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givemeweasley · 3 years

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Drivers License

Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: angst, fluff

A/N: this was inspired by Olivia Rodrigos new song “Drivers License”

———

Your heart felt like it was in your throat choking you, preventing you from saying the things you most wanted to say. All you could do was stand there frozen and stare at him. The love of your life. Your best friend. Your confidant. Your whole heart. But surely, you were mistaken. You must’ve heard him wrong. With those slightly comforting thoughts, you managed to open your mouth.

“What?” You choked out.

Fred looked down before turning away to avoid your eyes. It was then, that moment that he avoided your eyes, that you knew. Your hand reached for him, almost unconsciously.

“Fred?”

He stepped back, crossing his arms.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

The tears that had been camped out in your eyes finally began their descent at those words. “Fred. If this is a joke-” You took a deep breath in, collecting yourself. “It’s not funny.”

He looked at you head on then. It was infinitely worse. Fred’s flame red hair was perfect, his brown eyes free from tears or any sign of distress. His face didn’t even hold the slightest flush. His stare was steely and resolute.

“I’m not joking. I’m sorry.” Before you could respond, he offered a half smile and walked around you up to his dorm.

It felt like your world had collapsed on top of you. You had become Atlas, carrying the weight of a world that didn’t belong to you. You thanked the stars that it was late and there was no one in the common room. Quickly, you rubbed your sleeves over your still watering eyes. It was time to go to bed. Sleep, maybe, would relieve you of the pain that now burdened your chest.

You stood before the girls dormitory staircase before turning to the boys staircase. A piece of you believed Fred would come running down, laughing about how he was just joking. This was all a big prank. He hoped you would forgive him. He’s in love with you and can’t see a future without you in it.

But the common room remained silent. The staircase empty.

He wasn’t coming back for you.

-----

You sat in the common room with your feet over Fred’s lap as he and George talked about Nosebleed Nougats. Every now and then Fred would squeeze your ankle through your socks and glance over at you. Almost as if he was making sure you were still there.

“Maybe if we brewed it 10 minutes shorter so the ingredients aren’t as concentrated?” George tapped the parchment with his quill.

“I don’t know if that’s the problem. I think it’s more that we’re missing something, less than the way we’re brewing it.” Fred responded, leaning further over your legs to look at the recipe for their nougats.

George sighed. You tuned them out as you turned back to your Transfiguration study guide. Your OWLs were tomorrow and you had saved studying Transfiguration for last. It was the subject you wanted the best grades in, so you could take the NEWT class in two years.

Time seemed to move slowly, but eventually a hand was placed on top of your parchments. You looked up to see Fred’s wide handsome smile. He raised his brow. You knew exactly what that look meant. You sat up and glanced around the common room, seeing that you two were indeed alone.

Fred grabbed your homework before placing it on the table in front of you and pulling you onto his lap. You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair.

“What time is it?”

“Does it matter?” Fred kissed you deeply, pulling you just that much closer.

“No.” You mumbled against his lips.

You two continued snogging on the couch. Your hands in his hair, one of his hands on your hips and the other on the back of your neck. This was where you felt safe. Lips on his, bodies pressed together, in the heat of the fire in the middle of the night.

Eventually Fred pulled back.

“You are going to come stay at the Burrow this summer, right?” Fred’s warm eyes and kind smile made you feel like the center of the universe.

“Of course! I would never miss an opportunity to hang out with George!” You giggled, finding a piece of his hair to twirl your finger around.

Fred narrowed his eyes. “Just George?”

“Oh no. I can’t forget about Mrs.Weasley!”

“And?” Fred flipped you underneath him as he gazed menacingly into your eyes. His fingers hovered over your sides as a threat.

“Ron!” You laughed.

“That’s it!” Fred immediately dug his fingers into your sides, tickling you. “Admit it!” You screamed and laughed as Fred tickled you relentlessly. “I won’t stop until you admit who you want to be around!”

Your arms flailed widely trying to get him to stop before you couldn’t take it. “You! You! Fred Weasley! I want to be with-” His fingers left your sides to press into the couch on either side of your head. “My boyfriend.” You mumbled as he pressed his lips to yours.

“Damn straight.”

-----

“How’re you doing today?” Katie plopped down next to you sitting underneath a tree outside. You looked over at her as you ate your sandwich. You shrugged. She grimaced. “You know you don’t have to eat out here. I’m sure Fred-”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it.” You said, giving her a sad look. Katie nodded and leaned back against the tree.

“You have any extras? I didn’t think to grab anything before coming out here.” You cracked a smile before handing her an extra sandwich stashed in your bag. “God, the house elves really know what they’re doing.” She moaned as she ate the sandwich.

It caused a laugh to bubble out of your mouth. “Don’t let Hermione hear you say that.”

“Yeah, she’s been trying harder to get me to join SPEW lately.” Katie groaned. It was then that you realized you had to get to double potions. You shoved your food in your bag and stood, waiting for Katie to join you.

Together, you walked back into Hogwarts making your way to the staircase to the dungeons. Suddenly, Katie grabbed your arm and practically dragged you across the hall.

“Katie?!”

“Trust me.” She semi-shouted over the bustling crowd of students. Before long, you arrived at Snape’s classroom. Katie pulled you into your usual seats before turning to you. “You didn’t want to see that.”

“See what?”

Katie flinched. “Fred and-”

A loud laugh interrupted whatever Katie was going to say. But you didn’t need to hear it. You turned to face the door right as Fred and Angelina, hand in hand, passed the classroom. You heard Katie suck in and prepare to say something. You flipped around facing the front of the class, right as Snape walked in. Staring hard at the board ahead of you, trying to push your feelings to the side so you could focus on potions.

“Y/N?” Katie whispered.

You shook your head as a few tears slipped down your face. Snape would mention it, if you didn’t get yourself together.

“I’m fine.”

-----

Their train compartment was bustling with energy. Fred, George, Lee, Angelina, and Katie were all crammed into one compartment with you. You were sitting next to the window with Fred beside you, your hand in his.

“So when do you think you’ll be coming?” He asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’ll probably stay with my family for a month and I can head to the Burrow after that?” You suggested.

“A month is so long.” Fred groaned leaning back against the seat. You rolled your eyes. “I saw that.”

“I bet you did.” You laughed bumping his shoulder with your own.

“I can’t wait until we can apparate.” Fred mumbled with his eyes closed. You barely caught it, but you were so attuned to the sound of his voice you couldn’t possibly miss it.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’d be a thousand times easier and quicker to see you.” He opened his eyes looking directly at you.

“Well, how about I promise as soon as I get certified the first place I’ll apparate to is the Burrow.” Your hand lifted away from his and met his cheek as you pulled him into a kiss.

“I will hold you to that.” Fred whispered against your lips.

“You guys know we’re still in here right?!” Lee’s voice cut through the kiss and you pulled away. Just in time for Lee to toss a quaffle at your head, laughing. Fred’s hand wrapped around the ball just in time, just like you and Lee knew it would.

“Oh fuck off, mate. You’re just jealous.” Fred replied, chucking the ball straight back at Lee.

“Of what?” Lee leaned back and wrapped an arm around Angelina and Katie. “I got my two girls right here.”

Angelina jerked her elbow into Lee’s side. “You wish.”

Laughter erupted out of the compartment and surely out into the halls of the train. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care if anyone heard how much the six of you were having.

-----

You wanted to rip up the piece of parchment. You wanted to light it on fire. Hand it to the Whomping Willow. Feed it to a dragon. Whatever would make it disappear permanently.

Your dad was insistent to get your Apparition certification as soon as you turned seventeen. He was confused when you didn’t seem as eager as you had six months ago. But then again you still hadn’t told your parents that you and Fred were no longer together. They had asked several times since the end of the year, when you were going to the Burrow. You had given them vague answers, trying to push off the conversation as long as possible.

A part of you hoped that if you kept pushing off the conversation, he would come back to you. But, in your gut, you knew better. He was gone. He had a shop now. He was successful and you were sure that the last thing on his mind was his old Hogwarts girlfriend who was still obviously hung up on him.

Your mind raced back to the promise you made over a year ago. A promise that at the moment you didn’t want to keep.

But you promised.

And it would be nice to see Mrs.Weasley, who still sent you cake and toffee on your birthday. You turned to your dad.

“I’ll be back.” And apparated to the Burrow. Or at least a short walk from it. You could see it in the distance, homey and comforting. Holding so many memories that pained you to think about now.

You plopped down at the top of the hill, praying no one was home. You wrapped your arms around your knees as you cried for what felt like the millionth time. Your eyes never left the Burrow.

Memories flashed behind your eyes like a movie. Every feeling rushed through your bones practically rendering you immobile.

Kisses in the staircase.

Furtive glances across the table.

Squeezing hands on the couch.

Making a game of throwing gnomes in the garden.

Splashing each other in the lake.

Sneaking up to his room late at night to sleep tucked under his arm.

Taste testing new experiments.

Making promises never meant to last.

You could still hear his voice in your ear whispering softly. It was late at night when everyone had gone to bed, but the two of you weren’t quite tired yet. You remembered his words as if they had been spoken a second ago.

“I will love you forever. I promise.”

“You lied.” You whispered. The sun was starting to set, casting a long shadow of the Burrow on the ground. “You fucking lied.” It was spilling out. “I just got my apparition certification and I promised I would come here first. And even though you hate me, I still did it. Because I keep my promises.” Tears started spilling before you could prevent them. “You didn’t even tell me why. You just left me. I knew that we weren’t perfect, but I have never and will never feel the same way about anyone else like I do for you. I just don’t understand how you could be so okay now that I’m gone, when I am broken. It’s not fair.” You were shouting now. At some point you had stood and had started scream-crying at the Burrow. “It took you two weeks to go to Angelina! Two fucking weeks! Did you mean anything you said to me?! Anything?! You said forever!”

Like a damn had been broken and the water had all flooded out, you collapsed on the ground. Empty. Drained.

“And I still love you.”

You pressed your hands into your eyes as you cried. Sobs broke through your lips as you let yourself finally say the things you’d wanted to say for so long. The sun was warm on your face as it slowly made it’s descent into the horizon. It was the interruption of that warmth that made you look up from your hands.

It took you a minute to wipe and blink away your tears. But as soon as your eyes were clear you wished, desperately, that you hadn’t looked up. Because standing in front of you was the last person you wanted to see.

Fred.

It took only a glance to see that his family was not so subtly trying to peer through the windows of the burrow.

Your eyes lifted to his. He looked the same, but he felt so new. Like a stranger in a friend's body. His hair had grown an inch or two longer. The bags under his eyes seemed more pronounced. But it was his eyes that made your heart freeze. They were pained. Remorseful. Surely you were seeing things.

He opened his mouth. “Y/N.”

Your eyes widened as he stepped towards you. You scrambled backwards on your hands shaking your head. You prepared to apparate when Fred in the space of a second grabbed your knee.

“Please wait.” It was only because when you looked up, you saw tears shining in his eyes that you stayed. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, that had gone dry at the sight of him.

You cleared your throat before responding. “Okay.”

He let go of your knee, although seemingly reluctantly. “May I sit?” He waved to the spot on the grass next to you. You nodded avoiding his eyes and instead watching the sun finally dip below the horizon. Your body recognized the familiar feeling of his closeness as he plopped down on the grass close to you, but still far enough away to give you space. You couldn’t decide if that was what you wanted.

The both of you sat in silence for what felt like hours. Yet the sky still held a sliver of light when you spoke up.

“How much did you hear?” You whispered breathlessly, still not looking at him. You tucked your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. You wanted to be as secure as possible whenever he said what would most likely hurt you. You wanted to be prepared this time around.

“Enough.” His deep voice whispered back at you.

Yet underneath your fear of the boy you loved hurting you again, slept the anger at being tossed aside like nothing. That anger was very quickly waking up.

“That means nothing.”

He exhaled. “Mom noticed you out here ten minutes before you started shouting. She didn’t want any of us bothering you, I guess she assumed you would come in when you were ready. I-” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t listen-”

“Surprising.” You muttered.

Fred’s hand slapped your shoulder. “Hey, I listen!” He defended. You looked up at him over your crossed arms and raised a brow.

“To who?” A small smile tugged at your lips. You fought hard to conceal it.

“Well-” Fred looked away. The smile dropped. “I used to listen to you.” And just like that, the moment was broken. You had almost forgotten that you weren’t together. It felt so easy to joke with him.

Your shoulders sagged as you turned back to face the Burrow. “What changed?”

You heard Fred take a deep breath. A part of you longed to grab his hand and tuck his head beneath your chin. Kiss his head. Tell him it was okay.

“Nothing.” He whispered, barely loud enough to hear. “Nothing changed. But, I-” Fred had to clear his throat again. “I got scared. Umbridge was up our backs and we were planning the shop and you-” He laughed a sad laugh. “Godric, you? You were- are the girl that I love. Umbridge knew that. It was after one of our more elaborate pranks on her and she gave us detention. Right before we left, hands bleeding, she grabbed my arm and told me that next time she would make my pretty girlfriend join me.” His voice broke off.

You jerked your head around to look at him. His hands were tangled in his hair as tears leaked out. But his eyes were strictly staring at the ground. As if he couldn’t look at you while he told you.

“She said that she would make you wish you had never dated me. That I was no good for such a strong student like you. That I was holding you back. Dragging you down. And I believed her.” After taking another deep breath, Fred continued. “And I broke up with you because of it. I’d rather you hate me than to ever see you hurt. I- I couldn’t live with that-”

“What about Angelina?”

“Angelina?” His head snapped up and his eyes met yours.

“I saw you two in the halls a few weeks after we broke up…”

Fred cracked a smile then. You felt like you were missing the punchline of a joke. “Me and Angelina were never anything. I’ve never kissed her, but she was still my friend after we broke up. We had classes together and walked together. It wasn’t anything romantic.”

“What about after you left?” The words struggled to make it past your lips.

Fred grimaced, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I figured you hated me. The way I broke up with you was bloody harsh. You did everything in your power to avoid me after it happened. I didn’t want to make it worse for you if I showed up one day asking- begging for forgiveness and you were already over me.” He closed his eyes briefly before opening them and looking at you head on. His eyes were determined. “I’m sorry. I still love you. I know that I can never take those words back or these past six months. But I promised forever, and if you still want that with me then I want to keep that promise.”

Fred slid closer to you and grabbed your hand squeezing it tight. “If you say no, I’ll understand completely. But there will never be another woman that I love like I love you.”

This time as tears filled your eyes, they weren’t sad. You had dreamed of this moment for six months. It wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t perfect and neither were you. But, if there was one person you were willing to forgive and try again with, it was Fred Weasley.

Flinging yourself in his arms felt like coming home. His muscular arms wrapped around your waist tugging you onto his lap, his head tucked into your neck breathing you in. Your hands were tangled in his hair as your tears streamed down the side of his face. The two of you stayed like that for ages. Neither wanting to move, for fear this was a dream.

You tugged at his hair gently pulling him away from your neck. Like magnets, your lips fit together perfectly as if they were always supposed to be that way. Your chest filled with the love that it had been denied for so long. Being in his arms was like breathing again. Eventually, he pulled away and leaned his forehead against yours. Both of you were breathing heavily.

“Thanks for keeping your promise.” He whispered.

“Thanks for holding me to it.” You whispered back before pulling his lips back onto yours.

#fred weasley #harry potter #x reader #fred and george weasley #drivers license #Olivia rodrigo #drivers license olivia Rodrigo #Fred Weasley fic #imagine #Harry Potter imagine #fw #fred weasley x reader

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isamijoo · 3 years

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Antidote

Written for @gameofdrarry Exploding Snap 2021. My card was:

Write a Drarry fic of 987-1625 words following this prompt: Immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and Harry are advised to go to therapy or to see a Healer to help them develop appropriate coping strategies. How do they feel when they run into each other unexpectedly?

Title: Antidote

Author: isamijoo

Rating: T

Word Count: 1612

Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Talks about Healers and Therapy, Invisibility Cloak, Astronomy Tower

A/N: I did have some trouble with this. I'm not comfortable writing about therapies so you can see how I avoided that and instead focused more on the boys, namely Draco. I purposely kept it short because of the word limit. I included bits of what I wanted to include, so the fic ends up feeling like random scenes thrown together, which doesn't sound really appealing. But I feel satisfied with how it turned out. Thank you to @sky-is-torn for the beta!

READ ON AO3

~~~

After the Battle of Hogwarts, the administration wanted to ensure the returning students would continue their education feeling secure and safe in all aspects. Thus, at the beginning of term, staff noticed a new door next to the Infirmary. The door, the Headmistress explained during the welcoming feast, led to the offices of two Mind Healers, Healer Park and Healer Algot.

Every student was required to meet either one of the Healers at least once. The first session was marked on each student’s schedule; skipping the session would cost house points and incur detentions.

Draco Malfoy was forced to return to Hogwarts as part of his sentencing. He joined the other Eighth Years, though he kept mostly to himself. Draco rarely sat in the Eighth Year Common Room because it was often taken up by Gryffindors, who made up a majority of their year.

Harry Potter was always around, but Draco never knew what the Saviour was up to.

Potter had cut his hair short, though still untamed and unruly. He was clean-shaven and sported a new pair of round-rimmed spectacles. He had also grown since sixth year. Perhaps now that the Dark Lord was dead, he finally had time to eat properly.

Sometimes their eyes would meet during classes or meals — silver with green. Potter would stare at him, unblinking. Draco was always the first one to look away.

~~~

When it was time for Draco to visit the Healers, he went without putting up a fuss.

He halted at the door when he saw Potter in the waiting room. Potter was seated in one of the two armchairs, slouched and flipping through a magazine. He hadn’t noticed Draco yet.

Draco walked to the registration desk, which was manned by a thin woman with greying hair. There were two white doors beside her, each labelled with the name of a Healer.

After registering, Draco was instructed to take a seat. The only available one was beside Potter, who now had his gaze fixated on Draco, magazine forgotten.

“Malfoy, how are you?” Potter smiled.

Draco lowered himself onto the armchair, back straight and hands folded in his lap. “I’m fine, thank you,” he said stiltedly.

“It’s good to see you here,” Potter said. “What are the odds of the two of us having a session at the same time? Maybe they arranged the timetable in alphabetical order."

Draco tilted his head and regarded Potter curiously, which made the other wizard chuckle nervously.

“You know, like the Sorting. I went directly after you.”

“The Sorting in first year? You remember that?”

Potter shrugged, mumbling, “I remember a lot of things about you.”

“Look, Potter,” Draco muttered wearily, cheeks warm. “Why are you talking to me?”

Potter rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re not children anymore, Malfoy. The war is over.”

Before he could retort, Draco was called to meet Healer Park while Potter went into Healer Algot’s office. Healer Park was a middle-aged gentleman with kind brown eyes. Draco wasn’t too forthcoming, so the Healer just asked him harmless ice-breaking questions. After an hour, the Healer gave him another appointment slip for the following week.

Potter got the same slip too.

Before they exited the waiting room, Potter suggested they grab some snacks from the kitchens. Draco grudgingly agreed; he was feeling bleak and could use some sweets to lift his mood.

As Potter led the way, Draco observed Potter’s gait. If Potter stood straight, he would be almost as tall as Draco. But now he walked with his shoulders hunched, as though the act of saving the wizarding world had also thrust its problems onto his teenage shoulders.

Draco wondered how much Potter knew about legends of the Greek Titans, of Atlas and the globe on his back. If Draco offered to tell the story, would Potter place his head on Draco’s lap and listen attentively, like Draco had done with his mother when he was a child?

In the kitchen, they sat together on a wooden bench, surrounded by treats and desserts. Potter talked openly and happily, as if enjoying Draco’s company. He remained this way — treating Draco in a friendly manner — until they reached Draco’s private dorm. He was the only Slytherin who had returned for Eighth Year so he had a room to himself.

“I had a great time, Malfoy.” Potter beamed. “I’ll see you around.”

Draco said nothing as he watched Potter walk away.

~~~

The following week, they met in the Healers’ waiting room again. Potter talked while Draco listened, basking in his attention and drinking in Potter’s bright green eyes and straight white teeth.

When Draco sat in front of Healer Park, he opened his mouth and, as though channelling Potter’s energy, shared his deepest regrets with a stranger with kind eyes.

~~~

The Healer had advised Draco to seek forgiveness.

Draco apologised to Potter at the Astronomy Tower, overlooking the school grounds while the cool breeze chilled him to the bones. Once the words were out, he couldn’t stop. His mind yanked at each of his mistakes, uprooting all his flaws from his first year, from the first time he spoke to Potter, from the moment he was born until he felt raw and sick.

He hadn’t noticed that while he spoke, Potter had gently guided him inside and sat them both on the steps. Potter was silent as tears streaked down Draco’s face.

When speech finally failed him, Draco wiped his face with a sleeve. Potter slid closer and engulfed Draco’s thin body in a hug.

Potter apologised for sixth year, for the scars on Draco’s chest, for failing to help when he could’ve.

Their first kiss, clumsy and laced with longing, tasted like rainwater.

~~~

Draco’s obsession with Potter was insatiable.

Potter was like an addictive potion. If you’d never had it, you could live and die happily, not knowing what you had missed. But once you get a taste, you’d want more and more and yet, it’d never be enough.

Draco couldn't count the number of times they dragged the other inside alcoves or empty classes for a snog. Potter’s lips were warm, delicious, sometimes even sweet. He kissed with a passion Draco envied, with his whole body leaning in and his hands all over Draco like a starving man.

Being the centre of Potter’s attention was like standing on the surface of the sun. Draco’s skin burned at every contact with Potter’s hard body, but with the heat came pleasure.

Draco was infatuated.

And maybe, just maybe, it was the same for Potter.

~~~

The first time Potter pulled off his Invisibility Cloak in front of Draco, the blond had yelped in surprise and accidentally banged his head against the headboard.

Potter climbed into Draco’s bed, clad in only a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “Are you afraid of people finding out about us?” he asked, his warm body pressed to Draco’s side.

Draco shrugged. His father was in Azkaban, his mother was sentenced to home arrest for 15 years, his family name tainted, his family fortune would deplete quickly if he didn’t take over the family business once he graduated.

Draco didn’t want to think about the outside world. It was too scary.

But having this with Potter wasn't any less terrifying. Nobody would be pleased to learn that The Saviour was sharing a bed with a Death Eater. Any animosity would certainly be directed at Draco. He was a criminal, after all.

Potter had nothing to lose, while Draco would lose everything.

Suddenly his vision blurred and he found himself looking through a layer of translucent fabric. Potter had spread the Invisibility Cloak over them.

“There.” Potter sounded smug. “No one can see us now.”

Draco’s body shuddered with laughter as Potter rolled on top of him. The cloak cascaded down Potter’s head and Draco’s fingers brushed its velvety texture while they kissed under its cover.

Was taking pleasure in The Chosen One’s embrace a crime?

~~~

“You shouldn't have saved me,” Draco murmured one night, mouth pressed against Potter’s jugular as they both lay breathless, sweaty and sated. “You should have left me in the fire.”

Potter’s arms tightened around Draco's bare body, pulling him until his long pink scars kissed Potter's brown skin.

“I left you once,” Potter whispered, lips brushing Draco’s temple. “Never again.”

~~~

“Do your friends know about us?” Draco asked when Potter took his hand on their way to the Healers’ office.

“Er, yes,” Potter admitted sheepishly. “I’m bad at keeping this a secret. Are you upset?”

Draco glanced at their clasped hands pensively. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure how I feel about this. About us.”

“Maybe we should talk with the Healers,” Potter suggested when they reached the waiting room still holding hands. “Get their advice.”

“You want to ask them for relationship advice?” Draco said incredulously.

“Why not?” Potter grinned. “Although, I should tell you before we go in…" He stepped closer, and Draco couldn’t avoid gazing into his emerald eyes. “I really like you, Draco. I think I’m in love with you.”

Rasps escaped Draco’s throat as he struggled to respond.

Potter didn’t wait for any reply. He just smiled and kissed Draco's knuckles before entering his Healer's office.

Draco stood frozen for a good five minutes before he finally went into the other office and took his usual seat on the sofa opposite Healer Park.

"How are you today, Draco?" the Healer asked gently.

"I think…" Draco closed his eyes, picturing Potter's joyful smiles and hearing his own heartbeats loud in his ears. "I think I'm in trouble."

Healer Park appeared concerned. "How so?"

Sighing, Draco leaned back. "I'm falling… for Harry Potter."

#gameofdrarry #exploding snap #isamijoo #drarry fic #draco x harry

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lupin-for-president · 4 years

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“Behind The Shelves” Pt. 3

(A Wolfstar College AU)

•••

I can’t believe I dressed up for this, Remus internally groaned.

He was wearing his favorite cream colored turtle neck sweater with a faded jean jacket, light washed jeans, and a pair of leather combat boots his friend Marlene had picked out for him. She even put gel in his hair, ensuring she sculpted every one of his curls ever so perfectly.

Marlene seemed a little too excited to help Remus with this, but any time he tried to bring it up she just waved off the remark as her being happy Remus had finally scored a date. She swore this was perfect attire for someone going out with a ‘punk’ boy —not even giving Remus the chance to protest— before pushing him out of his dorm without another word.

So, now Remus was sat at a library table by himself, textbooks and journals laid out in front of him. He glanced down to his watch again, already knowing that he, himself, was early.

“A little impatient, are we?”

He snapped his eyes up to see a smirking Sirius, looking as glorious as ever.

His wavy raven hair was pulled back into a loose half bun, some stray bangs framing his sculpted face. He was wearing a long sleeve crimson shirt and tight black jeans, leather jacket thrown on top.

Just based on their outfits, it was easy enough to tell that the two boys were polar opposites.

As Sirius pulled out the chair next to him, Remus noticed that he had painted his fingernails a deep shade of red, slightly darker than the color of his shirt. It was Remus’ favorite color, not that Sirius could have possibly had a way of knowing that.

“No, just wondering if you were going to flake is all,” Remus retorted playfully, smiling a little to himself as he cracked open his History of Literature textbook.

“Remus, baby, I wouldn’t dare do such a thing,” the other answered back, sliding off his leather jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair.

Remus finally allowed himself to relax slightly now that he knew he wasn’t going to get stood up. Well, as relaxed as he could be while having literal sex on legs sitting in the seat next to him, looking completely irresistible right now.

The dark boy leaned forward slightly —elbows propped up on the table, fingers clasped— and rested his chin on his hands. His eyes darted over Remus’ display, admiring the unexpected messiness of his impromptu work area.

“What exactly are you studying for?” Sirius asked, gaze flitting over to scan the other’s face.

“I have a huge exam over ancient literary devices in two days, it’s worth over half my grade,” Remus explained, eyes trained downward.

“Hm.”

He watched as Remus scanned intently through the textbook, only pausing to highlight something or scribble some notes down in his messy scrawl. Mindlessly, Sirius started swaying his feet, and looked down when his foot accidentally bumped against Remus’.

“Nice shoes,” he noted, leaning back slightly to get a better look at them.

“Huh? Oh, thanks,” Remus smiled, leaning back a little himself. “My friend Marlene bought them for me a few months ago and told me I should wear them today.”

“Marlene?” Sirius quirked, eyes darting up to Remus’ face, “Marlene McKinnon?”

“Yeah—”

“Oh my god,” Sirius chuckled, head falling to rest on top of his arms that were crossed on the tabletop. “That’s priceless.”

“You know Marlene?” Remus asked, suddenly forgetting the studying he was supposed to be doing.

“Know her? The girl’s practically my sister,” Sirius said, though it was muffled against the table.

He turned his head to the side, resting his left cheek on his arm. A wide smile was spread across his lips as he looked up at Remus, pieces of hair falling into his grey eyes.

“I went to her dorm yesterday and told her about my date with you tonight. I was wondering why she was so excited. She even had me paint my nails this color.”

Remus blushed slightly when Sirius raised up a red polished hand, internally cursing his friend and swearing on revenge. He tore his eyes away and focused them on his textbook again, shaking his head.

“I’m going to kill her,” Remus said through a laugh, but it didn’t take a genius to pick up on the underlying seriousness in the statement.

The two of them went quiet after that, Remus doing his best to stay concentrated on his work and Sirius becoming completely concentrated on Remus. Sirius knew he had promised not to distract him, but god that just made him want to distract him so much more.

The unoccupied boy didn’t know how much time had passed, but he noticed more people slowly filling up the area they were in. It irritated him slightly, after all, this was a date and even if Remus wasn’t paying attention to him, that didn’t change the fact that they were indeed on one.

Subconsciously, Sirius brushed his knee against the other’s, causing the pale boy to tense slightly before quickly regaining himself. Sirius couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth at Remus’ reaction to his accidental touch.

He pushed his knee against Remus’ again —this time not pulling away— all while staring innocently at the notes Remus was attempting to write. The sandy haired boy couldn’t help but glance over, almost irritated at how angel like Sirius’ face looked, before turning his eyes away again.

Oh god, please stop, I can’t focus with you touching me, Remus groaned inside his head.

For a while, Sirius was content with how flustered this simple little contact was making the other, but soon he wanted to see Remus blush even more.

This was a date, after all, he deserved to have some fun.

Remus noticed right away when Sirius started rubbing his foot against his boot, ever so softly —as if he weren’t already having a hard time paying attention to his books— but it wasn’t until Sirius flat out hooked his leg over Remus’ that he dared look up.

Staring up at him from where his head laid on his arms —wearing the most innocent expression Remus had ever seen in his life— was a doe eyed Sirius. The inside of the studying boy’s cheek was nearly raw from how hard he was chewing on it, trying to control himself.

He knew damn well that Sirius was well aware of what he was doing, but he had worked his ass off setting up his hard to get act and he didn’t want to give in.

So he just turned his head back down, doing his best to appear unfazed by the entire interaction. This was a bad move on his part, because that only told Sirius that he needed to try harder.

He pulled his right arm out from under his head and let it fall down to his lap. It stayed there for a moment —he didn’t want the movement to catch Remus’ attention— before he slowly slid it to where his fingers were just barely brushing against Remus’ lower thigh.

Remus tried not to notice, he really truly did, but when Sirius’ thumb started tracing small circles on his leg, he just couldn’t take it anymore.

He pushed his book away and stood up from his seat, causing Sirius’ leg to fall from the action. Without muttering a single word, he grabbed the teasing boy by the wrist and started pulling him through the library.

Sirius smirked to himself as he let Remus tug him along, finally happy with the reaction he was receiving. The tall boy didn’t stop walking until they were in a rather quiet part of the library, behind a bookshelf in a completely empty section.

Remus pushed Sirius up against the shelf, hand immediately intwining itself into his thick raven hair. Sirius gasped at first but soon melted into the kiss as he wrapped his arms around Remus’ neck.

Electricity surged through them as their lips molded together, both finally giving in to what they had wanted. Remus’ hand dragged down Sirius side, landing on the bottom of his thigh and pulling his leg up. Sirius smirked against Remus’ lips at the action, elated that he was finally seeing the devilish side to Remus again.

When the two pulled away after a few minutes, both breathing heavily, Sirius nearly melted at the sight of Remus’ now swollen looking lips. Remus was blushing, but not as much as Sirius was whenever he dipped his head down to kiss as the skin along the tan boy’s neck.

“Not to ruin the mood,” Sirius whispered as Remus kissed his neck, “But aren’t you worried about getting caught snogging someone in the place you work?”

“No,” Remus said, lips dragging along the smooth skin, “This is a semi deserted sectioned. People only come here before spring break to pick up maps.”

Sirius bit his lip and nodded, just now noticing that they were in fact in an atlas section. His heart was hammering inside of his chest, harder than it ever had before.

It was like a switch had been flipped on inside of Remus, and now that he had a taste of Sirius, he just couldn’t stop. The makeout session lasted longer than he intended, and by the time they had stopped Remus wasn’t able to focus on anything else.

So much for no distractions.

116 notes · View notes

stark-tony · 3 years

Text

most recent bookmarks (7/18/21)

bnha

Absolutely (not) my kid by battybatzgirl (6.1k, G, gen, dad might, 5 + 1) Noamasa knows Toshinori has always had a soft spot for kids, but this was different. This ran deeper. Little Midoriya had somehow managed to wrap the Symbol of Peace around his pinky finger and the kid didn’t even know it.If only the two idiots would figure it out themselves.Or: Five times Toshinori denied calling Izuku Midoriya his kid + one time Toshinori called Izuku Midoriya his son

Internet Friends by Limited_Edge (34.4k, T, crack, dad for one, social media) All For One, like many other individuals, has non-violent hobbies.Said hobbies result in him trying to troll quirk analyst SmallMight41 online and getting repeatedly (and accidentally) wrecked in the process.

To The People We Admire by the_crownless_queen (8.4k, T, erasermic, dadzawa) “Are you okay, Eri-chan?” Izuku asks softly.Eri bites her lips and nods, jerkily and just once.He doesn’t think she’s lying, per se, but something’s clearly eating at her, and Izuku’s heart twists with dread. “What is it?”“... Would you give me your autograph?”:: Eri learns about autographs, and how they're a way for fans to show they like their heroes. Naturally, she wants all of them — and especially Eraserhead's.

WikiHow: How to Talk to Your Son by lostintheclouds321 (6.7k, gen, dad might, 5 + 1) Toshinori realizes that he hasn't been the best mentor for Midoriya and wants to fix that. Too bad there's no WikiHow article for making sure the successor to your quirk knows you're there for him. He goes to the next best thing.orFive times Toshinori uses a parenting WikiHow to improve his relationship with Midoriya and the one time Midoriya confronts him about it.

atla

everything i am by we-were-angels (untilwefallinlove) (132.5k, E, zutara, post-war, mutual pining) There is something inevitable about them; like the certainty of the sun in the morning and the moon and all her stars at night.After all is said in done, how will history tell their stories?(Set after the One Hundred Year War and the years following.)

For Pride and Honor by neincraff (130.7k, E, zutara, no 100 year war, worldbuilding, aged-up characters, rape, minor character death) Sozin’s Comet never came, but the world is marred by civil unrest that has kept the four nations isolated and divided. The Fire Nation is embroiled in a bloody civil war that has lasted half a generation. The rightful Firelord Iroh and his treacherous brother Ozai have battled for dominance over the archipelago for the past fifteen years. General Zuko has won some and lost some in the conquest for his uncle, but the war continues to drag on with no end in sight. Out of everything that’s been thrown at him so far, the last thing he expected was a waterbender to show up in the middle of his camp.

Salvage by MuffinLance (127.1k, T, gen, au - canon divergence, dadkoda) Mid-Season-One Zuko is held ransom by Chief Hakoda. Ozai's replies to the Water Tribe's demands are A+ Parenting. Hakoda is… deeply concerned, for this son that isn't his, and who might be safer among enemies than with his own father.Podfic and translations in French, German, Italian, Russian, and Spanish now available! See chapter one author notes for links.

Pining, Parchment, Plotting, and Pranks by KayBee1762 (12.2k, T, wolfstar, jily, marauders, matchmaking) “Idea parchment,” James said. He unfolded it and smoothed it out. “You want to get them together, right? That’s why you came to me?”“Yeah,” Lily huffed, which was ridiculous because he was right, that’s why she came to him. But it was supposed to be her idea, because she wanted to help her dear friend Remus, not James or Sirius. But it was so nice to be able to talk about this with someone, and James looked so pleased and excited.“Good,” James said. “Good, because they need to get together, they would be so happy and so good together, and Sirius will stop sighing like a lovesick puppy and just snog him instead.” In which Lily considers changing Houses, James blushes a lot, Sirius is his usual dramatic self, Remus mopes, and Peter knew everything all along.

In the Moon and Stars by Marie_Tomas (7.1k, T, wolfstar, marauders) At the start of his seventh year at Hogwarts, James Potter is rather shocked and surprised to discover that Remus has apparently been in a relationship for the past few months, especially after his shy, reserved friend has never really seemed interested in going out with anyone before.Always eager to solve any mystery at Hogwarts, James sets himself a challenge to discover the identity of Remus's girlfriend; however, he might just be a little off the mark in his assumptions and his search for answers...

#bnha recs #atla recs #hp recs #my fic recs #most recent bookmarks #rape tw #minor character death tw

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gorillageek27 · 4 years

Note

Winter ArcWitch: All that muscle development after the time skip really did a number on Jaune. Especially after Glynda came out of hiding and offer aid....well, after she caught Jaune and Winter snogging on one of her spare offices she used when she worked in Atlas.

Glynda: what day. Well time get back to... what the

(Winter riding jaune.)

Jaune: uh.its not what it...

Winter: look were not gonna to explain it you can either join or get out

Glynda: *sigh* (takes off her uniform) i call his face

#rwby #jaune arc #glynda goodwitch #winter schnee #winter knight #winter witch #winter arcwitch

104 notes · View notes

littlemisssquiggles · 4 years

Note

Bringing back previous foreshadowing(?) Pyrrha kissed Jaune. Pyrrha died. Maybe someone is gonna die (Ren or Nora) Oscar “I don’t even have my semblance yet” (Jaune said that before he got his semblance later on in the volume)

Hey now anon-chan, if we started to think that all RWBY couples will die aftersharing their first on-screen snog then we would literally have no couples inthe show. I seriously do hope that Renora’s first kill will NOT foreshadow Noradying. Nope I refuse to buy into this theory.

Here’s what I’m hoping for. Nora gets stung by Tyrian but she manages to survive since Atlas saves her in time. However while in the hospital, Nora somehow manages to stumble in on Fria the Winter Maiden and recognizes her somehow since the fanon headcanon is that Nora might be related to Fria. I don’t know how it’s going to work out but, I just don’t want Nora to die.

Like I said, I’ll buy into her getting stung by Tyrian but I believe she’ll survive.

After all, with us potentially learning about Nora’s backstory soon apart fromthe potential revival of JNPR (or ALPN or whatever) with Oscar joining JNR, Ireally don’t want our veteren thunder goddess to be taken out of the story.

So yeah, I think Nora will live especially if she’s to live long enough to become the first Maiden candidate to be a part of the hero team. Buuut that’s another theory on it’s own.

As for Oscar—I think we can all vouch and say that he’s probably going to unlock his semblance somewhere later down in the volume—possibly closer to the finale.

And I’m still sticking with the headcanon that he will unlock his semblance to protect/save Ruby. I can’t picture Oscar unlocking his semblance any other way.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

#Anon-ninja #squiggles answers: rwby #nora valkyrie #oscar pine #rwby theories #rwby volume 7 theories

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megabadbunny · 5 years

Text

no birds sing

an epilogue to la belle dame sans merci, dedicated to @chiaroscuroverse and @elialys and everyone else who inspired me with their wonderful sweet encouragement <3 <3 <3 but first, a warning: heavy angst ahead.

***

A gasp tears out between his teeth and his heart thunders frantically in his throat, hammer-hammer-hammering in time to the shrill squeal of monitors screaming all around him.

“Oh my god, he’s awake!” he hears someone cry out, and the voice is familiar, but he can’t place it, can’t picture the face forming the words, can’t feel the meaning behind them, he can’t—

His eyes fly open to find Jackie Tyler staring down at him.

Jackie positively beams, a grin splitting her face ear-to-ear while a tear trickles its way down her cheek. “Well, it’s about time, you daft wanker!”

The Doctor blinks bright hospital lights out of his eyes (except they’re not bright at all, they’re dim and comfortable, but opening his eyes fucking hurts) and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but a dull wheeze.

“Right,” says Jackie, and she scurries into the shadows of his periphery. He can’t see her, and he hasn’t got the energy to follow her with either his head or his gaze, so he listens instead to the telltale sounds of something clinking (hollow, non-crystalline, glass) followed by a hiss and a slosh (grinding, compression, a faucet, water), all of it just barely audible over the quieting beeps and chimes of the hospital equipment around him. A cup full of water enters his field of vision, a well-manicured and many-ringed fist wrapped tightly around it, and he reaches out with a weak and trembling hand. Fortunately, Jackie keeps her hold on the cup, allowing him to guide it to his lips at his leisure, and only a little bit dribbles down his chin.

“There you go, love,” says Jackie, her voice softening into something smooth, as gentle as the Doctor has ever heard it directed at him; it’s the same voice she uses for Tony when he’s sick or hurt. “Been a little while since you had a proper drink, yeah? You’re probably parched, poor thing. And famished, too, I’d wager.”

Gulping down the last of the water, the Doctor tries to speak again, with every intention of saying thank you, followed by the query of how long he’s been unconscious, but something else comes out instead.

“Rose?” he gasps.

Jackie’s smile tightens. “Yeah. She’s here. But, Doctor—”

The creak of the opening door cuts off her words; as if on cue, Rose slips into the room. Silhouetted by the light in the hall, her expression is unreadable, but that doesn’t mean the Doctor’s doesn’t try anyway, his eyes traveling over everything from her hair (a mess) to her shoulders (slumped) to her hands (tense, balled into fists) to her trousers (wrinkled) and everything in-between.

Relief and his heartrate rise in equal measure, spoken into sound by the surrounding monitors chiming erratically around him. God, she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Why don’t I just let you two get to it?” asks Jackie, and she leaves without waiting for an answer.

Rose fidgets in the doorway. The Doctor waits patiently for a moment, but after it becomes apparent that she is not, in fact, going to throw herself into his arms—not that he expected that or anything, not that he secretly hoped for it, certainly not—he pats the empty spot of mattress next to him, the motion weary and faint.

Eyes flickering nervously (and the Doctor wonders at that, what on earth she would have to be nervous about), Rose draws near. “Hey,” she says, her voice quiet as she approaches the Doctor. “Long time, no see.”

Mutely, the Doctor nods. Probably he can speak now, but he doesn’t dare; he isn’t certain he could summon forth anything but a cracking sob. The fact that his brain didn’t trick him after all, that she’s real and she’s here and she stayed, with him, suffuses him with a sort of desperate gladness that he didn’t even know was possible.

Rose sits gingerly on the bed and he just watches her, wonders why she can’t seem to look him in the eye. But maybe she’s just exhausted—he doesn’t know how long he’s been out, after all, or when he was stung, or how long she’s had to worry over him.

“So, erm—” Rose tries to say, but the Doctor has already rallied all of his strength to sit up and pull her into a bruising kiss.

With a jolt, Rose stiffens, but the Doctor just clings harder, grasping her by the upper arm until he’s sure he’ll leave marks behind as his other hand tangles in her hair. I’m so glad you’re here, he wants to tell her, and he thinks maybe he can will her to understand with his lips brushing hers; maybe she’ll hear it in their shared breath. I’m so glad you’re with me, I missed you, I love you—

With a gasp, Rose yanks herself out of his grap, backing away into the wall behind her. Her hand flies up to her mouth and she watches him with eyes wide as saucer plates.

For a moment, the Doctor just stares, bewildered (and, if he’s being honest, just a little hurt), but then he laughs. “Sorry,” he rasps, raking both hands through his sleep-matted hair. “My breath is probably atrocious, isn’t it?”

Rose blinks. “What?”

“Well, I’ve been out for at least a few days, haven’t I?” asks the Doctor. Exploring the landscape of stubble on his cheekbones with tentative fingertips, he winces. “Or longer—a week, maybe close to two. Blimey. Anyway, you don’t have much of a chance to brush your teeth in a Morpheus coma, do you? So that was probably a nasty surprise just now, probably a bit like getting snogged by a Varuvian swamp-monster.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

The Doctor laughs, a little louder this time. “That’s a good one, tell me another.”

When Rose doesn’t reply, just staring at him in utter confusion, the Doctor’s confidence begins to falter, his smile slipping.

“Why wouldn’t I kiss you?” he asks.

Rose wraps her arms around her ribs, closing in on herself. Protecting herself. “You never have before.”

“Of course I have, don’t be silly,” the Doctor says, and he laughs again, but the sound is weaker this time, thinner. “Loads of times, Rose—is something wrong with your memory? Were you stung as well—were you exposed to the Morpheus toxin?”

“No. There’s nothing wrong with my memory. And I wasn’t here for the Morpheus incident—I only read about it in the report.”

(A flash of pain at the base of his neck, burning between his atlas and axis vertebrae, and he remembers the bite of the sting and the burning after, and he remembers that Rose was there and bandaged his wound, and—)

“No,” says the Doctor, slowly. “You were there. I know you were. I remember…”

(He remembers hurt, but she was there to help—wasn’t she?)

“I wasn’t,” Rose says, and she sounds impossibly far away, now. “Doctor, we haven’t seen each other in ages. Not since I left y—not since that second time on Bad Wolf Bay.”

Her words hang in the air long after she says them, and the Doctor’s smile leaves his face like it was never there.

Blood drains from his head in a deafening pump-pump-pump that rushes in his ears and drowns out everything else around him, even the screeching cacophony of the alarms. He clutches the edge of the mattress for support as the room tilts, blurring his vision, closing in, pressing on his chest, tightening around his throat—

“—breathe, Doctor, please!” he hears, or thinks he hears filtering in amongst the rest of the clatter, and thinks he feels the pressure of a familiar hand on his chest, on his cheek, but he can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think—

(She’s not there, she was never there, there were no kisses, no whispered confessions, no lazy afternoons or too-late nights, no silly movies or ignored phone calls or held hands or stolen glances or too-tight embraces no missions no fights no shared flats no shared beds no them no her no no no no no no please)

The next thing he knows, the room is full, crowded to the corners with physicians and nurses checking monitors and taking notes and taking his pulse and asking dozens or maybe hundreds of questions. Lights shine in his eyes and fingers press against his wrist and the cold press of a stethoscope chills his chest and a needle pinches the inside of his arm, the soft fleshy bit inside his elbow (his antecubital fossa, he thinks dully) and for once, thank god for Jackie because she’s back in the room, answering everything for him, her hand wrapped tightly around his. Before long he feels himself drifting, the tether of his consciousness snapped and released and floating away into a deep, black darkness.

(He can’t make out the words, but he can hear the concern in Jackie’s voice; she squeezes his hand in assurance and he thinks he should squeeze back, but all he can do is wonder why it isn’t Rose holding his hand before the curtains fall and the dark claims him again.)

***

“…you sure, though?”

“Positive. It was the first thing that came out of his mouth.”

The monitors aren’t nearly so loud, this time; now, they’re quiet enough that the Doctor can easily hear the sounds of whispering out in the corridor, swimming in through his muddled senses.

“I don’t know,” says Rose’s voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come back.”

“Now that’s bollocks and you know it,” Jackie replies.

“The way he looked at me—he’s never gonna forgive me, Mum.”

“Have you tried asking?”

“That’s just gonna make things worse.”

He can practically hear the sound of Jackie’s jaw setting. “Don’t know if that’s possible, sweetheart.”

A sigh. “Oh, god. Not right now. Please—”

“I’m just saying, he’s not the only one who needs—”

“Can we at least talk about this outside? He’s gonna wake up again.”

“Let him. I’d wager he’s had enough sleep for a while.”

Jackie isn’t wrong, but the Doctor can still feel sleep tugging at him, pulling insistently at his bones. He struggles to open his eyes, fights to keep them from closing again.

“Mum, I don’t know what to do,” Rose admits quietly.

At least they’ve got that in common, the Doctor thinks as he slides back into unconsciousness.

***

Hours later, and he awakes just long enough to see Rose napping on the couch next to his bed.

(She’ll be gone in the morning; he’ll think he could have imagined her presence if it wasn’t for the bare traces of her scent lingering on the air.)

***

“So,” Rose says hesitantly the next day, when everyone else has finally (blessedly) left and it’s just the two of them in his dim little room. “How much do you remember?”

His head falls back on the pillow (a short journey, fortunately, since one of the nurses kindly propped him up; his muscles will recover quickly enough, a side effect of whatever remains of his Time Lord brain chemistry, but they still haven’t moved to speak of for nearly three hundred hours, and they’re bloody tired) and his voice stays silent. He doesn’t want to answer. Doesn’t want to know what other questions his replies will inspire, what other questions and answers will follow, what kind of wearied vicious cycle will eat and regurgitate itself as a result.

“Do you recall anything that happened after we got back from the other universe?”

Of course he does; he recalls late mornings, missions on rooftops, shots downed for courage, the rhythmic pump-pump-pump of the bass in a crowded tiny pub. He recalls that she was there for each of those things, and that she wasn’t, that it’s all a muddy collection of false memories and half-dreams and things-that-could-have-been, but-weren’t. He knows that it feels like she was with him, but she wasn’t.

He closes his eyes. Maybe he can just tell Rose he hasn’t got the energy for this interrogation session. It would be honest enough.

(“Aren’t you tired?” she asks upon awakening in his bed—except she never did, did she?)

“Are you very angry with me?”

At that he opens his eyes so he can look at her, read the emotion flitting across her face as she steels herself for his response. She looks worn, almost as wan as he feels, and that’s saying something.

He doesn’t know if he can bring himself to be honest with her.

“Why did you come back?” he asks instead.

Glancing down at her hands, Rose avoids his gaze, watching her empty fingers curl and unfurl. “There were all these cracks in the walls between universes. Reality sort of split again—something to do with the TARDIS, but it’s all sorted now. I used my dimension-hopper to get through one of the holes left behind.”

The Doctor waits patiently. “Why?” he asks again.

After a moment, Rose meets his gaze. “He heard you,” she tells him. “The Doctor—the other Doctor. He said when all the cracks started opening up, he could hear you across the Void.”

“I never sent any kind of message,” the Doctor says, frowning. “I know that much.”

“It wasn’t like that—he could hear your thoughts. Or your dreams, more like. Like a telepathic connection.”

“What did he hear?”

“He said you were in trouble. Said you were poisoned, trapped in some sort of dream-world. And…”

She swallows. “He said you were calling out my name. Calling for me.”

Something sharp sticks in the Doctor’s chest and now it’s his turn to look away. “Ah,” he says, his voice tight.

“What happened, Doctor? In the dream-world?”

He blinks, and a hundred memories pop behind his eyelids like fireworks—the smell of stew scalding on the stove, the feel of fingers entwining with his, the taste of her skin, damp and salty and sweet.

Fighting to keep his emotions at bay, to push them down and away so his lungs don’t fill and drown with them, he forces his mouth into the shape of a tight smile. “Sorry about that. As I suspected, Morpheus toxins and telepathy don’t mix. I’ll try to keep my nightmares quieter, next time.”

“Nightmares? I thought the toxin made people happy, gave them happy dreams.”

“No.”

Rose falls silent. The air between them is heavy, palpable, swollen with potential words like a raincloud before a storm.

“Doctor,” Rose starts to say, just as the Doctor says, wearily, “I think I’d like a rest, now.”

She looks like she might keep talking anyway, and some part of him wants her to; some part of him wants her to argue, to crinkle her brow and jut out her lower lip and stamp her foot and stand her ground and give him what-for, like she would have done before, in his dreams and back in the other universe. He doesn’t know how to interact with this quiet, almost-shy Rose, who nods silently and goes to the door without so much as a peep or a glance back.

(He wishes she would stay.)

***

Alone in his hospital bed, he thinks and he thinks and he thinks until his skull might split from it, but no matter how he tries, he can’t recall those first few hours back in this universe. He remembers the zeppelin-ride from Norway (where he pulled her close and she snuggled against him even though the armrest dug into both of their ribcages, except she wasn’t there, he just looked at the empty seat next to him and wished she was) and the paperwork he filed upon arriving in England (where she suggested he take the last name Noble, after Donna, and he was touched, except no one mentioned it to him, he thought of it himself) and Pete urging him to find something to do with his spare time (missions for Torchwood, made bearable and even enjoyable by her presence and the times she saved him and he rescued her, except he always went solo). He remembers all of it, up to getting stung in that hazard-zone of a warehouse, and he recalls, with perfect clarity, both versions of everything, both with and without the dreams of her scattered amongst it all. But he can’t remember that second trip to Bad Wolf Bay, no matter how hard he tries.

(She said he didn’t answer, in his dream. But she must have asked, and he must have replied; he’s certain of that. He’s less certain of what his reply may have been.)

***

“Not my problem.”

“It most certainly is your problem, Rose!”

Startling awake, the Doctor turns his head toward the sound of their voices. Probably they think they’re far enough down the corridor that he can’t hear them, but they’re wrong.

A heavy sigh. “It’s obvious he doesn’t want me here, Mum.”

“Now I know you don’t believe that. He loves you, sweetheart. He loves you. Can’t you see that?”

Silence. The Doctor realizes he’s gripping the bedclothes tight enough to tear.

“You don’t want to talk to me? Fine,” says Jackie impatiently. “Talk to him, then.”

The Doctor’s stomach roils at the thought, bubbling queasily. If Rose replies, he doesn’t hear it; the physical therapist has chosen this very moment to enter the room in a clatter of equipment and banging-open doors and cheerful chatter, wallpapering over any other noise. Silently, the Doctor curses the therapist for his terrible timing. (Later, he’ll verbally curse the therapist for popping his back just-so in a flash of surprise hurt, even if it helps with the stiffness and pain. Which, it does help, he will admit. Albeit rather grudgingly.)

***

The physicians and therapists are absolutely delighted (and equally flabbergasted) with the Doctor’s progress. Surprising, they call it, as he recalls facts and figures with pristine clarity, even if one or two of said facts and figures hail from a universe and a lifetime away. Unprecedented, they say of his undiminished capability to problem-solve and compute complex equations in his head, no pencil or paper, ta. Miraculous, they label his ability to execute fine motor skills and walk with only the use of a cane, a mere 43 hours after awakening from his coma.

A bloody nuisance, the Doctor labels it all, and escapes from his attending team at the earliest available opportunity.

Oh, he doesn’t leave the hospital grounds, of course, no matter how much he’d like to. They’d just send a bunch of people after him and it would all be a lot of noise and effort and fuss once they caught up. Besides, as much as he doesn’t like to think about it, he is still awfully tired.

(Not to mention, leaving the hospital means running away from Rose. Or at least it might look that way. Probably a very bad idea, no matter how tempting it may be.)

So the Doctor tries to outrun his thoughts instead, eluding their grasp via laps around the hospital grounds, half-walking, half-hobbling over paths and around trees and garden patches, and he stubbornly does not think about their (his) garden back at their (his) cottage, overflowing with flowers and herbs and weeds and wild rabbits that nibble on everything in sight (except when he returns to the cottage, he won’t find any rabbits, will he, because Rose never planted that little herb garden, because she never got bored one day and decided to half-take up botany for all of a single afternoon, because she was never there). Thus the Doctor’s thoughts prove difficult to outrun, especially at this ungainly and lumbering pace. His energy surrenders far quicker than his torturous thoughts do, and that’s how he finds himself plonked on a bench overlooking a waterfowl pond full of geese (Alopochen aegyptiaca specifically, a gaggle of them, his brain provides helpfully). His muscles whine in faint protest as he sits, his lungs burning and heart thudding sluggishly in his chest. The physicians may all have deemed his recovery thus far as miraculous, but right now, it feels anything but.

He’s been watching the geese on the water for thirty-six minutes and seventeen seconds when he hears her approach. (He is suddenly blisteringly grateful that Jackie brought him pyjamas and a dressing-gown to wear; they may be a little tartan for his tastes, a tad short in the ankles, but he doesn’t much fancy the alternative of Rose seeing him in those unfortunate peekaboo hospital gowns.)

“Would have brought some bread, if I’d known you were here,” Rose says softly, from somewhere close behind him. The Doctor considers telling her she needn’t have bothered, the carbohydrates present in bread makes it a terrible snack for geese’s digestive systems, and besides, the bread from the hospital cafeteria is so bland, even the least discerning of the geese would wrinkle their beaks at it, but he just ends up grunting a noncommittal Mm.

He can hear her fidgeting in the grass. “Would you rather I left you alone?”

Yes, he thinks. Absolutely not, he also thinks. Never again, please.

“Did my flock of dedicated physicians send you looking for me?” he asks instead. “Are you heading the search team?”

“No. It’s just me. I asked them not to send anyone else after you.”

The Doctor glances over his shoulder at her, questioning.

Rose shrugs. “Figured you wouldn’t like it. People fussing over you.”

“Ah,” says the Doctor, nodding even though the movement hurts, likely due to that tight feeling of something twisting in his chest. She’s right, of course--he doesn’t want people fussing over him so much as one person, singular, specific--but he still feels a little disappointed somehow, and worse, he feels stupid for feeling disappointed. “Yes, that would be dreadful, wouldn’t it?” he asks casually, shifting back to watch the geese on the pond. “People fussing over me, caring about where I’ve gone, what I’m doing, how I’m feeling. Who on earth would want something like that?”

A pause, swollen with tension. “Is everything all right?” asks Rose. “Do you--do you want to talk?”

“Who, me? Oh goodness, no,” replies the Doctor. “I’m just here to watch the geese.”

Moments crawl by in silence, the quiet interrupted only by the splashing in the pond in front of them. At least the geese seem to be enjoying themselves, the Doctor thinks morosely. At least they’ve probably all got other geese that care for them, goose-friends and goose-lovers and fucking goose-soulmates that don’t leave each other stranded on stupid beaches in stupid universes all so they can leap right into the arms of other geese just because they think this goose isn’t anything better than a shabby goose-copy, a pale goose-facsimile of their former goose-self, when really, they’re just as much of the same goose as they’ve ever been, right down to the feather patterns and the soft underbellies and the tendency to hiss when cornered.

His thoughts are interrupted by a soft bend in the bench beneath him as Rose sits down, painfully far away, it seems. She sighs. “Look, Doctor--”

“Well, that just about concludes my yard time,” says the Doctor as he springs up from the bench, swaying on his feet only a little bit. He admonishes his body for its unforgivable weakness (surely in his old body, he would have felt better by now) and he refuses to let his head swim. “Time to head back to the plush confines of my cell, shall I? Can’t have you returning to my keepers empty-handed.”

He braces his cane against the ground to stop himself falling over. “All right, Lieutenant Tyler. Tell them I surrendered willingly.”

“Maybe they’ll let you off early for good behavior,” Rose teases with a wan little smile.

“That would be nice for everyone, wouldn’t it?” says the Doctor, hobbling a few halting steps around the bench. “Don’t want to keep the other universe waiting, after all. That would be impolite.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Rose says quietly.

“Of course it is. I’m certain you’re eager to get back to the TARDIS and your life among the stars,” the Doctor replies, and he wills himself not to pant with exertion as he walks away. “Who wouldn’t be?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, and Rose doesn’t offer one, and she doesn’t follow after him. He tells himself he doesn’t care.

***

Maybe it’s just as well Donna isn’t actually here; she wouldn’t tolerate this sort of brooding from him. As it turns out, neither does Jackie.

“Absolutely not,” she says firmly, hands planted on her hips as she glares down at the Doctor in his wheelchair. “You are not going back to that cottage all alone, where you could trip and fall and break your head and no one would know for hours. You’re staying in the mansion, with us, until your physicians give you the all-clear.”

“I’m giving me the all-clear,” the Doctor says impatiently. “I’m fine, Jackie.”

“You’re not. You still need care.”

“And I’ll take care of myself,” says the Doctor, standing up from the wheelchair. Thankfully, he does not sway or waver this time, and he spreads his hands in illustration. “See?” he says, spinning round so he can walk backward over the curb. He sits himself down in Jackie’s town car without even an ounce of (visible) struggle.

Jackie’s gaze narrows. “Fine,” she says. “But if you’re going back to the cottage, you’re going with Rose.”

The Doctor’s throat constricts painfully. “Am I?” he asks, forcing his voice to stay neutral. “I thought she’d be headed back by now.”

“What makes you think that?”

He shrugs. “Stands to reason.”

“What reason?”

“Just seems like there’s nothing keeping her here, now.”

“If you really think that, then you’re a lot stupider than you look.”

The Doctor shoots Jackie a withering glare. She does not, to his disappointment, wither beneath it.

“So if she’s not going back now, then when is she going back?” the Doctor asks.

“God, you’re both hopeless,” Jackie mutters. “What on earth are you asking me for? Ask her. And ask her not to go back at all, while you’re at it.”

“Shall I beg, then?” the Doctor asks mildly.

Jackie scoffs. “‘Scuse me, but did I say that? No. I didn’t. I said you should talk to her.”

“Talking didn’t help before. Can’t imagine it’ll make a difference now.”

To his surprise, Jackie bursts into laughter, shaking her head as she rests a hand on the open car door. “Oh, come off it. You don’t really think that,” she chuckles. “Not you, with that never-resting, never-ending gob of yours.”

“Yes, well,” says the Doctor, disgruntled. “Even I know words can’t solve everything.”

Rolling her eyes, Jackie only reminds him even more of Donna, now, if Donna were blonde and more prone to wearing diamonds and cashmere tracksuits. “You’re full of it,” she says as she shuts the car door on him.

He hates how right she is.

***

(“I stood here. On the worst day of my life,” she says, and the hurt on her face could cut him in half. “You still haven’t finished that sentence.”

It’s not a question, but it demands an answer all the same. And it would be so easy to tell her, so easy to open his mouth and let the words tumble out from where they’ve been pressing behind his teeth, beneath his tongue, just hiding, just waiting--)

He awakens to silence, as usual.

***

The sight of Rose in the cottage, just going about her day-to-day business as if nothing were out of the ordinary, unsettles him; it’s an uncomfortable combination of nostalgia and regret and longing and resentment braiding into a tight, unbudging knot in the Doctor’s gut. So it only make sense, really, to avoid her. Not in an intentional way, of course; certainly not in a traceable way. The Doctor just so happens to prefer his tea in the garden (even if the pollen of some miscreant plant makes him sneeze) and his exercise in the wee hours of the morning (even if that means he has to wake up at 5:30 am, because somehow Rose is a morning person, now) and his meals in his room (because who doesn’t enjoy crumbs in the duvet?). It all seems a very reasonable routine for the approximately thirty-seven hours that Rose puts up with it.

“Because you’re not going to your physical therapy appointments, and I know you’re not following the itinerary on your own, and you won’t unless someone makes you,” says Rose, brandishing the packet provided by the Doctor’s therapist. It outlines, in colorful and quite frankly obnoxious little illustrations, all the exercises he should be doing to fully regain and fine-tune those pesky minor things like strength and endurance and coordination. (The exercises he should be doing, mind, not the exercises he is doing.) Apparently, even if the physicians and therapists are impressed with the Doctor’s recovery (because it is, in fact, impressive), they’re all still determined to stick their noses in the Doctor’s business.

The Doctor glances at the packet, unconvinced. “This mode of therapy is completely obsolete by the beginning of the next century, you know.”

“Yeah, well, we live in this century.”

“Do we?” asks the Doctor under his breath. “Didn’t think we did anything.”

Head tilting, Rose watches him through narrowed eyes, wary and shrewd. “Sure we do. We can do loads of things. For example, we can do therapy, or we can talk. Which’ll it be?”

The Doctor slaps on a tight grin as he swipes the packet from her hand. “Therapy, it is!”

***

“Can’t help but notice that this isn’t on your itinerary yet,” says Rose, jogging alongside the Doctor down the sun-dappled road. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to ease your way into running sometime in the future.”

“Never had a problem with it before,” says the Doctor, studiously ignoring the sweat trickling down his spine as he runs, forcing air in and out of his lungs. “It was good enough then and it should be good enough now.”

“Yeah, but you’re different now.”

“You don’t say,” says the Doctor, panting through gritted teeth.

They pass a few moments in silence, and if it weren’t for the tension mounting in the space between them, the Doctor might allow himself to enjoy being outside right now, with the cool, crisp morning air, the trees casting shadows over the road with a canopy of leaves. The sun twinkles cheekily at him through the tree-branches and amidst the gentle susurrous of crickets chirping cheerfully in the background, he can hear a stream joyfully bubbling and trickling, somewhere. It’s lovely, all of it; there’s nothing quite like a nice little stroll through the English countryside. But he can’t enjoy it, because he can’t stop running.

“You mentioned it before, that you’ve only got one heart now, one life,” replies Rose, and the Doctor envies how freely her words come and go, how obvious it is that she isn’t laboring for breath even in the slightest. “Shouldn’t you take it a little easy, at least try to take care of yourself?”

“I’m doing just fine, ta. But it’s nice that you’re pretending to care.”

Rose shoots him a sharp glance; in his periphery, the Doctor sees her ponytail whipping with the force of her motion. “So you are angry with me,” she says.

“I’m not,” he lies.

“You are though. You’re angry about what happened back in Norway.”

His heart races and his steps lengthen, like his body is trying to escape this conversation. “I thought you were forcing me to do physical therapy right now.”

“This doesn’t count. And besides, we can run and talk at the same time.”

The Doctor is starting to doubt that’s the case, given how much his body is protesting against every movement he makes, his lungs burning and limbs groaning and muscles seizing up in discomfort, but he pushes anyway, jogging faster, pumping harder, because if his body didn’t want this, then his body shouldn’t have lapsed into a coma. This is what his body gets for allowing itself to get so weak, this is what it gets for letting him down.

“You’re angry I didn’t stay,” says Rose, keeping pace with him easily.

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” the Doctor pants.

“Yeah, I did.”

“And now that your business here is concluded, you’ll go back.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“Since when does it matter what I want?” the Doctor bites back, breaking into a run.

The slap-slap-slap of Rose’s trainers against the asphalt lets him know she’s catching up. “Please,” Rose says, and she’s still breathing far too easily, far too freely, damn her, so the Doctor runs faster. “We have to talk about this!”

Except they don’t have to, the Doctor thinks as he sprints away, gasping for air; she doesn’t have to tell him what really happened at Bad Wolf Bay, she doesn’t have to tell him what stupid horrid thing he said, she doesn’t have to tell him all the reasons why she left, she doesn’t have to tell him about her time in the other universe and her adventures in the TARDIS and her life spent with his other self, the two of them drawing an arc through all of time and space, together. She doesn’t have to say it and he doesn’t have to hear it, he doesn’t have to watch her stupid wonderful beautiful terrible face while the words drip from her lips about all the wretched things that make him unworthy; he doesn’t need to know why she chose the other him. He doesn’t need to know how happy they are together, and he doesn’t need a reminder of how horrendously selfish he is for hating them for it. He doesn’t have to remember the dreams his mind cooked up to stave off the crippling loneliness, he doesn’t have to remember how much he misses her and how much he loves her and how desperately he wants her to stay and he doesn’t have to think about how easy it would be to beg and plead with her not to step back into the other universe, not to rip out his one remaining pathetic heart to keep for herself as some kind of morbid bleeding trophy. He doesn’t have to.

He runs faster.

“Doctor, wait,” says Rose, breaking into a sprint to keep up with him. “You shouldn’t push yourself like this, you’re gonna--”

Blinding pain stabs him in the ribs, gutting him from the side until he stumbles from it. Every gasp for air is a white-hot stabbing knife in his lungs and he falls to the ground, wheezing, knees smacking the pavement with a thwack. Stars swimming in his vision, he doubles over, clutching his side as pain blossoms through his knees and his ribs.

“Doctor!” erupts Rose’s voice behind him, and a matter of milliseconds, she’s crouching by his side, her hand grasping his shoulder. “Doctor, are you--”

“Stop,” the Doctor chokes out, eyes clenched shut.

Rose squeezes his shoulder, her grip bordering on the painful. “What?”

“Just stop, please,” the Doctor wheezes, pushing her hand away. “I don’t need your help.”

“Oh my god, please stop being stupid. Your health is more important than your pride!”

“I don’t need your help and I don’t need you!”

His voice sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet clearing. Still wheezing, the Doctor opens his eyes to find Rose staring at him, hurt evident in the tension of her clenched jaw. “I already knew that, thanks,” she says, her voice curt.

Probably he should apologize (definitely, he should), but instead the Doctor slouches onto the pavement, legs sprawling inelegantly before him. “Why did you come back?” he asks between laboured breaths.

They stare at each other. Rose quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “I already told you, I--”

“No,” snaps the Doctor. “Why?”

Stubbornness flashes in Rose’s eyes, and it’s the most Rose she’s been since she returned. “I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“And why you are still here?”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Why are you still here?”

“Because I missed you, all right?” Rose blurts out, and--and wait, are those tears welling up in her eyes now? “God, I just missed you! Is that really such a shock?”

Somewhere in its mad drumming the Doctor’s heart skips a few beats. But his gaze narrows in suspicion. “Why? You’ve got the other me. You’ve got the better me, arguably. What’s there to miss?”

Wordlessly, Rose thumbs the would-be tears from her eyes, refusing to look at him.

“What, did he regenerate again?” the Doctor presses. “He did, didn’t he? And you don’t like this new Doctor either, but at least you’ve got a convenient backup copy the next universe over?”

“It’s not that,” Rose snaps. “It’s--forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Her mouth twists unhappily as she stares at the ground. “He hasn’t regenerated. He’s still the same, still like you. But he’s…”

The Doctor watches her as she sorts through her words. Concern for his other self flares up briefly; he immediately douses the flame. He’s still too angry for that nonsense.

Rose pushes her hands over her hair, mussing the strands that have slipped free from her ponytail. “It’s just not how I imagined it, reuniting with you. Or him, I mean. I mean--I knew things wouldn’t be exactly as I’d pictured them, I knew I wouldn’t be able to account for everything. And I knew we both would have changed over the years, you with your different companions, me working to get back. But, I dunno. I guess I thought I’d find you, and things would go back to the way they were before, more or less. Even if you didn’t feel exactly the same way about me, that I felt about you, it would be fine. Which isn’t to say--” she stammers, her cheeks growing pink, “--I mean, of course if you did feel exactly the same way about me, that I felt about you, that would be brilliant, but I know you don’t think about that sort of thing like humans do, so...”

Pulse quickening in his ears, the Doctor thinks about opening his mouth to interject an argument, but pride steals his words and his lips stay sealed.

“It’s just different, now,” Rose says, worrying her lip between her teeth. “It’s like he can’t let go of whatever it is that’s keeping him from being happy. Like the walls are back in place, worse than they were before, even. And nothing’s getting through. He won’t let anyone or anything in.”

The Doctor shifts uncomfortably on the ground. He tells himself it’s just because of the asphalt digging into his bum. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” he says. “The whole business with Donna couldn’t have helped things.”

“Not for lack of trying, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she tried to help, and he just dumped her back off on Earth.”

His gaze snaps up to hers in alarm. “He didn’t take her memory away?”

“No. Talked about it, when Donna started to glitch. But she begged him not to do it, and when he wouldn’t listen, she begged me, so--so I convinced him to try putting her under, slowing her brain functions just long enough that he had the time to go in with a more surgical approach, just taking out the stuff that was hurting her instead of throwing out the baby with the bathwater.” Rose pauses, remembering. “It was pretty touch and go there, for a bit. They were in the medbay for days, him taking out the memories that didn’t belong. Felt like weeks.”

“And--and he was successful?” the Doctor asks.

Rose nods. “Yeah, it worked like magic. Few days later, Donna was back to her old self, no more Doctor in her brain, just her.”

“Oh, but that’s fantastic!” says the Doctor, hope and happiness inflating like a balloon in his chest. “But why’d he take her back home, then? Did she ask him to?”

“Of course not,” Rose scoffs.

“Then, what happened?”

Once again, she can’t look at him. “Donna said she was fine, but he never really believed her. Kept growing more and more distant with her, and with me. Still, he kept Donna around until that whole business with...with Wilf.”

“Donna’s grandfather?”

Rose nods, sniffling, and the Doctor can tell she’s fighting off tears again. “End of the world again, he came along for the ride. And there were these radiation chambers, venting off toxic stuff, and Wilf was in one, and the chambers were flooded, and--”

She swallows. “It was down to Wilf, or someone else. And I couldn’t let him die, Doctor, I just couldn’t. So I ran over to the door, to let him out, and I would take his place.”

“Rose,” says the Doctor, aghast.

“But at the last second, the Doctor stopped me, pulled me away, and I thought for a second he might do it instead, his hand was on the door handle and everything, but then he looked at me, like he couldn’t...and then Wilf was gone.”

The balloon is punctured and hope fizzles out, leaving a sick feeling sinking in the Doctor’s stomach instead. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, even though he knows, with absolute certainty, that he would have done exactly the same thing.

“The horrible thing is, Donna wasn’t even upset. Or, she was, but it was like--like, she was so proud of her grandpa, right? Cos he was a hero, and he died like one. So she was sad, and she missed him, and she was angry he was gone, but she still wanted to stay. Still didn’t want to go home.” Rose’s face hardens. “But next thing we knew, we were landing back on earth, and the Doctor left Donna back at her mum’s, crying and shouting on her doorstep.”

Now the Doctor feels sick for an entirely different reason. The image of Donna, red-faced and pleading with him to stay, even after everything, is almost enough to make him ill.

“It was because of me,” says Rose, shaking. “Because I was there.”

“No, Rose,” says the Doctor. “You can’t--”

“Don’t,” Rose says sharply. “You know it’s true. He didn’t step in for Wilf because I was there. It was something to do with me. If I hadn’t been there, he would have saved Wilf. He would have regenerated, and Wilf would be safe, and Donna would still be with him on the TARDIS, and the Doctor wouldn’t look at me like he can’t stand me anymore, like he’s going to be sick at the sight of me. Like he hates me.”

“It’s not that,” says the Doctor (even as he curses himself, because why the fuck is he defending his other self, again? Whose side is he on, here?). “It’s not because of you, it’s because--”

“He feels guilty.”

Surprised, the Doctor stops, swallows his words. He nods.

“Yeah,” Rose says, her voice flat. “Because of Wilf, and Donna.” She draws in a shaky breath. “Because of me.”

Slowly, hating himself, the Doctor nods again.

Rose issues a grim smile. “See, Donna and Wilf and me, we all know that bad things happen. And you feel bad about them, yeah, but you can’t let that get you down. Not forever. And if something bad happens to the people you care about, that hurts, too, but you help them, however you can. But with the Doctor--with you--it’s like, bad things happen to the people you care about, and instead of trying to help them, you blame yourself, and you shut down. You build these walls out of guilt and you hide behind them and you say you do it all to keep others safe, so you can’t hurt them anymore, but really, you’re just trying to protect yourself. And you’re hurting the people who love you, in the process.”

(“I came all that way, to find you,” he hears, from a beach and a forever away, and he shakes himself.)

“Can you really blame him, though?” asks the Doctor. “Withdrawing a little bit, after all that?”

“Can you honestly tell me this wouldn’t have happened either way?” Rose retorts. “It was always going to be something. If it wasn’t Donna and Wilf, he would have found something else. He would have buried himself in guilt cos he let me go with him, let me leave my mum and my family and everyone here. S’like, he knows how it feels to lose your family, and he remembers how much it hurts, and he thinks I must miss them, and it must be his fault.” She sighs. “I think he even feels guilty about leaving you here, despite everything he said.”

(“A bit too human,” he hears, in a voice that sounds exactly like his. “He needs someone to look after him, Rose.”)

Rose blinks away another unshed tear. “It’s not really fair to leave me to figure all this out on my own. It’s a lot to ask of a person.”

“I can’t imagine he asked, though.”

“True. But what else am I supposed to do when you won’t talk to me?”

The Doctor doesn’t have an answer for that one. He tells himself it’s just because he’s still a little bit busy with the wheezing, though truth be told, his breathing recovered some time ago.

“You know what the worst part is?” Rose asks, her lower lip trembling. “He’s right. I do miss my family.” She buries her face in her hands. “Being away from Mum and Tony--it’s so much harder than I thought it would be. I’ve missed them so much.”

“So you came back for them,” the Doctor says flatly.

“Oh my god,” Rose groans, hands dragging over her face. “I came back for all of you!”

“But mostly for them.”

“Jesus, you’re insufferable. What do you want me to say? That you’re the only person I love, that you’re the only person I care about in two whole universes?”

“So that’s it?” asks the Doctor, pushing aside his concern. “You realized I was right all along, that 900 years of very personal, very painful experience might have meant something after all, that losing your friends and family is, in fact, quite horrible, which any reasonable person might have known straightaway but you ignored for some reason, and you suddenly realized you should have stayed here with your family and me, like he planned, like we both planned, and you just up and came back because this new Doctor isn’t exactly the real deal, but he’s close enough, and my family’s there, besides? Is that it? Is that why you’re still here?”

“I came back because you asked me to!” shouts Rose.

“I asked you to stay with me before, back in bloody Norway, and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference!”

“No you didn’t,” Rose retorts, scraping tears off her cheeks. Pushing herself to her feet, she shakes her head, angry. “You didn’t ask me anything. You told me. You told me that you only had one heart, but otherwise you were the same, and you wanted to be with me.”

Flabbergasted, the Doctor stares up at her, hands spread helplessly. “What on earth is wrong with that? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted the truth. I wanted you to let me in. But you just pushed me away, same as always.”

The Doctor frantically scans his memory, his mind racing to see if anything catches and clicks. But the film reels just spins and spins, flashing broken images on a patchy screen.

But wait--

He freezes. With a sensation like ice flooding his veins, he remembers.

(The slap of the waves, the whistle of the wind. Salt in the air, biting his cheeks and stinging his eyes.

A laugh, fond. Donna. “They’re not listening.”

“No, they’re not, are they,” mutters his other self. He looks...weary.

Then, a question. Rose wants to know how it ends.

“What sentence?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. Biding for time. Smiling. But uneasy.

She tells him, careful hope etched in the line of her brow.

Nervousness roils in his mind, loud and tempestuous like the ocean beside them. The wind tugs at his clothes and whips Rose’s hair about her face and the sea crashes and the salt stings and his heart races and it’s too much. He can’t tell her. He can’t. Not now. Not now. Not yet.

(What if he tells her and something happens to her, what if tells her and she leaves anyway?)

Not yet. Maybe later.

When he’s ready.)

Shivering, the Doctor closes his eyes. “Isn’t it cold,” he murmurs.

“I just needed to know,” says Rose plaintively, her mouth twisting in the effort to hold back tears, to keep the dam from bursting any further. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel for me exactly the same way I do for you. I still told you how I felt. And I just needed to know that I wasn’t imagining things, that you felt some tiny shred of something for me, that I didn’t work myself to the bone for four fucking years, for nothing, just to find out you didn’t want me.”

Of course I do, he almost says. “You left me because of one single misspoken phrase?” he asks instead.

“I left you because I had thirty seconds to make a decision before the walls between universes closed back up. And when it came down to the unknown, versus the life I’d worked half a decade to get back to...yeah,” says Rose, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I made a decision with the information I had. What else was I supposed to do?”

The Doctor doesn’t reply. He knows what he wants to say, what he wants to be true. He also knows--as much as he hates to admit it, as much as it hurts--that she’s got a fair point. She gave him the opportunity to convince her, handed it over on a gold platter with a heaping helping of vulnerability and hope, and he practically smacked it out of her hands, choosing to hide in comfort and cowardice. Like always.

(“You really are the same,” she says, and it should be a good thing, so why does she look disappointed?)

“When the other Doctor said you were calling out for me, strong enough to be heard across the Void, I couldn’t stay away,” Rose says, her voice thick. “I had to help you however I could. He said you needed me. I thought--”

She laughs bitterly, choking back a sob. “I thought this meant maybe, finally, you were gonna let me in.”

The Doctor opens his mouth, to speak, to apologize or plead or shout or argue or say anything he wants to say or she needs to hear, but his tongue is heavy and stupid and slow, and nothing emerges.

“I want to,” he admits after a moment, so quietly he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t hear it.

Something in Rose’s shoulders seems to relax at that, muscles loosening by nano-increments. Sniffling back the last of her tears, she pushes her loose hair behind her ears, wrapping her arms securely round her middle. Like she’s protecting herself.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice stiff. “To walk back home, I mean.”

“Yes,” the Doctor lies hoarsely, even as pain twinges in his side.

Rose shoots him a suspicious glance from red-rimmed eyes.

“In a moment,” the Doctor confesses.

Nodding, Rose plonks back down on the ground next to him--not as close as she might have, before, but not so far that he couldn’t loop an arm around her if he wanted, give her a tight and cozy one-armed hug. But he doesn’t know if she wants that, yet. And he’s still just so tired.

Still, she didn’t just leave him here. That seems hopeful.

Silently, they wait.

***

Probably she can feel him watching her from the bedroom doorway. He didn’t mean to stop here, just paused while limping his way back from the kitchen to his own room (never mind that he only paused because he was distracted by a flash of gold as she combed out her shower-damp hair, and he suddenly remembered a silly water-fight that never was, and grief struck him like a blow to the solar plexus). But Rose doesn’t turn, doesn’t react.

(Some part of him screams that this is all dreadfully unfair, that he should have been given a proper chance from the beginning, whatever that might have looked like. But it isn’t as if she got any sort of proper or fair chance, either.

Another thing they’ve got in common. He’ll take it.)

“I didn’t do it consciously, you know,” says the Doctor. “Calling out for you, I mean.”

Rose turns to look at him, her expression cool and inscrutable as the Doctor leans against the doorjamb. He’d love to pass it off as a casual lean (maybe even a seductive one, under other circumstances); realistically, he’s certain he looks every bit as wan and worn as he feels, slumping against the wall for much-needed support. And isn’t that just wizard.

“I don’t actually remember doing it at all,” the Doctor admits, scratching the back of his neck. “I can only guess it was a telepathic broadcast boosted by the Morpheus toxin, a residual instinct of some sort, borne out of subconscious need and fear. Even if my consciousness was fooled by the toxin-induced dreams, my subconscious knew what was happening, that I was in danger, and it was trying, desperately, to call for help. But I’d like to think it means something that, even in my delusion, the person I reached out to, the person I instinctively wanted to see, was you.”

Drawing a deep breath, he stares at a spot on the wall, just past her head--much easier than looking at her right now. “I’m sorry for pulling away over the last few days,” he says, willing the words not to stick in his throat. He’s too busy swallowing his pride for anything else to take up room in there. “I was hurt, and I was upset, and I was afraid…”

Fuck, he doesn’t want her to know this. “I was afraid you’d leave at any moment, because you felt I wasn’t good enough, anymore. And I told myself it would be easier if I didn’t let myself feel anything about it all. About you.”

A few moments pass in tense silence. When the quiet becomes unbearable, the Doctor chances a look at Rose, to find her eyes shining with tears once again.

He panics. Oh, god. He’s really bunged all this up, hasn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

“No,” says Rose, shaking her head. “I mean--thank you. I mean--god. I’m sorry, too, Doctor. I never meant to make you feel anything less-than.”

She draws in a shaking breath. “The truth is, I’ve regretted it, not bringing you along with me to the other universe. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, you being over here, feeling lonely and alone, it’s been going through my head every single day, just eating me up inside ever since--”

Pursing her lips, she bites back a sob. “God, I’ve just missed you so much. I’m so sorry.”

Warmth blossoms through the Doctor from head to toe. Before she’s even finished speaking, before he even has a chance to think about it, the Doctor has crossed the threshold and folded onto the bed, drawing Rose into his arms for a painfully tight hug. She doesn’t return the hug, but burrows into his embrace, her arms trapped between them as she curls into herself, her body wracked with great heaving silent sobs. The Doctor cinches his hold on her even tighter, gathering all the strength he can muster to keep her snug in his grasp. Soon his shirt-collar is damp from her tears, and maybe his, too, if he thinks about it too much. Heedless of the wet and the cold, he presses his face against her hair, just breathing her in.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, with a sigh. “Me, too.”

***

This time, when he awakes, it’s to find Rose in the bed next to him. That only makes sense, though; it is her bed, after all. They both just happened to fall asleep in it.

(Still, it’s very nice not to wake up alone.)

His back is a little stiff (just how long has he been sleeping on his stomach, anyway?) but the Doctor is hesitant to move, preferring instead to peek up from his pillow to watch Rose. She’s been awake for a while now, by the looks of it; propped up on her pillows, she types away on a laptop, glasses perched atop her nose, her tongue peeking pinkly between her teeth in concentration. The light from the computer screen bathes her face in a soft white-blue, a gentle contrast to the warm golden afternoon sunlight flooding the room all round them. It’s not unlike the morning that they woke up together after--after, well. At least this time the memory doesn’t hurt, so much as make the Doctor blush furiously.

As if she can sense him watching her (again), Rose glances down at the Doctor, flashing him the briefest smile. “Hello,” she says, almost shyly.

“‘Lo,” he murmurs. “When did you start wearing glasses?”

“Mm, couple months ago. Just for the computer, so the light doesn’t strain my eyes.”

He considers telling her she needn’t wear them, that she could just avoid digital eyestrain by looking away from the computer every so often, but he stops himself; probably the other Doctor has lectured her on it already, anyway. “What are you working on?”

“Loose ends,” Rose replies, closing the laptop. “Turns out when you hop universes, you leave a lot of them.”

“I can imagine.”

“Yeah.” Rose worries the inside of her lip. “I really am sorry.”

“As you should be,” the Doctor says in soft mock-sternness.

Rose rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Git.”

(He doesn’t disagree.)

Slipping off her specs, Rose sets them aside with her laptop, sliding back down into the bed so that she’s burrowed comfortably in the duvet, face-to-face with the Doctor. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Eh. Tired. A little stiff. But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“Yeah, that starts happening when you get old.”

He shoots her a dirty look.

“What?” she asks innocently. “You teased me first.”

“Yes, but I was referring to the coma. Remember the coma? Also known as The Thing That Almost Killed Me? It was all very serious stuff.”

“Very serious,” Rose agrees, her mouth twitching.

“I mean it,” says the Doctor, pushing off his stomach (with only the tiniest of winces) so he can roll over onto his side, facing her properly. “Also, I’m not old.”

“900 years young, then?

“That’s not old,” the Doctor sniffs. “That’s...dignified.”

“That what they’re calling it, now?”

“Yes. Besides, I’m perfectly spry and youthful compared to plenty of other things in the world--there’s loads of things in the universe older than me!”

“Yeah? Like what? The Big Bang?”

“As for example,” the Doctor says stubbornly.

Rose grins, her tongue poking cheekily from between her teeth, exactly the way it used to. “Admit it,” she says, poking him in the chest. “You’re an old cradle-robber.”

“I most certainly am not. In fact, if anyone’s a cradle-robber here, it’s you.”

“Me?”

“Yes! This is a fresh new body!” exclaims the Doctor, gesturing to himself. “Barely three months old! Doesn’t get much cradle-robbier than that.”

At that, Rose quiets. Her hand hasn’t left his chest and she picks at his shirt, thinking. His skin is warm everywhere she accidentally brushes against it. “Three months?” she asks.

The Doctor nods. “Give or take about twelve hours, take into account the time differential between the two universes, factoring in the time spent on the Crucible--about three months, four and a half days.”

“Okay. Good.”

The Doctor piques an eyebrow, questioning.

“It’s been a lot longer, for me. I was afraid it had been for you, too.”

Long enough, the Doctor thinks, but there’s no use puncturing the moment with sharp words. (He thinks of other sharp words in other arguments that also didn’t happen, and soup scalding in a stove, and a surprise confession that shouldn’t have been a surprise at all; he’s rather proud of himself, for reigning in the words instead of letting them fly, even if he does miss the opportunity to make it all up with a good hug and a snog, after.)

“But you couldn’t have imagined it was that long, over here,” says the Doctor, frowning in confusion. “Not when you saw Tony.”

Rose bites her lip.

Wide-eyed, the Doctor realizes. “You haven’t seen Tony yet?”

“Mum didn’t want me to. She was afraid it would be too hard on him when--if I went back.”

Behind his ribs, the Doctor’s stomach is doing somersaults. “If?” he asks, conversationally, and tries not to choke on the hopefulness of it.

Rose shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t want to leave my family again. But I also don’t want you to be alone. Either of you.”

That’s fair, the Doctor supposes, even if he doesn’t like it. Funny little side effect of being human, but he’s sort of marvelously selfish now, and would like nothing more than to keep Rose all to himself--this self, specifically, sod the other self--or maybe that’s just a funny little side effect of being him, in any incarnation.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rose repeats, scrubbing a hand over her face, the heel of her palm pressing into her eye. “Maybe it really would be better if I stayed here. I mean, I guess the walls between universes are open again? At least for a little while, after everything that just happened with the Pandorica? I really don’t understand it, it’s not like any maths I learned while building the Cannon, it’s all just a bunch of wibbly nonsense. So maybe it doesn’t have to be a forever thing anymore, staying on one side or the other. But I don’t want to go back without you, and I don’t want to feel like some sort of rotten old burden to him. It’s exhausting and it hurts, watching him just stew in his guilt, knowing he won’t let me help, worrying that he secretly resents me. But there’s just no telling what he really wants, or how he feels.”

“He loves you.”

Slowly, Rose pulls her hand away from her face. Her lips part in question.

“And…” stammers the Doctor, a flush crawling hotly up the back of his neck, into his cheeks, and damn this silly human body, “...so do I.”

Rose doesn’t reply, too busy staring.

“In a romantic way,” he rushes, his cheeks growing hotter by the second. “And--and a platonic way as well, I suppose, because we’re friends, too, aren’t we? But also more than friends. Best friends. But more than that, as well, because Donna’s also my best friend--because you absolutely can have more than one best friend, you know, but three’s the cap, any more than that and you’re pushing it, it’s scientifically verified, all sorts of studies on it in the 4800’s, fascinating stuff--but there’s absolutely nothing romantic there with Donna, absolutely not, I’d rather regenerate into a barnacle-covered-rock. Is there a word for that in English? Not the rock-thing, I mean for something that means best friends who also love each other in a romantic and hopefully sexual sense. Because I can think of several dozen words that would work in other languages, from civilizations from Jupiter and Kanza’an and Neptus Prime, but without the TARDIS’ translation circuits, you wouldn’t be able to understand them, and that sort of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it, of talking--”

The rest of his spoken words are muffled into nonsense as Rose leans forward to press a kiss to his lips. The rest of his unspoken, shored-up-and-waiting-somewhere-in-his-mind words sort of flutter away to be replaced like the room is spinning all around them. There’s no spinning, of course, but he’s grateful all the same when Rose grabs his shirt-collar and pulls him in closer, tethering him to this plane.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp (stupid human lungs) to find Rose smiling at him, the first real, proper smile he’s seen from her since she came back, and maybe it’s just that bit of leftover Donna-borne sentimentalism still lurking his brain, but good grief, he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen anything quite as wonderful in all the multiverse as that smile.

“And you love me, too?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer--because she isn’t the only one who needs to hear things, sometimes.

Rolling her eyes, Rose laughs. “Of course I do,” she says. “Don’t be st--”

He doesn’t find out what he’s not supposed to be, because he’s too busy cupping her by the chin and kissing her.

***

“You never said,” Rose tells him later, when they’re lounging by the telly with a spread of takeaway on the coffee-table--because even if he won’t say it, this whole recovery experience is quite tiring, and even if he doesn’t say it, Rose still knows.

The Doctor glances up from his carton of fried rice. “Never said what?”

“What you were dreaming about, in the Morpheus coma.”

Alarm bells ring faintly in the back of his mind, adrenaline trickling in with a gentle fight-or-flight nudge--deflect, tell a joke, lie, retreat--but the Doctor wills himself to calm. It’s a fair query. It was bound to come up sooner or later. It is not going to harm him in any way, he tells himself, to answer her.

“Just normal things, really,” he replies. “It was all based on stuff that happened here, after you--well, after you left. The only difference was, in the dreams, you didn’t leave.”

Rose frowns, suddenly uncertain. “You said it was a nightmare.”

“Parts of it, very much so,” the Doctor says softly. “Realizing that you weren’t actually there, and neither was Donna...that was very hard to come to terms with. But the dream wasn’t all that bad. A lot of it was actually quite nice. Most of it, even.”

He can tell what she’s going to ask next, even before she opens her mouth to do so, and he braces himself for the surge of resistance heading his way, for that inevitable revival of self-protective cowardice that’s going to throw up his defenses like an impenetrable wall. But even though he can feel those things tugging at the corners of his consciousness, knocking and calling to be let in, he does not feel the urge to open the door for them. Instead, he knows he will answer her. He knows he wants to.

“Tell me about it?” Rose asks.

He does.

***

(note: titles for this and the original "la belle dame sans merci" derive from the keats poem of the same name.)

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cavendishtogopls · 5 years

Text

She likes Spring, I prefer Winter [WR x Diakko royalty au chapter 1]

This was supposed to be a one shot but halfway through I gave up and divided it in parts. You can read it here or on ao3

Atlas, unlike the other three kingdoms in remnant, maintained the monarch rule under the jurisdiction of Jacques Schnee. The Schnee Dust Company is the largest producer of Dust in all of remnant. Dust enables the people of remnant their daily life and protects them from the creatures of Grimm. Jacques Schnee, current ruler of Atlas and CEO of SDC, has the entire Atlas military wrapped around his fingers under the command of General James Ironwood, making him the most powerful man in all of remnant. It should be illegal for any man, king or no king, to wield that much power. Ruby rifles through the rest of the files on her scroll.

Jacques Schnee has three offsprings, all of them were set to inherit a part of his Monopoly on power once they came of age. His firstborn was Military Specialist Winter Schnee, Ruby has had way too many close encounters with Atlas military to remember the intimidating posture of Winter Schnee. His youngest was Whitley Schnee, he appears to be a regular person, or as regular as a Schnee prince would be. It seems however that he lacks the talent in summoning that both of his sisters wield.

The middle child and the heiress of Jacques kingdom was Princess Weiss Schnee, the object of tonight's contract. Ruby studies the face that she had seen a thousand times on scrolls, giving speeches on stadiums or simply accompanying her father on political events.

White hair that cascades down her back in a long side ponytail with a glass tiara on top of her hair. Frost blue eyes, similar to her sister's, stare at the camera haughtily in pride or in defiance, Ruby couldn't tell. She looks delicate, like a porcelain doll that would break under your touch. Every bit of the fairytale princess Ruby imagined her to be.

"Miss Rose, I need you to track down the group of assailants." Ruby looked up from her scroll, to the duchess across the wooden table.

Diana Cavendish, the sole heir to the Cavendish line and Cavendish Medical Group. From what Ruby understands of Atlas Politics, their family is the second largest influence in Atlas. Even in what Ruby assumed to be her casual clothes, as casual as proper decorum would allow a duchess, Diana Cavendish looks terribly out of place in a run down tavern in the lower part of the city. Next to her sat a brunette with crimson eyes glaring at Ruby. Ruby recognized her as Atsuko Kagari, one if not the best huntress of their generation.

"So uhh... your grace. Can you tell me how the abduction happened?" Ruby twiddles with her scroll. Diana was gorgeous albeit a bit intimidating, every bit of the noblewoman expected of her. She had sharp features but with the blonde tea green hair framing her face, it looks disarming. She had a thumb beneath her chin and a thoughtful look on her as she goes to recount the events earlier.

~*~

"Akko!" Diana's voice echoed through the alleyway as she fought through the onslaught of enemies in white masks. They were singling Akko out, backing her away from Diana and Weiss fighting with their backs against each other. Klein, Weiss' butler was down. Diana shouldn't be this worried, Akko was a huntress, a graduate from Luna Nova Academy even, before being her personal guard. Akko is yet to use her semblance and with Claiomh Solais, Akko's weapon that could take on many forms, Diana is confident they wouldn't be able to subdue the brunette easily.

Diana grips Excalibur, her weapon, by the hilt. A sword of ice that can freeze everything it wounds. It was a pleasant accompaniment for her semblance but the pre-requisite for her summoning is nowhere to be found. Summoning is a common hereditary semblance for the upper echelon of Atlas. It symbolize the family's pride and noble blood descendant from the magic of the ancients. Where Weiss could summon any enemy she bested in combat, Diana could summon the spirit of those she healed given that she has water to summon it from. The stark differences and similarity in their semblances were so telling of their family histories, they rarely brought it up.

Weiss and Diana were holding their ground, facing the enemy with their backs against each other. There were just so many of the enemy that whenever they strike down one, three more would take it's place. There was barely room to fight without hitting each other with their swords.

"Weiss, we have to get out of here." Diana hissed at her friend, who just casually rolled her eyes at Diana.

"Don't you think I know that? These mangy beasts smell an awful lot like animal dung." Weiss fired another volley of fire dust towards the masked assailants as Diana parries and thrust her way towards Akko's direction.

"I really don't think it's wise for you to say that. They have incredible hearing." Diana shook her head at her friend. Weiss can be a bit too much sometimes. Suppose it was the Schnee upbringing talking.

"Oh, trust me, Dia. I meant for them to hear." Weiss smirks at Diana and created a glyph to act as Diana's cover. "Go get your girlfriend. We'll talk about you two snogging later. I'll deal with these losers."

"Be safe." Diana nods her way and continues to try and ease the attacks on Akko.

Unlike with her and Weiss, the masked assailants were in no way careful, nor do they have any intention of holding back for the sake of capture. Diana could feel the murderous intent coming off of them. Their attacks on Akko came with the intent to kill. Akko was panting, surrounded but her grip on the sword version of Claiomh Solais was firm. Akko saw her coming, nodding in understanding and then the tell tale blinding light of Akko activating her semblance distracts them all as an elephant emerges from the light, brandishing the ax version of the Claiomh Solais, bashing people against the wall. Diana hacked and slashed through the never ending spur of people, one tried to grab her hair and pulled her backwards towards the direction of another Faunus wielding a club.

"Diana! Watch out!" Weiss projected a hastily summoned glyph to protect Diana's head from being bludgeoned by a club, getting caught off guard herself by a blow from a bull Faunus that rendered Weiss unconscious.

"Weiss!" Diana watched, struggling against the hold on her, as the bull Faunus passed the unconscious princess onto another Faunus who materialized out of thin air, sprinting out of their sight. The one holding her poised for another strike when Akko, the elephant charged, disregarding the other Faunus trying to get to her, waving and hitting them with the blunt end of the ax. The elephant trampled over Diana's captors and scooped up the duchess using her trunk, placing her gently on her back, taking off after the captor. But they were too late, the fleeing Faunus were everywhere but the one who Diana saw carrying Weiss' limp frame was gone.

~*~

"Anyone wants to enlighten me why the two most targeted heiress of Atlas is wandering around in the slums of the city without proper security?"

"Weiss and I always had these trips to see how the lower echelon of Atlas fairs with the changes in the economy. It's one of the things that makes a difference you know, knowing your country firsthand rather than from some servant." Diana explains patiently to Ruby who was a bit surprised by that revelation. To her, Weiss Schnee was nothing more than a spoiled brat with a silver tiara on her head and was born with a golden spoon on her mouth. At least that's what she hears from Blake, her teammate.

"It doesn't explain why you two are without proper security." Ruby pointed out. No matter how noble the intention, it was still reckless and something she didn't expect from the Duchess. The brunette, sitting next to the duchess, straightened up and met Ruby's eyes.

"I'm Atsuko Kagari, Diana's head of security and personal bodyguard." The brunette extends a hand that Ruby shook. "The princess recently fired her personal security and we were forced to take Klein, the butler, with us. He was past his prime. I'm a trained huntress myself, Miss Rose and while the duchess and the princess are easily the two most powerful summoners in Atlas, you also know that a huntress can encounter certain difficulties when it comes to a job." Ruby nods to that and takes a sip of her strawberry daiquiri.

"I've heard of you, Miss Kagari and Claiomh Solais. You singlehandedly rescued all of Atlas from the threat of a wyvern." Ruby tried not to sound so excited. From what she heard of the legendary weapon, it can turn into a sword, a club, an ax, and a grappling hook. Ruby would give anything to dismantle the weapon and take in all of its legendary awesomeness. Akko Kagari was one of the best huntress out here in Atlas, courtesy of Luna Nova, a huntress exclusive training academy.

"Trust me, it wasn't as good as the rumors made it out to be. I had good teammates supporting me and another 2 teams of Luna Nova's best huntresses behind my back." Akko turns to nod at Diana. "Her grace included. I doubt I can do anything without her help."

"So... You left the profession for?" Ruby crosses her arms, she couldn't imagine leaving the profession for anything.

"Oh. I didn't. I still go on hunts sometimes. I just prefer to be Diana's personal bodyguard when I don't. It's what we swore to do, you know, protecting people." Akko took Diana's hand in hers, intertwining it. "just on a smaller scale."

Ruby does not want to know the play by play details on how small that scale really is.

"Any ideas who it could be? You mentioned the culprit vanishing in thin air? Are there any faunus specie known to do that?" This time it was the duchess who spoke.

"Actually Miss Rose, from what I know of Faunus families, one particular is a chameleon Faunus but as I didn't see the face of the culprit, I'm not so sure myself." Diana then transfered a file to her scroll.

"We can't also rule out the possibility that it could be their semblance." Akko points out, to which Diana nodded.

"Alright, I'll look into it." Ruby tucks her scroll away. "Anything else I should know of?"

"Miss Rose are you familiar with the terrorist group, White Fang?" Akko asked, to which Ruby nodded.

"The White Fang. A group composed of Faunus activists fighting for their rights and equality against propaganda of huge corporations such as the Schnee Dust Company." Ruby easily corrected. Diana raised an eyebrow at that.

"Miss Rose, The White Fang has taken innocent lives as mere collateral for their cause. They do whatever it takes, whenever. I have faced against them countless of times in order to keep Miss Cavendish safe. This group has the Princess, the apparent heir to the throne. I admit it was due to some of my miscalculation but as we sit here, the Princess' life is in danger. Will you accept the job or not?" Akko throws haphazardly at the red haired huntress. Diana sneakily take her hand in hers and gave it a light squeeze in order to calm the brunette down.

"Weiss is going to be used as a pawn to start a war, Miss Rose. They're going to use her as leverage against her father and we would be thrown into another war. Countless of lives will be lost." Diana sighs.

"I accept." Ruby stands up. "I don't care much for your politics but the people's lives is something I swore to protect as a Huntress. I will retrieve the Princess, you can count on that."

"Thank you, Miss Rose." Diana nods curtly. "I understand your team is of high demand but I hope you will take this as a priority. You will be paid handsomely for it."

"It will be. Does her sister know?" Ruby asks out of curiosity. Winter Schnee does not seem like the person who would sit back and watch as other people retrieve her sister from enemy clutches.

~*~

"I will let Winter know. That'd be all, Miss Rose. Thank you." Diana dismisses as the huntress exits the room in the tavern with a nod.

"Tell me again, why we chose her?" Akko stared pointedly at Diana. "I could easily track Weiss. I'm still a huntress Diana."

"The White Fang knows you're hunting them. Don't tell me you didn't notice the way they were singling you out instead of fully capturing Weiss and I." Diana stared sternly at her stubborn girlfriend. "You're a damn great huntress Akko and the fang knows it. They might be expecting you to come for Weiss and I'm not going to give them that leverage. They'll be expecting you, not Ruby Rose."

"Surely there's anyone else out there? I feel like we're sending a kid to her death." Akko groans, studying the blade of Claiomh Solais. The golden glint of the blade reflecting off on the seven rubies embedded in the hilt.

"Underestimating Ruby is not something you should do, Akko. Their team is easily the best known for their tracking, be it Grimm or human. Weiss will have our heads if she knew we didn't pull out all the stops." Diana grabs the glass of wine and gulped down its contents. She's going to need it if she's delivering the news to Winter.

"Besides, that girl badly needs a girlfriend. She's been so irritable lately." Diana chuckles softly. "She can easily get out of The Fang's clutches and you know it Akko. I pity the poor chap who's going to face the wrath of the ice princess." Diana extends her glass towards Akko, only for the brunette to pour her wine.

"You mean to tell me you're spending this God awful lot of money for the princess to have a girlfriend?" Akko stares in disbelief at Diana.

"I mean, I dearly love my cousin. I do. But I need her off my back. And if that takes a cute silver eyed huntress and a lot of money then so be it." Diana swirls the wine in her glass, contemplating whether or not to tell Winter. At best, she would send a manhunt operation for The Fang. At worst, probably execute anyone found in the process.

"Come on, Akko. You have to agree. Miss Rose was definitely Weiss' type. Horrendous haircut, stupid puppy smile, sparkly eyes, strong arms and a capable huntress." Diana lists off.

"It sounds a lot like your type, Diana." Akko pouts. Diana merely shrugs.

"Weiss and I share a lot of similarities." Diana laughs. Akko takes the glass of wine from her girlfriend.

"I'm sorry about Weiss you know I couldn't even do my job properly. I couldn't even keep you safe." Diana was fine with it earlier and true to her words, Akko was her personal guard but she's also so much more than that to Diana. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when the brunette blames herself for something out of her realm of control.

Still, Diana couldn't help but be worried for Weiss. Weiss was still the crown princess, more than that, she was Jacques Schnee's daughter. If it came down to who is more likely to be executed by The Fang in a show of power, Diana would be in less imminent danger than Weiss. Because unlike Weiss, Diana had a good family lineage and Cavendish Medical Group treated the Faunus kind fairly.

"Akko, honey it's not your fault. Weiss saved me. And we both know Weiss is capable of protecting herself but still that idiot. Putting her life on the line for me when she's the crown princess. you know The Fang wouldn't harm me. They want Weiss." Diana said softly. Truthfully, she feels just as guilty. Weiss was in this predicament because she protected Diana. They wouldn't be in this mess if Diana wasn't so busy having her tongue inside Akko's mouth ten minutes before Weiss got abducted. Akko turned to look at Diana with such speed, she could've gotten whipslash from it, an angry glint in her eyes as she moves around the table to glare at Diana.

"You don't know that! What if Weiss didn't save you! The White Fang has killed thousands of people, Diana. What makes you think they're gonna stop now? Because you've been changing the way your company runs? What about the time Daryl ruled? She was just as bad as Weiss' father. Do you honestly think you being head of the family makes you a friend to The Fang? You going against the current administration paints you even more a target on both sides. It could've easily been you and not Weiss and if that happened, I would be out of my mind, tearing apart this city, looking for you."

For every word she says, she steps closer to Diana, effectively backing her to a corner of the small room they've rented just for meeting the huntress. Diana has never seen Akko this furious before and usually it wasn't directed at her. Akko raised an arm to her side, intimidating her a bit.

"Akko, I am still your authority." Diana whispered weakly. "I will not be spoken to in such disrespect."

"No, Diana." Akko almost growled at that, pulling the duchess closer to her. "I sworn my life to protect yours. You're not just my sovereign. You're my girlfriend. My duty is to you. I don't give a single flying fuck whoever the crown princess is. If Weiss hadn't save you, I had easily failed as your girlfriend and your guard. You're all I got." Akko whispers the last part, almost out of breath from her long rant. Diana pulls the brunette closer humming, Akko all but tucks herself in the crook of Diana's neck, placing soft kisses there.

"I thank every single God in remnant I have you." Diana says after a moment of tranquility.

"I was so scared I was going to lose you today." Akko let out shakily. "There were just so many and even with you there and Weiss' glyphs, they still overwhelmed us. I couldn't do anything, D. When Weiss was taken, I was scared they'll take you too. I couldn't let that happen." Akko was crying, Diana tried to free an arm but Akko wouldn't budge. Diana succeeded and lifted Akko's chin so she could see red rimmed eyes, exhaustion present in them and nothing else but love for Diana.

"I'm okay, Love. See, and that's because of you, Akko. You saved me." Diana swipes Akko's messy bangs from her eyes and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. "You always do."

"Come on let's get some rest. It's been a long day"

~*~

#rwby white rose #whiterose #rwby weiss #rwby ruby #diakko #dianakko #diana cavendish #akko little witch academia #akko kagari #little witch academia #rwby fic #royalty au

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