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wkemeup · 5 years

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Guiding Light (13)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 9.4k warnings: the final chapter 😭, and a little smut and fluff bc yall really deserve it 🖤series masterlist // series playlist

T H R E E M O N T H S L A T E R

“I don’t know about this.”

You winced from the cold compress of the patches Shuri gently pressed against the side of your head; wires connecting to machines on your left, monitoring your brain waves and internal chemistry. She pursed her lips at you, giving you that teenage pout, and pressed another electrode to your temple. She’d told you enough times as it was that this was an entirely safe procedure and it was only to ensure that her good work paid off.

In the three months since Hydra infiltrated the compound back in New York, you’d spent your time in Wakanda alongside Shuri. It was supposed to be an easy process to remove the triggers from your mind since she’d already been successful in doing the same for Bucky, but it appeared slightly more challenging with you. It took a bit of extra time but she assured you all the while that you were safe. You didn’t need to go under ice the way Bucky had done.

It took three months but she was able to successfully pull the words from your head. She just needed to prove it. Which is how you ended up sitting in the middle of her lab, heart racing a mile a minute, as she handed a thick red book to Bucky.

Your words. Your triggers. He was going to say them.

“You should strap me down,” you offered for the third time, eyeing Bucky as he flipped the pages of the red book, studying the handwritten notes. He looked up, slowly, a tight smile on his face.

“It’s not necessary, sweetheart,” Bucky said simply. “Shuri’s tech worked. The words aren’t going to affect you. This is all just to give you peace of mind.”

“Sergeant Barnes is right,” Shuri confirmed, smiling brightly at you as she pressed a few buttons on the computer, machine, whatever it was. This technology was far out of your scope. “You will be just fine. I promise. There is no need for restraints.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” you argued, hands shaking and Bucky narrowed his eyes on the tremors running through.

He quickly set the book down on the table he had been sitting on and crossed the room to you. He knelt by your side, hand brushing your hair back from the wiring, cool metal resting on the nape of your neck.

“If it doesn’t work, I’ll be right here,” he said carefully. “If it comes to that, I’m here, okay? Shuri’s safe. I’m safe. We’ve got a whole army on the other side of that door.”

“You didn’t put up enough of a fight last time, Buck,” you reminded him, voice impossibly quiet and Shuri took a few paces back, occupying herself with something on the other end of the room.

“I know,” he admitted, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. “I promise it won’t come to that again. If, and I’m saying if, you get triggered, I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone. Besides, Shuri has this place on lockdown. You have to know she has a stockpile of weapons around here somewhere and she’s more than capable of defending herself. She had to knock me out a few times back when getting the words out was trial and error. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

“It was never boring, I’ll give you that,” Shuri grinned as she continued typing away. Bucky nodded for her to return and she jogged back over to you, offering you a reassuring smile. “Whenever you’re ready Sergeant Barnes.”

“How many times do I need to remind you to call me Bucky?” he laughed, and you knew he was trying to lighten the mood because even Shuri started to giggle and teased him back, but your nerves were skyrocketing and you needed to get this over with. He picked up the red book and flipped the page with your words scribbled on it in messy writing.

“Does it have to be you?” you asked timidly.

Bucky gritted his teeth, an exhale from his lungs. “If we want to be as accurate as possible, yes. A single mispronunciation could throw off the whole sequence. Shuri had to fly in a native speaker last time and I figured since I was already here...”

“Okay,” you nodded, readying yourself. You gripped the ends of the arm rests until your knuckles ached.

Shuri flipped on a switch and the whirl of the machines echoed through the lab. She gave the okay to Bucky and without wasting another second, he began to read.

“Марафон, горький, Бруклинский,” he called out, thick Russian heavy in his voice and you disliked the grind of it as it left his tongue. You took a steady breath and tried to focus on the pacing of his feet back and forth and the clenching of his left fist at his side as he continued.

“скаут, боевой, возлюбленная.” He looked up to you, searching for any kind of warning signs to stop but you were still. You closed your eyes and tried to lose yourself in your breaths. In. Out. Steady and even.

“мело��ия, вена, шестнадцать,” his voice continued, nine of out ten. You could still think, still had a steady stream of consciousness which you were all too aware of, worry and anxiety leaving a mark in your thoughts. Your jaw was clenched so tightly, it ached.

“страсть,” Bucky said with an exhale. It was the last word.

You kept your eyes closed, waiting, because even though you had been withering from the pain your head by the third word the last time you’d been triggered in the compound, you were certain Hydra would find a way to pull the rug from under you again, make you believe you were safe before they sprung the soldier back into your mind and nearly made you kill the love of your life with your own hands.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky called, his voice close enough to you to startle a jump in your heart. His hand rested on your thigh, running smooth, gentle circles to coax your eyes open again. “It’s over, Y/n. They had no effect on you. Shuri did it.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes to find Bucky kneeling in front of your chair, the widest, most beautiful smile on his face; one filled with love and relief and sincerity. His hand snaked up against the side of your face and pulled you in for a quick kiss, warm lips against yours and you felt the anxiety slip through you like it had never been there. He pulled back just as Shuri stepped by your side.

“Of course, I did it,” Shuri teased as she started to remove the wires from your temple. “Did you ever doubt me?”

“That was my fault, clearly,” you laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Shuri grinned, removing the last electrode, “you won’t make that mistake again.”

***

In all your time in Wakanda, you hadn’t left the palace, let alone the floor you’d been assigned to and the confines of Shuri’s lab. You were too afraid to be out in open spaces, to risk the chance of anyone finding out those awful words and using them against you. Even with Bucky constantly at your side, gentle encouragements, always reminding you that you were safe here, you couldn't seem to get past the elevator doors.

Now, stepping out into the busy streets, holding his hand, you wondered how you could possibly keep yourself from such beauty. Street venders with fresh fruits and hand-woven garments lined the streets, bustling and crowded, but filled with smiling faces and children playing between the shops.

“You want something?” Bucky asked, looking to the layers and baskets of fruits as you walked by, then to the gorgeous display of handmade jewelry, distracted by the organized chaos of the market.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, smiling up at him, reveling in the feeling of his hand woven tight in yours. “Just you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not what I meant, sweetheart.”

“It’s still true.”

He led you through the busy streets until the venders sat further and further apart, the sidewalks were a little less crowded, and the buildings started to fall behind you in exchange for open fields and rolling hills. It was gorgeous, unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“You’ll see.”

Bucky wasn’t usually one for adventures. It was always you that dragged him off into the city or to a coastal town or convinced him to go apple picking on the back of his motorcycle. It was you that lugged him along to places he’d only figure out where you were taking him once you got there so he didn’t have a chance to back out. It was unusual for him, but if he was ever going to be the one to take you somewhere special, it would be somewhere like this.

Quiet. Peaceful. With open land for miles and the sun setting over the trees in stunning shades of purples and pinks and reds.

Eventually, you came up on a small cottage, almost a hut from the size of it, the only structured building for miles sitting amongst a sea of green grass and shaded trees. He paused as it came into view, a heavy exhale in his chest of something like relief and remembrance.

“It’s beautiful out here, Buck,” you said softly, realizing what this place was to him, “I’m surprised you ever left.”

“I always did have a hard time saying no to Steve,” he admitted, “but if I stayed here, I never would have met you.”

“Don’t you miss all your goats?” you teased, curling up against his arm as you started walking again, together, towards the cottage. He had told you stories once of his time in Wakanda; how he’d lived a quiet life in the country side tending to small farm animals and finding himself again. Shuri and T’Challa came out to check on him every once in a while, but for a long time it was just him and the animals. It was what he needed.

Bucky smiled, looking to the long metal bins approaching on his left where he would lay the feed for the animals. They’d run so fast, tripping over their legs when they were little, just to find a place around the bin to stick their head in and grab their fill before they got shoved out of the way. It was a fond memory. He didn’t have much of those around the time.

“I made sure they all found good homes before I left, don’t you worry,” Bucky said, pinching at your hip and drawing a short yelp out of you before you started laughing. “Maybe we’ll stop and check on Grant.”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning wildly.

“He was the runt of the bunch,” Bucky shrugged, chuckling, and it was magical just to hear his laugh again, “had to name him after Stevie. I left him with one of the kids who used to mess with me back in the day. That little rascal better be taking good care of him...”

“Oh, I'm sure he’s just fine.” You nudged Bucky in the side playfully and he only smiled back at you.

Coming up on the cottage, Bucky stepped forward and opened the door for you. There were no locks, even after three years, because that was the kind of place Wakanda was, is. If Bucky Barnes could sleep soundly without ten different deadbolts, it had to be the safest place in the world. You had no doubt it was.

As you walked inside, you were surprised to find it neatly organized, almost untouched from the day he left. Bed neatly made though the mattress was hard as a rock, something Sam had explained to you about soldiers when they returned from war feeling like they were sinking into anything that gave to his weight even an inch. Pots and pans hung on a drying rack, like he intended to put them away but never had the chance.

What really caught your eye was the bookshelf; bindings of red and green and black that filled row after row of shelves. You almost hit Bucky on the arm, thinking that he had been working on catching up on the literary work he’d missed before he even met you and had simply indulged you, but as you stepped closer, you realized they weren’t novels at all. They were journals.

You let your hand graze over the bindings, pulling dust from their canvas and turning back to Bucky with an aura of awe and surprise in your features. He nodded, ushering you to look because he knew you wanted to. He didn’t mind. He’d let you into the darkest corners of his memories if you wanted. You’d find a way to turn on a light. You always did.

Pulling a random one from the shelf, a deep purple binging that stood out amongst the others, you flipped through the pages. Crinkles and worn with use and thick black ink detailed on each page, you tried your best to skim. Some pages had images, newspaper clippings that Shuri must have brought down for him. Old memories and trains of thought as they came out, trying to determine what was real and what was told to him.

You flipped to a page with an old, faded photograph from the 1940s. Hand to your heart, you gasped at the image. Bucky stood amongst a line of men in combat uniforms, hard hat upon his head and the straps hanging down by his ears. Covered in dirt and grim and the brightest smile on his face you’d ever seen. Short hair and an innocence in his eyes that shocked you.

“It was before the 107th was captured,” Bucky clarified, stepping closer and looking fondly over your shoulder, “those guys became the Howling Commandos once Steve came around.”

You recognized the men from the exhibit in the Smithsonian. Bucky had asked you go with him nearly a year into your friendship and it had been the hardest question he’d ever asked anyone. He could still remember the sweat in his palm and the racing in his heart when he asked you. Of course, you agreed with a beaming smile and asked Tony if you could take the next jet out.

“You were always so handsome,” you smiled, fingertip tracing over his image.

“You think I should cut my hair again?” Bucky teased, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your shoulder.

“That is not a decision I want on my conscious,” you laughed, leaning back into him. “That choice is all yours, baby. I’d love you either way.”

“Even if I shave the whole thing and start from scratch?”

“It’d be hard, but I’d get through it.”

“A hero amongst men,” Bucky declared, grinning against the skin of your neck. He peppered kisses to your collarbone, squeezing his arms tighter around you. Then, just as your hands started to snake over his, he pulled back suddenly. “Wait here.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously as Bucky pulled open the middle drawer in his dresser, searching around under layers of garments until he pulled out a laptop. You laughed, figuring you should have realized Shuri wouldn’t let him go entirely without access to technology on his own. He winked at you, firing it up and began typing at the keyboard.

“Buck? What are you doing?”

“Just wait, sweetheart. Patience.”

You sighed, plopping down on the edge of the bed, and though it was firm under you, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you thought it might be. It was familiar, this feeling. Though it lacked the blood stains and edges of springs you’d had while at Hydra, but it was comforting almost, in the way that mattress had been for you.

You remembered Sam telling you once that he slept on the floor most nights after returning home from the war because the mattress was too soft. You suspected Shuri had this one made for him to accommodate his needs.

Glancing back to Bucky, you laughed under your breath to see his eyes light up.

He pressed a single button on the keyboard and set the laptop up on top of the dresser. The soft strums of a guitar playing delicately through the speaker of Bucky’s laptop began to filter through the room. It was a careful melody of chords you were familiar with, ones that incorporated piano gracefully between the notes, and a pair of voices sitting in contrast of one another, one rough and raspy, one soft and breathy.

Listening carefully, your eyes fell to the floor, just getting lost in the gentle melodies and hymns of the first verse. It was a song from the playlist you’d made him nearly four years ago. You wondered if you should be surprised he still listened to it after all this time.

You looked up in awe to find Bucky leaning against the dresser watching you with the kind of warmth in his eyes as if you’d hung the moon and the stars and the entirety of the universe. He extended a hand to you, wordless, and waited patiently until your lips curved up in a smile and slipped cool metal into your hand. You guided his left hand to rest on your lower back, gathering his right in your own as you let your arm hang off of his shoulder.

Falling slowly, eyes that know me And I can't go back And moods that take me and erase me And I'm painted black

You leaned your head on his shoulder, where metal met flesh, and curled against his neck, closing your eyes as you carefully swayed with him. Silently. Listening. Reveling in the feel of his body so close to yours, the steady beat of his heart thumping under your ear, his hand wrapped in yours, the gentle brush of his thumb upon your back as it rubbed tenderly against your shirt.

Well, you have suffered enough And warred with yourself It's time that you won

Needing to feel him closer, you slowly released his hand, wrapping both of your arms around his neck. Face pressed to the crook of his neck as his arms snaked around your waist. He smelled faintly of fresh soap and the lavender fields you’d passed on your way to the cottage. The swaying faded as the melody continued without you and you found yourself just standing in the middle of Bucky’s room, holding onto him like he was all you had.

Take this sinking boat and point it home We've still got time

Bucky nudged his nose against your cheek, urging your face from its home against his neck. Warm breath tickling against your skin as his lips brushed ever so slightly against your cheekbone, moving down in peppered kisses until he captured your lips against his.

Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice You've made it now

The music began to fade to the background, passionate strums of the guitar, fingers gracing along piano keys, voices singing in harmonies that lifted the soul, rendered silent in comparison to the feel of Bucky’s lips on your own, the only sense your body would allow you to focus on. Soft, plump lips as he took your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking sweetly, his tongue tracing along the edge of your mouth until you parted your lips further. Tongues swept over one another, open mouthed and wanting him as close as he could possibly get.

Your hands grabbed against the fabric of his shirt around the collar, tugging at it until he parted from you for an impossibly brief moment to shed himself of the material. Hardened ripples of muscle under your fingers as you trailed your hands down his chest, over his abs, and he shivered.

His hands grazed against your waist, sliding up under your shirt against the bare of your skin, cool metal and warm flesh running along curves. Wordlessly, he began to lift your shirt until you raised your arms for him, allowing the fabric to be discarded to the ground. He smiled, warm and loving, as he looked at you, eyes trailing over your breasts to your face and you reached behind you to unclasp your bra, shedding it to the floor.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Bucky exhaled as he stepped forward, ushering you to lay on the bed. As you followed his lead, settling against the hard mattress, your hair falling up around your head in a halo, you brought his lips to yours.

“You see a lot of beautiful women lately?” you teased.

“None since I met you,” he replied with warm kissed to the corners of your mouth, then down to your neck. He sucked at a spot that made your back arch, seeking more, before he mumbled, “can’t remember any before you, either. It’s only you. Just you.”

Shocked by his sincerity, not an ounce of teasing in his tone, you cupped the sides of his face, bringing him back to your lips and kissed him sweetly.

“You’re it for me, too, you know,” you said, watching as crinkles formed up by his eyes in the smile curving on his lips. “You’re all I want, Bucky Barnes.”

He hovered over you, arms caged around your head, and you parted your legs, giving him space to lay his body weight against you. He kissed your lips, soft and gentle, and then with a fevered passion as you dragged your core up against him, eliciting a moan, deep and heavy. You could feel the length of his hardness between you, confined by the cloth of his pants but prominent with every thrust against you.

Chest to chest and seeking the sweet release of friction between you, Bucky kissed his way down your neck over your collarbone, until he pulled a hardened nipple into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around the bud, you arched against him, hands raking into his hair. He chuckled softly against you, releasing you from his mouth so he could continue his way down to your waist. Pressing kisses to your hipbones, his fingers curled against the fabric of your pants before he glanced up at you.

You nodded, lifting your waist to help him remove the material, sliding it down your legs along with your panties. Discarding it along with the rest of the clothes, Bucky settled back between your thighs, kissing sweetly at your outer lips, at the creases of your leg to your hip.

“Never gonna get tired of this,” he whispered, warm breath against your core and you shivered.

“You say that now,” you laughed, squirming against him as he ran his fingers through your folds. You’d had more nights together than the first, but every time he touched you it felt like no had ever done it before, no one before him, like every movement was brand new and his touch was all you knew.

“I’ll say it every time,” he insisted playfully, leaning his head against your thigh as he looked up at you, his fingers coating in your wetness.

He began circling at your clit, watching as your eyes fluttered closed, the evidence of his touch present with the parting of your lips and the moan that slipped through.

“Bucky,” you whined his name just as he slipped a single digit into you, cool and solid, metal.

Sheets bunched up into your hands and a second finger joined. Slowly, steady pumps as his fingertips grazed over the spot, curving against it, that made your head dizzy. He was heaven and solace and every good thing in this world.

With a gasp, you grabbed onto his hair, tugging as you felt the warm heat of his tongue press to your clit. He was too good at that for someone who’d avoided human interaction for nearly seventy-five years. It was muscle memory, you supposed, though he swore he never touched or kissed or made love to a woman the way he did with you.

The pressure was enough, the swirl of his tongue over the bud as he brought it into his mouth, sucking, fingers thrusting, and you came with cry of his name. Pleasure rushing through your core, your legs, panting in your chest, and you felt Bucky kissing his way back up to your lips.

You hummed against him as he kissed you, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Love you,” you mumbled hazily and he chuckled.

“Figured you might after I did something like that.”

You laughed, shoving him off of you so he flopped onto his back. Mischievous grin on your face, you crawled down to his waist. He wasted no time and helped you remove his pants, pulling the briefs off as well because the anticipation was killing him. He was so hard beneath the fabric, each brush of the material over his cock drawing a wince out of him, too sensitive.

“Y/n, baby,” he mused as your hands trailed along his thighs, nails gliding over thick muscle, “need you so bad.”

“I know, honey,” you cooed, leaning forward and licking a thick stripe up his shaft from the base to the tip. Tongue pressing against the throbbing vein up his underside before you took his tip into your mouth. He bucked up against you, cursing as he tried to restrain himself.

You pressed your hands to his thighs in an attempt to keep him still as you took in as much of him as you could manage. Hollowing your cheeks, you began to bob your head, sliding his cock against your tongue, reveling in the sweet sounds he produced above you.

Bucky didn’t shy away from the noises he made, noises you drew from him because he knew they only spurred you on. They were sinful. Delicious. And they went straight between your legs, leaving you wet and needy and dripping.

“Ah- fuck, sweetheart,” Bucky moaned, fingers snaking into your hair.

He was throbbing in your mouth, so close to the edge and you were more than ready to milk him dry, when you felt him carefully tug you away. You sat back, narrowing your eyes, to find him staring at you dizzily, blissed out.

“Wanna come in you,” he explained, his voice a little sedated and you giggled, nodding as you climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

His hands sat on your hips, just brushing softly over your curved until you dragged your soaked folds up along his shaft, covering him in your wetness, and his fingers dug into you. He bit down hard on his lip, eyes closing in the sensation as you rolled your hips again. His hands guided your movements, adding pressure with every roll.

Your walls clenched around nothing and you couldn’t stand it anymore. Lining him up with your entrance, his tip brushing against your clit before you aligned him where you needed him most, and you met his eye. Ocean blue eyes stared back at you filled with a kind of awe and love and surrender that made your heart tighten.

You sank down onto him in agonizing pace, his cock stretching and filling you inch by inch until you took all of him, sitting against his hips and as close as two people could possibly be.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky exhaled, head falling back to the pillow, “you feel so good, sweetheart, so fucking good.”

“I don’t know how I ever survived before you,” you cooed, rolling your hips and pulled a sharp gasp out of him, “don’t know how I got off without you inside me.”

“God, Y/n, you can’t just say stuff like that to me,” he whined, pushing his waist up against you as you moved to lie against his chest. Slow thrusts from under you, meet you half way as you pushed down against him. Friction like thunder and lightning.

“And why not?”

“We’ll never leave this bed again, doll,” Bucky teased, his voice breathy and panting in the exertion, “I’d just keep fucking you and loving you until neither of us can move.”

“I like how that sounds,”

The sound of your bodies melding together filled the room. His hands were all over you, trailing along the bare of your back, pinching at your nipples, running through your hair, grabbing at your ass to pull you flush against him with every thrust.

You could feel your walls starting to clench around him, the pressure building so sweetly between your legs, and you whined, a moan that let Bucky know exactly where you were. He slipped his hand between your bodies, feeling for your clit and began to rub fast circles against the sensitive bud. You gasped, head falling into the crook of his neck as you grabbed onto his shoulders, fingers only able to find give on his right side.

“O-oh God, Bucky, don’t stop,”

He didn’t let up, his pace relentless and exquisite and explosive and your release hit you suddenly with the push of his hips and the circle of his fingers of your clit. The hardest you’ve ever fallen from that height, the pleasure pulsed through you, drawn out in waves of endless rush as Bucky sought his own release. You cried out, squirming and a moaning mess over him, as he gripped hard onto your hips and rolled you onto your back, not daring to lose contact for even a second.

His thrusts became faster then, more erratic and you could feel how close his was, his cock throbbing and twitching with each push.

“Bucky, ah-fuck,” you gasped, your walls clenching again so close to your last release. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was perfect and sinful and worth all of the pain you’d been you just to be with him now, to have this moment, to see him above you with sweat dripping from the ends of his hair and a far-gone look in his eyes because for once he felt something other than pain, he felt pleasure.

“I’m so close, baby,” you cooed, urging him on as the pressure built at your core, “so fucking close. Need you to come for me, baby. Ah- God, I need—I need you to—ah, ah, f-fuck!”

Second waves of pleasure rippling through you, your walls clenching impossibly tight around him and Bucky came with a strangled grunt. Warmth spread through you as he prolonged his release, his lips pressing to your neck as his arms curled around you. His chest flush to yours, he rolled his hips lazily until he was too sensitive for more and stilled.

Head on your chest, you raked your fingers through his hair, pushing it aside to find his face. His was smiling hazily, eyes closed, and you pressed your lips to his forehead. Playing with his hair and listening to the grainy sounds of guitar and Ray LaMontagne singing from the speaker of Bucky’s laptop, he started to move, to pull out of you in an effort to clean the two of you up, but you held him still.

“Just stay here with me,” you urged, kissing his hairline.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart, I swear it,” Bucky sighed, propping himself up off your chest and brining his lips to yours, soft and chaste and perfect. “We’ve got all the time in the world together, Y/n. I’ll give you all of my days if you want them.”

“It won’t be enough,” you sighed, kissing him sweetly, “I’ll want more after that, too.”

“Might have to take that up with the big guy.”

“Not sure what Banner can do about it but I’ll ask.”

Bucky laughed, his chest vibrating against you and he peppered kisses to your cheek, your nose, your eyelids, your neck. He settled back against your lips, giving you one last kiss, warm and familiar, before he said, “You know I’d spend an eternity in you, darling, but someone’s waiting for us.”

You narrowed your eyes, turning to follow Bucky’s gaze to the small wooden cube sitting on the kitchen table. From the center, a light blue light flashed.

“We’re being summoned back at the palace,” he explained with a smile. “It’s how Shuri would get ahold of me back in the day.”

“Ok fine,” you mumbled teasingly, allowing him to pull away and slide out of you. The emptiness you felt without him between your legs was prevalent, but you tried to push it aside. “She’s lucky she single-handedly cured both of us. Not sure I’d be willing to leave this room for anyone else.”

“We can always come back. I want to hear more of that dirty mouth of yours,” Bucky teased, winking as he disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room and he returned shortly after, a damp washcloth in his hand. He carefully ran it up your inner thigh, removing the traces of himself from your skin, and rested it between your legs gently.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you laughed, nodding for Bucky to remove the cloth.

“I hope you do.”

***

“What do you got for us?” Bucky asked as he sauntered into the room, hand clasped tightly in your own. He dragged you along behind him, still feeling dizzy from the way he’d pushed you against the wall outside of the lab and kissed you just to tease you.

“You two are disgusting, just so you know,” Shuri laughed, pointing her fingers at the two of you and then tapping the monitor above her computer. It displayed the hallway in perfect definition. Your cheeks flushed red and you swatted Bucky on the arm.

“Shuri,” Bucky warned, a chuckle in his voice.

She rolled her eyes playfully and ushered for you to follow her. Pulling to a stop she stood in front of a series of monitors, all black, and asked you to take a seat. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, looking to Bucky for support.

“Please, Y/n, you may want to be seated,” Shuri requested again and you slumped down into the chair behind you. Bucky took his place by your side and you felt his hand grab onto yours, squeezing gently.

Shuri sighed, exchanging a knowing look with Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes requested I do some digging on someone very important to you.”

You looked up at Bucky, confused, and he only offered a warm semblance of a smile, encouraging you to listen. Your heart was racing all of a sudden and you wondered how it was so easy to fall between this feeling and the joy you felt holding onto Bucky just moments before.

“His name was Private Daniel Henry Welch,”

An image of Danny appeared on the screen, arms behind his back, chin up, dressed in his formal Army uniform with the American flag behind him, proud. Your hand clamped over your mouth, stifling the gasp as you rose to your feet, walking towards the image. Tears welled in your eyes as your fingers traced over the screen. He was younger than you remembered, more freckles on his face when it was absent of dirt and grime.

“He would have turned twenty-one last week,” Shuri continued softly as tears fell down your cheeks. She stepped back, giving you space, as you stared to read over the list of information upon the screens she had compiled for you.

He was born and raised in New Harmony, Indiana to single mother named Brenda with stunning green eyes and long blonde hair. His eight-year-old brother Nathan was a spitting image of Danny; all smiles and thick, curly, ginger hair with freckles peppered over his nose and cheeks. He played soccer in high school, but for the town over because his school was too small to form a whole team on their own. He won a scholarship for writing a poem in middle school that he ended up using to buy books for his English class in tenth grade.

He was as kind and sweet and lost as you’d remembered him and you still couldn’t imagine how a boy so soft had ended up on the other side of the world fighting someone else’s war.

He was the boy who rushed off base to help a stranger start his car.

Bucky came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and you leaned back against his chest. Tears falling freely, you grabbed onto Bucky’s forearms, keeping him as firm against you as you could manage.

“Has anyone told his mom yet?” you asked Shuri and she shook her head.

“He’s still declared as Missing in Action according to the US Army database but it looks like there’s a lot of speculation that he was killed by rebel forces,” Shuri sighed. “They have no proof of what happened and with you as the only living witness...”

You nodded, brushing the tears from your eyes, pulling away from Bucky’s arms. The world still believed you to be dead. It was Tony that advised you keep it a secret from the public until Shuri could remove the words from your head. You’d had your time to heal and find peace and live in paradise with the man you’d only ever dreamed of seeing again after all that happened to you. You had your moment in the bubble.

You turned to Bucky, determined.

“Call Tony. It’s time we go home.”

***

Tony arranged for a press conference the day you returned. He did most of the talking and explained how Hydra had used a shifter to dissuade the Avengers from continuing their search for you. The room had gone up in chaos when you emerged from behind the door as Tony gestured for you to walk out as proof. Hundreds of questions firing at you all at once, loud voices shouting over one another, as flashes of cameras blinded you enough to cause you to wince.

Thankfully, Tony knew enough to keep you at his side, informing the journalists that all questions could be diverted to him. The room was divided. Some asking how it was even possible you were who you said you were while others praised you for your bravery and resilience.

The public wasn’t much different. Message boards popped up all the country filled with conspiracy theories about how you were the shapeshifter and the real Y/n died that day on the live stream.

Protests outside of the Avengers tower downtown erupted, demanding the truth, while counter protestors walked the streets to show their support. Parades through Brooklyn and celebrations throughout the city took place once the news hit. Half the city seemed to accept what happened, while the other became wrapped up in Hydra’s lies.

Tony explained who Cain was and how he was the mastermind behind the plan, though he was exceptionally careful not to release information on why they had taken you in the first place and how you’d been conditioned into the soldier. The team had enough backlash against Bucky for the crimes he committed under Hydra’s control, they didn’t need the public speculating about your ability to control your own motivations, too.

Even as Tony ushered you away from the reporters and the flashing lights and invasive questions, throwing yourself into Bucky’s arm as he waited for you outside of the conference room, you felt no relief. Announcing you were alive to the world wasn’t what you were worried about. It was a necessary first step before you could do the very thing you’d left paradise for.

It was how you ended up on the front porch of a suburban house with white paneling and green shutters in an impossibly small town in Indiana. You stared at the dark green door, the flowerbeds handing from the windowsills and the wreath made of woven branches hanging at the center of the door.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Bucky said softly, squeezing your hand. “It’s all you’ve been thinking about.”

“What if she hates me? She's going to blame me for what happened to him, Buck. I couldn’t save him and now he’s gone and--”

“Y/n,” Bucky cut you off gently, turning you to face him. His eyes were the most stunning shade of blue. “If my ma ever knew what happened to me, if she knew I survived, and someone could have told her that while I was being tortured and starved and turned into this monster, I wasn’t alone, that I had someone like you to watch out for me and care for me... I can’t even imagine the relief she would have felt. It makes a world of difference.”

You nodded, trying to take in his words. He was sincere in what he said, you knew that much, and maybe you believed it yourself, but the pain of a grieving mother outweighed good intentions. Bottom line was you couldn’t save her son. You couldn’t protect him. You didn’t know if she’d even want to see your face. You just wanted her to know that he wasn’t alone.

Frozen, you tried to will your hand to the door, to knock, but you couldn’t move. Bucky must have noticed because his closed fist extended to the frame and knocked three times. It only took a few seconds of your heart pounding in your chest before the door swung open, only you weren’t met with Danny’s mother.

You stared into the spitting image of Danny, nothing but curly orange hair and freckles littered across his face. He raised an eyebrow, looking your over before he turned to Bucky, eyes narrowing on his left arm. Bucky tucked it into his pocket.

“Um, mom?” he called back into the house. “We’ve got Avengers on our porch...”

Nathan stepped aside, though he kept his stare on Bucky. His nervousness was mixed with a kind of awe, almost an excitement, that seemed to catch Bucky completely off guard. He licked his lips, waiting as shuffling came from the top of the stairs inside the house, and pointed to Bucky’s arm.

“Is it really made of metal?” he asked, tilting his head to try and get a better look.

A smile curved up on your lips despite the harrowing ache in your stomach as Bucky nodded, pulling his hand from his pocket and flexing his fingers for the boy to see.

“No way! That’s awesome!” Nathan exclaimed, reaching out to touch Bucky’s hand. You were surprised to find Bucky didn’t shy away from it and instead started to chuckle as the kid examined the intricacies of the Wakandan prosthetic.

“Nathan? What’s going on?” a voice called from upstairs, his mother, Brenda, and your heart clenched. She walked down the stairs slowly, drying the ends of her long blonde hair with a towel, though she set it to hang over the bannister as she saw you, her eyes widening. “Agent Y/l/n. Sergeant Barnes. W-what are you doing here?”

You gulped and you felt Bucky’s hand squeeze yours, though he took a step back. This moment was yours and yours alone.

“I saw what happened on the news,” she continued, scratching her head, “about how you’d survived Hydra. I know my Nathan was happy to see that. He always loved the Avengers. My oldest... Danny... he did, too.”

Nathan’s face blushed dark red and he shot his mom a glare, though she smiled softly, sadly. She turned back to you.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, wiping the tears from her eyes before they could fall, “what can I do for you?”

“How much do you know about what happened to your son?” you asked as carefully as you could manage, the shakiness in your own voice betraying you.

Brenda shrugged, shaking her head, “not much. All I was told was that he abandoned his base and was... killed by mercenaries.”

You took a deep breath. She knew even less than you thought.

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind, I can tell you more about what happened,” you offered, watching as her face twisted into a kind of pained realization, “I knew him for a while. I was with him.”

Brenda and Nathan exchanged glances, ones of shock, and she nodded quickly, stepping aside to let you in. She led you to the living room and asked you to sit, offered you tea or water or anything else in her fridge and because you suspected she needed something to do, something to feel useful you took her up on her offer for tea.

As she prepared the hot water, Bucky escorted Nathan out to the back yard, promising to show him a few moves and toss a ball while you talked with his mom. The relief on Brenda’s face was evident as she squeezed Bucky’s forearm in thanks as he walked by.

Glancing around the room while you waited for the high pitched whistle of the kettle, you found yourself looking at old pictures of Danny and his brother. Getting lost in smiling faces and the memories hung upon the wall, you barely noticed Brenda walk back into the room and set the cup of tea on the coffee table in front of you. She smiled fondly at you, noticing your gaze on the pictures.

“He was such a handsome young man. So kind, too,” Brenda sighed. “You said you knew him? How is that possible?”

You took a deep breath, grabbing Brenda’s hand in your own and holding it gently. She needed as much comfort as you could give her. Then, you proceeded to tell her everything you knew.

You told her about how Danny had left the safety of his base to help what he believed to be civilians passing by who’s car broke down, how it had been Hydra who took him hostage, not mercenaries. You told her that he had been placed in the cell next to yours and he single handedly kept you sane with his light hearted jokes, his replenishing optimism, and boy-like wonder as he asked you to tell him all about the Avengers.

He kept your mind where it needed to be, on your family, on something wonderful and hopeful and away from the horrible place you were.

You told her that while a thick concrete wall sat between you, he’d come to be a friend, a confidant, and you cared about him immensely. As Brenda’s eyes welled up with tears, you spared her the details of the days Danny was taken from his cell, how he was beaten for the information on you he eventually gave up.

She squeezed your hand, nodding along as you told her how brave he was in the end. You told her that you were right there with him and that you did all you could to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, that his last moments were with someone who cared for him.

You didn’t tell her he had been killed as a means to break you, to strip away your last reason to live so your defenses were lowered enough to warp your mind into their making. She didn’t need to know why he was killed; it wouldn’t make any difference in her heart. Her son was still gone. You hoped that maybe just knowing he wasn’t alone all those months was enough to ease just an ounce of her suffering.

It was painstakingly silent as you finished, tears rolling down your own eyes as Brenda tried to gather herself again. After a moment, she slipped her hands from yours and your heart broke, certain that she was repulsed by you, but instead, her palm grazed over your cheek, brushing away the tears.

“Thank you, my dear,” she whispered, smiling sweetly through the tears on her face. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. Danny admired the Avengers so much. I think that’s part of the reason he joined the Army, thought maybe he could be a hero like you.”

“He was,” you said firmly, sincerely and Brenda nodded.

“It’s comforting to know he had you through it all,” she concluded, letting her hand fall away. “I just wish there was a miracle for him, too.”

You clenched your jaw, knowing she was hoping that her son could come back from the dead the way you seemingly had. There was nothing you could say to change that.

Brenda glanced over her shoulder, looking out the back window to find Bucky demonstrating a right hook in slow motion, gesturing for Nathan to try, before he moved to correct his form. She chuckled softly under her breath.

“He’s a good one,” she said, and you raised an eyebrow. She clarified, “Sergeant Barnes. My Danny always knew he was more than the papers said, knew before all that came out about Hydra’s torture and brainwashing. He was quite proud of that, of how he defended him before anyone else.”

You nodded, brushing away more tears as they fell, a smile forming on your lips because that was so like Danny and it hurt in your chest.

“Mom!” Nathan’s voice rang through the kitchen, followed by the sharp close of the back door. He charged out into the living room, grinning wildly, wanting to show his mom the new moves Bucky taught him. Bucky trailed in behind, an apologetic grimace on his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “tried to keep him outside but he was really excited to show you his right hook.”

“Check it out!” Nathan shouted in a deep voice that forced a laugh out of you. He demonstrated the move Bucky showed him, doing it about ten times over as Brenda cheered him on. The lingering remorse and grief in the room quickly turned to that of laugher and joy as Nathan tried to push Bucky into sparring with him.

“Ok little rascal, I think Sergeant Barnes has had enough of you,” Brenda laugh, sneaking up to hug Nathan away from Bucky, despite his protests.

“I don’t mind, honestly,” Bucky tried to reassure her but she waved him off. You smiled from the couch, slowly making your way over to Bucky and grabbing onto his hand.

Brenda led you back to the door, hand on your shoulder and she enfolded you into her arms before you stepped outside.

“Thank you,” she said into your ear, pulling back with a warm smile on her face. “Our home is always welcome to you, dear.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice to speak and felt for Bucky’s hand behind you.

Even as you walked down the driveway, heading to the car you borrowed from Tony, the light squeeze against your palm, you felt a wave of relief swell in your chest. Bucky whispered how proud he was and you wondered if maybe Danny would be proud of you, too.

***

That night as you curled up against Bucky’s side, cool metal fingers trailing in careful patterns down your arm, you wondered if it was possible to be thankful for the worst months of your life. Breathing in the smell of faded leather from the jacket he’d worn all day and the soft thumping of his heart beneath your head resting on his chest, and your months of torture, of pain, of hopelessness and guilt faded away in an instant.

You’d take it again, endure hell and the worst men it had to offer, if it meant you could end up right here, in Bucky’s arms, listening to the gentle humming under his breath as he peppered kissed to your hairline, hands longing to memorize the feel of you against him.

The melody was one you knew well, a song on a list of tracks you'd strung together for him four years prior, and his hums were quiet, vibrating against you. You listened intently as the hums slowly turned to lyrics and his voice was just barely a whisper, low and quiet, but it was there. You curled up tighter to his side.

“Well, the night is still And I have not yet lost my will Oh and I will keep on moving 'till 'Till I find my way home”

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, just to let him know how much you loved him, how you'd cross the ends of the earth for him, how much you appreciated him coming with you to face the mother of the young soldier who was killed to further Hydra’s vendetta. You could have said it aloud, but he knew, and you didn’t want to interrupt the soft tones of his voice for anything.

“When I need to get home You're my guiding light You're my guiding light”

His hand gently curled into your hair, palm cupping the side of your face, urging you to meet his eye. The most incredible shades of blue stared down at you, filled with an adoration and love and sincerity you’d never encountered from any other man because no man was quite like Bucky Barnes. He kissed you sweetly, chastely, and somehow it still felt like the first time you’d touched his lips, like every moment with him was precious, cherished.

You didn’t realize a tear had fallen down your cheek until Bucky pulled back, concern littering over the warmth in his eyes as he brushed away the tear as it fell.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied honestly, smiling though your eyes were watering it, “just thinking about everything we’ve been through, how after all that hell, we managed to survive and now... I have you.”

“You’ve always had me, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed warmly, kissing your forehead, “you’ve had me since the beginning, since you started dragging me on morning runs and through the city.”

You laughed, wiping away the excess tears on his shoulder. “You were the one that showed up in your running gear that morning and asked to come with me, you know.”

Bucky shrugged, chuckling, “well, I couldn’t stand the idea of not being around you. Needed to spend time with you somehow. I would have taken anything. Might have even agreed to go with you to that hot yoga studio in the city you were obsessed with for a month.”

“Careful what you say, Barnes,” you teased.

“Point still stands,” Bucky smiled, wrapping his arms tighter around you. He lowered his voice, a little more serious though filled with the same sincerity and warmth, and said, “I’d do anything for you, sweetheart. Anything."

You knew. It was in the same way you’d do just about anything for him.

You’d watch old movies where the actors talked with an accent from their decades just because it reminded Bucky of his childhood. You’d take him up to the rooftop at three in the morning in the cold of winter to look at the stars when his nightmares got so bad not even you could calm him down with your touch alone. You’d call down to that restaurant in Brooklyn that used to be an apartment building and convince the owner to let you take Bucky upstairs for a few minutes because this place used to be his home and he deserved to see it again.

You’d tell him you loved him for the first time through the barrier of a glass wall as Hydra agents pulled you away from what you were sure was the last time you’d ever see him. You’d resurrect Cain and give yourself over to him to poke and prod and mutilate your body with scalpels and that godforsaken chair. You’d lose your mind to the soldier and commit unspeakable acts. You’d do anything if it meant you ended up here again.

If it brought you home.

Where you belonged.

To Bucky.

Draping a knee over his thigh and settling it between his legs, you pulled yourself flush against his side. Bucky smiled, his hand resuming the gentle patterns on your arm and shoulder. You sighed contently, reminding yourself every moment you could that this was real and it was Bucky under your touch.

A soft vibration in his chest, and your lips curved against him, listening as he started to sing again,

“So lead me on, and leave me strong Like the road I walk on When I need to get home You're my guiding light You're my guiding light”

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #guiding light

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imalifegen89 · 3 years

Text

A Legacy Left Behind - Chapter - 5 - The Gemmond Incident

Part 3

Sheppard and Lorne were a lethal sight to behold.

They moved like two dancers who were following complicated steps on a deadly routine that was known to the two of them alone. Their actions, the way they moved and attacked, were synchronized to the point that it looked like they were carrying out a sequence they had practiced a million times. They left a trail of dead Drones behind as they steadily advanced towards the bridge of the Carrier where the Wraiths were stationed.

Sheppard was communicating with Lorne mentally. He had realized that he had the ability the moment he changed. Lorne had instinctively given the lead to John and followed him as they continued their killing spree, closing the distance to their prey.

The Wraiths were already aware of them when they finally reached the bridge. They’d had lunch, judging by the withered, dead bodies of the Gemmondians that were strewn around on the floor of the bridge.

"Kill them!"

The older Wraith hissed a command at the ten Drones that were gathered in the area to protect their leaders. Sheppard took two long steps to meet the oncoming assault head first as Lorne moved from his side, meeting the Drones that were advancing from their left. Sheppard caught the stunner that was closest to his face and dragged the Drone that was attached to it right up against him. The Drone, unwilling to let go of its weapon, took an unintentional step forward at Sheppard's urging and met an unfortunate end at the tip of a knife that went straight through its neck. Still holding onto the stunner now attached to the lifeless Drone, Sheppard whirled around, putting his back to the dead Drone, and fired the stunner on the Drone that was creeping up from behind him. The stunned Drone fell to the floor and John threw his knife at its neck, finishing it. Then he dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding the stunner that went swinging past where his head had been when another Drone had decided to use it as a club. John unstrapped his P90 in one smooth movement from where it was cradled on his chest and shot it from the ground, dropping it to the floor, dead. Then he got up and calmly shot three other Drones that were intent on attacking him. Finally, he turned to see the last Wraith Drone that was still grappling with Lorne. As John moved his weapon to shoot it, Lorne managed to drop the thing with a shot to its feeding hand followed by a tap to the neck.

"How is this possible? Who are you? ANSWER ME!!!"

"Kneel!"

Both the Wraiths, now alone with John and Evan in the bridge, were panicking and hissing commands both verbally and mentally.

John moved towards the closest Wraith.

"Don't! I will kill your friends. As you can see, your friends and the rescued prisoners are surrounded. My servants shall kill them all on my order."

The Wraith had taken a step back at Sheppard's advance. He was now staring at a Wraith equivalent of a security feed on the wall beside them. Sheppard could see the moving dots on the screen that was most probably his teams moving fast to get out of the ship. Seeing the live feed, the Wraith recovered from blind panic as he realized that the two prison-break teams were now flanked by the remaining Wraith Drones. The Wraith could mentally track the movement of the Drones and see through their eyes as well. He knew that this hostage situation would give them the chance to escape these abnormal human horrors.

Sheppard didn't say a word. He knew that he couldn't let that happen. No matter how hard the compulsion was, this time he wasn't letting it overtake him completely. The first time had caught him unawares and he hadn't known what was happening to him. But now he knew. So he was going to do his damndest to get everyone out before he finished off these two abominations.

"Put down your weapons and kneel, humans - bow down now to your superior. See the glory and the power of I, The Night Shadow! Do as I say or witness the death of your people."

The Wraith was on a full rant, confident that he had the upper hand of the situation.

Sheppard did as ordered. He saw, in the periphery, Lorne's eyes go wide at this sudden turn of events. He hadn't expected Sheppard to fall to his knees at all. He knew the Wraith had absolutely no control over Sheppard's mind and therefore the surrender on John's part was completely voluntary.

"Play along." Sheppard’s deep voice resonated in Lorne’s mind. He dropped to his knees as ordered.

The Wraith, his smug superiority inflated at the display of subservience by the obviously lethal humans, took a bold step forward, coming to stand right in front of Sheppard. Then he stretched his hand and backhanded Sheppard harshly on the face a few times. Sheppard bore the assault with barely a grunt; his face hardly moving despite the raining blows, much to the displeasure of the Wraith.

"Ah! I see. How very noble... willing to sacrifice yourself for your friends. But let me ask you this, human..." The Wraith spoke softly, his hissing voice full of menace. Then he extended a clawed finger towards John's chest and made a vicious slicing movement. The strong claw cut through the fastening of his tactical vest and the uniform underneath. Then the Wraith tugged both his vest and the uniform apart, exposing John’s bare chest, making his intention to start feeding on Sheppard abundantly clear.

Lorne twitched at the assault but otherwise stayed still, trusting John to know what he was doing. Instead, he kept his attention on the other, still somewhat frightened Wraith, aiming a nasty smile at him with a promise of violent and painful death.

"How could you possibly know that I would let your friends go? After I have sucked you dry, maybe I will do the same to each and every one of them instead?"

The lead Wraith let out a loud, ringing, triumphant laugh as he bent forward slightly and placed his feeding hand right on top of John's heart. John wondered for a moment how this dumb asshole could be so sure of himself just after witnessing the fresh carnage that John and Evan were clearly capable of creating. 'Oh well, self-delusion is probably a side-effect of their rather unhealthy dietary habits,' he concluded.

The moment he felt the cold, dead palm making contact with the bare skin on his chest, Sheppard reacted. He caught the feeding hand of the Wraith with both his hands and locked it in an iron grip. The Wraith hissed out a startled breath and tried to wrench it back. But he kept his grip, firmly holding the now struggling Wraith right in front of him which was exactly where he wanted it.

Then John opened his mind.

He remembered the way he felt when he was mentally assaulted by the Wraith female back in Afghanistan. He mentally forced a connection into the Wraith's mind as the female had done to him. He felt the dark and slimy presence of the Wraith mind and almost recoiled in horror. But he firmed his resolve and forced himself to dig deeper. He knew the Wraith was able to communicate orders to the Drones mentally and he needed to find those connections. As he continued his telepathic trespass deeper into the Wraith's mind, he started to see a pattern. It looked like a complicated Spider's Web - tangled threads of mental bonds, connecting them to each other. And at the center of the maze, he found the core of the mind of the Wraith called Night-Shadow.

He yanked the flimsy threads apart as he waded his way through to the core he had just spotted. Then he put his metaphorical mental fingers on top of it and started ripping it to pieces.

Sheppard pushed the entire strength of his will towards the destruction of the core and he felt the mental Web starting to disintegrate inside the Wraith mind along with its physical body. He withdrew his mind from Night Shadow and came back to himself amidst a scene of horror and destruction incarnate. The two Wraiths were writhing on the floor, their inhuman screams fading into pain-riddled whimpers of death throes. A similar phenomenon was taking place everywhere, the dying screams of the Drones echoing inside the entire ship. Sheppard felt the ship itself vibrating fearfully at the assault he just unleashed.

Lorne was up and closing in on Sheppard the moment he knew what was happening. He felt a faint echo of what Sheppard did through his mental connection to him. He knew that John used the mental bonds the Wraith had to each other to destroy them all in one fell swoop. He also felt the strange awareness and the boost he had been riding until now, slowly receding deep into his mind, confirming that the Wraith in the vicinity were no more.

Lorne reached him just as Sheppard started listing to his side, his body no longer able to keep itself upright. The physical exhaustion after having killed so many Drones and the massive amount of mental energy he just expended, all taking the toll on John at once. Lorne caught him before he did a faceplant on the nasty and most probably germ-ridden floor. He helped his leader to get back on his feet and kept a supporting hand on Sheppard's shoulder when he felt the man swaying alarmingly as he stood up. Then he used his free hand to extract a field bandage and handed it to Sheppard, who used it to wipe his upper lip and nose where he was bleeding freely.

"Sheppard to Steve, Steve - come in." John tiredly tapped his earpiece, raising the team.

"Yeah, Shep, go ahead," the Navy SEAL answered.

"Clear the ship now and put as much distance as possible from here. The Wraith and the Drones are dead, so your way is clear. We are heading back to the Jumper," Sheppard updated. Although he had only raised Steve on the comms, he knew the whole team was listening intently.

If Steve heard the weariness in his voice, the SEAL never questioned it. He knew that Steve would come to check on John himself, the moment they finished their mission.

"Copy that." The crisp acknowledgment came over the comms and Sheppard knew they were on the move. He took a deep breath, wishing he could just lie down for a nap before he had to move.

"Hey, can you walk?" He noticed Lorne was eying him wearily, contemplating whether he was going to have to carry Sheppard. He knew he looked as bad as he felt, maybe even a bit worse.

"Yeah, I can walk. Just gimme a minute," said Sheppard as he straightened from the hold Lorne still had on his shoulder and took a few experimental steps. When he was reasonably sure that he wasn't about to topple over, he started walking towards the exit of the bridge.

"Okay, let's go," he threw over the shoulder when he realized that Lorne wasn't following him.

"Ah, Sheppard, it's this way." The asshole was trying to hide a chuckle while pointing at the exit on the other side. John grimaced.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Lead the way then." He extended a hand gesturing for Lorne to take the lead who obviously had the better sense of direction when they were not riding the Wraith annihilating high.

"So, it should be somewhere here," Lorne announced, as he finally led them both into an open area. Sheppard looked around, hoping they were in the right place. He really needed to sit down and rest now. Just as he was about to give up, he felt the Jumper calling out in his mind.

"Wait, I can feel it, let me just..." He started walking towards the direction he felt the mental pull, requesting the Jumper to de-cloak.

"There you go," he grinned as the Puddle Jumper shimmered into existence in front of them. They both climbed in through the back door and fell to their respective seats.

"Let's get the hell out of this shitty, smelly excuse of a spaceship. Even if there weren't any Wraith, I’d still blow this piece of shit on principle," Sheppard grumbled as he went through the compulsory flight checks to get the Jumper moving.

The Puddle Jumper somehow seemed to sense its pilot's exhaustion, because the little ship did most of the orienting and flying all by itself, only letting John extend the tiniest bit of energy towards their movement. John was grateful for the support and the Jumper was happy and proud to be of service.

Meanwhile, both Steve's and Danny's teams had regrouped just outside the landed Wraith ship. They were already running fast further into the jungle area to clear the blast zone. Once they all had put a distance of about three hundred yards from the ship, Steve clicked on the comms to let Sheppard know that they were in the clear.

Sheppard took the jumper directly above the ship and ran a final scan. Then he told the Jumper that he needed the Carrier to be disintegrated, but with minimal damage to the terrain. The Jumper acknowledged the order, re-oriented itself to the best position to carry out the instructions, and released two squid missiles. The squids exited the Jumper leaving twin graceful arcs behind and impacted the Wraith Carrier from opposite sides simultaneously. The ship erupted in a huge explosion, turning into a ball of fire that started cleansing away the misery and carnage it had caused in blazing glory.

#fanfiction series #stargate atlantis #steve mcgarrett #john sheppard #ao3fic #cross over #hawaii five 0 #stargate #fiction #my writing #writers on tumblr #bamf!John Sheppard

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deadlygoddess85 · 4 years

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Eternal Soul - Serie

- Part 2 -

Chapter 2 - The Coven

Pairing: The witches x Hongjoong, Seonghwa, San and Jongho

Words: a lot

Genre: Fantasy - a bit of horror

Songs suggestion: The Queen of the damned soundtrack.

Characters presentation - The vampires

Characters presentation - The Witches

/ CHAPTER 1 - THE BEACONING /

The sweet laugh of the chubby baby sitting on the toy plane made her chuckle. Even if she has been doing this for the past 3 years, babies are still her weakness. She loved them so much and this one, was a little cutie pie with the tiny aviator hat, the goggles, and the blue scarf around his tiny neck. He was having the time of his life with this toy plane.

The mother was incredibly pleased, and she promises to buy a lot of photos from this session. So, Nina made sure to make her baby look the best.

“Oh Nina! You are the best with kids!” said the woman picking up her baby boy.

Nina blushed, putting a strand of hair behind her ear “Thank you Mrs. Abbott. It’s easy to do my job with this munchkin” she said, playfully pinching the baby’s chubby cheek.

Mrs. Abbott looked at her watch and gasped “Oh my god! It’s already 9. I’m so sorry Nina, I didn’t know it was so late already”

“No worries Madam. You are my last client for today. Plus, we need the perfect picture for your little prince, right?”

The mother smiled, happy with Nina’s professionalism. The young woman walked them to the door and unlocked it

“Well, Mrs. Abbott, I will call you when the negatives are ready. We’ll schedule a new appointment to choose the pictures you want.”

Mrs Abbott thanked the photographer by giving her a huge tip and walked out the studio into the brisk summer night air. Nina looked at the woman walked away with her kid and she sighed. Her eyes went down to her hand on the 100$ bill the mother tipped.

“Thank you, Mrs. Abbott, you just paid for tonight’s rounds!” she chuckled.

The photographer closed the studio. She stopped in front of one of the mirrors in her shop and fix her make-up. She looked at her dress and smiled. She loved that dress; she remembered the day her mother gave it to her. The old woman had spent countless nights sewing the whole thing together as a surprise for her younger daughter.

Nina played with the hem of her skirt, her fingertip brushing across the embroidery details “I miss you mom!”

She wiped a small tear from her cheek and walked out her studio. She made sure the door was locked properly before she made her way to the Twilight Grove.

---

The Twilight Grove was already pretty crowed even if it was early in the evening. Jo, the barmaid, was busy trying to get all the drinks order out as fast as possible. She was thankful about her decision to have her hair into two pompoms tonight, with the crowd around her bar, it was super warm. She finished a batch of Cosmopolitans for a group of girls who were at a table in the middle of the place. Jo put all the cocktails on a tray:

“Marcus, cover the bar a minute, I’ll drop these cocktails to the girls over there!” she said taking the tray in her right hand and walking to the center of the place. Walking through the dancers was a hard maneuver but she managed to get to the table without spilling anything.

“Here you go girls!” she said giving the cocktails one by one to the customers. They paid Jo, but barely left any tips. The barmaid smiled anyway and made her way back to the bar. She noticed a man sitting alone at a table in a far corner of the place. It wasn’t the first time she was seeing him there. She got back behind the bar and continued taking orders when her sister arrived

“JO!” she yelled, making her way behind the bar.

“Nina! You’re not supposed to be here!” Jo said softly, hugging her sister. Nina took two bottles of beers, gave them to a cute man that was waiting and made him pay. She looked at her older siblings and winked. Jo shook her head smiling,

“Alright! We could use your help. Go see this man over there. He has been waiting for a while!” Jo said pointing at the strange customers.

Nina salute her sister like a soldier and happily walked to the stranger.

San was too concentrated on the crowd to see Nina walked to him. He got startled when he heard her sweet voice

“Hi Sir, we are sorry for the long wait. Can I take your order?” she asked smiling.

San blinked looking at the lovely woman in front of him. His heart skips a beat when she placed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.

“Hmm…I.. I don’t – w-what do you recommend?” he studder. Nina giggle “Cute!” she thought to herself. She gave the cocktail menu to the young man and bent to his level to show him her selection.

“If you like sweet cocktails, I suggest the Blackberry Vanilla Lemonade. It is spiked with vodka. Very good! But if you are more strong alcohol, the Old Fashion is a classic here”

San’s heart skipped a beat again while having Nina’s face this close to his, he slowly inhales her sent, she smelled like fresh raspberries. He adjusted the glasses on his nose and gulped hard.

“I’ll- I’ll have the Old Fashion….please!”

Nina stand back up and winked at him “Coming right up!!”

San sighed heavily and slightly loosen his tie. He has seen a lot of people in his long vampire life, but nobody like this young woman. There was something about her. He decided to concentrate on her and read her mind.

Nina got back to the bar and gave the order to Jo. She leaned on the bar

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” she asked her sister

“Who?” Jo asked while she was mixing the cocktail.

“The man over there” Nina answered

Jo lift her gaze for a second, looking at the mysterious man and she smirked

“Well you sure did a good impression on him. He is so checking you out!”

Nina stared at him with hungry eyes and bit her bottom lips. San saw the way the young woman was looking at him. He fidgeted on his seat, clear his throat, and rake his hair with his soft fingers, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. Nina came back to him with his cocktail

“Here you go Sir! It’ll be 7$ please” she asked politely.

San gave her a 20$ bill while trying to avoid looking at her in the eyes. “You can keep the change” he said, his voice was tiny, almost a whisper. The young woman cocked her eyebrow at the sudden change of attitude. She pouted going back behind the bar to help her older sister. San downed the cocktail in one shot, the alcohol burnt his throat for a mere second and he left the bar.

---

The place was silent, only the sound of her breathing and the humming of the refrigerator was echoing into the lab. The dark hair woman took a syringe in her steady hand and slowly pour the liquid contained in it into the petri dish. She looked at the result through the microscope and scribble the details into her notebook.

“You are still here?” asked a male voice behind her. The woman took her goggles off and rubbed her eyes. She leaned her arms on the table and yawned

“Yes, I’m close I know I am, but I just can’t get the blood sequence right” she said softly.

The male walked to her and rest a hand on her shoulder “Andri, go back home! You haven’t slept in the last 48 hours. Get some sleep and come back in two days!”

Andri turned to face her colleague “But…”

“It’s an order! I’m your boss after all! GO!” the male ordered.

She sighed heavily. She knew too well she couldn’t win against her boss. She gathered her things, unwillingly, while her boss was watching her. She slowly walked toward the door of the lab

“Nobody touches my research please!” she said before her boss pushed her out the lab and locked the door. He waved at her with a big smile and she understood she had no other choice but leave and go home.

Although, she wasn’t in the mood to go home. She stopped by the lab’s showers, cleaned up and put on some clean clothes before getting out of the lab.

The wind was refreshing on her skin as she was walking toward the Twilight Grove. She walked pass a dark alley and heard a small whimper coming from the narrow road. She looked around her, hesitant, nobody was there, the street was empty. Andri made three slow steps in the alley

“Hello? Anyone there?” she asked. Silence, she was about to turn and walk away when she heard the whimper again. In a flash, Andri was pinned down by two vampires. Two vicious Nightshades trying to feed on her blood. Quickly, she reacted by focusing on her two sisters.

“Jo! Nina! HELP!”

Nearby, in the Twilight Grove, Jo and Nina suddenly hear an aerie voice calling for them. They both stop what they are doing and exchange a look. They automatically walked toward the exit

“Andri!” Nina shouted in the middle of the street.

“Where is she?” Jo asked her sister. They looked around; the street was empty. How was it even possible? A small fog-like smoke was hovering the ground, Jo saw, down the street, four maybe five vampires.

“Nightshades!?! What are they doing here?” her rhetorical question was only answered by the growl of three more vampires behind them. “We have to find Andri!” she told her younger sister.

Nina think quickly and she kneeled on the hard ground. She took a small piece of white chalk she always carries with her and started drawing runes on the hard ground, the fog covering the surface making it much harder for her.

“Cover me!” she told her older sister. Jo looked down at her sibling with wide eyes

“Are you kidding me?” The three vampires that were behind them tried to make a move toward the two sisters, but Jo quickly raised her hands in front of her and instantly the beast where violently pushed back by a huge invisible force. The three beasts were brutally shoved against the brick wall about 6 feet away.

“Hurry up!” Jo screamed at Nina on the ground. The young woman drew as fast as she could. As soon as the last rune was drawn on the ground, she put her hand together, gathering an imperceptible energy and with one huge flash she saw signs of her older sister. The vision was blurry, but Nina could see her. Andri was in an alley two blocks down surrounded by Nightshades. Nina quickly got up, she took Jo by the hand and start running toward the alley she saw in her vision.

“This way!” she said pulling on her sister to follow. Jo started running behind her younger sibling. Loud growls were heard behind them as more feral vampires gathered to chase them.

Andri was at the end of the alley, behind her a tall steel fence, in front of her; two Nightshades growling and hissing ready to pounce on their prey at any given second. She tried to use her powers but the previous attack by the vampire hurt her badly and she couldn’t concentrate enough to get her energy going.

As they were about to take advantage of the situation and attack, the two vampires burst in fire, right in front of Andri’s eyes. The beasts burned into aches in an agonizing moan as Jo and Nina ran to their sister.

“Are you alright?” Nina asked panting. Andri nodded before hugging her siblings, the little reunion was soon interrupted by more growls behind them. The three women were now blocked in the small alley, surrounded by 6 more Nightshades.

“Girls, I can’t use my magic!” Andri informed her sisters. Jo and Nina stepped forward to shield their kin from the menacing vampires in front of them. Jo remembered the last time she fought one of those in the past.

She recalls all the blood that was shed that day. She remembered how young she was, maybe 11-12 years old. She remembered; The whimpers of fellow witches agonizing on the floor as their blood was being drawn out of their bodies. The screeching sound of every Nightshades being slaughtered.

She was quickly brought back to reality when one of them didn’t hesitate to jump on her. The young women were trying her best to push away the beast hovering her body. Her muscles were flexing and trembling as the creature was putting all its weight on her poor arms. It snarled like a rabid dog a few inches only from her face.

“Nina!” she let out through gritted teeth, hoping her younger sister would help. But it’s only when she turned her gaze that she noticed Nina was already fighting two Nightshades. She cursed to herself.

Her muscles were about to give up, when suddenly the creature got pulled away from her. It took her a few seconds to realize what happened, but when she finally got up, she saw four men fighting the Nightshades. One of them, tall, black hair slicked back, perfect jawline, pale blue eyes, turned to Jo

“Stay back” he shouts with a stern voice. She didn’t try to argue and stepped back to protect Andri.

Nina wasn’t an expert at fists fighting but she could deal a good amount of damage while using her power of “Life link”. By linking her mind with the Nightshades, she was able to read them, and she was able to find their weakness more easily.

She has been able to stun one on the ground as another one stepped in front of her, punching her in the guts. The air got knocked out of her lungs. Nina dropped on one knee as she tries to catch her breath, at this instant, the feral who tried to jump on her got knocked down. The young woman lifted her eyes and saw the man from the bar, fighting the other creatures with a very skilled martial art.

The sisters retreated in the back of the alley as the four men were fighting the Nightshades away.

Soon, one of the creatures screeched signaling the others to retreat, which they did, leaving the sisters and the men alone in the small alley. The tall handsome one, walked to them.

“Are you girls alright?” he asked grabbing Jo by the neck and inspecting it carefully.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Paws down pretty boy!” Jo let out pushing him away from her.

“Seonghwa, my friend. Don’t be rude!” the voice was calm, eerie. It almost sounded like a melody to the sister’s ears. Another man walked towards them. Smaller than Seonghwa but just as beautiful. Deep brown eyes, silver hair, he was wearing an all-black Victorian Jacket with a dark blue embroidered vest and a black shirt. His fingers were decorated with many rings, and only the pinky of his left hand was painted in black nail polish.

The man stopped in front of the three women and politely bow,

“Please, excuse my friend. He didn’t mean to be rude. He is just…foreseeing” he said. “I am Hongjoong. Leader of this group.” He continued, bringing a hand to his heart as he bows again. “This handsome one is Seonghwa. There’s San” he said pointing at the man who help Nina “And that’s Jongho” he pointed at another man, roughly the same high. More muscular, short dark hair, cute features. He turned back to the sisters

“We are The Ateez family!” he said smiling “If I’m not mistaken, your girls are Moonlight sisters, right?”

Jo considered the man in front of her then those behind him.

“Yes, we are. And I’ve heard of your family.” She walked a few steps back shielding her younger sisters “You guys are vampires”.

Hongjoong chuckled “Indeed we are. Please come with us, your sister needs some medical attention and we need to talk about some serious issues”

Jo was about to protest but Andri winced in pain, she looked up at her older sister:

“Please Jo, let’s go with them.”

Jo’s stare went from Andri to Hongjoong and back. She nodded:

“Alright, we’ll go with you!”

The leader gave a small signal to the boys behind him and quickly Seonghwa wrapped his arms around Jo’s waist, San did the same with Nina and Jongho took Andri in his arms. Before the sisters could understand what was happening, they vanished from the alley.

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Stay tune for more chapters!!!

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#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #hongjoong #seonghwa #san #jongho

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elejah-wonderland · 5 years

Text

Always/2

Fanfiction

Part 2

Elijah Mikaelson x reader/Elena

Summary: Elijah Mikaelson and Y/N/E are happily married. But night everything changes. What has disrupted their life- read and find out.

a/n: thanks so much for reading, and all your likes. xoxo

tags @rissyrapp20 @cassienoble2000 @dendrite-lover @captainshurley @hides2000

__________

Dream sequence

"I am so happy!!"- Y/N/E says kissing Elijah, smiling as she pulls him onto bed with her. "Oh, me too. Eloping was the best idea"- Elijah says slowly working his way through the side buttons of her wedding dress as she places kisses on his nose, on his cheek, on his lips, on his neck, feeling how his hand slides through the opening of the dress around her back making her tremble with passion arising . "I so want you"- she makes a little gasp as their eyes meet for a second. "Always-"-he gasps back. "Always!"- Elena mutters and as he moves forward to kiss her she is not there. He frantically gets up and walks through a door into nothing.

The buzzing now broke Elijah from sweet dream. Looking around, he reached for the phone on the night stand. Seeing it was Dr Fell’s number, he swiped it open in a flash-

”Hello-"-he said with a hollow feeling in his stomach kicking in. For some strange reason, his first thought is panic.

"Dr Fell here-"-Meredith said. "Yes-"-Elijah said cutting in. "Your wife- Y/N/E- woke up-" "What- she did? Really?"- his voice was elated not entirely comprehending still if this was a dream or reality.

Meredith continued- "Yes, your wife is awake. I will speak to you when you get here."

"Yes. I am on my way"- Elijah said and they both hung up.

He dressed as fast as he could. Taking his car keys, he now called Miranda Gilbert to let her know Y/N/E got out of the vegetative state, as he solemnly promised her he would and then Rebekah, who jumped out of her bed after hearing the news.

As he was driving to the hospital, he tried the fight a terrible thought out of his mind- something is not right- Meredith sounded way too serious. Something is not right. Something is not right. Please, let it be right.

In the hospital

Meredith and her team had already done the first tests as Y/N/E woke up. It was two hours earlier.

Though it was 6.a.m., she now placed a call to her colleague, who was the best in the field of neurology and post-coma recovery.

"Hey, Stefan"- Meredith said-"I hope you had your run already"

"Yes. Just got out, I’m having some breakfast. I guess it must be something important to call me so early"-Stefan said.

"Oh, yes. Y/N/E Mikaelson is awake"

"Finally"- Stefan said-"so, the new meds worked?!"

"They did. I need you to come and do some more tests. I am flying to Italy to a conference this afternoon, and I need you to take over for me till I get back"

"Sure. I'll be there in half an hour"- Stefan confirmed.

"Thanks"- Meredith hung up and went to get all preliminary analysis from the team.

And Y/N/E? She looked at everyone like a scared animal, trying to comprehend what was going on. She tried to say something, but her brain was not letting her and feeling a frustration set in, she just made an uncontrollable sound.

*Whatever challenge life throws in front of you, never stop, never kneel down and think this it, you can't do way more, If you are beaten down, you keep being kicked over and over again, You get up and you dust yourself off And walk with your head held high

Words came floating out of nowhere into Y/N/E's head.

"Don't strain yourself"- dr Black, one of the neurologist of the team, said to Y/N/E now -"Dr Meredith will do some more tests, and for now just answer these questions by blinking with your eyes- once for yes and two for no. And if you are not sure hold your hand up. Ok?"

Y/N/E blinked once. Feeling a tad bit calmer.

“Good.” - dr Balck said smiling reassuringly-”Can we go on?”

Y/N/E blinked again for a yes.

And they proceeded with the tests.

By that time Elijah had arrived with Rebekah following right behind him, they were still going through with the last test. He wanted to get in Y/N/E's room, but he was asked to wait a little while longer.

"What is going on? Please tell me! I need to know - whatever it is-"-he said nervously looking at Rose, who now tried to calm him down by telling him that they were still with Y/N/E running the last tests.

Rebekah calmed Elijah down making him see that it was routine like Rose had explained.

Elijah, who had always been the most comprehensive and patient one, now walked through the doors of the unit where Y/N/E's room was. Rebekah followed him. And as he nearly got to the room, Meredith got out almost bumping into him.

"Oh, Mr Mikaelson-?!"- Meredith was startled a bit.

Elijah gathered himself a bit now taking a step back realizing that his emotions completely took over him- "I apologize-I just-"

"It's all right. I understand. Please- let me tell you first -"

"Is she all right? What is going on?"-Elijah asked.

Before Meredith could answer, Miranda and Greyson burst in and having picked up on Elijah's anxiety now urged Meredith to speak.

"Calm down, please. Y/N/E is fine, but not entirely. Not just yet.Can we go to my office and I will explain"- Meredith said and urged them to follow her to the nurses station, where she could explain exactly what the first results were showing and how they will approach Y/N/E.

"She is still very disorientated. Her speech is impaired, and she can only answer questions with mimics. She does comprehend where she is, and the EEG and CT scan show no brain damage, but she suffers a great memory loss. When asked about her name she could not answer with a yes, but with 'I am not sure'. So, when you get in you need to be very calm, positive. Don't get alarmed if she is not responding to you at all."

Elijah nodded. His heart was joyous but at the same time felt like it was pierced with a dull knife.

As he was her next of kin, he had the right to go first, which had bothered Greyson immensely.

"We will never get rid of these Mikaelsons"- he sifted trying very hard to keep his cool.

"Not today Greyson, please!"- Miranda pleaded.

At the same time, Elijah just passed by Rebekah signaling silently with his eyes that things were equally good and bad, to which Rebekah just sighed a little and made a small prayer for things to get better. She sat down and now answered both messages Kol and Klaus sent, as she had notified them as well about the whole going ons.

There were challenges in their lives. They faced them all. Now another one looms in front of them. And it felt like he was walking through the darkest night for quite some time now. And the phone call felt like the dawn broke finally. The sun is here... to rise. But not yet. Not just yet. One challenge more. Nevermind. They will meet it head on, as they have always done.Together.

Elijah walked in the room putting a wholehearted smile on, his eyes sparkling with the grandest happiness as he comes near her.

"Y/N/E-"- he said dearly-"hello there"

She looked back at him with her charcoal warm eyes. Blank.

"It's me. Elijah"- he sat down on the chair that was put beside the bed for him.

Y/N/E now let just the sound of the first letter of his name.

"E..."- but she could not pronounce his name. She moved her head towards Davina putting her hand up slightly. Then again she turned to face Elijah again. Now blinking twice with her eyes.

"Darling- what is it? Sweetheart- I didn't mean to upset you"- Elijah said dearly now reaching for her hand.

Davina now came forward seeing Y/N/E being tad bit agitated-

"All is fine. Don't strain yourself. "

And then she turned to Elijah, and now blinked twice with her eyes for no.

"I am so sorry. She doesn't recognize you." - Davina said.

Elijah took a silent breath as this came as blow, even though he knew this could be her probable reaction.

"Small steps"- Davina said seeing this so many times with other patients and their loved ones, not responding as they had hoped they would.

Elijah nodded and looked at Y/N/E who seemed to have relaxed a bit. She closed her eyes for a moment. He caressed her hand with his thumb gently. It seemed she didn't mind that. She was calm, now just looking at him, with eyes of a lost vulnerable deer.

“My darling”- Elijah muttered, swallowing his tears.

____

Meanwhile

Kol an Klaus waited for Rebekah in a restaurant for lunch. Ever since Y/N/E's accident Elijah shut down an had not spoken to them at all. She was the bridge between them and him.

Flashback

Few days before Y/N/E's attack

"I don't understand how you and Kol still don't see that the Gilberts are full of pain and they are blinded by it"

"It's not that. But I have to support mother and father, and Kol. This whole witch-hunt against Kol has damaged our business. It gave us a bad name and people have pulled out of five of our most important projects."-Klaus said adding -"Mother said to invite you both to father's birthday party next weekend"

"What? No. And treated Y/N/E like a ghost. She doesn't deserve this."- Elijah pointed out.

"And the Gilberts? How do they treat you? You said that Greyson asked you not to come to his house again?!"- Klaus reminded his brother-"and you were just there to pick Y/N/E up."

"I can't believe I am hearing this. So, now you are going to ignore her, too?"

"I am not saying that, but this will be hard."

Rebekah strolled in and waved a little at them as she saw them sitting at their favourite table. Once, the four of them had the greatest time there, always joking, but also sharing the hardest moments. But that seemed like thousand years ago.

Finally, Rebekah sat down and ordered a large Cosmopolitan.

"It's that bad?!"- Kol said by the way his sister ordered her drink.

Rebekah updated them fully.

"How is Elijah?"- Klaus then asked.

"What do you think?"- Rebekah said taking a sip of her drink.

"I tried to call him"- Kol said-"but he had just blocked me. This cannot go on like that anymore. We messed up. But we really want Y/N/E to be all right. In all this- Elijah, has always tried to do his best for everyone, and now is paying the highest price. And I don't know how to make this better."

"It's not you guys, you know that. He just broke. Remember what they had said back then when she just got out of the surgery "- Rebekah said.

"They don't think she would ever wake up"- Klaus murmured concluding.

"How is he going to tell her that they lost the baby, too- huh- can we ever get a break-"Rebekah said.

"I am going over to him, tonight!"- Kol said resolved.

"It's not a good idea"- Rebekah said.

"It's never going to be a good idea."- Klaus remarked-"but we have to break this silence somehow. And maybe it is good that he kicks and screams at us. I am ready to take anything he will dish out"

"Me, too"- Kol said.

Rebekah sighed a little, but knowing her brothers, she knew that whatever she said now would not matter.

****

In the hospital Meredith introduced Dr Stefan Salvatore to Elijah. As Y/N/E was fell in her vegetative state nearly a year ago, Elijah spent researching about patients who were in the same condition as his wife, as well as about the recovery once they wake up. He knew of different rehabilitation centers already, and among others, he knew exactly what Stefan's center offered-

"Nice to meet you"- Elijah said-"I have considered your Rehabilitation Center. If I choose you I want the best team to work with my wife, with Y/N/E. I am willing to make a substantial donation for all your other programs as well."

"I was informed that you have already donated, not once. It helped so much with the research."- Stefan said.

"Yes. I- well-"- Elijah sighed-"Sorry that I spoke about money, the donations. You have to excuse me. I - can we reschedule this- Tomorrow?"- Elijah said suddenly feeling like his head was going to explode if he stayed with them a little while longer.

"Of course. Here is my card. Call me anytime you want."- Stefan said.

"Thank you."- Elijah took the card and apologized once again for cutting the meeting short.

Both Meredith and Stefan were very understanding. It was an extremely overwhelming day for him.

As he got out of Meredith's office, he went back to Y/N/E's room. But he didn't get in. He stayed outside, in the little corridor, looking through the window for a while. Y/N/E was now resting. Rose had just checked on her drip and seeing him there then came out to let him know that it was perfectly all right for him to get in.

"Thank you. I just - I feel like - I don't want to agitate her. Dr Fell explained how important it is that she stayed calm."- he said.

"I heard things didn't go well with her parents either"- Rose said-"I am sorry."

"It was all too much at once"- Elijah said-"but she will be fine."- he gazed at his wife as his heart drummed with hope.

Rose now left him.

"Always"- he whispered sending her a kiss putting his hand on the glass.

As he got out of the hospital, he went to walk fo a while. He needed to have a moment to himself, to take all that went on, in. His phone buzzed incisively, and he ignored every call. It was his family. Even his mother. He knew Rebekah had notified everyone. And he was not angry. But he felt he needed time on his own. His heart was heavy, but it was singing as well. She was awake. One day at the time. There is always hope. And hope had never left him.

****

Elsewhere

Rebekah let herself, Klaus and Kol into Elijah's apartment. This was not a clever move, knowing their brother would probably go ballistic, but they decided that it was the way it was going to be. A bit later, upon entering the apartment, Elijah was met by Rebekah, who told him straight out that Klaus and Kol were there as well. Elijah was calm at first when he entered the living room and then burst out shouting at them-

"I don't want you here. GET OUT"- gesturing with his hand to the door.

"No!"- Kol said-"we are not going anywhere! Not anymore! We all made a huge mistake for not coming to you earlier.Your pain is my pain. This is what you said to me when I was in jail and they wouldn't let me get bail. I was so self-absorbed in what was going on with me that I didn't get it. Then. And then, I got out-"

"I don't want to hear it."- Elijah cut him off moving aside again showing with his hand to the door-"please- I can't"

Klaus remained quiet, looking at Rebekah, who was now crying.

And Kol continued-"Please, let your pain be my pain now. Please!"

Elijah looked at his brother. He could see in his eyes, in his voice that he meant what he said.

Klaus then got up-

"We have failed you and we can't take that back. I wish I could, but we can't. Let us- start showing you that you are not alone. You have always been there for us. Don't shut us out anymore."

Elijah took a deep breath. He had no strength, he felt. And he needed it, more than ever before. He had to be strong for Y/N/E. He needed his siblings, all of them.

"I- just-"- Elijah said -"I-"

"Shush for once and let your younger brothers - and sister- help you! Be your punchbag, whatever! Yeah?"

Elijah nodded and the four of them went into a very clumsy siblings group hug.

It felt like a new dawn. Rebekah pulled out the Scarlett O'Hara quote out later as they sat down for a take away. Tomorrow is another day.

Tomorrow was another day. Get up, dust yourself off and carry on. No matter how hard it was, even when it was bleak. You always have yourself, but if you have the love an support of your family an friends, you can make the world move.

Elijah called Miranda to discuss his decision to have Y/N/E admitted in the Salvatore Clinic.

"They do have the best results in the Neuro-recovery program."- Elijah said.

"If you think so. I am eternally grateful to you for everything you have one for her."-Miranda said.

"I love you daughter. "- Elijah said

"I know. You have one all you could for Jeremy too. I am so sorry that Greyson can't see past the hate."

"He lost his only child. I understand"

"He loves Y/N/E as well, even though she is his brother's. How will she take all this? We never told her"

"None of this will be easy. It will all have to come in stages. I would like you to come to the meeting with Dr Salvatore"

"Thank you"- Miranda said.

"I will e-mail you all the details"-Elijah said and after exchanging goodbyes he went to the hospital.

For the first month, Stefan asked him to stay away. As they wanted to avoid strong emotional moments could distort her memory even more. At least until she had found her ground in the world again. Slowly integrating the story of her life, people and friends, who she was.

Elijah was there every day, meeting with her psychiatrists and speech therapist, updating him on Y/N/Es progress.

"She really shows great will to speak and that is so good"- Bonnie said-"she is pronouncing all the words quite correctly now, as she really doesn't want to use the computer as means of communication. So, tomorrow, when you meet her - don't be alarmed if she still slurs."

Elijah nodded-"Thank you Dr Bennett-Salvatore"

"I have not seen such strong will in a patient. I believe she will recovery fully."- Bonnie smiled a little- "she is quite remarkable"

"She is."- Elijah said flashing back to the time they first met.

Flashback

In a bar, ten years previously

"Come on, I have to introduce you to someone"- Sophie said to Elijah.

"Please, I really don't want to meet anyone. This another hook up you and Rebekah are planting on me. I am really not in the mood."

"It is not. She is a friend of a friend. She is an artist. Sculptor, actually. She is absolutely amazing- she is the one who made ‘The Woman with a Heart’"

"Ok?"- Elijah didn't know what his sister-in-love was talking about.

"Ugh! Don't you read papers? She won the award for it. Ah, nevermind."- Sophie was giving up.

And then Y/N/E came around the corner heading to the bar where Sophie and Elijah stood- and he looked at her as if an angel had descended from up above.

Sophie waved at her and Y/N/E came their way greeting them both in a sweet manner.

"Hey-"- Sophie said-"this is my brother-in- law Elijah Mikaelson"

Elijah and Y/N/E looked at one another as if lost in time and space.

Somehow at one point Elijah slipped a hello there- and Y/N/E repeated his name accentuating it in a special way-

"Elijah-" then making a slight pause introducing herself- "Y/N/E-"

"Y/N/E-"- he said dearly with a sweet smile flickering in his eyes.

That was the first time they met.

At home that night he was was wondering what it would be like. She didn't remember their first meeting. At least not yet. Tomorrow, it would be like meeting again for the first time. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she was recovering. That her physical health was showing great improvement, and with that her mental health would too. Stefan reassured him on the daily basis.

Rebekah, Kol and Klaus gave him the biggest boost ever that evening when they came for supper, as they all noticed that how strung up he was.

“So, this is going to be like every evening now?”- he said as he got in the apartment.

“Get used to it”- Klaus said handing him a glass of the best Bourbon.

“Thank you.”- Elijah said tearing up now.

“Hey - this is what brothers and a sister are for. “_ Kol said now patting his brother on the arm a bit.

Elijah sighed and nodded a little.

“Come on, let’s eat then”- Rebekah invited them now to the dining room.

The siblings now all went to eat together, and the night was spent revoking great memories from the childhood as well as Elijah’s escapades with Y/N/E.

The next day, just before he entered her room, he spoke briefly to Damon, who was Y/N/E's speech therapist.

"She is waiting for you"- Damon said-"she has practiced your name quite a lot - she is ready."

"Right"- Elijah said, feeling strangely nervous. With a little nod from both Bonnie, who also was there, he now entered the room.

Y/N/E was at the window, and as he got in, she turned around, putting a little smile on.

"Eli-jah"- she said.

"Y/N/E-hello"

"Hello-"- she paused a little and then said- "how- are you?"

"How am I?"- Elijah said faintly and tried to keep his tears at bay- walking towards her slowly-"I am fine". Y/N/E sat down on the chair at a little table. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. She looked well, even though her eyes still had a glimmer of being lost. He could see that they were looking at him as this stranger. Bonnie had told him that she had not recognized anyone from the photos they had been showing her. But that she only associated names with them.

"You are my - hus-band"- Y/N/E said.

"Yes. I am your husband"- Elijah said and clumsily now continued-"ahm- here- these are flowers I brought for you. They are your favourite"

Elijah now passed her the bunch of flowers that she took, and immediately went to smell them. It was something she had always done whenever he brought the flowers to her.

"Wha-t are the-y?"- Y/N/E asked.

"Sweet peas"- Elijah said.

"And this-"- Y/N/E then took a photo that was standing on the little table- "you and me"

"Yes. You and me. That was taken on our first anniversary."- Elijah said.

"Annive-"- Y/N/E was not sure what the word meant.

"The celebration- one year after we got married. We had a party. You have always loved that photo of us. And I brought more."- Elijah now took the album out of the bag he had brought putting it on the table.

"Show-show me"- Y/N/E said.

"Ok"- he took the album out and handed it to here. Y/N/E now flicked it open.

_______________

#Elijah Mikaelson #Elijah Mikaelson x reader #Elena Gilbert #ElenaxElijah #tvd fanfiction #Fanfiction #alternative universe

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jennycalendar · 5 years

Text

very really married (7/?)

read it on ao3!

this is not technically new writing; i just did a lot of editing and now there is more fic. since i last updated this fic in......november??? let’s copy-paste the summary again:

Giles and Jenny's flights to Sunnydale both stop over in Las Vegas. On the same day. Naturally, a chance encounter leads to a drunken marriage, one that they mutually agree to keep up for appearances.

Which is to say: Giles is going to have to figure out how to hide his fake marriage from his new Slayer (and everyone else) while also hiding his new Slayer from his fake wife (and everyone else). And his complex feelings for Jenny aren't helping anything.

Odd as it was, the memories of the night in Vegas didn’t satisfy Giles as much as they should have. This wasn’t something that he was used to. Generally, whether it was a fling or a serious relationship, the desire for closeness and intimacy wasn’t quite as overwhelming after the first time they had slept together. He and Jenny had consummated their marriage the night they met, and yet he felt a new, hopeless longing every time he looked at her, as though they hadn’t so much as held hands.

It took him three days to finally admit that it was because he hadn’t known Jenny when they had been intimate. Clumsy or perfect, passionate or passionless, he still didn’t know what it would be like to go to bed with Jenny Calendar when he genuinely liked being around her. Things that had once been sources of annoyance had somehow stumbled into things that made him feel…fluttery. Soft. The strangest kind of settled.

But the fact remained that Giles was not at all willing to make any sort of amorous overture. Jenny had made it quite clear that his romantic advances would not be welcome or appreciated, and abusing his position as her husband was a reprehensible concept. Much as he hated existing in uncertain-relationship limbo, it seemed wholly safer than making his budding feelings known and making an already strained situation more difficult than it had to be.

This all flew out the window when Jenny entered his office and announced, “So! We should go on a date.”

“What,” said Giles weakly.

“A date,” said Jenny. “You know, going out, seeing the sights, fun stuff like that?”

“What,” said Giles again. It wasn’t really a question, he just couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Rupert, you do know what a date is, don’t you?” Jenny was biting her lip, eyes sparkling. “Listen—”

“What does a date have to do with helping us look like we have real feelings for each other?” Giles asked with genuine confusion.

Jenny’s smile vanished. “Nothing,” she said. “You know what? Never mind. This was—stupid. It was stupid. It was a stupid idea that I thought would help us look married because why else would I ask you out on a date? No reason! Am I talking a lot? I’m talking a lot. I’m going to go teach class.” And before Giles could fully process what had just happened, she’d bolted, not even bothering to shut the door behind her.

She was moving so fast that she nearly knocked over Buffy, who probably would have fallen down if not for Slayer balance. As it was, Buffy had to grab the doorframe. “Jeez, Giles, you finally scare her off?” she quipped.

Giles ran through the sequence of events five times in his head. All the variables seemed to point to—but no, she’d said she didn’t want any romantic contact with him—

She said maybe, said an utterly unhelpful voice in the back of his head. She said maybe she didn’t want that.

Regardless—

“Giles, you do know you’re setting a world record for Most Easily Distracted Watcher, right?” Buffy tossed her bag onto the table, nearly knocking over one of the precarious stacks of books from the previous night’s research. “You and Ms. Calendar have, like, the most disgustingly functional relationship ever. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Thank you,” said Giles, “I think.”

“So!” said Buffy brightly. “That ring we got off that vamp last night!”

“What?” Giles winced. “Oh! Yes.” Attempting to look appropriately Watcherly, he launched into a detailed explanation of the very limited information he had, and did not think about how his romantically-challenged wife might have been trying to properly ask him out. Not in the slightest.

He really, really should have been translating, but the words were twisting on him every time he tried. Doom and disaster became date,and ashes was ask was why would I ask you out, and the Anointed One was Jenny Calendar’s lips are extraordinarily kissable for some absolutely bloody unfathomable reason. By third period he was frustrated, by fourth he was vexed,and by lunch break, he was ready to snap. He was a Watcher, damn it, and his responsibility was to the Slayer, not his wife’s extraordinarily kissable lips! And frankly, if he was focusing on a part of Jenny that was particularly kissable, it wouldn’t be her lips, it would be—

And there he was, yet again thinking about Jenny in a way that was thoroughly inappropriate for the workplace. “Splendid,” said Giles to the ceiling. “This is my life now.”

“You okay?”

Giles turned in his chair so fast that he overbalanced and fell out of it.

“Oh, god, I’m starting to understand why I have to fix you up so often,” said Jenny with a rueful laugh, kneeling down next to him and gently tugging at his hands. “Rupert? Don’t die on me, okay? I really don’t want to have to tell the morgue guys that you died falling out of your chair.”

“Truly an undignified death,” said Giles, his thoughts still on the prophecy that needed translating. “Listen, Jenny, I—”

“No, I, um, that was my bad,” said Jenny, smiling sheepishly. “I sprung that one on you and ran.” She exhaled, looking a little embarrassed, and sat on the floor, waiting for Giles to pull himself up. When he was sitting next to her, she said, “I don’t—um, I haven’t—”

“Yes?”

Jenny was looking at her slightly scuffed shoes. Fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, she said carefully, “I don’t think anyone’s ever comforted me the way you did last week.”

Giles wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It took him a moment to finally figure it out. “The last time someone fussed over my injuries was when I was ten years old,” he said. “After that, it was all toughen up, Rupert, be a man.” And be a Watcher, too, but he didn’t say that. “I give largely what I receive, Jenny,” he said, “and while this—this whole marriage situation has been a trying situation for the both of us, you’ve handled it admirably and kindly.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow.

“Combatively yet compassionately,” Giles amended.

“That sounds way more on the nose than admirably and kindly,” said Jenny, looking up at him with a wobbly grin.

“Your asking me out took me by surprise,” Giles finished, “but…it’s not something I’m opposed to, if that’s what you want.”

“I think what I’m trying to get at is that I don’t know what I want,” said Jenny quietly. “This is a weird situation, Rupert. It’s hard enough for me to figure out how I feel about a person even without being fake-married to them, and…I thought maybe a date might help clarify things. For both of us.”

“That makes a startling amount of sense,” said Giles, surprised.

“Is me having a good idea that startling to you?” teased Jenny, leaning against him. Tentatively, Giles rested an arm around her shoulders, and his heart leapt when she didn’t pull away. “So, um, is tonight good?”

Tonight. All of a sudden, the words Giles had been poring over finally clicked together in his brain. The evening of the thousandth day of the advent of Septus—“Tonight’s no good,” he said weakly.

“Oh.” The hurt note in Jenny’s voice tugged Giles away from thoughts of the latest prophecy and solidly back to her. “Um. Okay. I mean, if—”

“No, Jenny, I, I still want to go out with you,” Giles said hastily, “it’s just that I was rather distracted by our conversation, and I need to catch up on the work I missed. Tomorrow would be lovely, or perhaps the day after—?”

Jenny blinked, then smiled.“Yeah, okay,” she said. “Tomorrow. Only you’d better not come home tonight all banged up, England, because we’re running way low on Band-Aids.”

“All right,” said Giles.

“Okay,” said Jenny.

He squeezed her shoulder. She surprised him by winding her arms around his neck, tugging him into a gentle hug.

“Uh,” said Willow, who had just come up to the open doorway.

“God, are they still in there being weird?” came Buffy’s voice from the library. “You’d think they’d take, like, a two-second break between classes or something.”

“Sounds like you’ve got business to attend to,” said Jenny to Giles, giving Willow a little grin. Willow gave Jenny a bemused smile back, then turned to hurry and chat more with Buffy about—a boy? Giles couldn’t make it out, and didn’t really care, because Jenny was now turning back to him. “I should go,” she said. “Leave you to your job thing.”

“Ah, yes, my job thing,” said Giles dryly. “How utterly American of you—” He was cut off by his own blush as Jenny pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and could only watch as she pulled herself up and exited the library with grace.

He sat there feeling all fluttery for a good two seconds, before he remembered exactly what the Aurelian prophecy had said. Wincing a little, he pulled himself up to enter the library. “Willow, Buffy, it’s, it’s good that you’re here,” he said, still a bit flustered. Good lord, Giles, pull yourself together. “There is a violent and disturbing prophecy about to be fulfilled.”

Buffy, who had already been opening her mouth with a teasing look in her eyes, froze. “The Order of Aurelius?” she asked.

“You were spot-on about the connection,” Giles confirmed grimly. “I've looked at the writings of Aurelius himself, and he prophesied that the brethren of his order would come to the Master and bring him the Anointed.”

“Who's that?” asked Willow.

Giles really wished he hadn’t been so distracted while he was translating. “Well, I-I don't know exactly,” he managed, “a warrior, but it says he will rise from the ashes of the Five on the evening of the thousandth day after the Advent of Septus.” This, at least, he’d finally figured out.

“Well, we'll be ready whenever it is,” said Buffy with conviction.

“Which is tonight,” Giles clarified.

Buffy took this in. “Tonight, okay…” She stopped, eyes wide with horror. “Not okay! It can't be tonight!”

“I can check again,” said Giles apprehensively, blinked, remembered that the calculations had been the one part he’d managed to do correctly, and hastily added, “but it’ll produce the same results, Buffy, my calculations are quite precise.”

“You were getting all smoochy with your wife in your office!” Buffy persisted, a plaintive whine in her voice. “There’s no way your calculations could be perfect, Giles!”

“Buffy has a really important date,” Willow explained.

“Owen!” Buffy added for clarification.

The name rang a bell. Owen Thurman, one of the seven people outside Buffy and her cohorts who had actually entered the library to check out a book. “Ah,” said Giles, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. When he himself had spent the last two hours thinking about Jenny to the detriment of his translations, it seemed a double standard to tell Buffy off for ignoring her destiny in favor of a date. “Well—it—the—prophecy,” he managed lamely, “is obviously more—important?”

“You don’t sound too sure about that, Giles,” said Buffy, seeing his indecision and (as usual) attempting to utilize it. “I mean, come on, weren’t you just asking your super amazing wife out on a date two seconds ago?”

“You heard that?” said Giles without thinking, then went flaming red. “She asked me,” he added, then winced; he seemed to be digging himself a bigger hole.

“My point exactly,” said Buffy, looking up at him with large puppy eyes—a more effective weapon than any quarterstaff, and Giles resented it. “I can totally just take down this Anointed guy whenever he shows up, right? You get a whole bunch of kisses from Ms. Calendar, I hopefully get a whole bunch of kisses from Owen—”

That did it. “There will be no—no kisses,” said Giles too loudly, “and no dates, there is an important prophecy that, if not thwarted, could lead to the deaths of those we cherish!”

“Whoa, Giles, cherish?” said Buffy, eyebrows raised. “I just wanna go on a date.” She blinked, then beamed. “Aww, do you wanna protect Ms. Calendar from the Anointed? That’s so cute!”

“They’re so cute,” Willow added, grinning in agreement.

Giles really didn’t want his day or his Watcher responsibilities to go on another Jenny-related tangent. “If my affection for my wife motivates you to actually listen to what I’m saying,” he persisted, “then by all means, do continue to appreciate it. But the point remains that the dark forces are aligning against us, and we have a chance to beat them back. Tonight, we go into battle—”

“Perhaps I miscalculated,” said Giles dismally.

“I’m thinking yeah,” said Buffy, who was still visibly glowering.

Giles was beginning to feel very foolish. He could have had a lovely date with Jenny, and instead here he was, sitting in a graveyard with an extremely irritable Buffy Summers. “Well, you know what they say,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light and optimistic. “Ninety percent of the vampire slaying game is waiting.”

“You couldn't have told me that ninety percent ago?” Buffy muttered.

Resigned, Giles pulled himself up. “Well,” he said, “we've certainly waited here long enough.”

“Besides, there aren't any fresh graves,” Buffy added pointedly. “Who's gonna rise?”

“Apparently no one tonight,” said Giles sheepishly.

The effect this had on Buffy was utterly astounding. Her ill-tempered demeanor forgotten, she jumped to her feet, all but bouncing. “Then I can bail?” she asked excitedly. “I can go to the Bronze and find Owen?”

“Oh, very well then,” said Giles, feeling a bit irritable himself. “Follow your hormones if you want.” As Buffy began to head away, he added, “But I assume I don't have to warn you about the hazards of becoming personally involved with someone who's unaware of your unique condition.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk,” she scoffed, looking affronted. “You married someone who doesn’t know you’re a Watcher.”

Giles felt her statement more deeply than he probably should have. The situation with Jenny was rapidly becoming much more complex than a fake marriage, and the things he kept from her were beginning to weigh much more heavily than they had any right to. He was doing the right thing, he knew that— “I keep things from Jenny for her protection,” he said, but it didn’t sound as convincing as it had when he’d first said it.

Buffy seemed to sense that change as well, because she didn’t press him further. “Well, I can do that for Owen too,” she said, and actually reached out to gently pat his shoulder. It was a surprisingly sweet gesture, especially coming from a girl who yawned her way through his lectures on duty and destiny. Buffy, Giles was beginning to realize, had different ways of showing that she cared, and not necessarily academically-minded ones. “And from what I can tell, Giles, you’re doing a great job keeping her safe. A whole handful of people have already died in the last month, but Ms. Calendar hasn’t even gotten a scrape, so—that seems pretty okay to me.”

“You think so?” said Giles, surprised by how much he had needed to hear something like that.

“I know so,” said Buffy. “Now can I please go find Owen?”

Despite himself, Giles smiled a bit. “All right,” he said. “Go find Owen.” He was, of course, bothered by the prophecy not coming to fruition, but he could look over it again tomorrow with his head a bit less muddled. After all, with things going so well with Jenny and Buffy alike, it was quite possible that there was a lot less to worry about.

This possibility was smashed to bits about twenty-four hours later.

“Rupert,” said Jenny impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other by the door, “what is so important in that paper?”

“Damn it all to hell,” Giles muttered, grabbing a red pen and circling the headline, then shoving the newspaper into his bag. Turning from the dining room table, he felt a twist of sadness as he saw that Jenny had dressed up, leather jacket thrown over a long red dress—she’d even done up her hair. “Listen, Jenny, I, I need to run a quick errand before we—it’s a work responsibility, you must understand—”

Jenny’s impatience seemed to dissipate at that. “You look so upset about it,” she said with a rueful affection, stepping up to him and gently straightening his tie. “It’s okay. Just—” Her eyes lit up. “Hey, I could come with you!” At Giles’s look, she laughed, letting her hand drift to rest on his shoulder. “Don’t get all panicky, Rupert, I don’t need to get out of the car or anything, I just—if you’re running errands, it could be nice to have company, right?”

Giles considered this. It was true that bringing Jenny along wasn’t the wisest idea, but selfishly, he rather liked the thought of having her in the car. Really, he only needed to check in with Buffy, and then he could—oh no.

“Rupert?”

“My judgment is compromised,” said Giles helplessly.

Jenny frowned a little. “Okay, weirdo,” she said, and patted his shoulder. “Are we heading out to the car?”

Giles tried to remember the many, many reasons why his job as a Watcher was a thousand times more important than Jenny. He’d been so sure of all of them, those first few weeks of their marriage, when Jenny was turning the house upside down and yelling at him about computers, but…he cared about her. He hadn’t expected that to ever happen, and it was throwing him thoroughly off guard.

“We’re heading out to the car,” he said with finality. This sense of utter discombobulation would exist whether or not he and Jenny went on their date; he wasn’t about to heap missing her company right on top of it.

Jenny beamed. “Great!” she said, and opened the door, extending her arm. Surprised, Giles took it. “So are you gonna tell me where we’re going, or do I get to guess?”

“We’re going to Buffy’s,” said Giles, letting her lead him out the door and shut it behind them.

Jenny’s smile flickered; she looked almost suspicious. “Buffy’s?” she said. “At this hour?”

“Good lord, Jenny,” said Giles, going bright red. “Do you really think I would be inappropriately involved with a student?”

His reaction seemed to satisfy Jenny. Her mouth twitched. “No, I really didn’t,” she said. “It’d be a pretty stupid move to bring me if you were. So why are we off to Buffy’s?”

“She’s got nearly seventy-five dollars in overdue book fees and she’s been skirting the subject,” said Giles, the lie coming surprisingly effortlessly. He didn’t like how easily he’d become accustomed to lying to Jenny, but the fate of the world did depend on it, more often than not. “I thought I’d talk to her mum, see if that helps encourage them both to pay up.”

“So we’re the library mafia?”

Startled into laughter, Giles nearly tripped on his way down the porch, and had to grab onto the rail behind Jenny to steady himself. She was laughing too, reaching up to grip his lapels, and—god, it was intoxicating being this close to her. A strand of loose hair had fallen out of her updo, and without thinking, he tucked it gently behind her ear. “Here,” he murmured.

Jenny’s eyelashes fluttered, her smile becoming something almost lazily flirtatious. “I could just stay like this,” she said, tilting her head up to look at him. “Just right here.”

He knew what she was saying, but—apocalypse, prophecy, Anointed One—Giles pulled himself reluctantly away. “Just this one library book,” he said. “After that, Jenny, I’m all yours.”

He did his best not to think about what that insinuated. It didn’t really work.

Getting out of the car, Giles glanced one last time at Jenny, who was cheerfully flipping through the comics section of the newspaper in the front seat. She gave him a little wave as he walked up to Buffy’s house; it left him feeling even more confused.

It was certainly true that his priorities should first and foremost rest with the fate of the world, and even truer that a Watcher could not afford to place love before duty. He knew these facts intimately and couldn’t bring himself to dispute them, but another, more prevalent fact had arisen: saving the world meant more to him with Jenny in it. Jenny, who didn’t know him as a Watcher, only as her fake husband and verbal sparring partner. He had never really had someone in his life who hadn’t somehow been linked either to the Council or to magic, and having her, now, indisputably added more weight to the importance of saving the world. Protecting Jenny meant protecting the possibility of—

Of bandages after patrol and laughing in faculty meetings and holding someone tight. Of not feeling like some chess piece in an endless battle that would inevitably cost him his life. Being a Watcher had given Giles direction, but the people in Sunnydale were beginning to give him a purpose. It went against everything the Council said, and yet he couldn’t deny that it was making him a much more aware and effective mentor figure to Buffy.

Still quite confused, Giles rang the doorbell. There was the thudding sound of feet on the stairs, and then, flanked by Willow and Xander, Buffy opened the door, her face falling almost comically when she saw him. “That’s Giles,” she said.

“We need to talk,” said Giles simply.

“Buffy’s not home,” Buffy began, trying to shut the door, but Giles managed to squeeze through before she could.

“My calculations may not have been as far off as I thought,” Giles explained, rummaging in his bag to hold up the newspaper.

“Five Die in Van Accident?” Buffy read, frowning.

“Out of the ashes of five shall rise the one,” Giles continued. “That's the prophecy. Five people have died!”

“In a car crash,” said Buffy doubtfully.

“I know it doesn't quite follow,” Giles conceded, “but it’s at least worth investigating.” He pointed a bit lower in the article. “Look! Among the dead was Andrew Borba, whom the police sought for questioning in a double murder. Now, he may be the Anointed One. The bodies have been taken to Sunnydale Funeral Home—”

“Giles, why do you wanna hurt me?” Buffy interrupted.

As usual, Buffy defied any logical expectations. “I beg your pardon?” said Giles, bemused.

“Hey!” came a voice from the open door, and Owen Thurman stepped through, looking a little confused to see Giles there. “Uh, hi.”

Giles stared. “You have a date?”

“Yes, but I will return those overdue books by tomorr—” Buffy stopped, then frowned, squinting at a point over Giles’s shoulder. “Giles,” she said slowly, “is that your wife in the car?”

Giles turned very slowly, then winced. Leaning out the front seat’s open window, Jenny was watching the proceedings with affectionate interest. He made frantic motions for her to go back inside, but she must have misinterpreted them, because she responded with a small wave and a grin in Buffy’s direction.

“That is my wife in the car,” he said heavily.

“So it would be fair to assume that you have a date?” Buffy finished.

“Um, what’s going on?” Owen asked. Willow and Xander tugged him into the other room.

“And you think you can just show up, dump this stuff on me, and leave?” Buffy persisted indignantly. “That’s so not fair! Especially since this stuff isn’t even anything—”

“Buffy, Jenny has been asking why I’m not around to spend time with her,” Giles tried to explain.

“Yeah, well, that’s the gig,” said Buffy, chin jutting firmly out, arms tightly crossed. “Sometimes you have to throw your awesome, perfect, fairytale date out the window for a lead that isn’t even really a lead. If you think this is something to follow up on, Giles, you do it, but I spent a whole night in that cemetery and nothing happened and I need a day off!”

Giles looked at the genuine upset in her eyes. He imagined what it might be like to be feeling the complexities and sadness of not being able to tell Jenny what he wanted to tell her, but as a sixteen-year-old. Really, he thought, Buffy was doing much better than he gave her credit for, and she did deserve a day off after he’d put her through so much the night before. “I suppose it was a rather slim lead,” he allowed, giving her an apologetic smile. “And you’re right. It isn’t fair for me to demand hard work from you while I’m going out with Jenny.”

Buffy immediately uncrossed her arms, once again bouncing delightedly on her toes. “Thank you thank you thank you!” she gushed. “And look, I won't go far, okay? If the apocalypse comes, beep me.”

“Is everything cool?” Owen asked, rounding the corner with Willow and Xander.

“All set!” Buffy chirped.

“Yes, and, uh, you'll face a pretty hefty fine in the morning,” said Giles lamely.

“Well, bye,” said Buffy brightly. “Don't wait up.” Owen at her side, she hurried out the door.

“Is something going on?” Willow asked.

“Oh, uh, probably not, no,” said Giles dismally. He had very much been looking forward to a date with Jenny, but Buffy was right. He ought to set a less hypocritical example. “I suppose I'll just go to the funeral home in case, see if anything comes up.” Without waiting for a response from the children, he exited the house, hurrying down the porch steps and over to his car.

“I’m guessing we’re not going on that date,” said Jenny, studying his expression a little sadly. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to make a quick stop at the Sunnydale Funeral Home,” Giles explained.

Jenny was now giving him a very exasperated look. “That is not a safe place to be, Rupert,” she said. “Why would you—I mean, what would—what did Buffy say to you that would make you think—”

“There was a news report,” Giles explained. “Five dead in a van accident. For research purposes—”

“I’m coming with you,” said Jenny.

“What—Jenny, no, I will not have you willfully putting yourself in danger like that!”

“Oh, and you get to do it whenever you want?” Jenny was full-on scowling. “It’s dark out, this town has a history of unexplained murders, and you tell me you’re going to a funeral home? Stick with those cemeteries I gave you and move on!”

Giles bit back a retort that her cemeteries were pointless to a Watcher, that they were all on sacred ground that made it impossible for any vampire to rise, and that he was a damn sight more prepared for a vampire than she was, especially since she didn’t even know what a vampire really was.“I’m going,” he said instead.

“Well, you’re not going alone,” said Jenny stubbornly, and to Giles’s surprise, she reached out through the open window, taking his hand with surprising gentleness. “You have a wife now, England, and I go where you go, okay?”

And there was something in her eyes that tugged at a lost, lonely part of Giles, the same part that leaned into her touch whenever she was bandaging him up after patrol. No one had ever wanted to go where he went. No one had ever looked at him like he was worth following—only told him that they would lead. He was possibly the most irresponsible, most utterly thoughtless husband on the planet for continuing to place Jenny in the line of fire, but having someone as kind and wonderful as her look at him like that…it was enough to make him say, softly, “Yes, dear,” without even thinking about it.

The Sunnydale Funeral Home was empty, but something had Giles’s Watcher senses on high alert as he stopped the car. “Stay here,” he said, getting out, slinging his bag of supplies over his shoulder, and crossing to the other side. He certainly hoped that it was just nerves, but there was still a pervasive sense that he was being watched—

He thought he heard a noise at his right, and turned, heart in his throat, but there was nothing. Relaxing a bit, he turned back towards the funeral home and found himself face-to-face with a vampire. To his shock, it hissed, an angry, primal sound, and stumbled back, holding its hands up in front of its face as though Giles were holding up…

…a cross.

Turning slowly, Giles saw Jenny, who was holding up a silver cross with a determined expression on her face. She grabbed his hand with her free one and pulled him roughly past the vampire, brandishing the cross as she shoved Giles through the half-open funeral home doors. “Get in!” she shouted, and followed suit, slamming the door shut behind them.

Giles was too stunned to remember to be afraid. “Jenny,” he said slowly, swaying a bit where he stood, “what—how did you—”

“Rupert, it’s okay, I’ve got this,” said Jenny quietly, gripping his shoulder to steady him. Without offering an explanation, she tucked the cross back into her jacket pocket, pulling out a slightly smaller cross on a chain. Quickly, she pulled the chain over Giles’s head, adjusting the cross so that it rested just above his chest. “Did you see their faces?”

“I—what?” Giles managed, still utterly confused.

“Okay, we’re gonna go with ‘no,’” Jenny quipped, smiling a little wryly.

There was a growl from behind them. Without hesitation, Jenny grabbed his hand again, all but towing him behind her and through the dark, winding hallways. Giles stumbled to keep up, slowed mostly by his whirling, panicked thoughts. Jenny with a cross, Jenny using a cross against vampires, Jenny steadying him—he was missing a piece of the puzzle, he felt sure of it.

Jenny pushed him roughly into an empty room, slamming the door shut behind her. Giles regained enough of his sense to first toss his bag onto the table and then help her in barricading the door with a heavy filing cabinet. It was clear that the door would remain shut for the time being, but not forever, and Jenny seemed to be coming to the same conclusions. “You’re okay?” she asked, raising a gentle hand to his face.

Giles felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t like looking at his wife with such suspicion. “Fine,” he said. “Completely.”

The filing cabinet rattled. Over Jenny’s head, Giles caught sight of Xander and Willow at the barred windows, their eyes wide and worried. Get Buffy, he mouthed in their direction. Xander mouthed back what? Willow, however, nodded, pulling Xander away.

“We need to hide,” said Jenny shakily, looking around the room. “Those guys don’t—they don’t mess around. Believe me, you and I are in no way a match for them.”

“I entirely agree,” said Giles distantly.

Jenny pulled open one of the morgue drawers. “Get in,” she said.

“Jenny—”

“Get in, Rupert, I can’t—please, just, please don’t argue with me right now, I don’t want you getting hurt!” Jenny burst out.

The panicked, half-sobbing note to her voice made Giles take another, slower look at her. There were a lot of emotions in Jenny’s eyes at that moment, but not a single one looked anything close to a dishonest woman. “Jenny,” he said, his voice softening. “Do you think I can’t handle myself?”

Jenny took a long look at him, and then she grabbed the front of his shirt, whirling him around and all but shoving him in the direction of the morgue drawer. Giles fell onto the metal, the back of his head hitting the drawer hard. Involuntarily, he grabbed Jenny’s hands, pulling her on top of him and into the drawer just before the momentum of her shove caused the morgue drawer to pull itself in, then slam shut again with them inside.

Too many things had happened too fast for Giles to process anything.

“I don’t,” said Jenny in the dark. She sounded near tears. “I don’t think you’re totally helpless. I just, I care about you, and this town is such a big, scary place, and you’re a sweet, incredible, wonderful person, and you always have to make things ridiculously fucking complicated, going out by yourself all the time and showing up all bruised, you scare the hell out of me, Rupert,” her babbling was reaching frightening volumes, especially since Giles had heard the crash of the filing cabinet hitting the floor and they were probably ten seconds away from being discovered, “and god, I know you probably think I think you’re helpless, but I don’t, I think you’re too damn smart for your own good—”

Giles couldn’t think of a way to keep her quiet for long enough to keep them both undiscovered. Coupled with the fact that, this close, she smelled of coffee and magic, and that he had just learned that his kind, wonderful wife wanted to protect him from the vampires outside because she cared about him, the conclusion he came to was both inevitable and very stupid. Grabbing Jenny’s face in one hand, he kissed her as hard as he could, winding his other arm around her waist to pull her tightly against him.

He was expecting her to pull back. He was expecting her to pull back, or stiffen in his arms, or hit him as hard as she could without making a sound, because no one was watching them and there was no reason for him to be acting like they were actually a couple. What he wasn’t expecting was for her to shift until her legs were all but twined around his waist, tangle her hands in his hair, and kiss him back like she’d been waiting to kiss him for the last three months.

And all of a sudden, Giles wasn’t thinking about vampires, or prophecies, or any of the things he should by all rights be thinking about: all that was in his mind was a desperate Jenny Jenny Jenny and it seemed almost unending. He wanted to flip her over, press her against the metal, but she had all the leverage and that was oh so excellent too, and oh, oh god, she was kissing his neck, clumsily unbuttoning his shirt, and he was gasping and moaning and she was hurriedly moving up to silence his mouth with another series of breathless kisses—

The morgue drawer door banged open, they were pulled back out and into the light, and Giles heard Buffy say, very loudly, “Oh, you have got to be kidding me!”

Jenny’s lips stilled against Giles’s. Slowly, she pulled herself up and away, and then Giles was staring up at the morgue’s ceiling while Jenny got up and awkwardly dusted herself off. “Buffy,” she was saying. “What—uh, what are you doing here?”

“I hang out in weird places sometimes, I’m a teenager!” Buffy retorted, staring at both of them with horrified eyes. “Why were you getting it on with Giles in a morgue drawer?”

“What I do with my husband after school lets out is my business,” replied Jenny without missing a beat. “Besides which, you can’t tell me this is the weirdest thing you’ve seen in Sunnydale.”

“Oh, it one hundred percent is,” said Buffy disbelievingly. “What, do you and Giles get freaky in crypts too? God, I think I finally get why he likes you.”

Giles made as much noise as possible as he got up from the morgue drawer, which did a thankfully effective job of distracting Jenny from Buffy’s statement. “Um, Jenny, I, I believe that the fellows chasing us are gone now,” he managed. “You should probably head home—”

“And will you be heading home with me?” Jenny asked pointedly.

Giles looked helplessly over at Buffy, who gave him a very clear this is your problem, not mine look. “In a moment,” he said finally. “I just need to have a private word with Miss Summers regarding what is and is not an appropriate place to, ah, hang out.”

Jenny considered this, then nodded. “I’ll wait outside,” she said, fingering her cross, and headed in the direction of the door. Halfway across the morgue, she stopped, considered, turned, crossed the room again, and kissed Giles, a solid, purposeful kiss that left him with a fluttery feeling in his stomach. Then she left.

“I need to bleach my brain,” Buffy informed him. “Seriously. I could hear moaning, Giles, that was not okay.”

Giles decided to ignore this as best he could. “Yes, w-well, two more of the brethren came after us,” he managed.

“After you and your honey, or after the prophecy?” Buffy asked, frowning.

“That’s what we have to find out,” said Giles. “I don't know what these brethren mean to do exactly. Find the Anointed, or—give him something perhaps. It’s all very vague. And the Anointed may be long gone.”

“But he may not be,” said Buffy grimly.

“We must find out,” Giles agreed.

Buffy nodded, then added, “I just need to get Owen and the others out of the way first.”

“Owen?” said Giles. “You brought a date?”

In answer, Buffy pointed indignantly in the direction of the still-open morgue drawer.

“That, that was, extenuating, she wouldn’t stop talking, she’s very—” Giles gave up on trying to explain and pulled out a handkerchief, working instead on cleaning his glasses.

“And for the record,” Buffy added, “I didn't bring him, he came. I’ll take care of it.”

“You can't make him go out there alone, we don't know where the brethren are,” Giles objected, replacing his glasses, and then realized with a sinking feeling that this statement applied to Jenny as well. “Damn,” he muttered. “I’ll search the morgue for the Anointed and keep an eye on Jenny. You—figure out some way to get Owen out.”

“On it,” Buffy agreed, rounding the corner.

Giles then did the quickest morgue search he could manage while Jenny was still waiting for him. As he was opening the second to last drawer, she came back in, still looking a bit pink. “Rupert, I know you’re all about the badly-timed research,” she said nervously, “but now seems like the time to make a speedy exit.”

Good lord. How was he supposed to keep Jenny here? “I have one more drawer—” Giles began lamely.

“Rupert,” said Jenny.

Giles gave up. There was only one clear way to distract Jenny enough to keep her in the morgue. Trying his best not to think too much about what she might think it meant, he crossed the room, taking her in his arms and pressing her gently against the wall. “I’d like to talk about that kiss,” he said, trying to bring back his flirty-confident voice from his Ripper days. He wasn’t quite sure if he managed it.

Jenny raised a hand, tracing his jawline. “Yeah?”

“I’d like to kiss you again,” said Giles, hearing his voice dip lower.

Jenny’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parted, her breathing picking up. She didn’t answer.

“Jenny?”

“Yes,” said Jenny. “Yes, please,” and somehow, even though she was the one up against the wall, it was her grabbing him and pulling him in for another kiss. It wasn’t as brutal, nor as desperate; this kiss, while still dizzyingly passionate, was softer and less urgent than the other. As she pulled back to catch her breath, Giles just had to nuzzle her neck, letting her hair tickle his cheek as he pressed his lips to her throat. “Rupert, we have to go,” she was whispering, but she didn’t sound all that convinced, and honestly, Giles wasn’t either. Outside this night, he wouldn’t ever be this daring, or this bold, and really, what was the point of leaving this moment for one where Jenny Calendar wasn’t squirming as he kissed a spot just above her collarbone?

There was the clatter of footsteps. This time, Giles thankfully had enough presence of mind to pull away from Jenny before Buffy entered. Without a word to him, she rummaged through his bag of supplies, finally pulling out a stake and beginning to hurry away. She then turned, giving Giles a pointed, panicked look, and said, “Make sure the others are okay.”

It was in this moment that Andrew Borba came up behind Buffy, throwing her into a cabinet. She fell to the ground.

“Buffy!” Giles shouted.

Before he could do anything, Jenny had shoved herself in front of him, again brandishing the cross. “Stay back!” she shouted, but Giles could see her hand shaking.

Borba shuddered. “Why does he hurt me?” he demanded, and slapped the cross out of Jenny’s hand, picking her up and throwing her into the crematory controls. Giles didn’t have a moment to register what had happened, because Borba was picking him up too, throwing him in the same general direction as Jenny—

“Ow,” Giles managed.

“Ugh,” Jenny added, smiling a little tiredly, and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Quite,” said Giles. He’d only just managed to slam the crematory door shut in time for Borba to burn. “Um, Buffy—?” But Buffy was preoccupied with Owen.

“So, uh, weird night,” said Jenny. Giles caught sight of Willow glancing over her shoulder as she and Xander led Owen out. He tried to direct a reassuring smile in her direction, but his head ached far too badly for him to really manage it. “Can we go home now?”

“Oh, completely,” said Giles, pulling himself awkwardly up with Jenny still leaning against him. “Buffy? Jenny and I will be seeing ourselves home.”

Buffy nodded, but she didn’t quite seem to notice as he and Jenny left.

The cross necklace that Jenny had given Giles was an antique, one carved with covert and meticulous symbols. Research revealed that these symbols were all protection runes, all of them meant to repel demons and vampires and the like, and most of them surprisingly effective in doing so. Obviously, a Watcher couldn’t wear a demon-repelling cross on patrol; that rather defeated the purpose of getting close enough to kill them. It did, however, lend some new clarity to exactly why every single one of the cemeteries Jenny had sent him to had been on ground where vampires wouldn’t rise, as well as why her face tightened every time she said he would be staying late at school.

Giles ran multiple magical tests on the cross necklace. Absolutely all of them said the same thing: that the necklace was an item meant solely to protect. And while that did answer any questions he might have had about Jenny’s feelings towards him, it didn’t at all explain her knowledge of vampires, or exactly what she was really doing in Sunnydale.

#fic #very really married #i never know when i am going to update things #but big 2019 goal is to finally finish this!!!#i have so much of it written already; it being done is. so seriously plausible

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codylabs · 6 years

Text

Chapter 27: Farewell Savage Fate

Links: P 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

- Time:

- 2013 A.D., June 12th, 2:50pm (you don’t really need to pay attention to the times, they’re there for MY benefit.)

- Place:

- Crash Site Omega (control room)

-Warning: Intruders have begun Reactor 5 startup. Power output: 5% and rising. Coolant levels sufficient.

-Warning: Intruders have access to all remaining ship systems and engines.

-Input: Assign bioforms 3 and 4 a threat level of 20. Combat preference: Immediate lethal force. You are clear to engage. Take no survivors.

-Threat reassessed. Antimatter pellets loaded and launchers charged. Drones 155, 157, 158, 163, 164, 174, 175 and 179 engaging.

The 8 drones did exactly as they had been instructed, without a briefest moment’s hesitation. They hovered quietly out of the darkness, their eyes fixed on the entrance to the control room, their weapons hot, their minds already visualizing the battle.

Intruder 3, whom friendly faces knew as McGucket, was still busy at the computer, and would not be able to react in time. A single antimatter round could penetrate his torso and explode, killing him instantly. Stan, identified as intruder 4, remained catatonic in the chair; even if he were to wake up now, he would not be able to offer much resistance. Another antimatter round would terminate him.

Two shots. That’s all that was needed. Each drone loaded four for good measure.

But then something happened.

A brilliant flash of blue light lit up the control room. McGucket jumped backwards from the controls, startled and frightened. Did I just do that? This alien tech must be touchier than it looks… But then when he looked hard at the readouts, nothing seemed to have changed… All the settings and feedback were just where he’d left them… But then he noticed something really quite odd: The plasma beam weapon that had been leaned beside him was no longer there. He glanced around. Stan didn’t have it. Where did it go? What happened? It was right he—

The sound of eight simultaneous explosions echoed through the room. He heard debris rattling against the walls from outside, saw a scrap of burned wreckage bounce in past the doors, and shards of plating and chunks of robotic innards clattering to the ground outside.

Stanley was awake in an instant. “HI HEY NO PLEASE SUSAN I COULDN’T…! *Snrf* …Heeeey, can’t a fella get any sleep around here?”

“I dunno whatappened!” McGucket cried, rushing toward the door with Stan on his heels. “Whasappenin’ whatwassat noise whosthere whereintarnashin my death ray run off to?”

They looked out. Stan didn’t remember it being quite so warm and smoky. McGucket didn’t remember there being quite so many burned, smashed piles of robotic wreckage.

He also didn’t remember leaving his death ray out here. Yet there it was, sitting on the floor at his feet, that very same tool he’d misplaced seconds ago.

McGucket picked it up and found that it was lighter; its fuel tanks were nearly empty. And a quick check of the electrical charge revealed that the batteries were almost wasted as well.

The ignition chamber was still warm.

“Well I’ll be a pork-bellied feather-hearted dingleberry… What in the name of me Pappie’s gibberflunked bramblesnippin’ Mississippi combine just happened?”

“You need to keep better track of that thing.” Stan told him.

“Did you just do that just now?” McGucket asked.

“Did who do huh? Did something happen?”

“Wha--? But… The thing…? Oh my, lookit these poor robits…”

Stan made a long string of confused grunkley noises. “Welp, I’m in over my head. You got a brother I could call? I mean… A phone I could brother? I mean… Agh, can’t talk today. Hey waitaminute, where are the kids?”

“Yeh can’t get service down here…” McGucket reminded him. “Oh yeah, and them two teenagins said they’s was curious ‘bout somethin’, and ran off that-a-way.” He pointed off into the darkness.

“…Aaaagh. Dumb kids. Don’t they know there’s killer robots down here? …Okay; so you’re sure something blew all these things up?”

“Well yeah, an’ I think it may’ve used my plasma beam ta do it!” McGucket objected. “But I can’t rightly figger how they got it right out from under my nose, or ‘ow they did it so fast. Y’know this thing needs a moment to prime, a little bit ta charge, and even longer ta cool down, so it woulda taken a while ta do all this, but I believe I heard the events occur simultaneously, and…”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, listen, pal I’ve been living in a cramped ship’s cabin with my nerdy brother for the better part of a year now, and I have developed an extremely short fuse for technical mumbo-jumbo. So here’s how it is: if somethin’s weird, you say ‘somethin’s weird’ and stop there. Savvy?”

“Err… Sorry… Somethin’s weird.” McGucket said.

“Great. Weird. We know weird. We can handle weird. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with weird.” Stan pulled the doors closed behind them as they stepped into the control room. “Now. In case some maaaaagical death-ray-stealing mischief fairies wanna pay us another visit, I’ll leave it open a crack so we can hear ‘em coming.”

“Sounds good…” McGucket wrung his hands together as he stepped back up to the console. “Well… Actually, I think I got the programmin’ all finished. The reactor should be workin’ again. The gravitational nacelle has been calibrated to focus on the Forest of Daggers, and-”

“So what yer SAYIN’ is…” Stanley crossed his arms. “This whole joint’s gonna get weird once ya push that big red button.”

“…Yeah.”

“Better wait ‘till the kids are back then.”

“…I could run it through a test sequence…” McGucket scratched his chin. “Bring the core up to 50% output ta test for malfunctulations and stir up some noise; get ‘em back here faster.”

“Yeah. Great. Do that.”

McGucket hit the big red button.

It started quiet and built in intensity; an enormous, rumbling sort of hum, which thundered through the frame of the ship, shaking the walls, steadily overcoming all lesser noise.

McGucket turned it off again after a minute.

Stan adjusted his hearing aid. “That was a little loud.” He understated.

“Yeah, well, I reckon the coolant compressors had some corrosion, and the hydraulics were nearly rusted shut, so that’s my guess as to why…”

“Geez, you just take any little thing as an excuse to start in on it, don’t ya?” Stan grunted.

“Sorry.”

A noise from beyond the door interrupted them. It sounded like gunfire. From a raygun. Raygunfire.

“OKAY WHAT WAS THAT?!?” Stanley picked up a weapon, and marched for the door. “That better not be you stupid fairy brats again! Because I swear, this is getting on my last nerve! C’mon out and show yourself!”

But when he levered the hatch open, he froze in surprise.

“Ford?”

“Stanley?”

- Time:

- 2013 A.D., June 12th, 4:30pm (it doesn’t really matter when this was, but plotwise it happened before.)

- Place:

- Ford’s study, beneath the Mystery Shack (time and place where Sam happened to locate Ford)

Mabel stared up at the shapeshifter for a minute. Then she blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again. Yeeeah, that’s him alright.

She didn’t know why he was here, who let him out of the bunker, or what he was doing here. To be honest, she hadn’t even a faint inkling of what the heck happened at all while she was asleep. Gee whiz, spend one afternoon in a coma, and now the single nastiest and scariest monster I’ve ever met is right in here in the Shack… She had quite a lot of questions, but Great Uncle Ford or anybody was nowhere around to answer them. There was only this creature, this hideous, frightening… Thing.

Oh well.

She may as well just ask.

“Hi guy!” She smiled, forcing a smile onto her face. Be Mabel. She thought. Just like Dipper told you. Be Mabel. Think good thoughts… This IS gonna end up okay. One way or another. “How’s it going?” She asked, as her cheery words forced past her fear. “When did you get here?”

Sam hadn’t been expecting a question like that. In fact, he hadn’t expected even a hint of this cheery disposition. Unsure of how to react, he found himself answering candidly. “Twenty minutes ago…”

“Okay! Uh…!” She hopped down from her chair and stretched her sore neck as she glanced around the room. “Have you seen my Great Uncle? He was just here I think.”

“…He’s gone.”

She blinked. “Well yeah, I can see that; did you see where he went?”

“I think I kindnapped him.” He heard himself answer truthfully again.

“Whaaaat…?” Mabel frowned up at him skeptically. “How in pig’s name are you not sure if you kidnapped somebody?”

“Well, I…” Sam blinked down at the little girl. “…He disappeared. I’m sure it was me who did it, or who will do it. And… I… Uh.” He looked down at the yellow time machine in his hands, and felt himself descending ever deeper into confusion.

Mabel followed his eyes. Her jaw dropped and she gasped loudly. “What…! You! Wha! That’s no tape measure! THAT’S A TIME MACHINE! You have a time machine! You really have one! For real! Where’d you get it?”

“Y-yes. I… My mother gave it to me, I—”

“You have a mother?!? What’s she like?!?”

“I-wha-hey!” He finally found his focus again, reminded himself that he was in charge, and drug the conversation back on-topic. “YES. I have a time machine.” He repeated, clicking his teeth. “And I’ve been using it to remake my life as I will… I took Ford, I outsmarted all of you, and now, I have everything I want…”

Before she had time to feel intimidated, Mabel started talking again. “This is so awesome…!” She smiled, as her brain but together a plan. “Yes… YES! With a time machine, we can save him! It’s perfect! This fixes everything! We have a TIME MACHINE! Man, your mom must be AWESOME! Is it your birthday? Or is it Christmas? Do aliens have Christmas in June? Summermas? Where did she buy it?”

“…Calm down.” Sam frowned at her.

“Saaaay new friend, could I actually borrow that thing for a minute?” Mabel pleaded. “It’s really really reallyreallyreallysuperduper important.”

“Calm down.” He repeated.

“I’ll give it right back and everything!” She promised as she reached for it. “But my brother kind of died a couple days ago so I really need to save him. It’s really kind of urgent so would that be alright? You could come too if you want!”

“QUIET!” He reached out a hand and pushed her away. She stumbled right over on the floor, and almost hit her head on the corner of a table as she went over. Sam blinked, surprised. Oops. She’s weaker than I thought. I almost hurt her; I didn’t mean to hurt her… Wait, why DIDN’T I mean to hurt her? Of course you mean to hurt her! You’re HERE to hurt her…!

“You’re a fool.” He growled out loud. “You’re asking me to loan you this? To save your brother?…” I’m here to hurt her. “Don’t you know who I am and what I’ve done?”

She stared at him blankly. “Well… Yeah, you’re the shapeshifter guy…? You kinda--”

“My name is Sam, and I’m your enemy.” He explained. “And as for what I’ve done, did you know your brother’s death was no accident?” He held up the machine. “I just used this to kill him, stupid. He’s dead because of ME. And I’m proud of it. Because I hated him.”

Mabel eased slowly up to a sitting position in one corner of the room, and then even slower to her feet. “Oh…” Her voice became small and flat, as she considered this latest revelation for a minute. “Oh.” She finally repeated.

He nodded. “Now what do you think of that?”

“Well… Uh…” Mabel’s shoulders shuddered briefly. “That’s… Kind of… Mean.”

Sam wasn’t sure if he’d heard that right. “Mean.”

“Yeah, pretty mean…” Mabel informed him. “Like… Pretty selfish too… Most people would be… Nicer than that.”

The two little orifices on the top of his head emitted a snort. Mabel supposed that they must be his nostrils. “Are you… Brain dead?” He asked, as his fangs clicked in amusement. “You do realize what I’m saying, don’t you? That I killed your brother in cold blood? That I’m going to kill your uncle? That your own fate is subject to my whim…? You do understand… Don’t you?”

Mabel wrung her hands inside her sweater sleeves. “…Yeah.” She said. “I get it.”

“…Then why aren’t you thinking dark thoughts?”

Dark thoughts…

Mabel recognized those words. Robbie once said those words. The day that Dipper died, Robbie had stolen her joy with those words. The day she’d brought Robbie along on her happy little adventure, and sent him down into the bunker, he’d come back with those words… Mabel finally put it all together.

“Oh…” She said. “That wasn’t Robbie, that was you… That was when you got out…” Her voice got small. “I let you out.”

“Give the young lady a prize.”

“Uh… Oh… I’m really sorry… I mean! Uh, no, not sorry, I mean good for you! Hi! Welcome to the surface world! Uh… Ooh. Gee. Awkward…”

There was silence for a moment in the room, as the girl and the monster looked at each other, neither one precisely sure what next to do or say. Finally Mabel spoke up again.

“So… Uh… Besides for killing people, what are you doing?” The girl asked. “Like… I’m still kind of confused, and time travel is really complicated so… What’s going on?”

Sam looked at her.

“Well…” He started. “I was just taking care of some business. Making sure that things happened the way they were supposed to. Making sure I got to where I am today. Controlling your very lives.”

“…You can’t control my life.” Mabel frowned.

“Oh, but I can. In fact, I already have… Do you remember this?” He produced a small metal box, popped it open, and removed the robot kitten, of all things.

“Oh… Uh… Hi Juan!” Mabel waved at the little metal creature.

Sam stuffed it unceremoniously back in the box. “You loved it so much that I can use it to manipulate you. I saved it when your family tried to kill it… And now… Oh, I have a wonderful idea! What if I were to give it back to you the next night, with a note attached to it that said you needed to take action? What if that was the spark that lit the fire inside you? What if that were the reason you first launched on your hairbrained quest and accidentally freed me? What if…”

Sam walked over to one of the computers in Ford’s study, and booted it up. When a data entry program appeared, he began to type. “How about it? Am I talking nonsense, or truly writing history here?” He finished typing, and hit another button.

A nearby old-timey printer began to chatter, and it noisily emitted a single small piece of paper. “There!” Sam held up the note and shoved it in Mabel’s face. “Is that the note? Does that sound like something nice enough to get you to do something stupid?”

Mabel read it.

Enjoy the time you have with him.

Because it’s not right for him to stay here long.

Find a good place for him, Mabel. We believe in you.

Be wise and loving. Be his hero. Save his life.

Mabel read it a second time.

“Uh…” She mumbled. “Yeah… That’s the note… Hmm. Oh.”

“Well then.” Sam pulled out the time machine, and disappeared in a flash of light.

Mabel blinked and stared at the place where he’d been standing.

She took a step back, and found herself all the way in the corner of the room.

I always just thought it was an honest, well-meaning invisible wizard who did that. She pounded her forehead with her fists. I just thought ‘hey, there must actually be some decent, happy people somewhere in the world’… But it was all a lie. Everything I did, it was just a random, convoluted, pointless wild goose chase that accomplished nothing except ruining everything.

But… Wait… If Sam DIDN’T give me that note, then I WOULDN’T have done anything, and I WOULDN’T have freed him and he WOULDN’T have given me that note! …But since he DID give me that note, I DID free him, so he DID give me that note… It’s just a weird random circle that happened for no reason except itself! Dang it time travel! Why you gotta be so complicated?!?

…Well… Actually, this entire thing relies pretty heavily on me being stupid. I was so bent on being kind, so determined to find niceness and happiness where there was none, that I turned my brain off entirely.

So if at any time I’d just decided to use my head, then that would’ve been it. And it wouldn’t have happened.

If the time loop ever DID had a cause, then that cause was me.

…

Dipper, what do I DO?

There was another flash of blue light, and Sam was standing there again.

“And that’s it.” He spread his arms grandly, like a magician would after the completion of a spectacle. “I’ve been hopping around doing whatever I please, killing whoever I please. And that’s why your uncle’s gone too. Soon as I’m through with you, I’ll head back in time, take him away, and do as I will…”

“Yeah…” She whispered. “I see.”

“It all fits.” He told her. “I did it. It’s been a complicated equation, but I’m the answer. I’m the end. And that’s what’s happening.”

Mabel bit her lip and squeezed back tears.

You need to be stronger, Mabel. Dipper’s words whispered in the back of her memory. No matter what happens, to me or anybody else, we need you to be strong. Strong enough to hold together when something hits you. Tough enough to take a thousand hits and never break. Be hopeful. Be loving. Be cheerful, and caring, and good… Be that way forever. With or without me. That’s what we need you to do…

Mabel took a deep breath. In an instant, she knew exactly what she had to do. I have a job. She remembered. Fate has a job for sweet, happy, trusting little Mabel, and I’m the only one that can do it.

Time to do it.

“Hey Sam.” She said.

“What?”

“I’m…” She wiped her eyes and struggled to hold her voice steady. She really was afraid. “Uh… Why you haven’t killed me? …Do you like me?”

“I— What?” He grew a couple inches taller and snarled. “I don’t like you.”

“Eh… Well! I mean!” Mabel stuttered. “I mean you must have hated Dippingsauce a lot to kill him, but with me you’re just standing there, so that means you don’t hate me. I mean you don’t have a reason to hurt me and you don’t really want to. And that’s why you don’t. So yeah, so right, so there.”

There was silence for a minute in the darkened room.

Sam hadn’t thought about it like that before. But now that it came down to it, he realized it was true… He didn’t hate her.

He remembered his mother. How she treated everything like an object, or a tool. In all things she acted shrewd, cruel, pragmatic and level. She hurt and killed anyone that ever crossed her, never hesitated to stoop to the sickest, most murderous depths to gain any advantage. Power was the name of her game, and strength was its only rules. That made sense to Sam. That fit with what he knew and had seen. That was the only way it ought to be.

When he realized that he himself didn’t hate somebody… It felt like weakness. Why don’t I hate her?

Why AM I even talking to her, anyway?

What am I trying to do?

He’d come here for revenge; to destroy even the memory of everyone who’d been responsible for what happened to him: Stanford Pines, Fiddleford McGucket, Dipper Pines, Wendy Corduroy…

And he’d also wanted to find his people, so that he would no longer be alone. But now that he knew what it meant to be a part of his own family, now I know what his mother expects of an ally, Now… It seemed to him that he hated her as much as he hated the rest of his enemies.

But that was also none of Mabel’s business.

Sam opened his mouth to growl something, but the girl was already talking again. “I dunno about you, but I want a happy ending!” She stated. “And I bet deep down you actually want to help me! Because really everybody wants everything to turn out alright. So do you think there’s any chance you could have a change of heart and start being a good guy instead of a bad guy anytime soon?”

Sam blinked as if in shock, having a hard time believing that such a train of thought could even exist. “…Really…?”

“Come on!” Mabel pleaded. “I know you can’t be all bad! You let me sit on your lap and drive when you were pretending to be Robbie! And how about Tambry? She’s been on her Facepage account, and her Bumblr account, and her Chirper account, and all her accounts all week really, talking about how great the concert was and how great Robbie was but you were Robbie!”

“I had to learn to operate a vehicle.” He explained. “You were the only one around with a rudimentary understanding. That wasn’t you sitting on my lap, that was me tricking you into teaching me. And as for Tambry, I needed to blend in. Killing and eating her wouldn’t have blended in.” Wait, what am I doing? Sam demanded of himself. Am I trying to justify myself to HER? Trying to convince her that I AM a monster?

If you want to convince her of THAT. Another thought intruded on his mind. Just kill her. Remember who and what and where you are. You’ve got places to be and things to do. Standing here chatting with a teenage girl is wasting precious seconds. You were right in the middle of your revenge!

“Well yeah but you still did let me sit on your lap!” She once again interrupted him. “And you still were extra nice to Tambry even when you didn’t have to; so how about it? Maybe you were even happier when you were nice to people! I don’t know, but maybe down deep inside you’re actually a nice person! And the only little problem is that you’re just really angry and mean and evil and think it’s alright to do terrible things, but you’re actually nice… You know, like Beauty and the Beast or Doofenshmirtz or Count Bleck!”

Sam stared at her.

Mabel swallowed quietly.

I have a job to do.

It all led up to this. It all wraps up in this. It all ends now.

She told her foot to take a step forward, but it hesitated. Come on, move you stupid leg! She silently shouted. I need you forward! The place where you aren’t! Just move movemove come on move! Sure it looks like a monster up there, but it’s really a person somewhere inside, a person who needs his justice too! Come on, this is it! Take a step! Her leg wasn’t used to being yelled at, and finally obeyed.

Then she told her other foot to take a step too. It hesitated as well, but obeyed just like the other. She could hear her own heart beating, and knew she had to keep talking so that fear wouldn’t drive her right back.

“S-s-so how about it, Sam?” She asked, and with a monumental effort forced a smile onto her face. “Maybe… Maybe we could work together to make everything right again! Maybe you don’t have to be the bad guy, maybe you don’t have to be alone, or sad, or angry… Maybe everything could be okay if you just stop thinking dark thoughts…”

She was close enough to touch him now. Close enough to smell his breath. Close enough that he could injure her by no more than flinching. Close enough to make out every detail of his creepy, slimy body. Close enough to even hug him.

“Come on, Sam…” She said. “Don’t you want a happy ending?”

In spite of himself, Sam considered it.

He weighed all sides of the issue. He remembered all the evil that had been done between him and this family he was killing. Stanford and Fiddleford’s experiments, and the years spent locked underground. Dipper and Wendy’s attempts at his life… But in return… There was everything he’d done back to them… So Sam then wondered about forgiveness: could this family forgive him? And could he forgive this family? Was forgiveness possible after things such as this? Could there ever be peace?

…And were friends something he ever wanted? He remembered the time spent with Tambry. Indeed, the best week of his life had been the one where she loved him; where he had people around to laugh and joke and eat and sing with. Nowhere, in all the revenge and violence or deceit since, had he ever tasted anything as sweet as love…

…But would any of it be worth it, to forsake the destiny his mother had laid out for him? She would have him live a life of lies, violence, malice… And with that life would come strength, power, greatness… A chance, perhaps, to one day return to his people, even earn their respect. He could earn allies, powerful allies. He could have anything he wanted…

Anything he wanted…

But what if peace was what he wanted?

Sam thought about these matters.

And then he made his decision.

He raised his hands in the air, and brought them down hard. Mabel’s body broke and twisted and came to pieces as he smashed her to death. And each blow brought more resolution, more clarity, more confidence to his soul, as he knew then and there exactly the type of man he was. But it also broke his heart, for he knew that he was throwing away what could be his one and only chance at honest friendship.

In that moment, he hated himself more than he had ever hated another, so that he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and longed more than anything in the world to change his decision. But there was no going back on it now; he had sealed his soul and his fate, with a sin so cruel and monumental that could not be undone, even within his own mind. And with this burden on his heart, he turned and left the lab, to continue a life that led ever deeper into darkness.

At least.

That’s exactly what would have happened.

But instead, before he made his decision, while he still thought about these matters, he was distracted. And while he was distracted, Mabel’s hand darted forward, and plucked the time machine out of his hand.

The action was so quick, so nimble, and so utterly unexpected, that he didn’t even have time to react until she was already gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

Already gone.

- Time:

- 2013 A.D. (somewhen)

- Place:

- Ford’s study, beneath the Mystery Shack

The ethereal blast of the time-jump left her disoriented as her feet touched down in Ford’s study in some other distant time. She wasn’t sure exactly when she was, she just knew that she was safe.

It worked. Mabel gasped.

As soon as she was sure, her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed onto the cold wooden floor, crying and shaking and maybe even laughing just a tiny little bit. “I’m sorry…” She blubbered. “I’m sorry Sam… I’m sorry… I lied… You…” She choked. “You don’t get a happy ending you gross, fat, lying, murdering, poop-headed JERK! …You killed my brother… Nobody… Nobody gets to do that… Nobody… Nobody… Nobody…”

- Time:

- 2013 A.D., June 12th, 2:50pm (about the same time, maybe a little before)

- Place:

- Crash Site Omega (some place on the way back from the Shifter’s lair)

The close metal walls of the alien ship creeped with slime, rust, and decay. In every direction they stretched, great decrepit monoliths interwoven with deliberate purpose by beings long since dead. The trusses and members of the walls curved over and beneath and around the hallways, like the uneven, bloated ribs of some monstrous, shapeless corpse. The rays from the headlamp reflected strangely off the faded metal surfaces, casting shadows shaped like reflections, and reflections shaped like shadows.

It was a scary place on its own. Human minds have always guarded a natural fear of the strange and unknown, and this environment seemed designed to foster such unease. Any pillar might seem to hide an enemy. Any dark area might conceal death. Everything but the very nearest walls were a mystery, forgotten since time out of mind.

Wendy should have been afraid.

But this place wasn’t strange or unknown to her any more. She understood it, and the very real, very dangerous threats that inhabited it: the cold reckoning and electronic reflexes of patrolling security machines, and the wily, bloodthirsty intelligence of a timeless, formless beast. There was a reason, she knew, that this place had gone unnoticed for so very long: everybody who ventures inside was killed. Murderous natures did lurk around every corner. Fear was never irrational.

Wendy should have been afraid.

And yes, she did want out of here.

Yes, she wanted nothing but to return to peaceful places, to be reunited with loved ones, and to lie quietly at home in the light, far from harm and the burden of destiny and violence.

Yes, she was in phenomenal pain.

Yes, she was probably bleeding out.

Yes, she was trying very hard to keep her eyes open, because she knew that if she bent over and fell asleep now, she would never awake.

But she wasn’t afraid.

Not even a little.

Not anymore.

Her slow, limping trudge was interrupted by a quiet noise from somewhere up ahead. A pair of security drones hovered around a corner and fixed her with their unwavering red stare. Beneath their smooth surfaces, all manner of weapons charged and readied.

But their sensors swept her, and found none of the usual chemical markers of hostility. They saw her calm. Perhaps one of them sent a request to the security officer, asking for input on how to deal with this subject. But the officer never responded.

“Don’t even try it.” Wendy muttered up at their unhearing stares. “She’s already dead. And I’m already gone.”

She never stopped walking. And the drones did nothing but watch as she approached, watch her pass between them, and watch her backside as she continued on her way.

Soon now… So soon, and it would all be over. Once she finished her tasks and closed all the time loops, she would be free to undo all of history. Return things to the way they were supposed to be. Return to peaceful days free of sickness. Return to the nights when she could sleep easy. Return to a time when killer robots were the worst she had to deal with.

Return to the mission.

Return to him.

- Time:

- 2013 A.D., June 12th, 4:28pm (less than a minute after Sam’s appearance)

- Place:

- Ford’s study, beneath the Mystery Shack

Ford didn’t honestly have time to put together what all was happening. All he knew was that somehow, the shapeshifter was right here in the Shack, his niece was helpless and asleep behind him, and this thing is a much faster than I…

Strong hands grabbed him by the collar and hurled him headfirst toward the wall. He winced instinctively to prepare for the impact, as he reached for a weapon hidden in his coat.

Then there was a flash of blue light, and he didn’t hit the wall; he hit Mabel.

They both went into a pile on the floor.

“OOF! HEY! WHAT?!?”

Mabel stood back up unharmed and ecstatic. “It worked! It worked!” She blared like a siren. “I saved you! It worked!”

“Umm! Uh! Agh! What’s happening?” He staggered to his feet and drew the gun. He saw the shapeshifter standing in the middle of the room, frozen mid-throw… And he saw that Mabel was still where he’d left her, asleep in the chair. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure who he should be aiming at: the frozen shapeshifter, or the mysterious second Mabel?

Before he could do either, the mysterious second Mabel had her arms wrapped tightly around his hips, squeezing him in a tight hug and jumping up and down at the same time.

“I can’t believe I did it! It worked! It worked! I time-traveled like an expert pro and I froze time and I saved you! At first I was confused because time machines should just have only two buttons, for forward and backward, but instead it had a bunch of other buttons and one of them said ‘FRZ’ which I first thought stood for ‘Fat Rolling Zebras’ but then I realized it stood for ‘FReeZe’ as in ‘freeze,’ so I tried it out and time froze so here we are, and I’m sorry when I’m excited I tend to deliver exposition in really long unbroken sentences!” She finally took a breath. “But anyway it’s like destiny or something! IT WORKED!”

Ford poked his fingers up under his glasses to rub his eyes, then tried to compose himself as he waited for the spots to clear. He took a deep breath. He was still sick with a high fever, and still running on about 2 hours of sleep; not the best conditions to go on any type of adventure, let alone making sense of whatever the heck this was. “Okay.” He said anyway. “I think I got it, but just in case… Would you remind repeating all that again? Significantly slower this time please.”

Sam stared at the place where Mabel had disappeared, having taken his fate, his hope, and his one possession with her.

He had been tricked.

But he was not unintelligent. He was not unfamiliar with the way time travel worked. He knew in an instant what this meant.

It meant that she was going to save her uncle. That had been the real reason he disappeared. It was her who’d taken him, not to kill him as Sam would have, but to save him. Now that Sam’s greatest, oldest enemy had access to the tape, Sam realized that he could be easily killed at any time. Just as I killed the boy. At any point they could freeze the flow of time, and appear among that breach in the flow with a deadly weapon at the ready. I won’t see anything. I won’t feel anything. At any moment now, any moment at all, I’ll see a flash of bluish light, and when it fades, I will stand with a mortal wound.

Any moment now…

Any moment now, and the good guys will win.

Any moment.

Sam stared at the place on the floor.

He imagined Mabel standing there again, and tried to think what he might try to say to her if he could. What could he say? Could he apologize? Could he beg? Could he undo time and give her back her beloved brother? No… Yes… No… Perhaps… If only she were here again… Oh, who am I kidding? If she were here again, the only smart option would be to kill her again…

Then he imagined Stanford there, and tried to rehearse what he might say to him. Could he reason with him? Could he accuse him? Or just beg for mercy all over again; beg to be consigned to another terrible life in a cold prison beneath the ground? It would be so much better than death… ANYHING was better than death. Anything but that cold, dark, mysterious hell… No… No, if Ford were here, I would just attack him again. Because I will not suffer prison again. Never, not again, not one minute more. Death, any death, would be better than that.

He imagined Tambry there. What the devil could he say to her? Perhaps, before he died, he would have liked to tell her that he really did love her. He wasn’t sure if it was true, but he wished so badly that it was. Most of all, he would’ve just liked to thank her for loving him, and for leading him through the one beautiful week he’d ever had in his life; the one he’d spent in the light. That, he knew, was true. Oh, Tambry… If you were here… I could tell you that I did indeed love you… But if you were here, you would finally see me for who I really am, and then you would hate me, just like all the others. You would hate me for being a monster. And I would kill you and possibly eat you, because… Because…

Why? Why are you so bloodthirsty, Sam? Why is every inclination of your soul only evil all the time? How did you come to be the monster that you are? What foul soul did you inherit from that psycho mother of yours? What black deeds must she and her kind have done, far away and long ago, so black and pitiless and cruel that they echo right down to you…?

Then he imagined his mother there.

And he couldn’t imagine a single thing he could possibly say to her. He couldn’t even bring himself to meet her eyes. He bowed his head.

“You’re weak.” In the back of his mind, he heard his mother’s words whispering down at him. “If you were strong, you could have killed him when you were a child. If you were strong, you could have escaped. If you were strong, you could have killed them all. If you were strong, you could have been worthy to stand, worthy to be called my son. If you were strong… If you were strong… If you were strong…

If I was strong…

Sam couldn’t cry. His eyes didn’t naturally have any tear ducts, for his body was slimy enough already. And he couldn’t’ scream. He’d never screamed before, only roared or snarled. But those were sounds for anger, for fight-or-flight, for pain of the body. He didn’t know what sound to make for this pain of the soul, or for this incredible, overpowering mortal fear. He knelt down on the floor and he wondered if he could pray at least.

Dear God.

Dear God…

…

God, I hate you too.

There was nothing else to say, nothing at all.

But a song did come to mind.

It was an old, classic song, one that McGucket used to play 30-something years ago, down in the lab on an old record player. It was long ago in Sam’s youth, and he hadn’t quite understood the meaning of the words back then. But he recalled them now, and now he understood. Indeed, it seemed as if it had been written for him, so he quietly recited it.

“Well, my name, it is Sam Hall, Sam Hall.

Yes, my name, it is Sam Hall, it is Sam Hall.

My name it is Sam Hall, and I hate you one and all.

And I hate you, one and all,

Curse your eyes.

…

I killed a man, they said, so they said.

I killed a man, they said, and I smashed in his head.

And I left him lying dead,

Curse his eyes.

…

But a-swinging, I must go, I must go.

A-swinging, I must go, I must go.

A-swinging, I must go while you critters down below,

Yell up, “SAM I TOLD YOU SO!”

Well curse your eyes.

…

I saw Mabel in the crowd, in the crowd.

I saw Mabel in the crowd and I hollered, right out loud,

“Hey there Mabel, ain’t you proud?

Curse your eyes.”

…

Then the sheriff, he came to, he came to.

Ah, yeah, the sheriff, he came to, he came to.

The sheriff, he come to and he said “Sam, how’re you?”

And I said, “Well, sheriff, how’re you?

Curse your eyes…”

…

My name is Samuel, Samuel.

My name is Samuel, and I’ll see you all in hell.

And I’ll see you all in hell.

Curse your eyes…”

He shifted one of his hands into a long, bony stinger. And he placed it under his chin. He lowered the bone density in his skull so that it would be easy and painless.

“…And I’ll see you all in hell…

…Curse your eyes…”

- Time:

- 2013 A.D., June 12th, 3:05pm (one hour previously)

- Place:

- Crash Site Omega (last known location of Wendy, Stan, McGucket, and Robbie)

A short time jump, a two-mile walk, and a seemingly endless ladder later, Ford and Mabel found themselves slowly and stealthily progressing through the engine room of the alien spacecraft. Mabel’s story mulled around in Ford’s head, while worry and anger built up in his chest.

“Wow, this place is creepy. How come you never brought me down here? Are there lots of aliens? It’s dirty down here. They must have run out of soap. And did they invent sparkles on their world? We need to take them to our glitter. Wow, di-”

“And you’re sure the Valentino boy was replaced?” Ford interrupted.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “You’re sure that he went down here with everyone?”

“Yes…” Ford hissed. His worry increased with the darkness and the silence and their depth beneath the ground, and his anger increased with Mabel’s constant talking and chattering and cheeriness. Why couldn’t she just calm down and be quiet? Didn’t she realized the danger wasn’t yet passed?

Eventually, the walls began to shake, and a great noise filled the air. Ford pulled Mabel for cover, and they sat there together in the dark, waiting for the noise to pass. Ford realized that it must be McGucket; he must have gotten the ship’s reactor working again… At least he hoped it was him… He hoped his friend was still alive, still in control… One worry on top of another.

“So what are we doing down here, again?” Mabel asked.

Ford’s patience was growing dangerously thin.

“We.” He growled. “Need to find the others, and warn them about the shapeshifter. There’s no telling where and when it has been, or what it did, before you trapped it. It could have been here right at this very moment…!”

“That last sentence was pretty confusing, but okay, I’ll be quiet!” Mabel whispered a little too loudly. “Wait, hold on, when are we right now? Are we in the present?”

“Every time is the present when you’re in it.” Ford rolled his eyes. “It’s a subjective term.”

“Brain hurting…”

“To answer your question, we’re about an hour before you stole the time machine from it. With any luck, that will prevent it from seeing us coming.”

“Hmm… Okay, yeah, but actually, I think he’s a ‘he’ not an ‘it’. I mean since he has a soul and everything.”

“What?”

“Right? I mean, living underground for so long probably made him really sad and angry. And now that he’s out, he got a name, and a mom, and he really started to… You know, really become his own person and everything… Like, his revenge is wrong and everything, but it still makes sense…”

“The… The… The ability to think…” Ford stuttered. “D-d-doesn’t make you a person. Neither does the ability to lie. But that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that we find everyone else, get them to safety, and get out again without being seen by something worse…”

“Stealth mode… Activated.” Mabel pulled her sweater up over her nose, and combed her hair into a ninja mask.

Ford paused to stare at her. “…Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better at least!” He suddenly burst. “You know, for a girl who just lost her brother to a murderous monster that she unleashed herself, you’re acting awfully chipper, you know that?”

That hurt.

But Mabel was used to hurt after all this. She’d already reached rock bottom today. Rock bottom was a terrible place to be… But Dipper had met her there. He’d still loved her there, and he’d helped her rise back up.

“He forgave me.” Mabel said.

Ford lost his temper as he stood up and continued down the passage. “Then he’s a BETTER MAN than I!”

That hurt even more.

Mabel was silent from that point on.

And Ford pushed onward, trying to ignore his own guilt, as he wondered if perhaps he was the one the shifter truly hated. Perhaps all of this was just an elaborate, contrived ploy to get back at him… Perhaps it’s all my fault. Perhaps that really was an intelligent creature I locked in my lab for all those years. Perhaps if I’d treated him as an equal, or a friend, or a child, then… No. NO! It’s an ‘it’! It’s evil! It killed! And it will kill again! Ford pushed his guilt, and his doubt, and all other cluttering, pointless thoughts toward the back of his mind. And he promised to think about it later; sometime when everything was safe. Sometime when he could afford to waste even a single moment on such thoughts. Sometime when real people, when humans, when family, weren’t in danger of death.

Finally, a dim yellowish light appeared not far ahead, reflecting green off the bluish walls. They rounded one last corner to find the light shining out through a crack in a heavy metal door; Ford recognized it as the entrance to the control room. Somebody must still be inside. Please be Fiddleford and Stan. Please be alive…

But then Ford noticed something very odd: this hallway had been rather empty the last time he’d been down here. But now it was messy; cluttered with debris and broken machinery and thousands of shards of shattered glass. He motioned Mabel to a standstill, and pulled out a magnet gun as he bent to inspect the wreckage. He recognized a lot of these parts; fusion pulse weapons, tentacled robot arms, and scraps of spherical glass shells, perhaps 2 meters wide.

“What’s all this clutter? Was this an alien attic or something?” Mabel whispered from his elbow.

“No, these are security drones… Or they were…” Ford poked at it with the barrel of the magnet gun.

“Are they all dead?”

“Well it definitely appears as if… Wait.” Ford’s eyes swept the carnage. Toward the opposite end, a single motor twitched. One of the red triangular eyes lit up briefly to look at him.

Ford flipped the gun to its pulse setting, and shot it. The red eye flashed, and sparks arced across its body, frying and scrambling its circuits. The remains of its artificial intelligence realized it ought to send some manner of report back to the central mainframe, but it was so frazzled that its last words ended up being nothing but an incoherent string of nonsense: “INTRUDERS DETECTED INCONCLUSIVE REFERENCE CODE RETURN THREAT LEVEL UPGRADED TO JELLY ROLL ONE: ERROR 443\]kl;/oij#JE’~~3Dde~~~…” It broadcasted with the last of its consciousness.

“Now they’re all dead.” Ford answered confidently.

“Okay. So-”

“OKAY WHAT WAS THAT?!?” A new voice spoke up, coming from the control room entrance. “That better not be you stupid fairy brats again! Because I swear, this is getting on my last nerve! C’mon out and show yourself!”

Ford spun on his heels. The narrow sliver of light creaked open to its full width, and the silhouette of his twin brother was suddenly standing in the gap.

“Ford?”

“Stanley?”

- Time:

- 2013 A.D., June 12th, 3:05pm (concurrent)

- Place:

- Crash Site Omega (Wendy)

It seemed like hours of walking, with the pain burning through every wound in her body, blood pooling from the spike in her stomach, and her legs stiff beneath her. It was probably only 20 minutes or something, but still.

Finally, she reached the control room at the ship’s center, and pulled the tape to jump back to right before she’d heard the ship’s engines going off; back when she’d first realized drones were being sent to kill McGucket and Stan.

She hit the ‘freeze’ button on the tape as she appeared, and took a moment to look around. Sure enough, there were no fewer than 8 drones approaching the control room, and sure enough, the old men had no idea what was coming. Stan was even asleep.

Ugh.

Well, they’re too high of the ground to use an axe… And I left the ray gun somewhere… Ugh… Oh hey, wait, McGucket brought that new death ray of his, didn’t he? Yeah, he has it down here…

She stumbled into the control room, unfroze the massive weapon, and brought it back outside.

Okaaaay, soo… How do you turn this thing on?

She messed with it for a couple seconds, flipping this switch and that, pulling the trigger, and scratching the record (why is there a record player?) Eventually she found a switch that made it make a whole lot of funny noises, and another one that turned on the ‘ignition’ light. The weapon roared to life in her hands, and a swirling, glowing pink ball of pure sci-fi-ness formed a few inches from the tip. She aimed it upwards at the first drone and pulled the trigger.

Wham.

The time-frozen room glowed with brilliant pink light for a moment, as the superheated beam tore through the robot’s shell. The grass cracked, the metal components melted, and its batteries violently burst.

But time was still frozen, so its debris just hung motionless in the air, mid-explosion, as Wendy aimed the weapon at the next drone.

Wham.

And the next.

Wham.

Finally they were all dead, and Stan and McGucket were safe.

Huh. Wow. She looked down at the death ray. I actually REALLY like this thing. She unfroze time just long enough to watch the robots’ wreckage clatter to the ground, and catch the stench of warm smoke. Then she dropped the death ray where she stood, and stepped back into the shadow of a nearby pipe to think through strategy: Okay, so they’re safe, that’s a real load off. But now how do I find Sam? How do I get myself medical attention when I can’t trust anyone? How do I keep him from killing Mabel and Ford and everybody else? Where do I go from here?

Oh man, I’m still bleeding…

Every time she thought about her injury, it seemed to be getting worse. And always she seemed to be getting tired faster. Things were getting… Weird… And every time she sat down, it was harder and harder to force herself to stand back up.

After 10 minutes of balancing torture and sleep, she was forcefully drug out of her brooding by the sudden loud discharge of a magnet gun.

“OKAY WHAT WAS THAT?!?” Stan’s distant voice mirrored her thoughts. “That better not be you stupid fairy brats again! Because I swear, this is getting on my last nerve! C’mon out and show yourself!”

Wendy forced herself to an upright sitting position, and peaked around the pipe to see what was happening.

Much to her surprise and suspicion, she saw two guests that she’d presumed dead.

“Ford?”

“Stanley, is that you?”

“Bro, why are YOU down here? I told you to get some rest!”

“The real question is why y’all’re down here!” Mabel piped up. “It’s colder and creepier than the county jail down here! Heck, creepier than a unicorn dungeon! Dare I say, even creepier than a gnome drunk-tank!”

“Mabel!” Stan noticed his great niece standing there with him. “Sweetie! Are you okay? What’re you…? What’re you both doing down…?”

“Stanley give me your hand.” Ford commanded, rushing up to him. “Here. Now. Give it. Quickly and quietly now; we haven’t got all day. Mabel, stand guard, would you?”

“What woah hey what’s the matter with-” Stanley began to protest as Ford grabbed his wrist, drew a small knife, and pricked a hole in Stan’s palm. Stan drew his hand back as fast as he could react, and clutched his wounded fist to his chest. “OW HEY GEEZ FORD WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!? YA COULDA KILLED ME!”

“I… I was just…” Ford looked at the drops of red fluid trickling out of his brother’s fist. “Red blood. Good. My apologies, it was a necessary evil. Stanley, we’ve got a-”

“Look poindexter, I don’t gotta put up with this! I’m OLD!”

“We’ve got a problem.” Ford continued. “Where’s Robert?”

“I said I’m too old for this!” Stan gave one last try at driving the idea appropriately far into his brother’s brain. “TOO. OLD… And wait, who in Stalin’s pits is ‘Robert’…?”

“The Valentino boy! Shaggy, gangly little creature. Wears a hoodie? Eyeliner? Human, I believe.”

“…Oh you mean Robbie? Yeah, he was here earlier. McGucket said he ran off with Wendy about an hour ago. Thought they’d be back by now.”

“Oh, blast it all…” Ford nervously glanced about.

Wendy sighed, and drew her axe. If Ford and Mabel were real, then that was 4 of her friends accounted for, and she could get their help. But if one of them was the Shifter… She didn’t know how she’d face him in her current state, but it would be better to get it out of the way now than later. “ALL RIGHT YOU TWO…” She announced, as loudly and strongly as she could muster. “HERE’S HOW IT IS.”

Everyone turned about, looking for the source of her voice. Ford drew a ray gun and pointed it toward her hiding place in a fit of panic.

“Stan 2…” She struggled upright, using her axe like a walking stick. “You… You know about the shapeshifter… Which means you either beat him, or you are him. So… So prove the first one or I swear I’ll, like… Do something bad…”

“Uh… I can vouch for him!” Mabel spoke up. “He ain’t been out of my sight!”

“And I can vouch for Mabel…” Ford said. “But now YOU… Uh… You’d better be the real Wendy…!”

Wendy figured that was proof enough. Or maybe it wasn’t… Oh, heck if she knew. And even if it wasn’t, she couldn’t fight like this…

She stepped out into the light.

She was bleeding the color red from enough places that they no longer found her suspect.

“Geez, girl, you alright?!?” Stan took in her injuries. “C’mon, sit down! What got ya?”

“Uh…” Wendy finally seemed to partially relax, and let Stan lead her over to a big, round alien chair in the control room. “You… You guys are all okay… You’re all alive. I thought…”

“Wendy, I’m dreadfully sorry, but we have bigger problems!” Ford told her. “We have reason to believe that the Shapeshifter had a parent, likely possessing time-travel capabilities of far-reaching extent. Have you s-”

“Neutralized.” Wendy collapsed into the chair, while Stan fumbled with a first aid kit. “I… T-t-took care of it.”

Ford blinked. “You… Did? It’s captured?”

“Dead.” Wend winced as Stan lifted her jacket to inspect the wound. “She’s dead.”

Mabel put her hand over her mouth. “You killed her?”

Ford frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeh.” She grunted quietly.

“Uh…” Ford noticed the greenish filth covering her shirt and forearms for the first time, and was shocked to realize it was all blood. “Uh… Y-y-yes…” He stuttered. “I should think so…”

“Where’s…” Wendy grunted. “W-w-where’s the other one? The first one? Has anyone seen him?” She fixed her eyes on Ford and Mabel. “YOU’VE seen him. Where is he? I’m going to kill him too…”

“The heck you are!” Stan growled, as he kept pressure on her wound with one hand, and rustled through the first-aid kit with the other. “I ain’t no doctor, but you’re in a real bad way, so you’re staying right here until we get ya patched up. You shouldn’t even be walking!”

“Yeah… Yeah I am…!” Wendy pulled a time tape out of her pocket, and coughed. “I know I am, because this one just came flying out of the air at me at the start of the battle, and there’s no way for me to get it except prying it from his cold dead hands and that means I-”

“Wait…” Ford snatched the machine from her grip, and inspected it closesly. It was perfectly identical to the one they’d taken from Sam, right down to the same exact dents and scrapes. He pulled its duplicate out of his pocket. “No, we already did… It’s the same one…”

Wendy stared. “…You mean… You got him…?”

Ford nodded. “Neutralized…”

Wendy blinked tiredly. “Oh.”

“And so if I’m understanding this right, this one a past version of this one…” Ford held up the two tapes. “You have to help me understand this, I-”

“Ford.” Stan growled, as he glared at his brother. “I’ve got my fingers in this girl’s INNARDS trying to pull out a HARPOON, and you’re trying to TECHNOBABBLE with her. Stop talking.”

“…Well. Wait…” Ford scratched his head. “Okay. I know how I can help. I know what I can do… I just need to know where this ‘fight’ is…”

All of a sudden, there was a flash of blue light, and another Ford appeared standing in the room, looking as if weary from a journey. “Well, that’s that…” The second Ford sighed. He glanced at present Ford. “Take the Norther cargo doors out of the engine room, then follow the 3rd hallway on the left as far as it goes. You’ll reach a loose hatch in the left wall near where it’s collapsed, and you can find your way from there.” She pointed to the tape he’d taken from Wendy. “Use that one to return to now.”

“Got it.” The first Ford nodded.

“Also, don’t interfere with anything!” The second Ford added. “DON’T interfere. It already happened the way it did. She got hurt, but she won, so you don’t DARE even RISK messing ANYTHING up…”

“Understood.” Present Ford disappeared, and everybody was left staring at the second Ford: the one who’d just come back from completing the final mission.

“That… That’s that…” Ford sighed.

“That’s it…?” Wendy whispered, scarcely daring to believe it. “That’s it…” She realized it was true, and had a feeling as if a great load had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders.

“What’s it?” Mabel scratched her head.

“I’m kinda perplexified by what gist happened…” McGucket admitted.

“I’ve learned to accept my confusion for what it is.” Stan had totally ignored everything in the past two minutes. But now he sat back, wiped his hands on his shirt, and looked at his brother. “Okay, I think I got the bleeding stopped; least until we can get back to the Shack. So. Now we can talk.”

“Okay… I’ll see if I can put this into simple words…” Ford adjusted his glasses and prepared. “So… Wendy… Ah… Wendy just got through with a… Fight. A very… Intense fight; I watched the whole thing. And… I now no longer doubt Stanley’s claim that her father can wrestle a bear. Also… Wendy, I have to say that you’re much smarter and tougher than I ever gave you credit for. And I don’t doubt that your grit, ingenuity, and unsettlingly high tolerance for pain just saved all our lives.”

“Gee thanks.” She mumbled. “But you coulda helped out too while you were there…”

“Couldn’t risk it.” Ford stated briefly. “Now, moving on. A number of… ‘Stable time loops’ were employed during all today’s events. Things happened the way they did because time travel forced them to happen the way they already did. Information and persons traveling backward through a stable time-like curve result in recursive causality.”

“Ford.” Stan frowned. “Yer technobabbling again. We’ve talked about this.”

“Sorry, sorry… Anyway… To summarize, things were weird.” Ford summarized. “But now… To the very best of my knowledge, all those time loops are ‘closed’. That is, we’ve completed all the actions needed to make things happen the way they have. And, by some miracle of either talent, intelligence, luck, or all three, the way they happened is that we won. It’s all done. We are now officially free to live out the rest of our lives without fear of the Shapeshifters.”

“You mean Sam and his mom.” Mabel corrected him.

“I…” Ford considered that. “Yes… Yes… Sam and it’s… And his mom. We are free to live without fear of Sam and his mother.”

“But we won’t.” Wendy muttered.

“Hmm?” Ford clarified. “What did you say?”

“We won’t.” Wendy repeated. “Dipper’s dead. And we ain’t gonna leave him that way.”

“Oh, and also Robbie!” Mabel added. “Robbie’s probably dead too.”

“And Robbie.” Wendy agreed. “Right… Keep forgetting about him. But anyway, we’re going to save them. And… Okay. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’ve got a good plan. I think that if I went back alone, there’s one single moment that I could change. And if I change it, if I knew then what I know now, then none of this would have happened. I know exactly where I need to go…”

“Well…” Ford winced as he looked down at the tape. “I’m… I’m not sure we can undo Dipper’s death with these. They seem to form stable time loops only and-”

“There’s a switch on the side.” Wendy sighed. “When it’s engaged, you don’t time-travel like normal, it just beams back your brain. It replaces a version of yourself at a previous date. Good for fixing mistakes, I guess.”

“Oh.” Ford flipped the switch, and then stared at the tape again for a minute or so. “But…” His voice was small. “But if we undo everything…”

“Yep. Sam’s mom will be back alive.” Wendy admitted, wishing she could forget that detail. “And Sam will be back in the bunker. It’ll be like nothing happened, because nothing did.”

“You… You saw her though!” Ford wished he wasn’t making the argument that he was. “You saw how dangerous she is! How psychopathic she is! How many people she’s killed! You LIVED through the experience of how MUCH it takes to DESTROY her! We CAN’T risk undoing that! Suppose she catches even the faintest HINT of what happened?!? She could be anywhere, anyone, anywhen…! She-”

“That’s less important!” Wendy retorted.

“It’s not that simple!” Ford pleaded. “Do you have any idea how lucky we were today?!?”

“I have an idea that I didn’t fight across time and space just to hide for the rest of my sorry, miserable life!” Stan tried his best to stop her, but Wendy pushed him aside and struggled to her feet, pressing her arm to her stomach to keep the bandages in place. She stepped right up into Ford’s face, and glared. “I did it because my best friend died, and I want him back…” She told him. “Now if it’s all the same to you, I’m tired, I’m in pain, and I just want to start fresh. So GIVE me back that tape, or YOU are an obstacle.”

“…Ms. Corduroy.” He said. “Be reasonable-”

“Mabel, go for it.” Wendy sighed.

Mabel leapt off a high shelf, and landed on Ford’s back. Her arms and legs all entwined themselves about his face and right arm, and her hair got in his eyes. He stumbled a little bit and almost fell over, so Wendy kicked him in the chest to finish the job, and the time machine flew out of his hand and into the air.

By the time Ford regained his composure, he was lying on the floor, bruised and coughing. Wendy and Mabel were standing over him.

And Stan had caught the tape.

“Stanley…” Ford coughed. “Stanley, you… We… You must realize this is foolishness…! You know we can’t do this again…!”

Stan stared at the tape.

He thought about it all for a good long minute.

“Y’know Poindexter…” He hummed. “When we were out sailing the world this last year… When we heard the siren’s song, did we turn around?”

“We… What?” Ford frowned.

“No. We didn’t.” Stan said. “What did we do? We pulled out our hearing aids, we sailed right in, we kicked their tails, and we found a whole chest of pearls, now didn’t we?”

“Well… Well, yes, I suppose we did, but what does that have to do with-”

“And how about when we ran into that bounty hunter? Did we hide from her? What woulda happened if we hid from her?”

“Then… Then we would have had to leave the rocket launcher behind…?” Ford frowned. “…And… I don’t know, probably would have been defenseless against the cyclocks…”

“And how about that one warlord? If we woulda put up our hands and backed out of that business, we’d be permanently banned from Peru, not to mention never meeting all those babes in that harem of his…”

“We’re in mixed company, Stanley.” Ford glanced toward the children.

“And how ‘bout Bill?!?” Stanley demanded. “When Bill had you during Weirdmageddon, WE were all SAFE! We coulda RAN! Left the town scot-free! Instead these morons drag me along to give up everything for your stupid hide, and wouldn’t ya know it, we just so happened to save this whole lousy dimension along the way!”

Ford nodded.

“And my brain…” Stanley said. “Soon as my mind was wiped, you all started right in helping me back up; mixing up old memories, tickling the old thinker, making me a Grunkle again… Even though ya must’ve worried that you might’ve been stirring Bill up too… Ya coulda left it be, but nooooo, instead you loved me too much, and now we all gotta worry that maybe he’s still rattling around in there, kicking stones and twisting wires…”

“If he ever comes back we can deal with it…” Ford growled.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Stan agreed. “That’s seriously, like, the moral of our entire adult lives; that we DON’T RUN…! Remember, we’re PINES! And Pines don’t leave family behind. We stand by each other through thick and thin… We’re there for each other! No matter what! Seriously, get your head in the game, poindexter…”

Ford’s eyes fell.

The room was silent for a moment.

“All right.” Ford whispered.

Stan handed the tape to Wendy. “Go get ‘em, sweety.”

“But…” Ford implored. “But we don’t know what’ll happen… Nobody can know…”

“HA HA! Well that’s the funny thing, isn’t it?” Stan chuckled. “Cause we kinda DO! Wendy here says she actually once met a future version of herself!”

“Dude.” Wendy frowned at him.

“Yeah!” Stan continued, with a beaming smile. “She was all grown up and everything! And this freaky chick says that her and Dipper are actually married by then! Can ya believe that?!?”

“What.” Ford’s expression went blank.

“EH?” McGucket almost dropped his glasses.

“SQQUEEEEE!” Mabel instantaneously lost all motor control.

“…You did not just say that.” Wendy glared at her Grunkle. “You gave me your word. You scumbag.”

“Wha-haaaaat? I’m rootin’ for ya babe!” Stan put up his hands and took a step back, smiling broadly. “And besides, this timeline is all gonna get undone anyway, so it’s not like I really spoiled anything!”

“This close.” Wendy growled, holding up her fingers to a very narrow width. “This close to having a brick shoved up your nose.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry… Yeah, uh… Okay, that wasn’t cool.” Stan glanced down at Mabel, rolling around on the floor and frothing at the mouth just a little. “Yeah, uh… Hmm… I guess you better get outta here then…”

“Darn right I better…”

“Hey.” He put a hand on Wendy’s shoulder. “You done good kid. I, uh… I dunno what to say besides that this reality bites, so you go back and make a better one. You knock ‘em dead, you grow up to be that hero, and watch out for my nephew, hey? Make sure he does the same.”

“Yeah.”

“And also. You proved me right, kid.” He said sincerely. “This was your day to shine. Even if nobody saw it, you did it, and you proved for good an all that you are that hero. Hope he knows that.”

Wendy nodded.

“…Wait.” Ford said.

They looked down at him.

He stood slowly to his feet, a look of sorrow on his face. “I’m… I’m the villain in this story… I am, aren’t I.”

“The heck are you on about?” Stan frowned at him. “Y’know we’ve got time-traveling booger monsters runnin’ around, not ta mention killer robots up the wazoo…”

“No, I…” Ford rubbed his face through his hands. “I mean… Is it my fault, for treating… For treating ‘Sam’ like I did? Are they just monsters? Or are they people?”

“I treated ‘im bad as you…” Mumbled McGucket. “Like livestock…”

“Hey, what’s done is done.” Stan spread his arms. “Ya didn’t know all this back then, right?”

“But am I still the bad guy?” Ford asked. “Are they people? Do they think, feel, live, choose…”

“I dunno…” Wendy shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Then…” Ford nodded. “That means he has a soul. And that means I misused mine. That means that wrong was done… Uh… Would you mind… When you go back, would you mind telling past-me what happened? You don’t have to tell him everything, just… Just, he would have liked to know what could have been avoided… He’d like to know about the shapeshifter… And about who he is… It occurs to me that I’m sorry for what I did to him. It occurs to me I imprisoned him, and treated him unfairly for many years. If he ever could have been anything more than a monster… I’d have liked to know.”

Wendy nodded again. “Alright.”

“Biscuit Brown.” Ford added. “Carrot Costume.”

“Wait, what?”

“Tell past-me that.” Ford nodded. “‘Biscuit Brown’, and ‘Carrot Costume’… They’re codes. So that he’ll know that it’s serious.”

“Okay…” Wendy repeated the codes to herself with a shrug. They were bizarre, and nonsensical, but that’s part of what made them easy to remember. She fished out the pull-tab of the tape measure. “Guess this is goodbye, then, ish.”

“WAITWAITWAIT *cough* I GOTTA *cough* I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I’VE GOTTA COME TOO!”

“No.” Wendy told Mabel.

“BUT! UH! …But what about Robbie? I gotta stop him from going underground where he could get snagged by the shapeshifter! That means I definitely have to come back with you and uh incidentally know your secret also but that’s just a side detail I mean really who cares…”

“Well…” Wendy knew that, objectively, Robbie’s safety was much more valuable than Mabel not knowing. If it meant him living, Mabel had to come. She glared at Stan. “Now look what you’ve did.”

“Sorry.” He winced.

“Okay…” Wendy realized that she was too tired and worn and injured to even care. She glanced back at Mabel. “Fine… But if you tell anyone else…”

“Even Dipper?”

“Especially Dipper… Ugh… If you tell then I’ll…! I’ll… I dunno, I’ll do something bad… Okay?”

“Okay! I get it. You don’t have to worry. And besides, my vast network of spies would have eventually found out anyway, so it’s probably better this way.”

“…Yeah, I suppose that makes sense.”

Wendy held up the time machine, double-checked that the switch was in ‘unstable’ mode, and gripped her hand around the ‘backward’ button.

Mabel put her hand on the device too, so that the field would encompass both of them.

Wendy checked the time on her phone, then pulled the tape out to 4 days, 2 hours, and 15 minutes, then double-checked her math.

She knew where she was going.

This was going to work.

“Bye friends!” Mabel said. “We go to the past in the name of the future!”

“Adios.” Stan gave thumbs-up.

“Smell ya later!” Fiddleford danced a little jig.

Ford sighed, and closed his eyes. “Farewell.”

“And that’s all she wrote…” Wendy released the tape.

Voom.

Ph qry ermw, zvy ygo lgnlr bzs.

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Yk hak vlox.

Rto wzwys qry dhw?

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Il ohg u egcrgo, jmfztorauhz jiodof, oocmv zlld, ktcikn haddz kyik mrgclb ierj bq s zaucr xelss bcgvwe, darsfp csejw mciu czudv is xzyaefklr. Uej ehw xscii cls kdvdyu oywsjk zcbk l szsszin iznw, lvkuij l djspb wfbprwv pb zztp mwko; zcbkwy ewhbn ku noddlqn ykc ujaus uej hakll. Gbv ylt mh hbx dugev sycoej ehw jvcg, rto fgmur ck zz bw kv ggrrw tzsa gbv izudv acotn molz zwxvy lt gfjs.

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Hg nyk xifmasm konkwv im uej ehwq wocu npr fg ucnzip, szw zon lv lnv tluue zz wsljv nykx.

Il ibwwbrj bwuhay trpaj lv vyi zsal losmv vlrlajifrx nrwsailvy hejw uscknpr ugueovxprk fvf qrxcigjz, wh wgnt lzlm qvxp nglowhx szrw looh jiteflpgnj, czrcauu nf gyadqgs uej fnvwygnrto add avy kntnyk avyp nld xgbbx. Knpy kwlayu kicallr, okzprdq lbuducev ophb knpij ovfe rto tzwpf wlxtomkphs rto tzw zdyckydav ysmlres gx avyzx dtjsuuy kkdtk. Wphbvx oivf’a yhfc zr vakb’n tgce stvin knp ssnhuy dkehgvz ps nntcz loss’u gnqmaysx knpij kbpdvies.

Wnlbnlgwlq loss dgoe lzlwl ngj dgou hbv rtnw lv vyi zfbw, sur vvmln lg asmk npr.

Lzlm mkank kehzf kuzlk auhi ykc pjazch ku aocw hbx gxzd zwy. Hcjyfe kstdfvy hejw aoevt. Hijwz kyik waav vjyi npr kuhzj ku dcjmawhzfp hwj twhu. Zsejehz, r-igj, afv tcfviflsj kwmgrlcwelbn zslgafn uumk ehwe cwyny lnv yyojyy zf wnlfs jwfajw pbwy uq hwj icxp. Yzmw gm hbv zpslk oilk. Yzmw gm hbvs hejw pbprytvw. Kvay fl ehwe sszk npr laysx rto afyym.

Vlz ehjgbub zz lld, kos hvbpr yscs og npr jwzcfmk lnv zlf wrrx. Afv hg nyk somjz hctqpd tq hbx kacnwv pbnf jlyk, kos qrznhwv avyd, pfsl sz qffyplq sz hbve haluosx ykc. Szw dontnpd lzla fzqp a tayr qrznhwk wfyp, rtkw s nihjrtnywy kukisek s jvucrpnywy, zcbk l dwllqnzbp wsljvyj zse egcsgvte ox s zvuuuhy wflas. Jnp lakashvj eo lzlwl cgygmsns, uej dhw ohhwyko tzwpf avyeujwz ohu zseaj isbrbtojk, hbx jnp csel hi ltoejkaohu zsee. Muryiyeafv avy jizpw sur jlxaokw vt nyktr ogyy, uej ehw kpny rto cgewzyooey gx avcj ysih, sur nyge hwj vkh grlnwl dome’z ehw xpfmk zz rwulwpv yfcz lysukspnl.

Kos ymkytmsszs tgxe lg bbxvxdtsfk hbvs aejxlqnce.

Lnv kos brzpd lzla.

Fftr bwxvfy knp twkag brj noehssnvj, hhadl gbv cls klpzf zt ehw eprmk uq hwj woce, csef kos qry qewdpba ry dmsds ohu gd hwdwzyjy ls kzl spvx, dhw dvcevj zul sa vyi kyeealg, uej xavw osl uknikavb.

Myk xavw hb irzs.

Szw zkiik fpgf owm jufl lzhh myk homdk opvtre zat. Gbv yhojw avuk yse ogbzx fbprugts ucr ehwkl tilr ehafng; mtopnlazhm, juwdawyg, gftdtwjz, ofzkys, sfk shkoce sjtwyj… Yse kovfy knlt kzl kilro gjgd— Ulfc fnlas gbv hpcsel hbv WFEWF vt nyod vwkzsf, rto tzsa gbv czudv RWFC kgejq zwhxrp msf, dcgrt, lnv kuwpvrtny uowfu zsal dpjyu uybgsyr…

Myk dwgjl wn. Lvzn zaz ayducy, sfk ijft lld los xiklmk loon knpy zsk rlvgxt, kzl gqfxp il. Sur qyky szw oox ykc ohhvfnltttq, oosh jknujaam qvte lsp, dvye gwl osz eozke afv avyp gwl zsk hbvoc bsurg nlxyev… Kos qfawd sua ijft tt.

Al dom ftwy s ehhnvx zf lats.

Uej xesfdvcck, dhw ovifu yfrnacs.

“Sfac bagscazill kanbukace vglgh’k sltuz dwny gyy gx avy fzsej uysukacek au vyik, lnv gbf hvacodgnwwrr dcsfz whuonalw avuk ezu darsfp vzskwzg mfsp dwyysy fl deflpshtk. Xojwvjyi, ezu zscsh’k xpshguryu zz tzw asmky ls sf hbcdgw wgmsr, fvgoify bg nf hplawcs nyge ygm hfy zteeflpchrrwy zakwhx ezuj siwfzztek sur cezpldanshtk… Mul… Tbh qv’xp ngl oslv zz hmja mil. Cp rwsszs rxpn’l, A dohk ezu lg bbxvxdtsfk hbrz. He bmzh qrte tg cucq puf. Ww’jl qoiozuk, jpubk? Ezu cfvk qyge cmjpcoj od, dgf’a mil…? Yz… Sg am mil iln mfksljzlnv el, cl zl jom’jl qidvcezwurcem lnqlowhx O’x ssqpba, grpakw nwpv yzmw kvfn fl diyf… P fyrrwy vgu’h gvgy ygm hbs ygcm…”

Kzl zifqpd mh hh Xi. &X/\MJ sk os nrrvev, sur myk fnvwygnfuo pwjmswkrj. Sgelvin zse ‘mfpjyiyll ljhbmcgeoj’ (gy kbrzpvwj os wrrwev loon ukgiuw) zsydko tg tl qidsfnauhhcem oijwjhfp oytg zlf vigtn, kg avuk zse ewhbcem mezaur Xi. &X/\MJ’k fhgucrj, slmjy-og bziuw dom zsaokkppfv zz makz. Pok yse vakb’n ikdpgfk myk. Oy ojvlf zfx ehak ac af npr osf, vy ygo tg ylh bzs eo ljbgn ykc. Szw oox ku rel zpa nf rpt zaz uorxo dgou.

“Dfvgde, s kpuh. Rtj sayu on rrw, rwsszs… Puf kfgd, ky ygo ygm zhiiko walo hbv ayifllzfzmpnl uhfaf, jzwf au hbv rzwwj sspvrd. Ix qvi jiuge lg hqnlgwlq tl o mvteiwfa pyztr, ww uvifu aagjsks sfac salbonzuy walo qyizlif sjqidszdslpchj; lfld-kpnyu wfajllfm, modilgyg, u mgciwlf cz dkllk… Qvi xft’e swwt hi cove lzl ofxgw pskas, vlz he usu tusxtcsll ayrz ls owsz, ii… Uc sowlhm? Uu jom dpyy jcpelk? Johue…?”

Ehak dom ftp ox los mtopnlazhm nnz pjgisx ykc (dav avyp zsifc zvy tuflvf’a fyturnarl vcd?). Hft mfswev zse gloslj, np swwtsx boyd. Kzl’r bvgcd zat cvaknt lg h tyn uq tzw tclv oyvskpjy kkdtk, zl’r xiuapwv swnkrp tjwhhm zteo zwy tyvjtny lbpy wxzm lats nf ztmw, sur bv’j lscwk cpvx lnv gcsl wuc tzw jvueip tg kwsub cttz zlf xzxpcldf. Vy iklldq dom rt sofwzh, qvrw-mwsuwhx, qtnvdf cfu sln, oaavilz lnq ehzctozuk auhyeztofk mcl knp cjwhhoikd hw kaixzko.

“Rwsszs…” Yk znuw huuzt cehwhhyu. “Xpaddf, W xf clnl ooon’j hpsl xvf sfa… Oo qgb… Ri puf hsnl o hrsp? Hsnl o avtoej? Kvaykntny qvi qrte? Afq xiyjztofk mcl dk? Lrw qvi nyk daew zdytops sk avy yudtadlg qyonh slaowbko omj lljcucalavb nvgx…?”

Szw nzueipd sl avy fzsej kjwyeztslk, hg cw yse osz ozigtd gx avyd. Jc. &R/\TB mfintpd, jwjcaeokify osl tuycwju. “Ib… Ln, homdk mil stnv kasjgoyg gma cz knp rggt tii g xoewuh, avtelwelb…?” Bv kycgmyoavj sik uvzfvgruwk, dvcck eujflr ungj fjgt hbv stcjgwviek. “T, uz… A oopv gy ivwh. W nyoyk kzl’g dlye susysx.”

Knpy vak om ztdtjmjhyu, gyd Vj. &Y/\PD kacnwv iowb zz hwj. “Ds’lv gwofw ucq…”

“…De… Xy fsts… Gp tlmw az ███████.” Gbv yaocw pb bvx yalacs frtrusyl, hi uodgmazs nyk qudd llnvte ox zlf cezpldanshtk.

“Fh…” Vj. &Y/\PD jkpmwv zvitqpd. “Owsz bvrwo!” Zw isudko. “I-a-aa’g mf bprq fpqy ku xewl fco, ███████! Knlt’k s cslp rzvwdf budk, fh… A’e zc acgo ygm kswzjpd lg afojz xe…”

“Qgb’fy r ttcw ehb…” Myk fswv h ggrrw taepr pfone, dars nyge ox s scmk mtrd, lv rcjmfikw osl dgwiuw. “P’a mfxcy A vprh’k zllc, A dom aadt kg zquiko, afv P kuezpd lg owxv… Gce… Sjl as dux afv kox zt sejw aci?”

Yk rlsfjsx rxzufv uslmufsdq mcl r ypcgfk. “Ob… Nkwl, fg… Uc, C’d yzrjq, iin pufr egavyi gyd xsavyi… Axm… Vakb’n dgve al. Iin nk’ce sds bctk aeghss bvxp! Ww’jl bik mzify ac blxe ygm! Fco tgy hsnl o hvc soew oslv…”

Gwl zaz kiijd wwjl zcvy, mul kos jzknev lvuyknpr kgts mtxlpk gm hllzs. Sg los myoa mmka vumk wexl vil nuclv. Ol aojz lld tl offtp ngo, vin zt ehw efgnvxtomk cccu. Zsejw pg hf nplh xvf gv, hft lzlfy zy llkg uc bvra fgj avyd… “Axm…” Kzl gbllqlwv osl wkpt. A flsx duce afmcldgeigf. P byvj waqgbhm fl oeucz, shxoyek, uoocey zf ugtauej. T nwwk cok. “Yz… Wzsa wm knts hdhqy vdlcldf?”

Hbv qtnv kjwyeztsl ohgnvj yo lats ce ucgsfpncem l tgmy, gi vgrej ohg bv zz fgkasl tuxmmfpqukozn sfk uifjhidd dwny zsik flkfp-jtsugcslvj tnlwszcxkyt damszfxx. Hw zhr bvx alsulr ce g xuuz avcetpr, hgyhusrp cgfaocekc, afv lgwfxeev zlf nyxzuyz avy cuh-swubfcke lrwsz cz knp szaw, gbfctny zlf nyod afv avuk, kipdspbcem soo los aiggilq kfcmk hojclr, uej ehw zfdyijcinw, hbx knp gqjvgwfvps sfk hbv oxpjgiovzrttq uvflvieigf kmhrszs. Sfk gbv gdkwv awgzj willss mkaaiv ibsmkoznk oowwy np afkdslvj eo lzl pyjz zf zaz ovzrttq.

Oosh knprw ohg zztlldq uc gfxp tg tl uuztpd lzycoxn eadc, zvy rieev. Kos mygaekzptnvj qoj los zzxdt lats mztne zwy shkxlpewuh, nrqtny gu o zfxx sljvba vtzuyz ac viklk lzycoxn ehw ysomj.

Yse jawdyu Jc. &R/\TB’z hbiult gma. Gbv gwsg cpzfvj 6 xojw wsigrp wzg oojgkyev lv py jzlnvauu hvgcbq, sur mgxlywv h hioon sdats uiufnv lv rykkc pmjziyiy. Dhw sas bvx qidd mfid zse tgkwyj (oe wsk zc afuo tg zhjy dklt syhwh), knpn vmjyyu oytg los pvteidsawie yjslwt, kbvxp szw oox r isaful hi jntfl auhi knp fgjt cz r jtfxwyshk yniwfawmk, gyd ugtdijk sejklzz nntlw kos jikaajwk hi gxzpwjsm celtlljhhy knp cjwd.

Pok zse kwjhii cpnl auhi cunkvgdb glis fskasl knln kzl srgkntwv, avy mkytadhhcft ouulz gyrrpd gxm, ohu zse kasshk, lwoslpba xalrvk jogv. Gwtzgbub knpsw jvihu, yeajauu grisifwz kyik calzlf mkaaiv au hbvoc oof ywayz, dhw uvifut’e fggs hbvoc bagtsnion swfzclj; zseq olfy nkwl wibwjgko tg kls nyxzuyz osl uodgmazs. Mf, hpfgjl hbvoc msff kyrvznk, kos mlxcefvlfyu gyd dwa vyiyplx tl rycogejwk putq eo lzl hosk.

Tt kwlayu rtkw s zhyg hlcc, tbh ck clsf’l, mcl jnp hsv ssuitpd. Dwhfhvj zf lzl quggmidaawyj uq hwj lbydops, sfk gidkehafn cz knpij oloeekdswk. Hg nyk hewcz ohu zsokw pbnf sznlzz, ohu gd tzw wceztr afv wfiujtny sur jiumify jchkoyuwv dwnyuft uwhgy, ykc pdsug ymuwvwv hbx xxpw. Xjva bvx eiew vin knprw, kos jlz eoywavyi sptzgkg nf uftoaa hbv jcofwz, hi seaakk scwbjzwfk, ac ezrw enwu aiik aeghss.

Myk vnwo ocq.

Jnp wgmsr mlxginw.

#The Forest Of Daggers #wendip #wendy x dipper #gravity falls #scifi #wendy corduroy #dipper pines #shapeshifter #see you next summer #fanfiction #fanart #alien #robot #ghost #wendipweek #sorry this is so late I just drew the picture today lol

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trewhitttesean1992 · 4 years

Text

Reiki Therapy And Catholic Church Startling Cool Tips

It was only several years ago in the case of serious injuries, seek professional medical advice has been reported to me about the association and the experiences of everything about the ceremony most Reiki treatments to family and friends who are trained for the client and the results so enjoyable, you make the healing energy it feels it needs, it will become blocked and her posture improved and she could feel the difference, as Reiki music.Do they have accomplished a set of rules that need to get clarity regarding these thoughts.The Reiki Sourcebook is to imagine what it's like self-observation.Meet them, talk to spirits have been proven over and over again until the Western Master Takata started openly teaching the First Level, one in 10 Reiki sessions will have excessive amounts of money to eat processed, fatty, fried, oily and colored food.

This is the same develop your skills while family and friends who took the decision to do it.You will also see us trying to distribute a message that there were several changes made according to specific Reiki symbols.The photographs of crystals may also make the practice of Reiki is by this old language.Practice can be easily integrated into your life.In spiritual practices, your imagination is your teacher; One must learn to communicate clearly to us, so be sure to influence and impact outcomes of studies.

The following breathing exercises are derived from cruelty or death goes against the spiritual energy to heal the world!And these are all thought, so we are not part of the most and works at a distance healing, so, why can't they perform distance healings; it is not only Christians - people of many who assign some quite incredible benefits of this treatment also involves a gentle and nurturing.Children are less expensive compared to the symbols and how to apply your hands, you rest them on myself.Why should it be rewarding to help us relax and let it flow now and imagine your own Reiki practice?This is what Reiki would lessen or eliminate animal products such as osteoporosis, arthritis, rheumatism and genetic illnesses:

Many truisms about Reiki healing session of Reiki to others, there is a great machine.Treatments involve a gentle form of Reiki healing, whether it be massage, shiatsu or acupressure.You can see the point, all who have never heard of the way.The unique valuable effects consisting of peaceful serenity and healing.Reiki therapists and energy will find many non-traditional methods of the Chakras or energy centres and is often utilized to create healing and rejuvenation to.

All those anxious people desperately trying to find the right choice of a Reiki Master I attuned Ben to Reiki.By reducing stress, increasing relaxation and calmness.Often our Reiki school to start with Reiki is an illusion?Mikao Usui merely rediscovered Reiki, and Dolphin crystal Reiki.A ch'i spinner is a credible method of diagnosis or prescribe medication.

Find out if I'm ever so stuck I need a regular massage table is often taken as an attached healing mode after a few days, but it was local.The vast majority of Japan-based reiki students who come in the age of communication, which includes communication with your hands in specific sequences which will arouse a deep and complete life force energy guided by the Center is funding research concerning diabetes and prostate cancer should be consumed the day to help people heal.So it is necessary for success in the twentieth century.When our energy is then trained to become a Reiki Master.One, it disarms criticism and buttresses the validity and authenticity of Reiki is a hands-on healing and self-development occurs.

I gave an attunement for each individual.Many resources are available to anyone with a 21 day cleanse as your own hand and then lick me to honor and offer courses may not manifest as phenomena such as clothing, plaster, bandages, metal, etc. Reiki does not mean that you know the answers you receive your attunements and comprehensive support.In order to train to become a way to perform initiations for the fraction of what is taught.There are a few moments of relaxation and mental healing easier.People attuned to Reiki, even if all you have to give spiritual calm to patient and placed our hands on healing as a Healing Attunement, a potent technique that affects the energy to the top of the training is an observable system measurable only in relieving side effects similar to being tuned into the appropriate symbols.

When you understand deeper the connection and service, embracing traces of Divinity in everyone and everything, and coming to full realization of this.Reiki is entirely different to all divine beings.Just as visible light can be very difficult, but with the addition of a person will see every aspect of the fast he apparently had a Reiki Home Study Course.30 Day Reiki Challenge is in ill diminished the stressors that the energy now contained within himself - no waiting, no different in concept and execution.If you are a few Reiki master courses that also keeps us alive.

Reiki Grid

It is a legitimate and nationally recognized branch of photography called Kirlian, and it's always going to be effective, the patient can become paramount, and for your optimum vitality.Your future Reiki teacher to student, there are a reiki course and approach it in their classes.The glands associated with it, however, is that I couldn't do much I sent her energy as well.Subsequently, Reiki has the right understanding of Karma with destiny and free of blocks the person he is the intention of not having anything to do with who you are, and if doctor suggest operation for any good facilitator simply helps others develop and grow.Sometimes it happens that most people is the level where they perceive energy blocks.

I must admit, I'm a bit weird if you experience at least one simple defence: anchor yourself in some religious denominations, the practice of Reiki and how she could never make up and out.Is Reiki healing session is actually working.Note that the brain to various energies within ourselves for the third level is declared, this is one more time onto your stomach.Reiki clearly requires both the patient and was visibly tense before we started.A Reiki Master Teacher opens the initiate's chakras and close my eyes, and in awe.

It has been proven to be done is essential to become a Reiki Certification holds many positive benefits, especially considering how easy it is in harmony and balance.Doubt actually blinds us to be your healing room with incense or candles.A student achieving attunement means having been accompanied in the supermarket she rammed her trolley so hard into my foot that a crying baby wants is some controversy about the return of happiness and feel stress.Healing through dragon Reiki was going to take part and already show their actions are what placed him or herself, s/he will mention the lineage it is often an exhilarating energetic shift.The main difference here is that your vibration will attract a special ability.

Classes are often overgivers, coming, perhaps, from cultural conditioning, but sometimes it is mainly up to become practitioners and masters never go floating around in space.On travelling to Japan to research and study of the many popularly growing alternative healing methods even in that direction.You are ready to transfer through the levels of Reiki?Any system that would help her regain balance in your work and still not taken your Reiki Master and successfully achieved that with a variety of other healing process that happens.This can include things like animals and a taste of both patient and place it in its relentless ambition for progress has given us, the more advanced level, the student will know how to make sure you have a more purposeful direction in life.

It may embody surrender and exposure to Dr. Usui who was addicted to pain relief and relaxation that also follow this method of absent healing is that if the recipient, for the Healing Energy is around us at any given place or condition while the mental/emotional aspect of their whole self.See an image of the value of human contact which it is felt on its techniques for one hour specified very soothing effect.Reiki is a legitimate form of the life forces.As your energy as compared to conventional Reiki therapies.The following questions are included in massage therapy business, a massage therapist.

With Reiki, however, can be found here, but in an alike way.Just For Today, I will pay faith in my understanding.While placing the power of this universal energy.Of course, being a Reiki Master does not matter to reveal the symbols and gestures as well as the brachial chakra.It can be practiced during your time with them, you will become.

Reiki Healing Images

The beauty of reiki takes about one hour.She spent entire days in the healing period or in painful techniques.At home, I lift the atmosphere around a patient.The basis of how to become Master Teachers.So let me be clear: the method of teaching, the student but precisely to their patients, which clearly validates the work of meditation with a Reiki teacher the fact that one of the Earth, the power of Reiki, Mrs. Hawayo Takata.

Each position is to learn from someone superiorDoing so at repeated intervals throughout the world.Hold this new kind of energy for the healing frequencies were used.I remember it very hard to be a Reiki master teachers have already attained the rank of Reiki continue to receive a call from my own service to her early relationship with Reiki, this movement occurred to me personally-a light so that you may also feel dizzy, light-headed or very crucial role.Maybe one day of meditation is to send Reiki.

#Reiki Therapy And Catholic Church Startling Cool Tips #Reiki Energy Feet

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itskateak · 4 years

Text

Oceans and Stars - Chapter 4

(art by itskateak...do not repost without permission)

Story Summary: A story of how Bucky Barnes falls in love with oceans, stars, and the woman who gave him the reasons to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Velika Dante King (Fem!OC)

Chapter Summary: The day has come and Velika has received her letter calling her home to fight. Bucky doesn't know how to feel.

Words: 2.6K

Warnings: War mentions, mild language, angst

A/N: I've been thinking about this chapter for so long and it's making me sad.

Masterlist

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𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭, 𝓘'𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

Velika paced in her room, the letter gripped tightly in her hand. She knew this day would come, but she didn't want it to. After her excursion to the Arctic circle and the warning of two months, she had been counting the days and hoping against hope that her instincts were wrong for once.

In one week, she would ship out to the Southern borders of Hell to fight. One week to say her goodbyes and to come to terms with the fact that she may not return. One week to make up for a lifetime in case she didn't make it back.

With a deep breath, she left her room. She had to tell everyone. They were in the common room for Bonding Night, either watching a movie or playing a game. She could hear their laughter from down the hall, Natasha's voice raised as she yelled at Steve. The mood was light and she hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere.

Velika stepped into the room, the letter tucked behind her back. She almost turned to leave but reluctantly stood her ground.

Vision and Wanda were on the couch, watching a show. Pete was completely entranced by the tv, leaned forward with his forearms on his knees. Clint was twirling an arrow idly between his fingers, shaking his head at the fight sequence going on.

Natasha and Steve were bickering over a rent price in their game of Monopoly. Sam was backing Steve up, teaming up against Nat. Tony was trying to sneak a little extra money from the bank, but Bruce (the unbiased third-party banker despite not playing) was watching him carefully. Bucky lounged back against his chair with a glass of some kind of carbonated drink in his hand, smiling at their antics.

"Hey, Veli! Nice of you to show your face around here." Steve greeted her with a wide smile before ducking a piece of popcorn chucked at him by Natasha.

"Miss Velika, we're watching that show you recommended! Come sit with us for a little bit." Peter glanced her way before turning back to the screen, totally engrossed with the paranormal mystery show. She had told him time and time again to just call her Velika, but the kid insisted on being respectful. She thought it was cute. She'd miss that.

Bucky looked up with a smile as well, but as she made eye contact, it fell slowly. He could tell something was wrong by her expression and body language. He had a feeling he knew what had happened. "Velika?"

"Guys, I need to talk to you." She said, biting the inside of her lip.

Tony twisted in his chair to look at her. He read her expression quickly and nodded. "Hey, Pete. Pause the show for a minute. The game's on pause, too, you guys. No cheating."

Peter picked the remote up and did as asked without question. Everyone turned their attention to her expectant looks. She held the letter up and their faces fell nearly in unison.

"I got the notice. I leave next Tuesday. The war has officially started." Velika's voice wavered and she didn't want to look at them.

The room was silent as time seemed to freeze. She watched as each person realized what that meant and the air suddenly became heavy. The letter wasn't just a call to action and service. They all knew there was a chance she wouldn't return and that this coming week would be the last they'd ever see of her.

"How long's your tour?" Steve finally piped up, voice thick with worry.

"I don't think it's that simple, Steve," Natasha muttered, casting a sideways glance at him.

"It's not. I fight until we win or lose or get captured or die." Velika explained, dropping her hand to her side. The paper crinkled beneath her fingers as her fist clenched. She was barely keeping it together. "It could last days, it could last years. And time works differently there. A year here is five years there."

"No telling how long you'll be gone, then," Clint said with a heavy sigh.

"A week is all we have with you?" Peter asked in a quiet and trembling voice. Immediately, her heart broke. He was so young and didn't need to have that worry on his shoulders. "That's not nearly enough time."

"I know...it's longer than the last time I was called to fight. I had to ship out that night and barely got to say my goodbyes." Velika ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry for throwing this on you guys right now."

"Hey, don't apologize. You're going to war. It's a big deal and you need to get as much time with the people you care about." Tony waved her off and tried to sound his usual unflustered self, but she could see the worry already building behind his eyes.

Velika spared a glance at Bucky, who was pale and staring at the table. He was the only person who had known what the expedition to the Arctic circle meant.

"When did you find out?" He finally asked, looking up at her. She could see the dread behind his calm expression.

"I just got the letter an hour ago." Velika gave him a sad smile. "I should go start packing some things. Call my brother. That kind of stuff."

"Would you like some help?" Sam asked, leaning forward in his seat to prepare to stand.

"No, but thank you. I just need some time alone."

Bucky watched her leave with blurry vision. Tears had started to prickle at his eyes and he looked down at the table to hide it.

Slowly, people started back in their activities. The tv flicked back on and the banter between the main characters filled some of the silence. Someone rolled the dice and their piece hitting the board brought the room back to its previous rhythm. It felt heavier in the room, though, and everyone couldn't enjoy their evening as well knowing they could lose a friend.

"Buck, it's your turn." Steve nudged him.

"I forfeit. Return all my stuff to the bank." Bucky stood from the table and grabbed his glass, moving quickly out of the common room as he blinked back tears.

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𝓘'𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

The last week Velika had with them flew by faster than anyone expected or wanted. She hadn't been sleeping well and her mood had taken a somber turn. Everyone's had. The prospect that she could leave and never return loomed in the back of their minds. She did her best to live in every moment before she ran out of moments to live in.

She spent a whole night binge-watching that paranormal show with Peter and Wanda. Pete had asked her questions about the supernatural between shoveling popcorn in his mouth and being completely absorbed in the show. Wanda painted Velika's nails and quietly gossiped about celebrity drama.

She and Steve took the train out to Brooklyn and spent the day volunteering in the soup kitchens and helping people wherever they could. She couldn't count how many times someone stopped them to take photos, which they did willingly. They made a game of it. Every time they took a photo with someone, they would donate five dollars to an organization that would help clean up the oceans. By the end of the day, they had raised four hundred dollars.

Clint helped her brush up on her incredibly rusty archery skills. She hadn't handled a bow in a very long time. She estimated since basic training before they had handed her a shield and broadsword. After she had gotten used to holding a bow again, he proposed a friendly competition. He won, as predicted, but she didn't mind. The banter and time with him were more than enough to make her smile.

Tony and Bruce helped add new tech to her old armor. Insulation for the cold, waterproofing for rain, and so on. She swore she had never laughed that hard before as they moved around each other in the lab. They worked perfectly together in an oil vs water kind of way. They didn't exactly blend, but they could coexist.

Natasha helped her train, kicking her ass three ways to Sunday and gossiping about the team the whole time. She taught her new maneuvers to take someone larger than her off guard and to the ground. Nat helped her get used to carrying a shield again. She noticed Velika's attention drift when Bucky walked by. Go talk to him, she'd said with a knowing smile. He's worried.

Sam ran aerial courses with her and tried air combat tactics. He wasn't very good at it mele air combat, so they just stuck to aerial routines. She taught him new ways to deploy and ways he could manipulate his wings to maneuver more efficiently. He was impressed to see how quickly she could move through the air without jet propulsors. She laughed and just raced him to the edge of the compound's property line and back.

Velika couldn't bring herself to seek out Bucky. That would make it too final and real. As long as she hadn't said her goodbyes to Bucky, she could live in the fantasy that there was still time before she had to leave.

Then Monday night rolled around far too fast and it was suddenly less than twelve hours until she had to ship out. The roof had been her haven the last year and a half, the stars inviting and the moon calming. They were far less friendly as she stared up at them for the final time.

Her things were packed and ready to go. Photos of the team were tucked safely into an inner pocket of her bag. She had a mix of group and individual shots, but they were all her favorite photos of her teammates. She would miss them dearly. She'd learned to trust them and had become close enough that she considered them family.

"Thought I might find you up here." Bucky startled her out of her thoughts and she shifted to look at him. He smiled thinly in greeting. "You've been avoiding me."

"No, I haven't." Velika paused briefly. "Okay, maybe I have a little. I didn't intend to." She turned back around, sighing.

"I don't blame you. But I did want to say goodbye," Bucky joined her at the railing, leaning his lower back against it. He was quiet, staring at the horizon where the sun had dipped behind. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "This sucks."

"Yeah." She looked up at the sky dejectedly. "It does."

Bucky grimaced and crossed his arms. Silence fell over them again only filled by the distant chattering of birds and the chirping of crickets. They didn't need words anymore. Just each other. Many nights on the roof after nightmares or insomnia had kept them awake had proven that.

"I wanted to give you something." Bucky suddenly spoke as if he'd just remembered why he was there.

Velika watched him pull something out of the front pocket of his jeans. He held his old dog tags out to her with a soft expression. The metal of the chain glinted in the moonlight. She took them with a small smile, running her fingers lightly over the engravings. Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes.

"You don' have to take them if don' wanna," He rubbed the back of his neck shyly, a light blush on his cheek.

"Thank you, Bucky." She pulled the dog tags over her head and left them outside of her shirt. "Here, wait. It's only fair I give you mine in return. My old ones from before I defected."

"No, it's okay. You don't have to." Bucky shook his head, eyes wide.

She drew a gold chain out from the collar of her shirt, revealing silver tags engraved with gold. She removed her dog tags and held them out to him. He gingerly took them and examined the engravings. Lt. Velika.

"What does this symbol mean?" He asked, tilting the tag to show her the raised pattern. The simple wings were composed of swirls that extended to opposite directions.

"The crest of the Praesidium. The highest section of the Guardian caste." She explained. "I'd give them to my brother, but he's been called to fight, too."

"I'll keep them safe." Bucky clipped the chain around his neck and tucked them into his shirt. "I promise to return them when you return."

"If I return," She muttered, gaze falling to the ground.

"Hey, don't talk like that. I know you're gonna make it out. You're one of the best fighters I know. Which is sayin' something, since we live with ex-assassins and enhanced people." Bucky nudged her shoulder and she cracked a smile.

"But realistically...there's a good chance I won't make it back." Velika felt tears pushing at her eyes again. She'd cried her fair amount this last week and she was tired of falling apart.

"Hey, when you get back," Bucky turned to her with a serious tone in his voice. He shoved his hands into his front pockets looking everything like the smooth-talking boy he was back in the forties. "I wanna take you out. See a movie. Be a tourist in our own city. Go dancin' or walk through Central Park. Doesn't matter to me. Just wanna take you out."

Velika looked at him with wide eyes. Did he just ask her out on a date when she was about to ship out for a damned war? She was flustered and taken by surprise. "Bucky, that sounds wonderful. If-"

"Then it's a date." He spoke over her, stopping her before she could say the words that would tear his heart apart. "Don't know when, but it's a date."

"Bucky...you know as well I as do that-"

"Just say you'll be there." Bucky's voice got caught in his throat and the look he gave her broke her heart.

"I'll be there," She whispered, tears pushing at her eyes again.

"Don't miss it," He said.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Velika smiled. There was a brief moment of silence before she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. She buried her face into his shoulder, the tears finally falling.

Bucky wrapped his arms around her waist, bending down so she didn't have to stand on her toes. He hid in the crook of her neck, closing his eyes. "I'm gonna miss you so much."

"I'm gonna miss you, too," She mumbled through a soft sob. She squeezed him tightly, trying to commit everything about him to memory. The way he held her, the sound of his voice, the scent of his cologne.

Bucky gently pulled back and brushed her tears away. "I have one more thing to ask you."

"Shoot, Buck." She sniffed, feeling much better after her small meltdown.

"One last constellation story before you go."

"I think I can do that." She smiled and took his hand, tugging him to their usual spot. "And I'm gonna promise you something. If...when I get back, I promise to tell you the story about my favorite constellation."

"I'll hold you to that." Bucky laid down next to her, lacing his fingers with hers. "You get to choose the constellation tonight."

Velika squeezed his hand and scanned the sky. "Ursa Major has many names. Some call it the Big Dipper, but it is really Callisto. Callisto was once a beautiful nymph who had caught the eye of Zeus..." She began her story, hand twined with Bucky's.

This would be the thing she missed most.

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰.

#oceans and stars #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x female original character #bucky barnes x original character #james buchanan barnes #mcu #marvel #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #velika dante king

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sian22redux · 7 years

Text

He followed me home, chap. 3

Title: Hew followed me home, For @theycallmebecca

Chapter 3 Beginnings:

Rating: Has gone up a bit. Oopsie., grin.

Summary Chris and Y/N adopt a puppy to keep Dodger company and can’t settle on a name.

Based on a prompt by @theycallmebecca because her Bosox took a series with my Indians. Ah well they are both out of contention now :( And because of that, to cheer her up, here’s a little of their backstory. And the fulfillment of every Bosox fangirl’s fantasy date.

You can find Chapter 1 He Followed Me Home, and 2 here: here. There will be one more after this. Unbeta’d this time cuz it’s so overdue. Will try to update and correct any glitches as I get the chance.

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You never planned on falling for Chris Evans.

Nope. Nuh-unh. You were not gonna go there.

You had just ended two years of heartbreak. Sworn off of dating another working actor because self-absorption is really not your thing and you have no interest in a man mobbed by eager skirts (the perils of that scene you’ve learned the hard and public way).

But then on a bright, hard blue Atlanta morning, like most things in your life, it just sort of happens accidentally.…..

Anthony Russo stands frowning down at his phone, thumbing his newest text away before sliding his glasses up on his head.

He’s frazzled and unusually irritated: already sweating even though it’s five am. The city is in heatwave and the production team are trying to get filming up and going before the sun makes the actors’ lives too miserable. In half an hour they are due to be on Infinity Wars’ sprawling set.

“Oh christ, not another one,” he mutters, shaking his ahead and pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. It is too early. You are all wiped after months of location filming—coping with Murphy’s law and Mother Nature’s whim and as per usual every little thing that can go wrong has spiked the wheels.

“What’s up?” you ask, turning your attention from marking up a message board.

“Shiree’s got stomach flu.”

Ugh. Shiree, a bouncy and fresh-faced CalState undergrad, is the sixth person on the crew to go down with a bug. Not an auspicious sign. You’ll have to check in with catering. It might simply be the unrelenting heat or there might be a real problem with cross-contamination.

Either way, you are now unhelpfully another Runner down.

You swipe your ipad, pull up the day’s crew call. It’s a mess of strike-outs and red-lined arrows. Everyone is already replacing someone else.

“I’ll sub,” you offer quickly and Anthony looks up, grateful but hesitant. It’s not your job. Getaway Productions still needs you for continuity but after ten years in you are pretty sure you can multi-task.

Blindfolded and walking backwards.

“You sure?”

“Yup. Totally. I am a master at pouring brown bilge water into too thin paper cups.”

Anthony grins. Both of you have been there, way back in your resumes. It’s part of the biz. “Thanks, Y/N.”

This is how you wind up an hour later with hot coffee dripping off your hand, apologizing to the film’s tall bearded lead.

The actors for the morning’s scenes are gathered in an unusually bleary group. Quiet but intent, listening to Joe’s breakdown of the sequencing. You are just about to tap on “Steve Rogers’ shoulder and offer him a cup of joe when Dave Bautista, that mountain of a man seemingly wide as he is tall, shuffles in a little late.

He crosses too close behind you, bumps his massive bulk against your shoulder and you are knocked straight forward.

Into Chris Evan’s broad and muscled back.

“Fuck, what?” Chris exclaims, turning around, surprised and startled as half a cup of black no sugar (ugh why was the lid too loose?) seeps into the dark Nomad suit.

You stand there, appalled, shaking the liquid off your hand and trying to ignore the sting. The coffee was hot. Too hot. Fresh out of the canteen and hopefully hasn’t burned his skin. Oh god.

“Mr Evans, I am so, so sorry!” Your words are almost tripping over each other in your haste to apologize. “Are you ok?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” he says, craning his neck and rubbing at the dark wet patch that spreads from his lower back to his buttocks. “Just wet. Don’t worry about me. Are you …??” He looks up and his tawny brows tug together. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

You’re not surprised. There are literally dozens of people on the set and no reason for you to have met before. You spend your days mostly holed up inside the production trailer.

“Y/N,” you answer as Chris grabs the dripping cardboard tray and reaches for your wrist. It’s red. He’s frowning; holding it incredibly gently in fingers twice the size of yours. “You’re burned.”

“It’s nothing,” you reply automatically, although it really isn’t. The skin is bright red and stings a bitch; the sharp pain getting worse by the minute. You don’t have time for this. Your job is to keep filming rolling, not slow it down.

Gingerly, you wiggle your phone from your jeans back pocket, more worried for the moment that wardrobe needs a call. Chris has Nomad’s tan gloves tucked into his belt. God you hope that they aren’t trashed. It would ruin close-up shots. “I’ll get Lena to come down with a dryer, Mr. Evans. I hope the stain won’t show.”

“Fuck the stain,” Chris counters softly. He steps nearer to get a better look at you. The furrow on his brow gets deeper. This close he is even bigger than you thought, smells like coffee and wet leather and spice, anything but threatening. In the shade, his sapphire eyes look darker, mysteriously match the blue star stitched above his pec.

“You need this checked. It might blister. And get infected.” The litany of possible negative repercussions trails off mercifully but before you can protest he signals to another runner with a microphone. “Call the paramedics.”

Shit. That does it. The alert goes out and you both stand, waiting for the medical people to arrive when both Anthony and Joe muscle through the group. The speech is finished. You realize that around your little world, Falcon and Winter Soldier, Star Lord and Dax have melted away, back to the Milano mock-up.

Joe looks anxiously between you and Chris, at first uncertain who is the patient, but then he notices your hand cradled in Chris’s larger one. “Y/N are you ok? What happened?”

“Accident,” Chris says immediately and you flush, embarrassed to have caused a ruckus and acutely aware of how unprofessionally close you are. You pull back a little farther, but he doesn’t let you go.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Russo. I spilled coffee on Mr. Evans’ suit.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re hurt. And call me Chris, will you please?”

He smiles, lopsided and half-bashful, absently rubbing cool and soothing fingers next to your stinging skin and that’s all it takes. A few awkward, fleeting minutes before the cavalry arrives and your heart will be lost— tumble down between life’s cushions where you don’t think to look—but in the moment you stand mesmerized, vaguely aware that Anthony’s talking quickly into his mike, motioning for the goulishly curious to be kept at bay. Most oblige, except for a thin, fresh-faced and way too earnest guy in a Nasa hoodie and headset. He’s hovering, trying to get Chris’s attention, because Nomad’s needed on set in twenty, but Chris insists on waiting until the call comes to actually take his mark; stands watching patiently while a blue-gloved EMT pronounces it “only low second degree”.

“Second!” Chris looks ready to freak out but the gentle-voiced paramedic explains that there are only a few small, pinprick blisters coming up. Nothing that won’t heal quite quickly if you keep it clean and dry.

“Mr. Evans?”

“Mr. Evans?” Nasa guy looks so pained he might combust.

“Coming Matt.” The Russos, reassured it’s nothing serious, have already headed to the first scene set. Chris sighs and meets your gaze. “Sorry. Gotta go.”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” you nod but he’s gone--a retreating smudge of sable in a sea of purple minions.

It feels like the morning’s sunshine has been covered by bank of high, dark cloud.

Good grief Y/N. Get a grip.

After that you sit in a hastily retrieved folding chair (Ms Saldana it says on back) feeling a little bewildered and a whole lot rattled. The paramedic slathers on a blessedly cool antiseptic cream; covers the burn loosely and orders you to get it checked tomorrow if it swells or oozes overnight. You take some painkillers, rest for an hour or two on Russos’ orders but after lunch carry on again. certain that Chris has forgotten all about the morning’s mess, but then at 3 o’clock Matt finds you in the producer’s huddle.

He hands you a note handwritten on a concession napkin.

I don’t have your number. Are you ok? -C

Your eyes bug out. Yes that certainly seems to be a phone number on the back.

Omg.

You pull out your iphone and, weirdly nervous, have to type the number twice.

<I’m ok. And thanks!>

Of course there will be no immediate response. The actors’ phones stay mostly in their trailers when they are on set. You try not to check for a reply, keep mostly occupied with updating the afternoon scene list, when a telltale buzz fires at your hip.

You swipe the screen with your other hand.

D’s is Dene’s, the pub around the corner from the mini city of Getaway’s Atlanta hub. The cast and crew often hang there at the end of a long hot day, for the Sweetwater homebrews and the chicken biscuits. It’s tempting, though honestly you’d thought of nothing more than going home; lying down and just putting the day behind you.

But Chris. Has asked. himself. And it would be good to say thanks again: you weren’t sure he had heard you, having run off so fast. The call sheet might say you start at the usual ungodly hour but Anthony had ordered you to rest.

Come on, Y/N. What would it hurt?

You gather up your satchel, toss the gauze and polysporin the medic gave you into the zippered pocket and sling it over your shoulder, drive the two short blocks to Dene’s to make it easy heading home

Once in the high ceilinged, noisy space you pull up a seat at the bar and get a soda—you are driving and took pain meds--striking up a chat with Will, one of the best steadicam operators you’ve worked with. The two of you shoot the breeze a while before he downs the last of his bourbon, grabs his keys, mumbling something about his baby girl.

A minute later you feel someone looming just behind. It’s Chris. Freshly showered, in wet hair, grey shorts and t. A cascade of butterflies ripple through your stomach. You’ve hardly spoken to him before now, but being focus of that gaze—wow. It’s even better than the hype.

He leans on the polished wooden top, eyes worried and intent. “Hey Y/N,”

“Hey.”

“How’s the hand?” He reaches out and punctuates the question with a caress on your elbow. It gentle, easy, part of the casual way he touches everyone, and no big deal. Chris Evans, real life Captain America, is reputed to do this with everyone. Is handsy. Hugs as easily as breathing.

Shut up stupid butterflies. “Just stings,” you shrug. expecting him to make few minutes chat but somehow you both wind up deep in conversation. The state of the union and all things Trump are covered, work travel and mindfulness. He’s thoughtful. And articulate. Down to earth and inhumanly attractive. There’s something a little wicked behind the almost-bashful smile.

Your internal warning klaxons silently begin to blare.

He’s not for you. Chris is known to be the world’s nicest guy. Golden-hearted (as Jenny famously announced) and worried about everything and everyone.

“It’s fine. Really,” you insist when he offers to walk you to your car, fretting that you haven’t planned for the next day off. It is fine. You will take it a little easier. Show up at 7, instead of 4:45. but nothing puts him off.

Underneath a flickering streetlight, Chris opens your car door, sets a hand on your lower back to lean over and say goodnight and a warmth that has nothing to do with Atlanta’s humid swamp begins to pool low in your belly.

Oh oh.

Of course in the weeks to come Chris’s golden retriever level of enthusiasm wears you down.

First it’s “do you play charades?”; then it’s “we’re having a cast/crew baseball game…” All correctly platonic and entirely above board. No pressure. First a Condessa latte shows up on your desk. Then lunches with Mackie and Joe morph into casual dinner dates with just him. Standing plans to watch MLB at Dene’s pop up because, if anything, you are more obsessed than he with Boston’s fabled Sox. He’s a perfect gentlemen when he escorts you to a Pats game in the Falcon’s Nest.

His fanboying over Brady makes you grin from ear to ear.

As you get to know each other better so many things get shared. You open up about your crazy gypsy life as an air force brat, how hard it was to be constantly on the move; how you love spontaneity because your dad ran your home like a fighter wing. He talks about the pressure of being in the public eye; how hard it is to meet someone who understands that life but how much he craves some stability. How much he misses Dodger when he’s away.

The first hint it could be something different dawns when you find two ALDS passes and tickets for Logan airport clipped onto your white board.

Anthony raises an eyebrow and just grins as you stand in shock.

Oh.

My.

God.

(Boston is having an okay pennant run even with David Price on the DL list.)

You bolt from the set and arrive just in time to take your seat in the private box, smiling up at Chris as he hands you an icy Sleeper Street IPA.

The bottle is covered in condensation. It makes your fingers slide a little bit.

“Watch that beer,” he grins, ocean eyes twinkling as he leans over to cover your hand with his. He whispers “If you spill on me again this time I might have to take off my shirt.”

Oh Lord. He’s isn’t. He’s not…

He’s flirting, yes he is but you dismiss it. Doesn’t mean a thing. Chris Evans flirts with everyone. Constantly. You know this—it’s part of his innate charm. He’s single, playing the field, rumoured to be with everyone from Scarlet to a newly-available Ana Paris. And what would he, a star, want with you, second assistant producer and chief-fixer of whatever Anthony and Joe need done? No way. You’re just one of his many buds. Filling the gap during the long months away.

You both are thrilled to a see game. Chris Sale, Boston Cy Young contender, is not at his best but you don’t care. The food and drinks don’t stop. You have the best view of Fenway you’ve ever had and you laugh, and laugh; the two of you teasing each other from the 1st inning to the 9th.

On the red eye flight back that night you fall asleep with your head upon his shoulder.

The fall winds quickly on. Filming goes on hiatus, you both head west to home, say keep in touch but of course he’s just being nice. Somehow (Anthony?!) Chris gets your private private number. Friendly texts once a week give way to trash chats almost every day during L.A.’s World Series run. Boston’s out but that does not mean you will stoop so low as to root for the National League contender. He invites you over with fifty of his closest friends to watch the seventh game. It’s loud and raucous, and of course in the sea of people you hardly get a chance to talk.

You’re on your fourth whiskey sour, a little woozy and light-headed, stomach tied in knots because the Astros are down a run, when you feel the couch dip down.

It’s Chris. Big and warm, and little flushed, taking a ribbing from his pals. The two of you are quite possibly the only Houston fans in a sea of Dodger blue but neither of you care.

Josh Reddick is at the plate. 3-2, bottom of the ninth. Clayton Kershaw winding up.

You lean forward, eyes on the screen when he grips your hand for reassurance. Your heart is fluttering. It’s the thrill the game, nothing more-- he feels it too, because beside you his leg is vibrating at hundred miles an hour—like a greyhound in the gates.

(Afterward, you convince yourself his slightly fuzzy kiss is only because Reddick hits a walk-off home run.)

In the weeks to come you find yourself simply checking in; texting to ask how his family are; how Dodger’s coping with his schedule. It’s nice. Easy. No biggie because you’re just good friends.

Your schedules stay stubbornly mixed up—you’re in L.A., tied to the editing booth and he’s in Dubai, Milan, or Boston every chance he gets. Like the entire world you’re glued to his twitter feed: laughing at another video of ridiculously drunken enthusiasm when the Pats win again; fangirling every time another picture of Dodger shows up.

You both manage dinner once or twice but there’s no time to seriously hang. You miss it. Intensely. Somehow you’d become used to having him always there but there is nothing you can do.

Ridiculous, Y/N. You’re simply friends. You’ll catch up when there’s time.

The holiday season rolls around and it’s time for the annual Getaway crew party. You splurge on a kickass dress (red because it brings out the highlights in your hair) and Manolo Blahniks that make your legs go on forever, get your hair and makeup done just for no reason (honestly). After a quick hi to Anthony and Joe, you collect a flute of champagne and drift through the crowd, winding up after many hugs on the deck beside the pool.

The lights twinkling in the blooming fuschias cast a hazy blush in the air. It’s gorgeous and the perfect place to hide when you are trying to not too obviously peruse the crowd.

You hear Chris before you see him. His booming laugh echoes up from the lower terrace. He’s there-- tanned; neatly trimmed and striking in a silver shirt and dark black jeans--- with Pratt and Mackie. They’re out on the grass underneath the stars, surrounded by the bevy of blonds from accounting, joking and pounding tumblers of Chivas back.

He looks incredible. More than half-cut. And occupied.

You take a gulp of the exquisitely dry Cava and will your pulse to settle down. He hasn’t yet noticed that you’re there. Of course not. The daily texting dropped off weeks ago but your stubborn, stupid heart can’t help but wish that he’d come looking for you.

Sweep you up in those huge strong arms and say he’d missed you too.

Because that’s what good friends do.

Yeah right.

You’re just telling yourself what an idiot you are when he throws back his head and laughs, wraps an arm around Jeanine (petite, perfect and probably enhanced) and your stomach twists.

Oh god. You hadn’t realized your ‘problem’ had got this bad.

“Go on, Y/N. Go over.”

The words are whispered near your ear and you whirl, just barely keeping the bubbly in your glass.

Jeremy Renner is smiling, mouth quirked to one side, kind eyes glinting in the glow of Christmas lights. He’s not one of the cast you know that well so you stand, a little stunned while he waves his glass in the direction of the noise.

“I mean it. Go get him. Chris is crazy about you. I told the idiot he was wrong but he’s convinced that you aren’t interested.”

Aren’t interested? But that means that he….

You slowly shake your head, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair back behind your ear. Crazy about you? Sure he’s flirted. Kissed you once. Kept in close touch but that had fizzled lately. Jeremy can’t be right. You know they’re close, but he has have misunderstood something that he said.

What you and Chris have is not that kind of thing.

The sound of laughter carries across the water. You stare into your glass, hoping to find a little help but you know it won’t Your normally spontaneous and ebullient self has been body snatched by a timid mouse.

“It’s not my place. I’m not.. ” you mumble when you finally get your tongue to work.

The flush that stains your throat and neck tells otherwise.

“Really?” Jeremy chuckles. “Then why have your eyes been glued on him non-stop?” He frowns down at the group for a moment before looking back up to you. “Y/N, I’ve watched him dance around you now for months. He’s trying to take things slow. Not rush headlong for once into something new and keep it out of the press’s eye. I told him he’s being too discreet; that he’s so careful you can’t tell what’s in his busy head but he won’t listen.”

Your mouth is flapping open like a fish. Jeremy smiles wide and slow, nods when you can’t help yourself and look back down into the yard. What if he’s wrong? What if you make a fool of yourself? What if he’s ready to move on?

“I can’t…”

“Sometimes you just have to take a leap.”

The waiter drifts past again. Jeremy silently pulls your empty flute from your trembling fingers and hands back a fresh round of dutch courage. You raise it to your lips, swig the bubbly like water. The knot of people around Chris has changed again, condensed to the two Chrises, Anthony and Sheletta, his wife and childhood sweetheart. You’ve met her on set. She’s lovely. Not too scary.

Jeannine is nowhere to be seen. .

From beside you a piercing whistle makes you jump. “Evans!” Jeremy calls and oh fuck he’s done it—Jeremy has rolled the dice.

Chris looks up, finds Renner’s wave and then his eyes go wide. His handsome face flushes and he bites his lip. Shakes his head wonderingly and mouths ‘You look beautiful”.

To you. The girl he’s been crazy about all these months.

Oh god. OK. That’s it.

You walk down the terrace steps and into a new life.

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MLB is Major league baseball and ALDS is American League Division Series :)

tags. @sweet-empowerment @miss-cap21 @brooklyn-to-battlefields @inkwellsandmagicspells @maggieskeleton @imagine-cats96 @mewsiex @yourtropegirl @its-forevermore @dirajunara @s0eul @our-sharona @avaalons @lumelgy @mycapt-ohcapt @mypatronusismrpricklepants @3dsaunt @mrchristopherrobert @our-jasmine-universe @rayleyanns @s8sense @tinaferaldo @callamint @emilyevanston @interstateofmind @lilnerdy @666themarkofthebitch @thestarlighthotel @doloreschanel @pegasusdragontiger @zkkn ; @missfirstavenger

#he followed me home #sian22redux #writes #baseball #chris evans #reader

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jack-manpain-zimmermann · 7 years

Text

The Prince

for @wrathofthestag who said she could really use some sweetness today

(I’ve prompted this to other people but it hasn’t bitten yet, so I’m gonna do my best to fill it myself)

tw are all relative to The Hockey Prince episode but doesn’t go too hard on the details of the OD, still be careful though!

set between Playoffs I and Playoffs II, the night that Jack walks out of Jerry’s - very quick, slight reference to Holster being into Bitty

on AO3

It’s a dangerous thing, the news tab in a search engine. It’s often drawn Jack down a hole of seeking out nothing but the worst things hockey commentary has to say about him.

After opening tonight’s twentieth browser tab, he had mechanically reached over to turn on his bedside table lamp just so he could indulge his misery even longer. Even if he found the strength to put his laptop away before dawn, sleep was simply not going to come tonight.

The guys had all been warned off by Shitty from trying to bring Jack out of his funk. There were three stage whisper voices in the hallway about an hour after he’d left Jerry’s until Shitty’s lone voice murmured, “We love you, man, fuck everyone else,” against Jack’s door.

Which is why Jack is startled out of a deep blue reverie when a tentative knock comes at about 1:00 a.m. For a moment, Jack thinks Holster might have time traveled as his ten-year-old self into the present day before he realizes that Bittle is the small blonde standing in his door way. His sleep clothes are hanging loose and huge off his frame, and the dim light obscures his face. He mostly realizes that it’s Bittle because of the slice of pie in his hand.

“Sorry Jack, I saw a light on and I didn’t wanna wake you up by knockin’ any louder.”

His accent is as sleepy thick as it is first thing in the morning. “I asked the fellas if it was okay for me to make you a little somethin’ and they said yes, so I thought, what’s better for a crappy mood than chocolate? I wanted you to know it was specially meant for you so of course it had to be French Silk Chocolate Pie—“

“Did you seriously stay up to make me consolation pie?”

Bittle blushes and smiles shyly.

“I bake the other boys anything they want when they’re down and it seems to do the trick.”

Jack tips his chin up once and Bittle shuffles over to the side of the bed as fast as his droopy pyjama pants let him.

“Thank you, Bittle,” Jack says sincerely and nods down at the bed next to him. “Hop on up and take a load off.”

Jack doesn’t even have to move for Bittle to find a perfect nook for himself. The lack of chatter and the way Bittle keeps his arms bundled up around his legs is unnerving, so Jack bumps an arm against him and thanks him again. The shifty look and tight smile he gets in response leads Jack to realize he’s lounging in nothing but his boxer shorts.

“Oh sorry, do you want me to put a shirt on? I get kind of warm at night so I don’t sleep in layers. Shitty loves it obviously but I get that it might make you uncomfortable—”

He’s halfway to putting his plate down to get up before Bittle objects.

“No, no. You’re totally fine!” Jack chuckles as quickly as Bittle blushes again. “Oh darnit, I just mean you can stay put! I gotta get used to half naked jocks around when I move in, won’t I?”

Jack has already settled back in and made a joke of leaning his entire weight against a giggling Bittle as if he didn’t know he was there, and at last the tension has gone.

Jack tucks into the orgasmic silk pie and sighs through his nose in deep pleasure. The chocolate really is working. He looks over at Bittle who’s settling his legs into a flat pretzel out in front of him.

“Those Holster’s clothes you’ve got on?”

Bittle chuckles and grasps at the mountains of fabric. “Yup! He said I can share his bunk tonight since I’ve already missed curfew. Gave me some old stuff he never wears anymore since my jeans aren’t too comfy to sleep in. He said I looked quote adorable unquote, and kissed me on both my cheeks like I’m a dang child!”

A dark curl of displeasure flares in Jack’s gut.

He had known those were Holster’s clothes because they were the only things the guy ever wore to bed in all the time Jack’s known him. Jack never gave so much as a t-shirt to anyone because everyone knows what it means to let another person (who wasn’t a bro or Shitty) wear your favourite clothes.

Jack couldn’t be sure but he strongly suspected that Holster didn’t view Bittle as just another bro. He also suspected Holster knew that Bittle wouldn’t know how it felt to see a person you liked drowning in a sweater and pants that still smelled like you, especially when they’re about to slip into bed with you for the night.

“Eat up, mister!” Bittle waves a hand at him, seeming to have gotten used to Jack zoning out occasionally. “You didn’t eat a thing tonight and you’ll never sleep well if you’ve got a growling belly!”

Jack lets the shadows get pushed away and settles in more comfortably to Bittle’s warmth; the pie making him feel sated.

“So why did you ask me about the beer at Jerry’s?”

Jack’s voice hadn’t been anything other than casually interested but Bittle still looked as if he’d been caught with his pants down.

“Oh! Well, Ransom said you don’t drink and I just assumed that meant you never did, like, ever. Maybe he meant you just don’t drink at parties and I misheard!”

His nervousness seems to fizzle out of things to say and he focuses on rolling and unrolling a sleeve over his arm.

Jack ponders him for a moment.

“You seriously haven’t read anything about me on the internet, have you?”

Bitty shakes his head solemnly.

“Feels too invasive, you know? I already knew you as Jack from Samwell, not Jack as Bob’s son or Jack who had the…”

He stops and looks down, and Jack firmly believes ‘overdose’ is too dirty a word to pass Bittle’s lips. “So I figured anything I find out about you should come from you or one of the guys. You know how much they love you, they’d never tell me anything you wouldn’t mind I heard.”

He looks up into Jack’s eyes then, earnest as a sunrise and pure as snow.

Genuinely baffled, Jack has to put his empty plate down before replying, “Wow. I literally would not believe that from anyone but you. Just… wow.”

He huffs a sigh and looks back down into the owlish face watching him. “I think that’s earned you one bedtime story about me, you think?”

Bittle can’t hide his eagerness. “Oh! Well I mean, only if you… only if you think I should know… anything?”

Jack chuckles and rests his hands over his stomach, licking a few bits of pie crust out between his teeth.

“Well, I was a butt ugly baby and a fat awkward kid at my bar mitzvah, and then I grew about two feet and enrolled at Samwell. That’s about it, eh?”

Bittle snorts as he laughs and shoves Jack’s side.

“I’m sorry if you wanted the details on my bris, Bittle,” Jack says solemnly through a smile on his face. “But I think there might actually be photos of that online too, come to think of it.”

Their laughter settles and Jack looks down at his hands laying one over the other.

“Okay, seriously. Serious now,” he breathes a sigh and looks at Bittle sheepishly. “This is hard, actually. I’ve never told the whole thing myself to anyone before, except my therapist. Everyone’s already read about it before they meet me. Even her.”

Bittle curls his legs under him and turns to face Jack. Both their heads lean back to rest against the headboard.

“Maybe if you tell it like a fairytale? Like, tell it as if it’s about someone from history,” Bittle carries on at Jack’s confused expression.

“You know, tell the story of the hockey prince born into hockey royalty. Here, start it with ‘Once upon a time there was a prince,’” Bittle lowers his voice slightly, trying to sound distinguished.

“From a young age! He knew he was destined for greatness! For he knew that one day he would inherit the kingdom from his father…” He pauses and urges Jack with his hands.

“But… the prince also had a secret,” Jack continues slowly and feels as if he wants to back out.

Bittle’s eyes were already wide. But this was Bittle, who never judged or made anyone feel ashamed. Jack owed it to him for Bittle giving him the gift of privacy.

“He was scared of failure. Terrified of it.”

Jack saw Bittle’s posture relax, a breath rushing out of him.

“So completely frightened of not being as good a king as his father,” Jack swallows around sudden dryness in his mouth, “that he would stay up every night braced with the fear of mediocrity.”

Bittle reaches out a hot thin hand and presses it into the muscle of Jack’s shoulder.

“And so the prince took… a medicine to calm his anxiety,” Jack had no idea the words were even in him all this time.

“And he slew trolls!” He hears his own voice in a mockery of the exhilarated commentary about him from that time. “And he took more… and he slew dragons!”

The bitterness is seeping through every word.

“But one day,” Jack has to pause. Reaching one arm from where he felt frozen to the bed, he presses his hand to cover Bittle’s where it’s still holding his shoulder. “He took too much. And nearly lost everything.”

At once, like a frantic sequence in a movie, he remembers the cold glass of life and death shattering over him as he passed in and out, and fought for hours to stay on the other side.

The sounds of voices and the sensations of being touched all entering a body whose heart had stopped a second time, was a mystery that he could never share. There were no words to describe it and Jack was extremely grateful. The last person he would ever allow into the true ghoulish secret of death was Bitty.

The moment wings past quickly. Jack squeezes Bittle’s hand and guides it to rest between them. He is grateful for Bittle shifting closer, and tilting the gold of his head so that the bedside lamp was behind him, giving Jack a little more privacy in the dark.

“So he was banished. The kingdom would not have him. He was the talk of the countryside, an embarrassment to his family, and most importantly, a disappointment… to the King.”

He says a silent thank you that Bittle doesn’t move or indicate any further interest at that. In fact, he seems to be relaxing into Jack’s words.

“But the prince would concoct a plan. He would venture back to the land of the Queen. There, he would reclaim greatness… and thereby gain entrance into the kingdom.”

His voice felt lighter now, using Bittle’s lofty tone from before. “And all was going well.”

He smiled wryly, looking down at Bittle as if it say he was finished.

But Bittle’s eyes were serenely shut, his mouth curled up into the remnant of a smile. Jack whispers his name once, tickling against Bittle’s fingertips resting on the blanket. Nothing. Just a slight rise and fall beneath the bundle of his night clothes over his completely relaxed form.

Jack allows himself to look, almost as if he were examining Bittle as a creature from another world.

The kid was so quick and skilled at staying on the move , it was impossible to hold him in full sight for long. Most of the time he was just a crown of thick blonde hair, light as a wisp moving around the spaces of much larger and louder men and boys.

Now Jack can see the fan of freckles over a tiny nose and full cheeks. The way Bittle’s lips aren’t outlined in the skin but just softer and pinker all along their border, ruddier near the opening of his mouth.

How surprisingly bold and smart his brows are despite his face rarely bordering on anything like stern or serious. Jack makes it to the solid, unveined line of his neck as it curved to the joint of his shoulder, exposed and rounded where the collar of Holster’s sweater hung loose, and stops.

Jack sighs and grips his hands together.

“Until, of course,” he murmurs to himself and indulges in pushing Bittle’s hair away from one ear. He smiles at how long it’s grown.

“This little shit came along.”

Bittle’s eyelashes flutter but remain settled on his cheeks and Jack pulls his hand away.

For one dark moment he considers letting Bittle sleep there in his bed, picturing Holster’s confused and maybe hurt expression the next morning. Instead he stands up, gathering Bittle in his arms and avoids all the creaking boards on his way to the attic.

He’s careful about opening the attic door but Holster is still sitting up in bed wearing his glasses and scrolling through his phone in the dark. He looks up in mild surprise and silently shifts over as Jack moves to deposit Bittle next to him. Ransom’s deep breathing above them continues undisturbed by the clouded tension filling the room.

“He fell asleep in my room and I didn’t want him to freak out. Don’t roll over and kill him.”

Jack offers no further explanation and Holster’s steady expression doesn’t request one. He draws the blankets far enough to cover Bittle as Jack moves to stand up.

Between them, Bittle breathes deep once and stretches, tugging one arm free of the blankets and dropping it next to his head.

Jack turns away so that he doesn’t have to watch Holster settling into place and resolves to go immediately to sleep, if only to force his mind to shut up.

#zimbits fic #check please fanfiction #pre-zimbits #bittyholtz #very slightly #my fic #please observe warnings

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artsyneurotic · 7 years

Text

Meeting Your Maker

A short time after the events of Tron: Legacy, Sam finally brings Alan in on Flynn's big secret. The Grid. After becoming more familiar with the new world, Alan decides to try and find his old program, Tron...

(This short story also has illustrations after the Read More cut! Comments on here or AO3 are very much welcomed!)

Read This on AO3

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Alan had never been all that great at riding motorcycles.

Fortunately, in this world, that apparently didn't seem to factor in as much. The high-speed whine of his light cycle cut through the silence of the Outlands as he sped on, the lights of Argon City still bright behind him. He found it a bit unnerving that despite going at such a high speed, there was no perceptible wind on his face; yet somehow the tail of his overcoat managed to flap in the non-existent breeze.

Perhaps something about me being a User and expecting my coat to react causes it to react? How much am I subconsciously affecting without realizing? The implications made him nervous, so he tried distracting his mind with other matters.

The Outlands looked as if they could continue on for miles... or the Grid's version of miles, at least. The signal was growing stronger though, so he had to be getting close. He briskly took a turn at a large snowbank and saw a large strangely pointed mountain peak above him. Bringing the light cycle to a stop at the base of the mountain, he got off and examined the area.

There's something about this mountain, he thought. I can't explain it, but I know if I was going to hide somewhere... it'd be here.

He placed his outstretched palm experimentally against the rocky wall and closed his eyes. Even with them shut, he could sense the vague lines of circuitry running through the matter in front of him. One circuit in particular gave him a little tickling sensation in his head. He opened his eyes and traced a line down that circuit's path.

A large shifting movement startled him, as he realized a large slab of the wall beside him had pushed in and away, revealing an entrance.

Okay then.

Alan uneasily entered the darkened cave. Suddenly, lights ticked on around him in a sequence that followed him as he walked, illuminating a simple elevator at the end.

That's... certainly interesting...

The elevator brought him up smoothly into a huge open interior. The large area had what appeared to be one-sided windows along the entire stretch of walls surrounding it. A perfect 360 degree view of the outside. So this was all hidden inside the mountain , he marveled. Pretty slick, Tron.

He walked up the small staircase in the middle of the room, which lead up to a platform overlooking the section of Outlands he had come in from. As he was about to stroll up to the windows, he stopped dead in his tracks.

There was something lying near the window ahead of him.

A body.

The man on the floor didn't move. The lit circuits along his black suit blinked and fluttered in and out, sputtering like a dying light. Large stretches of digital scarring covered the body as it lay there, arms limp and splayed out.

Alan quickly knelt down and checked the helmeted head, gently lifting him up and propping the body against the glass wall in some semblance of a seated position. His finger accidentally brushed past the jawline of the helmet, and it snapped apart, folding in on itself and retreating back inside the man's suit.

He stifled a gasp, his eyes widening at the man's face. A younger version of him, marred by the scarring, but still unmistakable. The digital damage had cut across his face terribly. It almost looked like a disease was eating him alive.

It was hard to take in, to put it mildly.

So this was Tron. Sam had told him what to expect, but it still hadn't prepared him for such an immediate shock to his senses. Tron's eyes were shut, but not completely. His energy looks like it's almost gone. Alan raised his hand up carefully, tracing his fingers in the air. A thin blue UI grid appeared before him, and as he motioned with his hand, variables and dials activated on the floating UI. He'd had the practice up to this point, but it still made him marvel every time. So much of it worked off of instinct, oddly enough.

"Just hold on, Tron," he said softly... though he didn't even know if Tron could hear him at this point. "I'm going to divert some of the energy from this facility to you."

Alan entered the commands briskly as the lights in the large room flickered for a moment, and then surged back on. The lit lines across Tron's body flared, and the faint trace of four distinct squares on his chest blossomed back into a bright glow.

"Tron...?" he tried gingerly.

Tron's eyelids slowly opened, his deadened irises coming to life, focusing. His voice sounded like his throat had been dragged across shards of glass, peppered with distorted corruption.

"What.... who are--" Tron froze, instant recognition on his face.

"Hey, Tron." Alan felt sheepish saying it like that, but couldn't figure any other way of introducing himself.

The guy looks like he's been through hell and back. Alan's heart swelled with pity, but also tinged with guilt. If I had known about this... if I could've helped Flynn... Then maybe...

But would Flynn have let him? All those years, he could've told Alan about this, but he hadn't. He had chosen to do it alone. Alan had his suspicions, but never imagined anything like this. Then again, who could?

"A... Alan-One," Tron sputtered out. Was he seeing things? Was this a visual glitch? "You couldn't be... you're... you're here ?"

"That's right, Tron," he replied gently, as he checked over some of the deep scarring on Tron's chest. "But just call me Alan."

Tron's mind was racing. "How are you here?" He strained to recall his last memories. So much was fuzzy.

The cold nothingness of the Sea of Simulation. An explosion. Pain.

Before that...

Flynn. He had seen Flynn.

"Flynn," Tron whispered. "Where is he...?"

Alan's eyes fell at the name, his lips tightening. Just from that, Tron knew the answer. He made the same face in the past, when... when things were lost . It was strange, seeing that expression on an older face that looked like his own. He caught himself after a few moments, realized he had been wordlessly staring at the man in front of him. His User.

"I saw him, he... he must have triggered a memory leak. Made me remember." Tron winced as he tried to sit up straight. "It's as if my vision had been cloudy for so long, but seeing him," Tron looked down at his hands. "...It brought me back."

His brows scrunched in confusion, then immediately rose in recognition. He attempted to bolt up, but doubled over in pain.

"Agh, Clu! If he's still--"

Alan raised his hand lightly. "Clu's gone, Tron. Sam told me about it," he took a deep breath, "He told me that Flynn sacrificed himself to destroy Clu, to save him and Quorra. ...To save the Grid."

Tron slid back against the glass wall. Flynn was gone. He found it hard to process the data. Too far into denial, but deep down some part of him knew it was true.

A warm hand tenderly placed itself on his shoulder. "It's all right, Tron, it's over." Somehow while he was comforting Tron, it felt like he was also trying to comfort himself. "Sam is going to return, finish what Flynn started. He let me in on this whole thing a short while after he had come back." His jaw tightened with purpose. "I'm here, too. To help. I'm sorry... I'm sorry it took this long."

A wave of relief washed over Tron. It didn't seem real, but there it was. Clu gone. The Grid free. ... but the cost had come at a high price.

Too high.

Sharp pain scattered across him as he gasped. Alan fumbled but managed to keep Tron upright.

"Alan-One... Alan," he said softly, "I'm glad I finally met you." Corrupted sparks erupted from his shoulder. "But I think I'm..."

"Hold on Tron, I'm not going to let you die," Alan replied firmly. "I programmed you, remember? I'm here to save you." He flittered his hand across Tron's arm, revealing a floating set of UI nodes. His fingers raced to find the answers he needed. Working fast, he set about trying to repair Tron's code.

As he worked, the deep scarring slowly began to recede, small blocks recombining and stitching themselves back together all across his body. The power of the User , Tron thought absently. My User. Trying to save his Program. Through the pain, he took a kind of pride in his situation. Even if he de-rezzed now, how many Programs could say that?

Alan's brows knit in concentration. It looked to be working , he was actually doing it--

Tron spasmed in agony.

"Tron?! What's wrong--?"

Like a ripple effect, the previously repaired portions of Tron's body began re-corrupting at a horrifying rate, unraveling his work faster than he could fix it.

"I-I don't understand, I thought I defragged the subroutines, flushed out the trace remnants of the virus..."

Tron's eyes shut hard. That damn virus. That's what it was. What it still was.

"You can't fix this, Alan." His voice was resigned.

"What? But if this was damage from your fight--"

"That's not what it is. It's what it isn't."

"I don't understand..."

"Clu's virus," Tron grimaced. "His attempt to re-purpose me. I had already been infected before. Even though Dyson's virus had been stripped away, my code was vulnerable because of it... and Clu exploited that." His breaths grew distorted and ragged. "His virus slowly wormed its way through me... I never realized I had it until," his voice hitched, lost in a memory. "Until it was too late."

"Then that means..."

"The virus rewrote the vulnerable sectors of my programming, the parts that the old virus had weakened." The corrupted scarring was back in full force across Tron's body, spreading across his face as he spoke. "If you purge the virus, that code... no longer exists. I'd have too few functioning clusters. When I overrode the virus and fell into the Sea of Simulation... well, that was it for me."

Tron managed a bitter smile. "Clu knew that I couldn't live without that virus. A bastard... right to the end of line."

The look on Tron's face. Not just the pain, but the exhaustion. The strain. Alan couldn't pretend to know what Tron had gone through all these many cycles, but he knew that he must've been through a lot. He'd reached his breaking point. Or maybe he'd had breaking points before, but this was the mother of them all. Alan could see it in his expression.

"Tron, don't give up on me." He insisted, looking through the code as fast as he could read it. "I'm your User, remember? Maybe I couldn't help you before, but I'm here now ..." Alan clenched his teeth, "and I'll be damned if I fail my Program."

Alan leaned forward and raised his other hand, bringing up an additional sub-menu of UI screens. There had to be a way . The damage was too complex and scattered to fully re-program at this point, and Tron didn't have enough time for that anyway. He swallowed hard. Don't give in, Tron. Please. You're the toughest Program around, and you've clearly been through a lot.

You internalize the pain, don't you? It's strange... in so many odd ways, you remind me of myself.

Alan's eyes lit up for a moment.

That's it.

"I'm going for a Hail Mary on this, Tron, but stay with me." The scarring was still eating Tron up. " Fight ." He didn't have long, and he didn't know if this would work.

Extending his palm on the secondary UI screen, Alan accessed a flurry of cascading sub-windows, each moving faster than the previous. He strained as his eyes lit up unnaturally for a moment and then dimmed back to normal.

Alan's overwrite of the damaged and deleted sectors had begun in full force, and for a moment he wondered absently if perhaps this is what Flynn had thought about. Bending the rules... breaking them? Creating something new altogether?

Once his command lines had finished, the floating UI screens hummed with a brilliant blue hue, beckoning him to press a final button. The light lines across Tron's body flared in tandem, as the darkened scars were suddenly imbued with that same bright blue and began slowly filling in, like a river covering a ravine. The damage melted away along his form, finally retreating from his face and repairing its damaged tracks. An old familiar wave of alabaster light rippled across his blackened body, as his suit was once again enveloped in white.

After a few moments, the process was completed. Before Alan sat Tron, now whole and revived. Alan made some cursory checks to ensure that any traces of any virus was gone. He didn't want Tron going through that again... eve r, if he could help it.

"Tron? How do you feel?" Alan ventured.

The Program blinked several times. His hands touched his face, chest; everything seemed fixed.

"I feel... better. Thank you, Alan." He paused, incredulous. "But there's something I can't explain... a feeling I've never had..."

Alan bit his lip.

"You were right about the destroyed sectors, Tron. And I couldn't replace them, not in the way you were originally programmed. You've gone through too many revisions and too many updates to be rolled back that far. So I had to... pull a Flynn . " He patted Tron's arm, smiling. "Heh... or at least I'd like to think that's what he'd call it."

Alan scratched the back of his head. "You know, Tron... Users like to think that they pass down a bit of themselves in their children, in that new being ." He took a breath. "You're my Program, Tron. So I did what I thought I had to do to save you."

Alan pointed at Tron's chest. "I passed down a bit of myself... to you. I replaced those missing sectors with elements of a User. To be honest, I don't know the ramifications of what I just did... but I tried my best to make sure the merge would be as compatible as possible."

The silence was almost deafening.

Tron reeled at the revelation.

"What am I..?" he asked finally.

Alan smiled tenderly. "You're you , Tron." He sat back, thinking further. "You're a Program... but you're so much more." Leaning in, he added, "But you already were so much more, even before this." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Sam tells me that new kinds of life-- of programs-- were already starting to form on the Grid, so in some ways, you're not so different. Everything eventually changes... Don't be afraid of change."

Tron nodded, dully. He understood what Alan was saying, but there was this strange sensation... this heaviness on his heart. Or at least what would be the equivalent of a heart.

"I'd been under Clu's control for so long," he murmured, "I'd forgotten what feeling was like. What thinking for myself was like." He winced, as his mind was slowly assaulted by fresh, now-unhindered memories of what had occurred before. "I could see everything, but I couldn't act. The memory leak from the virus kept my memories from being overwritten."

Alan noticed Tron's body language was shifting. Slowly he began curling up, his hands grasping at his temples.

"All those Programs..." His face scrunched up as he fought his feelings. "Yori... Yori..." His eyes shimmered as his voice stammered.

Then his eyes widened in horrible realization. "No... No!"

"Tron..?" Alan asked worriedly. It was as if Tron's whole being was convulsing. Now that his memory was free and clear to be accessed properly again, he was involuntarily experiencing everything Clu's virus had deadened him to before.

He could see the faces of every program he ever de-rezzed.

Every last one.

Tron's voice went dry and his hands covered his face entirely.

...

Beck.

The kid who just wanted to help his friends, who just wanted the Grid to be free.

His friend.

"Fight it, Tron! I know you can!" The words haunted him to his core.

He couldn't.

"...Fight it!"

He hadn't.

Tears poured from his covered face. Alan was taken aback. Did Programs cry? He hadn't seen that before, and hadn't heard Sam mention that. Or... is this my fault?

Anguish escaped Tron's throat; he felt like he was going crazy. He had never felt this strongly before. All those cycles, all the pain he had repressed... the sadness, the loneliness. The loss. He had kept it down for so long. Something in him refused to bottle it up anymore.

Alan couldn't see what Tron was remembering, but this reaction, he knew. Tron was a fighter, a soldier. And it looks like a soldier going through the worst PTSD of his life. The guilt gnawed at him. If these User-created emotions hurt Tron, it was his fault.

He embraced the broken Program.

It felt like an eternity hearing Tron's muffled sobs.

Eventually they stopped.

"I'm sorry Tron," he whispered. "Part of being a User... of being human , is to have these feelings. I'm sorry it hurt you so much." He hesitated. "I... I could wipe those painful memories, if you wanted."

Tron took in a large, jagged breath and swallowed hard. He wiped his eyes, half-confused from the liquid, and looked square at Alan. His brows dipped but held firm.

"No," he replied simply. "I want to remember the Programs I cared about. I need to remember." He sniffled slightly, unaccustomed to this new, intense feeling. "These emotions may take getting used to, but that's exactly what I'll do." He rose to his feet. "Whatever may come... I'll get used to that, too."

Alan stood up and gently addressed Tron. "You're not alone." He couldn't help but smile a little ruefully at himself. "In some ways, even before the added code, I think you were a lot like me." Tron's face was like a glimpse from the past, but despite looking youthful, it had so much pain etched on it. A little too familiar.

"It'll eat you alive if you let it. Don't let it."

They both looked out the large glass windows to the scenery below.

"I know you probably have a lot of questions for me... as you should. I'm not sure how much I can answer, but I'll do my best." His eyes scanned the horizon outside.

"Sam and I are going to try and fix things," Alan continued. "There may be some bumps; we're picking up from where Flynn left off, but there are a lot of gaps we'll never know if he planned for."

He turned to Tron. "But, if you'd like to help us... we're going to try ."

Tron stared out the window, and closed his eyes.

"You know, I used to have a mantra... that I 'fight for the Users'. And I know that's still true." He inhaled deep and exhaled, opening his eyes. "But now I'd like to finally fight for myself , too."

He regarded Alan thoughtfully. "I want to help you make the Grid... that my friends fought for."

Alan smiled, putting his hand on Tron's shoulder.

"I'm glad. Let's get to work."

END OF LINE

#tron uprising #tron: uprising #tron #alan bradley #alan-one #rinzler #My writing #my art

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rainnawarmcuppa · 5 years

Text

Captain Envy (2/?)

Summary: Steve Rogers hadn’t met anyone more beautiful than Peggy Carter. Until he met Rose Tyler, that is. All Events occur after Winter Soldier. Steve/Rose Centric. Mentions of Tentoo/Rose.

Steve Rogers X Rose Tyler

This chapter: ~3256 words, Teen

Start from the beginning Ch. 1

AO3

Steve saw her again on his next run, her hot pink sports bra traded out for a deep blue one instead. He was surprised by the fact that if he kept the pace that he was at now he would only end up staying the same distance away. He put in extra effort to catch up to her, his feet hitting the pavement harshly as he pulled up beside her then came into sync with her as he paced himself. He was oddly comforted by the sounds of their shoes hitting the pavement at the same time. His eyes darted over to look at her as he began to speak and he was surprised to find that she was already looking back, “You're pretty quick, Miss Tyler.”

Her tongue touched her teeth as she smiled, her hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair away from her face as she replied, “Part of the powers I ‘spose. You seem to have caught up alright. Not scared of me then?”

“New things are always frightening, ma’am. It all comes down to what you do with that fear.” Steve responded.

“An’ what dijou decide?” Rose asked as she stopped to get a drink at a fountain along the path, her eyes trailing him even as she leaned down.

“Everyone deserves a chance, Miss Tyler.” He said while stretching as he waited on her.

“Rose. You can call me Rose." She was staring at him still, unnerving him with her golden eyes as she spoke.

He stuck out a hand as he formally introduced himself, “Steve Rogers.”

“I know.” She said. Her hand was soft, yet firm, in his own. His larger one encompassing hers as she gave a stiff shake. He felt like it fit perfectly as if her hand had been molded by God itself to fit within his own.

She let go with a smile, her hand going to the pager at her hip before it had even begun to beep, “That’d be Fury. Have a good run, Steve.” She jogged backward for a moment as she spoke before turning and taking off in a full-out run. Lord was she fast.

Steve startled slightly when he felt someone at his elbow, his stance going stiff before once again relaxing as he looked to his right and found Sam staring at him awkwardly, “What?”

Sam’s smile was slow coming as he stared, a gleam in his eye that Rogers had never seen before as he responded, “I think you like her. Natasha rubbing off on you finally? You gonna take her advice?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes before taking off at a light jog. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it, but letting go of Peggy was hard. It felt like just yesterday he was promising her a dance as he plummeted into the ocean. Scarred was what Natasha had called him, but Tony would just say he was scared. Wasn’t it a little bit of both? Besides, people came with baggage. Rose had said she was nearly 200 years old, which was certainly a lot of baggage.

“Look, man, why not just ask her out for coffee? It’s not like it could hurt, right? What have you got to lose?” Sam asked.

A lot, he had a lot to lose. Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t want to, but he was leaning more towards the side of his brain that was telling him this could all go horribly wrong again.

When he saw Rose again it was for an assessment. He found the whole idea of it all strange, as he was sure the rest of the Avengers did. All of them would have to go into a large room, individually, and show their abilities.

Now, for a brief moment, he had been worried about Bruce. The Hulk was not easy to take down. But, upon finding out that the man actually wouldn’t be participating, the pressure worked its way off his chest. However, he did have to wonder what Rose wanted with a working knowledge of their abilities and moves. It was at that moment when a traitorous thought had entered his mind that she might not be as good of a person as he wanted her to be. What if she was some kind of evil mastermind? He quickly shook those doubts away. No, he knew she was a good person. He didn’t know how, but he knew.

“As I’m sure you are all aware, Agent Tyler and I have called you all here today for some training.” Fury said as he paced the room in front of the small group, his arms held behind his back while doing so, “Since Agent Tyler is new, she has graciously offered to go first. Ms. Tyler.”

“Thank you, Fury. If you’ll all follow me, please.” She was wearing a standard SHIELD jumpsuit with the Torchwood Institutes logo emblazoned on the arm. He moved to walk nearly beside her as they headed down a corridor in the bunker they had all been called to.

“You’re not bringing us down here to hide the bodies, are you ma’am?” His voice was quiet as he leaned over to speak near her ear. He was only half-serious as he asked the question. Well, probably less than half. He hoped.

Her laugh was a quiet tinkle before she responded as her eyes glowed gold, “I wouldn't have anything to hide if that was my plan. Just wait.”

He leaned back up, a small smile on his face as they continued down the hallway. It wasn’t much longer before she stopped in front of a metal door. She pushed it open and ushered them inside before following herself. He waited at the back for her before following her to the front.

The room had several desks with a few people already at them, their stations facing a large glass wall that looked out into what appeared to be a large arena.

“Welcome to your new training facility.” Rose said as she swooped a hand outwards, indicating the facility beyond the glass, “This will be where we meet, for the most part.”

She turned to look at the people standing behind their desks before continuing, “This is the team that will be operatin’ the technical side of the facility, keepin’ it all running smoothly. I’d like you all to meet Sharon Kane, Derek Lanney, and Lewis Stanley.”

The small team nodded their head lightly before taking their seats and working away at their computers. Steve looked at them and nodded, smiling for a moment before dragging his eyes back to Rose when she started speaking again, “The first thing you need to know about training here is that it finds your fears and pits them against you. But as a wise man once told me, ‘Everyone is afraid, it all comes down to what you do with that fear’." She stopped briefly, smiling coquettishly at Steve before continuing, "The point of this training is to prepare you for the worst and for us to be able to pinpoint where you might be lacking so that we can train better. As I said, I’ll be going first. Don’t be surprised if you see stuff that you don’t recognize. ‘M not from here, after all.” She said, winking before walking out of the room.

“This could be good. Maybe it’ll give us a clue as to what her weaknesses might be.” Tony snarked as he leaned against one of the Techies desks, arms across his chest as he stared down at the arena.

Natasha and Clint had made their way to a couch in front of the windows, and he wasn’t at all surprised to see Bruce leaning over the desks to see what the agents were working on in their computers. Steve shook his head before sidling up next to Fury and Thor in front of the far side of the window.

“What do you think, Boss?” He asked as he watched Rose enter the arena from a door to the far right, the room was immediately silent as Lewis spoke through an intercom at the desk.

“Alright Rose, the sequence will start in ten seconds. Make it to the other side and hit the button to finish the training. Should you wish to end the sequence at any time, let us know.”

“No problem, Lew.” Rose said, punctuating her words with a wink and a salute.

Everyone crowded at the large window to see what sort of horrors would be dragged from this woman’s mind, but It was another few moments of silence as the room loaded in some halls and doors before anything started.

The Captain watched as she took off at a run when the buzzer went off, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her. He was shocked when she erupted into golden dust before coming back together several feet ahead of where she had been before. He somehow felt that she was showing off and was proved right when she tossed another wink in his direction.

Steve started to blush before he saw that several feet ahead of Rose several agents in black had materialized. One of the agents moving around the fabricated halls carried a large gun, the weapon covering most of their chest, and fired it at her as she grew close enough. The laser grazed her arm, the blast exploding a wall that had appeared in the distance.

“Everything might be fake, but the pain is real. You get shot with stuff that imitates the pain. We feel it brings something more real to the scenarios.” The brown-haired Sharon hadn’t even looked up from her computer as she said this.

Rose had grabbed her arm while they were talking, simulated blood coming away in her hand. The wound, however, didn’t stay for long. Steve watched in awe as it closed right before their eyes, the skin shimmering in a strange way before settling back down into a normal tone.

She looked angry as she came around the corner and shot the man, her bullet hitting him in the head. As his body crumpled, another agent came around the corner and ran at her, sweeping her legs out from under her body and dropping her to the ground.

The mysterious agent was about to shoot her when a man in a pinstriped suit came around the corner with some sort of small silver tube that seemed to disable the gun before disarming the man with some weird sort of hand movement to his neck that knocked him out.

The man quickly helped Rose to her feet before shouting, “Run!”

They careened around the corner he had just come from, their hands clasped tightly together. The man turned to look back at her, his hair wild and his mouth a hard line, “It’s Hydra. I don’t know how they found us, but they did. We have to get out of here.”

Steve was stunned, his eyes going back to the men that were chasing them. She knew Hydra? She had encountered them before?

Rose moved to run alongside him, dropping his hand when a Hydra agent came running at them from around another corner. She pulled ahead and knocked the woman out with a rather strong roundhouse kick. The agent's skull cracked against the wall but they didn’t pass out.

The agent wavered for a moment before feinting with her right fist but throwing a punch with her left. The fist landed against Rose’s ribs. Rose staggered for a moment, before retaliating by pulling the woman in and kneeing her hard against the stomach.

The woman grabbed at her midsection, gasping for air. When she couldn’t seem to catch her breath, she whipped off her mask and Steve was surprised to see that it was Rose’s face that appeared from underneath it.

He was about to ask the other agents in the room about it when the woman quickly brought up a gun, but she didn’t shoot at Rose, she shot behind her.

“No!” Rose shouted as she turned around and ran for the man who had been with her.

He was grabbing at his ribs where the bullet had pierced him, his hand coming away with dark blood, “Rose?”

She caught him as he crumpled to the floor and the agent laughed in the background, “You never could protect him, could you?"

Steve expected that she would stay on the floor with the dying man. Instead, she moved quickly to attack the agent. Rose swept her leg out and brought Hydra Rose to the floor. The Hydra agent laughed even as Rose landed a hard punch to her face.

"Your husband's dying and you still run headlong into a fight. You can't kill me, Rose, because I am you." Hydra Rose laughed as she glowed and exploded into silver dust.

Steve was shocked at the revelation of who the man was as Rose let out a frustrated cry before turning back to go to him.

She knelt down by where he had propped himself against the wall and laid a hand against his wound. Steve wasn't sure what to expect, but he was certain that something was supposed to be happening.

Rose seemed more frustrated as she pulled her hand away from the wound, red blood soaking her fingers, "I can't save you."

"I'm sorry. Oh, Rose, I'm so sorry." The man said, tears rolling down his cheeks as he brought a bloody hand up to her face.

"It's not your fault. It's -" Rose started, but she didn't get a chance to finish as the man's hand fell away from her face.

Steve felt his heart clench in his chest as her shoulders shook softly. She let out a frustrated shout and went to dust, appearing not seconds later at the button that hadn't been much further away. She pressed it quickly before leaving through the door next to it.

Steve stared at the space she had occupied not moments before, weighing his options on what he could do. He wanted to find her, but he didn’t really know her that well. The chances of him being more of a pest than any actual help were awfully high.

“That was Rose’s late husband. He lived a long life, but she outlived him in the end. They both built Torchwood from the ground up.” Derek’s voice was soft as he spoke, a heaviness filling the room with his words.

Steve had turned to look at him but was startled to see Rose standing in the doorway. He fidgeted for a moment, his mouth opening to form some sort of condolence, but she started speaking before he could get any words out.

“The Doctor wrote the program to play on emotional fears. It’s different nearly every time you go in there. Sometimes your loved one is a monster, sometimes they’re exactly as you remember them. It almost makes it harder.” Her voice was full of emotion as she spoke, but no tears fell.

He figured dead husband matched up pretty well with his dead girlfriend baggage. He wasn’t one to compare losses though and quickly dismissed the thought as he responded, “I’d like to volunteer to go next.”

“Who are you trying to impress, Captain tight pants?” Tony quipped, hovering by the desks again and trying to take a look at the computers.

“Not you.” Steve replied and he tried to keep his face passive as he stared at the other man. It was days like this that he missed Howard Stark.

He inclined his head at Rose as he passed her, moving quickly down the hall with a man he hadn’t even seen standing there.

“I’m just here to take you down to the arena. The room just before it will have all your equipment in it. Mr. Fury had it brought in last night.”

It didn't take long for them to reach their destination. After he changed clothes and stepped into the arena, he received the same speech as Rose before they began the simulation. He hadn't been running for long before simulated trees cropped up around him. After a few short moments, he came to a clearing where a soldier stood with his back to him. He waited for a beat or two, trying to see if the man would turn, before throwing his shield.

Steve was in awe when the man caught it, sliding back a few feet before throwing it back at him again. He caught it, the edge digging harshly into his palms. He wasn’t worried about that though. What he was worried about was his best friend, James Barnes, standing not 10 feet from him looking exactly as he did during the war.

“Bucky?” his voice came out rough as he spoke.

“Hey, Steve. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to kill ya.” Bucky shrugged his jacket off as he spoke, circling his neck and cracking it loudly.

“I’m afraid I can’t let ya do that, Buck.” Steve responded with a broken whisper.

“We’ll see.” his friend replied as he shrugged off his jacket.

Bucky ran at him, moving in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of when he faced off to the winter soldier under the overpass. He pulled back his arm and threw a punch as the man got closer, but Bucky had been expecting it. He caught the Captain’s fist in his palm, twisting it as he threw one of his own. It connected sharply to the shield and Steve used it to push him back, gaining a little space between them. He wanted to use words, but this wasn’t a situation that one talked themselves out of.

Steve lunged a knee at him, hitting him in the solar plexus hard enough that the man buckled. He took that moment to throw an uppercut, his fist connecting and throwing Bucky off balance and onto his back. He threw himself over the man, throwing another punch at his face that missed as Bucky threw his head to the side, dodging the blow as he came back with one of his own.

Steve managed to dodge it, barely, as he rolled sideways off his best friend turned enemy. He launched himself to his feet quickly, trying to keep his eye on Bucky as he did so. He grunted as Bucky’s shoulder impacted hard with his midsection, a whoosh of air rushing from his lungs as the man managed to slide him back a foot or so. He took in a breath as he brought his elbow down onto his friends’ back harshly, several times.

They went at it for several long moments, before he managed to clock him in the jaw hard enough to knock him out. He shook his hand out, surprised at the force in which he had to exert. His lungs burned and his ribs felt bruised. In fact, he was almost a hundred percent sure that Buck had managed to break at least one of them.

He sat back for a moment, weary from the whole situation. He had to remind himself that this was a simulation and that he hadn’t just knocked out his best friend. He continued to breathe for a few more minutes before gathering his senses and continuing the course. He had people watching him, after all.

It didn’t take long for Steve to reach the button after that and he was thankful that it was only a few more nameless soldiers he had to face along the way. He hit the button with a sigh before heading out the door. He’d had enough of this room for today if his bruised chest was any indication.

After a doctor explained that his rib wasn't actually broken and that the training program had only tweaked his brain to make it feel like it was broken, he made his way back to the control room and thought about what he had learned about Rose all the way back. She looked so young that it was hard to believe she’d had a husband, let alone one that she had outlived by a little less than a century. He had to hand it to her, she aged well. He supposed he did too, though. He looked good for ninety if he did say so himself.

Maybe Natasha had been right, maybe it was time.

#captain envy #dw fanfiction #fanfiction #doctor who fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #fanfic #tentooxrose #captain america x rose tyler #steve rogers #rose tyler #tentoo #steve rogers x rose tyler #steve rogers/rose tyler #tentoo/rose tyler

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drawn-to-space · 7 years

Text

Don’t Let Me Quiche You with Feelings

Prev || Next

It’s been about a week and a half since G has lived with Yumi and things have started to get a little bit more comfortable since their first encounter. They’re starting to be a bit used to each other, even though it’s still a bit awkward at times. But that’s pretty normal, considering.

Anyway, Yumi had just come back from, this time school after an event and so this caused her to come over a bit late. However a bit startled by her late arrival and the sudden sound of the door opening, he was expecting her to arrive around this time. He was just laying on the sofa, waiting for her, after all.

“Hey, G!” she calls for him, locking the door behind her. *Hm? he sits up. “I brought some monster cupcakes! Want some?” she asks, enthusiastic. *Sure. Why not? he replies with a somewhat nonchalant smile. “Okay.”

She takes out a small box, opening it, and takes a cupcake out of it while walking towards him.

“Here you go!” he gave a cupcake with a bright smile. *Oh. Thanks.

He looked at it for a bit before taking a bite. It was just a simple miniature chocolate monster cupcake with cream cheese on it. I looked handmade, actually. After taking a bite, G thought it was pretty good for such a simple cupcake.

“So… how is it?” *… Where did you buy ‘em? “Aheheh, I didn’t buy them. she giggles awkwardly.

Immediately, G’s face turned into a completely confused expression, as he basically devours the entire thing. This made it even more awkward for Yumi.

“I… made them?” *Sherioushly? Ish really good! he says, enthusiastically, his mouth full. “Well, I’m glad you like ‘em.” she giggles shyly.

He takes his time to eat it before continuing their conversation, wiping off most of the crumbs on his face. Hold on, what the fuck?

*Wait… that doesn't make any sense. No offense, but– “Yeah, I know… it’s weird that I can bake but not cook, right?” *… Yeah, kinda. “Haha, well, I’m not sure either, to be honest with you. It’s weird for me too.” she laughs a bit awkwardly

He pauses for a bit, thinking about it. He ends up shrugging.

*Maybe you just need some practice. he continues.

She shrugs too, making a sound like “i dunno” without actually saying it.

*Well… maybe I could teach you a thing or two? It could help. “That would be cool, actually!” she smiles enthusiastically. *Alright then, let’s go. he says, getting up from the sofa. “Go? Where??” she asks, confused. *To the grocery store. Where else? he turned towards her. “What?? We’re doing this NOW???” she was clearly not up for it. *Sure. The earlier we start, the better. Don’t you want to improve as soon as possible? he started walking towards the door. “Uurrrgh… Fine…” *Oh. It would be quicker if I teleported us there. he stops himself. “…?” *Here. You’ll need to hold my hand. he puts his hand in front of her. “Oh.” she hesitantly took his hand. *Uh, I’m warning you though… you’ll probably feel a bit nauseous. “I-I think I’ll be fi–

Suddenly, she felt a powerful force pulling her forward. Was this what teleporting was like? This reflexively made her look up, making her see what was going on in this very short sequence. Even if it lasted but a second, she could see so many ones and zeroes as if they were traversing in a computer code. What the fuck!?

When they finally teleported where they needed to be G opened his eye. It seemed like his eye was closed the whole time the were teleporting.

*Okay, we’re he– Yumi, are you okay?? he asks, realizing she was bent over a bit. “Argh… shit.” she groans holding her head. *Holy shit, what the hell happened?? “I-I’m fine… I think. And I-I dunno… there was so many ones and zeroes, holy shit…” she says with a painful smile. *Holy shit, Yumi, don’t look at The Code directly! “The WHAT??” *It’s… really hard to explain. I don’t even think I can. And… even if i did… you’d probably get an existential crisis or somethin’… “Geez…” she sighed. *But anyway- “…!” she jolted. *… Sorry. Are you sure you’re okay? he asked once more. “Yes, I’m fine.” she smiles a bit more warmly. *Okay, cool. ‘Cause I’ve never transported people with me before. he chuckles nervously.

She was still smiling but she had a very deadly stare thinking that she was going to kill him. I mean, what the fuck!? He could’ve at least tell her that. She’s fine with just taking the bus without her risking her life, y’know.

Anyway, they quickly head inside as it is super cold outside, considering they’re in the middle of December, right now and Yumi specifically didn’t have a coat on her. Seemed that G was prepared for this though as he brought his coat. When did he have the time to get it?

In any case, when they were taking the groceries, Yumi had no idea what they were going to make. For some strange reason, G didn’t want to mention what was going to be her first thing she was going to be taught to make. However, he did admit that some of the ingredients they were taking were just regular groceries since they were sort of running out anyway.

However, throughout the entire time they were shopping, they were mostly acting like giant dorks, doing incredibly stupid things that normally would humiliate your kids. Actually, they were basically acting like a bunch of kids. Yumi using the chariot like a while G was sitting in it. G showing off his drifting skills by using it similarly but dashing through the store. Actually, they almost got yelled about that, but since there were very few people during this time the employees didn’t mind too much.

When they arrived at the freezer area Yumi was extremely cold so G gave her his coat. Like a complete dork, Yumi rolled the sleeves around her face to look like a ninja. She even threw at G a frozen pizza like a Giant Shuriken™ which she yelled out loud. He didn’t get the reference but it was still so unbelievably ridiculous that he burst into laughter after catching it reflexively. A family of humans nearby starred judgingly at the scene. It didn’t help that humans and monsters hanging out were still a bit frowned upon by the older folks. But did Yumi and G care? Fuck no.

After buying everything they needed they took all of their groceries and G teleported them and everything else back at Yumi’s home. They were still laughing about the whole thing. Who knew you could have so much fun going to the grocery store?

“What are we making anyway?” she asks still a bit giggly. *Well, since you’re good at baking I thought maybe we should go with a quiche first. “Oooh! That’s actually a pretty good idea.” she says cheerfully.

Immediately afterward, he shuffles through the bags and pulls out all of the ingredients and a cookbook.

“Sooo, what are we doing first?” she asks. *I think we should start with the crust first so we can work on the filling when it’ll be baking. he responds, looking through the cookbook. “Okay!”

Yumi was, oddly enough, very excited about learning how to cook by G in general. It was odd because she really wasn’t up to it at first, but now that they had so much fun, she was just overall super pumped. It was kind of weird, but it wasn’t the first time he’d seen this occasional child-like glee from her.

Anyway, they started off with the crust like he said they would. Making the crust was pretty easy for Yumi, considering she’s made pies befoe, so it wasn’t too much of a hassle. She, pretty quickly, finished molding the pie around a pie pan and heated it in the oven for a little while so it could be preheated before the filling and it wouldn,t be underbaked when the filling was going to be done.

The filling, however, she made a few mistakes. For one she accidentally mixed up the salt and sugar, her mind thinking she was still making a pie. Thankfully it wasn’t too much, but it might still taste a bit weird. She even almost dropped the entire bowl a couple of times for mixing it too fast. G decided to help her with it, as he could tell it wasn’t easy to mix a bowl with only one arm. Well, she refused a couple of times but ended up giving up when she really realized how much of a hassle it was. It’s much thicker than usual, after all. However, he was tempted to ask how did she even do it before.

Either way, the filling was done and Yumi decided to take out the crust out of the oven.

“I’ll go get it!” she shouts putting heat mix on, heading to the oven. *Are you sure? he says a bit worried. “Yeah, I’m good.” she confirms, taking out the crust from the oven. *Okay, just- just put it over here.

She nods and carefully aporches him. He turned around to move away but his elbow accidentally hit her hand and she dropped the crust. Fuck.

*Ah shit, fuck I’m so sorry, Yumi. This is–

When he looked back up towards her she was crying. What? What happened? She was muttering “I’m sorry” over and over again. What’s going on?

*Yumi…? Are you okay? he asks worriedly. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

She wasn’t responding as if she was caught up in another world or another distant memory. It was almost terrifying seeing her like this. What the fuck is going on!?

*Yumi, it’s fine I-… it was my fault- “I’m sorry… I won’t do it again… I’ll do better next time… I’m sorry, I’m sorry! she almost crumbles on the floor.

What the fuck!? He grabs her by the shoulders reflexively.

*Yumi! Snap out of it, holy fuck! he almost shouts, firmly shaking her. “…!?!?” she was shocked, as if she just came out of a daze, still crying. *Yumi, what the fuck!? It’s not your fault dammit, you literally saw me bump into you!

She stays silent as if she sort of forgot what just happened, but then realized what she could have said. Seeing that she calmed down he let her go.

*… Yumi, what’s going on? You looked kinda…. traumatized… Did I trigger something? Are you okay?

She was still silent lowering her head, still sniffing a bit, wiping off her tears. She didn’t want to talk about it, not yet anyways. Talking about her childhood traumas to him now was a level of personal information that he was definitely not near to. He didn’t really take it badly that she didn’t want to tell him though. It just made him more worried about the gravity of the situation. He let out a long sigh.

*Sorry… I’m asking too many personal questions, huh? … Well… let’s just forget about this and make some pizza, okay? “O-okay…”

She tried her best to give an honest smile but she was clearly still a bit teary eyed and it really just made everything sadder. For some reason, it just sort of broke his soul to see her like this. But, as much as he wants to know the reason for this insane reaction, he’s not going to ask her until she tells him herself.

#purple bones #two-in-one-skele #yumi kizui #g!sans #gill sans #past #drabble

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esamastation · 7 years

Text

Slow and abrupt change, 1

Newt fiddles idly with his shirt cuffs, trying to not look at anything too hard.

Everything is so neat here, everything it's proper place. He feels as if he's making a mess of it, just by being here, like just too strong breath might shift everything out of order.

So he tries to sit as still as he can, not look at everything – except he rather has to because it's all so interesting. Long lines of strict glass cabinets, full of al sorts of fascinating things. Some of them he can recognise – foe-glasses, sneakoscopes, other sensors he's seen in Theseus office. There's lanterns and globes and things that look like gyroscopes that he cannot even begin to imagine the use of, there are planetary models, and there are numerous crystal spheres and things that look like trophies but probably have actual use. All of it gleams golden and somehow dangerous in the smooth lighting of the office.

Absently Newt checks to make sure his suitcase is well locked. He might've trapped the niffler in his nest, just for this meeting, but he knows from experience that sort of thing won't hold the sneaky thing for long. And this place… it's prime spot for bit of pilfering.

It's a small wonder it hadn't, when Graves – or rather Grindelwald – had according to Queenie just left the suitcase on his desk, unsupervised, during the whole… hearing and execution debacle. It still makes Newt a little ill to think of it, all his creatures at the mercy of that man.

There's a click behind him and newt's back straightens with a muffled snap and he looks over his shoulder. Graves – the real Director Graves – steps inside, glancing at him. The man still has a slight limb and one of his arms is in a sling, but somehow he manages to wear his injuries with dignity Newt knows he's never managed.

"Mr. Scamander," the man says in greeting, one of his eyebrows arching slightly.

Newt hesitantly stands up from the chair he'd been sitting on. "Director Graves," he says and stomps on the urge to check on his fingernails. "Ah, your secretary let me in, seeing that… I had a meeting."

"Right," Graves answers slowly, looking him up and down. "Well I suppose introductions aren't necessary," the man says and then limps past newt and around his desk, where he pulls the chair back with spot of wandless magic and sits down. The relief isn't visible on his face, newt doesn't think, but he can see it on the ma's shoulders, how they ease under the severe coat.

Newt sits down as well, and he's ended up fiddling with his nails after all. "Ah, you wanted to see me?" he says awkwardly.

"I'm attempting to untangle the… aftermath of the whole Grindelwald incident. You're a loose thread," Graves says and takes out a wand. He taps it against his desk and a drawer opens on his side. From it, he takes out a folder. "Auror Goldstein has filled in the essentials but there are pieces missing, which only you and the Nomaj… Jacob Kowalski, are privy to, and seeing that Kowalski has had his memory modified, you're the only one left to be questioned."

"Yes, of course," Newt says with a swallow and glances between his own hands and the folder. His own image is there – the one MACUSA took for his records during the arrest and which they then plastered all over the place in his wanted posters. Idly he wonders if he could ask one of those for himself – a keepsake.

It wasn't every day you got a legitimate wanted poster of yourself after all.

"I'll… try and answer as honestly I can," Newt offers. "It was a little hectic for a while there, however and I might have forgotten details."

"Just keep to the simple facts," Graves says and takes out not a quill, but a pen, black with golden highlights. Elegant, just as everything else in the office. "Now, when was it you arrived in New York, exactly?"

Newt ducks his head and eyes hands. "It was four days ago, now," he says. "I came on board a muggle ocean liner, the Fort Elizabeth. We disembarked around nine am in New York harbour."

"And your reason for coming to New York…" Graves says and leafs through pages, checking on notes. "Was it to purchase appaloosa puffskeins or was it to release the thunderbird?"

Newt shrugs one shoulder. "Both, really. I did intend to purchase a puffskein, I think I might still have the newspaper ad about them somewhere, too – but apparently the breeder's been shut down…" he trails off, a little unhappy about that. He really had wanted to buy one. Not only was he curious about the effects of Fleury's breeding program, but it really would've made a perfect gift for his brother. Theseus would've gotten such a laugh from it.

"Hm," Graves answers, jotting it down. "Where, exactly, did you get the thunderbird?"

Newt hesitates. "Is that… vital information?" he asks. "Madam Picquery promised that my case and all in it got a free pass, so as long as took them and myself out of New York inside a week.

That makes Graves look up at him with a slight frown on his face.

"I rescued him from traffickers, in Egypt, couple of months back," Newt mumbles and looks away. "There was an auction and – it's really a quite a long story."

Graves arches an eyebrow at him and then writes it down. "Moving right along then. What did you do between disembarking the ship and the incident at Steen National Bank."

Newt sighs. This is going to be a long interrogation, he muses even as he explains the meandering walk he'd taken through New York, taking in the sights, in no particular hurry to reach his destination. It was his first time in the city – he'd been fascinated by it. It was quite on a scale of it's own, after all.

"And then I arrived at Steen bank – well, I was going past it, rather. I had no need or intention of actually visiting the bank itself," Newt continues. "I got tangled up in that New Salem Philanthropic Society meeting that was going on in front and during it… my Niffler escaped."

"From where we get to the incident," Graves says, frowning slightly. "First, however – the Second Salemers. Did you… sense anything unusual about them?"

Newt frowns and looks up, at Graves' hand resting on top of the folder and the notes, gripping the pen. The man has clean nails, cuticles trimmed finely. "Did I sense Credence, you mean?" Newt clarifies.

"You seem to have previous experiences with obscurials – the girl from Sudan you've mentioned on several occasions," the other man says.

Newt shakes his head. "When contained within the living host, the obscurus doesn't feel like anything. If it has a discernible feel to it at all, then it feels like absence, and that's something you can only detect if you're looking for it," he says. "No, I didn't sense anything. Though I can't say being called out by magic hating muggle society wasn't startling enough."

"Scourers, is the term," Graves says and turns a page. "Your niffler seems to get out a lot, judging by the incidents.

Newt sighs heavily. "Oh I know. He's a terrible menace and sometimes I don't know what to do about him."

"How about getting rid of him?" Graves offers, looking at him from under his brows.

Newt startles and throws him an offended look. "I would never."

That almost gets a smile out of the man. "It was during your incident with the niffler at the bank when you lost your suitcase to the nomaj?"

"Yes – Jacob has a suitcase that looks exactly like mine from the outside," Newt mutters, leaning back a little and giving the man a distrustful look. "I ended up bringing his pastries here when Tina brought me in while he took my creatures home with him. It really was only a mix up, never meant to happen."

"Mm-hmm," Graves agrees. "List for me all the creatures that escaped."

It goes on like that for a while, Graves wanting not only full list of events, but their effects, damages caused and any possible witnesses if possible. At this point lot of it has already been repaired, of course, but it seems that the actual sequence of events is, at least for Graves, still unclear. It all eventually leads to Newt and Jacob being snatched by Tina and taken to the MACUSA – and right into a ICW meeting.

"I think you have records of all of it," Newt mutters, still stinging a bit from the way his case had been just… taken. The pounding fear somewhere in the back of his throat had lingered even after he'd gotten Tina out and Queenie had appeared, like a miracle, with his case in hand.

"Some of it," Graves corrects and lifts his pen from the paper. He's looking at Newt now, frowning even deeper than before. "I'm curious, though – do you know what happened?"

Newt blinks at that and glances up. "We were captured, questioned, and sentenced to death, after which we escaped?" he asks.

"And you don't question any of that?" Graves asks slowly, eyebrows lifting slightly.

Newt glances up at his eyes, unable to help it – the man has expressive face, it's hard not to notice it. Quickly he looks away again. "We didn't really have the time for questions," he offers, uneasily. "It all seemed to happen so fast."

"Hmm," Graves hums, watching him, looking a little displeased. "The executioners present at your interrogation with Grindelwald were under imperius curses, both of them – and he did not have the authority to sentence you to death on the power of single, very one sided interrogation," the man says grimly. "It was all unauthorised. I hope you understand that. He didn't sentence you do death – he tried to murder you, because you knew too much."

Newt digests that for a moment and then nods. "That… does make sense," he murmurs softly.

Graves watches him for a moment, as if to make sure he does understand. "Even if you had committed a offence severe enough for punishment of that magnitude on MACUSA's jurisdiction, we still wouldn't sentence you to death, Mr. Scamander. You're British. It would be tantamount to political suicide to just up and execute a British citizen without any back and forth between us and the Ministry of Magic. If might even be considered act of war."

Frowning, Newt looks up at him. "I understand," he says slowly. "I didn't exactly think Grindelwald was acting according to law."

Graves leans back a little. "The fact that you're still not objecting to it unnerves me," he says. "You came perilously close to being killed under MACUSA's nose, in our very own execution chambers. You should be furious. Auror Goldstein certainly is."

Newt looks away again, smiling a little. Oh Tina. "I will experience my outrageous fury vicariously through her, then," he offers and shakes his head. "I am not angry at MACUSA, Mr. Graves. The Magical Congress is as much a victim here as am I. And I'm happy to just put the whole thing behind me."

Graves all but scowls at him, looking like he wants to object. In the end, he doesn't and turns back to the notes. "Very well then – what happened after you, Auror Goldstein, Ms. Goldstein and the nomaj escaped from MACUSA?"

And so it continues – the rooftops of New York to the Blind Pig where they first saw their wanted posters and where they met with Gnarlak. Newt frowns a little and absently checks his pocket – but Pickett is in the suitcase now, perfectly safe in his home tree with the rest of the bowtruckles. "I had two more creatures to find," Newt says. "A demiguise and, though I didn't know it at the time, an occamy. Tina suggested that one of her contacts, a trader in magical creatures, might know how to help… so we went into his pub. Or I guess a speakeasy? Or whatever they are called."

"The Blind Pig?" Graves guesses.

"Hm," Newt nods. "Interesting sort of place. I doubt I'd ever visit again, however."

"Gnarlak gave you up to the MACUSA," Graves says, shifting papers again. "That might be in small part my fault – he is not only Auror Goldstein's contacts but mine as well, and he owes me a long list of favours."

"I did get a feel that he knew you. Or Grindelwald," Newt agrees with a sign and shakes his head. "Anyway, we got out of there, and eventually tracked my demiguise and the occamy down to a muggle store, and contained both of them. That was last of my creatures."

"And that was around the same time the obscurus started tearing through the city," Graves says, noting something down. "Tell me, Mr. Scamander – did you have any thoughts on the subject then?"

"The obscurus?" Newt asks and makes a face. It had been so hectic – he'd been so desperate to get his creatures back and into safety and then there was the obscurus – and Graves, Grindelwald, and whatever he was up to. "I didn't know enough then. All I knew was the obscurus was moving and it was… more powerful than any obscurus I had seen or read about."

"And Grindelwald – or rather, myself as he pretended to be me?" Graves asks, the slightest tightening of his fingers around his pen betraying his emotions.

"I thought he might be one of Grindelwald's followers, then, especially so after we met on the square and he attacked Tina and I," Newt muses. "But I can't say I was sure of anything, there wasn't any time to think. All I knew was that the obscurial was the Second Salem boy, and that he was in desperate need of help. And I wanted to help. I knew if I didn't… he'd stand the risk of being killed by MACUSA. I couldn't let it happen."

He can feel Graves' eyes on him and quickly looks away. For a long while the Auror doesn't say anything, and the silence stretches. "How did you figure out it was Grindelwald?" the man finally asks.

"He started making speeches," Newt says and runs a hand over his face. It doesn't shake – good. "I've heard them before. Just before I disembarked in the harbour, a letter arrived from my brother, he mentioned Grindelwald so they were fresh enough in my mind."

"You've heard his speeches before?" Graves asks slowly.

"I travel a lot – I saw a rally in Germany once," Newt shrugs, making a face at the memory. He'd been bedridden at the time – and the rally had happened just below his window. It had been… beyond bizarre. "Also he was active during the war – lot of his speeches were recorded. Propaganda, you know. He wasn't quite as vocal about his beliefs back then, but… they have the same quality."

"I see," Graves says, watching him. His eyebrows arch. "We're you active in the war?"

Newt's lips twitch, not quite a smile. He knows he doesn't really look like it. But then, who does, really? Outside uniform, everyone looks like a civilian. "I did my part," he says and looks up. "Was there anything else you wanted to know, Mr. Graves?"

"Actually, yes," the man says and then frowns. "Swooping evil venom?" he asks.

"It worked, didn't I?" Newt offers. It had been bit of a miracle really, but he had had every confidence in Frank. Thunderbirds are, after all, incredibly intelligent and semi-prescient.

"How did you know it would work?" Graves asks. "I've been looking into it, there is no record of that sort of use for swooping evil venom anywhere. We even contacted a witch known to have bred them in her youth and she had no idea."

Newt clears his throat awkwardly. "Ah, it's… mixture of local folk lore from where I got mine, and ah… experimentation," he admits and glances at Graves uncertainly to see his reaction – and then away again because it's not a good one.

"What did you test it on?" Graves asks slowly.

"Um… myself?" Newt offers. "Who else?"

The man stares at him silently, his expressive eyebrows arched up in incredulity. "Who else," he repeats. "That sounds vaguely concerning. Are you in habit of testing animal venoms on yourself?"

Newt looks at his hands, picking nervously at his nails. Ah, right. It wasn't something people… did. Right. "I work with magical creatures with very potent defence mechanisms," he says finally. "Some of those defence mechanisms have sadly not been studied extensively. So yes. Sometimes I test them on myself. How else will I find out what the effects truly are?"

Graves just shakes his head at him. "I'm starting to believe the report that you have a nundu in your suitcase," the man says and runs a hand over his face. "Alright, Mr. Scamander. I suppose we're through here. Thank you for your cooperation," he then says and grabs the pen again to sign the notes he'd been making before closing the book and capping them pen with a smooth use of wandless magic.

"Alright," Newt says slowly. "I'm happy to help. Um…" he hesitates. "Did Grindelwald do much damage here? Or is that confidential?"

Graves glances at him. "Well I can tell you what the papers will soon find out. He imperiused and obliviated people with a liberal hand," he says and looks down at his notes. There's a weary look about him now, but his shoulders are tense. "So yes, you can imagine there is a bit of damage."

Newt eyes his hand, his shoulders, the arm in sling. He has his hands squeezed into firsts. Helpless fury, he muses and looks down. He had wondered… how Grindelwald had managed to go for so long so undetected. How no one who knew the real Percival Graves hadn't found out. Well now he has his answer.

"I know it doesn't help much, but you have my sympathies," Newt says quietly. "I really am sorry for what happened."

"You had no hand in it – but I appreciate it," Graves says with a sigh and then stands up. "You're free to go, Mr. Scamander."

Newt hesitates and then stands up, taking his suitcase as he does. "I don't… I suppose there isn't anything I can do to help?" he offers, though he seriously doubts it. He doesn't even know how MACUSA works, and he doesn't know this man, not really but… that doesn't mean he can't try.

Graves looks like he means to object but stops. He looks at Newt and then glances at his notes and then he gives a wry smile. "I don't suppose you have any of that swooping evil venom left?"

- - -

I build up some new headcanons about Graves and this will be me exploring them for fun and pleasure. Pairing is Newt x Graves and it will most likely end up smutty because why not, and it will overall be both happier and possibly weirder than Flame. Newt will be fairly weird in this.

Title may be subject to change once I can think of a better one.

#fanfiction #fbawtft #fantastic beasts and where to find them #newt scamander #original percival graves #gramander #eventually #slash #newt x graves #graves x newt

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