#and i came to the conclusion that it has to be differential steering
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early morning, on the way to Martinaise
#my drawing#disco elysium#i did a little research cause the sticks made me curious about how tf does this car work#and i came to the conclusion that it has to be differential steering#the most similar existing vehicle using it that i could find is zero-turn mowers which even kindaa look like the kineema#but that'd mean that front wheels just freely rotate like in a shopping cart lmao#idk maybe i'm totes wrong but i can't find any official info going in detail about the cars they use
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Riding High
Ch6: The Mother Ship
Chapter Summary: Mary gets into another spot of trouble and Frank’s mother pays them an unexpected visit.
Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.
Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher
A/N: Contains SPOILERS for the film!!!!! If you haven’t seen it please be aware of that before you read on. As a Lawyer I know how long the types of cases depicted in GIFTED can take, however they can also be done pretty fast. With that in mind, and because it fits with how I want the story to go I’m spreading it over approximately 6 weeks or so, so just roll with me!
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Chapter 5
“So she hit him?” Fliss looked at Frank.
Frank took a deep breath. “In the face with a book.”
Fliss frowned “That doesn’t sound like Mary.”
“She hit him hard too. Broke his nose. I saw the kid leaving as I was going into the school, blood all over his shirt…” Frank scoffed. “But, you know the really bad thing about it? I’m actually kind of proud of her. I mean this kid was twelve and he was picking on another kid Mary’s age and…”
“That’s not a bad thing, that you’re proud!” Fliss said, shoving the last of her sandwich in her mouth.
“You should have seen the look her head teacher gave me when I said that.” Frank snorted, scrunching the empty bag of potato chips he had been eating in his hand and tossing it into the rubbish basket in Fliss’s office. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know you can’t hit people, and I told Mary that…”
“Well, that’s it then.” Fliss shrugged. “Job done. She did something wrong, albeit for the right reasons and you dealt out the chastisement.”
“And punishment. I told her she had to apologise in front of the class.”
Fliss leaned back in her chair and studied him for a moment “What’s really bugging you Sailor?”
“Am I that easy to read?”
Fliss shrugged “Sorta.”
Frank scratched at the skin around his collar “They raised the issue of her being gifted again, told me she would be better off in a special school.”
“Ah.” Fliss made a noise “And I’m assuming you told them to politely fuck off?”
“In a fashion” he snorted “I was honest, said the last thing that she needs is reinforcement that she's different. She already knows that.”
“Well if you keep saying it they’ll get the message. They can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, Frank.”
Until the authorities get involved… Frank shrugged the thought from his mind and looked up as Joanne walked into the office.
“Your 1pm is here.” she smiled “Hey Frank.”
He nodded to her as Fliss stood up, shooting him an apologetic look “Sorry to kick you out.”
“I need to get back anyway.” he shrugged “Look, do you wanna come over later? I kinda told Mary if she apologised properly and didn’t misbehave we’d get pizza. She told me to ask you so…”
“Sure.” Fliss nodded, smiling softly. “Sounds good. I finish here at…” she checked her diary “5ish so I’ll come straight over.
Frank nodded and with a last smile he left her to it.
The rest of the day went smoothly. There were no calls from the school, he managed to fix the fuel line on the boat he was working on which meant he was done ahead of schedule, meaning his payment would be ahead of schedule too which suited him fine, he could pay Roberta early for a change. He’d promised to pick Mary up from School, instead of her getting the bus, so he did just that and Bonnie came out to tell him that she had, in fact, apologised and gone one further by telling the class that the kid who’s project had been destroyed deserved the class prize.
“I’m proud of you.” Frank looked at her as they drove home.
“What for?” Mary looked at him.
“For being big enough to own up to being wrong.”
Mary looked at him.
“And because you did what you said you were gonna, Fliss is coming over for pizza.”
“Yessss!” Mary let out a whoop, and threw her hands up in a cheer.
Frank chuckled and shook his head. The woman had certainly made an impact in Mary’s life, that was for sure. And his, if he was being honest.
He pulled up outside the apartment and knocked the car out of gear before he reached down for the handbrake.
“There's a lady standing in front of our door.” Mary said.
“Who is it?” he asked, cracking the handbrake up.
“How should I know? I'm seven.” she scoffed back.
Good point. He turned to look and did a double take as he looked at the familiar woman stood on his doorstep, dressed in a pale brown dress, sunglasses and handbag slung over her shoulder. Frank cut the ignition, one arm resting on the steering wheel as he glanced at her.
“That would be your grandmother.” he stated simply as Mary continued to look out of the window
“Holy shit!” she exclaimed.
He was too shocked himself to chastise her for her language, that and he kind of agreed. Holy shit indeed.
“Come on.” He said, getting out of the truck. Mary hopped out of her side and walked with him up to the door.
“Mother.” He greeted.
She looked at him with a tight smile. “Frank.”
“Mary say hello.” He said, his hand falling to the back of her head.
“Hello.” Mary greeted his mother politely.
Frank headed up the steps and his mother moved out of the way as he unlocked the door. She reached for the large bag by her feet, which Frank could see was loaded with gifts and he rolled his eyes. He gave her a look and she simply smiled as he picked up the bag and carried it in. That was typical of her, thinking she could throw money at something and make it all ok.
Frank wasn’t stupid. He knew full well that damned principal would have caused this, and his mother was here for one thing only, to see if Mary was as smart as they all said. And he didn’t like it. One bit. Still, she was his mother so he behaved as politely as he could and offered her a drink, which she declined. Then, not wanting to cause a scene, he sat down and simply let her talk to Mary as she handed out gift after gift, whilst she sniffled into a tissue.
Nice one, Fred!
“An Apple?” Mary gasped as she unwrapped the sleek, white box from it’s pink and gold polka dotted paper. “Woah.”
“It's a MacBook, Darling.” his mother spoke. “Top of the line with the Retina display.”
“Hey, you know who else has a Retina display?” Frank looked at her, arching an eyebrow.
“Fred!” she grinned. Frank looked over and saw the cat who was lounging on Mary’s bed swish his tail.
“Mary, I understand you like mathematics.” His mother spoke and Frank took a deep breath, glancing to his side where she was stood “So, on there you will found a great out of print book by Charles Zimmer...”
Oh here we go. Frank thought to himself as he sat back, running his hand over his stubble.
“…called Transitions in Advanced Algebra.”
“Yeah. Love that book.” Mary turned the laptop over in her hands.
“You're saying you've read it?” his mother spoke and Frank didn’t miss the tone of surprise, yet excitement in her voice.
“Yeah, I've kinda moved on to differential equations now.” Mary shrugged.
“Hey, don't forget your manners.” Frank spoke from where he was sat on the chair, elbow resting on the table, hand supporting his temple “Thank you, Grandma.”
“Thank you, Grandma.”
“Grandmother or Evelyn will do just fine.”
God, she never changed. Frank inhaled and looked away, his hand falling softly to the table in a fist.
“There's so much more on there. Things I know you'll find really challenging.” she moved towards Mary and Frank stood up.
“Yes, but sadly it's a school night and there's homework to do.”
“I thought you said Fliss was coming over?”
“She is, so you need to get that homework done. But…” he gestured to his mother. “What a surprise though, right? Say good night to Grandmother or Evelyn.”
“Goodnight.”
“So who’s Fliss?” His mother asked as Frank ushered her out of the house “Don’t tell me you finally sorted your life out and got a girlfriend?”
“Mary’s riding instructor, and no, she’s a friend.”
“Mary goes horse riding?”
“Yeah.”
Evelyn nodded, before she sneezed into her tissue. “I'd kill a priest for a Benadryl.” she said as they strode towards the black Mercedes she was clearly hiring.
“Still with the allergies?” Frank looked at her.
“Why in God’s name have you got a cat? You don't even like cats.”
“It’s not my cat, it's Mary's cat. I'm just along for the ride.” he shrugged. “So let me guess, our lovely principal, Miss Davis…”
“Never get on the bad side of small minded people who have a little authority. I thought I taught you that.” His mother turned to face him as she reached the side of her car. Frank took a deep breath and looked up just as Fliss’ white jeep Cherokee turned onto the road. She gave a wave and he tossed a hand back and turned to his mother.
“What are you doin' here?” he asked her bluntly.
“You don't think I have a right to see my granddaughter?”
“I do. I'm thrilled your seven year exhaustive search has finally come to a fruitful conclusion.” He retorted sarcastically.
Even before she got out of the car, Fliss could tell the exchange between Frank and whoever the woman was looked tense. Frank’s face was stony and his eyes were hard in a way she’d never seen before. She hesitated for a moment, then deciding it was far ruder to sit in her car and watch, she jumped out.
“I don't think this is appropriate time to talk.” She caught the woman’s British accent and her head snapped towards her. Was this his mother?
“It’s certainly not the setting.” The woman continued as Frank rolled his eyes and leaned back against the car bonnet. “When I was waiting a cockroach this big tried to steal my shoe.” She finished, holding her thumb and forefingers as wide apart as they would go. Fliss shook her head, and shut her car door loudly and turned to look at Frank.
“Yeah. They'll take a shoe.” he nodded.
Fliss smirked to herself at Frank’s response and he caught her eye as she was passing.
“Mary’s inside. I’ll be with you in a sec.” he nodded to her, but as she turned to go the woman spoke to her.
“You must be Fliss.” the woman looked her up and down, causing Fliss to glance down at her legs. She was still in her riding gear only had traded her boots for a pair of sneakers, her long checked socks still pulled up to her knees, not that she should give a shit what this woman thought but she suddenly felt a little self-conscious.
“Yeah.” Fliss said, holding out her hand politely.
“Fliss, this is my mother.” Frank informed, confirming Fliss’ suspicions “She was just leaving.” He turned to look at her. His mother held his gaze and then glanced around
“Honestly, this? This God forsaken mosquito ranch was a conscious choice?”
Fliss felt a rush of anger and before she could stop herself she jumped to Frank’s defence.
“I wouldn’t worry, I find Mosquitos are pretty particular about who they bite. I hear they’re not fond of things that taste bitter.”
Frank’s mother turned to face her. Fliss could feel the nerve in her jaw twitching at the out and out bitchiness of the woman in front of her and she could sense Frank watching her. Nevertheless, she didn’t move her gaze from the woman. Frank’s mother cocked her head, almost like she was assessing her for a moment before Frank spoke up deciding to break up the battle for alpha female that was going on.
“I could drop you back off at the airport.” He looked at his mother. She shot him a look and climbed into her car, shutting the door. He walked a few paces till he was besides Fliss before he turned and looked at her as she reversed the car.
“That’s your mum?” Fliss asked as the car drove off up the road
“Yep.” Frank said, his eyes on the tailgate as it rounded the corner.
“No offence but she seems like a total bitch.”
“Not total.” Frank sniffed. “More like 90%”
Fliss laughed and snaked an arm round his waist “Come on Sailor, I’m starving.”
Tossing his left arm round her shoulder they made their way into the house. Frank stepped aside to let Fliss in first and she headed into the living area to see Mary on the couch, cross legged with a Mac Book open
“This thing is loaded with cool problems.” Marry muttered.
“Only problem I’m interested in is picking what to have on my pizza!” Fliss spoke. Mary’s head jerked up and she grinned.
“Lissy!” She dropped the laptop to the sofa besides her and jumped up. Fliss bent down to give her a hug before she started to chatter incessantly about the laptop. Whilst Mary was talking, Fliss spotted Frank as he leaned against the doorframe, his face stony.
“Hey.” she nudged him and he turned to face her, giving her a tight smile. “Push it out.” she gently reached up and tapped her finger against his temple “Order dinner and then when Mary’s asleep we’ll talk, that is if you want.”
He gave her a smile, this time genuine and nodded.
Two hours and a couple of large pizzas later Mary was in bed and Frank and Fliss were sat on the steps outside the kitchen, drinking beer.
“So the teacher calls her, and she turns up?” Fliss shook her head “Because you pissed her off?”
“The Principal.” Frank corrected her, “But yeah, pretty much.”
Fliss let out a sigh.
“The thing is, Evelyn won’t give up. Not now Mary’s confirmed her suspicions.” he drained his beer.
“What you think she’s gonna do?”
“I dunno.” Frank bit his lip. “But one things for certain, there’s gonna be nothing good that comes from her showing up.”
He looked out over the lawn, the various lamps illuminating the grounds and the street. He felt Fliss slip her arm round him and she leaned against him.
“Well, you won’t be on your own. You got me and Roberta in your corner, along with your, what was it you called them?”
"Circle of Truth” he said, laughing at the fact she’d remembered the nickname he and his friends had for their group.
“Am I in that circle yet?”
“Dur.” he nudged her gently before he rest his head against her. “But, if you’re along for the ride, Cowgirl you better buckle up, coz it’s gonna be bumpy.”
“Well,” she gave a small huff of laugh, “in my experience all the best road trips are.”
*****
Turns out the appropriate time and place his mother was referring too was the next lunch time at a little bar overlooking the beach. He nodded to his mother as he took his seat.
“So, are you teaching?” she asked him as he took a sip from a glass of water.
“I repair boats.” Frank replied.
“Please.” She rolled her eyes.
“I'm not bad at it either.”
“Well, then, that explains this.” She said, gesturing to his face “They don't sell sunscreen here?”
“I wear sunscreen.” He replied, in the same tone he would use on Mary when she was making a pointless statement.
“Not enough. And you need a hat. A big hat that shades your face and neck. You're playing Russian roulette with your skin. You look like porn producer.”
“Okay.” Frank shook his head, suppressing a smile “I appreciate the advice. I do. But we're not here to talk about sunscreen, are we?”
“So no more small talk? That's a shame.” Evelyn took a deep breath “Okay, the environment you have created for that child, where she lives, the school she attends. It's substandard. Every bit of it.”
“I disagree.” Frank said calmly
“We're going nowhere if we're not being honest with each other.” Evelyn shook her head.
“I am being honest.”
“I see. Fine. Well, I'm not leaving without her.”
“Well, welcome to Florida.” Frank smiled again.
“Frank, please listen to reason” Evelyn leaned forward slightly “At some point, you are going to get to the conclusion, or someone in authority is going to spell it out to you, that the child’s best interest is all that matters.
Frank bristled slightly, the child? Her name was Mary. Best interest? All he had ever done for Mary was what he thought was exactly that. He took a breath and looked at his mother, holding her gaze.
“If you're gonna make me pull rank, I will. Diane didn't want you to have her.”
“”Diane...” Evelyn started before her voice dropped slightly and her tone became softer “Diane didn't always think things through.
“Arguably one of the brightest minds on the planet, okay.” Frank nodded sarcastically “Good luck going down that road”
“And what do you think she'd say if she saw how her child is living now?” Evelyn shook her head “Do you honestly think she'd be pleased?”
“That she's living a somewhat normal life? Yes. I do.”
“She's not normal. And treating her as such is negligence on a grand scale.”
Frank glanced down at the table cloth as his mother continued
“I know your hearts in the right place on this but you are denying the girl her potential. I can provide for her. I can enrich her life.”
“Come on, Evelyn.” Frank scoffed, holding his right hand out and ticking off the points as he made them by raising his fingers “You're gonna take that girl, you are gonna bury her in tutors. Then you’ll loan her out to some think tank where she can talk non-trivial zeros with a bunch of old Russian guys for the rest of her life.”
“And you'd bury her under a rock.” Evelyn shot back “Look, I didn't expect you to understand the price you have to pay for greatness.
“Oh I do.” Frank replied, his tone stern “That's why I have Mary in the first place.
“That's uncalled for.” Evelyn’s face slipped slightly and Frank looked away. When he turned back her expression was the same as it had been prior “Your sister had a laundry list of problems. She could have solved Navier-Stokes and gone down in history as one of the greatest mathematicians of all time. But she didn't, because she couldn't finish. She was weak. Weak like her father and weak like...well…”
Frank raised his eyebrows and simply smiled at his mother as she trailed off.
“Now, if it's who I think it is,” he said, looking down and wrinkling his nose, “that kinda puts a black cloud over our luncheon.”
“You're still stubborn and vindictive.” Evelyn shook her head.
“Careful, Mother.” Frank intoned, leaning forwards resting both arms on the table “There's an apple and tree analogy lurking.”
“You guys ready to order?” the waitress interrupted the stare off they were having and Evelyn, ignoring her completely, stood up, reaching for her large bag which was resting on the table
“Here's an idea.” She said, reaching into her bag “Stop thinking about me and you and start thinking what's best for the child. For any reasonable person, a clear picture will emerge. If it doesn't, I suggest you call your attorney.” With that she slammed a $50 note on the table and placed a salt shaker over it. Frank glanced at it before he looked back up at her. “He'll have a bucket of beer.” she said to the waitress as she left.
Frank sighed and looked down at the table. The waitress glanced to him and he waved her away before he stood up and headed out, leaving the money where it was.
The rest of the day passed pretty fast, even if his mind was on this whole sorry mess. He managed to keep a front on for Mary, and bribed her with a trip to the stables to get her away from her Laptop and Math’s books. He had debated hiding the damned things but knew it would cause more trouble that it was worth.
“So she’s gonna take you to court?” Fliss scoffed as they watched Mary who was brushing Monty with Joanne.
“Looks that way.” Frank shrugged.
“That’s fucking unbelievable.” she seethed, and Frank had to smile at her indignation on his behalf
“Sadly it isn’t. “ Frank looked at her “I told you, she’s an exacting woman. I also told you nothing good would come of her turning up. Looks like I was right.”
“Also looks like I was right when I said she was a bitch.” Fliss replied, turning to look at him “Surely, you’re Mary’s legal guardian so they can’t just…”
“Well, that’s the thing” he sighed “I’m not, it was never made official. I just tell people I am, stops them asking questions.” He paused. “Sorry I lied but, well I didn’t know you back then.”
“I get it.” Fliss looked at him before she glanced back at Mary. She took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose “You got a lawyer?”
“Yeah my friend, Greg.” Frank nodded “He’s a family law specialist. I already called him. I’m going to see him tomorrow so I can tell him everything, then it’s a case of waiting.”
He didn’t have to wait long. Two days later he received the court summons for little over a fortnight later.
*****
October 2017
“Hey, wait.”
Frank turned to see Fliss who was jogging up the steps to the courthouse. He glanced at Roberta who was smiling, a little smugly, and then back to his friend who he hadn’t expected to see today.
“What are you doing here, not that I’m not glad to see you but…”
“I’m sorry I can’t stay I just wanted to swing by on the way to work and wish you luck.” She smiled reaching up to straighten his tie.
“It’s just the preliminary hearing today.” Frank said.
“I know but…” she took a deep breath, smoothing out his jacket. He looked at her for a second before she pulled him into a hug.
“Call me later ok?”
“Yeah, I will...”
She nodded to him, giving Roberta a smile before she turned to go.
“Hey” He called after her and she looked over her shoulder at him “Thanks…”
She smiled and nodded heading back to her car.
“So she deviates here, just to give you a hug good luck, and you tell me there’s nothing going on…” Roberta looked at him.
“She’s a friend, a good friend.” Frank turned and shot her a look.
“Whatever you say.” Roberta sighed.
Frank shook his head, avoiding her gaze. If truth be told there had been the odd little moment where he’d picked up a few signals that perhaps she had feelings for him that went beyond simple friendship, the same way his did for her. But he convinced himself he was imagining things. They were from different worlds, why would a girl like her look at someone like him that way, especially with all this fucking baggage.
With a last look around he turned and headed into the court where after a short wait, they were ushered in.
Judge Edwards Nichols was a bald man with a moustache that any cowboy would be proud of. He gestured for everyone to take their seats and then pulled the case file over to him.
“Okay. Adler, grandmother and uncle…” he trailed off and looked up, glancing from Frank to Evelyn. “Really? Sure you folks don't wanna go on the hall and settle this?”
Silence ensued as Frank glanced sideways at his Mother who shifted slightly.
“No? Well, that's a shame. Mr. Cullen, you're here for the uncle.” the judge continued.
“Yes, I am, your Honor.”
“Should start charging you room and board.” Judge Nichols spoke, not looking up “Mr. Highsmith, you're on the wrong side of a bay, aren't you?”
“I'm very happy to be here, Your Honor” Evelyn’s lawyer replied.
“For the record, Mrs. Dibbons is representing the state of Florida Child Welfare Department.” Nichols spoke and Frank glanced over to look at a woman in a blue and white jacket and orange top in the gallery who held her hand up.
“Proceed.” Judge Nichols instructed and Evelyn’s attorney began to speak
“Your Honor, my client, Mrs. Adler, is the maternal grandmother of the child. Her daughter, the girl's mother was a troubled woman...who seven years ago sadly took her own life. It was at this time that Mr. Adler primitively and illegally…”
At that Nichols shot a disapproving look at Frank and he shifted a little nervously in his seat, taking a deep breath.
“…took custody of the girl and spirited her across eight lines for the purpose of denying my client custody.”
Frank glanced over at his mother who was staring straight ahead, avoiding his gaze.
“And there's the evidence that the child currently lives in unclean and unwholesome conditions. We petition to court to grant my client full custody of the child so that she can return to the state of Massachusetts and be given the care to which she is entitled.”
Frank stiffened and Greg gently placed his hand on Frank’s shoulder, shaking his head before he stood up and addressed the accusations his Mother’s attorney had made.
“My client took an infant under his wing for one reason only. It was his sister's desire that he do so. My client has been her constant caregiver.”
Judge Nichols looked at Frank and he held his gaze.
“And your Honor, as far as the living conditions go, I've been in this home. It's fine. I mean, if we adopt standards based on our Northern friend's aversion to palmetto bugs we won't have a child left south of Tallahassee.”
There were a few dumbed down laughs from the gallery and Frank felt his spirits lift ever so slightly as Judge Nichols gave a smile and reached for a paper to his side, pen in his right hand.
“All right, last chance before this starts costing a lot more money.” he said.
“Your Honor, my client would need reasonable access to the child.” Evelyn’s attorney spoke after a pause.
“So ordered.” Nichols nodded “Ms. Dibbons, would you go out and check the living conditions?”
“On the books, Your Honor.” she replied.
“All right, folks. Drive carefully.”
Frank remained in his seat deliberating what that meant. So whilst the case was on going, Evelyn would have access to Mary and his home was going to be inspected by some woman as to how sanitary and safe it was. Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Her lawyer has a nice suit.” Frank mumbled, his voice bland, betraying the hopelessness he was starting to feel.
“Relax, Frank.” Greg looked at him “More weight's put on the talent competition. Go have a cocktail. huh?”
A cocktail, or fifteen, felt like a damned good idea by the time Frank had picked Mary up and gotten home.
“Roberta,” he caught her as she was walking back to her house with a clothes basket full of dried washing from the line. “Would you like to have Mary tonight?
It was a pointless question, it was a Friday, she had Mary every Friday, but still.
“Why wouldn't I like to have Mary tonight?” she shook her head “I told you something like this would happen. Now look where we are”
Frank looked away, waiting got her to finish ranting.
“And I'm supposed to believe you know what you're doing. You couldn't even find a white lawyer.”
Frank scoffed “Wow…Look, just don't worry, okay?
“Don't tell me that.” Roberta looked at him. “There's nothing you can say that's gonna make me feel good because I have no say in any of this, Frank! I'm not a blood relative, I'm not a legal guardian. I’m nothing. Just the lady who lives next door, whose opinion means nothing. Whose feelings mean nothing”
Frank looked down, he knew Roberta cared about Mary. Hell she cared about the both of them, even if she wouldn’t admit it. He already felt bad enough about this as it was, and she wasn’t helping.
“So would I like to have Mary tonight? I'd like to have Mary every night.”
With that she walked past him towards her house, leaving Frank staring at the floor, his mood darkening by the second.
*****
Fliss was edgy. She’d messaged Frank a few times and called but he wasn’t answering or picking up, and she was getting a little worried that things hadn’t gone that well. She locked the gate to the yard and glanced at her watch. It was a little before seven.
Biting her lip she decided to head over and see if he was still in, or if he had already left for Ferg’s, given that it was a Friday night. If he had already gone, then she’d go and keep him company instead of letting him drink himself into a stupor alone.
She pulled up and, shrugging on a short sleeved plaid button down over her vest top she jogged up the steps, knocking on the door, but even as she did she knew there was no one in. The TV was off and the usual chatter wasn’t audible. As she turned to leave she heard a yell and looked over to see Mary hanging out of Roberta’s widow.
“Hey!” she grinned “Frank’s gone out…but me and Roberta are having Karaoke…wanna join?”
Fliss smiled, “How could I refuse that offer?” she laughed, and headed to the door.
“Hey Fliss!” Roberta grinned as Fliss kicked off her sneakers and stepped inside “You just in time! Grab a microphone.”
Fliss took the hairbrush Mary was holding out and laughed before she turned to Roberta. “How did it go? I tried calling Frank but…”
“Not too bad.” Roberta dropped her voice. “They opened with some bullshit about his house being unclean so there’s some woman coming to inspect it at some point…”
Fliss wrinkled her nose and shook her head “That’s crap.”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna give it a clean anyway.” Roberta shrugged. “And then apparently the Grandmother gets access whilst the case is going on. Frank’s lawyer did a pretty good job to be fair.”
Fliss let out a sigh “I thought it was gonna be worse than that given I haven’t heard anything.”
“Well me and Frank may have had a disagreement.” Roberta’s face was contrite “So I probably put him in an even worse mood.”
“Look, I know this is frustrating for you.” Fliss nodded gently “But the last thing he needs is everyone telling him I told you so. It is what it is, and we just gotta support him.”
“I know.” Roberta sighed, her eyes filling with tears “I just, well, I’ve known that little girl since they arrived here looking for a house 6 and a half years ago…”
“I get it, I do.” Fliss smiled “I mean I’ve only known them eight weeks and I can’t imagine life without either of them now.”
“Either of them?”
Fliss rolled her eyes “Stop it, you’re as bad as my mum.”
Roberta chuckled and then both of them were instructed by Mary to stop talking and start singing, so they did.
After an hour and a rendition of what felt like Aretha Franklin’s back catalogue Fliss made her excuses to Mary and gave the girl a hug goodnight. Roberta walked her to the door.
“You gonna go find him?”
“Yeah.” Fliss said “Well, I’ll stop by Ferg’s see if he wants some company.”
“Sure he will, it’s you.” Roberta smiled. Fliss snorted, shaking her head again at the woman’s insinuations and headed to her jeep. She climbed in and headed down to the bay, mulling everything over in her head. The stupid thing was, Roberta wasn’t wrong. She did have feelings for Frank that went well beyond being merely platonic. In the short time she had known him he’d broken through every barrier she had put up, and she trusted him in a way she never thought she’d trust a man ever again. It was almost liberating for her to realise she could feel that way about someone else after everything John had put her through.
But, now really wasn’t the time to act on it, that is if she was going to act on it. She had no idea if Frank felt the same way and she needed to figure out if it was worth potentially sacrificing their friendship for. No, for now she’d simply enjoy being able to be around him, be his friend…at least until this sorry mess was all sorted.
Pulling up outside Fergs she checked her hair before she reached into the back of her car and grabbed her knee high boots. Her riding breaches were a light blue so they looked like jeans, meaning she didn’t feel too conspicuous. A quick squirt of perfume later she hopped out of her car and headed into the bar.
It was loud and she glanced around trying to find a flash of one of his usual hideous Hawaiian shirts, but failed to spot one. Frowning, she was just about to give up thinking he must be somewhere else, when she spotted him at the bar, dressed in a pretty smart black and grey striped dress shirt. But he wasn’t alone. He was sat, quite close, leaning towards the woman Fliss recognised as Mary’s teacher. She hesitated for a second, and began to make her way over when Frank leaned even closer to Bonnie and Fliss’ breath caught and she felt an unwelcome, hot, buzzing sensation fill her entire body as he kissed the woman next to him.
Well, that answered her question about what she was going to do about her feelings.
Absolutely fuck all.
Swallowing and blinking slightly, she turned and headed to her car, gently wiping away a stray tear as it fell down her cheek.
****
Chapter 7
#riding high#frank adler#frank adler x ofc#frank adler x original female character#gifted#gifted fan fic
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Maybe I’m challenged as I don’t see a PM button. Do I have to have tumblr account to see it?
Hum, yes. Sorry, I assumed you had an account. >_<’
Ack! You pinpointed the error in my analogy. Yes, hurting family and friends is one thing, but abandoning your brother/sister in arms is awful at a whole different level!
Especially if you’re in love with that sister-in-arms, yes.
I think we agree more on principles and differentiate in characterization. Here’s one that I’m sure you would agree. Yes, V’s social awkwardness is endearing. However, V’s smoothly tutoring Amy in mannerism befitting a debutante in the prior movie, and then improperly responding to the city mayor and non-diplomatically rebuking Hodgins’ overprotective gesture in the latest movie is just incongruous. I even dare to say lazy writing? From that angle, I recall you frustratingly wrote about how V is dumbed down in the first anime movie.
I think you would also share the popular take of the anime Dietfried, where he literary turned saintly (thanks to V’s endless graceful response to his mean streaks) and became an admirable true older brother. I was hoping Gil would come back and scolded dickfried. Thus imagine how dumfounded I got when anime Dietfried told his weak and arguably selfish younger brother that he wanted to put Gil in a sack and throw it before Violet. That’s beyond 180 turn! It might as well be a novel alternate reality like IF (except less disturbing O__O … I still don’t know what to make of Diet-V relationship there!).
Yes and yes.
Btw, despite minimum coverage of anime Gil, looks like he went through similar catharsis and as remorseful as V for his role in the war. This change of heart is evident as he lived and served in former enemy territory among the very people whose sons and brothers he and Violet had most likely killed. The novel Gil had no such character development. Still, I snorted out loud when I read your pointing out all the plot holes in the movie, which added to gil’s jackassery.
That was a good one from the movie, I agree. But I’m sure that if novel!Gil had to live in an isolated island in a former enemy nation, he’d do the exact same thing. It’s not like he hated the enemies. He was just protecting his country.
Now, here’s a different take of V’s wholeness up to the reunion. Comparing the reunion in the anime vs the novel, the anime V is more whole. How come? Well, the novel V still viewed herself as a tool requiring order then, the anime one did not. Further, a true test of character is how one reacts when one does not get what one wants. The novel V was well rewarded for all the years of clinging ludicrously to the belief that Gil was alive. After all, he came to her rescue for the reunion. The girl soldier did not experience that unfathomable rejection from her everything. In contrary, anime V received painful rejection upon attempting to reunite. She searched all over, learned new profession, went through nervous breakdown, even resorted to suicide attempt for what turns out to be a weak man who chose to wallow in sorrow. This is undoubtedly unfair and painful to her, and the audience. It is heart piercing sad when the person with whom you create memory with becomes a memory. Yet she resolved to move on. Beyond moving on, there was not an ounce of resentment or even entitlement for an apology. That tear-jerking last letter exudes an attitude of gratitude as she listed EVERY single thing that weak, broken man had gifted her. Despite all his flaws, his love for her had become her way of living. How his kindness beget kindness of her own, which she generously shared with Amy and Taylor Bartlett among many others. Thus, the anime V is more noble and whole (at reunion) than her novel counterpart.
OP, you’re comparing the wrong Violet. ^^’ Remember that the anime has a different timeline? Movie!Violet is post-Gaiden. Novel!Violet during their reunion is pre-Gaiden. You should be comparing Ani!Violet with how Novel!Violet was in Gaiden chapter 6. The Violet who understands love more, who realizes that she was in love with Gil from day one, who had opened up to a romantic relationship, in which she’ll have to be equal to him and thus will never again be treated as a tool or receive orders from him.
As for the “how she reacts when she doesn’t get what she wants” thingy... I’m not sure if you recall, but Novel!Violet found out that Gil was alive way before their reunion. And she chose to let him be. She simply continued living like normal and waiting for him. If he decided to reunite with her, good. If he didn’t, that would be sad as fuck to her, but she would leave him alone, just as she had been doing all those months in-between summer and fall when she knew that he was all right and just moved on with her life.
So, yeah, I think they were both just as noble and whole. I’d actually give Novel!Violet more points because she didn’t even try to go change his mind. She simply took the obvious conclusion, which must have hurt a ton when looking back on all she had gone through, and respected his will.
Aw very kind of you to thank me for military service. By God’s grace I was spared from Gilbert and Violet’s type of service, but I did struggle to move on after service. A new career in emergency medicine has afforded me the privilege to be front and center as children, sibling, friend, and parent pass away by their loved ones. In the process, I learned to steer from being cold and aloof. I compartmentalize well which enabled me to remain a functional professional throughout those traumatic moments, but the novel and anime let me process those compartments long after. It is eerily poignant how relatable VE journey is. When lamentations over the end of dreams and relationships got overwhelming, the obligation to care for hurting patients pulled me away from the immobilizing self-pity. That pinky promise and thank you letter also hit home very hard. A year prior to the movie release, I did exactly those with a dearest person, whose life I am no longer a part of. I guess I internalize this work of fiction a bit too much eh? To me, VE is a profound lesson in empathy through the journey of loving, losing, longing, n letting go.
It’s not too much at all! It’s actually wonderful to know more and more about how relatable VE is to people who work/worked in the military, because I’m sure Akatsuki-sensei did her research on that.
All in all, thank you for bequeathing a space to pour the feels after the movie drained my tear ducts =) Honto ni arigatou gozaimas
You’re always welcome here, OP! Bless you. :>
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from my ko-fi requests / even more vampire catra au
Lit by the full moon, Catra seems almost unearthly, a wraith lit in the pale silvery light. She reaches out a hand, caught in half a bow, and Adora takes it with an incredulous laugh that splits into a yelp when Catra yanks her forward and into a waltz. She’s clearly danced before, and Adora is suddenly glad for taking lessons with Bow, because it’s so easy to fall into step together, to let Catra spin them around the room as she hums a bouncing song under her breath.
buy me a kofi!
“Spend a night in the creepy haunted castle, they said,” Adora grumbles to herself, kicking aside a pebble and listening to it skitter off into the darkness, “film it all so we can see, they said...” Adora turns her camera around to face herself, squinting as the light hits her eyes. “Guys, if I die tonight, I’m seriously blaming you. I mean it, I’ll haunt you too.”
Even now, Adora can practically hear Bow’s voice in her ear: well, you didn’t have to accept the dare, you could’ve just taken the punishment—
“And I know I could’ve taken the punishment instead of doing the dare, but after what Mermista made Sea Hawk do...no way.”
Now, Glimmer: hey, at least you’re alone?
As if on cue, she hears the quiet shuffle of something moving too far ahead to see, and Adora stops dead in her tracks. It’s probably just a bug, or a rat, and besides, it’s not like ghosts need to walk, right? Just in case, Adora switches off the light on her camera, eyes straining in the dark to even catch a hint of what had moved.
The seconds drag out as Adora tries to decide whether to continue forward or to make a run for it, and just when she’s ready to turn around and forget the dare altogether, there comes from the dark up ahead a quiet, blessedly human voice that calls out, “Hello? Is—is someone there?”
For a moment, Adora considers not responding and trying to quietly edge backwards, but then, it sounds like a girl, and she definitely sounds scared…
With a sigh, Adora turns her camera’s light back on and takes a few careful steps forward. “Yeah, do you see a light?”
“I’m not coming any closer until you tell me why you’re here.”
Which is fair. “It sounds stupid, but my friends dared me to spend the night here, so…”
The girl, still in the dark, laughs at that. “And you did it?”
“Well, yeah, if you don’t do your initial dare, you have to do a punishment, and the last punishment someone had was to run around the docks naked and singing a sea shanty, so…”
“A sea shanty?”
“My friends are very weird,” Adora says, “but his nickname is Sea Hawk, so it’s not surprising that he actually knew sea shanties off the top of his head.”
The girl laughs and Adora feels a smile slip onto her face in response; and with a voice that even sounds like fondly rolling eyes, the girl says, "Okay, fine, you sound normal enough."
And then, more quiet footsteps, and—she steps into the light. And despite the way she's squinting in the dim glow of Adora's camera, despite the smear of dirt across her cheek, despite even the cold stone surrounding them, she is beautiful.
"You're recording?" Does she sound annoyed? She definitely sounds annoyed.
"Oh—yeah, sorry. I can delete the footage later if you want, it was just part of my dare, to make sure I actually do it or whatever." Adora swings the camera back around towards herself and gives the viewfinder a middle finger, relishing the way it makes the girl laugh again.
"It's fine, I just don't really like being on camera. But anyway...what's your name, mystery girl?"
"Adora."
"Pretty name for a pretty girl. I'm Catra," the girl—Catra—says, and then, as she sidles up just behind Adora and places a fever-hot hand on hers to turn the camera back to face them, "and I hope your friends know that it's very rude to film people without their permission."
The words are chastising, but Catra is so close and so warm that Adora barely hears them. "Uh—yeah. I can turn it off and...I guess turn it back on in the morning?"
Another pretty laugh. If Catra were to tip forward just a bit she'd be leaning full against Adora. Unfortunately, she steps back and Adora pivots to face her as if led on a string. "It's your choice, Adora."
“What about the light? How will we be able to see?”
Catra shrugs, reaches out to touch the camera again. “Well, do you trust me?”
And she shouldn’t; Catra is a stranger in a strange place, and to throw them into the dark could very well mean the end of them both, but— “I don’t know why, but I kind of do.”
Catra smiles, wide and beautiful and giddy, and presses the button to turn Adora’s camera off. And the world goes dark. Adora fumbles for Catra’s hand, touches her arm, holds on tight, even when Catra laughs and breaks away—because it’s just to fix her position so she can twine their fingers together.
“Just wait a bit, okay? Your eyes will adjust.”
And slowly, they do. It’s not much, but soon Adora is able to differentiate pitch-black from dark-gray and regular black, and she can see the faint outline of Catra, so very close. “So, you come here often?”
Catra laughs again and Adora can almost see her shaking her head. “What can I say, it’s kind of peaceful, in a weird way. I stumbled across this castle ages ago when I was in a really bad place, and...I’m in a much better place now, but it still centers me, to be here alone in the dark, if that makes sense.”
And...maybe to anyone else, it wouldn't, but to Adora, “Yeah, it does. I like to be squished when I’m overwhelmed. Either in between things or beneath something...I’m like the opposite of claustrophobic, I love being trapped in the tight, small spaces.”
Catra hums and gently, slowly begins to pull Adora deep into the castle. “Hey, if I like to hang out in creepy dark castles, I can’t judge you for liking being squished. Where do you go for that?”
“My attic, usually. Old boxes and whatnot.”
“Cute,” Catra huffs out a little laugh, and then, just as Adora’s eyes are really beginning to get used to the dark, they round a corner and enter a room that is not so much a room as it is a floor and massive columns reaching towards empty sky. “This used to be the ballroom, I think,” Catra finally lets go of Adora’s hand to step forwards and do a little twirl, “it seems it.”
Lit by the full moon, Catra seems almost unearthly, a wraith lit in the pale silvery light. She reaches out a hand, caught in half a bow, and Adora takes it with an incredulous laugh that splits into a yelp when Catra yanks her forward and into a waltz. She’s clearly danced before, and Adora is suddenly glad for taking lessons with Bow, because it’s so easy to fall into step together, to let Catra spin them around the room as she hums a bouncing song under her breath. When she dips Adora, it is deep, and Adora hooks her leg around Catra’s to keep her balance, ignoring the delighted curve of Catra’s lips.
When she lets Adora back up, Catra’s brows are raised and her eyes, gem-bright blue and gold, are practically luminescent. “You’re certainly full of surprises!”
“What can I say, I’m a girl with charm—my friend and I took dance classes a few years ago. I’m pretty rusty, but I didn’t step on your toes, at least.”
“You were brilliant,” Catra compliments, and they’d just done simple steps, but Adora still flushes pink at the praise.
“What else is there?”
If she’s disappointed, Catra doesn’t show it, just nods and sweeps an arm out towards the door they’ve danced up to. “It gets dark again, okay?”
But the dark is just about familiar by now, and Adora no longer needs Catra to steer her around fallen debris. They reach a huge stone staircase, perhaps left untrod in hundreds of years but for them, and Adora climbs with Catra at her side, their arms hooked together now. Catra is humming that same song again.
“What song is that?”
Catra starts, glances sidelong at Adora, and shakes her head. “Just something I made up ages ago.”
“I rather like it.”
Catra laughs again, a pleased, lilting sound, and directs Adora into one of the rooms. The old wooden door has long since rotted away but the room just beyond somehow remains untouched by time, but for the faint layer of dust that has settled over everything. There are footprints scattered across the room—Catra’s, most likely—and Adora almost feels like they aren’t supposed to be here.
But Catra steps forward and into the bedroom without a second thought, so Adora follows her. “Welcome to my room,” she says a bit dryly.
Adora appraises it: the four-poster bed with heavy blankets perfectly made, the bookshelf full of ancient books, the desk with a blank sheet of paper next to a quill and a dried up ink bottle. The closet further in—that when she opens, reveals heavy dresses and still-shiny shoes—and the empty basin that perhaps housed water to wash in, once upon a time. It is simple, but she can imagine it in a different time, with a girl that went to balls and wore fancy gowns and sealed her letters with a wax seal, and Adora likes it.
“I like it, but how...how is it like this?”
Catra has strode over to the fireplace and now squats in front of it, hands held out to be warmed by a non-existent flame. “There are legends,” she starts slowly, “that some things...stay like this, just outside the reach of time.”
“But why?”
Catra shrugs, stands, spins on her heel to face Adora. Again, she looks like some kind of phantom, and Adora involuntarily takes a step back. “It’s what I was interested in when I came here. Why just this room, what made it like this, were there other places like it. And I haven’t really come to a clear conclusion, but...I think it’s magic. I think it’s the presence of something supernatural, something with such a tie to the place—to this room, for example—that they...fuse somehow, become immortal together.”
“So...like a pocket dimension?”
Catra considers this and shrugs again. “I suppose. What I’m most curious about is why it only affects one room out of this whole place.”
“And why no one else has found it.”
At that, Catra’s brows jerk up in clear surprise, and this time it’s Adora’s turn to shrug. “There’s no graffiti, no litter, nothing. Just our—and your—footprints.”
Catra nods slowly, a pleased little grin quirking the corners of her lips up. “Just us,” she repeats.
And suddenly, Adora is very very aware that it is just them, far off in the middle of nowhere. She then realizes that she’s dropped her camera somewhere, that it really is just them. Her throat dries up as Catra takes a slow, measured step towards her, and then another. Her eyes are still bright with some kind of secret, and they shine when she passes the window still somehow set with glass, and—
“Catra...where are you from?”
Catra does not even falter. “Here.”
And the pieces are falling into place now, and despite the mounting dread, Adora cannot bring herself to move, not even an inch. “Okay, let me—” deep breath in, deep breath out. “When are you from?”
Now Catra pauses. As she cocks her head to the side, a bewildered expression written across her face, Adora wonders if maybe she got it wrong, wonders if Catra is going to laugh. But the other girl just shakes her head and pouts a little, and Adora curses herself for the fact that she thinks the action is still somehow adorable. “What gave it away?”
“Your eyes...they glow. Normal human eyes do not glow.”
Catra nods and steps back into the light, eyes closed. This time, when they open, they are normal, and she is smiling. “Like this?”
“Well, yes, but that’s not—Catra.” Said girl gives Adora a wounded look, which Adora completely ignores. “What are you?”
Catra somehow has the audacity to wink. “I think you already know the answer to that one, don’t you?”
And Adora does. But breathing that word aloud, letting it rest in the air between them, acknowledging what she knew from perhaps the very beginning...it would make this all real. “I—you’re...god. Just open your mouth.”
With another slow wink, Catra obliges. This time, instead of dull human teeth, she suddenly has a mouth full of fangs, razor sharp and dangerous. But still somehow beautiful. She should be scared, Adora knows she should be scared, but as her breath leaves her all at once, she realizes that somehow, all she feels is awe.
“You’re the reason the room is like this, aren’t you?”
Catra’s mouth snaps shut and she pouts a little, seemingly disappointed that Adora didn’t, what, run away screaming? “Yeah…aren’t you scared? Even a tiny bit?”
“I think I’d be more scared if I didn’t already know what a huge dork you are. But can you—can you show me them again?”
Obediently, Catra opens her mouth, and keeps it open still when Adora comes close, cradling her cheek with one hand. With just the tip of her index finger on her free hand, she traces the points of Catra’s fangs: the four baby fangs, like a traditional vampire’s, and the four just next to them, larger and even more vicious. She knows she’s playing with fire, but Adora slowly increases pressure until her fingertip blooms with a bead of blood, and she watches with amusement as Catra’s eyes widen.
But before the other girl—the vampire—can get any ideas, Adora withdraws her hands from Catra’s face and steps back, her heart dancing a foxtrot in her chest. “I—will you let me leave?”
“Will you tell anyone about me?”
Honestly, Adora hadn’t even thought of that. “No, I just...think I should go for now. In case…” Adora glances down at the streak of red on her finger, then back up at Catra, who is watching her curiously.
“You’ll go,” Catra repeats, “for now.” She doesn’t phrase it like one, but it’s a question, clear as day.
“If you’ll have me again, I’d...I like to come back.” At the disbelieving arch of Catra’s brow, Adora rushes out, “I want to see you again, if you want to see me again. You could...tell me about your old life, I don’t know.
At that, Catra’s serious expression breaks and she begins to laugh. “God, Adora, you’re such an idiot—”
“But can I come back?”
In a tone that very much suggests that she doesn’t believe that Adora ever will, Catra says, “Sure, you can come back.”
(And the very next night, Adora does.)
#she ra#shera#catradora#vampcat au#kofi request#my writing#ft concept sketches of catras teef by my gf..chose the bottom right one :0
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Riding High Ch 6: The Mother Ship
Chapter Summary: Mary gets into another spot of trouble and Frank’s mother turns up. (what a bitch!)
Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.
Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher
A/N: Contains SPOILERS for the film!!!!! If you haven’t seen it please be aware of that before you read on. As a Lawyer I know how long the types of cases depicted in GIFTED can take, however they can also be done pretty fast. With that in mind, and because it fits with how I want the story to go I’m spreading it over approximately 6 weeks or so, so just roll with me!
As always I’m a ho for a REBLOG and COMMENT!
Chapter Song: Satellite Call by Sara Bareilles
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
“So she hit him?” Fliss looked at Frank.
Frank took a deep breath. “In the face with a book.”
Fliss frowned “That doesn’t sound like Mary.”
Frank shook his head “She hit him hard too. Broke his nose. I saw the kid leaving as I was going into the school, blood all over his shirt…” he scoffed “But, you know the really bad thing about it? I’m actually kind of proud of her. I mean this kid was 12 and he was picking on another kid Mary’s age and…”
“That’s not a bad thing, that you’re proud!” Fliss said, shoving the last of her sandwich in her mouth.
“You should have seen the look her head teacher gave me when I said that.” Frank snorted, scrunching the empty bag of potato chips he had been eating in his hand and tossing it into the rubbish basket in Fliss’s office. “I mean, I know you can’t hit people, and I told Mary that…”
“Well, that’s it then.” Fliss said, shrugging “Job done. She did something wrong, albeit for the right reasons and you dealt out the chastisement.”
“And punishment.” Frank said “Told her she had to apologise in front of the class.”
Fliss leaned back in her chair and studied him for a moment “ok, what’s really bugging you Sailor?”
“Am I that easy to read?”
Fliss shrugged before she nodded and deadpanned “Yes.”
Frank scratched at the skin around his collar “They raised the issue of her being gifted again, told me she would be better off in a special school.”
“Ah.” Fliss made a noise “And I’m assuming you told them to politely fuck off?”
“In a fashion” he snorted “I was honest, said the last thing that she needs is reinforcement that she's different. She already knows that.”
“Well if you keep saying it they’ll get the message. They can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to Frank.”
Until the authorities get involved… Frank shrugged the thought from his mind and looked up as Joanne walked into the office.
“Your 1pm is here.” she smiled “Hey Frank.”
He nodded to her as Fliss stood up, shooting him an apologetic look “Sorry to kick you out.”
“I need to get back anyway.” he shrugged “Look, do you wanna come over later? I kinda told Mary if she apologised properly and didn’t misbehave we’d get pizza. She told me to ask you so…”
“Sure.” Fliss nodded, smiling softly. “Sounds good. I finish here at…” she checked her diary “4:30ish so I’ll come straight over.”
Frank nodded and with a last smile he left her to it.
The rest of the day went smoothly. There were no calls from the school, he managed to fix the fuel line on the boat he was working on which meant he was done ahead of schedule, meaning his payment would be ahead of schedule. He’d promised to pick Mary up from School so he did just that and Bonnie came out to tell him that she had, in fact, apologised and gone one further by telling the class that the kid whose project had been destroyed deserved the class prize.
“I’m proud of you.” Frank said as they drove home.
“What for?” Mary looked at him.
“For being big enough to own up to being wrong.”
Mary looked at him.
“And because you did what you said you were gonna, Fliss is coming over for pizza.”
“Yessss!” Mary let out a whoop, and threw her hands up in a cheer.
Frank chuckled and shook his head. The woman had certainly made an impact in Mary’s life, that was for sure. And his, if he was being honest.
He pulled up outside the apartment and knocked the car out of gear before he reached down for the handbrake.
“There's a lady standing in front of our door.” Mary said.
“Who is it?” he asked, cracking the handbrake up.
“How should I know? I'm seven.” she scoffed back.
Good point… he turned to look and did a double take as he looked at woman stood on his doorstep, dressed in a pale brown dress, sunglasses and handbag slung over her shoulder.
Frank cut the ignition, one arm resting on the steering wheel as he glanced at her.
“That would be your grandmother.” he said as Mary continued to look out of the window
“Holy shit!” she exclaimed.
He was too shocked himself to chastise her for her language, that and he kind of agreed. Holy shit indeed.
“Come on…” he said, getting out of the truck. Mary hopped out of her side and walked with him up to the door.
“Mother.” he greeted.
She looked at him with a tight smile “Frank.”
“Mary say hello.” he said, his hand falling to the back of her head.
“Hello.” she greeted his mother politely.
Frank headed up the steps and his mother moved out of the way as he unlocked the door. She reached for the large bag by her feet, which frank could see was loaded with gifts and he rolled his eyes. He gave her a look and she simply smiled as he picked up the bag and carried it in. That was typical of her, thinking she could throw money at something and make it all ok.
Frank wasn’t stupid. He knew full well that damned principal would have caused this, and his mother was here for one thing only, to see if Mary was as smart as they all said. And he didn’t like it. One bit. Still, she was his mother so he behaved as politely as he could and offered her a drink, which she declined. Then, not wanting to cause a scene, he sat down and simply let her talk to Mary as she handed out gift after gift, whilst she sniffled into a tissue.
Nice one, Fred!
“An Apple?” Mary gasped as she unwrapped the sleek, white box from it’s pink and gold polka dotted paper. “Woah…”
“It's a MacBook, darling.” his mother spoke. “Top of the line with the Retina display.”
“Hey, you know who else has a Retina display?” Frank looked at her, arching an eyebrow.
“Fred!” she said with a grin. Frank looked over and saw the cat who was lounging on Mary’s bed swish his tail.
“Mary, I understand you like mathematics.” his mother spoke and Frank took a deep breath, glancing to his side where she was stood “So, on there you will found a great out of print book by Charles Zimmer...”
Oh here we go… Frank thought to himself as he sat back, running his hand over his stubble.
“…called Transitions in Advanced Algebra.”
“Yeah. Love that book.” Mary said, turning the laptop over in her hands.
“You're saying you've read it?” his mother spoke and Frank didn’t miss the tone of surprise, yet excitement in her voice. Nope, he did not like this one bit.
“Yeah, I've kinda moved on to differential equations now.” Mary shrugged.
“Hey, don't forget your manners.” Frank spoke from where he was sat on the chair, elbow resting on the table, hand supporting his temple “Thank you, Grandma.”
“Thank you, Grandma.”
“Grandmother or Evelyn will do just fine.”
God, she never changed…Frank inhaled and looked away, his hand falling softly to the table in a fist.
“There's so much more on there. Things I know you'll find really challenging.” she moved towards Mary and Frank stood up.
“Yes, but sadly it's a school night and there's homework to do.”
“I thought you said Lissy was coming over?”
“She is, so you need to get that homework done. But…” he gestured to his mother. “What a surprise though, right? Say good night to Grandmother or Evelyn.”
“Goodnight…”
“So who’s Lissy?” his mother asked as Frank ushered her out of the house “Don’t tell me you finally sorted your life out and got a girlfriend?”
“Mary’s riding instructor, and no, she’s a friend.”
“She goes horse riding?”
“Yeah.”
Evelyn looked at him, before she sneezed into her tissue.
“I'd kill a priest for a Benadryl.” she said as they strode towards the black Mercedes she was clearly hiring.
“Still with the allergies?” Frank looked at her.
“Why in God’s name have you got a cat? You don't even like cats.”
“It’s not my cat, it's Mary's cat. I'm just along for the ride.” he shrugged. “So let me guess, our lovely principal, Miss Davis…”
“Never get on the bad side of small minded people who have a little authority. I thought I taught you that.” his mother said, turning to face him as she reached the side of her car. Frank took a deep breath and looked up just as Fliss’ white jeep turned onto the road. She gave a wave and he tossed a hand back and turned to his mother.
“What are you doin' here?” he asked her bluntly.
“You don't think I have a right to see my granddaughter?”
“I do. I'm thrilled your seven year exhaustive search has finally come to a fruitful conclusion.” he retorted sarcastically.
Even before she got out of the car Fliss could tell the exchange between Frank and whoever the woman was looked tense. Frank’s face was stony and his eyes were hard in a way she’d never seen before. She hesitated for a moment, then deciding it was far ruder to sit in her car and watch, she jumped out.
“I don't think this is appropriate time to talk” She caught the woman’s British accent and her head snapped towards her. Was this his mother?
“It’s certainly not the setting.” she continued as Frank rolled his eyes and leaned back against the car bonnet. “When I was waiting a cockroach this big tried to steal my shoe.” She finished, holding her thumb and forefingers as wide apart as they would go. Fliss shook her head, and shut her car door loudly and turned to look at Frank.
“Yeah. They'll take a shoe.” he nodded.
Fliss smirked to herself at Frank’s response and he caught her eye as she was passing.
“Mary’s inside. I’ll be with you in a sec…” he winked at her but as she turned to go the woman spoke to her.
“You must be Lissy…” the woman looked her up and down. Fliss glanced down. She was still in her riding gear only had traded her long boots for a pair of sneakers. Her long checked socks still pulled up to her knees, not that she should give a shit what this woman thought but she suddenly felt a little self-conscious.
“Felicity…” Fliss said holding out her hand politely. Frank smirked to himself at her correction to his mother, using her full, formal name not nickname before he gestured between the pair of them as they shook hands, his mother raising an eyebrow at her.
“Fliss, this is my mother…” Frank said, confirming Fliss’ suspicions “She was just leaving…” he turned to look at her. His mother held his gaze and then glanced around
“Honestly, this? This God forsaken mosquito ranch was a conscious choice?”
Fliss felt a rush of anger and before she could stop herself she jumped to Frank’s defence.
“I wouldn’t worry, I find Mosquitos are pretty particular about who they bite. I hear they’re not fond of people that taste bitter.”
Frank’s mother turned to face her. Fliss could feel the nerve in her jaw twitching at the out and out bitchiness of the woman in front of her and she could sense Frank watching her. Nevertheless, she didn’t move her gaze from the woman in front of her. Frank’s mother cocked her head, almost like she was assessing her for a moment before Frank spoke up deciding to break up the battle for alpha female that was going on.
“I could drop you back off at the airport.” he looked at his mother. She shot him a look and climbed into her car, shutting the door. He walked a few paces till he was besides Fliss before he turned and looked at her as she reversed the car.
“That’s your mother?” Fliss asked as the car drove off up the road
“Yep.” Frank said, his eyes on the tailgate as it rounded the corner.
“No offence but she seems like a total bitch.”
“Not total…” Frank said, looking down at her “I’d say about 89%”
Fliss laughed and snaked an arm round his waist “Come on Sailor, I’m starving.”
Tossing his left arm round her shoulder they made their way into the house. Frank stepped aside to let Fliss in first and she headed into the living area to see Mary on the couch, cross legged with an Mac Book open
“This thing is loaded with cool problems.” Marry muttered.
“Only problem I’m interested in is picking what to have on my pizza!” Fliss spoke. Mary’s head jerked up and she grinned.
“Lissy!” She dropped the laptop to the sofa besides her and jumped up. Fliss bent down to give her a hug before she started to chatter incessantly about the laptop. Whilst Mary was talking, Fliss spotted Frank as he leaned against the doorframe, his face stony.
“Hey…” she nudged him and he turned to face her, giving her a tight smile. “Push it out…” she gently reached up and tapped her finger against his temple “Order dinner and then when Mary’s asleep we’ll talk, that is if you want.”
He gave her a smile, this time genuine and nodded.
Two hours and a couple of large pizzas later Mary was in bed and Frank and Fliss were sat on the steps outside the kitchen, drinking beer.
“So the teacher calls her, and she turns up?” Fliss shook her head “Because you pissed her off?”
“The Principal.” Frank corrected her, “But yeah…pretty much.”
Fliss let out a sigh.
“The thing is, Evelyn won’t give up. Not now Mary’s confirmed her suspicions.” he drained his beer.
“What you think she’s gonna do?”
“I dunno.” Frank said “But one things for certain, there’s gonna be nothing good that comes from her showing up.”
He looked out over the lawn, the various lamps illuminating the grounds and the street. He felt Fliss slip her arm round him and she leaned against him.
“Well, you won’t be on your own. You got me and Roberta in your corner, along with your…what was it you called them?”
"Circle of Trust” he said, laughing at the fact she’d remembered the nickname he and his friends had for their group.
“Am I in that circle yet?”
“Dur.” he nudged her gently before he rest his head against her. “But, if you’re along for the ride, Cowgirl you better buckle up…coz it’s gonna be bumpy.”
“Meh..” she said, giving a small huff of laugh “The best road trips are.”
*****
Turns out the appropriate time and place his mother was referring to was the next lunch time at a little bar overlooking the beach. He nodded to his mother as he took his seat.
“So, are you teaching?” she asked him as he took a sip from a glass of water.
“I repair boats.” Frank replied.
“Please.” She rolled her eyes.
“I'm not bad at it either.”
“Well, then, that explains this.” she said, gesturing to his face “They don't sell sunscreen here?”
“I wear sunscreen” he said, in the same tone he would use on Mary when she was making a pointless statement.
“Not enough. And you need a hat. A big hat that shades your face and neck. You're playing Russian roulette with your skin. You look like porn producer.”
“Okay.” Frank said, shaking his head, suppressing a smile “I appreciate the advice. I do. But we're not here to talk about sunscreen, are we?”
“So no more small talk? That's a shame.” Evelyn said, taking a deep breath “Okay, the environment you have created for that child…where she lives, the school she attends…it's substandard. Every bit of it.”
“I disagree.” Frank said calmly
“We're going nowhere if we're not being honest with each other.” Evelyn shook her head.
“I am being honest.”
“I see. Fine. Well, I'm not leaving without her.”
“Well, welcome to Florida.” Frank smiled.
“Frank, please listen to reason” Evelyn leaned forward slightly “At some point, you are going to get to the conclusion...or someone in authority is going to spell it out to you, that the child’s best interest is all that matters.
Frank bristled slightly, the child? Her name was Mary. Best interest? All he had ever done for Mary was what he thought was exactly that. He took a breath and looked at his mother, holding her gaze. “If you're gonna make me pull rank, I will. Diane didn't want you to have her.”
“”Diane...” Evelyn started before her voice dropped slightly and he3r tone became softer “Diane didn't always think things through.
“Arguably one of the brightest minds on the planet, ok.” Frank said, nodding sarcastically “Good luck going down that road”
“And what do you think she'd say if she saw how her child is living now?” Evelyn shook her head “Do you honestly think she'd be pleased?”
“That she's living a somewhat normal life? Yes. I do.” Frank replied honestly
“She's not normal. And treating her as such is negligence on a grand scale.”
Frank glanced down at the table cloth as she continued.
“I know your heart's in the right place on this but you are denying the girl her potential. I can provide for her. I can enrich her life.”
“Come on, Evelyn.” Frank scoffed, holding his right hand out and ticking off the points as he made them by raising his fingers “You're gonna take that girl, you are gonna bury her in tutors. Then you’ll loan her out to some think tank where she can talk non-trivial zeros with a bunch of old Russian guys for the rest of her life.”
“And you'd bury her under a rock.” Evelyn shot back “Look, I didn't expect you to understand the price you have to pay for greatness.
“Oh I do.” Frank replied, his tone stern “That's why I have Mary in the first place.
“That's uncalled for.” Evelyn’s face slipped slightly and Frank looked away. When he turned back her expression was the same as it had been prior “Your sister had a laundry list of problems. She could have solved Navier-Stokes and go down in the history as one of the greatest mathematicians of all time. But she didn't, because she couldn't finish. She was weak. Weak like a father and weak like...well…”
Frank raised his eyebrows and simply smiled at his mother as she trailed off.
“Now, if it's who I think it is... “ he said, looking down and wrinkling his nose “That kinda puts a black cloud over our luncheon.”
“You're still stubborn and vindictive.” Evelyn shook her head.
“Careful, Mother.” he said, leaning forwards resting both arms on the table “There's an apple and tree analogy lurking.”
“You guys ready to order?” the waitress interrupted the stare off they were having and Evelyn, ignoring her completely, stood up, reaching for her large bag which was resting on the table
“Here's an idea.” she said, reaching into her bag “Stop thinking about me and you...and start thinking what's best for the child. For any reasonable person, a clear picture will emerge. If it doesn't, I suggest you call your attorney.
With that she slammed a $50 note on the table and placed a salt shaker over it. Frank glanced at it before he looked back up at her.
“He'll have a bucket of beer.” she said to the waitress as she left.
Frank sighed and looked down at the table. The waitress glanced to him and he waved her away before he stood up and headed out, leaving the money where it was.
The rest of the day passed pretty fast, even if his mind was on this whole sorry mess. He managed to keep a front on for Mary, and bribed her with a trip to the stables to get her away from her Laptop and Math’s books. He had debated hiding the damned things but knew it would cause more trouble that it was worth.
“So she’s gonna take you to court?” Fliss scoffed as they watched Mary who was brushing Monty with Joanne.
“Looks that way.” Frank shrugged.
“That’s fucking unbelievable.” she seethed, and Frank had to smile at her indignation on his behalf
“Sadly it isn’t. “ Frank looked at her “I told you, she’s an exacting woman. I also told you nothing good would come of her turning up. Looks like I was right.”
“Also looks like I was right when I said she was a bitch.” Fliss replied, turning to look at him “Surely, you’re Mary’s legal guardian so they can’t just…”
“Well, that’s the thing” he sighed “I’m not, it was never made official.”
“Oh.” Fliss said, looking at him before she glanced back at Mary. She took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose “You got a lawyer?”
“Yeah my friend, Greg Cullen.” Frank nodded “He’s a family law specialist…I already called him. I’m going to see him tomorrow so I can tell him everything, then it’s a case of waiting.”
He didn’t have to wait long. Two days later he received the court summons for little over a fortnight later.
*****
October 2017
“Hey…wait…”
Frank turned to see Fliss who was jogging up the steps to the courthouse. He glanced at Roberta who was smiling, a little smugly, and then back to his friend who he hadn’t expected to see today.
“Lissy? What are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you but…”
“I’m sorry I can’t stay I just…I wanted to swing by on the way to work and wish you luck.” she said, reaching up to straighten his tie.
“It’s just the preliminary hearing today.” Frank said.
“I know but…” she took a deep breath, smoothing out his jacket. He looked at her for a second before she pulled him into a hug.
“Call me later ok?”
“Yeah, I will...”
She nodded to him, giving Roberta a smile before she turned to go
“Hey” he called after her and she looked over her shoulder at him “Thanks…”
She smiled and nodded heading back to her car.
“Lissy?” Roberta looked at him.
“What?” he frowned “It’s just a nickname...”
“Mmmhmmm...” Roberta eyed him “A nickname.”
“Yeah...”
“And she deviates here, just to give you a hug good luck, and you tell me there’s nothing going on…”
“She’s a friend, a good friend…” Frank turned and shot her a look.
“Whatever you say…” Roberta sighed.
Frank shook his head, avoiding her gaze. If truth be told there had been the odd little moment where he’d picked up a few signals that perhaps she had feelings for him that went beyond simple friendship, the same way he had for her. But he convinced himself he was imagining things. They were from different worlds, why would a girl like her look at someone like him that way, especially with all this fucking baggage.
With a last look around he turned and headed into the court where after a short wait, they were ushered in.
Judge Edwards Nichols was a bald man with a moustache that any cowboy would be proud of. He gestured for everyone to take their seats and then pulled the case file over to him.
“Okay. Adler, grandmother and uncle…” he trailed off and looked up, glancing from Frank to Evelyn. “Really? Sure you folks don't wanna go on the hall and settle this?”
Silence ensued as Frank glanced sideways at his Mother who shifted slightly.
“No? Well, that's a shame. Mr. Cullen, you're here for the uncle.” the judge continued.
“Yes, I am, your Honor.”
“Should start charging you room and board.” Judge Nichols spoke, not looking up “Mr. Highsmith, you're on the wrong side of a bay, aren't you?”
“I'm very happy to be here, Your Honor” Evelyn’s lawyer replied.
“For the record, Mrs. Dibbons is representing the state of Florida Child Welfare Department.” Nichols spoke and Frank glanced over to look at a woman in a blue and white jacket and orange top in the gallery who held her hand up.
“Proceed.” Judge Nichols instructed and Evelyn’s attorney began to speak
“Your Honor, my client Mrs. Adler is the maternal grandmother of the child. Her daughter, the girl's mother was a troubled woman...who seven years ago sadly took her own life. It was at this time that Mr. Adler primitively and illegally…”
At that Nichols shot a disapproving look at Frank and he shifted a little nervously in his seat, taking a deep breath..
“…took custody of the girl and spirited her across eight lines... for the purpose of denying my client custody.”
Frank glanced over at his mother who was staring straight ahead, avoiding his gaze.
“And there's the evidence that the child currently lives in unclean and unwholesome conditions. We petition to court to grant my client full custody of the child...so that she can return to the state of Massachusetts... and be given the care to which she is entitled.”
Frank stiffened and Greg gently placed his hand on Frank’s shoulder, shaking his head before he stood up.
“My client took an infant under his wing for one reason only. It was his sister's desire that he do so. My client has been her constant caregiver.”
Judge Nichols looked at Frank and he held his gaze.
“And your Honor, as far as the living conditions... I've been in this home. It's fine. I mean, if we adopt standards based on our Northern friend's aversion to palmetto bugs...we won't have a child left south of Tallahassee.”
There were a few dumbed down laughs from the gallery and Frank felt his spirits lift ever so slightly as Judge Nichols gave a smile and reached for a paper to his side, pen in his right hand.
“All right, last chance before this starts costing a lot more money.” he said.
“Your Honor, my client would need reasonable access to the child.” Evelyn’s attorney said after a pause.
“So ordered.” Nichols nodded “Ms. Dibbons, would you go out and check the living conditions?”
“On the books, Your Honor.” she replied.
“All right, folks. Drive carefully.”
Frank remained in his suit, deliberating what that meant. So whilst the case was on going, Evelyn would have access to Mary and his home was going to be inspected by some woman as to how sanitary and safe it was. Fantastic…
“Her lawyer has a nice suit.” Frank said, his voice bland, betraying the hopelessness he was starting to feel.
“Relax, Frank.” Greg looked at him “More weight's put on the talent competition. Go have a cocktail. huh?”
A cocktail, or 15, felt like a damned good idea by the time Frank had picked Mary up and gotten home.
“Roberta…” he caught her as she was walking back to her house with a clothes basket full of dried washing from the line “Would you like to have Mary tonight?
It was a pointless question, it was a Friday, she had Mary every Friday…but still.
“Why wouldn't I like to have Mary tonight?” she shook her head “I told you something like this would happen. Now look where we are”
Frank looked away, waiting got her to finish ranting.
“And I'm supposed to believe you know what you're doing. You couldn't even find a white lawyer.”
Frank scoffed “Wow…Look, just... Don't worry, okay?
“Don't tell me that.” Roberta looked at him. “There's nothing you can say that's gonna make me feel good... because I have no say in any of this, Frank! I'm not a blood relative, I'm not a legal guardian. I’m nothing. Just the lady who lives next door, whose opinion means nothing. Whose feelings mean nothing”
Frank looked down, he knew Roberta cared about Mary. Hell she cared about the both of them, even if she wouldn’t admit it. He already felt bad enough about this as it was, and she wasn’t helping.
“So would I like to have Mary tonight? I'd like to have Mary every night.”
With that she walked past him towards her house, leaving Frank staring at the floor, his mood darkening by the second.
*****
Fliss was edgy. She’d messaged Frank a few times and called but he wasn’t answering or picking up, and she was getting a little worried that things hadn’t gone that well. She locked the gate to the yard and glanced at her watch. It was a little before 7.
Biting her lip she decided to head over and see if he was still in, or if he had already left for Ferg’s, given that it was a Friday night. If he had already gone, then she’d go and keep him company instead of letting him drink himself into a stupor alone.
She pulled up and, shrugging on a short sleeved plaid button down over her vest top she jogged up the steps, knocking on the door, but even as she did she knew there was no one in. The TV was off and the usual chatter wasn’t audible. As she turned to leave she heard a yell and looked over to see Mary hanging out of Roberta’s widow.
“Hey!” she grinned “Frank’s gone out…but me and Roberta are having Karaoke…wanna join?”
Fliss smiled, “How could I refuse that offer?” she laughed, and headed to the door.
“Hey Fliss!” Roberta grinned as Fliss kicked off her sneakers and stepped inside “You just in time…grab a microphone…”
Fliss took the hairbrush Mary was holding out and laughed before she turned to Roberta. “How did it go? I tried calling Frank but…”
“Not too bad.” Roberta dropped her voice “They opened with some bullshit about his house being unclean so there’s some woman coming to inspect it at some point…”
Fliss wrinkled her nose and shook her head “That’s crap…”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna give it a clean anyway.” Roberta shrugged “And then apparently the Grandmother gets access whilst the case is going on so…Frank’s lawyer did a pretty good job to be fair.”
Fliss let out a sigh “I thought it was gonna be worse than that given I haven’t heard anything.”
“Well me and Frank may have had a disagreement.” Roberta said, her face contrite “So I probably put him in an even worse mood.”
“Look, I know this is frustrating for you.” Fliss said gently “But the last thing he needs is everyone telling him I told you so. It is what it is, and we just gotta support him.”
“I know.” Roberta said, her eyes filling with tears “I just, well, I’ve known that little girl since they arrived here looking for a house 6 and a half years ago…”
“I get it, I do.” Fliss smiled “I mean I’ve only known them 8 weeks and I can’t imagine life without either of them now.”
“Either of them?”
Fliss rolled her eyes “Stop it, you’re as bad as my mum.”
Roberta chuckled and then both of them were instructed by Mary to stop talking and start singing, so they did.
After an hour and a rendition of what felt like Aretha Franklin’s entire back catalogue Fliss made her excuses to Mary and gave the girl a hug goodnight. Roberta walked her to the door.
“You gonna go find him?”
“Yeah.” Fliss said “Well, I’ll stop by Ferg’s that is, see if he wants some company.”
“Sure he will, it’s you.” Roberta smiled. Fliss snorted, shaking her head again at the woman’s insinuations and headed to her jeep. She climbed in and headed down to the bay, mulling everything over in her head. The stupid thing was, Roberta wasn’t wrong. She did have feelings for Frank that went well beyond being merely platonic. In the short time she had known him he’d broken through every barrier she had put up, and she trusted him in a way she never thought she’d trust a man ever again. It was almost liberating for her to realise she could feel that way about someone else after everything John had put her through.
But, now really wasn’t the time to act on it, that is if she was going to act on it. She had no idea if Frank felt the same way and she needed to figure out if it was worth potentially sacrificing their friendship for. No, for now she’d simply enjoy being able to be around him, be his friend…at least until this sorry mess was all sorted.
Pulling up outside Ferg’s she checked her hair before she reached into the back of her car and grabbed her knee high boots. Her riding breaches were a light blue so they looked like jeans, meaning she didn’t feel too conspicuous. A quick squirt of perfume later she hopped out of her car and headed into the bar.
It was loud, and she glanced around trying to find a flash of one of his usual hideous Hawaiian shirts, but failed to spot one. Frowning, she was just about to give up thinking he must be somewhere else, when she spotted him at the bar, dressed in a pretty smart black and grey striped dress shirt. But he wasn’t alone. He was sat, quite close, leaning towards the woman Fliss recognised as Mary’s teacher. She hesitated for a second, and began to make her way over when Frank leaned even closer to Bonnie and Fliss’ breath caught and she felt an unwelcome, hot, buzzing sensation as she watched the pair kiss.
Well, that answered her question about what she was going to do about her feelings. Absolutely fuck all. Swallowing and blinking slightly, she turned and headed to her car, gently wiping away a stray tear as it fell down her cheek.
@the-omni-princess @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal @madzmilllz @sgtjaamesbaarnes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @official-and-unstable-satan @icanfeelastormbrewing @pagesoflauren
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Downfall [20]
Characters: Jungkook x Reader
Word Count: 4,430
Genre: Assassin AU
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26
Darkness consumes you.
It feels as if you still haven’t returned to your body, like you’re a floating entity in the abysmal limbo between your own mind and tangible reality. You don’t know how long you’ve been in this state or when you even entered it, but in an instant, you finally feel the gloomy cloud dissipating ever so slowly. It’s only when you move your hand and feel the smooth cotton under your fingertips that you can confirm that you are indeed awake.
The first thing you do with this revelation is try to remember what exactly happened.
Apparently, the dizziness you were experiencing during the hectic escape from City Hall wasn’t just due to Namjoon’s reckless driving. You weren’t able to differentiate it back then, but you recall your mind spinning independently from your already-shifting surroundings, and it seems that you ultimately passed out before arriving at the destination—wherever it is you’re at in this moment.
You’ve come to the conclusion that you’re currently lying in a bed, but you don’t dare to move a muscle. Now that you’re conscious again, everything that happened in the past 24 hours starts surging back from your memory, creating a riot of noises and images that makes you that much more unwilling to open your eyes and face the consequences that await you from the latest debacle that unfolded.
You take a few more minutes to lie in silence, attempting to pick up any sounds that may give you clues to your whereabouts, but when you don’t hear any movement in the proximate vicinity, you decide that it’s probably a good idea to get up.
Your eyes flutter open and you’re immediately met with white tiles and ceiling lights that make you reflexively squint as you try to get used to the illumination. A quick scan of the setting validates your first speculation that you’re in a hospital, except this room doesn’t seem familiar, which nullifies your second speculation that you’re back at headquarters.
No one else is in here besides yourself, so taking advantage of the solitude, you decide to take action and begin to push your body upright. The motion causes a tightening pain in an area of your back, and you can only assume from the constricting but bearable ache that your injury has been taken care of with stitches and bandages.
Managing to sit up, you glance over to the walls of the room to survey the possible exit routes; you see a door with a vertical strip of frosted glass to your left that has been shut and a window to your right with the blinds pulled down, both sides successfully blocking any and all chances of you seeing what lies outside this place. As you listen closer, you don’t hear anything in the immediate section of the corridor past your door, but you detect a few footsteps and murmurs coming from further down the hall based on the acoustics you’re able to gather.
A small part of you is contemplating whether or not you should just go back to sleep, but you disregard that option and slide the powder blue bed sheets off of you. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet make contact with the cool linoleum floor below. You are able to see your hospital gown in all its glory, and the outfit is no stranger to your body. You’re dressed in what looks more like long-sleeved pajamas with a peach-colored flower pattern dotted all throughout the white fabric.
Taking a second to be grateful you’re not in one of those backless gowns, you tread across the room with deliberate but light footsteps towards the closed door. There’s no way you’re going to sleep again without finding out what the aftermath of the situation is. Your hand reaches for the lever doorknob, but when you grab it to give it a firm twist, the metal latch doesn’t budge. Trying again in the opposite direction, you’re only graced with a shackled click, ratifying that it is indeed locked. Releasing it and stooping down to the level of the handle, you identify under it that there is a slot for the key rather than a switch mechanism that can easily be rotated. This means that the door most likely locks from the outside, which brings you to make another speculation that this isn’t just any regular hospital.
Suddenly, the silhouette of a figure appears on the other side of the opaque window, blocking out the light entering into the room from the hallway. You straighten back up just in time as the lock emits the desirable sound you were originally hoping for and the door swings open outwards.
Namjoon stands at the entry, still in the same attire from the beginning of the job that went terribly downhill. The jacket he was donning is now off to reveal a simple gray t-shirt, and his black hair sits atop his head in a messier style than usual, even though you specifically remember him not wearing a hat at any point of the mission.
“You shouldn’t be up.” Namjoon regards you with tired eyes, yet his voice doesn’t give into his expression one bit; he still holds the same authoritative tone that comes natural to him.
“I just—there was no one in here so I thought…I wanted to know what happened.” Your words come out more jumbled than you were hoping, but your mind is still in the process of piecing together all your thoughts while also emerging from its drowsy state. Still, Namjoon seems to have understood the meaning behind your clumsy words.
“Get back in bed.”
Or maybe he just completely ignored them.
“No.”
There’s no bumbling over your words with the single, resolute syllable. The retort comes out of your mouth immediately, almost like his demanding tenor activated the habit you often have of defiance rather than compliance with receiving orders. You stand your ground before him, refusing to yield without obtaining the answers you’re looking for.
“Can you please just listen for once and stay inside.”
For a moment there, you could hear his voice falter the smallest amount, and it makes his command sound closer to a plea. You can tell from his demeanor that everything that has happened is wearing him down as well, and your unwillingness to cooperate is surely adding to the frustration. You slacken your stance when you realize this.
You definitely don’t want to have a fight again—not like the last one.
“I just need to know if he’s okay,” you offer in a more hushed manner, hoping that he’ll address your inquiry if you try to back down a tad. To this, he lets out a terse sigh that could really mean anything before stepping forward to enter the room. You shuffle backwards to let him through, and as soon as he stops to shut the door behind him, he gestures towards the bed you abandoned behind you.
Though disinclined, you figure it’s best not to cause any more issues than you already have. So, with a bit of a struggle, you climb back onto the mattress and sit upright, your eyes following Namjoon as he strides over to pull up a plastic chair next to the bed. Settling into the seat, he releases a longer breath of air from his lungs, leaning over to prop his elbows above his knees and brusquely burying his face in his hands to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. He raises his palms to slide through his hair a couple times, the action presenting you with the answer to how it became so untidy.
“Joon,” you call out delicately to coax his reaction when the quiet goes on for too long—or perhaps you’re just too impatient.
“Jungkook’s alive and stable,” Namjoon finally begins speaking, lowering his hands from his face to meet your gaze. “His surgery ended about an hour ago. They managed to remove the bullet from his chest and fix him up. He’s resting for now, but he’ll most likely be out of commission for a while—we’re still waiting on the verdict.”
It’s a relief that Jin was there to remedy the situation and Jungkook’s injury before things got worse. His specialized training in first aid unquestionably came in handy, and you have no reservations that his efforts helped make this procedure run more proficiently.
“What about the others?”
“They were sent back to HQ after Jungkook’s stability was confirmed. They’re steering clear of the area until things simmer down, but they’ll be back once they clean themselves up so we can all make a full report when Mr. Shin arrives.”
Your throat tightens at the information given to you. Hearing that Jungkook and the rest of your teammates are more or less okay should be easing the grip of pressure straining your chest, but now that the first layer of your worries is out of the way, you can feel a much more prominent one surfacing with a vengeance.
“This is all my fault.”
Your words are spoken softly, yet in the still atmosphere of this pale room, they sound much too harsh in comparison. As you declare the sentence out loud, the reality of your actions dawns on you to become even more unavoidable. Namjoon leans back in his chair and straightens his spine, his eyes still staring at you but his expression shifting just the slightest degree.
“That’s not true,” he refutes with composure. “You were just trying to mend the situation—although, your aim was a bit questionable.”
“It wasn’t my aim.” Your gaze drops down to your hands placed on top of your lap where the fluorescent lighting from above seems to give your skin an eerie tinge. “It was my hesitation,” you admit, your voice lowering further as if trying to hide under the blanket of silence. “I lined up the shot just fine, but I couldn’t get myself to pull the trigger fast enough.” You curl your fingers in towards your palm to create a fist, and as you strengthen your grip, you watch the blood drain from your knuckles from the tension. “I almost killed him,” you finish, the proclamation being released from you like an exhale as your fist does the same.
Glancing back up at your brother, you can see that his line of vision has lowered as well, and the countenance he holds is now a pensive one.
“I can’t say that you made the right choice, but I believe that you did the best you could do given the circumstances. There’s no use in dwelling over a decision that has already been made—that won’t change anything.”
Pressing your lips into a thin line to prevent yourself from rebutting against his outlook, you give a curt nod to show that you understand. You can always count on him to lace his supposedly comforting advice with tact and disciplinary logic.
Leaving the hindsight where it should be, Namjoon starts to fill you in on the details of your current situation.
Your team stopped at the Yongsan division’s office—you are currently sitting in their recovery sector—since it was significantly closer than driving all the way back down to the Gangnam headquarters. It was too much of a risk to go any farther, especially with Jungkook bleeding all over the back of the van.
Apparently, you were also a participant in painting the interior crimson. After your untimely dizzy spell that led to your loss of consciousness onto Taehyung’s shoulder, he was able to discover and notify the others that you had a knife wound across your back and it wasn’t looking too great.
After relaying a few more details and making sure to give you an earful for your failure to mention your injury to the team earlier—and then scolding you for your inattentiveness when you tell him you forgot about your own affliction because your teammate was bleeding from his chest because you shot him—you hear a series of knocks that thankfully interrupts any more admonishments Namjoon had in store for you.
The door opens just enough for a man to step through, placing only one foot across the threshold and leaning in the rest of the way. It’s one of the allies from the team that worked alongside you this past week, and he acknowledges you first with an insightful look before turning to address Namjoon.
“Our supervisor’s calling for you.”
Your brother offers a nod in return. “I’ll be right there.”
The man backs out of the room but leaves the entrance ajar, and Namjoon takes that as his cue to leave. He lifts himself up from his chair, the action looking more strenuous than it should be, and starts his way towards the door.
“Are you going to lock me in again?”
“Only if you’re going to try to leave again,” he responds as he takes a few more strides before stopping at the entryway.
“I won’t.”
Namjoon turns to glance over at you, giving you a look that you know all too well—he’s scrutinizing you, trying to judge whether or not you’re telling the truth.
If previous experiences are anything to go by, his skill in detecting lies is almost as bad as his driving.
“I’ll leave the door unlocked, but don’t wander.”
With that, he exits out of the room and closes the door resolutely behind him. Just as he stated, there’s no sound of the lock being engaged before you hear his distinct footsteps drifting down the hall.
You can’t tell for sure if he actually believed you or if he has learned to humor your tendency to bend the truth. Either way, you’ll take what you get, and you won’t feel bad about it.
You’re not going to try to leave—you’re absolutely leaving—and you also have no plans in wandering.
You know exactly where you need to go.
When you deem that enough time has passed for the corridors to be clear of your brother, you take your leave and head down the hallway. Your first move is to stop by the front desk for directions since Namjoon didn’t provide you with a room number, but once you turn the corner and stare straight down a particularly long but scarcely-populated path, the plan turns out to be unnecessary.
Halfway down the line of doors to the right, you spot Jin in front of one of them, his left hand in his pants pocket and the other handling his phone as he scrolls through the screen with his thumb. You expected him to be at whatever meeting Namjoon was summoned to, but there he is, standing serenely in a change of clothes that consists of a light blue button-down shirt tucked into indigo slacks, looking almost the same as he did this morning—if not better.
As you approach him with tentative steps, you don’t have to wait long until he averts his attention from his phone to call your name in surprise, looking at you with raised eyebrows. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting to see you passing him in this hallway either.
“You’re out of bed early,” he pronounces when you stop in front of him, lowering his phone to slip it into his back pocket.
“It’s just a flesh wound, really.”
“A flesh wound that required 15 stitches,” he replies, an amused smile starting to appear on his face. A grin starts to tug at the corner of your mouth as well, but it halts when you remember why you’re out and about to begin with.
“How is Jungkook doing?”
A lighter smile graces Jin’s lips as he answers you. “He could be better, but he’ll get there eventually.”
“That’s good to hear.” Especially compared to the alternate outcomes that could have spawned from your mistake, you have to consider this one of the better ones. “Can you tell me where his room is?”
“It’s actually this one right here.” He tilts his head to the side so that he can motion to the door behind him.
“Oh,” you exclaim, thinking of how easy that search was. You’re about to let yourself in, but you notice that Jin isn’t moving from his position, almost like he’s guarding the front of the entrance. You furrow your eyebrows at his stationary stance. “Is it alright if I go in?”
The smile still lingers on his face, but it seems to exude an uneasy quality now. “That’s not really a good idea.”
“Why? Is he not awake yet?”
“No, he is…” he trails off. You wait to be told the reason, but nothing comes after that. You can tell he’s holding back something—it’s honestly not that hard to pick up on—but it seems like he’s just waiting for you to initiate the disclosure.
“What’s going on?” you ask, skeptical but hoping that they didn’t lie to you about the condition of your friend.
“We were told not to let you into the room.”
“By who?” you question accusingly, taken aback that someone would want to keep you away from him.
“Jungkook.”
Just hearing his name alone creates a tremor in your chest, but to hear it in this manner, you think you can feel a crack start to erupt from the epicenter of that emotional quake. Of course, it’s vain of you to think that something as serious as pointing a gun at your teammate and nearly executing a fatal shot will go without consequences. You had no anticipation that Jungkook would be eager to see you after what happened, but now that you’re actually standing here and experiencing the icy rejection, the guilt washes over you and leaves you with a frostbitten chill.
“He needs his space right now so that he can recover,” Jin speaks up gently. He must have noticed your crestfallen expression, for he’s attempting to put on his best consoling smile to provide reassurance. “Just give him some time.” It sounds like he’s referring to the bullet wound, but you know that there’s more to it than that.
You were hoping to get a chance to explain yourself to Jungkook or at least hear his explanation of the rash actions he took before you put an end to them, but it seems that will have to wait. You just have to trust that someone else will clear the air of misunderstandings and malice, if they haven’t done so already, that is.
Seeing that you’re still reluctant to walk away just like that, Jin takes some time to offer a few more details about Jungkook’s status in an attempt to put your worries to rest. The round you fired penetrated into his upper chest, but because of the distance in which you shot him, the bullet left no exit wound, halting just before it reached his scapula. The shock must have been enough to knock him off his feet, but he was very much awake the entire time, elucidating the unnerving stare you saw Jungkook hold in the van.
Luckily, that is the extent of his physical injuries, save for a couple of bruises. Nothing is broken and he’s all patched up, but as Jin alluded to earlier, he will need a few weeks until he’s back on his feet again. It’s completely understandable, and as much as you want to decline, you will grant Jungkook his request and keep your distance—for now.
As the saying goes, time heals all wounds.
Several hours pass after your encounter with Jin and failed meeting with Jungkook, most of which you spend restlessly waiting in your room for news to arrive. When it finally does, it’s in the form of your brother walking through the door again, but this time, it seems as though he has flattened his hair back to look much more presentable. He escorts you to an upper level of the building where you meet up with the rest of your teammates who have returned to report to this summons, just as Namjoon explicated beforehand. You’re glad to be out of the stuffy room, but what’s waiting for you in the office you’re about to enter is not precisely a worthwhile exchange.
“This is quite the predicament your team has caused.”
Within a few minutes, you find yourself fixed with your equally somber teammates in a similar arrangement as this morning, being berated for the second time in the span of less than 12 hours. Mr. Shin is standing next to a chair in the conference room, the expression resting on his face grim without showing any signs of changing. There are plenty of seats around the lengthy table used for group discussions, but if your boss is on his feet, there’s no way in hell any of you are going to sit either.
“I thought I made myself very clear when I expressed that you are not to cause any trouble—but here you are, having gone against my wishes. And for what? So you can allow the enemy to slip away once again?”
His words sit heavy on your shoulders, and his eyes bore into each one of you as if he’s just waiting for someone to make another blunder. Not only did your team cause pandemonium in the middle of Seoul Plaza, but in the state of disarray, you guys lost the wanted man yet again. Unfortunately, the ones who were keeping an eye on him through surveillance were the ones who had to switch into the roles of driver and medic after everyone made it back into the van.
You make sure to keep your mouth shut for the love of all that is good, letting your lips part only to repeat meek apologies along with the rest of your members. Mr. Shin is acting much more levelheaded about the situation than you predicted him to be, but the reason for that may be the fact that the biggest culprit of the day isn’t present at the moment.
Jungkook is still in his room resting and recuperating, but you don’t doubt that he will get a talk of his own if he hasn’t already, and you’re almost certain that it won’t be as nice as the talk the rest of you are being gifted with.
“The repercussions of the incident today will take a great deal of effort to quell, and we will have to expend valuable time and resources to clean up the mess you’ve made.”
From what you can gather, his “resources” must be none other than powerful connections and money, the latter being greatly involved in the former as well. In Mr. Shin’s perspective, it’s the most effective method of solving problems concerning the organization, and if it keeps you and your fellow agents on the streets and out of the steel shackles, you’ll have to admit its efficacy.
“Until then, Jungkook will be temporarily withdrawn from all group activities until further notice.”
You can’t say that you always see eye to eye with Mr. Shin, but this is one of the times where you agree with his ruling.
Leaving Jungkook out of the action appears to be the best bet for now; he needs a break for his physical condition to improve, not to mention that you haven’t even delved into assessing the mentality that led him into the blind killing frenzy in the first place. Even with your currently limited knowledge of everything that is going on, you still wholly respect Mr. Shin’s decisions. They are what got him and all of you this far in life, and in the end, they are what will keep this business and your blood flowing.
You never argue with any of his orders—you owe him that much.
There is also a certain respect you have to hold for the man himself. On a good day, you can probably go as far as to say that he saved your life by taking you under his wing, because you surely wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. Honestly, you don’t know where you would have ended up—truthfully, you don’t even want to imagine it—but one thing cannot be denied.
You would have been nothing but a lost child.
After the generous censure from your CEO, everyone is dismissed except for Jin—he’s asked to stick around for a little longer to receive additional information. As for you, you’re sent back to your room to stay overnight. You can’t really complain given the plight you put yourself in, but if there’s one thing you know you’re going to regret not having, it’s Hoseok—or at least, his concoctions.
A couple hours after returning to your bed, you hear a taut knock at the door. You’re expecting Jin to come in and brief you on whatever extra details he might have been told to distribute during his extended meeting, but your brother makes his third appearance of the day instead—albeit, he’s here for the same purpose.
“Any updates?” you waste no time in asking.
“Just one,” Namjoon replies as he goes to sit down on the chair he occupied previously. “The presence of our wanted man at the plaza confirmed Mr. Shin’s suspicion.”
“Which is?”
“It was already a well-known fact that whoever the enemy was, they could not only identify who we were, but they were actively trying to come after us. What wasn’t common knowledge, though, was our location and mission objective. No one outside of the organization knew about the meeting or Mr. Shin’s scheduled attendance, and there was no other reason for them to crash an event like this, especially such a public one.”
It doesn’t take long for you to put the pieces of the puzzle he’s laying out for you together. “Does that mean…?” you start to say, but Namjoon tips his head forward into a nod before you even have a chance to finish.
“We have a mole in the company.”
There’s a traitor in your midst.
That answers the query of how the wanted man knew your team’s location and was able to spot you from the crowd, but there are so many other questions circulating in your mind that are continually begging for explanations. You quiet all of your torrential thoughts for now and isolate only the select few that require your immediate attention.
The most important question now will be who that mole is—and how you’re going to exterminate them.
#now we're starting to get into the main plotline hehe#downfall#bts scenarios#jungkook scenarios#jungkook x reader#jungkook#bts#bts scenario#jungkook scenario#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic
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The Schwarzschild radius
One of the most common complaints among people who begin treatment with SSRI's is that they reduce their ability to feel, and that this is definitely a bad thing, and therefore all psychiatric drugs are bad, Prozac is bad, Zoloft is bad, Big Pharma is bad, and then the patient gets depressed again and now feels even worse because, like, I can't take sertraline, can I? I wouldn't feel anything! "I knew I had to get off Zoloft because I couldn't even cry at my brothers wedding!" - Random woman whose name I can't recall. I can sympathise, this would indeed be a little jarring and disconcerting, but you know what else is bad? Depression. I don't mean to make a mockery of her plight, I understand what it's like to suffer from depression, but my annoyance at the time came from her anger towards the drug. I understand you were upset you couldn't feel that happy for your brother, but this is how SSRI's work, ok? Numbing to initiate action, action to improve your circumstances.
I'm going to palm this off to my favourite blog, and probably one of the smartest/most insightful people alive, Hotel Concierge, in this essay here, because he's written a far more eloquent, well articulated set of reasons as to why emotional analgesia is a good thing, and how this effect is leveraged to facilitate therapy. Also, if you have ever undergone the burden of mental illness, this essay is literally, for me, life-saving. I sincerely hope that it helps you too.
Second point: I find alarming the claim that, fundamentally, most antidepressants work via the same mechanism. I debated whether to tap out this text file on the point of not wanting to offend anyone/appear to be a pedantic asshole, but recently, this, courtesy Slate Star Codex:
“Increasing BDNF is the best option we have” NO[1]
Can I write "disagree" and then underline it, and then highlight it several times? I think this view -that it’s really just a landscape of SSRI’s- is flat-out wrong - I don't think it's necessarily dangerous per se, but it vastly misrepresents the state of play in psychopharmacology, and I want to put forward my arguments to rectify that.
Firstly, from the wonder of modern pedagogy that is Stahl:
Complex.
The idea behind these diagrams (the textbook is brilliant) is to give you a visual representation of the various binding affinities these compounds have for different receptors; the larger the shape, the greater the binding affinity.
Now let’s take a look at two similar antidepressants from the SSRI class: Lexapro and Zoloft (escitalopram and sertraline) The primary mechanism of action in both is occupancy of SERT (the serotonin transporter); normally serotonin gets slurped back up into pre-synaptic neuron, now it can’t because said slurpy protein is full, this leads to serotonin lingering in the synaptic cleft for longer which leads to an increased chance for it to bind to serotonin receptors on the post synaptic neurone. Voila, more activity in serotonergic neurons. Could be inhibitory, excitatory, changing receptor expression in the surface of the neuron: a multitude of downstream effects. Give two weeks for gene translation to occur and there you have it.
Serotonin is involved, in a broad, upstream kind of way, in regulating mood. More specifically, if thoughts[2] are constituted of different circuits or clusters of neurons firing, then serotonin plays a role in regulating affect by changing the activity of these cells (by the probability that they release/don’t release an impulse) that are poorly understood.
Posteriori, it’s no surprise that “pure” SSRI’s compress your emotional bandwidth concomitant to dose; we developed the saying “carrot and stick” for a reason; if emotional circuitry is closely related to System 1 thinking (Kahneman & Taversky - please don’t make me cite) then we need happiness and reward as well as sadness and grief. The two in partnership give us a map to help steer our actions away from what might harm us and towards what might be beneficial. If depression isn’t sadness (it isn’t) then lower serotonin levels lead to loss of any feeling, and your subjective cognitive interpretation of this is depression. You feel, not nothing, but hopeless. You lie there doing nothing; there’s no carrot, there’s no stick, everything just sucks. You’re not sad, you’re not crying, there’s just no point doing anything. Going upstream to jack up extracellular serotonin levels makes sense; sure, you might cap out your happiness by increasing the overall activity of all those serotonin pathways, but now the affective system has some life in it, you can get up and move about, think and cognise. Hooray, now therapy can work.
Except what if we could do better? We recognise that blocking the transporter means more serotonin everywhere, serotonin everywhere = emotional numbing. What if we could go further downstream and just target the receptors we want directly? Don’t jump to the conclusion that morphine is a good thing right now, if you’re suffering from depression and thumbing through your contact book to find a dope dealer, you have my sympathies, and far bigger issues than I can help you with. I wish you luck.
But there is no such thing as a pure SSRI; Zoloft has a weak, but clinically significant effect on other proteins (transporters and receptors); Lexapro is about as close to a pure SSRI as we currently have, but Zoloft seems to have some decent dopamanergic action going on in the frontal cortex.
And this is exactly the issue. I’m not debating that the primary mechanism of effect in both these drugs is interfering with serotonin metabolism, I’m saying that the subjective experience of being on sertraline is going to be different to the subjective experience of being on escitalopram. How do you quantify a slight uptick in dopamine? Chemists and pharmacists might say “well, it’s nothing, it’s really just an SRI” except: how in gods name do you qualify the subjective difference of “minor increase in dopamine”?
This isn’t a theoretical consideration; what appears on paper to be a bunch of drugs with minor differences, will, I am confident, have wildly different effects on different patients. Forget neurotransmitters, forget HAM-D scales. What if you just gave each patient four weeks on each of these different drugs and asked them to keep a daily journal of their subjective experiences? Which pill would they prefer? My best guess is no clear answer would emerge: minor differences on paper lead to concrete differences to different patients, and this is a very real, tangible, beneficial phenomena. Vortioxetine is indeed exciting: heavily antagonising HT2C sub-receptors tends to have good clinical effects, as evidenced by the fact Agomelatine seems to work well for some people. “But couldn’t that just be its beneficial effects on sleep and MT1/MT2 agonising?” Sure, except melatonin decreases dopamine release, which is the current leading hypothesis of seasonal affective disorder. Try popping 20mg of melatonin and tell me how you feel the next morning. Not enough dopamine means a malfunctioning reward/motivation pathway and shoddy cognition[3]. Combining SERT occupancy with serotonin antagonism on certain sub-receptors is a legitimately neat development. Mirtazapine is a potent drug, perhaps makes some a little too edgy or sedated (sedation can be a useful tool, see: insomnia) and it just antagonises the bejesus out of histamine, adrenergic, and serotonergic receptors.
The problem is that once people see “SERT” on a drug, everything else gets sucked into that vacuum, compressed into a black hole and all nuance is lost, and in the delicate balance of various ratios of neurotransmitter levels, nuance is everything. There’s no way to qualify the subjective experience of “minor increase/decrease in transmitter X/Y/Z” so stop pretending that these drugs are all basically the same; similarity on paper != similarity of experience.
(Endnote: SNRI’s tend to work well, slightly paradoxically, on anxiety. Why? Because increasing norepinephrine levels leads to agonising the alpha-2 autoreceptor, this shuts down the firing of the pre-synaptic neuron. Of course, individual mileage may vary and standard disclaimers apply. Just don’t be surprised if you fall asleep in class six hours after you’ve taken your Cymbalta)
I hope I haven’t offended anyone - my aim is simply to push back against a perceived hopelessness at making new antidepressants, and to argue that there are demonstrable, subjective (which in psychiatry is almost everything?) differences in each and every anti-depressant out there.
[1] It was (still is?) trendy to say that increasing BDNF ameliorates depression, but I’m pretty confident BDNF has very little to do directly with depression. Yes, depressed people show low levels of BDNF, and drugs like Zoloft can increase BDNF and synaptogenesis (they can also not do that) So does exercise. And yet exercise is much more efficacious at doing so than Zoloft, but no-one successfully gets through clinical depression by doing laps across Greece like 300 lives depend on it. Don’t get me wrong, exercise is fantastic, for mental and physical health. I’m just saying that nothing increases BDNF like exercise, and yet it doesn’t work as well as antidepressants in most cases. That NSI-189 failed to differentiate from placebo is perhaps the most unsurprising result since Karl Popper put pen to paper.
[2] Ontology question: what’s a thought?
[3] My leading cause of frustration with the nootropic/biohacking/transhumanist community: “give me all the dopamine you can!” Oh, so you want schizophrenia? Dude, you don’t need pills, you need to stop avoiding study. To quote Hotel Concierge, “your rationalism is inseparable from your anxiety”
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Photo Gallery: Putting M Performance Parts to the Test on the Track
The phenomenon made up by the M Performance cars and aftermarket parts is not showing any signs of slowing down. Originally launched back in back in 2007, the M Performance parts catalogue was initially limited to just a couple of models and restricted to certain markets worldwide. Seeing as the popularity of their offerings was going through the roof, the people in Munich decided to expand their offering by bringing out more parts for more models and by selling them on virtually every market they are present in these days.
That’s how we arrive at the situation in 2018, when M Performance parts are being sold more than ever, and cover both standard BMW models as well as M Performance cars and even proper M models. So what are M Performance parts after all? They are performance enhancing products released by BMW, developed by the same engineers and using the same technology employed in the DTM, the trademark motorsport challenge BMW has been successful in for years.
That’s truly something that differentiates BMW from other manufacturers, as the parts you are buying under the M Performance logo are truly designed to enhance your car’s performance. From the aerodynamic parts made exclusively from lightweight carbon fiber to the suspension options, lightweight wheels and exhaust systems, everything works for your, tried and tested. Of course, M Performance stripes won’t be of real help but as one PR told us while we were preparing to take an M Performance kitted BMW M4 out for a spin on the track, they do add ‘at least 10 HP’ so you might want to keep that in mind.
All jokes aside, M Performance parts are also used for their aesthetics in some cases, such as when they are used as trims inside cars. That could be said about steering wheels as well, with the notable exception of the higher-spec versions, which actually have useful features included, such as shift lights and all sorts of parameters displayed on a small screen attached to the top of the wheel. As an interesting side-note, in case you didn’t know, M Performance steering wheels come with a blue stripe if they are for M cars and a red one for anything else.
Some have claimed that the performance increase M Performance parts bring to the table don’t really justify the price tags and in order to test out this claim we were invited by BMW to put some of their latest offerings to the test on the track. BMW Romania asked me to join a group of journalists and take a couple of cars out for a spin in a series of challenges meant to emphasize certain aspects about M Performance parts.
Initially we were asked to partake in an autocross, trying to be as fast as possible while avoiding the cones laid in a straight line ahead of us. According to the pilots acting as instructors for us that day, the key for a good time here was to be as smooth as possible in our transitions from one side to the other and were suggested to use Eco Pro mode to achieve this easier. For this challenge we were handed the keys from a BMW 540i and one with the full M Performance treatment applied to it as well as a BMW 440i and a similarly M Performance equipped alternative.
The difference between the cars was noticeable to say the least. Of course, the 5 Series models felt heavier on the circuit, as they actually were heavier by the literal pounds to begin with. However, the M Performance suspension showed its worth and when switching between the cars fitted with it and those without it, we did notice the less roll we had to deal with as well as the better overall composure, even when pushed hard.
The true test came afterwards though as we were tasked with taking a couple of true M cars out for a spin on the track. We were introduced to our testers for the day, from the BMW M2 to a BMW M2 fitted with the full M Performance kit and a BMW M4 which was also decked with M Performance parts. While we had no baseline reading for the hardcore M4 and we couldn’t tell just how much of a difference the add-ons made, the M2 models proved to be quite an eye-opening experience.
The BMW M2 is already being praised by the vast majority of the media as the best bang for the buck M car you can get today. Getting behind the wheel of one for a first lap showed me exactly why that’s the case. Unlike the M4, the more tame character of the M2 makes it feel a bit more comforting and less frightening to push to the limit. It’s a well balanced car which, due to its compact proportions, can handle itself brilliantly on the track, feeling like a precision knife almost all of the time. It encourages you to try and find its limits while behind the wheel, being a truly rewarding experience overall.
While driving the M2 you don’t really notice that it could be improved in certain areas unless you’re an experienced driver and know that there are vastly more poised cars out there. For a track beginner, the M2 is delivering all the adrenaline shots you may need. However, once I got inside the M Performance M2 I started noticing the flaws of the car I drove just minutes before. In almost every aspect, the M Performance model was better.
The two areas that stood out the most were the suspension and the brakes. The car leaned considerably less in the corners and felt a lot more poised, even giving me the impression it put the power down better overall. Body roll was kept in check exceptionally offering me even more confidence to push the car further towards its limits at the same time. To keep things in check, the BMW M Compound brakes with drilled and ventilated rotors allowed me to brake later on, carrying more speed through the corners. It’s as simple as that. Of course, the M Performance exhaust made itself heard as well but I didn’t really have time to focus on that as I was trying to keep up with the BMW instructor driving in front of me.
While this is a rather obvious conclusion when discussing about M Performance parts, the experience on the track, driving two cars back to back to see the exact differences between them was a true eye-opening one. Whether the price tag justifies the increase in performance is a decision every man or woman must make for themselves. Considering just how few owners actually take their M cars to the track, the M Performance parts catalogue still appeals to a small niche but sales on the rise and now it’s easy to see why.
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This 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 is a Real-Deal Barn Find
The ’69 Camaro is an icon, with style decades ahead of its time and an amazing assortment of factory-offered performance options.
Most of us want one; few of us will ever have the chance. If you had asked Kent Kennedy if an original ’69 Camaro Z/28—hidden away on the other side of town, no less—was in his future, he probably would have laughed. But when a customer informed him of a little-known specimen tucked away in a warehouse he jumped at the opportunity. This scenario proves two things: barn finds of all makes and models still dot this planet and if you have a chance at a ’69 Camaro … you take it.
“A friend of mine told me about the car,” said Kennedy. “It was truly a barn find, tucked in the back of a building.” The car had been sitting for several decades, collecting dust and acting as an involuntary rodent hotel. “It hadn’t been licensed since 1981,” he said. “I still have that little piece of paper: a safety inspection sheet from the state of Missouri.”
It took over a year to finalize the purchase of the car from the owner, but he persevered. When the haggling was done and Kennedy wheeled his trophy home it became clear it wasn’t the dust-off-able time capsule he initially thought it was. “It looked like a pretty solid car but when we got it home we realized it was a mouse nest,” he said. “I mediablasted it … it got a lot worse.”
Kennedy enlisted the help of The Restomod Store on the build and they replaced every bit of sheetmetal except the quarters, cowl, and roof. In the process they also mini-tubbed the rear.
What do you do with a genuine Z/28? It’s quite the fork in the road. Ultimately, Kennedy came to two conclusions: he wanted to make it what he likes and he wanted it to look like a muscle car. Oh, and he didn’t want an LS engine.
“Everybody does this LS motor stuff and I just wanted to stay so far away from that,” said Kennedy. “I kept it carbureted; an old-school, orange small-block like I wanted.”
“When we found [the car], the 302 was missing,” said Kennedy. “The Muncie transmission was still attached to the crossmember, and the tachometer was missing, too. Somebody knew what they wanted to take.”
To fill the DZ302-shaped void, a 400ci small-block engine was sourced from a ’69 Chevelle. It’s a stock-style rebuild with iron heads, roller rockers, and 10:1 compression. Kennedy’s carburetor of choice was a 750-cfm Holley double-pumper. Billet Specialties valve covers add some flare to the “orange” small-block and a PerTronix distributor with Accel wires handles the ignition duties. Up front, a March pulley system takes care of the various utilities.
Behind the engine is the original Muncie M21 transmission and a stock-style flywheel with a Centerforce clutch and—of course—a Hurst shifter. A stock driveshaft funnels power to the original 12-bolt differential, which is packed with 3.73 gears and Moser axles. Kennedy says it gets a little buzzy on the freeway with those gears and no overdrive, but that doesn’t stop him from driving the car.
There was so much that Kennedy loved about the car, but the original suspension didn’t make the cut. “I left the original crossmember after cleaning up the welds, but everything else is modern.”
Tubular Detroit Speed upper and lower control arms replaced the factory stampings, and big, four-piston Wilwood brakes adorn each corner. The factory coils, shocks, and leaf springs are gone, and in their place live QA1 coilovers. Out back resides a TCI torque arm suspension that gives the car far better handling dynamics than ’60s’ engineers could have imagined. The rolling stock consists of Boze wheels wearing Nitto Invo tires, 18s front and 19s rear to give the car an aggressive rake.
Inside, Kennedy wanted to retain as much of the ’69 Camaro vibe as possible. “I tried to stay as close to original as I could, other than converting it to black,” he said. “It was just too much blue.” The only exceptions are a complement of AutoMeter Cobalt gauges and a set of Kenwood speakers—vitals and tunes.
Overall, the project took three years to complete. On its first outing, to the World of Wheels show, the Camaro placed Second in its class. “It wasn’t even finished yet,” laughed Kennedy. “We just wheeled it in there and won.” Since then, the car has been to several other events, and Kennedy keeps racking up the miles. “It’s a real Z/28, but I just drive it and enjoy it.” CHP
Tech Check
Owner: Kent Kennedy, Lee’s Summit, Missouri
Vehicle: 1969 Camaro Z/28
Engine
Type: Small-block
Displacement: 409 ci
Compression Ratio: 10:1
Bore: 4.165 inches
Stroke: 3.750 inches
Cylinder Heads: GM Iron
Rotating Assembly: Stock GM
Induction: Holley 750-cfm carburetor, Edelbrock intake manifold, stock air cleaner
Ignition: PerTronix distributor, Accel primary wires
Exhaust: Dynatech headers, MagnaFlow mufflers
Built By: The Restomod Shop
Drivetrain
Transmission: Original Muncie M21, Centerforce clutch, Hurst shifter
Rear Axle: Original 12-bolt with Moser axles and 3.73:1 gears
Chassis
Steering: Stock
Front Suspension: Detroit Speed tubular control arms, QA1 coilovers
Rear Suspension: TCI torque arm suspension, QA1 coilovers
Brakes: Wilwood disc brakes (front and rear), Wilwood master cylinder
Wheels & Tires
Wheels: Boze 18×7 front, 19×12 rear
Tires: Nitto Invo 245/40 front, 345/30 rear
Interior
Seats: Procar By Scat
Upholstery: The Restomod Store
Instrumentation: AutoMeter Cobalt
Steering Wheel: Leather-wrapped OEM style
Carpet: OE-type, black
Shifter: Hurst
Exterior
Paint: Custom Axalta Blue
Hood: Classic Industries Cowl
Grille: Stock
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This 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 is a Real-Deal Barn Find
The ’69 Camaro is an icon, with style decades ahead of its time and an amazing assortment of factory-offered performance options.
Most of us want one; few of us will ever have the chance. If you had asked Kent Kennedy if an original ’69 Camaro Z/28—hidden away on the other side of town, no less—was in his future, he probably would have laughed. But when a customer informed him of a little-known specimen tucked away in a warehouse he jumped at the opportunity. This scenario proves two things: barn finds of all makes and models still dot this planet and if you have a chance at a ’69 Camaro … you take it.
“A friend of mine told me about the car,” said Kennedy. “It was truly a barn find, tucked in the back of a building.” The car had been sitting for several decades, collecting dust and acting as an involuntary rodent hotel. “It hadn’t been licensed since 1981,” he said. “I still have that little piece of paper: a safety inspection sheet from the state of Missouri.”
It took over a year to finalize the purchase of the car from the owner, but he persevered. When the haggling was done and Kennedy wheeled his trophy home it became clear it wasn’t the dust-off-able time capsule he initially thought it was. “It looked like a pretty solid car but when we got it home we realized it was a mouse nest,” he said. “I mediablasted it … it got a lot worse.”
Kennedy enlisted the help of The Restomod Store on the build and they replaced every bit of sheetmetal except the quarters, cowl, and roof. In the process they also mini-tubbed the rear.
What do you do with a genuine Z/28? It’s quite the fork in the road. Ultimately, Kennedy came to two conclusions: he wanted to make it what he likes and he wanted it to look like a muscle car. Oh, and he didn’t want an LS engine.
“Everybody does this LS motor stuff and I just wanted to stay so far away from that,” said Kennedy. “I kept it carbureted; an old-school, orange small-block like I wanted.”
“When we found [the car], the 302 was missing,” said Kennedy. “The Muncie transmission was still attached to the crossmember, and the tachometer was missing, too. Somebody knew what they wanted to take.”
To fill the DZ302-shaped void, a 400ci small-block engine was sourced from a ’69 Chevelle. It’s a stock-style rebuild with iron heads, roller rockers, and 10:1 compression. Kennedy’s carburetor of choice was a 750-cfm Holley double-pumper. Billet Specialties valve covers add some flare to the “orange” small-block and a PerTronix distributor with Accel wires handles the ignition duties. Up front, a March pulley system takes care of the various utilities.
Behind the engine is the original Muncie M21 transmission and a stock-style flywheel with a Centerforce clutch and—of course—a Hurst shifter. A stock driveshaft funnels power to the original 12-bolt differential, which is packed with 3.73 gears and Moser axles. Kennedy says it gets a little buzzy on the freeway with those gears and no overdrive, but that doesn’t stop him from driving the car.
There was so much that Kennedy loved about the car, but the original suspension didn’t make the cut. “I left the original crossmember after cleaning up the welds, but everything else is modern.”
Tubular Detroit Speed upper and lower control arms replaced the factory stampings, and big, four-piston Wilwood brakes adorn each corner. The factory coils, shocks, and leaf springs are gone, and in their place live QA1 coilovers. Out back resides a TCI torque arm suspension that gives the car far better handling dynamics than ’60s’ engineers could have imagined. The rolling stock consists of Boze wheels wearing Nitto Invo tires, 18s front and 19s rear to give the car an aggressive rake.
Inside, Kennedy wanted to retain as much of the ’69 Camaro vibe as possible. “I tried to stay as close to original as I could, other than converting it to black,” he said. “It was just too much blue.” The only exceptions are a complement of AutoMeter Cobalt gauges and a set of Kenwood speakers—vitals and tunes.
Overall, the project took three years to complete. On its first outing, to the World of Wheels show, the Camaro placed Second in its class. “It wasn’t even finished yet,” laughed Kennedy. “We just wheeled it in there and won.” Since then, the car has been to several other events, and Kennedy keeps racking up the miles. “It’s a real Z/28, but I just drive it and enjoy it.” CHP
Tech Check
Owner: Kent Kennedy, Lee’s Summit, Missouri
Vehicle: 1969 Camaro Z/28
Engine
Type: Small-block
Displacement: 409 ci
Compression Ratio: 10:1
Bore: 4.165 inches
Stroke: 3.750 inches
Cylinder Heads: GM Iron
Rotating Assembly: Stock GM
Induction: Holley 750-cfm carburetor, Edelbrock intake manifold, stock air cleaner
Ignition: PerTronix distributor, Accel primary wires
Exhaust: Dynatech headers, MagnaFlow mufflers
Built By: The Restomod Shop
Drivetrain
Transmission: Original Muncie M21, Centerforce clutch, Hurst shifter
Rear Axle: Original 12-bolt with Moser axles and 3.73:1 gears
Chassis
Steering: Stock
Front Suspension: Detroit Speed tubular control arms, QA1 coilovers
Rear Suspension: TCI torque arm suspension, QA1 coilovers
Brakes: Wilwood disc brakes (front and rear), Wilwood master cylinder
Wheels & Tires
Wheels: Boze 18×7 front, 19×12 rear
Tires: Nitto Invo 245/40 front, 345/30 rear
Interior
Seats: Procar By Scat
Upholstery: The Restomod Store
Instrumentation: AutoMeter Cobalt
Steering Wheel: Leather-wrapped OEM style
Carpet: OE-type, black
Shifter: Hurst
Exterior
Paint: Custom Axalta Blue
Hood: Classic Industries Cowl
Grille: Stock
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