,” she said in response to Vesiya's unspoken question. “Looks like you and Senator Krasul were enjoying yourselves.”

“Oh yeah. We're best friends now,” Ves deadpanned. She leaned her elbows on the table; it dipped a little under her weight. “How long do you think we have to stay before it counts as 'making an appearance'?”

“We've barely been here an hour, sir,” Elara pointed out, but she didn’t hide her amusement. “I was under the impression that you liked dancing.”

“I do. In normal circumstances.”

Elara smiled slightly. “I don't think any of us know what 'normal circumstances' look like anymore.”

“You're probably right.” Ves's eyes wandered over the crowd. There really were a remarkable amount of familiar faces, only a few of which were people she knew through her family. Most of them she'd met on Havoc business.

Maybe Havoc Squad belonged here more than they thought they did.

She spotted Jorgan on the other side of the room. He'd been roped into a conversation that he looked to be having trouble escaping. His expression said he'd already run out of patience but was too smart to say so, so he was stuck there holding two bottles of beer and a glass of wine and nodding at whatever was being said to him. Ves wondered how long he'd been there, and if he needed rescuing.

"I've heard rumors that very powerful Force sensitives have the ability to hear a person's thoughts as easily as if they were spoken aloud," Elara said suddenly, in a suspiciously casual tone.

Vesiya sighed, bracing herself. "Why are you telling me this, Elara?"

"As far as I am aware, Lieutenant Jorgan possesses little to no Force sensitivity." She nudged Ves a step forward, away from the table, and added slyly, "Which means, Captain, if you wish to dance with him, you are going to have to actually ask."

Ves struggled to find a way to reply to that, but Elara just nudged her again, so she just sucked it up, straightened her spine, and walked across the room toward her XO.

She stepped up next to Jorgan and wrapped a hand around his bicep in a silent gesture of solidarity. He glanced her way and there was visible relief on his face at the sight of her. She smiled at him, but her smile fell away immediately when the person he’d been talking to turned to face her.

She was a short, middle-aged Mirialan woman with bright green eyes and graying dark red hair, her face covered in tattoos celebrating a life full of accomplishments. Her smile brightened and sharpened when she turned to Ves, offering a hand that she had no choice but to shake. “You must be Captain Hallis. Your Lieutenant was just telling me about you. He speaks very highly of you.”

“Does he.” Ves looked back at Jorgan, one eyebrow raised. He just stared back, neither confirming or denying.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant. She speaks very highly of you too.” The senator said, patting his arm in a motherly fashion before turning her attention back to Ves. “It sounds like you and your squad are very busy defending the Republic, Captain.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Too busy to call your mother and tell her you’d been promoted?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Vesiya…” Senator Uheza Hallis had a way of saying her name that always made Vesiya feel like she was six years old again.

“It’s a very recent development, and I haven’t had access to a secure channel,” Ves said contritely. “I was going to call you tomorrow. Really.”

“Hmm. I’ll be expecting that call first thing, then. Your father will be happy to hear from you.” Her stern expression fell away, revealing a grin that that left no question that she and Ves were related. “I’ve taken enough of your time. Go enjoy the party. Nice to finally meet you, Lieutenant Jorgan.” She plucked the drinks from his hands and walked away toward their table and Elara.

“Ma’am.” Jorgan nodded respectfully. They watched Uheza walk away in silence, then he started walking in the opposite direction, taking the scenic route back to the table. “So your mom’s a senator.”

“I’m afraid so.” Ves kept her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow, keeping apace with him as they walked around the edges of the dance floor.

“That explains why she asked so many questions about you specifically.” He was much more amused by the situation than he should have had any right to be.

She fought the desire to cover her face with her hands. “Should I be concerned about what you said about me?”

“Never,” Jorgan said immediately, utterly sincere. A hint of amusement returned to his voice when he added, “If I were you, I’d be more concerned with what I didn’t tell her.”

“Do you want to dance?” Ves blurted out. They were getting too close to the end of their detour, their table within sight. She didn’t want to miss her chance.

“I thought you’d never ask, sir.”

He diverted their course, leading her toward a less crowded part of the dance floor. He took her hand and led her into a sudden spin, her hair and dress flaring dramatically around her, before he pulled her close, one hand holding hers and the other on her waist.

She tipped her head back and laughed, loud and delighted. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

“You have no idea.”

They danced in companionable silence for a while, trying to keep to themselves and away from the rest of the crowd. Anytime anyone came close, Jorgan’s eyes darted their way as if assessing if they were a threat. Ves tried not to find it endearing.

She slid her hand further up his shoulder, pulling him a bit closer, bringing his attention back to her. “You’re a much better dance partner than Krasul was. Even if you keep looking around like you’re expecting us to be attacked.”

“Might liven the place up a little,” he said sourly, but his eyes finally found their way back to hers.

“Not your scene, Jorgan?”

“You could say that.” His eyes danced over her face, studying her, looking for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it, because he added in a lower, warmer tone, “This part’s not bad.”

A slow smile spread across her face, and Jorgan followed its journey with rapt interest. “Not bad, huh? Considering how much you didn’t want to be here, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” He leaned closer to murmur in her ear, voice such a low rumble she felt it more than heard it. “Every man in this room wishes he was me right now. Dancing with the most beautiful woman at the ball.” His cheek pressed to hers, soft fur brushing her bare skin and that was a tactile memory that would be haunting her dreams now. So was the way his hand slid from her waist to her bare back, fingertips grazing her skin.

Ves had no idea how to respond. Normally, she’d just blow off a comment like that, roll her eyes and change the subject, but normally a comment like that wouldn’t leave her feeling like she had a flock of thrantas in her stomach. It felt different, coming from Jorgan.

She pulled back enough to meet his eyes again. There was a challenge in them, daring her to reply. They’d given up all pretense of dancing. They just stood there on the edge of the dance floor, eyes locked, and the rest of the room fell away. There was no telling how much time passed while they waited for Ves to find her voice again.

“Aric…”

She was interrupted by the sound of blaster fire.

They moved apart in synch, automatically reaching for their guns before remembering they weren’t carrying them. Ves’s cannon and Jorgan’s sniper rifle were safe and useless in the armory on their ship. Thinking quickly, Jorgan grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward a nearby pillar, at least getting them out of line of sight of the door.

Ves pressed her back to the pillar and peeked around the edge of it. Four people in mismatched armor were waving blaster rifles and pistols at the terrified crowd, and more were coming in behind them. She scanned quickly for Elara, but couldn’t see her from here.

A very tall man in dented gray armor stepped forward and called out, voice echoing through the suddenly silent hall. “Everyone remain calm! This is a robbery! As long as everyone behaves, there’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.”

Vesiya glanced over at Jorgan. “You just had to say something, didn’t you?”

He pulled a blaster out of an inner pocket of his jacket. “Sorry, sir. I forgot how much the universe likes irony.”

She shook her head, but couldn’t help but smirk as she pulled her own holdout blaster from where she’d strapped it to her thigh. She glanced around the corner again; the leader was still talking, the rest of them fanning out behind him. “You got any ideas?”

He leaned around the other side of the pillar for a moment, then came back. “I count six at the door and two in the crowd, but they must have more stationed outside. There’s no way they got past security with only eight people.”

“We could have. We could’ve done it with three.”

He smirked, but otherwise didn’t comment. “We’ll have to assume it’s just the two of us. We’ve got no idea where Dorne is and no way to contact her, and we can’t assume anyone else here will be any help.”

Ves didn't feel quite so pessimistic about the situation. There was no way that, in a room full of the Republic's finest, they were the only ones who thought to bring concealed weapons. She didn't say it out loud, though; he'd know what she was thinking. "Two versus eight is still good odds. I’m more worried about civilians caught in the crossfire."

“How’s your night vision, sir?”

"Not as good as yours, I bet, but better than a human’s." She saw where he was going with this. All but one of the attackers were human. She scanned the walls of the room quickly. There had to be a door to the kitchen or a security room or something. "There. Northeast corner."

“On it.”

Jorgan left without another word, moving silently toward the door, staying in cover as much as he could. Ves kept an eye on the enemy, making sure no one spotted him, but he made it to the door unnoticed. He nodded at her, then disappeared through it.

She turned back to the would-be thieves. The leader had stopped talking and was making his way through the crowd, taking jewelry and anything else he dubbed interesting from them. Ves aimed her blaster at a lamp just past the leader’s head; it exploded in a shower of sparks. Several partygoers screamed and backed away. Not quite enough to get a clear shot on anyone, but it was a start.

“Go see what that was.” The boss pointed at one of his henchmen and then in Ves’s vague direction. They hadn’t seen exactly where she was, then. Good.

She picked up a nearby empty plate and tossed it. It clattered to the floor near an adjacent pillar, and the henchman predictably followed the noise. He walked right past her, facing away from her to where he thought the threat was, blaster rifle pointed at empty air. She brought the butt of her blaster down on the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

She took his rifle and checked the cell. It was mostly full. This night just kept getting better and better.

Something touched her shoulder and she turned, blaster raised. Two figures stood there, pressed to the wall, half hidden behind a large sculpture. One was Elara, holding what appeared to be a vibroknife. The other stared at Ves from behind the business end of her new rifle, hands raised in surrender, and he was so unexpected it took several long seconds to recognize him.

“Jonas?”

“Captain! Fancy meeting you here.” Jonas Balkar looked her over and grinned charmingly like she didn’t currently have a blaster pointed at his face. “You look radiant, Ves.”

She rolled her eyes, but she lowered her rifle. “Now’s not the time.”

“You let me know when it is.” He glanced around quickly. She knew what he was looking for even before he asked, “Where’s Jorgan? Elara said he was with you.”

As if on cue, the lights all went out.

“I expect he’ll be back in a minute,” Ves said smugly.

“Good idea.” Her dark vision was good enough that she could see the way Jonas crossed his arms, not pouting but close. “Except now I can’t see anything.”

“Emergency generators will be online in less than two minutes, sir,” Elara said. She wouldn’t be able to see anything either, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. “I assume you have a plan.”

“You assume correctly.” She grabbed them both by the arm and dragged them closer, dropping her voice to a loud whisper. “I need the two of you to get as many civilians out of harm’s way as possible. There’s no way the eight we saw in the building are the only ones in this group, and if this turns into a real fight, I don’t want anyone getting hurt besides the people we want to get hurt.” She pressed her holdout blaster into Balkar’s hand. “Find my mother. She’s in the crowd somewhere, she’ll be able to help you.”

He looked down at the blaster, though with the lights out there’s no way he could see it. “How am I supposed to know which one’s your mother?”

“She looks like me except six inches shorter and twenty-five years older. Look for a Mirialan woman barking orders and chances are good it’s her.”

It was too dark to see the smirk on Balkar’s face, but she heard it in his voice. “So you get your charm from her as well as your looks. Good to know.”

“Jonas.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll behave. For now.” He leaned in to murmur in her ear, almost exactly the same way Jorgan had done only a few minutes ago. “You know, one of these days, we’re going to bump into each other when we’re not in the middle of some life or death situation. And when that day comes, I’m going to finally buy you that drink.”

“We’ll see,” Ves said vaguely. There were no thrantas in her stomach when he touched her, just the scent of his cologne and the sensation of someone standing much too close. She wished she knew how to just tell him that. She pulled away, putting a more comfortable distance between them again. “Let’s deal with the life or death situation first, shall we?”

She felt a presence at her shoulder and didn't need to look to know it was Jorgan. He confirmed it a moment later when he said, “Balkar? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Enjoying Coruscant's vibrant nightlife,” Jonas said easily. “I'll never turn down a chance to wear a tuxedo and eat free food.”

The emergency lights finally turned on, lighting the room in lurid red. “That's our cue. Go.”

Elara left with a simple “yes, sir,” dragging Balkar along with her.

Ves turned to Jorgan. “They're going to try and clear out noncombatants, give us a cleaner playing field. You and I get to do the fun part.” She took the pistol from his hand and gave him the rifle instead.

“Aww, thanks, boss,” he said, deadpan. “I didn't get you anything.” Despite the sarcasm, he looked more comfortable with a rifle in his hands, and they both knew he was the better shot.

She looked around her pillar again. It was hard to see much in the dull red light, but she could only see four by the door now. With one on the floor unconscious, that left at least three currently unaccounted for. It looked like they had finished their looting, there were two large sacks filled with jewelry and credits by the doors. Why hadn’t they left yet?

“Something about this doesn’t make sense,” Jorgan said by her ear. He stood behind her, peering out around the pillar as well and following where she was looking. “Some of the most decorated heroes of the Republic are here tonight. Why break into a party like this just to steal some jewelry?”

She picked up on what he wasn’t saying. “You think they’re meant to be a distraction? From what?”

“I wish I knew, sir.”

She pressed her back against the pillar once more, thinking out loud. “If they were after violence, it would have already happened. If they were just here for the money, they would have already left.” A sudden idea struck her. She put a hand on Jorgan’s arm and leaned closer, adding in a harsh whisper, “How much classified information do you think is in this room right now? How many high-profile targets walking around unarmed and unarmored?”

“Enough that the Empire would consider hiring mercenaries to collect a few of them,” he replied grimly. “Then why haven’t they?” He paused, then answered his own question. “Because they don’t know who their targets are.”

“They’re after the guest list, then. A list of names and faces of the Republic’s best and brightest.” The red lights were starting to give Ves a headache, but she pushed through it, trying to think. “What was through the door?”

“The kitchen. I didn’t find a security room. Had to slice the lights through the control panel outside.”

“Okay. I’m on it.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steadying herself. “Remind them who they’re messing with. Make them regret crashing our party.”

“Yes, sir.” He caught her elbow before she could leave. “Be careful, Hallis.”

“You too.” She nodded, then slipped out of his grasp.

It was hard to sneak in three-inch heels, but Ves did the best she could. The sudden burst of blaster fire behind her made it a little easier. There were more shots from farther in the room. She had to hope it was Balkar’s holdout blaster backing Jorgan up. She didn’t turn around to check.

The kitchen was empty of organic life, only a few serving droids standing about looking nervous. One of them called out to her as she passed through, but made no move to stop her. “I am sorry, ma’am, but only authorized personnel are allowed past the kitchens.”

“I understand that. I’m Captain Vesiya Hallis, Havoc Squad. If there’s a problem, take it up with my commanding officer.” She didn’t wait for him to answer, just kept going.

The hallways past the kitchen were empty and identical. She followed until she came to a fork, and with no indicators on where they led, she followed her instincts and turned right. It kept going for what felt like hours, only the clicking of her heels on the tile floor to keep her company, and the doubt started to creep in. She hoped things were going okay out in the main hall. She hated not being able to contact her squad. If they ever got invited to another party like this, their closed-circuit comms were not staying on the ship. Neither was her assault cannon; if she had to put it in the coat check room, so be it, but she wasn’t going anywhere without it for a while.

She turned a corner and had to dive back behind it as a blaster bolt flew past her head. So she’d been going the right way after all. She peeked slowly around the edge, keeping as much of herself behind the wall as possible. There were two people at the end of the hall and she recognized them both from the initial group.

Another volley of bolts flew past her. One caught her in the arm before she could get back behind the wall, searing a hot line across her skin. She swore and returned fire, but they both ducked back into cover again too.

Ves thought quickly. This stalemate wasn’t going to help anyone but her enemies; they were clearly guarding whoever was actually doing the work, and the longer they kept her here the more time they had to finish the job. “Elara had the right idea,” she muttered to herself as she quickly unstrapped her shoes and took them off. “I should’ve brought a knife.”

She ducked low and sprinted around the corner, bolts flying over her head. She hit the first guy low, shoving him against the wall with her shoulder in his gut, and turned to throw her shoes in the face of the second guy, throwing off his aim. Two bolts to the chest took care of him, and a solid left hook to the jaw took care of the first guy, though it shot pain down her injured arm.

She took their weapons, putting the new pistol in the holster on her thigh and throwing the rifle strap over her shoulder, keeping the pistol she’d borrowed from Jorgan in her hand. Then she continued on to the door just past them that she assumed led to the security room.

Inside the room were four dead security guards and the man who’d been leading the assault on the main hall. He was tall and broad, with meticulously groom black hair, and he hadn’t shaved for long enough that it was on the cusp of becoming a beard but wasn’t quite there yet. He reached for his blaster, but he was too slow. Ves pointed both Jorgan’s pistol and her stolen rifle at him, and he raised his hands in surrender.

“You picked the wrong party to crash, pal.”

“So I see,” he said, and he had an Imperial accent he hadn’t had at the door. “And you are?”

She just bared her teeth at him. “What are you after?”

He smiled, seemingly unthreatened by her or her arsenal, and didn’t reply.

She put the barrel of her blaster pistol against his forehead. She asked again, voice pitched low and dangerous, “What. Are. You. After?”

“Pull the trigger, soldier. You’ll get more answers from my corpse.”

Ves swung the butt of her blaster down at his face, but he was heartier than his henchmen and remained conscious. She took a bit of dark satisfaction at the crack of cartilage as his nose broke, but didn’t have the chance to enjoy it as he roared and lunged at her, shoving her against the wall.

He slammed her wrist against the duracrete wall and her blaster fell from her numb fingers to clatter to the floor. One large hand wrapped around her throat, hard enough that she worried he’d crush her trachea long before she had to worry about running out of air. She clawed at his arm, but all he did was tighten his grip, enough that she started to see stars.

She brought her knee up into his solar plexus, then jabbed her fingers into his armpit where she knew his armor wouldn’t protect him. He grunted and loosened his hand just enough that she stopped seeing static at the edges of her vision. She took the opportunity to grab one of his fingers and twist it back until it popped. He screamed and dropped her.

She stepped around him and threw herself at his back as hard as she could, pushing him into the wall. His head hit the duracrete and this time he finally passed out.

Ves took a few deep breaths. They burned on the way down. She was going to have a hideous bruise around her throat tomorrow.

She searched the security guards and luckily one of them had a set of restraints on him. Another one had a keycard. She put the restraints on her new mysterious Imperial friend and threw him in the corner. If he woke up before she got back, at least he wasn’t going anywhere. Just to be sure, she locked the door behind her. She slipped the keycard into her bra, the only place she had to put it, then picked up her blaster again and continued down the hall.

Just before the third corner, she heard rapid footsteps headed her way, too fast for her to get into cover. She raised her rifle and rounded the corner to face them head-on. She came face to barrel with a blaster aimed right between her eyes.

“Hallis.” The blaster disappeared immediately, revealing her XO. He looked as relieved to see her as she felt to see him.

“Jorgan.” She could have hugged him right then if she’d had the energy. As it was, she just sagged against the wall, letting it hold her up so she didn’t have to. “Nice of you to join me.”

“Sorry I’m late.” He noticed the wound on her arm and gave her a quick once-over, looking for more injuries. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine. You should see the other guy.” She gestured vaguely back toward the security room. “Got him tied up and unconscious. Maybe someone else can get more out of him than I did.”

“You leave that to me.” Uheza stepped out from behind Jorgan, a rifle in hand and an expression of cold, silent fury on her face. “Agent Balkar, come with me, please.”

Ves gave them the keycard so they could get into the security room, ignoring the looks both Jonas and Jorgan gave her when she pulled it out. Her mother just nodded and left.

Once they were gone, her head fell back against the wall and she closed her eyes. With the fighting over, the adrenaline was fading, and in its place came the pain and exhaustion. “You think the bar’s still open? I could really use a drink.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jorgan said softly. His fingers grazed her throat, an unexpected, feather-light caress, tracing the bruises that had already started to bloom there. Her eyes shot open again. “A few of the officers jumped in to help as soon as they saw us start to fight back. Dorne’s patching up some that got injured in the fighting, but I can go get her.”

She covered his hand with hers and pushed him gently away. “I’ll be okay. I can wait until we get back to the ship. I’m just tired.”

“I can see that.” He didn’t look like he believed her in the slightest. “At least let me take care of the one on your arm. Sir.”

That was a fair concession. Ves nodded, and he took off his bowtie to wrap it around the bolt wound on her bicep that was still lazily seeping blood. She chuckled. “After all that work I went through getting you in that in the first place. Seems like a waste of a good tie.”

“I’ll get a new one.” He glanced at her face for just a moment before his attention turned back to her injury. “Did you lose your shoes? I remember you being taller.”

“I think I threw them at someone. They’re down the hall, somewhere.” She tried to wave in that direction, but Jorgan tightened his grip on her arm to finish bandaging it. She watched him as he worked, his face serious, a knot in his brow that said he was still concerned about her even if he didn’t say it. The temptation to reach over and smooth away that worry was almost overwhelming; she kept talking in an effort to keep it at bay. “Sorry we didn’t get to finish our dance.”

“I guess you’ll just have to owe me one.” He took off his tux jacket and draped it over her shoulders. With the collar up, it hid the worst of the bruise on her neck.

Ves pulled it tighter around herself and gave him a tired smirk. “Are you going to keep giving me pieces of your suit if I find more imps to fight? Because that’s the kind of incentive program I can get behind.”

“Sorry, Hallis, not on the first date. I’m not that kind of guy.” If this counted as a date, Ves was pretty sure it wasn’t their first. She could think of at least one shoot-out in a cantina that should count, too. Jorgan’s smirk told her he was thinking the same thing. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The rest of the evening went by in a blur. Several people approached Ves, as well as Jorgan and Elara who stayed at her sides like an honor guard, to thank them for their intervention. The Coruscant Security Force showed up before long and started asking questions. Ves answered the questions to the best of her ability, but after the third officer came around asking the exact same things the previous two had, she started to get a little short in her replies.

“That’s enough,” a stern, commanding voice cut in when the fourth SecForce officer started her round of questioning. Uheza stepped in between the officer and her daughter. “The captain has answered enough questions tonight. Havoc Squad are heroes. They’ve saved a lot of lives tonight and have earned some rest.”

The officer looked like she wanted to argue, but was smart enough not to mouth off to a senator. She walked away with one last disgruntled glance toward the three of them.

Uheza then turned to face them. “Is this what it’s always like for you?”

“I’m afraid so, ma’am,” Jorgan answered so Ves didn’t have to. “This was supposed to be our night off.”

“No wonder your squad has the reputation it does,” she said proudly. “I’ll see to it you’re all rewarded for what you’ve done here tonight.”

“That will not be necessary, Senator Hallis.” This time it was Elara who spoke up. She still managed to look flawless and elegant even after the night they’d had. “We simply did what anyone else would have done in our position.”

“Be that as it may, Sergeant Dorne,” Uheza said patiently, “you at least deserve some recognition. If not from Command or the Senate as a whole, then from me and the others you saved.” She turned her attention once more to her daughter. “Your Agent Balkar has taken the leader into custody--”

“Jonas isn’t one of mine,” Ves interrupted, almost automatically.

Uheza gave her a pointed look, but kept talking like she hadn’t said anything. “--and I expect he’ll have some answers for us in the morning about the reason behind this attack. I’ll contact you as soon as I hear something.”

Ves nodded. “We’re docked in the spaceport. You can stop by if you want, I’ll give you the tour.”

“I’d like that.” She gave Ves a gentle hug and whispered fiercely, “I’m proud of you, firecracker.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Uheza pulled away, expression firm and commanding once more. “Lieutenant Jorgan, Sergeant Dorne, please get my daughter home before she keels over. I think she’s seen enough action for one day. There’s a speeder waiting for you outside that will take you back to your ship.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

-------

Surprisingly, Tanno Vik was waiting for them when they got back, sitting at their small table and cleaning his blaster. He looked Ves over, taking in her lack of shoes, her injuries, and her new arsenal. “Fun party?”

“Unlimited free drinks and an attack by Imperial mercenaries,” she said as blandly as possible, like they were discussing the weather.

He chuckled. “That’ll teach me not to stay home next time.”

Elara made Ves sit down so she could properly treat her wounds. She couldn’t do much for the bruise, which looked almost black in the harsh lighting of the medbay, but she put a proper kolto patch on the shot on her arm, and wrapped her wrist as well, which turned out to be fractured. Ves hadn’t even noticed with everything else that had happened.

Elara gave Jorgan a cursory inspection as well, but scans didn’t find any injuries on him, so she just told them to get some rest and left to do the same.

That sounded like a good idea. It had been a long night. Ves had no idea how late it even was.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t the way I expected the night to go,” Jorgan said, leaning casually against the doorway to her quarters.

She smiled at him and imitated his posture, leaning next to him. “Admit it, Jorgan. You had fun.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It wasn't as bad as I expected it to be.”

“Good, because after what happened you know they're going to invite us back next year.”

“I can live with that,” he said seriously.

“Really?” She hadn’t expected him to say that, though thinking about it she guessed she shouldn’t really be surprised. Though he’d never admit it, Jorgan liked to play the hero. “What changed?”

He smirked. “I suppose there's worse ways to spend an evening than drinking free beer, dancing with pretty girls, and thwarting an Imperial assault,” he said slyly.

“Oh, I get second place, do I?” Ves asked playfully, leaning a little closer. “Aren't you a sweet-talker.”

“It's hard to beat an open bar on the Senate's dime. You came close.”

“I'll have to try harder next time.”

“I look forward to it.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He looked away, breaking their stare, and the charge in the air around them broke too. “We should get some sleep.”

“Probably. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.” She took a reluctant step back, pulling herself out of his orbit. “Good night, Jorgan.”

“Good night, Hallis.”

Ves watched him walk away, smiling to herself, until he disappeared into the crew quarters. Only then did she turn and head into her own room. She barely got out of the dress before she threw herself into bed. She was out almost immediately.

#swtor fic #vesiya hallis #ves/jorgan #this is so many words #how did I write so many words?#ves and jorgan are so fun to write y'all #they haven't even kissed yet and I am Invested #you'll be seeing a lot more of these two in the future #I struggled a lot to write the scene with them dancing and then ended up cutting out most of the dancing #because it detracted from the scene too much #okay now that that's done I'm gonna go back to playing the game and see if I can get ves the smooch she wants :3

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sultrysirens · 4 years

Text

Blue Blood [Part 17]

Universe: Detroit: Become Human

Rating: PG-13 (swearing)

Characters: Connor, Evelyn (OFC)

Tags: interspecies, romance, fluff, detective, law enforcement, original character, continuation, sex

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The next day at work wasn’t quite so pleasing. Guerrero pulled them in for a talk as soon as they arrived, before they’d even had a chance to sit down.

Connor stood before the captain with his hands clasped in front of him. Evelyn, he noted, clasped her hands behind her back -- a military stance. Guerrero, on the other hand, looked tired, perched at the edge of his desk.

He began, “You brought in two men for android assault.”

“That, we did,” Evelyn agreed.

“Android assault isn’t a thing yet,” he pointed out. “There’s still no laws--”

“So that means we should just let them assault people?” she demanded.

He gave her a hard look. “You interrupt me entirely too often, Forbes.”

That got her to glance down. “Sorry, Captain,” she said.

“It’s a problem of yours, and you need to get that sorted,” he impressed.

She shifted, uncomfortable.

“If I may,” Connor cut in, a hand held up for patience.

Guerrero sent him a measuring look, then nodded. “Sure,” he allowed.

His tone wasn’t exactly inviting, Connor thought, but he took the opportunity nonetheless. “It’s not just android assault. I’m a detective here, too -- they assaulted a government official. And even if we can’t prosecute them, those men were being aggressive and violent. They need to know it’s not acceptable behavior in a civilized world.”

Evelyn gestured him. “Spoken better than I could’ve,” she noted.

The captain ducked his head, rubbing his buzzed scalp with a sigh. At length, he looked up again, saying, “We had to let them go. There were no charges to give--”

“No charges -- they incited a riot,” she snapped, agitated.

“Forbes,” he returned, a warning to his tone.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just...they need some kind of punishment. We can’t sweep this under the rug just because it happened to an android--”

“Forbes,” he repeated, more firm; she fell silent. “I understand. You feel this is an injustice and your job is to provide that justice -- particularly in defense of your own partner. But there’s still no android laws,” he impressed. “And as for a riot -- I read the report. They were threatening neither persons nor property, and until the laws get updated, androids are neither persons nor property.”

A deep, burning resentment took hold of Connor then, hearing that. Guerrero wasn’t wrong -- thanks to the president declaring androids as people, they no longer had the protection of being property, and until they were included in the law as a people, that meant they were nothing. Neither people nor property...they were honestly better off before.

At least before people could be fined for damaging an android. Now they didn’t even have that in their favor.

Guerrero continued, “Any judge would throw out the case, and then the D.A. would have a field day with the press -- especially because you were off duty,” he intoned. “You shouldn’t have been making any arrests to begin with. At this point we’ll be lucky if they don’t turn around and press charges against the precinct.”

She looked away, radiating both chagrin and frustration.

He took a breath, sighed. “There’s nothing we can do about this that won’t make things worse for the precinct. And until we have a stronger back from the community,” he continued, “we need to be cautious, whatever your moral compass says. We don’t have the numbers to deal with actual riots. Not anymore.”

She huffed, clearly unhappy with this call, and Connor empathized with her. But he could see things from Guerrero’s point of view, too; the captain was thinking of the precinct as a whole and he was trying to keep them in the community’s good graces. Connor couldn’t fault the man for that -- especially since the revolution. The lack of android officers meant half the precinct was unavailable to deal with any backlash from the community.

Aloud, Connor said, “I understand. Perhaps just being in holding for a night was enough to scare the men straight. And if they continue to pick fights, we need only to bide our time. The laws will come,” he said to Evelyn.

She gave him a questioning look, as if she didn’t quite believe him, but nodded regardless. “Here’s hoping,” she agreed.

Guerrero seemed satisfied by that, and he prompted, “Well. Now that we’ve sorted that out, what about Montgomery? I understand you two dug up some leads yesterday.”

The change of subject was a relief. Connor happily gave a verbal update, interspersed with Evelyn’s thoughts and conclusions, leading to the outcome that they’d need to interview Montgomery’s rival lawyers as well as Montgomery’s L.A. home and office. Neither of them believed a lawyer had gotten their hands dirty, but it was likely at least one of them was in bed with who had.

Guerrero listened, then gave a nod. “If you think it’ll aid the investigation, you’re welcome to go. Good luck,” he said, giving them a dismissive wave towards his door.

Evelyn nodded without a response, heading out, but Connor left with a cordial, “Have a nice day, Captain.”

Guerrero didn’t reply.

Outside the room, she commented, “You know you don’t need to be all hyper-polite, right?”

He glanced at her, surprised. “Should I not be polite towards my own captain?” he said as he trailed her, the pair of them heading to their desks.

“Not Guerrero,” she chuckled. “He never responds. I think it’s his way of being the ‘dad’ of the precinct -- giving everyone the cold shoulder, pretending to be all distant and tough.”

Curious, he asked, “Did you used to do it, too? The farewells?”

“When I first started, yeah. Took me a couple weeks before I figured out he’s being the tough, stubborn boss and won’t reciprocate.” She took her seat, logged in, and navigated to the digital case file.

He considered that -- Guerrero’s behavior -- for just a moment, concluding that the man was likely keeping up appearances. Then, attention shifting, he logged in, too, and began filling out a report on the information they’d gleaned from Mrs. Dulcevey.

Evelyn lifted her hands from the keyboard as he did so, surprised and amused. “Well, I can’t type half that fast. Or read that fast,” she noted as his report spawned into being from simple thought, appearing on her computer, too.

He chuckled. “Sorry, this is just how fast I go.”

“Mm. In which case,” she began, rising, “I don’t wanna interrupt so I’ll just go grab a coffee. Don’t break anything,” she added as she stepped away.

He smirked. He was truly starting to enjoy her teasing. It was just so friendly, the way she spoke to him. And...his thoughts were bleeding over into his report, he realized with a start. Those small thoughts managed to get sandwiched in the middle of a sentence about Ton Hoang.

Whoops.

He quickly edited those unrelated snippets out and continued his task. By the time Evelyn returned with her coffee, he’d narrowed down a sequence of events for the future of the case -- aside from interviewing the lawyers, which he expected would take time. They’d need to set up appointments, given they had no evidence to call upon, and undoubtedly the lawyers would wait until they had their ducks in a row. Aside from that, however...

To Evelyn, he outlined to her his desire to return to Montgomery’s estate so he could use his features to search for additional clues, namely how far the wireless signals went and if the home was receiving any from outside sources. Second, he wanted to check Montgomery’s L.A. residence and office as well, hoping that the victim had moved the thumb drive they were looking for to one of the two locations, and if not, they’d at least be able to build more of a profile on the victim that way. Third, he wanted to interview those closest to Montgomery himself.

Once he was finished speaking, he waited, and after a few moments’ time she spoke up.

“We can set up interviews pretty easily,” she began. “Montgomery is set to have a wake on the 15th. Most of his family are here already, as far as I know, so that shouldn’t be too hard. The lawyers will probably play the system as long as they can, though, waiting days or weeks or months if possible -- we’d be better off leaving them until we have some way to pressure them to show.”

Then, sounding exhausted already, she intoned, “Either way, we’re in for a grind.”

“In which case,” he replied, “perhaps we should start with Montgomery’s residences.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Agreed. Is the report done?”

He nodded. “You can check it if you like,” he offered.

“I’ll have to,” she returned. “I’ll need to add my own perspective, at the very least. Think you can handle contacting the family to set up interviews?”

“Not a problem,” he agreed. He’d have to do them one at a time, though; he had to verbally speak to make calls to humans. He started those while Evelyn read his report and started adding in her own words, ultimately setting up five interviews by the time she concluded her part of the report.

Once he checked it, he was actually surprised. She was fast -- almost unnaturally so, he noted. Even factoring in her occasional pauses, clearly thinking things through, she managed roughly 82 words per minute.

Not beyond human ability, he admitted, but that still came out to more than a word per second. She must’ve written up a great deal of reports in this job, he concluded, impressed.

Granted, he could do 256 words per minute (being a literal computer was kind of amusing sometimes) so he was already a minimum of three times faster than her, but still. For a human her speed was definitely notable.

It wasn’t too long before their desk work was completed -- less than two hours since they clocked in -- and then they were off. In the car, Evelyn started to set her dashcom* to direct her to Montgomery’s residence (their first stop), but Connor stopped her, already having the route calculated. He told her when and where to make turns for the half-hour drive, keeping up with traffic changes in real time, and got them there faster than her dashcom could’ve.

The home was in a suburban neighborhood, and he reflexively scanned things as they approached the home. Everything was well-tended down this snaking road, veering in gentle twists between roads, and numerous cars were parked on car-lots and on the curbs. A few humans were about, doing maintenance or walking dogs or talking in small gatherings.

Not a single android was in sight, he noted.

“You know what’d be cool?” she said as they got out of the vehicle. Without waiting for his response, she answered, “If you’d stop making all of my devices obsolete.”

He chuckled. “I can’t help it. But if it makes you feel any better,” he offered, “I can’t make a decent cup of coffee.”

She inclined her head. “Well, that’s one thing I’ve got, I guess. But I swear to God, if you turn around and get some coffee machine feature, I will scream.”

“I’ll just file that away under ‘Ways To Make Evelyn Scream’,” he commented, amused.

She gave a laugh. Then, as they headed to the door of Montgomery’s two-story suburban home, a sound caught their attention from within. They both stopped dead, glancing at one another, and Connor took the opportunity to analyze the sound.

For a suspended moment in time, he replayed the noise in his own mind, concluding that it was the sound of a drawer being shoved closed -- not gently, but with excessive force. Someone was within.

He asked quickly, “Would it be likely that Montgomery’s relations would come here, possibly to pack his things?”

“Not when there’s no car out front,” she answered, already reaching to her belt.

He took another glance at the street, but none of the vehicles in sight -- aside from Evelyn’s Mustang -- were close enough to suggest which one, if any, might belong to whomever was currently inside the home.

“An invader,” he concluded, already striding to the front door to check it. It was unlocked, he found, though undamaged; the digital lock had been hacked open. He sent Evelyn a glance over his shoulder, relaying as much.

She gestured him aside. “I’ll go in this way, you find a side door,” she directed under her breath.

“I’d rather be the one taking that risk,” he returned as quietly.

“I’m the one with the firearm,” she shot back. “Go.” She inclined her head to her left, around the side of the house.

For a split second he was conflicted. From a logical standpoint, that was smart: the person with ranged defense could easily distract any opponents while the one without snuck up from elsewhere. But from an emotional standpoint, he didn’t want her in that kind of danger.

During that split second, he struggled with himself, a war of tactical advantage versus emotional impulse. A feeling of nostalgia rose as he fought to determine the priority between the two, reminded of his first investigation alongside Hank.

After a heartbeat of debate, logic won. He gave a firm nod and headed off, moving around the home as quietly as his shoes would allow, keeping low so he wouldn’t be seen through the windows. Soon he came upon a side door -- unsurprising for this type of home -- and checked it. Still locked.

He hacked it with a touch, the physical lock clacking as the digital code released it. He pushed it open, listening, and found he’d entered the kitchen area. He could see three open doorways from here; following the sound of rummaging led him further left, towards the rear of the home. He caught a glimpse of Evelyn through the middle doorway as he moved, hands low in front of her, her firearm at the ready.

He hugged the doorway ahead of him, looking into the room beyond -- some form of sitting room, he deduced, with comfortable furniture. Listening closer, he heard the creak of footfalls further to the right and ducked into the next room to follow it.

Now that he’d pinpointed the intruder, though, he encountered a new problem: this room’s door was closed. He’d undoubtedly be noticed if he opened it. Still, reminded that Forbes could potentially be in danger going by her path, he gripped the lever handle and gave it a slow, testing twist. Unlocked, he determined, though it had a physical keyhole on his side of it.

Assuming the room beyond was Elias’ home study and, by extension, for the intruder to be looking for valuable case files, he moved slowly, avoiding making the slightest noise--

--right up until he heard Evelyn’s voice clearly call out, “Don’t move! Hands where I can see them!”

The target of her forceful order gave a startled shriek and Connor dropped pretense, swinging the door open to take in the situation.

His assessment had been correct, he saw at once: this was a study. A single bookshelf, desk, computer, and chair filled one half; the other half had merely a low, oval coffee table with a sofa and two chairs situated around it. And currently there was a woman behind the desk, illuminated by the window on her opposite side.

She was black with blue eyes, her head shaved, wearing an ensemble that was almost eerily identical to Evelyn’s. She also had two cameras on her in easy sight, one at her left shoulder and one anchored to her belt, as well as a half-visor over her right eye he didn’t recognize. He scanned the female at once, finding a laundry list of criminal accusations -- and no convictions. Not a single one went through, he found with surprise.

[Sasha Porter; born 3/15/2012; 5′9″, 137.2lbs]

She already had her hands in the air, and she called out, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don’t shoot, I’m here legally!”

“Legally?” Evelyn echoed. “Identify yourself.”

“Sasha Porter, I’m a P.I.,” the woman declared. Then she seemed to notice Connor, giving him a double take but clearly more concerned with the gun trained on her.

Evelyn went from suspicious to sputtering, “Y-you’re a -- you’re a private investigator?” she checked.

“Yes,” Sasha insisted.

Jutting her chin, Evelyn demanded, “Show me an I.D.”

Moving slow, keeping one hand in front of her, Sasha did so, reaching down to her belt and withdrawing an I.D. wallet. She opened it, showing Evelyn.

To him, Evelyn said, “Connor, please check it.”

Not a problem. He strode closer, keeping aware of Sasha’s hands as he did so (just in case), and she turned the I.D. towards him offering as he neared. He scanned it as soon as it was close enough for his gaze to pick up on the details, checking the credentials.

It was legitimate, he concluded at once. Issued on 9/12/33, Sasha had been in this profession for the last five years. With this, he was even able to connect her to thirty-eight successful convictions. She got another commission completed roughly every two months.

She was good at her job.

He gestured Evelyn to back down, saying, “It’s real.”

With a sigh, she relented, holstering her weapon. Sasha gave a heavy exhale, too, patting her chest, and put her I.D. back in her pocket.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Forbes demanded.

“Investigating, what’s it look like?” Sasha returned, tone sharp. “What are you, anyway? LAPD?”

Evelyn nodded. “Yeah. I’m Sergeant Evelyn Forbes, this is Detective Connor,” she introduced, gesturing him.

“Scared the shit out of me,” Sasha complained.

“I’d be surprised if you didn��t get that a lot in your profession,” Evelyn returned. Then, giving Sasha a vague wave, she asked, “You recording?”

“While I’m on the job? Always,” Sasha confirmed, giving Connor a glance. “You an android?” she asked him.

“Jacket give that away?” he returned dryly, moving to join up with his partner.

She gave him an annoyed look.

“Hey,” Evelyn began, getting Sasha’s attention. She gestured own her eye, saying, “What’s this you’re wearing?”

“Camera/scanner combo,” Sasha told her. “Doesn’t record, but it can take pictures and has a number of visual settings.”

“Ooh. I should get me one of those,” Evelyn commented.

“Good luck with that, it’s new tech -- just released a couple days ago,” Sasha told her. “Super expensive.”

That would explain why Connor hadn’t been able to identify it, then. He checked, “What’s it called?”

Giving him a curious look, Sasha answered, “Heimdall Elite. Kinda pretentious, if you ask me.”

He logged that, creating a file for it. It didn’t take but an instant to have it named with all of its identifying markers and logged with all the information he could glean from the internet.

Evelyn commented, “Cool. Now who hired you, and what are you looking for here?”

Sasha gave her a dumb look. “You know I’m under no obligation to answer either of those questions. Gotta protect my clients. You understand,” she said -- not a question.

“Mm,” was Evelyn’s response. She paused then, thoughtful, and Connor was hit with a sense of impatience.

“Why are we waiting?” he asked her.

“Because she’s recording,” Evelyn returned, crossing her arms.

Good point. As long as a private investigator was present and recording, the police were limited in what they could do -- and, given she had active cameras going, what they were willing to do.

Sasha gave them a wave. “You can wait outside. Or just check some other rooms. Don’t let me get in your way.”

“You’re directly in our way, actually,” Evelyn told her.

Shrugging, Sasha said, “I got here first. And you know I can’t take or even move anything. Let me finish up my job, then you can do yours. Deal?”

Evelyn sighed, relenting, and moved back out towards the hall. He kept pace with her, taking stock of the area he hadn’t yet seen. The hall led directly to the front door, the study completely opposite the front door, with more doorways opening to a living room and dining room with a staircase right in the middle of it all.

“Pretty nice place,” he noted.

“Yeah -- I’m not buying it, though,” she commented, glancing around.

Looking towards her, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Lawyers usually get penthouses and mansions, not family homes in suburban neighborhoods,” she explained. “This is tiny and much more familial than his other residence. It doesn’t add up -- I’d bet this was just a show home.”

He could definitely see that, he admitted. Thinking on it, he decided to run a check, searching through what few databases he currently had access to; finding the deed and former owners of this home, he said, “This was Montgomery’s childhood home. He inherited it. Technically, it belongs to his son now, but Henry hasn’t been here in over a decade.”

Nodding, Evelyn worked out, “Then this is more likely his personal office than anything.” She glanced around, thoughtful, before starting to ascend the stairs. “In which case, there’s gotta be something here worth finding,” she was saying.

He trailed behind her, sending a glance down the hall -- checking on Sasha -- as he went. She was still busying herself with her digging, picking up stacks of papers before replacing them and investigating the drawers and bookshelves. Confirming that she was obeying the private investigator restrictions, he left her be.

Four doors sectioned the second floor, he found: two on their left, one on their right, one a few steps ahead. All were open, allowing him to note that the master bedroom was the one furthest to the left with a den of sorts on that side as well. The door to their front was a bathroom, and the one to their right was a spare bedroom.

She was heading for the den as she directed, “No touching anything you don’t have to, and if you move anything, put it right back where you found it.”

He was familiar with the P.I. laws, so he replied, “I’m more than capable of following the law.”

“A reminder never hurt anyone,” she pointed out.

Fair.

He left her to the den while he headed for the master bedroom and began his search.

It was about as fruitful as searching Helen Baker’s apartment had been, Connor found close to twenty minutes later. He’d looked absolutely everywhere, checking every drawer, examining the walls for hidden compartments, scanning for abnormal power lines, even checking every single article of clothing in the wardrobe and closet.

Nothing significant or noteworthy came to light. His conclusion: either Montgomery had kept all crime-related business out of his home, or he’d kept it out of his bedroom.

Giving up, he checked on Evelyn then, finding her sitting on the floor with a circle of papers around her, clearly having placed them there.

“So much for not touching anything,” he noted, striding in to take a closer look. “What did you find?”

“A pattern,” she explained, starting to gesture certain parts of the papers.

Each one seemed to have a different theme -- some were printed emails, some were excerpts from cases or books, some were collections of notes -- but he saw what she did: a sequence.

Time, date, place, and some kind of key word -- either a noun or an adjective and noun paired together. 5:23pm, November 11th, Donovan’s, red corvette; 2:17am, August 6th, Bookman’s, ATM; 9:02pm, April 27th, Franklin Blvd, yacht; it went on, a total of fourteen clues laid out together.

Impressed, he asked, “How did you notice this?”

“It stood out from the rest,” she answered absently. Then, glancing up at him, she checked, “Do you have all this memorized?”

He nodded. “You should put them back,” he said, but she was already doing so, arranging them almost haphazardly in between a series of other stacks.

Concerned that she might be mixing them up, he said, “I wish you’d gotten my attention before you pulled all those out. I could’ve put them back exactly as they’d been.”

She pulled out her phone. “I took pictures before I removed anything,” she informed him. “But you’re right -- I’m sorry about that. Guess I’m still just used to working alone.”

As she’d been for the last year, he reminded himself. The habits she must have developed from the lack of a partner...he’d definitely have to fight her now and again, if only to remind her that he was there and he could handle himself. She’d already displayed some of that loner mentality, he realized then, despite her visibly trying to include him the rest of the time.

“Not to worry, I’ll help you break those habits,” he teased, “whether you like it or not.”

She smiled at him, and he heard Sasha ascending the stairs then.

To Evelyn, he said, “Our rival is on her way.”

Blowing out a sigh, Forbes nodded. “I think it’s in our best interest to take our leave, then,” she concluded. “Let her do her thing. We can come back later.”

Agreeing, he gestured ahead, directing, “Ladies first.”

The look she gave him, then, was a kind of amused suspicion, like she was surprised by his politeness.

Somewhat offended, he retorted, “What? I’m not allowed to have manners?”

“Nah -- I’m just not used to it,” she explained, heading out. “Excuse us,” she said to Sasha as the P.I. passed her at the landing.

Sasha stepped aside, watching them go. “Y’all done?” she checked.

“For now,” Connor answered. “Good luck on your investigation.”

Eyes narrowing with suspicion, Sasha returned, “You, too.”

Once they were on the road again, Connor noted, “So, she was interesting.”

“You think?” Evelyn prompted, curious. “What makes Sasha Porter so intriguing?”

“For one thing, she was dressed almost identical to you,” he noted.

“I am immediately offended.”

He chuckled, then continued, “For another -- she has blue eyes. That’s exceedingly rare. Most likely, she has European ancestry in her -- and if not, she’s a mutant of the most beautiful variety.”

Smirking, she quipped, “Well, you already sound smitten.”

“I am immediately offended,” he shot back.

Laughing, she said, “Seriously, though, I agree. Those eyes are gorgeous on her. If I were a lesbian, man...” She gave a soft whistle.

With a dry laugh, he pointed out, “You’re married, so you wouldn’t do a damn thing.”

“How dare you crush my hopes and dreams,” she complained.

“Besides which,” he pressed, “she’s a P.I. You’re a cop. You said it yourself: the professions don’t mesh.”

“Sounds like a great premise for a rom-com,” she returned. “Maybe some good drama in there, too. I can see it now: she was a detective with LAPD, hard-driven and no-nonsense,” she intoned with a deep, narrative voice. “But while on a case, she crossed paths with a private investigator -- and what they found took them down a path of intrigue, betrayal, and romance--”

“Enough,” Connor laughed, waving her to silence.

Giggling, Evelyn relented. “So,” she prompted, “how about we actually get to work? Can you set up a timeline for those settings?”

Not a problem. He’d organized them by date and put pins in a mental map of where they’d taken place, linking them together, while they’d been talking. He said now, “Already done. It’s...interesting,” he offered.

“How so?”

“The locations are very random,” he explained. “They’re all over the state, not just L.A. I’m thinking they’re most likely related in terms of who or which entities own the areas -- there’s just no pattern to their locations.”

“Unless there’s more locations and we just don’t have that information yet,” she suggested.

Plausible, he admitted. “Maybe. But we should hold off on that until we have more to go on.”

“Agreed. You ready to go digging in a lawyer’s corner office?” she checked.

“More than. Let’s get this done,” he said, feeling more determined by the second. It seemed everything they found on Montgomery only deepened the mystery, rather than unraveling any of it.

It they didn’t find any solid leads after today, he feared it would become an obsession for him, the puzzle too great to ignore. Yet, weirdly, he found himself liking that concept: that he’d find a case he literally couldn’t put to bed.

In a sense, the deviancy case had never been solved, and to a small degree he was still curious about it. But the way things had gone, he’d ceased to care about why it’d happened -- it was just a good thing it had. And, to an extent, he didn’t want to solve it, either. A part of him felt protective of the mystery, liking keeping it unsolved meant he was protecting his fellow androids.

No, the deviancy case was perfectly fine left cold. But this one -- Montgomery -- was a damn good substitute, drawing his focus and intrigue. He couldn’t wait to see where it went from here.

* Dashcom = an abbreviation I came up with for “dash computer”, as I assume they’ll be incredibly popular in the near future (especially for government officials, like the police and FBI) and will very likely be referred to as such.

[>>>NEXT>>>]

#siren nightshade #blue blood #detroit: become human #connelyn #sfw #part 17 #exophilia #interspecies #romance

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lostinthewiind · 5 years

Note

Can we get uuhhhhh some Dick Winters smut pls

we uuhhhhh…most certainly can :) It’s about GOD DAMN time I wrote some Winters smut.

Warnings: ***SEXY TIME***

Tag List: @warmommy @gottapenny @croatianbagudna @scissorsfordoc @wexhappyxfew @curraheev @mayhem24-7forever @one-who-hunts-eagles @bandofmarvels @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @wildwilliamguarnere @majwinters @theonetryingtolive @higgles123 @those-dusty-jump-wings @medievalfangirl @maiden-of-gondor @whoabrekker @thefricklefracklesin @junojelli @iamaboojum @bandofgays

Other Ways

Knocking on the office door before you, you nervously shifted your weight from one foot to the other. It wasn’t that you were necessarily scared of Lieutenant Winters — because on every occasion you had interacted with him, he was always kind and polite. It was more the fact that you hadn’t been expecting to be called into his office and had no idea what the following meeting was pertaining to.

It was sort of like being called to the principle’s office when you’re a good kid; you know you didn’t do anything wrong, but you’re still worried about what’s going to happen.

Before you could get too inside of your own head, however, there was a faint “Come in,” from the other side of the door.

Twisting the door handle with your slightly sweaty palm, you stepped into the dimly lit office and made sure to shut the door behind yourself afterward; if Winters was going to yell at you, you didn’t want anyone else to hear.

“Sir?” you planted yourself firmly in front of Winters’ desk, keenly aware that he hadn’t so much as looked up from the papers in front of him since you had entered. “You asked to see me.”

“That I did.” Winters nodded slowly, his eyes still glued to the page in his hand for a few seconds longer before he finally tossed the parchment onto his desk along with the many others and sat back in his chair, his fingers pressing firmly into his temples to alleviate the tension. “I wanted to…um…talk to you about…”

You watched as Winters searched his mind for the reason for calling you into his office that evening, but after about a minute of nothing, he let out a groan. “You know what? I’ve completely forgotten,” he admitted, a slight grimace playing at the corners of his mouth, the creases there resembling the ones around his eyes that signified just how stressed and tired he was.

“Oh.” you weren’t sure what to say or do. “Do you want me to stay while you try to remember or…should I go?”

Sitting forward once more, his left hand reaching for a half-full cup of coffee that, by that point, was only luke-warm, Winters gestured toward the door. “You might as well go.” he sighed. “I’m sure if it were really important I would have remembered. It’s just…oh, nevermind. It’s unprofessional of me to gripe about my problems to a subordinate.”

“It’s just Captain Sobel, sir?” you ventured a guess as to the origin of his current frustration and exhaustion.

With slightly blood-shot eyes, Winters looks up at you and chortled. “Yes, private Y/L/N. It is Captain Sobel.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you leaned in slightly and lowered your voice. “everyone else hates him just as much as you do.”

Winters waved his hand at you in dismissal of your comment. “I don’t hate-” he cut himself off in a moment of realization. “Yeah, actually, I do hate him, but don’t tell anyone I said that; I’ll deny it anyway.”

You chuckled a little. “I won’t, sir. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Good.” he actually smiled before standing up and making his way over to the small coffee maker in the corner of his small office. “Can I get you some coffee?” he offered.

“I’m okay, sir, thank you.” you politely declined, knowing that if you drank any caffeine that late at night you would never get to sleep, which in turn would fuck you over for the following day of training.

Giving a curt nod, Winters turned and started making himself a fresh cup. “I know it’s not the best for me, but this is the only way I know how to deal with the stress right now. Caffeinate and push through, despite the fact that I don’t think I’ve slept in two days.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what exactly is it that you’re doing?” your eyes drifted over the many files and stacks of paper atop his desk.

“I’m re-checking supply orders.” Winters huffed as he leaned against the counter. “Captain Sobel made a change in the supply order and now I have to go through about ten stacks of item lists to find the one change so it can be documented.”

Picking up a slip of paper, you lazily trailed your eyes over the items listed and scoffed. “Well, good luck with that, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“My favourite thing to do when I’m stressed is take a long, hot bath and just forget about all of my troubles for an hour or so,” you told him, unsure of why you were still in his office at all. “Of course, I can’t do that anymore, so now I jump imagine I’m in a hot bath. Doesn’t work quite the same but it gets the job done.”

“Interesting method.” Winters poured the steaming hot, fresh coffee into his cup before stalking back over to his desk. “Have any other suggestions?”

You thought for a moment. “Well, there are the obvious ones, like taking a walk, clearing your head, doing something else for a little while…getting some sleep.” you cocked an eyebrow at him while you mentioned the last suggestion. “And then, of course, there are other ways…”

Winters perked up at your vague mention of ‘other ways.’ “What do you mean by that, private Y/L/N?”

You could feel the warmth rising in your cheeks and you were sure you had turned a brilliant shade of pale red. “I don’t suppose it’s very professional for me to say, sir.” you tried to get out of having to voice your dirty thoughts, but when all he did was continue to stare at you, you felt compelled. “Oh, you know…sex.”

Silence filled the office, the tension in the air so thick that you swore you were having trouble breathing. Winters continued to look at you, his eyes trailing over your body as he leaned back in his chair. At that moment, you severely regretted speaking at all in the first place.

You were sure Winters was going to write you up for speaking so inappropriately in his presence, but what he did instead was much more shocking. “Do you use that method regularly?” he asked, his legs spreading slightly as he eyed you up some more.

You were surprised by the question, there was no doubt about that. Winters always seemed like such a play-it-by-the-book sort of man who would never even dare to step out of line, so this new side of him — this suggestive side — really caught you off guard.

“Sir?” you swallowed hard, your back straightening with nerves as you stood at attention before him.

“Private.” his eyes finally left your body for a split second. “Lock the door.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and did as the Lieutenant asked. As soon as the click of the lock echoed through the room, you could hear the sound of a belt being undone behind you. You froze in place for a second, almost scared to turn around and confront what you were sure was waiting for you.

“Sir,” your words were soft and unassuming, your back still facing Winters. “Are we going to have sex?”

“No, private.” you could feel Winters’ breath on the back of your neck as he planted his hands on your hips and pressed himself into your ass. “I’m going to fuck you.”

Your breathing hitched as your hands pressed into the wood of the door to steady yourself. You couldn’t think of anything to say, so instead, you just remained silent and enjoyed the feeling of want between your legs.

Hiking up your army issued, knee-length skirt around your waist, Winters pushed himself up against you even harder, one of his hands moving up to brush some hair away from your neck so he could kiss and nibble on the skin there.

As his kisses sent shivers up and down your spine, Winters clamped his hand firmly over your mouth. “Just in case,” he whispered as he pushed your underwear to the side and ran two fingers along the length of your folds. Your knees nearly buckled right there and then, but before you had a chance to melt on the spot, Winters entered you from behind, the new wave of pleasure taking over your entire body.

You wanted to moan out so badly but the hand over your mouth was preventing you from making any audible noises, so you were forced to rely on body language to communicate your enjoyment. Arching your back, you rested your head on Winters’ shoulder and looked up at him the best you could, your eyes saying all the words your mouth couldn’t.

“Desk.” was all he said next before grabbing you and pushing you in the direction of his desk. With one single, fluid motion, he swiped all the papers from the wooden desktop before bending you over it. “This is much better.”

Now that both of his hands were grabbing at your hips and ass and weren’t preventing you from speaking, you took the opportunity to voice your pleasure. “Please, sir, fuck me harder.” you practically begged. “Take out all your frustration and stress on me.”

Winters didn’t say anything in response, but when he began pounding into you at an alarming rate over and over again, you were sure he had heard you. For a split second, you began to overthink about the fact that you were bent over your Lieutenant’s desk with his cock buried deep inside of you, but before you could worry too much, he lifted one of your legs up onto the desk as well, allowing him to penetrate you even deeper than you thought possible.

“Oh, God!” you unintentionally screamed out, but thankfully, Winters was too wrapped up in his own pleasure to reprimand you.

With your mouth hung open like a fish out of water, your eyes began to roll back in your head as you approached the promised land of euphoria. “Shhh.” Winters reminded you as he leaned over the top of you and snaked one arm around your stomach. “Cum for me without making a sound.” he suddenly remembered his unspoken rule about being silent.

“I don’t think I can,” you confessed as your orgasm began and you felt the scream start to work its way up your throat.

“Make a peep and I’ll make you pick up all these goddamn supply lists and go through them yourself.”

Hearing the urgency in his voice pushed you into a state verbal paralysis, and as your orgasm rocked through your body, you somehow remained completely silent, as per his request.

Not long after you came, Winters unraveled as well, his body dropping onto yours as he caught his breath. “You were right.” he breathed out, the stress and exhaustion no longer audible in his voice. “That method does work.”

“Glad I could be of assistance.” you cracked a smile as you straightened up and pulled your skirt back down. “By the way, sir, did you remember what you wanted to talk to me about yet?”

Winters shook his head as he buckled his belt again. “No, but be assured, private, as soon as I do, I’ll ask to see you again ASAP.”

#sexy time #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers edit #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fic #lostinthewiind #dick winters #dick winters x reader #dick x reader #winters x reader #reader insert #x reader #reader imagine #hbowar

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