#and over time that anger simmers out into being JUST dismissive and grumpy

[lordoftherazzles]

Can I you write something on jealous thorin! I am dying to read something like that... Like Bilbo going somewhere and getting flirted by someone (except elves and dwarves) for example by a normal handsome person. And even Bilbo is attracted and stupified by his elegance and his slender body.

Thank you so much for this prompt!! I love writing a grumpy guy. This one was a lot of fun for me and gave me an opportunity to explore a "during the quest" setting! I hope you enjoy it!

prompt "I do believe our burglar has a type,"

word count 2175

relationship(s) thorin oakenshield/bilbo baggins

character(s) thorin oakenshield, bilbo baggins, the company of thorin oakenshield

additional notes this one was insanely fun for me, that's all I gotta say! I'm LOVING these prompts and ideas you guys are giving me!!

-----

Thorin didn’t like Lake-Town.

Namely, the Master and his greasy little sidekick, but they were given more of a welcome and more accommodation than the bargeman had been able to secure. The sooner they were out of here, the better, but there was still a bit of time before Durin’s Day, and there was no need to camp aimlessly outside of a hidden door.

Celebrations and the promise of riches for all had kept spirits rather high, except for Thorin’s. He had tried to put on a mask, the type that was reserved for social affairs that he hadn’t been a part of since he was a much younger lad. Thankfully this was nothing like the social gatherings that had been held between Erebor and Dale once upon a time.

There was that stench of stale ale in the air, as well as fish, but that seemed to sum up Lake-Town entirely. Thorin sat near the end of one table, tapping his fingers against the wood as his glare seemed to be burning into the back of someone at the second table that housed his company.

Feeling an elbow jam into his own, a scowl formed on his lips as Kili wedged himself to sit at the table, sitting far too close for Thorin’s comfort. “Why the long face, Uncle?” Kili chimed, a small slur to his voice as he had a mug in one hand and the other hugging onto Thorin’s arm. At least the alcohol was keeping the younger dwarf from grimacing every single time he took a step. That shot to Kili’s leg had been bound, but certainly not healed.

“I’m fine,” Thorin insisted with a growl before Fili wedged in on his other side.

“You don’t look fine to me. I know that look. You’re angry.” Fili nearly had a sing-song tone to his voice, but at least he didn’t reek of ale as Kili did.

Another nudge at Thorin’s elbow had the leader of the Company squishing in on himself so that he wasn’t bumping elbows. It was a failed effort.

“Could it be because a certain someone has his attention fixated on someone else? I do believe our burglar has a type,” Fili gave Thorin’s arm a comforting pat, not trying to sound teasing whatsoever. Though the same couldn’t be said for Kili.

“What? Tall, dark, and broody?” Kili sputtered out with a laugh, spilling a quarter of his mug across the table. “Though, I do suppose Uncle could be considered tall for a dwarf!”

Thorin’s face was flushed, be it by both anger as well as embarrassment as he felt his ears burn. He couldn’t let his eyes tear away from Bilbo’s back, or the small nods of fascination that seemed to come from the hobbit as he was engaged in deep conversation with one of the Lake-Town locals.

A tall fellow, dark hair wedged beneath a hat and a beard that surpassed even Thorin’s own. Not that the dwarf was examining this fellow that much, but he was one of the more reasonable fellows to look at in this fisherman’s town. Never before had Thorin been concerned about his appearance, not like this, and yet here he was, idly reaching a hand up towards his shorter beard and scrubbing at the coarser hairs that didn’t measure up to any sign of beauty among dwarves.

“There is a solution in all of this, Uncle. You could just go over there and sweep the burglar off his feet for yourself?” Fili offered up, trying to sound helpful, but he was fixated with a glare that told him to snap his jaw shut.

“I am not bothered if Mister Baggins chooses to socialize during our stay. I will not tell my company who they may or may not speak with.”

“Yeah, but it’s what we do with those we speak with that may capture more of your attention, right?” Kili jammed his elbow into Thorin’s arm again. “Or rather, one specific person. You couldn’t give a whit what Fili or myself do while we’re here, or Dwalin or Nori, but you get my point. However, when it comes to him, you care.”

“I do not care,” Thorin insisted once more, feeling like a tightly sealed vault full of feelings instead of gold.

“All we’re saying is that if you’re waiting for the right moment to make your move, it’s probably now. Or someone is going to beat you to it.” Fili always seemed to be slightly more mature one of the two nephews, but his words were just as unwanted as Kili’s.

“You’re both wretched little creatures and the topic will cease, now.” Thorin’s stern tone seemed to ward off more harassment when it came to Bilbo, save for one parting statement.

“Alright, we’ll sod off, but I gotta say, green just isn’t your color, remember that.” Fili gave Thorin’s shoulder a fond pat before moving to fish his younger brother away from the table with no small amount of difficulty. That wound, accompanied by a few mugs of ale, didn’t make it easy for anyone to toddle off.

Thorin was left to his own devices, tapping his fingers again against the table as he stared and simmered and let the words of his nephews influence that agitation brewing on the inside. Just what did Bilbo find so appealing about this fellow he was chatting and laughing with? What sort of stories could a fisherman in this drab place have to tell? So yes, Thorin was jealous, almost on an embarrassing level. It made him even more agitated to feel this way, but then again, these were feelings that he hadn’t felt before.

Life had been hard and duty-bound for so long, and where Thorin Oakenshield had assumed he had seen it all, he was now being sent into an uncomfortable frenzy over some butterflies in his stomach. It made his insides hurt, but there was a quest to focus on, and the rest could wait until after. A mountain was far more important than his silly little love life. Once he reclaimed his homeland, surpassed the expectations of those around him, and set Erebor back on the path to greatness-

Oh, who was Thorin kidding? Bilbo would be long gone by then.

It made a sinking feeling enter his stomach, tearing at those angry butterflies as he dropped his head some. What was more important? Pining? Or extreme focus on winning a mountain? If he let this go, would Thorin ever truly be focused on the quest at hand?

Swallowing thickly as he lifted his eyes to catch a lingering hand at Bilbo’s back, whatever tentative stare had dared to glance towards Bilbo was snuffed out in favor of a roaring blaze of a glare.

Jolting up from his seat and rounding the table towards the next, Thorin held zero hesitation to land a hand next to where Bilbo was leaning on the table - dreamy eyed and seemingly enamored with this fisherman fellow sitting next to him. “Master Baggins, if you don’t mind I’d like a few moments of your time.” Bright blue eyes darted towards the tall fellow who looked rather perplexed at the sudden dwarf’s appearance. “Alone.”

Bilbo gave a small wave of dismissal, “I best take this conversation, though I appreciate the fine stories you brought. You don’t want to see this one in a bad mood,” Bilbo teased, clearly indicating that Thorin was temperamental and unpleasant and- well, maybe he was right. The hobbit shifted in his seat as he and Thorin were left alone, staring up towards the standing dwarf and looking rather delighted - much to Thorin’s dismay. “What’s so important now, Thorin?”

“I did not expect for you to be such an obvious flirt,” Thorin grumbled, a bit of displeasure to his tone as Bilbo’s face twisted to more surprise than anything.

“Me? Oh, that?” Bilbo had a grin twitching on his lips. “Does that bother you?” Bilbo twisted in his seat, looking over towards the bar where his previous company had sauntered off to. “He is rather attractive, isn’t he? A bit rugged looking, with long locks to die for, and quite a nice beard.” Bilbo rubbed the air around his chin as he was describing said beard, eyes darting to the corners as he barely caught Thorin’s frustration in his sights.

“I suppose.” Thorin hissed between his teeth, shifting in his boots and wondering just how far a chair could sail if he kicked it.

“Though I prefer blue eyes, myself. His were brown, and he wasn’t a dwarf. A moody dwarf, specifically.” Bilbo spoke as he patted the seat next to him. “Do you wish to join me, Thorin Oakenshield?”

Thorin was certain his jaw could hit the floor as he stood there and felt his face heat up. Bilbo looked entirely too content and pleased while he stood there like some red faced fool. “I...I beg your pardon?”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to stomp over here instead of huffing over there. Thorin, if you think you’re subtle, you’re not.” Giving the seat next to him another pat, Bilbo used his free hand to claim the stein before him once more. “You’ve been staring at me all night, and ever since we escaped Mirkwood for that matter, but I wasn’t going to bring that up.” And yet he had.

Thorin stood there dumbstruck for a moment before slowly sinking into the seat next to Bilbo’s own in silence. Gnawing at the inside of his cheeks for a good moment, the dwarf wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Had he truly been that obvious? Thorin thought himself a rather reserved fellow who was decent at schooling his emotions and expressions. Perhaps he wasn’t nearly as good at that craft as he assumed. “And all of this was just for show?” He asked quietly, finally daring to look towards Bilbo at his side with extreme caution.

“Really, Thorin…? Are you truly this dense?” Bilbo’s laugh sadly was not contagious. He was an observant sort, at least for the most part, so as he noticed Thorin’s face turn a touch redder, Bilbo quieted down before nudging Thorin’s arm a bit and dropping his voice. “I simply figured you had enough on your mind without adding myself to the mix.”

Which was exactly what Thorin had planned on. Win the mountain, secure Erebor’s future, and then the rest would follow. Well, as he had told Balin before, plans changed.

“Plus, watching you squirm between your troublesome nephews was rather amusing.” Bilbo grinned proudly.

Thorin’s brows furrowed slightly as he shifted his gaze and felt a little bit of that embarrassment start to flow away from his face, though still rosy cheeked. “You’re as considerate as you are cruel, you know that?” Purposely driving that jealousy to a point where Thorin couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’ve been called worse,” Bilbo reached up just as Thorin leaned down, latching his hands against both of those braids that lined the sides of Thorin’s head, giving them a small tug before both of them came to a pause at bumping noses and foreheads. “Ah, Thorin?”

“Are you truly wanting to ask me a question right this second?” Thorin murmured, bright blues focusing on the hazel ones that were so incredibly close to his own.

“Well…” Bilbo started before his eyes flickered to the side, which caused Thorin’s own to shift, following Bilbo’s gaze.

A table crowded with dwarves all staring with amusement and all the cheekiness in the world.

Thorin pulled back slightly, fully turning his head to face that company of his with a small sigh escaping his lips, but he didn’t look nearly as put out as one might expect.

“Don’t make me come over there and smash your heads together!” Dwalin barked over the table, earning a chorus of laughter - and even a small huff of amusement from Thorin.

Bright blue eyes shifted to meet hazel eyes once more. “I don’t fancy being entertainment for anyone,” he started while sliding from his seat, “save for you, Master Baggins.”

That low murmur just about sent Bilbo melting into the floorboards as a large hand engulfed his own. “I should have started flirting with others a lot sooner,” Bilbo chuckled before being fixed with a look as he too was slipping from his seat.

“I would be most obliged if you saved your flirting for me. Alone. Away from this miserable audience.”

And boy did he not have to tell Bilbo twice. The hobbit followed one a step or two behind Thorin, one of his smaller hands still gripped in a larger dwarven one, and honestly, propriety and expectations could go hang themselves. Bilbo didn’t give a whit at the groans and catcalls that followed during Thorin and Bilbo’s retreat, but no doubt there would be more conversation to be had in the morning over breakfast...

...Or perhaps second breakfast. Bilbo had a feeling that sleeping in tomorrow may be inevitable.

#the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #bagginshield #thilbo #hobbit fic #bagginshield fic #hobbit fanfic #razzywrites #razquests #thank you for the request!

[dreamingofscully]

MOMENTUM - CHAPTER 1

(READ CHAPTER 2)

Rating: Mature (ch 1), Explicit (ch 2) Length: ~12k words Classification: M/S RST, Angst, Post-Ep for En Ami and spoilers through Chimera and all things Summary: Scully’s choices lead to some unintended consequences for herself and her relationship with Mulder.

Thank you to my betas! @sarie-fairy​​ @scullyeffect​​ and @o6666666​​ for the machete betas and @suitablyaggrieved​​ @starbuckthirteen​​ and @unhappybrthday​​ for the feedback. Definitely could not have done it without you.

Tagging @today-in-fic and @kega-umi.

(Read on AO3)

*** FRIDAY SPENDER’S FORMER OFFICE

“He knows what that science is worth, how powerful it is....He'd let nothing stand in his way.”  - Mulder

“You may be right... but for a moment, I saw something else in him. A longing for something more than power. Maybe for something he could never have.” - Scully

Scully wishes she could claim possession, body-snatching or any sort of ridiculous idea besides the one that she simply did something stupid. Mulder stands in front of her, arms braced on the doorway, waiting for a reasonable explanation. Why did she believe Spender? Why is she trying to paint him in a more sympathetic light? She thought she was doing the right thing at the time, but looking back she can’t believe she was so foolish. The silence stretches between them, his eyes filling with disappointment as he turns and walks away, leaving her standing in the empty room. 

Looking for some tangible proof of Spender’s presence, she scans the room one last time. Wonders why she’s even bothering since proof won’t give her the answers she needs. All of their experiences with him showed that he was nothing more than a liar, manipulating people for his own personal gain and twisted pleasure. Scully’s smart but she’s never been good at deception. Why did she think she could out-wit the man whose entire life was built on lies? Finding nothing in the room to ease her conscience, she reluctantly follows Mulder to his car. 

The last time she could remember this amount of tension between them was when Scully had voiced her suspicions to Mulder about Diana. They never talked about the hurt they’d caused one another back then, but that was their usual M.O. - never speaking about what mattered. Getting back to the X-Files, the foundation of their partnership, repaired the damage they'd inflicted upon one another. Shortly afterwards, they took the next monumental step in their relationship, finally admitting the feelings they had for one another and becoming lovers. It made the issues they argued about seem unimportant, at the time.

Mulder drives her home without even sparing her a glance. His inattention is glaringly unfamiliar. A few times, Scully opens her mouth to say something but changes her mind, each justification sounding inadequate. She’s utterly disappointed in herself. 

Finally, he pulls up outside her door, leaving the motor running. Needing to say something before leaving she undoes her seatbelt and turns to face him.

“Mulder--”

“Not now, Scully. Just get out.” He doesn't meet her gaze. There’s tension in his shoulders, barely concealed rage simmering just under the surface.

Not moving, she steels herself for his anger. She still has some hope of reasoning with him but before she can say anything else, Mulder turns to look at her. Instead of fury, she sees pain and vulnerability and her heart clenches in her chest. He thinks she betrayed him and from the outside that’s exactly what it looks like, exactly what Spender intended. Was that another motive - to put a wedge between them? 

Suddenly he’s left the car and is walking around to her side. He wrenches open her door and waits impatiently for her to get out. As she exits the car and reaches for him, he avoids her touch and goes back to the driver's side like he’d drive away whether she shut the door or not.

“Mulder, I was wrong to go with Spender but I think that might be what he intended all along, to make you doubt me. Call me when you’re ready to talk. Just know I’m sorry, and I love you.”

Scully waits, hoping he'll turn towards her and acknowledge her words. 

“Shut the door.” He doesn’t spare her a glance.

When she closes the door between them, his car peels out of the parking lot, leaving Scully at the curb to watch Mulder drive out of sight. She doesn’t remember the walk to her apartment, her head filled with fury and regret.

*** MONDAY FBI HEADQUARTERS

Scully walks down the hallway to their office, her heels clicking in an urgent, staccato rhythm, mimicking her fluttering heartbeat. He hadn’t called over the weekend, and despite not knowing his state of mind, she’s eager to see him. While they don’t spend every day together, it was rare a day went by that they didn’t at least speak on the phone, talking about anything and nothing. She misses their connection in a way that makes her feel weak and unsure, a foreign and unwelcome sensation. Taking a deep breath, she brushes her sweaty hands on her skirt and prepares a hopefully normal-looking smile on her face as she opens the door. 

Instead of a brooding, grumpy partner, she finds an empty office.

There’s no note on either of their desks. She double checks the door for a message - nothing. Concerned, she boots up her computer and scans her email. Nothing. Her cell phone is charged and there were no messages on her answering machine, she triple-checked before she left that morning.

Even though her instincts scream at her that he might have gone and done something impulsive and stupid, Scully takes a few deep breaths and forces herself to trust him. Calling him will only piss him off even more if, as she suspects, he’s only trying to avoid her a little while longer. He’ll be here. She’ll give him thirty minutes.

The time seems to pass interminably. She’s constantly checking the clock and reopening her email. Wondering if the computer system is down, she’s about to call tech support when the new email icon pops up on her desktop. Her heart leaps in her chest and she’s irrationally angry when it’s not him. She tries to work away at the long list of things she means to do but never has the time for but her eyes keep wandering to the clock. The reports on her desk remain unopened.

Twenty-five minutes. That’s close enough. She calls his home, but he must have turned off his answering machine. And he doesn’t answer his cell. 

Panic sets in.

Not knowing what else to do, Scully dials the number for Skinner’s office, chewing on her lip while she waits to be connected.

“What is it, Agent Scully?” His irritation makes her more nervous than usual, reminding her of the many, many times Mulder did something to annoy him.

“Sir? I, um, wondered if you had any idea of Mulder’s whereabouts?”

Silence for a few beats.

“He’s in St. Louis, helping with a profile. Left yesterday night. You’re unaware of this, Agent Scully? I thought you went with him.”

Scully massages her forehead, suppressing a sigh. “No, I... um... had stuff to do here. He must have forgotten to let me know. Sorry for bothering you, sir.” 

Scully tries Mulder’s cell again but it disconnects after one ring. So, that’s how it's going to be. Annoyance begins to creep up at his avoidance, but she tamps it down. She’s more worried about the toll that profiling will take on him. Since she’s not his favorite person right now, she fears her presence would only distract him, making the process take longer rather than providing any help. If they needed a pathologist, Mulder knew where she was.

Straightening her back, Scully forces herself to concentrate and get back to work. It’ll be a long few days alone in their basement office, but perhaps she can take advantage of his absence and catch up on reports and paperwork. Calmed by the practicality of her thoughts, she dives into the neatly stacked piles of work on her desk, determined to put her emotions aside until she’s able to talk to Mulder about it. 

*** FRIDAY

The rest of the week passes incredibly slowly without Mulder there to keep her company. When Scully tries to find out any information on his profiling case, thinking she could help from a distance or find an excuse to join him out there, she’s rebuffed. She almost takes the rejection personally but dismisses the irrational thoughts - not everything is about her. 

The anger she feels towards Spender grows with each day of Mulder’s absence, each day he refuses her call. She knows that this entire charade was intended to not only help Spender acquire something dangerous but to create doubt in her partner’s head about her. Once he gets back, she’s sure things will be fine, but the work doesn’t hold her interest without him there to distract her from it.

Speaking of distractions... Scully reaches for the office phone and hits redial, reaches Mulder’s voicemail.

“Mulder, it’s me. I’m not going to apologize again, you’ve already heard all that. I still can’t give you a good explanation. Just… I guess I just saw an opportunity for something and decided to take a leap. I know it wasn’t the best time to do that but, there you have it. Call me. Please. I’m worried about you out there.”

Scully hangs up the phone, taps on the receiver. She hates not knowing, hates not being about to do something. Needing to do something, she picks up the phone and dials Skinner’s extension. 

A few perfunctory minutes of updates to him on her progress in the office over the past week and Scully gets to the real reason for her call. 

“Sir, I was hoping for an update on Mulder’s case in St. Louis?” She tries to sound casual and unconcerned.

In the momentary silence on the other end of the receiver, she imagines Skinner’s brows knitting together. She swears under her breath, sure he would find it unusual that she was asking him, rather than speaking to Mulder directly.

“Uh... I just spoke to Agent Mulder. He’s due back tomorrow.” A pause. “Is everything okay, Agent Scully? Is there a reason you haven’t spoken with him yourself?”

“No, not at all. I-- um...that’s all I needed from you. Goodbye, sir.” 

Tomorrow, then. Scully smiles softly, nodding to herself. He’ll be home and she can help him with whatever consequences arose from the case in St. Louis, relieved she can finally take action.

*** SATURDAY MULDER’S APARTMENT

The rumbling of thunder and flashes of lightning accompany Scully as she strides down the hallway to Mulder’s apartment, shaking droplets of water from her raincoat. The fading light bulbs and sparse indigo light from the window at the end of the hall paint everything in shadowy illumination reminiscent of evening, though it's midafternoon. She knocks on his door, biting her lower lip. Strangely nervous about seeing him after so long.

She hears the lock opening and suddenly he’s in front of her. He hasn’t opened the door completely but the few inches of Mulder that she sees causes her to smile foolishly. 

Oh, how I missed him. 

“Hey,” she says. Her delight spills out before she notices his appearance. He looks like he’s been to hell and back - he hasn’t shaved in at least a week and there's dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. 

“Oh, Mulder…” 

Scully reaches for him, but before she can get close he flinches and pulls away from her, still holding the door partially closed and blocking her entrance. She’s dismayed at his reaction but tells herself it’s not about her.

“Now isn’t a good time.” His voice is strained. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s been a week… I thought we could get dinner and… talk?” At his blank stare, she continues. “Are you ok?” She places a hand on the doorframe and checks him over more closely.  

“I don’t think you being here is a good idea,” he says, his gaze hardening under her inspection. 

Confused at his rejection, Scully takes a deep breath, trying to think of something to say to bridge the gap between them.

“Is this about Spender?”

Mulder’s eyes suddenly flare with unbridled fury. His jaw clenches and his grip on the door tightens. Scully’s not sure what’s worse, the intense anger or the emotionlessness. He stares past her into the hallway. 

“Why on earth would you bring him up, Scully?” He asks this quietly, but she feels the force of his anger with every syllable. 

“Mulder, I didn’t mean--”

"What didn't you mean?" Mulder interrupts, yanking the door open and leaning closer but further blocking her entrance. His entire body rigid. "To take off with a man who's lied and worked against us for years? Who gave you your disease, who took so many things from the both of us?”

"I told you why I went, what he told me." The reason sounds feeble as soon as she voices it, unprepared to defend herself. She’d come to support him in the aftermath of profiling a horrific case, only he seems more upset over her actions from a week ago. .

Mulder’s eyes flash at her again. "And look what it got you. Nothing. Less than nothing. I was so worried about you.” 

The care she tried to take when she left with Spender ended up being completely worthless. Of course Mulder worried about her. What he must have thought? 

He continues, hands gripping the doorframe. “He could have done anything he wanted and you played right into his hands. And I still don't understand. You've always been the one telling me not to trust others, then you take off with the worst sonofabitch--"

Sheets of rain pound against the window, and dangerous crashes of thunder punctuate Mulder’s furious words, cutting off the last part of his sentence. Scully tries to hold his gaze, to tell him with her eyes what she can’t seem to express with her words. She can’t stand how he’s looking at her any longer and glances out the window at the storm. 

Flashes of light illuminate the hallway as she turns back. Long shadows drape Mulder in half-light. His face is both dark and light at once and while she desperately tries to focus her thoughts into coherence, he’s sinking back into his darkened apartment.

"Mulder, I tried..." The rest of her words shrivel under the weight of her mistake. She didn’t need to repeat herself and he didn’t seem to want to accept, let alone believe, her motivations the first time. A week apart didn’t lessen his anger. Her chest tightens. "I don't know what else to say."

"I don't think I really know you." Mulder’s voice breaks, sharpness replaced by vulnerability.

The statement breaks her heart. She knows how much trust means to him, that for years now she’s been the only one he can count on, who never tried to manipulate him. She's always been his exception. He trusted her implicitly because she’s never had an agenda. Have her actions forced him to doubt her? 

He has no one else. Of course he would react this way. 

She composes herself before speaking again, feeling like she’s traveled back in time, needing to convince him that he could trust her again.

"You do know me. It was a mistake. A terrible mistake, but that's all it was. It's me." She longs to reach out and grab his hand to emphasize her point, but his earlier reaction makes her hesitant.

Mulder’s eyes close and his shoulders slump, weariness and defeat written on every inch of his frame. He inches the door shut, withdrawing from her completely. 

"Mulder, please…" She’s desperate but has no idea how to reach him, convince him her intentions were pure. It’s like the idea of her betrayal has buried itself so deeply within him there’s nothing she can do to convince him otherwise. 

“No. I can’t do this right now.” He pulls away, shutting the door firmly between them.

She hadn’t expected this. Needing some sort of connection no matter how tenuous, she reaches out and lays her hand on the door, the smooth wood-grain surface under her palm an ineffectual replacement. She stands there for longer than she should, her breath shallow, emotions swirling within her. 

A boom of thunder shocks her out of her bleak thoughts, forcing her hand from his door and her steps towards the elevator. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this mad at her for so long. She manages to get to her car and drive home, heedless of the rain soaking her to the skin.

*** MONDAY, THE FOLLOWING WEEK FBI HEADQUARTERS

Worried when Mulder’s late for work on Monday, Scully wonders if she’ll have a repeat of last week. When he shows up she’s relieved, despite his rumpled suit and tired eyes. Mulder is distant but at least they’re speaking to one another, giving Scully hope that they can fix whatever happened between them. 

They work separately on old case reports and Scully tries to take comfort in the routine. However, Mulder’s dark mood is a thick fog between them, making their progress feel sluggish and their attempts at communication heavy and awkward. She wishes she could give him some measure of solace, comb her fingers through his hair, hold him at night until he falls into an easy slumber. Guilt cuts through her concern, presses heavily on her chest. It was her own actions that placed her here, preventing her from being able to give him comfort.

Regardless, he's talking to her, which she takes as a step in the right direction.

The week passes and Scully’s optimism dwindles. She almost forgets about their estrangement until he shies away from her touch, doesn’t meet her gaze, and refuses to banter or joke and she's struck by the remoteness of his presence. It’s like she's been reduced to a tolerable acquaintance rather than his closest friend and lover. 

They’ve never been good at talking about personal things. Scully could probably recount on one hand the rare times they spoke openly about their relationship or feelings with one another. How can she start a conversation with him about when it’s just not something that they do?

Thoughts of her sister emerge more frequently. Scully misses her acutely, the pain of her death like a fresh wound. Was it this hard all those years ago? Missy was so good at knowing what to do when it came to people. Instead of speculating about what her sister would say, Scully embraces her strengths and gets back to work, what brought her and Mulder together in the first place. She takes some comfort in simply having him nearby, witnessing the brilliance of his mind. If they’ve taken a step back in their relationship, she can’t deny that she wouldn’t trade her partner for any other.

*** FRIDAY FBI HEADQUARTERS

“There’s been some tension between my partner and I this past week and I can’t figure out how to get past it. Or if we even can.” Scully chews on her bottom lip, finding it difficult to voice her concerns aloud.

Karen Kosseff, the FBI counselor she’s talked to off and on over the years, sits across from her in her small office. She’s silent, calmly waiting for her to continue.

Scully clears her throat. “I made a mistake, a pretty serious one, that might have made him question my loyalty.”

“Were you disloyal to him?”

“No, never." Scully answers immediately. “I did something reckless, something that made him worry about me. But now he’s just upset, won’t talk.”

“You’ve been partnered with Agent Mulder for…” Karen consults the file in front of her. “Seven years now? That’s quite a long time to be paired with someone. But you feel this is different than the usual ups and downs one would expect in such a long-term relationship?” 

“Before--” She interrupts herself before accidentally revealing too much. “We’ve had arguments before, but never anything that prevented us from continuing our work normally. Even if we don’t talk about it, we generally push on like nothing’s happened.”

“And do you think that’s an effective way to communicate?”

“Probably not.” Her mouth turns up in a self-deprecating smile. She’s always been comfortable with not talking, not revealing her innermost thoughts. It was always easier to keep things hidden, but she knows deep down that it’s always led to trouble. “But anything would be better than what’s going on now.”

“From our past meetings and from reading your file I can see you two have weathered a lot in the years you’ve been together. That can take a serious toll on anyone.” Karen’s compassionate voice always seems to seep through her walls. She forgets each time how easy it is to open up when she’s here.

“I know this. And I think maybe what we’re going through now might be a continuation of things we’ve been through. I just wish I knew what to do.” Scully’s voice cracks, she feels tears threatening. Bowing her head as she closes her eyes, she tries to remain in control for long enough to say everything she needs to.

“Is there something else bothering you?”

Scully whips her head up to look at Karen. How does she do that? “I, um… I can’t talk to him about this--” 

Karen tilts her head, waits.

“Something happened to me, when I… made my mistake. I don’t really know what. I’m scared to find out. But if I told him--” Scully breaks off to press a hand to her mouth, feeling hot tears spill out over her cheeks, but she forces herself to continue. “It would make what I did so much worse.”

Scully has tried not to think about what Spender did to her while she was unconscious. It was easier to be angry with Spender about the disc and his lies, to be concerned with Mulder’s feelings and how she could help him. 

Karen doesn’t speak for several minutes, offering Scully a box of tissues. Her voice is concerned when she breaks their silence. “What are you scared of, Dana?”

“Of the possibilities. Of the consequences of them. Maybe I’ve made more than one mistake. This is just the last one in a series, and I can’t go back to how it was before--”

Karen raises her eyebrows at her pause.

It was so difficult to separate herself from their new relationship, maybe that was one of the problems. Taking a deep breath, and changing the direction she’d been heading. “I think I always prided myself on acting as Mulder’s ballast, the person who grounds him. I feel like I’ve failed in that regard, and I think he sees it that way too. Maybe that’s what is most upsetting, not what I did but how outside of myself the mistake was.”

“Do you feel like he holds you to unreasonable standards?”

“I don’t think so.” Crumpling the tissue in her hands, breaking it off into little pieces, Scully sighs before continuing. “I think if I give him time, things will work out. Sometimes we take a while to get moving, so to speak.”

***

It’s not usually until much later that Scully feels better after a session with Karen. Uncomfortable truths come to the surface, harmful things she realizes she’s been doing and needs to change. Knowing and doing, though, are two entirely different things. Even if she knew how to get him to speak with her, she doesn’t know if she has the strength to open up to him, to tell him everything. 

Instead of worrying about what to do with Mulder, Scully dives into work with an obsessive meticulousness. Not only does she work on finishing case reports, she consults with other agents outside the X-Files on their cases and starts research on a new paper about a case from a few months back. Outside of work, she starts a new training regimen, hoping she’ll be marathon-ready if the opportunity ever arises. The addition of all of these activities leaves her exhausted at the end of each day, falling into a restless sleep late at night and waking just in time to start the next morning. 

Sometimes the flurry of her day isn’t enough to keep her mind from wandering before unconsciousness takes her. These nights are the hardest. Despite spending most of the day with Mulder, and even though they didn’t spend every night with each other before their falling-out, she’s lonely. When she misses the warmth and solidity of his body around hers, she’ll find momentary release from her recently retired vibrator. Pretending he's here, that he's touching her, that things are back to normal. After her orgasm she feels the emptiness of her bed even more acutely - it’s not his body or her pleasure that she misses most, but the intimacy of his presence.

Scully’s mood shifts after a few weeks of her busier schedule. She’s easily angered and it’s increasingly difficult to hide her emotions. The incessant cracking of Mulder’s sunflower seeds grates on her nerves and she finds herself leaving the office more frequently as well, refusing to take out her anger at its intended target. Skinner and the rest of the agents in the building avoid her whenever they hear the tell-tale sound of her strident heels in the halls. 

***

It’s been just over three weeks since Mulder’s return from St. Louis and four weeks since they’ve had a friendly conversation. Scully finds herself in the office alone, reviewing a forensics report for a fellow agent, a favor she’s been meaning to return. Mulder’s jacket sits on the back of his chair, empty seed shells littering the desk and the floor around it. He’s off doing God knows what and she doesn’t bother asking where he’s going anymore, since he only responds to her questions with single-syllable grunts. She’s irritated at Mulder’s presumption of her availability, and his continued neglect of their relationship. What relationship?

When the phone rings, she considers not answering. She’s uncomfortable with negligence of duty, no matter how small, compelling her to pick up after a respectable three rings. 

“What?”

“Er, Agent Scully, I was hoping to discuss the case reports you and Agent Mulder just turned in.” 

Scully bites the inside of her cheek and closes her eyes, attempting to keep her annoyance at bay. With the extra time she and Mulder seem to have nowadays, the reports are some of the most comprehensive ones they’ve ever turned in. She feels like this conversation is a giant waste of time, but Skinner’s her boss, so she suffers through his questions.

Scully hangs up the phone as Mulder enters their office reading a file, not acknowledging her presence. She studiously ignores his silence and goes back to her report.

Almost  an hour later, Scully looks up from her reading, surprised to find that so much time has passed. When she looks over at Mulder, she meets his gaze and blinks in surprise.

“Do you need something, Mulder?” Scully raises her eyebrows and feels her mouth start to twitch upwards in a smile. Warmth floods her chest at his unexpected attention.

Mulder shakes his head and reaches for a report, opening it and ignoring her.

Her anger spills out, and she doesn’t hold it back this time. “When are you going to stop punishing me?” 

“Once I feel you can be trusted to not run off with the next guy who promises you something.”

Scully’s eyebrows knit together and her mouth drops open in shock. Before she can respond, Mulder grabs his jacket and leaves without another word. Her hand rises to her mouth and she closes her eyes, feeling the force of his words like a punch to the gut.

He won’t even speak to me about what’s bothering him, yet feels the need to make condescending remarks? 

She stares at the office door, wishing he’d return so she could tell him where he could shove his idiotic petulance.

When he doesn’t come back, Scully finds it difficult to concentrate. She leaves early and heads to the gym for a punishing training session before heading home. Rewarding herself with a few glasses of wine and a decidedly non-romantic movie, she manages to sink into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Scully’s running late, dreading another confrontation but knowing she should say something. Mulder’s sitting at his desk with coffee for the both of them.

“I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, Scully.” 

She’s surprised at first, stares at him. He’s avoiding her gaze, buried in a report. As she waits for him to continue, he turns his chair around and sorts through some files behind his desk.

That’s it?

After he left the office yesterday, she was determined to finally speak frankly but after his weak apology she’s reluctant to cause another argument. 

A night of stewing in her anger left her emotionally drained and pessimistic about being able to work things out with him. Every time she tries to talk, her mouth goes dry and a weight presses heavily on her chest. 

Why is it so difficult to know what to say? 

Frustrated at her inability to express herself, she resumes work without another word. They exist in the same office, worlds apart.

*** WEDNESDAY, THE FOLLOWING WEEK ABANDONED WAREHOUSE SOUTHEAST WASHINGTON, DC

“Well, good work, Scully. I'll call you back later.” - Mulder

Scully rolls her shoulders and stands, irritated at his abrupt goodbye. The conclusion of the case re-energized her but now she feels exhaustion creeping back. Despite her tiredness, she can’t help thinking about Mulder and this damn surveillance. She feels abandoned. While she’s left to pursue something not even worth their time, he scampers off to investigate a real X-File on his own. Maybe he realizes he doesn’t actually need her after all.

They’d become automatons. Mulder doesn’t talk to her about any new cases, they just work on tying loose ends and finishing reports. She wonders if he disappears on weekends to investigate things on his own instead of calling and pestering her to join him. She regrets her feigned annoyance back then, that she never really told him how much their time together meant to her. 

Her shoulder twinges, sore from sitting too long. A tumultuous combination of anger and dread builds within her. Aside from the time she went to his apartment, or the time he told her off, he won’t talk about what happened and as the days pass it gets harder for her to confront him about it. She doesn’t know how to fix their relationship if he won’t even acknowledge its presence. It’s bewildering that he can give up on them so easily - all the things they’ve done for each other over the years and he can just cast her off? Maybe she had everything wrong from the beginning, that the intensity of her feelings for him have always been one-sided.

At home, Scully peels off her clothes and stands under the lash of a hot shower until her skin is pink and raw. Unbidden, the tears start to flow, merging with the sluice of water flowing over her body. She was so preoccupied with her rage that this new emotion takes her by surprise. She only notices it once the sobs cause her to double over as she struggles to contain them. 

The combination of steam and grief starts to make her feel dizzy. Stumbling out of the stall, she sits heavily on the floor, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around herself.

She doesn’t notice the cold air causing her to shiver violently. She’s oblivious to her wet hair plastered to her head and neck, thick droplets cascading to the floor and pooling underneath her, making a wet mess on the cold tiles. 

Her awareness consists only of the overwhelming grief and painful pressure of her hands pressing against her eyes in a futile attempt to stop the emotions overtaking her.

All this time… the idea that their relationship had meant nothing to him, even after everything he’s said and done. The hold he’s had over her for years, thinking that it was only a matter of time. Never that it would come to an end almost before it even began. All her fears and vulnerabilities she’s bottled up these past few weeks spill over, shaking her to her core. She recalls the nagging but easily-ignored feelings that their happiness couldn’t last. Those minor twinges and paranoid notions suddenly seem so undeniably monstrous and real.

She’s not sure how long she sits crumpled there on the floor. Her ass is numb and she’s shaking uncontrollably with the cold by the time she comes back to herself. She’s stiff from the awkward position she’s been sitting in and the tension of her emotional outburst. Drying herself off and slipping into warm flannel pajamas, she heads to her darkened bedroom. Her head hits the pillow and she envelopes herself underneath her quilt, her grief waning into bruising emptiness as she falls into an exhausted slumber.

***

Hours later, Mulder comes to her apartment and lets himself in, pausing at the doorway before heading to her bedroom. He stands at the end of the bed and stares at her sleeping form for several minutes, a bleak expression on his face. He moves closer, carefully tucking the blanket around her, brushing a trembling hand over her curling hair, gently kissing the patch of skin peeking out from the collar of her pajamas. Leaning towards her, he studies her sleeping form  for a few more minutes before leaving, regret and an awakened determination in his eyes.

END CHAPTER 1 ------- (READ CHAPTER 2)

#xf fanfic #msr #my fic #mulder and scully #msr fanfic #xfiles #x-files #momentum

[dyslexicsquirrel]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Sam Wilson (Marvel), T’Challa Additional Tags: Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Infinity War and Engame didn’t happen, just go with me here, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts

Stony Bingo fill (square T3) Prompt: Just for once everyone lives

Tony woke up gasping, clutching at his chest. It felt tight and his skin was clammy. He sat up, gulping in air.

“You okay?” Hearing Steve’s voice and feeling the hand his husband pressed to his back helped ground him.

“Nightmare,” he said, voice hoarse like he’d been screaming. He couldn’t have been though, because Steve would have woken up as soon as he made a noise. The bed shifted and then Steve was wrapping his arms around him. Tony let his head fall against his shoulder.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not—not right now.” Maybe never that had been… worse than any nightmare he’d ever had. Worse than the ones after Afghanistan, after the Chitauri, after Sokovia.

“Okay,” Steve said, voice low and soothing, one hand rubbing up and down his arm. That was the thing with Steve, he never pushed for more than Tony was capable of giving. He was patient, waiting for when or if Tony was ready to open up. That had been one of the worst parts of the nightmare—he and Steve weren’t together. The world, hell the damn universe, was in danger and they weren’t together. People—everyone it had felt like—had died and he couldn’t help that feeling of ‘If Steve and I were facing this together this wouldn’t be happening.’ That they would have won before… before lines had been crossed, people sacrificed.

But it hadn’t been real. He still clutched at Steve anyway, the remnants of watching the life he had crumble still clinging to his mind.

“You’re alright, Tony. I’ve got you.” Steve said the words and Tony believed them. They had faced so much and come out the other side. The Accords had almost destroyed them, but they came together in the end.

“What are you doing here?” Steve had asked Tony when he showed up after Peggy’s funeral.

“I knew her, you know. Peggy. I don’t know if I ever told you that. Her and my dad were friends, but I’m sure you knew that much.” Tony had looked away, to the front of the church, the silence seeming to echo. Finally he sighed, looked back at Steve who was frowning. “You asked what would happen if the panel wanted to send us somewhere we didn’t want to go or there was somewhere we needed to be that they wouldn’t let us?”

“Yeah?”

“Then we make them listen,” Tony told him fiercely in a quiet voice, gripping Steve’s arm. “I don’t think there’s anything we can’t accomplish together, but Steve… we have to be together.” He had hardly ever called him Steve then, he and Pepper had just broken up and there had always been something simmering between he and Steve; calling him anything other than Cap or some slightly insulting nickname had felt like too much. He swallowed and took a step back. “Just promise me you’ll think about it? We’ll help Barnes, we’ll do what we need to do, but think about it before you do anything that can’t be taken back.”

Steve had looked away and Tony had taken it as a dismissal. “Tony.” He looked back at Steve over his shoulder. The other man was standing straight, shoulders back in that proud stance Tony both hated and adored. “I’ll think about it...”

Steve had signed and with him Wanda, but the whole Barnes situation had almost blown up in their face, too. Zemo had almost gotten his way, but he and Natasha had convinced Steve to not try to do it alone and Steve had agreed as long as Bucky got to come along.

“The WSO agreed to not lock him up in a very deep prison with very thick walls now that we know he wasn’t responsible for the bombing, but there’s no way—”

Steve cut him off. “I almost didn’t bring him back in. But I thought about what you said. Together, right? Well, this is his fight, too, Tony. Not to mention no one knows that facility or the training those other soldiers got better than he does.”

Tony’s eyes cut to Barnes who was very quiet. Tony wanted nothing more than to bury Barnes in the ground after what Steve and Natasha had told him he’d done. “Do you even remember them?”

Barnes’ jaw clenched, that metal arm of his whiting mechanically when his hand did the same, but he didn’t look away, didn’t try to hide from Tony’s anger. “No. But I wish I did. So I could apologize and mean it.”

That more than anything had gotten through to him. “Suit up, we leave in five and we’ll deal with the fall out later,” he said harshly before leaving the room.

And it was a good thing he knew before they walked into that base. Zemo tried to use it against them, to tear them apart. The video had been hard to watch. When Tony raised his gauntlet, he honestly hadn’t been sure if he was going to try and shoot Barnes or not. He hadn’t, though, because ultimately his parents and Barnes were both victims of Hydra. He shot Zemo instead right before T’Challa walked in. Tony had punched Barnes when the man tried to thank him later on the jet, but he figured he was due that.

Things had been rocky for a few years after that. The Accords had done their job, but Steve had also been right. They’d had to fight on more than one occasion to go somewhere that had ultimately needed their help, but having Fury and T’Challa on their side? It had mostly worked out and even when it didn’t, they were still together.

“What time is it?”

Steve unwound one of his arms from around Tony to check his phone so he almost, almost, didn’t have time to miss it’s warmth. “Just after 5.” Tony made an unhappy noise at being awake so early and Steve chuckled. “You can go back to sleep for a few hours. Pepper’s doctor’s appointment isn’t until 8.”

“Don’t think I can,” Tony said, but he was grumpy about it.

“Let’s get you some coffee then,” Steve said, herding him out of bed and ignoring Tony’s grumbles. It was one of the rare days where Steve wasn’t on training rotation and there hadn’t been any news of a mission. Tony wanted to spend it in bed, but he also knew his husband and Steve would have been getting up to take his run with Sam soon anyway.

They got dressed, though that was a relative term since ‘dressed’ meant ‘pajamas’ in this case. Tony had gotten more lax about what he wore this last year since he hung up his armor. He wasn’t getting any younger and he’d prefer to spend his time in the workshop making things for other people to use. Plus now with Pepper having the baby, Tony wanted more freedom in his schedule since she split her time between LA and New York with Stark Industries.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this whole thing?” Tony turned to look at Steve as they made their way to the communal kitchen.

Steve pulled a face. “If I wasn’t okay with it, I wouldn’t have told you I was. Besides, it's a little late now seeing as she’s eight months along.”

“I know, I know. It’s just, I want to make sure. It’s kind of a big thing—your husband donating sperm to his ex so she can have a baby.”

“You and I both know Pepper is more than just your ex, Tony,” Steve said over his shoulder as he started to make the coffee.

Tony sat at the island. “That should make it harder to handle, not easier. Are you sure Erskine didn’t completely grow you in a lab? No one is this good.”

“She’s your family, Tony. And if she’s yours that means she’s mine. That's what this means.” He held up his left hand to show off his ring. “You help family, it’s what you do,” he said meaningfully and Tony had to look away because he knew Steve was talking about Barnes now. They weren’t good, the two of them. Tony didn’t think they ever would be, but he was Steve’s family and, yeah, he hadn’t put up a fuss when T’Challa had suggested Barnes going to Wakanda to try and fix what Hydra had done to his brain.

“How’s Barnes liking those goats anyway?” It was the only acknowledgment to the gratitude on Steve’s face Tony was going to make.

“There’s new babies.” Steve turned back to the coffee maker when it beeped. He took three mugs down from the cabinet and Tony frowned at that, but didn’t comment. He’s learned that sometimes it was better not to ask questions. “You know, if someone had told me back in Brooklyn that Bucky Barnes would be raising goats one day, I would have thought they were crazy.”

“I bet.” Steve might not see Bucky all that often, but knowing he was safe and whole and happy made Steve happy and whatever made Steve happy was good with Tony, despite his own conflicted feelings. Maybe he did understand where Steve was coming from with the Pepper/baby situation. “Did I tell you Pepper’s having a girl?”

“You did,” Steve said, carrying over the three mugs. He slid one towards Tony who took a grateful sip and held the other one out. It made sense a second later when Pietro slid into the kitchen.

“Is that for me?” He asked with a big smile. Steve nodded, relinquishing the mug to him before picking up his own and Tony rolled his eyes. Damn super soldier hearing.

“I will never get used to that,” he told Steve who shrugged.

“Him and Wanda have been doing well with their training. And, yes, you did tell me that you and Pepper were having a girl.” Tony smiled, chagrined, and shrugged. It was still hard sometimes to admit that out loud to Steve. Steve placed a hand over Tony’s where it lay against the countertop. “I’m fine, Tony, I promise. It’s not like we’re going to have biological kids of our own. I have enough on my hands with the ones we keep taking in, between the twins and Peter and Harley now that he’s going to NYU.”

“We got some good ones, don’t we?”

“And we’ll have another one when your daughter is born. I’m okay being a stepdad.”

Tony flipped his hand over to he could lace their fingers together and raised their interlocked hands together to place a kiss to the back of Steve’s. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Damned if I know.”

“Language, Captain,” Tony said, sounding scandalized, making his eyes go comically wide.

“You’re really never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope,” Tony replied happily, taking a sip of his coffee. Steve tugged his hand free so he could round the bar and slide onto a stool next to Tony. He looked serious, more serious than normal. “Uh-oh, are you asking for a divorce? I get Peter, you take the twins.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You wish you could get rid of me that easily, pal.”

Tony never wanted to get rid of him and the fear that Steve might change his mind was always there no matter how many years of them being together passed. “I know there’s something you want to tell me. Out with it.”

Steve took a deep breath. “I’m thinking about retiring.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Captain America is allowed to do that?”

“They can’t exactly force me to fight and, well, I think I’ve more than earned a break. I’d still want to work here, train the recruits, but…”

Tony tilted his head, considering him. “Would you really be able to hang up the shield?”

“That wasn’t really what I had in mind. I was thinking more about handing it off to someone else.”

“Seriously?”

“Sam would need a new suit.”

“Wilson? Why him?” Not that he didn’t think Wilson could do it or that he didn’t like him, but… there were a lot of people Steve could ask, a whole compound full of recruits.

“I think he can do it justice,” Steve told him softly. Steve had been carrying that mantle for so many years, even while he’d been frozen in the ice, that Tony didn’t really think he could ever understand what giving it up would mean. If he thought Wilson could do it then Wilson probably could.

“Okay. If that’s what you want. I can give his wings a new paint job.”

“What about my wings?” Sam asked, walking into the kitchen, dressed for a run. Because who else in the house had wings.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Steve said, standing. He pressed a kiss to Tony’s temple. “I’ll be back in a second, Sam.”

When Steve had left the kitchen, Sam leaned back against the counter, a mug full of coffee cradled between his hands. He tipped his head in the direction Steve had gone. “He okay?”

“He will be.” Steve came back out a few minutes later, dressed in gym shorts and a tight t-shirt. Tony grabbed his hand when he walked passed to follow same out of the kitchen and outside. Steve raised his brows in question. “Have you ever thought about growing a beard?”

“A beard? Can’t say that I had, no.”

It was one of the things from his nightmare that hadn’t been completely awful. The other was his daughter. If his real kid was even half as amazing, he was going to be a lucky man. He also needed to suggest the name Morgan. Pepper had an uncle by that name if he remembered correctly so it wouldn’t be that weird. “Yeah,” he told Steve. “I mean if you’re retiring and all. Won’t have to worry about it throwing off the aesthetics of the suit.”

Steve huffed in amusement. “I’ll think about it,” he said then pressed a kiss to Tony’s lips and left. Tony rubbed at his chest absently and sipped his coffee. That damn dream was still lingering. He got up to find his phone. He needed to call Peter to hear his voice. It was early, but he might be up. Then maybe he could track Natasha down. He just needed to reassure himself that everyone was fine and then he could relax.

It had only been a nightmare.

#stonybingo #cap-ironman bingo fill #stonyfic #stevetony #not ca:cw compliant #IW and endgame didn’t happen