#and when mac died that day became a sad and dull day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chickensarentcheap · 4 years

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Best Part of Me -Chapter 20

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud

Every Saturday morning Millie has him up at the crack of dawn; a habit she’d developed after their first weekend back in Australia, when she pestered him awake, insisting he watch the sunrise with her. Six months later he can still remember the look of awe and wonder on her face; those blue eyes impossibly wide, her mouth hanging open in shock, hands clasped tightly against her chest. It became their ‘thing’. Sitting out on the back patio and watching as the sun came up, having breakfast and then heading down to the beach. If the conditions were right and the winds not too strong and the waves not too challenging, he’d take her surfing; she’d been a natural from the start, confident, expressing no fear or hesitation. She even had her own board: a custom job that he’d let her pick out and choose the colors and designs she wanted on it. If things weren’t cooperating, they’d take Mac for a walk along the beach and throw things in the water for him to retrieve. Millie would collect rocks, shells and all the beach glass she could possibly find; adding everything to the already expansive collection she kept in shoe boxes under her bed. Or they’d take a hike through the woods that bordered their property, and she’d use his phone to take pictures of any wildlife and ‘cool looking stuff’ they’d stumble upon.

It’s their time together. Before all her siblings are awake and the chaos of the day begins. Just shy of six years old and despite her penchant for profanity and fighting, she’s insanely intelligent and well spoken; introspective and wise, oddly intuitive for someone so young. More like her mother than anyone realizes. And he cherishes their alone time. She’s not his first born; no one could ever replace Austin. But she’s the first in his new life; a living reminder of the second chance that he’s given. A beautiful, amazing little soul that had been created during quite possibly the craziest and most difficult time of his life; in the midst of all the loss and the destruction that Dhaka had brought with it. An accident maybe, not but a mistake. Their bond is profound, stronger than the others. He’d been with her from the go after all, when she was still being carried inside of her mother’s body. When she was a baby, he hadn’t gotten back into the job yet. There’d been no leaving in the middle of the night, no being absent for days and often weeks. And he’d been so grateful to be given another shot at being a father that he’d devoted every waking moment to her.

After the sunrise she helps him make breakfast; standing on one of the kitchen chairs she pushes right up against the stove. The same thing she has him make every Saturday: pancakes topped with fresh fruit and syrup. Proud of herself when she gets the responsibility of mixing the batter and ladling it onto the griddle. Talking his ear off the entire time the food cooks; the dreams she’d had during the night,, everything she’d learned in school that week, all the different activities she and her friends had engaged in during gym and recess. All bright eyed and cheerful, a stark comparison to his more sullen and quiet morning mood. But he humors her. Like always. Offering up nods or small comments at the appropriate times, sympathetic scowls or shakes of the head when she’d complain about something she found wildly unfair or particularly disturbing. When all the food is prepared and they’re ready to head outside to eat, she throws her arms around his neck and squeezes as tight as she can. And when she says “I love you daddy” in that little voice of hers, everything seems perfect and right in the world.

Breakfast is finished and he’s on his second coffee of the morning when she speaks again. Her thick, unruly hair tumbling down the sides of her face and to the middle of her back as she sits across from him; feet up on the seat and her Hello Kitty pajama top pulled over skinned and bruised knees. Those blue eyes dark and serious, her brow furrowed.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it true you almost died?”

Tyler watches her over the top of his mug, lips pressed against the rim. She’s already perfected the poker face, not even the slightest hint of emotion. And she suddenly seems so much older and mature than her actual age.

“The other night when we saw Auntie Nik and Uncle Kyle,” she continues. “Mommy said you almost died. Is that true?”

Fuck, he silently curses. It had been bad enough dealing with the fallout of Ovi telling her about his ‘real job’; that the reason he went away so often was because he was ‘helping get good people away from bad people’. The nightmares had lasted for two months; she’d wake up screaming in terror, often wetting her bed, sometimes even throwing up. But now this? His own brush with death was something he’d hoped to not have to touch on until she was much older. If ever.

“It is,” he confesses. “I did almost die.”

“The bad guys hurt you?”

He nods.

“How? How did they hurt you?”

“You don’t need to know those things. Maybe when you’re older I’ll tell you. But you’re too young to hear all of that.”

“But it was really bad,” she states.

“Yeah. It was really bad.”

Her expression remains neutral, eyes fixed on her fingers as they fidget with a loose piece of thread on the hem of her night shirt. “Mommy was there too?”

“Mommy was there,” he confirms. “She helped me. So I wouldn’t die.”

“So she’s a hero?”

“I think so. She’s my hero, at least.”

Millie smiles at that. Then quickly turns serious again; those deep lines in her forehead returning, eyes darkening once more. “If you died, I wouldn’t be here. And neither would TJ or Tanner or Declan or Addie.”

“You would still be here. You were going to be here whether I died or not. You were already in mommy’s tummy.”

“Did you know? That I was in there.”

Tyler shakes his head. “I didn’t know. Neither did mommy.”

“How come? How come you didn’t know?”

“The doctor hadn’t told us yet,” it seems like the easiest and most logical explanation for a child to grasp. “We didn’t find out until a little while later that we were having you.”

“So if you died, mommy would have been all alone when she found out about me? She would have had to have me all by herself? With no daddy in the room?”

He manages a nod, finding himself fighting back his own wave of emotion. It’s something he doesn’t think about often; if he’d died and Esme would have been left to handle everything on her own. How she would have felt finding out that she was carrying the baby of a dead man. With nothing more than those five days in Dhaka to remember him by.

“That’s sad,” Millie’s voice is a near whisper, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Poor mommy.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Or if there’s anything he can say. No wise or helpful words of comfort that can heal that particular wound. Especially when flooded with his own emotions: sadness, regret, guilt. That he’d ever put Esme in that situation in the first place.

Millie rebounds quickly; brushing the tears off her cheeks with the backs of her hands and tucking her hair behind her ears. “Were you happy?” she asks. “When you found out that I was in mommy’s tummy?”

“Yeah...” he takes a swig of coffee. “...I was happy. Surprised. But happy.”

“A good surprise?”

He smiles. “A very good surprise.”

“Because you were sad before, right? Because Austin died. And he was you first baby. I’m the second.”

“You’re my first too. You’re my first with your mom. That still counts. And yeah, I was happy because I was getting a second chance to be a dad. Your mommy gave me that chance. So did you. Did you know that I used to talk to you all the time? When you were in mommy’s tummy.”

Her eyes and her voice brighten. “You did?”

Tyler nods. “I used to put my hand on mommy’s stomach and you’d always kick it. I used to tell you all kinds of stuff. About all the thing we were going to get to do together. About how awesome it was going to be take you to beach and teach you how to surf. About how much I loved you and couldn’t wait to meet you.”

“Mommy said that you got to meet me first. When I was born.”

“I did. I was the very first person that doctor gave you to.”

“Did you cry?”

“I did,” he admits. “More than you did, I think. You were kind of quiet, actually. You were just looking around at everyone and everything with those big blue eyes.”

“What did I look like?”

“You were really small. Not as small as Addie though. You were three pounds heavier than her. And you had tons of hair. A little darker than it is now.”

“Was I cute?”

“The cutest baby ever.”

“Did I look like you or mommy?”

“Would I say you were the cutest baby ever if you looked like your mom? Come on now.”

“Daddy!” she scolds. “That’s mean. Mommy is very pretty.”

“She is. You’re the cutest baby ever and she’s the prettiest mommy ever. But you looked like me. You looked like me then and you look like me now.”

“That’s okay I guess,” she gives a rather forlorn sigh. “I mean, you’re okay to look at, I suppose.”

Tyler smirks. “Now who’s mean?”

“I learn from the best,” she declares, then reaches for the plastic cup of chocolate milk that sits on the table. “If you and mommy didn’t know each other and didn’t have any kids and you met her somewhere, would you still fall in love with her?”

“Absolutely,” he replies with no hesitation.

“Would you still marry her?”

“I’d marry your mom a million times over. Think she’d marry me? If she didn’t know me yet and just met me?”

“I think so. I mean, she obviously loves you, right?”

“Think so?”

“I know so. I mean, she puts up with your shit.”

Tyler laughs at that. “Yeah,” he agrees. “She does.”

“But I think you’re doing okay, daddy. I think you’re brave and you’re strong and you need to be nicer to yourself. You need to say nice things to yourself instead of bad things. When you get up in the morning, you should look in the mirror and tell yourself that you’re awesome and no one is going to make you angry or sad or dull your sparkle. That’s what I do, you know,” she pushes her hand through her hair, moving it off her forehead and away from her face. “Every day when I get up, I tell myself, ‘Amelia, it’s going to be a great day’. I use my real name when I talk to myself. Just ‘cause.”

Tyler grins. “You talk to yourself a lot?”

“When I want to have an intelligent conversation,” she responds, and he nearly chokes on a mouthful of coffee. “I mean, have you met the kids in my class? Or my brothers? I have to talk to myself. There’s no other option. And I tell myself, ‘Amelia, no one is going to dull your sparkle!’”

“No one could EVER dull your sparkle, Millie. No one. You’re a lot like your mom, you know. More than people realize.”

Esme is all personality as well. For years she’d had to hide it behind a tough, no nonsense exterior; her time in the Corps, the disastrous marriage to Mark, her years on the job spent lying and conning people. She’d never been able to be herself, for one reason or the other. But the true Esme had always been lingering just under the surface; vibrant and carefree, a bit of a wild child, one that loves life and everyone in it and tries to never waste time on regret and ‘what ifs’. Moving back to Australia had brought it all out of her. It had been like meeting her all over again for the first time; she was Esme, but she wasn’t. Even now there are shades of the Dhaka Esme lingering under the surface, but that Esme is no longer in control. The new one has taken over. And seeing those different sides to her...seeing her real personality come out...had made him fall even more in love with her. Which he had thought wasn’t even remotely possible.

“If you don’t think you can tell yourself stuff like that, I can do it for you,” his daughter offers. “I can tell you that you’re awesome and that you’re brave and strong and that there’s no better daddy in the whole, wide world. Not even in the whole universe.”

Tyler never thought an almost six-year-old could bring him to his knees, but if he’d been standing, she would have done just that. The words take his breath away; so innocent and pure. So honest. That IS how she sees him. To her, he’s the strongest, bravest man that exists. She doesn’t know just how broken and damaged he actually is, nor does she have any recollection of the birthdays he’s missed or the times he’d left in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye. And if she does, she’s forgiven him and holds no grudges.

“Don’t cry, daddy,” she implores, and she’s climbing into his lap now and taking his face in her hands. “Don’t be sad. Be happy. I’m here.”

“You have no idea how happy that does make me. That you ARE here.”

Her eyes sparkly mischievously. “Because I’m your favorite?”

“I don’t have a favorite. I love all of you.”

She rubs her palms against his beard, giggling at how it feels against her skin. “It’s okay, daddy. You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”

Grinning, he combs a hand through her hair, moving it away from her face and pushing it off her shoulders. “You’re my favorite,” he concedes, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

She gives a brilliant smile; one that wrinkles the corners of her eyes and crinkles the top of her nose. Then wraps her arms around his neck and settles her head on his shoulder. “I knew it.”

****

“I really do want a puppy,” Millie announces three hours later, from where she’s perched upon his shoulders, hands clasped together and forearms folded, resting on top of his head.

They’d spent nearly two hours in the water; alternating between swimming and surfing, then had joined the rest of their family for a second breakfast. And while Esme and Declan went to the neighbors and Kyle took the twins for a ‘guys day, Millie had insisted of spending the day with him. Even if meant doing nothing more than going into town and running errands: picking up baby formula and prescriptions, checking items off a small grocery list, and browsing through stores. Since their talk that morning she’d been clingy; more so than usual, not wanting to let him out of her sight. And he enjoys it; the way she’s so attached to him. Even the way she can talk him into doing just about anything for her. Possessing the innate ability to get him out of his comfort zone without him even realizing he’s doing it.

“What kind of puppy?” Tyler asks, shopping bags on one hand, free arm across her legs to keep her in place.

“I dunno. A cute one. A fluffy one. Really fluffy. Like a little bear. But not as mean and big when it grows up.”

“We already have Mac,” he reminds her.

“Mac needs a friend.”

“He has you and your brothers and your sister.”

“A furry friend. Like him.”

“He does, does he?”

Millie nods. “Maybe for my birthday?”

“You never know.”

He and Esme had already made the decision; picking out –and paying for- an Australian shepherd that could picked up the morning of the big day. A friendly –albeit extremely hyper- little thing with enormous blue eyes and a playful disposition. The breeder had asked for a name so the puppy could get used to it and recognize it in the home, and without hesitation he’d said ‘Saju’. It seemed fitting; that man had been strong and loyal to the bitter end.

“I’m going to be six, you know,” Millie says.

“I know. I was there when you were born, remember?”

“Did mommy cry? When I was born?”

“What is your obsession with people crying when you were born?”

“Mommy and I watched The Baby Story on Netflix. Everyone on that show cries when their baby is born. Did mommy?”

“Mommy cries at sad commercials. Of course she cried when you were born.”

“Was she sad?”

“Why would she be sad? She was happy. And relieved. Because you were healthy and you made it safe and sound. It was a lot of hard work, you know. Keeping you inside of her as long as she could. Couple times we didn’t think you’d make it that far. That you’d arrive a lot sooner.”

“Like Addie?”

Tyler nods.

“Addie’s super tiny! But she’s tough. And when she squeezes my finger, she squeezes really hard! When she’s older, I’m going to teach her to fight. So no boys pick on her.”

“How about you not teach her to fight and you just beat up whoever picks on her.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

“Exactly.”

“I can do that. Keep the boys away from her. Because boys suck!”

Tyler smirks. “I’m a boy. I don’t suck.”

“That’s different. You’re daddy. You’re a boy, but you’re not.”

“What happened to that Ryan kid?”

“We broke up,” she sighs. “I was sad at first, but mommy said there’s lot of other fish in the pond and I should keep fishing until I find the right one. Even if I have to fish until I’m a lot older. And she said I should never lower my standards.”

“She’s a pretty smart lady that mommy of yours.”

“She is. You’re lucky daddy. That she loves you. ‘Cause she’s crazy cute and crazy smart and lots of boys want someone who is crazy cute and crazy smart.”

“Yeah? What boys? I want names so I can beat them up.”

“Don’t be jealous just ‘cause boys like her. Appreciate it. They like her, but she likes you.”

“You know, you’re awful smart for just about six.”

“I know,” she giggles. “Cute like daddy, smart like mommy.”

“That’s exactly it.”

He stops at the truck to put the bags in the back and they continue on. Taking her to the pet store, where she ‘ooos and awws’ over the wall to wall tanks of various sizes and colors of fish, giggles at the antics of the birds and the hamsters, and gets to pet the kittens and a hedgehog the workers bring out for her to see. But she’s most intrigued by a large tarantula and the snakes. The kid that doesn’t panic when the Huntsmen spiders get into the house or someone finds a snake curled up and hiding in the toe of one of their shoes. She’s calm and composed while everyone else –aside from him- if losing their minds and Esme is threatening to burn the place down.

They go for ice cream next; in a candy shop very similar to the one they used to frequent in Telluride. Millie never talks about Colorado or about their old home; almost as if those times never even existed and she’d been in Australia from day one. Her developing accent is stronger than the other kids’ and every day he hears her voice changing more and more; filling him with a sense of pride that he can’t quite explain.

He sees the way people react to them together; the smiles and the passing comments they get, especially from women. It’s the visual, he supposes. Someone his height and his size catering to a little girl in pig tails and a flamingo patterned sundress.

“Why do girls like big muscles?” Millie asks, as they sit at table on the outdoor patio; kneeling in her seat in order to reach her bowl of ice cream.

“I don’t know,” Tyler replies. “Who likes big muscles?”

“Lots of girls. Mommy does. She likes YOUR big muscles.”

“Mommy knows a good thing when sees it, I guess.”

“I see the way girls look at your muscles. How they look at YOU. I hate it. It’s gross. You’re my dad. I don’t want them thirsty bitches looking at you.”

He frowns. “Amelia...”

“I know...I know...bad language...sorry. But it’s true. I don’t want girls looking at my dad like that. You’re already married. To mommy.”

“Yeah, and I’m going to stay married to mommy. Doesn’t mean other girls can't look. Just means they can’t touch.”

“’Cause mommy will throat punch them.”

Tyler nods. “Exactly.”

“And don’t want Salena looking at you like that either. I don’t appreciate her touching you. Touching your arm. That made me mad.”

“You need to relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax.”

He can’t help but laugh. “You sounded exactly like your mother just then.”

“She shouldn’t have touched you,” Millie continues her rant. “Only mommy should. Because you’re daddy and she’s mommy and you should only touch each other.”

“That’s a very good point. You don’t like her? Salena?”

“I dunno,” Millie shrugs. “I guess she’s okay. It just made me mad. When she touched you.”

“It’s no big deal. Mommy said it was okay.”

“I don’t care. It was wrong and you can’t convince me otherwise. Do you want other guys touching mommy?”

Tyler scowls. “Do they?”

“That’s not the question. Do you? Want other guys touching her?”

“There better not be other guys touching her.”

“Mommy would never let them touch her. Only you’re allowed to touch her.”

“Have other guys tried? Have you seen them try?”

“Daddy, you’re missing the whole point,” she sighs in exasperation. “Do you, or don’t you? Sheesh.”

“I’ll more than throat punch any guy that touches your mother.”

“Well then no girl should touch you either. It’s only fair.”

“You know, you are way too smart for your own good.”

“It’s common sense!” Millie reasons. “I’m going to tell her when I see her. That she’s not allowed to touch you ever again. Or else.”

“How about you stop being such a bad ass and mind your business,” Tyler suggests.

“You’re my dad. You ARE my business.”

“Why don’t you like her?” he asks once more. “Other than the whole touching me thing.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her...I just...” she sighs and allows the words to trail off.

Tyler watches her at he eats his own ice cream; patiently waiting for her to continue. Recognizing that intense, deep in thought expression on her face. It’s one he’s seen many times in the mirror. Esme had called it ‘frowny eyebrows’.

“I don’t trust her,” Millie finally says.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, she shrugs, and licks ice cream off the end of her spoon. “I just don’t. Do you?”

“I’m trying to,” he admits.

“Maybe you don’t trust her for a reason. Maybe you don’t know what it is either.”

“Or I’m just paranoid.”

“No. That’s not it. Mommy says you have really good...” her eyebrows pinch together once more as she struggles to remember the word.

“Instincts?” Tyler offers.

“Yeah! That’s it. Instincts. That’s what mommy said. Those are good things to have, yeah?”

“Most of the time.”

“So maybe they said not to trust her, and you need to listen to them.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know what kind of ‘grow up juice’ they’re giving you at school, but I think you need to lay off it. There’s no way you’re only five.”

“Excuse you, I’m almost six.”

“Sorry. Almost six. You sure you’re not more like sixty?”

“Just six. But six means I’m getting bigger. That I’m growing up.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I can’t stay little forever, daddy. No matter how much you want me to. One day I’m going to get married and you’re going to have to give me away.”

Tyler frowns. “Are you intentionally trying to depress me or...?”

“I’m just saying. It’s sad. That mommy’s daddy didn’t get to do that when she married you.”

“He died a long time before I ever met your mom. She was just a teenager.”

“But even though he’s dead, he’s still my grandpa, yeah?”

Tyler nods.

“And your dad is my grandpa too. But I don’t get to see him. Even though he’s still alive. Mommy said he’s sick. Will I catch it if I go see him?”

“It’s not that kind of sick. You can’t catch it.”

She pouts. “I don’t remember him.”

“You were just a baby the last time I took you there. Did you want to see him?”

“Yeah...I guess...I mean, he’s my grandpa. Will he remember me?”

“Probably not. It’s been a long time since he last saw you.”

“When we moved away when I was a baby. Maybe you could take me there. To see him. So he can see what I look like now.”

“If you want to go and see him, I’ll take you. But...”

She arches an eyebrow, spoon in her mouth as she waits for him to continue.

“...he doesn’t remember who I am, either. Some days he does, some days he doesn’t. It might be a good day for him, might be a bad day.”

“Because he’s sick? Is his brain sick.”

“Yup. That’s exactly it”

“Which means we can’t even bring him popsicles and chicken noodle soup. Those always make me feel better when I’m sick.”

“He might like them, but they don’t help.”

“Hmmm...” her eyes focus on the snack in front of her, spoon swirling around in the now melted remnants of ice cream; bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “...but it might cheer him up. To see me.”

“It could,” Tyler agrees.

“And maybe he can come to my birthday party.”

“What birthday party?” He inquires, and she gives him a sly smile, spoon poised against her lips.

“Amelia.”

“Daddy,” she responds, using the exact same tone.

“What birthday party?”

“Mommy said I had to talk to you about it. And then you could talk to her.”

“About...”

“Okay....so....” she scoops the last of the melted ice cream into her mouth and then ducks under the table, resurfacing beside him and scrambling into his lap. “...I thought it would be really fun if the whole class could come over.”

“To our house?”

She nods enthusiastically.

“That’s a lot of kids.” And a lot of parents that will likely stick around. Each of them complete strangers. In the one place he holds most sacred and where he feels the most at ease. And he can feel the anxiety building at the mere thought of it.

“We have lots of room,” she reasons. “And a big beach and lots of water. None of my other friends have any of that. It would be really fun. A beach party.”

“And you’re sure that’s what you want to do? You don’t want to go to the amusement park or to go the koala sanctuary or...?”

“I like home the best. It’s the most fun. Mommy said to talk you about I.”

“She did, did she?”

Millie nods. “I know you don’t like lots of people around, daddy. It’s because of the bad guys, right?”

“You don’t worry about that stuff, okay?” He offers her the last spoonful of his ice cream and she happily accepts it. “Those things aren’t for little people to worry about.”

“But you’re my daddy,” she reasons. “So I worry about you.”

“I know. And I appreciate it and I love you for it. But you’re five...”

“Almost six!” she interjects.

“...and you need to worry about kid stuff. Not about that crap. And you really want to have you friends over for your birthday?”

“I do.”

“I’ll talk to your mom and we’ll make it happen. I’ll deal with it my own shit.”

Millie giggles. “You said no bad language today, daddy.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. Fuck.”

“Daddy!” she erupts into giggles. “That even worse language!”

“You going to rat on me to your mom?”

“I’d never rat on you. Unless some other girl touches you. Then I will tell mommy for sure.”

“You’re touching me right now,” he points out.

“That’s different. I’m allowed.”

“Says who?”

“You’re my dad. You helped make me. I still don’t understand how though. How’d you help? How’d you get me in mommy’s tummy?”

“I just did. You don’t need to know how.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. Ready to go?”

“Ready!” she chirps, and then wriggles her way around to his back; wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his torso.

“You’re choking me,” he gasps and gags dramatically

“Sorry,” Millie laughs, and he waits until she once more gets herself up onto his shoulder, hands tightly gripping his hair as he stands up. “Don’t drop me!” she pleads. “You’re a giant and I’ve got a long way to fall!”

“Your hard head will protect you,” he assures her.

“I don’t have a hard head. That’s mean, daddy. Let’s go to the dollar store!” she declares, as he tosses the empty bowls and dirty spoons into the trash.

“No way. I take you in there, I’m stuck there for hours.”

“I need craft paper. And glitter.”

“For what?”

“Birthday invitations. I want to make my own. You can help.”

“That’s more your mother’s thing.”

“Mommy does enough. You can help.”

“Millie...”

“Daddy...” she giggles.

“How do you always manage to talk me into these things?”

“Because you love me and I’m your favorite.”

“Fifteen minutes in the store. In and out.”

“Twenty if the line is long,” Millie debates.

“I’m only agreeing to twenty if you use your allowance and buy me a Gatorade.

She laughs and rests her chin on the top of his head. “Deal.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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niallismymuse · 7 years

Text

part ii: rail against your dying day

story page | part iii

Niall drifted into the room he would call his own slowly, reluctantly. His gaze dully flicked around it, noting its contents. A bed of seaweed (at least he assumed it was a bed; it looked more like a mound of, well, seaweed) was tucked into the corner. A square was cut into the wall, a window to the outside ocean, almost large enough for him to swim out of – and he fantasized doing just that, of tearing the faded blue curtain that was a smaller twin to the one that acted as his door and swimming far, far away. Back to his family, to his life.

The hollow sensation inside his chest, though, told him that it wasn’t possible. He felt numb. Nothing around him felt solid, or real; but the raging, fierce storm within his mind, tearing him to shreds did.

God. His family. He felt sick to his stomach. He hadn’t even considered what his death would do to them. He had been selfish, concerned about his friends, his career...he never thought about the fact that he was a son and a brother.

A hurricane raged in Niall’s head, and he maneuvered towards the seaweed, before collapsing on to it. His mind had no thoughts in it: just an overwhelming, undulating monster of grief. It roared and scratched at him, dug its sharp claws into every recess of his mind, until it just became him. He was no longer Niall Horan, son-turned-popstar-turned-siren, he was the deity of grief, and it howled through his veins.

He laid there throughout the entire night, and made no move to get off of his bed the next day. He barely felt the softness of the seaweed brushing against his skin, barely felt the slight current of the water shifting in the room. Niall was nothing that day, nothing but memories of holding his mum’s hand and getting a ride on his dad’s shoulders, playing catch with Greg. Niall relived each and every memory with his family that he had, even the faintest one available. Maura would know by now, he thought, that her youngest son was lost at sea, because surely they wouldn’t find a body…and they would hope to find him. But they never would.

Niall felt no hunger or thirst in the day he laid in his room. He was just a body, somehow breathing air underwater, and that was it. He could have been dead. He felt dead.

At some point, he slept, his body heavy with his aching sadness. When he woke, Rose was hovering over him, lips pursed in a frown. Niall’s chest felt heavy. They made eye contact, and he turned away from her, from the woman who had removed the chance that his family would ever find his body and have closure.

Rose was silent for a while. But then she spoke, her voice carrying through his stubborn ears, even though he tried not to hear her. “It took me fifty years to accept what happened to me. And there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I haven’t thought about my dad, the family I left behind, wondered what they had been told about me. If they cared. You will take the time you need to accept this, be it two days, two years, or two hundred years. And then you’ll be okay enough to…live for them, maybe not the way that they wanted you to, but you’ll still be living.”

It struck him then that she had a very faint British accent, dulled by years under the sea. Niall didn’t want to notice this. He didn’t want to hear her words, listen to that quiet voice. This was her fault, after all. Despite knowing this, he had no energy to chase her away.

“You took away their closure. You should have let me die.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and then they were free, floating in the water between them.

Silence stretched out between them for what felt like centuries, each second lasting decades, tension building until it was sure to crack and break. Rose sucked in a quick breath behind him and blew it out slowly, as if to steady herself. “I…I’m sorry. That’s not something I would have considered.”

Her admission broke something inside of him, something that he had been holding back all of this time that he had laid on his seaweed bed. His eyes burned, and Niall began to cry.

He cried for what felt like too short of time, considering the pain he knew his family and friends and even his fans would feel. But he cried. He cried for them, sobbed for his lost life, wept for the years that would not come. And when he was done, he turned over, and Rose was still there, gazing at the wall, brown eyes solemn, but unfocused. Niall found himself grateful that she wasn’t looking at him, but that she had stayed. She had stayed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice cracking on the last syllable. Rose shook her head, hair fluttering through the water, turning to look at him.

“Don’t apologize, Niall, for feeling things,” she said kindly. “We are who we are because of what we feel.”

Niall sniffled and wiped at his eyes, a reflex at this point, because his tears had already blended with the salt water surrounding him. “Why is it not something you would have considered?” He asked her, a bit confused at this point. Surely she had had her own family that missed her when she died, or really, disappeared.

Rose’s face tightened. “I’ve been down here a long time, Niall,” she replied slowly, guarded in a way that she hadn’t yet been. But he caught it; he caught the glimmer of sadness in her voice that she couldn’t quite hide, the sparkle in her eyes that had dimmed. “Long enough that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be part of the human world.”

He gazed at her, and sat up. “I…was in a band,” he started off, words slow and stumbling. It hurt to say that. “We are…were, popular worldwide.” He added, and Rose’s face softened. “We travelled around the world, playing music for our friends, seeing things most other people our age never see, doing things they never do. We had it all.”

Biting her lip, she said, “I imagine that the world has changed since I died…and if it wouldn’t be too much to ask, would you…tell me about it?” In that question, Rose exposed her vulnerability. She hadn’t lived, not like he had.

“It would help if you told me when you died,” Niall said, not without sensitivity, before adding hastily, “so that I can tell you what’s happened since then.”

Rose paused, her lips parting. She opened her mouth and closed it, then opened it again, obviously struggling to get the words out. “I died in the year 1923.”

Niall’s jaw dropped. “This is…this is 2012. You died 89 years ago.” His tone was hushed, and he was in awe. She had been down here for so long. How did it feel, to be under the sea for 89 years? Did the time pass slowly, or quickly? Did she care?

“89 years,” Rose whispered, eyes drifting off to some other point in the room, no longer focused on him. “My family…they’d be gone, then. Only descendants left, if anything.” There was an unhidden amount of pain to her voice, raw enough that Niall felt if chafe at his skin. If he was the deity of grief, then Rose Williams was the deity of pain. “I had not realized it had been so many years.”

“How old were you?” Niall asked suddenly, caught in his own head. Rose looked thankful for the question though. “When you died?”

“I was 18.” She answered matter-of-factly, before situating herself a bit more on the stone floor of his room. Niall frowned, then scooted over on his bed, patting the spot next to him. Really, he didn’t think that rubbing her scales on the stone floor would feel good. Rose shot him a surprised look, almost embarrassed really, and he wondered if he had offended her somehow. Then he remembered she had died in 1923, and this probably wasn’t allowed or considered scandalous back then. But, to her credit, she gracefully rose up and sat next to him on the bed, albeit with some space between them.

“I’m 18,” Niall stated. What a weird coincidence. “Shit, so you died in 1923…” he ignored the fact that she flinched at his cursing, and continued on. “Do you know about World War II?”

“World War II?” Rose asked in a hushed whisper, eyes wide.

So Niall told her all about the war, what he knew from school, what he knew from going around the world. He told her about Hitler, about the Japanese, about how France fell and how Britain would have, but then America joined in and eventually the Allies won the war. He talked about other things, too, like The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, what he found important in history. Rose listened, absorbed it all like a sponge soaking up information. She only interrupted him to ask more questions. He felt bad about the things he didn’t know – he should have paid more attention in class – but what he did know seemed to satisfy her.

Then he told her about the advancements made in technology over the past 89 years. Television, moves, phones, airplanes, even the atom bomb since it was important too. Anything he could think to tell her about. Niall ached to show her an iPhone, just so he could explain the Internet better, just because merely saying “you can find anything on it” didn’t really do it justice.

Afterwards, Rose offered up a tidbit of her own. “My mama died in World War I.” She told Niall, her lips pressed together, face drawn. “She died in the bombings.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, because even though the words were used so often, and offered no real help, they were all he had. Niall couldn’t even begin to imagine living during a war, much less losing someone to it.

Rose nodded once, then floated up from the bed, twisting mid-water to face him. Her hair was free again, floating through the water, and he couldn’t help but notice it was pretty like that. Better than tied back. “How are you feeling now?” She asked him, eyes on his face, as if she could read every single emotion that coursed through him. Why did Niall feel like she could read him so easily? Not just the feelings on his face, but the thoughts in his head. Was he just an open book?

“I’m doing…all right,” he said. Truthfully, he had forgotten his plight just from a few minutes of good conversation. Was it only a few minutes? Niall had no idea, there was no way to track time down here. But now he was feeling it again, that grief from earlier, and what he wanted was to not feel it. He wanted to feel normal, how he had been feeling when he had been telling Rose all about the world. “Still…you know…”

And Rose did know. Rose knew probably better than anyone, if it took her fifty years to accept her own story. “I would like to show you something. It’s a bit of a swim, but it might make you feel better.”

“Okay,” Niall agreed easily. Anything would be better than sitting in here and thinking. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts anymore. He didn’t want the grief to well up inside him. The more he didn’t think about it, the better he’d feel.

So they journeyed out of the Atlantic palace, twisting down the abalone hallways and out into the open sea. “Triton must be home,” Rose commented, glancing over her shoulder, “the guards out.”

Niall snuck a look back himself. Indeed, there were two mermen floating by the doorway, chiseled chest and ab muscles on full display, surveying anyone who came close. Niall glanced down at his own stomach, the little pouch of it. Suddenly, he wanted a seagrass shirt himself, like what Rose was wearing. No seashell bras here, Rose was completely covered. “Who’s Triton?”

Rose didn’t speak for a little while, as if thinking of what to say. They continued to swim, though in what direction, Niall had no idea. “There are…lords of the seas, I guess you could say. Triton is the Lord of the Atlantic. Supposedly the son of Poseidon, according to Greek mythology. He doesn’t really admit to anything though. He simply…comes and goes from the palace. He’s in charge.”

“In charge of what?”

“That’s a good question,” Rose let out a small laugh, a pure one. It was the first time, Niall realized, that she had actually laughed, not a self-deprecating chuckle. “He’s…well, I’m not sure. Jeremy might know. He’s been around longer than I have.”

Niall wondered if Jeremy was the man with the pinkish tail that had been glowering at him yesterday. Then he wondered if Jeremy had been the one to turn Rose, when she had…passed. But then he decided not to question anything. She was being a bit freer with her information, and Niall didn’t want to tread on anything sensitive that would have her clamming up.

After another few minutes of silence, Niall spoke up again. “I think I owe you an apology,” he started, “from yesterday. You didn’t deserve that.”

Rose hummed out, considering. “You were scared and angry. You had every right to be. You have every right to be.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, “but I still think I owe you an apology. I’m sorry.”

Something lightened between them, then, that he hadn’t even noticed had been heavy. A sparkle lit in Rose’s eyes, and she smiled at him, full-out, white teeth on display and everything. “Okay, Niall. I accept your apology.”

About an hour and a half later, they arrived at their destination. It was a small coral reef. The water felt warmer, too, now that he had stopped swimming. They must have swum further south than he had realized. Niall was about to ask her where they were when he noticed something, or really, a lack of something. Color. The coral was bleach-white, dead looking. There were few fish swimming about it.

As if sensing Niall’s incoming questions, Rose held up a hand as a steely, determined look grew on her face. “Watch,” she instructed, and so Niall turned his gaze on to the coral. And slowly, Rose began to sing. Not actual words, just vocalizations, and she was quiet at first, timid with her audience. But as time passed, she began to grow more confident, and as her voice wavered through the current, Niall noticed color beginning to soak into the coral once more. She was bringing it back to life.

Eventually, she stopped, a flush on her cheeks. “You…you can heal it?” He asked, voice a bit breathless.

“We can heal it,” Rose corrected him, before flashing him a sheepish smile. “I’m not very good at it. I’ve been told how powerful you are correlates to whether you could sing well when you were alive. I wasn’t very good, so.” She shrugged, before gesturing to the coral. It was odd-looking – half colored, half white. “You try.”

Niall’s mouth popped open, unsure of what to do. Could he actually heal this reef? Cautiously, Niall began to sing. A song off of the album that was supposed to release in November, Take Me Home. Little Things, one of his favorites off of it. He knew the whole thing by heart, though the song definitely wasn’t entirely his. Niall felt a pang in his heart at the memory of trying to write this song with the lads. But as he watched, more and more color grew along the coral, before it was fully alive. It was bright in the sea.

Rose cheered for him, clapping her hands together. “Niall, you’ve done it! You brought it back to life!”

Niall turned to face him, a jubilant grin on his face. He had brought an entire coral reef back to life. With help, of course, but still. It filled him with excitement. “Fucking incredible,” he told her, laughed when she made a face at the cussing.

“You’re pretty good,” Rose complimented him, turning back to gaze at the reef. Now it was Niall’s turn to blush. He was never very confident in his singing abilities. Guitar, yeah, he could do that pretty decently. But he wasn’t as good as the others, something he felt in the bottom of his heart. All the lads had been incredible. He had never felt quite as up to par. Yet he could bring a reef back to life. “I’ve always suspected that’s where the siren myth came from. Some sailors caught us bringing a reef back to life, maybe they were attracted by the singing.”

“Brilliant,” he muttered, shaking his head. He never would have thought of that. “What did you do when you were alive, then? If not singing?” Niall was curious. Everyone had something they liked to do, some type of hobby. For him, it had always been the guitar and singing a bit here and there. Footie, too.

Rose grew quiet, that cheerfulness that seemed so natural on her withdrawing into a guarded shell. “I used to paint,” she murmured, biting down on her lip. Niall nodded; it was obviously a sensitive subject, so he would drop it.

“By the way, where the hell are we?”

“No idea.”

Niall had nothing to say to that, so instead of speaking, they gazed at the reef for a little while longer, and then began to swim back to the palace. Even though Niall still felt devastated about the whole situation, about his family, he felt lighter on the trip back. And he hadn’t thought about her, either.

#Niall Horan #Niall #mermaid au #siren au #imagine #Niall imagine #Niall Horan imagine #au #Niall Horan au #Niall au #here it is!!!#ss #hope you enjoy it

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a-slightcatchoflightning · 7 years

Text

Put The Gun Down

For @casual-laurie

Based on Put The Gun Down - Andy Black (might wanna give it a listen?)

TW:// Suicide theme, Guns, Blood mention

Words: 1,720

The pistol rose, fluorescent bar-light glinting off the barrel. He watched it; the barrel was a single shade of dull black, any identity long worn away from being passed through multiple generations. It was heavy, he thought. He couldn’t hold it for long.

***

“Ah Dylan!” Noel caught up with his colleague as he turned the corner to the staffroom. “Would you put some change in the squirrel?” He proffered a charity collection box with a plastic squirrel screwed to the top.

“What’s it for?” Dylan asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Wildlife protection!” Noel grinned at him.

“That’s ridiculous Noel, we work for the NHS, not the Royal Horticultural Society; I’m on my break anyway”

Noel shrugged and sighed, spinning on his heel and surveying the waiting area for more people to pester as Dylam went the opposite way, taking a newspaper from the side as he entered the staffroom, before continuing on to the coffee machine.

***

Max crashed backwards against a cubicle, his eyes filling with hot tears that prickled and threatened to spill over, but he pushed them back.

Shakily, he stood and walked across to the mirrors, placing the gun with a quiet *clink* beside one of the sinks, before staring into his reflection.

No one would miss him once he was gone, he thought. Why would they? He was the irritating porter with greasy hair and a lazy streak, though he knew too well that wasn’t the worst of it. Even his wife had left him to go to America, where no doubt she had a new husband. He couldn’t really complain though…

***

Dylan glanced down at his watch and back at his coffee. He’d be back in minutes if he didn’t waste time, and he’d still have ten minutes of his break left. Without further consideration, he grabbed a post-it from the dispenser to his left and scrawled a note, sticking it to his coffee cup and leaving the staffroom.

Property of Dylan Keogh.

***

Water dribbled down Max’s face and he stood up straight again and watched the droplets trickle and run off his face into the sink and the space around it from his chin. Still, he could see nothing in his face. It really didn’t make sense what he was doing here.

He tried to shield himself from his thoughts, but he couldn’t help but wish the trails of water were actually blood, and then he imagined it.

His body would lie, cold and lifeless, face drowned in the same stuff he saw coating every person, every day as they were wheeled desperately into resus or walked into cubicles.

No one would bat an eye. He grabbed some paper towels and scrubbed at his face, irritating the skin with his vigour.

They saw death around them nearly every day. His eyes were bloodshot as he pulled the towel away.

Blood wouldn’t make a difference, and there was a mop in the doorway. Only last week, Duffy had gone through three different sets of scrubs in a day due to the amount of different bodily substances that had come in contact with her clothing. Max couldn’t imagine his death not just being overlooked.

Finally, Max dropped the balled up paper towels in the bin beside the sink and took one last look at himself, before wrapping his fingers around the holster of the gun.

The door swung open, making Max jump as he was suddenly torn from his thoughts, but still he slipped back into them.

Dylan froze in the doorway, running a hand recklessly through his cropped strawberry blonde hair, before taking a step towards Max, shock plastered across his face like a mask; Max’s vision bore through Dylan, his eyes glassy as though he were looking to another world.

“Max…” Dylan’s whisper filled the room, and Max shook his head in response, raising the gun a little higher so it was in his line of vision. Something inside Dylan broke then, and a gasp tore through his body as he fell to his knees in front of Max.

“Put the gun down! Just put the gun down… Dylan begged, the pain in his voice seemingly torturing the voices possessing Max’s head – each echo of self-hatred caving in on itself at Dylan’s pleas.

Max had never seen Dylan shed a tear before, but now he pulled himself from his mind for a moment, and did a double-take.

The gun hit the floor beside Dylan, who stood shakily, placing his palms on Max’s shoulders gingerly.

“Wh-what d’you have to lose?” Dylan whispered, his eyes desperately trying to make contact with those of the other man. Max shuffled, still staring at the gun, but trembling under his colleague’s hold slightly.

Max shook his head slightly and tears dripped down his face, but Dylan didn’t ease his gaze.

“I-I don-“

“No Max, you do – there must be something in this world worth it; when things get bad, when you need to reach ou-“ Dylan cut himself off and took a breath, “When you need to reach out… something to take, someone…” He paused at his own tirade to take in the situation again, but it did nothing to clear his mind.

“Why Maxie?” Dylan voice was that of a child’s, and Max crumpled at his tone. He hadn’t thought anyone would notice his death, let alone try to stop him and beg him to stay.

Dylan dropped to his knees with Max, not wanting to let go of him. Not wanting to lose him.

***

David wandered into the staffroom, now on his break, heading across to the coffee machine. As he went to take a cup from the cupboard, he saw one already on the surface, full to the top with steam still rising from it.

Surely no one would notice if he…

His hand brushed something and there was a soft flutter against his fingers. Jumping, he placed the cup back down on the surface, before chuckling to himself in noticing the sticky note now lying, slightly creased, beside the mug.

“Property of Dylan Keogh” He whispered as he read it, of course this would be Dylan’s coffee – no one else would care so much as to write a note on it. Dylan smiled to himself again, before reaching for a different cup from the cupboard to make his own coffee.

Speaking of which, he thought, he could make it to the staff bathroom and back again in the time it took to make the coffee, just to check his hair over and splash a little water on his face; sixteen hour shifts were gruelling and you had to be on the ball all the time working in the ED.

***

Max’s sobs were desperate as Dylan held him, and they leant up against the bottom of the sink unit together – Dylan with arms wrapped around Max’s trembling form.

“I don’t” Max sobbed, before turning and burying his head in Dylan’s shoulder; the pain of the past six months cascaded from him and Dylan rubbed his back a little, still shocked by the situation.

He’d never imagined someone as carefree as Max could have such violent thoughts, let alone experience the self-hatred Dylan himself knew so well.

“Think of something you like” Dylan whispered in a manner he hoped was soothing – after all, his bedside manner generally consisted of being polite, but brisk. He didn’t excel at the comforting side of things; Lofty had always been the best at that.

“I… like” Max hiccoughed, his voice thick with tears, “I like…”

“You can tell me” Dylan muttered, sub consciously running a hand through Max’s hair.

Max shook his head.

“Say it” Dylan urged him, noticing how Max’s sobs grew infrequent and he shuffled slightly, relaxing into Dylan’s embrace slightly.

“Y-you… I like you, but I didn’t think y-you’d care…” Mac trailed off, “Now you probably think I’m nuts” His gaze dropped to the linoleum again, and the tips of his ears went red.

“Max, that doesn’t sound nuts at all” Suddenly, Dylan became aware of their hushed voices resounding in the bathroom, cubicle doors hanging half-open as though ears listening for their deepest secrets. He dropped the thought and instead focused on the back of Max’s neck, “I care… I-“ Dylan’s voice cracked, “I love you Max…” He too looked down upon saying this, biting his lip into the silence.

The two men sat, listening and waiting for the other to speak, and Max, wiping his tears, decided to break the silence.

“I-it’s mutual” His voice crept through the air, and finally they made eye contact; Dylan’s glassy with emotion, and Max’s bloodshot.

A loud crash resounded as David burst through the bathroom door and Dylan and Max sprung apart, Max possessing the initiative to kick the gun into the far cubicle, while Dylan stood quickly, before gazing dumbfounded at the cracks between the tiles of the ceiling.

David, however, had seen enough and he froe in the doorway, mouth agape.

“Were you two?” The anxious tone of his first day returned to him, “You two were…” He coughed and swallowed, “Your secret’s safe with me… I-I’ll come back later” He swallowed again, before spinning on his heel and leaving, the door swinging behind him a few times before finally closing with a bang.

Max couldn’t help but choke out a laugh at David’s reaction to their sudden, obvious movement, and once he started laughing, he couldn’t stop. Dylan, unsure as to why Max was laughing, stood and stared for a few seconds, before laughing himself, but this time with relief.

Boldly, he stepped across to where Max slumped, nearly bent double with unexpected, almost manic laughter as more tears fell down his face – happy or sad he wasn’t sure. As Dylan’s arms closed around him, he realised: Dylan had broken all his boundaries today; he’d cried, and laughed, and hugged.

Maybe someone would care if he died…

His laughter cut off almost immediately, and he stood a little straighter, returning the hug.

“Thank you for stopping me”.

#shoelace fandom #bbc casualty #tw suicide #tw blood #tw gun #pls review

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