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hankwritten · 3 years

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Keep in a Cool Dry Place

Demoman/Soldier, 3k

A couple of old, past their prime mercs live out their days, but at least they’re slowly breaking down together.

Oftentimes, Jane would go out onto the deck to find Tavish fixed in place, chin tilted skywards, soaking up the stars for all they were worth. He could be like that, sometimes for hours, eye glossy against the Milky Way as he stood so still he could make a statue proud.

“You’re up awful late,” he said to Jane, unmoving. Probably had realized Jane had been watching for a while now.

“Could say the same to you,” Jane said, pulling himself into a deck chair with a great cascade of air from his smoker’s lungs, the grunt of an old man he always thought was an exaggerated affectation until it started happening to him.

“I don’t get up at five in the morning,” Tavish reminded him.

“You could. Good for the health, Tavish.”

“I don’t think anything’s good for the health these days. Just bad, and slightly worse.” He drummed his fingers on the deck’s railing. “C’mere, look at this.”

“I can see the damn stars just fine from here,” Jane sniffed.

Tavish broke from his surveying to shoot a grin Jane’s way, features cut sharp in the porch light. “Come on you old fart, get over here.”

Jane grumbled, pushing out of the chair with more effort than he would have liked to admit. He made his way to Tavish, joining him at the railing, their shoulders brushing just briefly until Tavish swung an arm around Jane’s waist.

His voice took on a fading quality all of the sudden, as though far away winds were dragging him skyward. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

Jane watched him. In the past few years his good eye had grown white in the center, a fuzzy film growing out from the pupil that would one day take the whole cornea. It was irreversible, Tavish had explained, years of buildup from stromnium or strotenium or something like that, Jane could never remember. Tavish wasn’t surprised, had told Jane that he was shocked he’d still had the thing this long, but that didn’t mean there was no mourning within the man. It was just different than how most people would have gone about it.

“Sure is,” Jane said. “Real beautiful.”

“Aye. And you ‘n me, we’re not seeing the half of it. Those telescopes, the ones the size of whole buildings, all they have is a bunch of different magnifying glasses and yet when they put ‘em all together you can see whole galaxies that weren’t there before. Same sky, just some folks can see it, some folks can’t.”

“You can still see it,” Jane reminded him, a gentle bump to the shoulder.

“For now,” Tavish agreed. He turned, smiling with just the corner of his mouth, a testament that was gone before Jane could fully appreciate how much he loved the small, sad ways he chose to be happy. A hand came up to brush the side of Jane’s cheek. “I just keep thinking about how one of these days will be the last day I see you.”

Their foreheads came together. Jane’s hand rose to cover the one across his cheek, thumb rubbing the small band of gold on Tavish’s finger. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe this; despite the decades, despite the promises made on cold desert nights, despite watching the grey hairs spring in Tavish’s beard and knowing the same was happening to him, it was still hard to fathom that someone had chosen to spend the rest of their life with him. Even though the years with Tavish came close to outnumbering the years without, that time in Jane’s life of infinite loneliness, of stubborn self sufficiency, made him question how he was ever lucky enough that someone had hung on their sense and decided he was worth it.

Jane pulled Tavish closer. “Yeah. Well. If you’re going to keep a last image of me in your head, I really wish it was back when I was still handsome.”

Tavish laughed, swaying them both slightly in the unusually still air. Normally winds rattled the badlands, stirring up loose sand and seething through plants too hardy to notice. It felt like, for once, the world had chosen to be kind this night, just for them.

“You get handsomer every day Jane,” Tavish said, and hidden behind the words were each day I love you more. “I just…miss.”

“Miss how things used to be?”

“More than that. I’ve got the ‘ole yearning, I suppose, the eater of men.” Tavish chewed his words, looking up at the sky again. “I miss places. I miss how everything used to feel, even if it wasn’t terribly good.”

“Not talking about going back to your home planet, are you?” Jane joked, jerking his thumb at the now witnessed stars.

“No,” Tavish snorted. “Not exactly. But I…” He trailed off.

Now it was Jane’s turn to bring his hands to the sides of Tavish’s face, his own ring warm from where he’d been cradling it inside his fist. “What is it, Tav? You can tell me.”

Tavish looked not at the stars nor the horizon, but the ground, kicking the wooden deck neither of them had ever gotten around to re-staining. “I feel…I feel the hills always calling out to me. Like there’s something in my bones that just wants to rest, to go back where it’s green, to where it isn’t so bloody dry. Every time we visit I think ‘is this the last time I’ll ever see it? The very last time? Am I going to be too old or too tired the next time around, and never feel like I’m home again?’”

Jane watched the worry lines in Tavish’s forehead. “You want to go back to Scotland.”

“I dunno. Just the more my eye goes the more I…I dunno.”

They hung in silence for a while longer, just breathing. Jane hadn’t felt the need to wear his helmet for a long time, not at home, not at this mansion that was their private oasis from the rest of the world. Were money made their problems—if not vanish—then kept far back beyond the fence where they never had to think about them unless they ventured beyond. Where, even with BLU’s protection no longer keeping the various chapters of local and federal law enforcement trying to wrangle some comeuppance out of the soldier for sins past, he still had a place of refuge.

“Let’s go,” Jane said.

Tavish looked away. “I don’t mean for a visit Jane, I mean…”

“I know,” Jane insisted. Tavish’s milky eye fixed him with disbelief. “You want to go home. I get it. We should go.”

Tavish stared at him, still uncomprehending. “Jane you know that would mean…”

“I know,” Jane repeated.

A warm, subtle smile filled Tavish’s face, and neither of them had to say any more. Tavish drew Jane in closer, and the two of them rocked in the wind that had just picked up again.

***

“Jane,” Tavish frowned as he examined the box Jane had dropped thunderously at the bottom of the stairs, “do you really need to bring all of these?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to make you get rid of your treasured possessions,” Jane pointed out, depositing a second box filled entirely with Guns & Haircuts net to the first.

“We’re not going to have space for these,” Tavish retorted. “It’s going to be a tiny little thing, remember? They don’t build mansions in Ullapool.”

Moving had left the New Mexico mansion barren and faded where pictures had hung on the wall since Tavish had first moved in. Now they were all gone, sold off as their attempts to downsize left only what was necessary and a few DeGroot family heirlooms.

It twisted something in Jane to see their home of three decades slowly dismantled into carpet scuffs and cardboard boxes. This had been his dwelling longer than any other, a turning point from when the Gravel Wars had folded in on themselves and left Jane with an odd freedom he had no idea if he was allowed to act on. Even before that, when Tavish’s mother had still been alive and the halls were filled with her vigor, this place was safe haven for Jane, where he’d come to meet with his forbidden friend and get wasted in his living room.

Now it was mostly empty. Ready for the last goodbyes.

“These are important,” Jane declared of the boxes.

“You haven’t read them in ages,” Tavish pointed out.

“So? They are valuable. Scout sold his whole Bonk! Boy collection for a fortune, and I’ve got twice as many as that little squirt does!” Jane cleared his throat suddenly. “Did.”

It was hard to remember sometimes. He thought his old teammates would want nothing to do with him after the end, but to his surprise they actually kept in contact better than when they’d actually worked together. Maybe owing to the fact he now had an actual address they could send letters to.

Neither Spy nor Sniper had ever actually retired, and over time the tepid, passably courteous correspondences with Sniper had stopped a few years after Spy disappeared entirely. Jane assumed something similar had happened to them both. Occupational hazard.

Engie had complications with his diabetes. The remaining team had shown up for the funeral, except for Pyro, who everyone politely wouldn’t mention, even when Jane asked.

The one person Jane hadn’t expected to outlive was Scout. Scout didn’t write, but he could talk anyone’s ear off, and when coming home from the second funeral in as many years it hit Jane hard that he’d never hear the kitchen phone ringing off its holder again, practically trembling as the other line was just dying to tell him about whatever exactly Scout was so wound up about today.

Tavish noticed Jane’s slipup, and kindly ignored it. Nearly ten years, and Jane still found himself forgetting. “That’s because they were comics,” Tavish explained. “They were collectors items. The only person collecting Guns & Haircuts is you.”

“And don’t I know it!”

Tavish sighed. “Are you even planning on selling them, or are you just going to do the same thing you’ve done with them here and leave them in a big box to gather dust?”

“Of course I’m going to leave them in a big box!” Jane huffed proudly. “What other purpose is there in life other than to gather material objects and then have them accumulate in piles in your living room? You do not see me complaining about the giant, wall mounted family crest, do you?”

Tavish rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed as an old argument became even older. “Ach, fine. I suppose we’ll fine the space.” When he opened his eye, he saw the third giant box Jane was hauling out for the movers. “Jane! We don’t need to be taking that.”

“Yes we do, sonny!” Jane said, slapping a hand on the trumpet of the old record player he hadn’t been able to properly fit in the box. “I do not trust those cassette tapes! The snakes that live in them always try to come out and strangle me!”

“We’ve got some CDs now-” Tavish tried.

“Even worse!” Jane declared. “Australian mind control devices!”

Tavish could see he wasn’t winning, which was just fine by Jane. The magazines were one thing, but the record player he wasn’t leaving without.

“Well,” Tavish said, looking around their house, stripped bare. “I suppose that’s everything.”

Jane couldn’t find a reason to object. He glanced around, looking for one last missing detail, one more reason to stall, but found none. Gently, he took Tavish’s hand and squeezed. “Everything we need.”

***

Scotland was even wetter than the last time they’d visited.

Mud, the most distantly remembered and ancient of substances, clung to Jane’s pant leg all the way up to the knee as they made their way down hundred-year old paths someone really should’ve figured out how to weather-proof by now. But, where Jane was grumbling, Tavish looked about as happy as a clam in water. (Or, Jane supposed was more fitting, a pig in mud.)

“Aha! Look, there it is,” Tavish said, tugging on Jane’s arm and pointing at the glimpse of water creeping around the bend. “Still there.”

“I don’t think they would have up and moved a whole lake while you were gone,” Jane mumbled, but Tavish didn’t seem to hear as he moved with surprising speed down the hill. It was times like this Jane actually envied the cane.

When he finally caught up, Tavish was breathing in the thick air, his chest rising and then collapsing with a satisfied sigh. “Used to play down here as lad. Sometimes there’s a beach, far as the eye can see.”

“Thought you were done with sand,” Jane said, stomping up next to him on damp boots.

Tavish just breamed broadly at him, drinking in the sweep of the land and the crash of the lake. Jane could remember the stories, ones from Tavish’s childhood much better than his own, told and retold so many times that he could flip open the memories like a scrapbook and find exactly where every place in Ullapool fit. An old pub, a crumbling church. The house where the DeGroots used to live, the field where Merasmus’s castle had once briefly towered. So vivid were they, they superimposed themselves over Jane’s (admittedly more insubstantial) memories until he felt he had lived here himself.

“…Gettin’ dark, Tav,” Jane pointed out.

Tavish frowned, and squinted at the horizon. “Aye, I suppose it is.”

“Think the movers are done?” Jane didn’t approve of hiring other people to life heavy things when lifting heavy things had once been one of Jane’s favorite pastimes, but Tavish convinced him that if he threw out his back again, it’d be a lot harder to get him to a doctor.

“Probably,” Tavish nodded. “Let’s go see.”

“Do you think they dropped my magazines?”

“I’m sure they’re fine, love.”

They made the long, much more slippery journey back to their new home. It overlooked Ullapool and the coast, but was nevertheless removed enough that Jane could revel in the privacy he had grown used to. Privacy was not on Tavish’s mind when they’d walked through town that first time, however, as he’d greeted nearly everyone who came their way. It had shocked Jane how many people knew him, or at least recognized the DeGroot name, and greeted Tavish as familiarly as they would have had he been gone for only a few weeks rather than years.

It was good, to see Tavish like this. Even now, as they climbed slowly back up the hill, Jane watched him out the corner of his eye, smiling at the look of serenity that hadn’t been on his husband’s face so naturally in years.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Tavish said lovingly as they crossed the threshold of their new home.

That it was. Jane had worried he had grown soft living in luxury, that his years of being rich and retied would make him forgot that he’d once loved his little apartment, had cherished the security its simplicity had given him. But now that he was back inside four walls, surrounded by the items that had come to mean things beyond their purpose, a swell of pleasant familiarity welled up in him. The curtains blocked out the last of the fading light through soft yellow. There was a fireplace (modern and gas powered) but one ready to fill the house with a warm glow.

Tavish made the motions to begin unpacking, but Jane’s pretense of rooting though the boxes had a different goal in mind. Preoccupied, Tavish didn’t turn around until Jane finally slipped the record into place.

Perking, Tavish looked over his shoulder to see Jane offering his hand as the music bubbled slowly to life. “Been a long time since we danced,” Jane said.

Tavish’s smile fit well in this homey, quiet room. He took Jane’s hand, and let Jane pull him up off his knees until they were chest to chest, resting his chin on Jane’s shoulder.

“Too long,” he agreed.

They began sway rhythmlessly to music in the middle of the tiny living room, caring little where they put their feet as long as it wasn’t one top of one another. Jane loved the record player, needed it more these days, as it was one of the only things that made the horrid, incessant ringing in his ears quiet for just a short while. Leaving the fan on at night might help him get to sleep, but the was no denying the scratching notes out of the player were a world more enjoyable.

It was piano piece, one he’d heard Tavish play now and again. There was no space for a grand piano here in this little cottage on the hill, but maybe they could get a smaller one, and Tavish could try teaching him again. Like he’d promised so long ago.

So many promises that’d slipped through the cracks, both to each other and themselves. Things they simply couldn’t do anymore. Ever since the scare with Jane’s lung cancer, they had tried to do better, had realized what they had built meant something and they couldn’t go piddling away with their complacent recklessness. Jane had quit smoking, Tavish had quit drinking as part of the deal.

But still, there were other things, other mistakes that had compounded over the years. Jane always kept thinking he should have been over it by now, that for how many gentle touches Tavish had placed against him, he should forget the violence those same hands had once brought him. The times they’d shoved a sword into Jane’s gut. The bombs from nowhere. The individual atrocities. It was duller now, the years had been good enough to do that, but if Tavish’s memories were anything like Jane’s, he understood why the ex-demoman sometimes woke screaming in the middle of the night, needing to be reminded—soothed, assured, sometimes begged—that the Jane beside him wasn’t the monster from his dreams.

That was the real tragedy of the War. Officially, all they had been paid to do was kill each other—the horrors they chose to inflict on one another had been their own doing, their own wills brought to fruition. RED had never asked Tavish to shove Jane’s shovel down its owner's throat, laughing vengefully all the while. Jane was sure he’d done equally as cruel things to Tavish during those hell times, but had trouble recalling exactly what. It’s much easier to remember the sins committed against you, than those you have unleashed yourself.

Those hands, those bloodstained, gentle, perfect hands, rubbed circles and Jane’s back, and he sighed. He’d listened to this record enough to know it was getting to the end of this side, but he found he didn’t want to move. He wanted to keep standing here, swaying with the man he loved in their home in the mountains, remembering that they had earned this.

“I cherish these moments we spend together,” he said resolutely into Tavish’s chest.

“Every one of them,” Tavish agreed.

Eventually they would lay down, rest their old bones in their new bed, but for now they held each other in the slowly encroaching night, the sound of rain playing its first patter on the roof.

#tf2 fanfiction #demosolly #boots n bombs

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

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Free As I’ll Ever Be (Final)

MASTERLIST HERE

*****************

The hotel was shitty at best, the bed one that most likely vibrated at some point but now was years past even having working springs. Ian’s weight sank the mattress damn near to the floor and he knew when Mickey came back and crawled in next to him--

--hopefully crawled in next to him--

--they’d end up sleeping on the gross carpet.

Oh well. It didn’t matter so long as they were together.

“Lazy ass.” Mickey came back through the door with arms full of food and drink. “I’m out here busting my ass to feed you and you’re sleeping?”

“I don’t think anyone has ever slept on this bed ever, Mick.” Ian propped up on an elbow and looked his boyfriend over. “Besides, I don’t speak Spanish.”

“That’s a goddamn lie.” Micky tossed the food down on the other bed, and kicked his shoes off before sprawling out next to Ian. “I know you speak Spanish. At least well enough to get some food. I got us over the border, you should start pulling your own weight.”

“But you’re so pretty bringing me stuff to eat.” Ian countered, and Mickey flicked him in the head with a resounding, “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

“C’mere and I’ll fuck you.” Ian dragged Mickey up over his body and pressed their mouths together, smoothed his hands down Mickey’s back and rubbed into him purposefully, pointedly. “Should use the bed for somethin’ right? And you did such a good job gettin’ us over the border maybe I should reward you.”

“Yeah, cos walking with a limp for the next two days is a reward.” Mickey rolled his eyes, then rolled himself off of Ian and to the edge of the bed, feeling around in his coat pocket for a cigarette. “Besides I told you, getting across the border is easy when you know as many people as me. A little money, some drugs, whatever it takes to make someone look the other way. Easy.”

“I couldn’t’ve done it.” Ian countered, and Mickey snorted, “That’s cos you can’t lie worth shit. You start blushing and getting stupid. Just be cool for once in your life.”

“Be cool?” Ian sat up and tried to wind an arm around Mickey’s waist, tried to tug him back close again. “Mick, come here. I’ve been waiting to hold you since we ditched Damon, come on.”

Mickey didn’t answer, just got off the bed all together and went to the window to light up, and Ian watched him for a minute, brow furrowed in confusion. “Baby?”

“Fuck, I hate when you call me that.” Mickey dragged in on the cigarette, pushed the heel of his hands into both eyes as he exhaled. “Don’t call me that.”

“You love it, and you know it.” Ian got off the bed too, followed Mickey over to the window and took the cigarette right out of his hands. “What are you doing way over here?

Mickey just looked at him, then looked away. Stared out the window for a second, then back at Ian and then over to the floor. He shifted on his feet, sniffed and thumbed at his nose and cleared his throat--

-- and Ian knew they had to do it now. They had to talk right now before they got any further away from the border, before they got to the beach and to the us Mickey had thought so long about. They had to talk now or they’d always wonder, Mickey would always wonder and Ian knew that this time he had to say it all so Mickey wouldn’t have to wonder anymore.

“Okay.” Ian whispered, soft and open and as understanding as he’d ever tried to be. “Okay Mickey. Let’s talk. Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” Mickey spat and Christ, he was angry again, angry like he always used to be but now Ian knew the anger was a cover for the loneliness, the quick temper a cover for the fear, so it was okay.

It was okay.

“Ask me um--” Ian swallowed, hunched his shoulders so he wasn’t quite so big over Mickey. “Ask me if I waited for you while you were in prison.”

“Did you--” Mickey sniffed again. “Did you wait for me while I was in prison?”

“I tried to date.” Ian said honestly, and he didn’t try to stop Mickey from flinching away. “Trevor was great, but just not for me. Dunno if it was the transgender thing-- I don’t wanna say it was, but I’m not real sure. Either way, it didn’t work out and I didn’t really try. Caleb-- I think that one was Dead on Arrival. But once you and me started writing… yeah, Mick. Yeah, I waited for you and I was gonna keep waiting for you.”

“Did you… miss me?”

“Every fucking day.” Ian didn’t hesitate on that one. “Missed you when I was working, whenever I’d see some punk kid mouthing off, every time I went to bed. Even on the few dates. I missed you cos you were in every part of my life and then one day, you weren’t.”

Mickey was quiet and Ian prodded, “Ask me if I looked forward to your letters, Mick.”

“Ian, I don’t--”

“Ask me if I slept with my phone ringer on loud right under my pillow so I’d know when you texted me.” He continued. “Ask me if I stayed up way too late talking to you and then got in trouble the next day at work for being half asleep. Ask me if somehow my stupid fuckin’ family finally made me see how much I love you. Ask me if I regret every time I tried to force you to come out, to be like me, to be with me when you weren’t ready. Ask me if I finally realize that you and I were fucking kids that couldn’t help our families and our situations and our pasts and all the crazy we inherited. Ask me.”

“Ian--”

“Ask me if I’m free with you.” Ian was whispering now, budging close and touching their foreheads together, tossing the cigarette away so he could push both hands into Mickey’s hair and pull him in tight. “Ask me if I’m free with you, Mick.”

“...are you free with me?” Nearly inaudible, shaking and terrified and Mickey closed his eyes tight like he couldn’t bring himself to look and see the truth in Ian’s eyes. “Does what we have make you free?”

“Mickey Milkovich.” Ian rubbed his thumbs over Mickey’s cheekbones and whispered, “Right here with you is as free as I’ll ever want to be.”

“...promise?” Vulnerable, and it broke Ian’s heart. “Cos the border is right there, man, you could just--”

“I promise.” Ian swore, cut him off and swore again. “I promise. I’m right here, Mickey. Not going anywhere. What you and I have makes me free. I wish I would’ve known that meant I love you when you said it the night of Yev’s christening. Wish I would’ve known what you were saying, but I know it now, alright? I’m free as I’ll ever be with you, and I love you and I’ll wait--” he nodded when Mickey’s brow scrunched. “--I’ll wait until you’re ready to say it, alright? I can wait.”

And then softer, “Back when we were kids, I asked Mandy how to tell if a guy liked me and she said I’d know if he got that look in his eye.”

He laughed quietly, “Fuck, Mickey I stared at you all the damn time trying to see if it was there in your eyes and I missed it a thousand times. I won’t miss it this time, okay? I promise. I see it. I see you.”

Mickey’s jaw worked like he was trying to speak but the words didn’t quite come, so instead he put his hand just gentle on Ian’s face like he knew the red head liked, brushed through a few strands of shaggy hair and muttered, “Free, huh?”

“Yeah.” Ian turned into Mickey’s hand and kissed his palm gently. “So why don’t we go find something else that makes us free, huh?”

“I’d rather find your dick.” Mickey finally managed some snark, and Ian sighed over loud at having the romantic moment spectacularly derailed.

“Jesus, Mick. Moment ruined much?”

“Just shut up and kiss me again, Gallagher.”

***********

Mexico

The Beach

Somewhere That Doesn’t Matter So Long As They’re Together

“I’m just saying I feel like you could have told us you weren’t coming back!”

Lip was pissed, and Ian held the phone away from his ear for a minute while his brother vented. “Lip.” he said when there was finally a break in the tirade. “Lip it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m happy. We’re happy.”

“Well are you at least taking your goddamn meds?”

“Yeah, yeah I can get them real cheap down here. The good stuff.” Ian checked his watch just to make sure the timer was set for his next round. “Everything’s fine, Lip. Stop worrying.”

“Stop worrying? Ian--!”

“Kiss everyone for me.”

“IAN!”

“Bye Lip.”

Ian put the phone away and took a drag at his cigarette, glanced up just in time to watch Mickey come out from the water, shirtless and gorgeous and blue eyes brilliant against all that tan skin and fuck Ian loved him so much he could hardly stand it.

“Hey firecrotch.” Mickey had a new tattoo at the base of his neck, and Ian’s hand automatically found it when the brunette bent to give him a kiss, same way Mickey’s fingers instinctively brushed over the matching tattoo scrolled at Ian’s cheekbone--- Free.

“Hey beautiful.” Ian rumbled and Mickey laughed and pressed close again.

They reveled in slow kisses now that they were free, lingered over soft moments and smiled into each others eyes without worrying that anyone would see or that anyone would care. Ian remembered begging Mickey for kisses when they were kids, Mickey remembered being so damn scared about getting caught but now?

Now every embrace was slow and tender and they took their time because now they had time.

“You ready for a swim?” Mickey asked when they finally parted. “Ready to stop blinding the population with your pasty ass and try for a tan?”

“Yeah Mick.” Ian ignored the pasty ass comment and stripped his shirt off, followed his boyfriend down the beach. “I’m ready for anything with you.”

************

They got married with their feet in the water, Mickey’s blue eyes glowing like the ocean, Ian’s skin almost as red as his hair because he couldn’t tan to save his life.

“I, Mikhalio Milkovich, take you Ian Gallagher to be my lobster.” Mickey said solemnly, and the priest squawked in alarm when Ian picked Mickey up and just chucked him into the waves, tackled him down and held him under water until Mickey screeched Uncle and promised to do it right.

“I Ian Gallagher, take you Mickey Milkovich.” Ian was still laughing as he brushed water from Mickey’s hair and fit a simple golden band to his finger. “To have and to hold, to love until death do us part, and to finally fucking be free together.”

Kiss your groom.

“Come here.” Mickey said, but Ian was already halfway there, unable to wait a single minute more to kiss his husband, big hands in Mickey’s hair then down to frame his face, then further down to cover the place where his name was written across Mickey’s heart.

“I love you.” Ian murmured, and Mickey whispered back, “Fuck, I love you too.”

“You wanna go get drunk and have beach sex?” Ian suggested and Mickey laughed out loud over the priest’s expression and grabbed his husbands hand to race away down the beach.

They ran away together just like they had when they were kids, except this time they weren’t hiding, this time they were holding hands and shouting about being married and bumping in close to kiss over and over and over--

-- their wedding bands glinting gold like freedom in the sun.

*****************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE FIC!

*****************

@luvstruckscum @the-southern-sweetiepie @lele-hemmo @elliotkaingrey @castiel-beyond-and-forever @pootie-and-the-snoots @stutteringandmumbling @girlnic @miss-macca @a-procrastinating-blogger @supmorg @layweebookfreak @eversomniator @korrababy @idontwanna-wakeuplonely @megahuffledor @pixiebomber @sunflowertingzzzz @pillow-junkie

#ncts fics #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich

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echo-bleu · 4 years

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Vacation

Alex and Michael are on vacation in Paris. This is pure, self-indulgent fluff.

For @acomebackstory, whose prompt was "Malex on vacation in France. Michael keeps attempting to speak bad french with a terrible accent and all the locals hate him and Alex is giving everyone apologetic looks"

This went a little off prompt, but I hope you like it! Every single location and random fact mentioned is real :)

Read on AO3

"First real day of vacation,” Michael says, stretching in the huge hotel bed.

Alex props himself up on his elbow and smiles. “You excited?”

“Yeah! Paris, baby!”

Michael punches the air, and they both laugh. “It's gonna be amazing,” Michael says more quietly.

“You've ever been on vacation before?”

Michael bites his lip. “Not really. Never had someone to go with, or jobs I could take time off from. I took the Airstream out to a couple of places overnight back when I first got it, but that's it. Yesterday was my first time flying.”

Alex feels a little sad at that. He'd pieced it together, from Michael's anxiousness over this vacation and what he's told him about his life in Roswell over the last decade, but it's another thing to hear it confirmed.

“What about you?” Michael asks.

“I've been stationed in different places, and I usually went to explore if I got a chance,” Alex answers. “Mostly on my own, sometimes with the guys from the base, but I've never done something like this.”

“You mean going on a vacation as a couple?”

“Well, yeah, but also picking a place and deciding to go there just to have fun.”

Neither of them asks if they went on vacation as a child. They have something of a tacit agreement not to bring up their childhoods for no good reason, though they've spent many hours talking about the things they've been through. There's just no point ruining their fun by bringing up bad memories.

“So what's the plan for today?” Michael asks. “You said we wouldn't go see the Eiffel Tower until the last day, what are we doing until then?”

“Don't worry, there's plenty of other things to do in Paris. I thought we walk around here, maybe go see Notre-Dame?”

“Didn't it burn down?”

“Only the roof. It's closed to the public, but it's mostly interesting from the outside anyway.”

“How do you know all this? You've been here before?”

“No,” Alex shakes his head, sitting up. “I just did my homework. I like having a plan. You want the shower first?”

“Nah, you take it so you can do your PT while I shower.”

“Thanks.”

Alex is quick as always in the shower, a lifetime of military showers only slowed down a little by the need to sit down. Thankfully, he made sure that the hotel room was accessible before he booked it. By the time he's done, Michael is ready to take his place, and he's even pushed away the armchair to make space for Alex's slim PT mat.

They go down to breakfast half an hour later. The hotel restaurant is lively but not too noisy, and their table is in a corner. They're immediately served croissants and a choice of drinks.

Alex sweetly thanks the waitress in French and she smiles back, answering in kind.

“How do you speak French so well?” Michael asks.

“I told you, I was based in Tunisia for a while,” Alex answers, turning back to him.

“And you learned all the languages of the places you were in? Wait, don't Tunisian speak Arabic?”

“And French. Tunisia was a French colony. I had enough high school French to get by, and my Arabic was really bad, so I took Arabic classes in French.”

“Why would you even do that?” Michael grumbles. “You're such a nerd.”

“That's why you love me,” Alex snorts.

“Who says that's why? I may be secretly hoping to siphon the nerd out of you.”

Alex shakes his head. “You're just as much a nerd as I am. Why do you think I've planned for us to go the Palais de la Découverte tomorrow? They have a huge space exhibition and a conference on exoplanets.”

Michael throws up his arms. “Okay, you've got me. Exoplanets, really?”

“Yeah. I doubt there's going to be anything on telekinetic aliens, but I thought it worth checking out anyway.”

“You're amazing.”

Michael leans in to kiss him, but Alex pulls back, laughing. “Hey, you have a mouthful of croissant!”

“What? They're so good!”

Alex takes one crutch with him when they leave the hotel. He's going to need the support if they're on their feet all day, and he can only pray that his leg with hold up to the end of the week. Michael stops by the front desk in the lobby and butchers some French at the receptionist, grabbing a few pamphlets.

“So,” he starts when they're both standing on the sidewalk outside the hotel. “Where to?” He unfolds one of the pamphlets, which turns out to be a map. “Notre Dame is...there, and we're…can you help me out here?”

Alex watches him with amusement. “Are you actually using a paper map? Who even does that anymore?”

“I do,” Michael says sullenly, struggling to refold the map.

Alex pulls out his phone and brings up Google Maps. “We need to go in this direction,” he points.

Paris, or at least its center, turns out to be a real maze, though. After only a few minutes, they realize that they've been going in the wrong direction, and nothing is making sense, despite the blue dot on Alex's phone supposed to tell them where they are.

“Shit,” Alex beats himself up. “I'm supposed to be trained in this.”

“Not everything is enemy territory,” Michael shrugs. “How about we ask someone?”

Alex bites his lip. He's not quite ready to admit that stopping someone in the streets to ask for directions features in some of his nightmares−it's so stupid. It's a simple thing, yet he can't bring himself to do it.

“Pardon, ici c'est le rue Moon-gee?” Michael loudly asks a woman passing them before he can make a decision. (Sorry, here it is the Moon-gee street?)

The woman looks bewildered and Alex groans, dipping his head in embarrassment.

“Excusez-nous,” he says, summoning his courage. It's easier once the first contact has been made. “Nous cherchons Notre-Dame.” (Excuse us, we're looking for Notre-Dame)

“Descendez la rue jusqu'au bout, et vous la verrez sur la droite,” the woman answers without hesitation. (Go down the street to the end, and you'll see in on your right)

“Merci beaucoup,” Alex smiles at her. (Thank you very much)

“What did I do wrong?” Michael asks.

“It's pronounced 'Monj',” Alex says.

“But why? That doesn't make sense,” Michael complains.

“French spelling actually makes a lot more sense than English once you learn the rules.”

“That can't be true. All those letters that aren't even pronounced?”

Alex shrugs. “Believe what you will,” he smirks.

“Are you making fun of me?”

Alex goes to answer with something flippant, but there's an edge to Michael's voice that wasn't there before. “I'm not,” he says honestly. “I admire that you're bold enough to speak French even though you don't know much of the language. I really do. And there's nothing wrong with a paper map.”

Michael deflates. “I just...I want to get the full experience, you know?”

“I get that,” Alex says. “So do I.” Timidly, he holds his hand out to Michael.

“You think we can do that here?” Michael asks.

“There are so many tourists around, no one is paying attention,” Alex insists.

Michael grabs his hand and holds onto it tightly.

“Just relax. Enjoy the moment.”

“I love you,” Michael says in his ear.

Alex squeezes his hand with a smile.

Notre-Dame's parvis is packed with tourists, so Alex and Michael just take a few moments to admire the huge front, then decide to tour the island it stands on. Behind the front towers, the whole roof is missing, and the stones seem to be held up by scaffolding and no little amount of luck.

They walk hand in hand on the riverside, soaking in the spring sun. The tip of the island, where the two arms of the river meet, has a weeping willow overlooking the water, and they sit for a while on a bench under it. They're even daring enough to kiss.

Alex starts feeling his leg pull after walking for a couple of hours, despite their frequent breaks and the crutch. He tries not to feel guilty about slowing them down, and instead takes them to a small café on the other side of the bridge.

He lets Michael order them coffee in French, only speaking up to provide him with the vocabulary he's missing. The café's little patio overlooks the Seine and it feels a little like paradise, sitting in the sun together, admiring Notre Dame's towers and Paris's architecture from afar. They end up staying for lunch as well.

“We can go get ice cream for desert, I saw that the place that supposedly has the best in Paris is not far from here,” Alex offers.

“Ice cream sounds good, but I want to try crêpes as well,” Michael says.

“We have a week, we can try whatever you want. Did you know crêpes can make up a full meal too? Breton restaurants make buckwheat crêpes that are stuffed with just about anything you want.”

“Okay, then we have to try that.”

The ice creams, from a tiny place on the twin island, are amazing. Alex and Michael lick at their cones while ambling along, playfully stealing each other's ice cream.

They walk a little further along the river, finding barges that actually seem to be lived in, and then a park with blooming flowers at the water level. They end up in the Jardin des Plantes, admiring the color-themed flowerbed and the rare trees, the flora as different from the New Mexico desert as it can be.

Michael steals Alex's phone and looks up every plant they come across.

“I didn't know you liked plants so much,” Alex tells him.

“Not many to geek about in the desert. I've always been curious, but I've never seen so many species in one place before. Or that much green, really.”

“I'll have to take you out more often,” Alex laughs, thinking of the landscapes and forest of Oregon and northern California where he was stationed.

“Did you know there was another river flowing under here once?” Michael reads from the phone. “The...Bee-ye-ver?”

“Bièvre,” Alex corrects, looking over his shoulder. “Almost.”

“Whatever. It was buried under the city because it became too dirty. Seems like a strange idea. Oh, they have a mineralogy exhibition!”

“You mean like stones?”

“Yes! Can we go?”

Michael is giddy with excitement, almost jumping up and down. Alex laughs and nods. How can he say no to that face?

The exhibition turns out to be fairly small, but beautiful, made up of crystals and gems of all sizes. Alex finds Michael staring at large meteorite fragments.

“It's stupid, but I feel a sort of kinship with them,” he explains. “Not like we came from the same place, but there aren't a lot of stuff on Earth that came directly from space.”

“No, I get it. It's like…going to a foreign country where no one speaks English, and running into an Australian?”

Michael laughs. “You know, I actually have no idea if that metaphor is good or not. This is the first time I've been out of the US, beside, you know, before the crash.”

“Right. Definitely have to take you out more.”

“I'll hold you to that. Do you want to go back to the hotel?”

Alex frowns uncomprehendingly at the sudden change of subject. “Why?”

“Your limp is getting worse. It might be time to call it a day, no?”

Alex sighs. “I feel like we've barely done anything.”

“Alex, it's been an amazing day. I mean it. But I really don't want it to end with you in pain.”

“Okay,” Alex nods, biting his lip. “Yes, I probably need to rest my leg. Maybe we can go back out for a walk after dinner, or at least find a nice place to eat.”

“Sure. Hey, taking care of you is also part of this vacation, and it's something I'm going to enjoy, okay? You're not taking anything from me, or whatever you're thinking.”

“I know,” Alex sighs as Michael pulls him closer. “I still need some adjusting, I guess.”

Michael puts an arm around him. “Then we'll adjust together.”

“I love you,” Alex murmurs into the hug. He doesn't say it often, and he feels Michael squeeze him tighter. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. I couldn't be happier to be right here with you.”

#roswell nm #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #fluff #mine #echo's fanfiction

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hellyeahomeland · 4 years

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“Threnody(s)”: an HYH recap

First things first: a threnody is “a wailing ode, song, hymn, or poem of mourning composed or performed as a memorial to a dead person.” If it clicked far too late for you that the parentheses and ‘s’ meant that more than one person would die this week... welcome to the club.

This soul crusher of an episode opens with Haqqani reading the Quran in his cell. A few guards arrive to get him and he walks, peacefully, slowly, while the other prisoners bang their cups against their cells (a real thing that happens on death row in American prisons). He’s handcuffed to a post in an open-air courtyard as he stares down a lineup of soldiers with rifles, all aiming at him.

Cut to Hayes, Linus, and Hugh Dancy John Zabel in the Oval Office. They have the video that Jalal Haqqani shot of Max last episode. This is now a hostage situation and… look how these dots connect. If G’ulom executes Haqqani, Jalal will execute Max. Hayes pleads with G’ulom to halt the execution, at least until they can retrieve Max. G’ulom agrees, but only for 24 hours.

Saul calls Carrie on the sat phone and she asks for an update. When is special ops coming? He still doesn’t know, but hey! At least now people other than Carrie seem to sort of care about whether Max lives or dies. She says the situation there is “quiet but fucked,” which is a perfect descriptor of most Homeland scenes.

Saul steps into a meeting with the White House to discuss Max’s exfiltration. It’s tough, because there’s no cover and the house they’ve got Max in is completely exposed. Also it’s in Pakistan so that adds another layer of complication. Hayes wants to know the odds. Resident Scott Ryan delivers the not so great, not so bad news: 50/50.

Hayes has a freakout because even when they went to kill bin Laden it was like 80%. But 50%? It doesn’t help that John Zabel is the figurative devil on his shoulder, making arguments like:

We don’t negotiate with terrorists. (Heh? It’s not a negotiation.)

I don’t even know who Max is. (You literally just got here. SIT DOWN, JOHN.)

“The US government can’t be expected to come to the rescue of every adventurer who gets himself in trouble overseas.” (Fuck you, dude.)

If the rescue fails, it’ll sink your presidency. (Your wife Carrie Mathison is gonna come after your ass.)

Elsewhere in the West Wing, Linus is snooping in John’s office and finds a printout of a speech he’s been working on for Hayes, the gist of which is: “Peace in the Middle East? I don’t know her.”

If you’re wondering whether John Zabel was successful in convincing Hayes to leave Max to die, in the very next scene Haqqani is dragged back into the courtyard. Saul is there. Once again they line up, but this time they go through with it. The bullets hit him and he doubles over. Saul watches in horror. Then, miraculously, he inhales sharply, very much not dead. He pulls himself up and stands again. G’ulom orders them to reload as prisoner’s chants of Haqqani’s name reach them. They fire again, and he falls to his knees. The job is done.

Back at the compound, there’s movement. Yevgeny brings Carrie a news report: an image of Haqqani, chest filled with bullets, slumped over. Carrie knows what this means, and then she spots the Taliban soldiers escorting Max out of the house, seemingly to take him to another location. She calls for the crew to get their stuff, they need to follow them and can’t lose track. Then, through the scope of the binoculars, she spots Jalal Haqqani shoot Max in the chest from close range. One two three.

Carrie races down the hillside as the Taliban soldiers all flee in their trucks. She gets to Max, lying on his side, blood in the dirt. She checks his pulse, but the worst has happened—again. She breaks down in sobs as she clutches his body.

In Washington, Linus is furious with John Zabel—who might just be as evil as his beard is tragique. Linus is in disbelief about this “speech” Zabel has written. A speech where he calls for security along the entire Afghan-Pakistani border that will be guarded entirely by the Pakistani military—the military of a country Zabel refers to as “failed and duplicitous.” It’s basically Homeland’s version of Tr*mp saying Mexico will pay for the wall after he called Mexicans criminals and rapists.

ANYWAY. Zabel spits back that he can’t be as dumb as Linus, who got two presidents killed. And, I mean I did make this point last week, but that doesn’t make Zabel any less evil.

Meanwhile, Saul is overseeing the preparation of Haqqani’s body. Carrie calls him. She’s still sitting next to Max’s body, her face is stained with tears.

Carrie: Max is dead. Fuck you. Saul: What? Carrie: He’s dead. Fuck you. By the way, thanks for the special ops team. They were really handy. Saul: POTUS wouldn’t move. Carrie: You wouldn’t make him move. You did nothing. You brought him here and it was your responsibility to protect him. That was your fucking job! Not mine. But I still tried, and he’s still dead. Did I say fuck you yet? Because fuck you. And fuck special ops too! Saul: I deserved that. But also, Carrie, you can’t keep running around with Yevgeny in the Pakistani countryside. Even though it brings great joy to Sara. Carrie: Fuck you, dude. At least Yevgeny gave a shit. Saul: You still have to come in. Carrie: Come and get Max. I’ll still be here. Fuck you, goodbye.

The Taliban are holding a town meeting. Haqqani’s lieutenant says they need to keep on the same path that Haqqani set out for them: peace. He knows that none of them were responsible for the helicopters crashing, so peace really is still possible. Just then, Haqqani and the Taliban Teenagers roll up. That’s right, it’s time for a little power battle. Jalal tells them all that his father is a hero. He wouldn’t die even after they shot him. He says we have to honor him: not by respecting the choice he made for peace, but by emulating him back when he was busting into embassies and murdering people. And also: it was I, Jalal Haqqani, who fired the RPG that brought down the presidents’ helicopters! And we will do the same for any other infidels who stand in our way!

After the meeting, the lieutenant comes over to Jalal and asks for some one-on-one time. He knows that Jalal didn’t shoot down the helicopters and Jalal gaslights him a bit. He also knows that Haqqani didn’t choose Jalal to be his successor, and Jalal gaslights him a little bit more. Jalal offers him some money or poppy fields if he’ll buzz off, but all he wants is peace, his country back. Jalal says they’ll get their country back, but not through peace.

In the Oval Office, Hayes is sitting with the Two Stooges, who both want him to say something wildly different in his address to the nation. Hayes just says, “figure it out,” which is kind of hilarious and that’s when Zabel springs into action. He calls up some woman named Claudette and asks for any dirt she has on this situation. Which now means he’s cosmically linked with Carrie because she was trying to do the same thing last season.

They’ve moved Max’s body inside the house, but Carrie is still sitting there next to him. They’ve removed the bright orange jumpsuit and he’s lying on a small rug, barefoot. Yevgeny wants to know what their next move is. Carrie says she’ll just hang out until special ops comes, then she’ll go back to Kabul with Max. She understands if Yevgeny wants to leave now, before special ops comes, but like the good boyfriend he is, he sits down next to her and asks who this Max guy was anyway.

Carrie’s surprised. She told him everything about her life (!!) but not this? Nope. She goes on: Max was… always there for her. She’s known him forever, and wherever she went, he’d dutifully follow, always by her side. And the reason she never mentioned him is clear now, too. She took him for granted and took advantage of him. And now he’s dead. What a horrifying replay of events. “I’m so sorry, Max,” she sobs. She kneels down next to his body, her hands on his chest, and repeats it, over and over: “I’m so sorry.” Yevgeny comes over to comfort her and she clings to him amid more heaving sobs.

The next day, Hayes has decided on his speech, which—surprise!—is the “cowardly” Linus version, where he just says “let’s do peace.” John Zabel is highly displeased but luckily Claudette has arrived just in time with that dirt he requested. It’s not dirt, but just intel: one of the soldiers at the secret Taliban power struggle meeting last night was actually recording the whole thing. So now they have Jalal on video saying he killed the presidents. Who cares if he’s actually telling the truth!

He races to Hayes to tell him what’s happened and in what language. Hayes is like “fuck, I need a moment,” and that’s when Zabel swoops in with his first draft racist speech and is like, “here ya go!” I’m sorry to say, but this actually seems realistic.

Saul arrives to the base where the special ops team is preparing to retrieve Max (and Carrie). They’re all huddled around a laptop screen opened to Hayes’ speech, which goes something like this:

We got the wrong Haqqani! Oops! Anyway, who’s ready for more war?

The reactions are “Can you believe this shit?” and “Oh, Christ,” which are both extremely relatable!

Linus is once again furious with Zabel.

Linus: What the actual fuck! Zabel: You weren’t here. Actually where were you? Aren’t you the Chief of Staff? Linus: You fucking idiot, we’re on a collision course with a nuclear power. Zabel: Don’t be such a drama queen. Pakistan will back down. Linus: No they won’t, dipshit. Also good job on making Jalal Haqqani a folk hero. He was a nobody 90 seconds ago. You’re pushing us into ANOTHER war that we can’t win. Zabel: See, that’s your problem, bro. You don’t think America can win any war. Anyway, I’m outie. Linus: We’re so fucked.

Saul and the special ops team fly over Carrie and Yevgeny’s location. Carrie tells Yevgeny that she can’t stay out here with him forever, and he’s like, “hmm, are you sure *wink*?” She thanks him and he takes position by his truck with his crew. This is the Carrie/Yevgeny equivalent of dropping someone off at home and waiting until you watch them walk through their front door before leaving.

Saul and the team touch down and retrieve Max’s body. Saul fills Carrie in on the pile of shit that’s happened in the last 48 hours. He hopes she has something to make it less shitty. She reveals she has a lead on the black box but doesn’t elaborate. Saul doesn’t ask any follow-up questions but says they’ll find it together, like old times. She agrees, but asks for no more bullshit about her loyalty, or Mike, or the FBI. She did what she had to do. He promises he’s on her side, but she doesn’t totally believe him.

They’re about to board the helicopter when one of the special ops team members requests to search Carrie. “What?” Carrie says, before realizing she’s surrounded by a special ops team carrying automatic weapons. Saul looks around in disbelief too. Carrie spots plastic cuffs, and it all feels suddenly like a trap. It escalates quickly from there:

Carrie pulls out her gun, quickly backing away, in Yevgeny’s direction.

Saul tries his best to calm everyone down.

Yevgeny fires his gun to distract them.

Saul pleads with Carrie to come back, it’s all a misunderstanding.

“What, so we can work together?” she spits.

“Yes, I need you.”

“In fucking handcuffs!”

He says he didn’t know. She calls him a liar and runs back toward Yevgeny. Saul, rightfully livid, heads to the helicopter and asks whose genius idea this all was.

Yevgeny, ever the gentleman, opens the car door for Carrie. She turns back and glares at Saul, the perceived betrayal still a stinging wound (on top of everything else), before they drive off. The helicopter lifts off and Saul watches from above as Carrie and Yevgeny speed away. He has a look on his face not too unlike when he left Carrie in Moscow last season (and, come to think of it, this involves a lot of the same people). In the car, Carrie reveals to Yevgeny that she’s also been looking for the flight recorder and that she knows where it is.

Seriously though, something has palpably broken just now, possibly the last shred of trust left between Carrie and Saul. Carrie has been conditioned all season to distrust those who call themselves her friends. Now she’s actually lost her last remaining friend (in the world), bringing a devastating new literal meaning to the phrase “nothing left to lose.” That Carrie could so quickly get to a spot where her handgun is out and she’s ten seconds from Yevgeny’s car says a lot about the distrust and fear just simmering below the surface. That she didn’t hesitate to suspect Saul was in on it reveals just how broken and filled with resentment their relationship now is. And that Saul actually was on her side makes the end result that much more tragic.

#homeland #threnody(s)#an hyh recap #*#by: sara #homeland spoilers #this episode is .... fml

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lovemesomerafael · 4 years

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Destroying The Planet To Save It Chapter 31: Not The T-Shirt!

Chapters 1- 30 Read It On AO3

Welp, Tony had finally found something he hated more than staff meetings.

It really fucking hurt getting shot in the chest. All three times. So when he regained consciousness on the concrete floor of a cold, damp room, looking into the face of the same inbred asshole who’d shot him, he was not as polite as he might otherwise have been. He also couldn’t breathe, which meant he didn’t let the guy know what he thought of him with quite his usual enthusiasm. But he was pretty sure the guy got the idea.

“Hey!” The guy yelled into Tony’s face, shoving against Tony’s arm, as if to get his attention. Like his attention wasn’t pretty much riveted on the guy’s ugly, mustached mug. “You’re awake!”

Tony could do nothing but roll his eyes, which he did spectacularly, even in his current condition. The guy had an accent. Tony didn’t know accents well enough to know where he was from, but his first language was clearly Spanish.

“Who the hell are you?” Mustache asked loudly, as though having three bullet holes somehow affected Tony’s hearing. Also as though he wasn’t shouting from about six inches away.

Tony tried to gather enough air to ask for help, but found that it was simply beyond him at the moment. He probably shouldn’t have used up so much energy on the eyeroll, but it had been a priority at the time, and he didn’t regret it.

Mustache turned his head to shout at someone else for a change, maybe toward a door or something, “Hey, he’s awake!”

Tony closed his eyes, thinking that he really, really did not want to die here in the presence of this slack-jawed ignoramus. And he kind of felt like shit, which the guy’s yelling was not helping.

“Need… doctor…”

Another man rushed into the room, looking down at Tony, who blinked his eyes briefly and then mustered all his resources to croak again, “Need… help…”

Tony heard the new guy smack Mustache before launching into a stream of Spanish that sounded pissed off. Or maybe that was just Tony being optimistic. Once Mustache moved aside and the new guy knelt next to Tony, it became apparent that the new guy was at least a little bit human. He dropped a metal first aid kit onto the floor next to him (Tony wasn’t a doctor, but he suspected that unless a complete operating suite and a surgical team was going to pop out of that box like those spring-loaded snakes in a can, that wasn’t going to do it) and tore Tony’s flannel shirt open.

Both men gasped, and Tony knew they were seeing the Arc Reactor shining through the T-shirt Tony was wearing. The new guy grabbed a scissors from the first aid kit and swiftly cut through the T-shirt before Tony could stop him. Which really pissed him off, because it was his Blue Öyster Cult one. He loved that T-shirt, dammit!

The guy seemed to think the fact that Tony had an Arc Reactor in his chest was Mustache’s fault, because he turned to Mustache and began to berate him in high-volume, staccato Spanish. Tony recognized some of the words as being ones not learned in Sunday school. Mustache started to defend himself, but was cut off abruptly by the new guy. Tony used a bit of his sparse energy to open his eyes. The guy wasn’t as ugly as Mustache, but his face was cratered with some serious pockmarks. Tony imagined that puberty had been hell on the poor dude, who looked to be in his thirties now.

“Ambulance,” Tony managed to whisper.

Pockface ignored him, or maybe didn’t hear him, given Tony’s inability to generate any volume. He used the tails of Tony’s flannel shirt to wipe the blood from Tony’s wounds, then tore open some gauze, which he pressed to the wounds. Tony would have screamed, if he could have. Instead, he passed out.

**************

Sam was having a very hard time concentrating on the mission. He and Anita were outside of Córdoba, in central Argentina, in the process of breaking into a food processing plant. He supposed he was interested and all, but this was definitely not his usual level of focus. Because according to the comms traffic, Tony Stark was in deep shit all alone in New Mexico.

Sam and Anita both itched to simply blast their way into the factory building and to the machine. Instead, on Steve’s orders, they were trying to be stealthy so that they wouldn’t have to engage with the security guards that were known to be on site. Sam actually kind of wanted to engage with them. He needed to hit something. Besides, this damn massive joint didn’t even make human food. It made pet food. Sam was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what went on in this building.

Sam covered Anita as she utilized the small device with its stylish Stark Industries logo to disable the electronic door lock. They were going to have to take their chances with an alarm system. As far as Friday could tell, there wasn’t one. Not even video surveillance, just security guards. Sam knew it wasn’t actually possible for an A.I. to get distracted, but then, he often forgot that Friday wasn’t actually human. And she was definitely protective of Tony. He just hoped she wasn’t too focused on him when she was gathering intel about this place.

There was no way to know where in this giant factory the machine might be. There was nothing for it but to search, so Sam and Anita had entered through the most inconspicuous door they could find, which happened to open into a massive storage area. To Sam’s relief, it didn’t smell. Anita whispered to him that the labels on the boxes told her they were full of dry ingredients like rice and fillers. Weapons drawn, the two began a systematic exploration of the plant.

********

Bucky wasn’t happy. He’d never been to Papua New Guinea, and he wanted to see a place that still remained so exotic and mysterious, even in this insanely intrusive age. Instead, he and Joss were pushing their quinjet to its limits trying to get back to the U.S. as quickly as possible. It wasn’t likely that they would get to New Mexico in time to help rescue Tony, given that Natasha and Clint were just hours away now, and Steve was already on a quinjet of his own screaming over the Atlantic toward home. But as soon as Coulson had advised them that Tony was in trouble, Bucky was scorching the atmosphere to get to him.

He was worried. Coulson had relayed Friday’s report that Tony had been shot. According to Coulson, she was as frantic as an A.I. could get about his vital signs. Bucky had never hoped to miss out on the action before, but he did now. He prayed that, when they finally reached home, Tony was already safe and sound back in the Tower.

“Keep me posted,” Bucky asked Coulson over his headset.

“Will do.”

A cloud passed over Bucky’s face. “What are we gonna do about that machine in New Guinea?”

“I’m sending a team in. We know that machine is abandoned. We’ll take care of it.”

Bucky signed off and turned to Joss. “So much for our enjoyable flight home. Sorry about that.”

“You can make it up to me,” she smiled. “Besides, I haven’t flown anything supersonic since I left the Air Force. I hate the reason we’re rushing back, but that part’s all right.”

Bucky smiled back. Joss had a hell of a good attitude. That was good. If she was going to be his girl, the ability to just roll with it was a job requirement.

Huh. His girl. He liked the sound of that.

****************

Steve was in no mood to deal with delays when they reached New York. Director Coulson, expecting that would be the case, had arranged for a fully-fueled quinjet with all Steve’s gear to be waiting for them once they landed. He and Sharon literally ran across the tarmac from one jet to the other and, the minute they were on board, the pilots of the second quinjet took off.

Not being the one flying the jet gave Steve the chance to suit up and concentrate fully on the reports from Clint and Natasha. They were on the ground, but they’d come by regular jet, and Red Stone dam was remote. It was going to take them some time to get there, even by chopper.

Meanwhile, Friday relayed Tony’s vital signs. Steve wasn’t sure how to feel when she reported that he was currently unconscious. Was that a good thing? At least he wasn’t experiencing pain at the moment. Or was it the harbinger of worse things to come? Steve was practically crawling out of his skin with anxiety. Although he’d always been awed by the speed quinjets could achieve, suddenly Mach 2 seemed unbearably slow to him.

****************

Tony had no way of knowing how long he’d been out, but he was conscious for a long time before he could open his eyes. He listened to Pockface and Mustache cussing eachother out in Spanish and wondered whether he should let them know he was awake. He realized he didn’t have much of a choice. It was really hard to breathe, and he felt dizzy even lying down on the hard floor of the dam control building.

It seemed to take a ridiculous amount of effort to open his eyes. Even when he did, he couldn’t keep them open. He thought he must look like he was batting his eyes at Pockface, as many times as he tried to open them, only to have them close again.

Once he could hold his eyes open, Tony looked around the room without turning his head or moving, both of which were beyond him at the moment. He was pretty sure the black thing in front of him was the machine, although he’d never seen one from this angle. Hey, good for him, he’d found it. Too bad he couldn’t even lift the screwdriver to open the first panel, let alone perform the rest of the steps to destroy it. He hurt. He couldn’t breathe. His weakness and dizziness told him he had probably lost a shitload of blood. Now that he thought about it, he was also shivering.

Tony finally managed to turn his head to the side and saw a door. He also saw long streaks of blood leading from that door across the floor from where Mustache had apparently dragged him in here. He closed his eyes again. If he wasn’t careful, Tony could actually let himself get a little scared here.

“Hey,” he croaked weakly.

Both men turned to him. They’d been standing between him and the machine as they argued. When Pockface heard Tony’s voice, he hastened to Tony’s side and knelt, waving a hand at the Arc Reactor. “Who are you? What the hell is that thing?”

“D-Dam inssssspec…” Tony had to stop to breathe. “ID. Pocket.”

“We found that. What are you doing here? Why were we not notified?”

“Surprise insssss-“

“Since when does the State inspect this dam? It’s federal property.”

Tony would have huffed in annoyance if he could have. For fuck’s sake, dude, can you not see I am in no shape for a confab? He closed his eyes and forced himself to whisper, “Help.”

“Not until you tell us what you’re doing here.”

“Bleeding…”

“Ha, ha, tough guy. The State doesn’t come inspect in the middle of the night. And you haven’t answered my question. What the fuck is that glowy thing in your chest?”

“Boss, your blood pressure is low, but your heart rate and your blood pressure both just jumped. What’s going on?”

Tony didn’t know why Friday asked such a dumb question. She was well aware that morons had that effect on him. The other reason he didn’t answer her question was in hopes that Pockface and Mustache would continue not to notice his comms.

“Pa- Pace…maker. Shot me… Need help… You help, I forget. I die, s’murder…”

Pockface seemed to be considering Tony’s offer. He said nothing as he checked the makeshift bandages he’d placed on Tony’s gunshot wounds. The gauze was already saturated on the one in his right chest, which is the one Tony thought had collapsed his lung. The other one on the right hurt the most, but if Tony remembered his anatomy, was too high to have hit anything major. Still, it was bleeding almost as much as the one in his lung. The one in his lower left chest didn’t seem to be bleeding much anymore; the spot on the gauze was growing fairly slowly. He was pretty sure that one had broken a rib, though.

Pockface went into the first aid kit and took out the last of the gauze, squinting as he decided which of Tony’s bandages most needed reinforcement. Tony felt a drop of sweat roll off his forehead, onto his temple and into his hair, which was odd, since he was also shivering. Suddenly, through the haze of his mind, he realized that the wounds on his chest probably weren’t the big ones. Those were entrance wounds. Exit wounds were always bigger. And those were on his back.

He thought it was weird that he could see his vision tunneling, then narrow to a point, even though his eyes had fallen shut again. He wished Friday would shut up with the “Boss! Boss!” in his ear so he could fall into the soft, welcoming blackness in peace.

****************

Sam pulled back just in time to avoid being spotted by the security guard lazily wandering down the hallway outside of the factory lunchroom he and Anita had found themselves in. Flattening themselves against the wall, they realized that there was nowhere for them to hide if the guard decided to come into the room. They stood, trying not to breathe, as they listened to his soft-soled shoes squeak intermittently on the tile floor.

To their relief, the guard passed by the double doors to the lunchroom and Sam was able to watch his retreating back through the glass panel in the door. The guard sauntered for a ways down the hall, then turned into another hallway. Sam gave him plenty of time to get further away before opening the door as slowly as he could. He and Anita slipped out into the hallway, and Sam eased the door shut again. They moved on.

They needed to catch a break here. Friday had located blueprints, but there was nothing in them that indicated where the machine might be. The blueprints helped in that Sam and Anita had a map of the factory’s layout, but that was about all they were good for. Even the electrical diagrams didn’t show anything anomalous, which meant that the diagrams filed with the authorities in Córdoba were not the ones that had been used to actually build the pet food plant.

At the end of the hallway was a double metal door. That seemed promising. The problem was, it was locked, and the lock was a standard, heavy-duty key lock. Anita had a lock picking gun in a pouch on her utility belt, but using that was going to make noise. The better choice was for her to pick the lock using traditional lock picking tools, which would take longer, but might not attract attention.

They almost made it.

Anita had most of the tumblers pulled back and was just starting to relax when they heard footsteps. They looked at each other for a second, Sam nodded once, and Anita went back to work. Sam moved his gun hand so that it hung down low, concealing the Steyr behind his thigh. It didn’t occur to either of them that they’d just had an entire conversation in a split second, without words.

The security guard began shouting at them in excited Spanish as soon as he saw them, but kept walking toward them. Sam was relieved. He’d been concerned that the guy might run, which would have meant Sam had to choose between staying with Anita or chasing the guard to prevent him calling for help.

With the biggest smile he could fake, Sam stepped in front of Anita and put out his hand in a silly, but attention-getting, wave. He called out a greeting in cheerful English, hoping against hope the guy didn’t speak it, and was rewarded when the guard’s steps stuttered a bit and he stopped shouting. The poor guy actually tipped his head a little, like a dog, as if that would help him understand Sam.

“Dude, I’m so glad to see you. Do you speak English?”

The Guard knew that phrase, anyway, and shrugged. “No,” he answered, then realized he should be more concerned about this guy wearing all black and holding a hand behind him.

It was too late. Sam was now less than five feet from him and had pulled the Steyr around to aim at the security guard before he could do anything.

“Come with me,” Sam said in Spanish, and signaled for the guard to walk ahead of him. As the guard passed him and Sam turned toward Anita, she finished picking the lock and the metal door popped open.

She stood up, smiling. To the security guard, she said cheerily, “Hi. Nice to meet you. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re actually glad to see you, because we could use your help. But first, let’s see what’s behind door number one.”

The room was massive. Even with only every fourth light fixture illuminated, the stainless steel machinery and conveyor system gleamed in the all-white room.

“Huh,” Anita said, glancing at Sam. She turned back to the security guard. “There’s a machine here. Black, shaped like the pyramids at Chichen Itza. Glows green. You know it?”

“What are you talking about? Chichen Itza?” The guard looked more confused than anything, but became slightly more alarmed as Sam lifted the guard’s radio from his belt. Fortunately, the guy wasn’t armed, which Sam hoped meant that none of the other guards were, either.

“You got a passkey?” Sam asked, and Anita translated for him.

With shaking hands, the guard pulled a key ring from his pocket and picked out the right key, then handed it to Anita.

“Okay,” she said, smiling. “You sure you don’t know of any big black machine that glows green? Because my boyfriend here is kind of in a hurry. It’d sure help us out if you knew what we were talking about.”

“Lady, what the… There’s nothing like that here. They make cat food-“

“OK. Fine. Then tell me what rooms you’re not allowed to go into.”

“None! We don’t go into the offices, but we check the doors, and we each have routes we walk…”

Sam moved until he was within the guard’s line of sight and began messing with his Steyr, aiming it at imaginary targets and jerking it up slightly as though firing it. He almost made a “pew-pew-pew” sound, but realized in time that would be far more lame than scary.

The guard’s eyes widened and he spoke quickly in his growing agitation. “I don’t know! There’s no… Wait. There’s a door. I always wondered where it went, but it has a keypad thingie. I don’t know the combination.”

“Show us.”

Sam followed as Anita walked next to the security guard. He was worried as hell about Tony, but it didn’t stop him from appreciating the way Anita’s hips swayed when she walked. Or the way she already had the guard more afraid of her than he was of Sam, who was actually the one brandishing a gun.

*************

Clint and Natasha had landed at a distance and come in to the dam complex on foot, working their way closer and closer until they were on their bellies in a depression in the rock about two hundred yards out from the control building. They’d been observing the dam complex and strategizing with Steve when the day shift arrived. Once that happened, things went to shit fast.

The first two day shift workers had apparently carpooled, and went in together. About ten minutes later, another dusty pickup truck pulled into the complex and a third man entered the building, followed quickly by a fourth. With the enhanced hearing his Stark hearing aids gave him, Clint noticed the shouting as soon as it began. Natasha didn’t need any tech to hear the gunshots that followed about five minutes later.

There was some good news. Once Clint and Natasha ran into the building, weapons ready, there was really no reason Steve’s quinjet couldn’t just land in the open area behind the complex when it arrived. Stealth was no longer possible or useful now. The gunmen also let the day shift workers leave unharmed, so there was that. Apparently, not all the dam workers knew about the machine.

But Pockface wasn’t stupid. He kept a gun on Tony and threatened to shoot him in the head this time. Clint and Natasha had no choice but to surrender their weapons. So now three Avengers were being held hostage, and none of them could help Tony. It was clear even from across the machine room that he was in deep, deep trouble. He was pale grey and sweaty, breathing shallowly, and not reacting even when Pockface shoved his gun against Tony’s temple to finally get Clint and Natasha to disarm and stand against a wall.

“I knew this guy was no dam inspector!” Mustache cried. “This is the Hawkeye and the Black Widow! That means he’s fuckin’ Tony Stark, man! That’s the Ironman!”

“It’s just ‘Ironman’, dude.” It kind of sounded to Clint like Mustache was having a fanboy moment. That kind of stupidity did not bode well for this situation.

“Look,” Natasha tried, “You’re right. OK? That is Tony Stark. You know what that means? You save him, you’re heroes. Probably rich, he’s generous as hell to people who help him. But he dies? You’re the assholes who killed Ironman. You really want the rain of shit that’ll bring down on you?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Pockface screamed. He was pacing up and down the length of Tony’s body where it lay on the floor, pulling at his own hair and muttering to himself in pressured Spanish. He had clearly not known who his captives were.

“I can see you’re trying to find a way out of this. Let us help you,” Natasha offered, speaking Spanish now, too.

Pockface looked up at her, and she thought she might have been about to get a dialogue going. Except that, at that moment, Steve’s plane became audible. It was not the sound of a normal airplane, and was already unmistakably close, which instantly sent Pockface into a full-on panic. He screamed to Mustache to go check out the sound and held his shaking gun on Clint and Natasha. She tried, once, to continue the conversation, but he just brandished the gun and shrieked at her to shut up.

********************

Sam and Anita didn’t look at one another as the security guard, whose name was Alfonso, led them around a corner to a dead end hallway. The corridor was out of the way, tucked back behind a massive cold storage unit whose contents Sam was trying very hard not to contemplate, given that they made pet food here. As the guard had said, the doorway at the end, which was nondescript with paint beginning to flake off of it, had a keypad next to it. It also had a black bubble above it, of the kind that housed surveillance cameras. Sam glanced up at it and realized that, although it made him nervous, there was probably nobody monitoring the view from that camera anymore. At least he hoped not.

Anita used the same Starktech gizmo she’d used before to disable the electronic lock. This time, however, when the door opened, an alarm sounded, shrill and loud in the near-empty factory. Sam grabbed security guard Alfonso by the scruff of his neck and hurled him through the door, slamming it as soon as Anita had slipped inside.

“Fuck!” Sam hissed. “What’s that alarm? Who’s coming?”

Anita quickly translated and Alfonso began to babble agitatedly.

“He doesn’t know,” Anita told Sam. “He says he’s never heard that alarm before. He thinks the other guards will come down here to check it out.”

“Can he radio them, tell them it’s all good?”

Anita asked Alfonso the question, but Sam almost didn’t listen to the answer. Alfonso was too strung out now. No one would believe him if he said everything was under control. The best they could do now was to hope that Alfonso was telling the truth about not knowing what that alarm was. That should mean none of the other guards did, either. If there was no indication where the alarm was coming from, like a light outside the door to this room, maybe they’d have to spend time looking for the source…

Sam began frantically searching the room to see if he could find a control panel or something where he might be able to turn the alarm off.

************

As it turned out, Pockface didn’t need Mustache to tell him that the plane was coming for them. Although the machine room had no windows, they could all hear the quinjet engines change pitch as it went into hover and then get louder as it descended. Pockface spat another string of obscenities.

“You know who that is, right?” Natasha asked calmly.

Pockface’s response was another expletive. Clint wanted to swear, too, because he really wished he spoke Spanish right now. He wondered briefly whether the crazed gunman currently holding them hostage would let him pull out his phone so he could use Google Translate to follow along. Probably not.

“You know that’s Captain America,” Natasha continued, voice low and soothing. “You do not wanna mess with him. Lower your weapon so we can tell him not to kill you.”

Pockface knelt next to Tony then, and aimed his gun at Tony’s ashen face. Mustache came running down the hall and into the room, eyes wide and breath heaving.

“That plane landed!”

“I can hear that, idiot!” Pockface hissed. Why aren’t you out there making sure no one can get out without being shot?”

“Man, fuck that! It’s gotta be more fuckin’ Avengers! I don’ wanna die, man!”

“Shut up! Just cover those two, you asshole, and let me think!”

There were a lot of problems here. One of the biggest was that there were two doors to the machine room. They couldn’t cover both of them and the hostages, too. Fuck Arias! Why the hell did he have to get his ass captured? Come to think of it, Pockface wondered, why the hell had he thought he should continue to guard the damn machine, anyway? What had he thought he’d gain?

He was mired in that thought when the door to his left sort of… disintegrated. How the hell had Captain America moved so fast? Mustache started to whimper.

That’s when Pockface started to get truly desperate.

“Captain America!” He screamed. “Show yourself! If you don’t show yourself right now I’m going to put a bullet in Ironman’s skull!”

There was a noise from the door to the right and a fully-suited Captain America was suddenly filling the doorway, all shoulders and shield. Pockface thought he looked seriously pissed.

“Throw your shield down,” Pockface cried. “And don’t try anything. You can’t hit both of us with it, so you try to throw it, one of your friends dies.”

Steve stood still for a moment, not moving so much as his eyes, then lowered his shield and set it on the floor. He stepped oh-so-slowly past it, into the room and toward Pockface.

“That’s far enough! Don’t –“

At that moment, a loud thud sounded behind Pockface as the second door exploded. Steve dived for Pockface’s feet, but Pockface was already jumping away from the noise of the explosion. Although Mustache screamed like a little girl, both he and Pockface somehow managed to keep enough of their wits to hold onto their weapons. But at least Steve was now on the floor next to Tony, although Pockface could now hold his gun on both of them at the same time.

Tony’s eyes opened then. “Capsicle?” He whispered.

Steve reached out and placed a hand on Tony’s arm. “Relax, Tony. I got this.”

Looking at the gun Pockface aimed at them, and the one Mustache aimed at Clint and Natasha, Tony actually managed a slight movement of his lips. Although they had a terrifying bluish tinge to them now, Steve could see that it was an attempt at a mocking grin.

“See that,” Tony managed, wincing as a spasm of pain hit him.

Steve turned back to Pockface, twisting to get to his knees between Pockface and Tony. “You gotta get him some help. Look at him. He’s dying!”

“Can’t do that,” Pockface replied, his expression and the agitation in his voice terrifying evidence of how close he was to losing it. “Maybe I put him out of his misery.”

“No!” Steve cried, putting out a hand as though to stop a bullet from reaching Tony.

“Move aside, Captain America.” Pockface gestured with his gun. “Get over there with the others.”

Everyone in the room could see something in Steve change. He straightened up, reaching back to put a hand on Tony’s abdomen. His voice was suddenly made of granite as he growled, “I’m not leaving him.”

“I will kill you!” Pockmark shrieked.

“You’re gonna have to, because I’m staying right here with him. I’m not gonna let you hurt him any more.”

“I’ll shoot you! Don’t think I won’t!”

Steve looked behind him at Tony’s ashen, pain-stricken face. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds before Steve turned back to Pockface.

“I believe you. I’m willing to take that bullet. Your move.”

Pockface scowled, hissing a string of words Steve didn’t understand, but was pretty sure were entirely foul.

And then he fired. Steve went down, somehow managing to twist so that he fell across Tony’s body with his arms covering Tony’s head protectively.

****************

Sam and Anita had been so focused on the alarm and keeping their eyes on Alfonso that it took a moment for it to register with Sam. Their final machine was right here, in this room. Sam turned to Anita.

“Look,” he said.

“Kinda hard to miss, Sam.”

“You think we should worry about the alarm? Or should we just take it out?”

“It takes almost half an hour. No way the other guards don’t come in that kind of time.”

“Nah,” Sam grinned, pulling a grenade from his tac belt. “It don’t have to take half an hour.”

“You sure?” Anita asked, looking skeptical.

“What, you think we shouldn’t?”

“No, I think we should. But they tell me I’m impulsive and reckless, so…”

Sam actually laughed.

It still took ten minutes to dislodge the orb from the machine, in which time at least some of the other guards had gathered outside the door to the machine room. Sam could hear them out there, and he figured he could guess what they were saying. Once Anita had the orb in a pocket of her tac pants, she pulled Alfonso with her to stand next to the door. Sam unlatched a large piece of the cowling covering the machine and looked inside, nodding with satisfaction.

“Works,” he said, then came to stand next to Anita and a very confused and frightened Alfonso. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Anita echoed, and put her hand on the doorknob.

Sam lifted the grenade, pulled the pin, and tossed it in a beautiful underhand right into the open cowling on the machine. Before it had even landed, when it was clear the throw had been true, Anita tore the door open and the three of them ran, shouting, right past four very surprised security guards.

The guards may have been surprised, but they recognized people fleeing for their lives, and decided to follow. Especially since all three of those running were yelling, “Grenade!”

Sam was kind of bummed that they were already around a corner when he heard the explosion. It wasn’t nearly as much fun to blow shit up if you couldn’t stick around to watch.

Once they hit the doors to the outside, the security guards slowed and turned around to look at the smoke beginning to trail out from where they’d just exited. Sam and Anita kept right on running. It wasn’t until they were over a hundred yards away that Alfonso noticed they hadn’t stopped.

By then, it was too late. Sam had already activated the EXO-7 and Anita was wrapping herself around him. The security guards could only watch as whoever the hell those two had been simply rose into the sky and flew away.

Alfonso didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to tell his boss.

*****************

When Pockface fired, neither Natasha nor Clint took the time to react verbally. Before Steve stopped moving, Clint had swept an arrow from his quiver. In the same move, he shoved it forcefully through Mustache’s earhole. The sound of thin skullbone crunching and the arrow squelching through Mustache’s brain, this close up, was actually kind of gnarly. Which was why Clint really preferred to use his bow for this kind of thing.

Natasha was across the room with Pockface’s neck in both hands and a knee in his groin before Pockface had even properly begun to react to the fact that he’d just shot Captain America. When Pockmark hit the ground in the fetal position, already cradling his balls, she calmly put a foot on his shoulder and rolled him over, soundlessly sliding the knife neither of the gunmen had thought to check for between Pockmark’s ribs. Pockmark’s screeching ceased instantly, and Natasha was already giving instructions to Friday to remote pilot the helicopter in.

Clint stepped up to Natasha’s side and looked down at Steve and Tony. “Stark, we got. But Cap? He’s gotta weigh a ton. Gonna be rough getting him onto the chopper.”

Tony moaned and murmured something, and, to everyone’s surprise, Steve pushed himself up to a sitting position with a loud grunt. His hand went to his left upper chest, closer to his shoulder than his heart. Although he wasn’t mortally wounded, blood was already soaking his suit and oozing through his fingers.

“I can walk,” he forced out through teeth clenched against the pain.

“Steve!” Natasha was instantly on her knees beside him, while Clint knelt next to Tony, who was still mumbling.

As Sharon came streaking into the room toward Steve, Clint put his head down toward Tony. He watched Tony’s lips closely and tipped his ear to hear him better, although his comms earpiece included a top of the line hearing aid and didn’t really need the proximity.

“Suit..” Tony gasped. “Friday…”

With that, Tony’s eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness. Clint startled, but could see that Tony was still breathing. Clint touched his earpiece. “Friday-“

“On it. Powering the suit up now. It’ll be there momentarily.”

“Hurry!” Clint cried.

“I’m not going to let the Boss down. But I am also monitoring his condition and flying a helicopter right now, in addition to my other responsibilities, so if you would kindly-”

“All right, all right. Sorry.”

#The Avengers #Captain America #Bucky Barnes #The WInter Soldier #Steve Rogers #Sam Wilson #Falcon #Tony Stark #Ironman #Black WIdow

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05/13/2019 DAB Transcript

1 Samuel 14:1-52, John 7:31-53, Psalms 109:1-31, Proverbs 15:5-7

Today is the 13th day of May. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It is wonderful to be here with you today as we begin our work week and work our way through the center of this month as we move our way through this week. So, we’ve been reading from the book of first Samuel and we’ve followed that trail all the way to discovering Israel's first king. Of course, this King was named Saul and we have begun to see Saul has some tremendous character flaws, not the least of which being the fear of what everybody thinks about him, the fear of man, which is pretty devastating to his leadership. And we've already seen some of the repercussions of that and we’ll continue with the story today. First Samuel chapter 14. And we’re reading from the Voice Translation this week.

Commentary:

Okay, so let's catch ourselves up on Israel's first King, Saul. We began to get to know him over the weekend and our introduction to him started with a search for some donkeys and by the time he got home he was the anointed one of Israel and then shortly after that, he was to appear at his coronation. The people had been demanding a king, right? So, they had been asking Samuel to appoint a king over them. So, this was to be expected. And let's remember that fairly horrible story that we read in the book of Judges that nearly annihilated the entire tribe of Benjamin. Well, it is the tribe of Benjamin that Saul comes from and it actually is from the city of Gibeah which is where this atrocity happened that caused Civil War. Saul is from this exact place. And, so, when his family is drawn by lot and then his name is drawn by lot all of a sudden here's the anointed one of Israel only Saul is nowhere to be found. He's hiding in all of the equipment, or the baggage, all of the support paraphernalia that is around leading up to this event. There's so much in that alone for us. I mean, I mean, I mean when God calls us up and we have to step forward and be that person and we know we’re not equipped but we know that somehow this is the dream and somehow, we’re stepping into the next season and we have to either step into it boldly or go and hide in our baggage. And so often that's exactly what we do, we cower, we hide in our baggage. And this gives us the first clue that Saul is afraid of what people think about him. He has a fear of man and this will grow up to be a fatal flaw for Saul, but we’ll continue to watch it. We saw it when Saul offered a sacrifice to God before a battle because the Army was slinking away from them and the prophet hadn't arrived, right, by the time the prophet arrived, but Samuel confronted Saul about this. It was already a done deal. And this, according to Samuel, was going to strip the kingdom away from Saul. So, and Saul confessed that he was afraid of everybody, that this is why he took matters into his own hand because his army was deserting him. And then we get into the battle today against the Philistines and Jonathan's gone out to start something and he's been victorious and Saul, trying to be the strong man, the strong leader after all of this is going and he doesn't even know this is gonna happen, but as their marching into battle he demands of his army, “nobody eat any sustenance”, right? Like, “don't replenish your strength until this battles over”, which causes the men to be absolutely famished and they begin to break the Mosaic law in the process. And Saul puts Jonathan and himself together against the people to find out who has sinned, and he claims that if…even if it's Jonathan, Jonathan's gonna die. His son, heir to the throne is gonna be killed if he didn't obey his father. Of course, Jonathan didn't even know about eating. Like, he didn’t know about the fast. And yet, here's Saul, not even defending his own son with this fear of man going on saying, “okay Jonathan, you have to die.” And it's the people who rise up to save Jonathan. So, this is kind of where we are in Saul's reign so far. Although he was successful in battle and was the king, he has this defect. He’s very afraid for people think about him and this becomes a tremendous problem, but all we have to do is look at our own lives to know that this is a tremendous problem.

Prayer:

Father, we invite You as we continue into this week and as we continue through this particular story, that Your word will become a mirror into our own souls, and that by the power of Your Holy Spirit, You will begin to confront by allowing us to see the ways that we operate with the fear of man and of comparison to everyone around us and how much of a plague that is and how much that slows us down in our relationship with You and in our mission to reveal Your kingdom in this world. Come Holy Spirit and teach us what we need to learn through the life of King Saul we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

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Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi Daily Audio Bible, my name is Ethan from __ Michigan and I would like to call for…I couldn’t quite remember his name, but he was from Texas in nursing school. And I would just like to…well…I can’t necessarily relate because I’m only in…I’m only in high school but I go through exams for engineering math school. We’re doing senior-level work for a senior level research project in freshman year. So, that’s extremely stressful but I just want to know that everything will be okay because, you know, you will be okay. You will be fine. These…I know you’ll pass. You will do great. __, especially nursing school would be immense. And I just want you to know that no matter what happens you will be okay, you’ll be fine. __ in your mind and I don’t even know how to end this, but just know you will be okay. Goodbye.

Hello, I’m calling from Michigan. I’m a first time caller. I’ve been listening for probably five to six years. I’m going to ask for prayers for my adult children. They struggle in life and they just…I don’t think they have a relationship with God. And, so, also on May 7th a man said, “hey you, yeah you”. Because I’m struggling with worry for my adult children. It’s so hard to not worry about our children after they’re adults. I just want them to have a relationship with God and I hate that worry steals my joy. I just ask for prayer, prayer for my children as well as prayer for me to get off the worry train. And I thank you. Thank you for all your prayers and I pray for your guys too as I hear your prayer requests. Have a great day. Thanks.

Hi, my name is Michele, I’m calling for my first time. I’ve been enjoying the community of the Daily Audio Bible from the beginning of the year or really the end of 2018. This is my…probably third attempt at actually making it through the bible. I started in previous years. The reason for my call is I heard Amber from California and Michael from Mesa in regard to marriage concerns. And then today I heard, I believe, Charlene is her name, in New Mexico’s concerns regarding weight loss. I just want you guys to know that you are in my prayers and my thoughts as I have struggled with and tried to get a hold of my weight tried to __ from God and major ways in my marriage. And __ from the point of no return and now I feel attacked from my husband now in our marriage. So, just lifting you guys in prayer. Father God I just thank You for my brothers and sisters that they have reached out and I just __ with them Lord God. Father fight for their marriage Father. I pray that You will encourage Amber and Michael in their fight Lord God, that they would be obedient to You Lord God and that as they continue to fill in the gap toward their __ that You are in their midst. Help us Lord God to not get weary and faint Lord God and that in due season we will reap a harvest. And I thank You for encouraging Charlie too on her weight loss journey. Thank You, Lord God for showing her what it is she needs to do, the change that she needs medical assistance Lord God, and just keep her focused. Lord and...

Good morning everyone, this is Kristi from Kentucky. I wanted to call today to ask for prayer. Today is the two-year mark of my mama going to be with Jesus and I am not going to lie about this. I know that so many of you know how close we were with both of my parents. And today it’s…it’s just been a rough week…it’s been a really hard week. You know, I don’t say I suffer from PTSD; however I have flashbacks this week just randomly and they’ve been in moments that were so hard and I understand a little more now about people who do suffer from that and what they have to deal with on a regular basis. So, I pray for all of you who have that, PTSD, and just want you to know that I pray for you. Alright everybody, thank you so much for all of your faithful prayers. So many of you know my heart and are so sensitive and I so appreciate it. I love you guys so very much. This DAB family has really changed my life because it’s given me a safe place to come to be transparent and to know that I’m loved no matter what. And I love you guys. I pray each of you are having a most…

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liaroneill · 7 years

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@tantriclimits

Chalet Ormello;

a luxury catered ski chalet located in Les Airelles Courchevel. A place commonly referred to as: the playground for the rich and the famous. Nina wanted to go to Mexico for spring break to show off a series of new bikinis, but Tyler wanted to do the opposite: he wanted to go skiing and explore the quaint French village of Courchevel: rustic chalets and narrow cobbled streets boasting with lively bars, mouth-watering creperies and fine restaurants. At least that’s what the website said – and Mr. McKenzie baited. Because it’s where Tyler’s foster parents met, they both encouraged him to visit. They even paid the entire bill, which was the only reason why Nina was riding shotgun right now.

“I can’t believe this. We could have been in Cancun right now. Sometimes I think you’re gay, Ty. Could have had me in a bikini for two-weeks, instead you want me in a parka. It’s so queer.” Nina dished a kittenish look over her shoulder and smiled at Brooke who was sitting in the back with Jake. “Isn’t that right, Brooke?” Before Brooke could answer, Tyler looked up into the rearview mirror and placed a hand on Nina’s thigh to distract her. “Hey, just chill. There’s a hot tub and a jet-stream indoors pool with waterfalls. You girls can still wear your bikinis and get tan – there’s tanning beds. And a private movie theater. All within our lodge. My foster dad is paying 260,000 per week. So it’s not going to suck.”

Tyler parked the rental outside the chalet and collected the luggage with Jake – who already looked irritated with Brooke. When he got the dumb jock alone, he put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. “Don’t sweat Brooke. She came with you, didn’t she?” Jake looked over his shoulder to make sure Nina and Brooke weren’t close enough to hear. “As friends. I just didn’t want to come all the way out here and watch her hook up with some ski instructor with abs and a French accent...” Tyler laughs at his friend’s misfortune but still tries to reason with him, “Bro, don’t go creating drama where it’s not needed. We’re on vacation. Brooke is with you. Maybe, not in the way you’ve been pining for, but – it’s progress.”

#th: ski resort ( flashback )#tantriclimits

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junker-town · 6 years

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3 reasons you should watch the FCS playoffs every year

It’s a fat heaping of quality playoff football.

It’s winter, which means it’s time for football seasons to have their playoffs. You’re going to watch the four-team event that ends the FBS season, and you’re probably going to watch the NFL’s 12-teamer, too.

Here’s why you should watch the FCS’.

1. The playoff format is more fun than FBS’ or the NFL’s.

The four-team FBS Playoff feels like a godsend in the context of the BCS, but it’s still the smallest playoff in American football. High school playoffs can involve dozens of teams, and the playoffs in Division II, Division III, and FCS are true tournaments.

In FCS, 24 teams make the field. The top eight seeds get byes into the round of 16, where they meet the winners of the eight first-round games. Then it’s a four-game sprint to the finish, all single-elimination, and the last team standing wins it all.

None of this happens in quarter-full NFL stadiums or at dinky neutral sites. Every FCS playoff game is played at the home field of teams that won NCAA bids (in the first round) or the higher-seeded team (in later rounds), and that makes for strong atmospheres even though the games are often during winter break.

The final is in Frisco, Texas, and the stadium fills up.

2. FCS teams are good. This isn’t watching bad football as a novelty.

This section via Jon Morse of SB Nation’s Kansas State blog, Bring On The Cats. Morse is an avid FCS watcher:

It's important to really understand what makes FCS different than FBS to get at the heart of this.

Most people have the misconception that FCS football is inherently a level below FBS competitively, just like AAA baseball is inherently a level below Major League Baseball. That's really not the case, though. Round Rock can't just decide they'd like to compete against MLB teams, increase their resource allotment, and say "OK, someone invite us." FCS teams choose to be where they are, and every offseason you can count on multiple outlets pondering which FCS schools should try and make the switch. (Liberty’s doing it next year. Coastal Carolina did it this year.)

FCS schools have, for whatever reason, chosen to meet all the same resource requirements as, say, Alabama, with one exception. Instead of offering 85 players full-ride scholarships, they offer up to 85 players the equivalent of 63 full-ride scholarships. What a lot of folks don't understand is that we're generally talking about a bunch of players receiving full rides and the remainder of the 85 who can accept scholarships receiving somewhere closer to halves.

And that means that on the best FCS teams, you're going to find star recruits. Some might have played for your FBS team in the past and transferred to find playing time or because of, um, issues. The NFL draft — indeed, the Pro Football Hall of Fame — is littered with players who played at the FCS level. The teams you can expect to make deep FCS playoff runs have histories of either beating FBS teams on a regular basis (hey there, North Dakota State) or giving them very competitive ballgames.

This is not bad football. It's not Alabama vs. Clemson, but let's all be honest with ourselves: if you're reading this site, the odds are pretty good that you inhale #MACtion and #FunBelt, wake up on Saturday morning to watch Georgia Tech play Pitt because it's the best game on, and stay up until after midnight to see Hawaii play New Mexico.

So as the calendar turns to December and there are fewer and fewer football options for your weekend, why on earth wouldn't you tune in to watch decent teams play win-or-go-home games in pursuit of a national championship? Especially when several of these games are going to air in time slots in which there is no football competition at all?

Winter is coming, folks. You need to gather some acorns to help get you through to spring practice.

3. The storylines range from delightfully silly to super serious.

You’re familiar with Miami’s Turnover Chain.

What if I told you an FCS school that started playing football in 2015 and is about to play in the postseason for the first time ever has a turnover plank?

Meet the Kennesaw State Owls and their trophy, Plank:

Jason Kirk

Jason Kirk, with help from some Owls and their coach, explains the origin story:

Scout team wide receiver Tanner Jones found Plank somewhere in Florida on spring break in 2015.

Two years later, Jones’ father was cleaning the garage and asked whether Plank was worth hanging on to.

Jones started bringing Plank to the locker room every day in October.

Redshirt junior safety Taylor Henkle takes it from there:

“I’d seen Plank around. I saw him on the plane. Somebody had him, but nobody did anything with him. After I got an interception [at Montana State on Nov. 4], somebody — I don’t even know who it is, we’re still trying to figure it out — handed it to me. I had no idea what to do. There was a couple Kennesaw State fans in the front row, so I just held it up to them.”

The Owls also run the triple option, so that’s fun.

You’re familiar with Alabama and Clemson.

FCS has rough equivalents in North Dakota State and James Madison. NDSU is the program of this century, having won five national titles in a row before last year. But James Madison rose up and beat the Bison in the national semifinal before winning the title last year over Youngstown State.

So 2017’s playoffs feature the Dukes trying to maintain their status atop the sport, while the Bison — who really are the top program — are trying to get that perch back.

You’re familiar with Cinderellas in the NCAA hoops tournament.

You don’t see the same thing in the FBS Playoff, where a mid-major has never made the field. It might take years for that to happen.

But these playoffs can be wild. Last year, unseeded Youngstown State’s run to the title game included upsets of No. 3 Jacksonville State and No. 2 Eastern Washington. The latter came on one of the best, most dramatic catches ever, and yes, that’s a red field:

The @YoungstownStFB miracle TD catch behind the defender's back doesn't get any less awesome no matter how many times you watch it http://pic.twitter.com/UMYAWAXrbg

— SB Nation CFB (@SBNationCFB) December 18, 2016

Since the playoffs expanded from 20 to 24 teams in 2013, an unseeded team — someone outside the top eight — has at least made the semifinals every year.

The best story in Division I football this year was Austin Peay, a program that lost 29 games in a row before snapping that streak and going 8-4. The Governors narrowly missed a playoff bid, and they were devastated beyond belief.

“It was probably the toughest thing I’ve had to go through in coaching in a single moment,” Will Healy, Peay’s head coach, told SB Nation.

If that doesn’t show what a big deal the FCS playoffs are, I don’t know what could.

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junker-town · 7 years

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How your college football team builds its recruiting board before Signing Day

Coaches spend months finding, studying, ranking, and recruiting the players on these lists. Let’s talk to a bunch of people in the business.

Somewhere in the neighborhood of 3,000 high school athletes will sign their names on the dotted line with FBS programs Wednesday.

But before they could be names on a roster, they were names on a recruiting board.

The concept of the board is relatively simple, but how different programs arrive at different numbers is a unique insight into what builds a college program.

What does the board actually look like?

Here’s a look at Ohio State’s board, with a guided tour by director of player personnel Mark Pantoni.

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Just like in the video above, elite recruiting teams already have next year’s recruiting class at least somewhat put together already. At the time (February 2016), Ohio State had seven pledges for 2017, nearly a third of its class. Texas under Mack Brown was notorious for stuffing classes early in the recruiting cycle. LSU offered Alabama commit Dylan Moses when he was an eighth grader, and USC under Lane Kiffin got a commitment from a QB who at the time was in the seventh grade.

Charles Walker is the recruiting coordinator and linebackers coach at UMass. He spoke to SB Nation while traveling through Alabama on a recruiting trip.

“Whatever criteria that program wants for that position — 6-7, 3.2 GPA, from this area of the country — that’s pretty much what your board looks like,” Walker said. “And then it’s priority needs. Literally names with boxes stacked underneath each other as if you are in a warehouse, and that’s your inventory. You go down the list, ‘I like Joe Schmo from California;’ my next guy if he doesn’t commit, this is the next guy up.”

With technology comes innovation, and software companies have made it easier for schools to manage boards by taking them digital.

“I could hit a button and put you on our board,” Duke’s director of player personnel, Kent McLeod, said to SB Nation. “And then you have basically notes in there. Our coaches can go in and write evaluations on you, and we can upload your transcripts. It’s kinda like a one-stop-shop database that you can look at. There’s about 10 people selling these, you know, and they all of course say they’re better than everybody else. You know how it is.”

McLeod says you can have custom boards, such as one for in-state guys and one for out-of-state. One of those programs, produced by a company called Blue Chip Athletic Solutions, can be used across multiple devices.

vimeo

Technology has also made it easier for coaches to find players in the first place, while also making it more difficult.

The access is open, with players tweeting film at coaches and Hudl film sitting at everybody’s fingertips, but it can get overbearing. A position coach will lean on personnel staff to get video on a player who’s come out of left field, so that there’s something to show during a staff meeting.

“At the end of my night, I got 75 emails that I might have to skim through,” Walker said. “It may be 2 to 10 are junk mail, but you know for you to not look at it and do your due diligence, you might miss out on a player, so I’ve been through that before. For the right email, it’s kinda like rolling the dice and playing roulette sometimes.”

“I got 300 emails by the end of the week, so I’d randomly check one or a couple just based off measurables. That’s another thing: you look at an email or a text saying, ‘Hey, I got a guy that’s 6’5’’, 230 — you know, runs a 4.7 — and plays defensive end,’ and you look at it and you say, ‘Hey this kid’s a really good player.’

How do teams play the numbers game?

This has a lot to do with your spot on the landscape and personal preferences. At New Mexico State, head coach Doug Martin gives an example. If his target number at a position is four, he casts the net very wide.

“Really, to sign four guys you probably need 75 to 80 on a list,” he said. “Say we go out and we come back and we only have about 30 or 40 names for offensive linemen that we think are good enough athletically. Then we know that we gotta expand our recruiting base outward a little bit more and find some more guys.”

That’s a lot of names. For a service academy, the number can easily be over 1,000. For a school like New Mexico State, its state isn’t a particularly fertile ground for FBS players. 2017 stands as an outlier because there are more than five or six players of FBS-caliber ranked.

So the Aggies have to go into Arizona and Texas, and it plays into how schools like New Mexico State set up their boards. With Signing Day just two days away, the Aggies had the fewest commits in all of FBS (10).

“[W]e really monitor Texas Tech, Houston, Texas A&M, Texas, maybe guys that they’ve been recruiting that we really like that think they’re gonna get a chance to go there, then all of a sudden those schools fall off, and so the kid’s left,” Martin said. “That’s how we get the best players. That happens a lot for us.”

McLeod says his approach to setting up the board is markedly different. He thinks there’s a diminishing-returns aspect to having that many kids on the board.

“You go to that coach — let’s say he’s a linebackers coach — and say, ‘Coach, tell me about these 80 at your position,’” McLeod said. “He’d be like, ‘I don’t know.’ And the thing is, he may have watched them and wrote a thing up, but it’s not easy to recall 80 kids and coach your position and recruit your position and recruit your area.”

Staffs tend to set their numbers for the next recruiting class in the spring preceding it, trying to get a handle at the target for each position. They won’t take kids just to take kids.

"Year to year, what winds up happening is it doesn't map out the way you want. Maybe there's not enough tackles for you to take four of 'em, so you take three, and you take an extra corner,” an anonymous Group of 5 recruiting coordinator told SB Nation. “Well, the next year, you're minus one on offense. Do you always have to make up? It's a case-by-case deal.

“The emphasis on evaluating how guys are developing really is important, because if you don't pay attention — and when I say that, it's not just the starters, it's the backups. If a bomb goes off at cornerback, what are we doing? If we have two safeties quit and a cornerback declares for the league that's a redshirt sophomore that we didn't expect to declare, and we lose three commits in this class, what are we looking at?”

Elite programs have the luxury of choice. Their boards will be different because of things like team brands and the program’s budget. A team like New Mexico State isn’t going east of the Mississippi River often, but if there’s a talented kid in California or Florida, elite teams from far away don’t hesitate to put them on the board.

So how do you maintain this thing during the season?

The runup to Signing Day is one thing, but during the season, recruiting is a change of pace. McLeod said recruiting meetings break up the monotony of a normal game week, and they’ll have bite-sized, 30-minute meetings with the coaching staff and personnel folks twice a week. Bobby Blick, Army director of player personnel, talked to SB Nation about his program’s schedule.

“Every week, we pick a position and hammer through and talk about it as a staff. You try to break it up. But you talk about them enough to where, when they come here, you’ve talked about them to the point where you feel like you already know them. It helps with everyone on staff and it doesn’t fall on one guy.”

Here’s a snapshot of former coaches at Miami talking about the players on their board:

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Martin says his staff meets twice a week to discuss the board.

“It’s Sundays and Fridays. So on Sundays, we get together and have a recruiting meeting just to discuss anything that’s going on with different kids, or do we need to find more kids in this area? On Fridays, if we’re at home or if we’re on the road, we’ll sit down as a staff and we’ll breeze through some recruiting film and really start looking at guys so we can start ranking who we think is best at each position.”

Everything’s done as a staff, with player personnel folks privy to the discussion as well.

When it comes to who gets a scholarship, however, the head coach typically has the final sign-off.

The balance here is not overloading coaches by coaching two teams at once, the one in front of them for Saturday’s game and the unit they’re trying to wrangle to develop a signing class.

The board may be the bible of the program’s future, but there is the present to deal with as well.

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