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ontherockswithsalt · 5 years

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A Made Man

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Chapter 24.

“Hey.” I whisper into Noble's messy hair as I set my hands on the bed and lean over him. “Noble.”

“Mm.” He merely hums his sleepy response into his pillow.

“I gotta go soon.”

He turns onto his stomach beneath the covers and murmurs, “No you don't.”

“I do,” I laugh. “It's seven.”

With a quick inhale, he lifts his head, pushing himself up. “Oh shit.”

“It's okay.” I sit down on the edge of the mattress. “I've got a car coming.”

He takes a moment to turn and get himself upright, sliding his hands up his face while he wakes up. Scratching a hand at the back of his head, he finally squints one eye at me. “Damn, how long have you been up?”

I glance down at myself, already showered, dressed and packed. “Not long.”

A soft moan rumbles in his throat and he leans forward, bringing me into a hug. Ducking down, he rests his face against my chest. “You want some breakfast?”

“No.” I wrap my arms around his bare back, my palm skating a path there before moving into his hair. “I'm good. I want you to go back to sleep.”

“With you,” he mumbles, already halfway there.

I have to smile despite the bittersweet tug at my heart. “I can't.”

He sighs. “I know.”

“We knew this one would be short,” I remind him and he nods before I add, “It was fun though.”

I can hear the smirk in the low chuckle before he sits back. “It was fun. Considering you were only here for all of what, sixteen hours or something, we did alright.”

“We definitely… crammed a lot in while I was here--”

Noble's shoulders drop as he tilts his head to offer me an unimpressed look. “Get out of my house.”

Amused with myself, I push against his chest and then dive forward to tackle him back to the pillow as I climb over top of him.

“Ugh!” He calls out a dramatic groan as he holds me against him. “Don't you have somewhere to be?”

“Yes.” Nuzzling my face into his neck, I bite an affectionate little kiss there. Then I force myself to sit back up and reach for my phone to check the status of my ride. “Stay naked. Don't get up,” I tell him as I get to my feet. I need to just go because prolonging the inevitable makes it more painful.

He reaches out to pull me to him once more, dragging palms down my back. Resting his forehead low on my stomach, he sits there for a quiet moment.

I run my hand over his hair, appreciating the way he feels, knowing I'll be without it until the next time.

He manages another deep breath and lifts his head to look up at me. “I'll talk to you tonight.”

“Okay.” I lean down, tilting his face in my hands and press a kiss on his lips. Then another on his forehead before I mess up his hair even more and back away. “I'm out of here. I love you.”

Tipping over to fall back onto his pillow, he settles an arm behind his head. “Love you too,” he murmurs.

Retreating, I go for my backpack, steal one more glance at him before I head out the door. I let myself out as my ride pulls up in front of his house. And once more, I'm on my way back to the city alone.

***

Jamie: Fuck I'm so tired.

I send off the text and let my hand drop heavy on the bed. I shouldn't let myself lie down, but I have a short window of time between getting home from the airport and needing to leave for my dad's. Just long enough to get sleepy with the cold December fog still hanging in the air outside.

Noble: You home?

Jamie: I'm home.

Noble: No sleep on the plane?

Jamie: You know I can't.

Noble: You shouldn't have had that shit tequila. I told you.

I manage a lazy chuckle and type back: That shit tequila was probably the tamest thing that went down last night so I doubt that prompted my fast downfall.

Noble just texts back a smug faced emoji.

Noble: Personally I liked your downfall.

Jamie: I bet. How do you feel?

Noble: Uh… hurting.

Jamie: Are you really?

Noble: lol yeah. But I'm fine.

I probably went harder than I should have for his first time. I really tried, but damn I wanted him so bad and we were four or five cocktails deep. And honestly after the night we had, the teasing and the muttered promises and the anticipation, it's amazing I managed the restraint that I did. Being on top definitely gave me an appreciation of how good he really is to me. As exhausted as I am, I still stir a little at the memory of him inside me and shift as I attempt to suppress the aching want.

Noble: At least I can nap all day. I feel bad you can't get some more sleep.

Jamie: I'll go to bed early tonight. Don't feel sorry for me. It's the best kind of tired.

Noble: Hell yeah it is. Also guess what. Don't judge me, I'm still not dressed and haven't left my room.

Jamie: Seriously? I've flown all the way up the east coast and you're still naked in bed?

Noble: Hey, I showered. But then… you know.

Jamie: It only hurts because that's exactly where I want to be right now.

He sends back a series of hearts and a little pathetic groan rumbles in my chest.

Jamie: Are you wearing your glasses?

Noble: Yes.

Jamie: You're so damn cute.

Damn I'm in some kind of sappy ass mood.

Noble: I'm lazy and fucked. And I miss you.

Jamie: Then I'd consider that a successful weekend visit.

Noble: It definitely was. You did good.

Jamie: I'll try not to be distracted by these thoughts while I get through dinner with my family.

Noble: Let me know how that goes.

***

“Uncle Jamie, where were you yesterday?” Sean questions me as soon as I make my way into the living room at my dad's house. There, my youngest nephew sits on the floor facing the coffee table, a growing stack of Uno cards between him and my grandpa who's half paying attention from the couch with the Jets-Packers game on behind Sean's head. “You missed my game. I scored six points!”

“Aw, bud I'm sorry I missed it.” I dodge the question. “Next Saturday, I promise.”

“Promise,” Sean asserts. “It's our last game before Christmas break.”

“You got it,” I assure him.

“Your turn, Pop,” Nicky speaks up then looks from her cards to me. “Hey, next Saturday you're taking me driving. Don't forget.”

I shrug and look at her. “I can do both. We'll go for a drive in the afternoon.”

She quirks a pleased little smile.

Behind the couch, I lean down next to Grandpa's shoulder and gesture to the cards in his hand. “Play the Skip, and the Draw Two,” I tell him.

Slowly, he turns to look at me. “Do you mind?”

With a laugh, I stand upright, leave him with a gentle pat and look toward the kitchen.

“We can deal you in if you want to play,” he tells me.

“Maybe after dinner. I'm gonna see if they need any help.”

I make my way through the living room and return to the kitchen where Danny and my sister stand at the island prepping a salad.

“Hey, look who it is!” Danny announces.

“Hey.” Greeting him with a happy slap on the back, I move over to Erin and she offers me the angle of her face for a kiss while she works. I oblige and press a quick peck there. “Smells good, Linda.”

“Pork loin!” Danny’s wife calls out.

“Sean missed you yesterday, kid,” my brother reminds me.

I cut him off before he can guilt me more, even though he will anyway. “I know, I know. But I can’t always make it on Saturday mornings. I promised him I'll be there for the next.”

Danny mutters an unconvinced hum and glances up at me. When he does, a smirk slants across his mouth. “What's with you? You look like crap.”

I chuckle. “Thanks a lot.”

“You do look rough,” Erin notes.

“You work a midnight?” He questions.

I swallow. “Nah.” I could use that excuse but it's too easy to invalidate if he wanted. “I wonder if Dad would mind if I went ahead and put on coffee though.” Muttering it more to myself, I turn to the coffee pot on the back counter and starting preparing a pot.

“See?” Erin notes. “After thirty, it's one big downward spiral.”

“Not me,” Danny quips. “Some of us age into our good looks. Ain't that right, Lin?”

“Sure thing, hon,” his wife calls out from the stove in the corner where she works on the sauce.

My brother carries on. “Because I live an honest life--”

I glance up with a roll of my eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“You don't see me out all hours of the night doing God knows what, missing family gatherings, can’t be bothered to shave--”

“Come on, Danny,” I duck my head away when he reaches out and knocks the back of his hand against my jaw amid Erin’s encouraging giggles. “Where have you seen me out at all hours of the night other than a late tour?”

“I haven't. But that’s the only explanation for this look--” He turns and with peeler in hand, gestures to my face. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing, jeez,” I contend as I return to the island.

“Or who?” Erin murmurs before she slides a chopped carrot into her mouth and coyly averts her gaze.

My brows draw together and I can feel my eyes widen at my sister. “Wh-at?”

“Ha!” Danny coughs. “Exactly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then I steal a piece of carrot for myself and crunch down on it.

“He thinks you have a girlfriend,” Erin provides.

“And I think I’ve narrowed it down,” my brother chimes in. “To Laura…”

My gaze narrows while I chew. “The M.E.?”

“Yep. Or--” He tilts his head side to side while he slides his chopped vegetables into the salad bowl. “That lawyer at the D.A.’s office. The cute one with the dark hair.”

Erin points to him. “Michelle. I planted that in your head. But she does have this sweet little crush on you any time you come by the courthouse.”

With a deep inhale, deciding to string Danny along about this, I fold my arms over my chest while I consider the possibilities. “Uh-huh. Where's your evidence?”

“Oh, I'm glad you asked,” He points to me. “For starters, you're way too damn happy considering the crap you gotta deal with all day--”

I scoff. “What, you want me to be depressed?”

“No, but there's been a change, and even your sergeant noticed and we don't appreciate the mystery,” Danny explains.

“Ah. Mm-hm, okay,” I muse. “Not sure that's a compelling argument.”

“Two. You got a picture on the inside of your locker at the precinct of a freakin’ sunrise on the beach. And another of a sunrise in the city from some kinda balcony--”

I can't help the amused breath that escapes with the knowing quirk of my smile. One of those, Noble took and the other, I took from his penthouse one morning and they're sort of the closest thing to him that I can have with me at work that would go unnoticed, mundane at a glance. At least I thought.

“So clearly I'm dating Laura from the M.E.’s office,” I suppose.

“I don't know but the day my kid brother has pictures hanging up of the damn sunrise is the day I start asking questions.”

“Oh, I think that's nice,” Linda speaks up.

Danny turns to regard her. “But this is Jamie we’re talking about.”

“How do you know what I have hanging in my locker?” I question.

“I got my sources.” He shrugs. “And third. I saw a pair of sunglasses in your car that no way you bought yourself. They were obviously a gift.”

“Damn.”

He points at me. “You would never buy Ray-Bans… turtle--” He turns to Erin. “What was it?”

“Tortoise shell Ray-Ban wayfarers,” she contributes. “I saw them. They're a good look but out of your price range.”

I tip my head up, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “You act like I dropped a grand on them or something.”

“Your broke ass would never is all I'm sayin’.”

“Danny--” Linda injects. “Lay off your brother.”

“Don't you agree--” Danny maintains. “That Jamie's been different? There's something going on.”

“He's not a suspect because he's happier, Danny,” she reasons.

“Yeah, Danny,” I agree. “Besides, if I had a girlfriend, why would I keep it from you?”

“Just to mess with me.”

I nod thoughtfully. “Well apparently I'm already doing a good job of that.”

“You got an alibi for Saturday morning?”

Dammit. My tired brain struggles for an excuse that doesn't involve other people he could check with, or does involve someone who'd corroborate if Danny did check. “Uh let's see. I went to the gym. I came home and ate oatmeal--”

“Alright smartass,” he dismisses while Erin laughs beside him.

“I had promised Vinny I'd help him tear out his floors,” I manage. “It took us half the day. That's why I didn't make Sean's game.” Thankfully Vinny really is renovating his kitchen because I wouldn't put it past Danny to drop in on his apartment just to check.

“Tearing out floors,” Danny confirms.

With a nod, I spread my hands as if that's all there is to it. “I'll try to act a little more hostile and bummed out, though. If it would get you off my case.”

“Thank you.”

Linda cuts in. “You two help me carry to the table.”

I reach between my siblings for the salad bowl and cut a disapproving shake of my head. “By the way, I would never date a medical examiner.”

#jamie x noble #now we're getting somewhere hmmmm?

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welcometophu · 7 years

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Not Your Destiny: Chapter 8

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 8

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Ángel wakes up to the feeling of something poking him in the back, while a warm body lies on top of him, pressing him into a too-thin, too-hard mattress. He shifts, and Gabi groans, patting his chest.

“Don’t move,” she mumbles. “You’re softer than Luca’s couch.”

“Why am I on Luca’s couch?” While the couch has been pulled out as a bed, it doesn’t look as if anyone bothered to make it up. Ángel is wrapped with Gabi in a pair of blankets, with a pillow shoved under Ángel’s head. Gabi’s head is tucked against his chest, and she presses her hand against his chest again when he tries to roll away.

“We all came to one place after last night,” Gabi mumbles, patting him gently as soon as he stops trying to move. “You and Tanner and Hayley were totally smashed. Sam was kind of gone, too. Zita went home after; Danny would’ve killed her if she stayed out. But everyone else pretty much stayed here.”

“Luca’s place,” Ángel clarifies.

Gabi is silent, then makes a noise that sounds like no.

“Not Luca’s place,” Ángel tries again.

“’S’complicated,” Gabi mumbles. “It’s a really big place. But this is Luca’s couch.” She grabs the blanket, pulls it up over both of their heads. “It’s a shitty couch, but we should just keep sleeping. Easier than walking to my room.”

“You have a room and we’re… here. Did we…?” Ángel sits up, spills Gabi off to one side. He’s still wearing his jeans and his shirt, everything but his shoes. Gabi’s in sweats and a different shirt than he remembers.

“Fuck, no.” Gabi sits up, pushes her hair out of her eyes. “Ángel, I wouldn’t have sex with a guy so drunk he couldn’t think straight. Or not-straight. You may have waxed poetic about some guy’s ass last night, I don’t even know who. I sat on you to make sure you didn’t do something you’d regret. Besides. You kept saying you didn’t want to sleep alone, and Hayley and Tanner took one of the guest rooms.”

No, no, it’s okay, you guys go sleep together. I mean sleep. Just don’t. Please? I mean, I can’t tell you no, but really, maybe not tonight? It’s only been like a day, and Hayley, you’re better than that.

His own voice echoes in his head, and he winces at the memory of leaning on Tanner’s shoulder, lecturing them both. “Fuck, I was kind of an ass.”

“Kind of,” Gabi agrees. “But I don’t think they hate you. They were both pretty much plastered, too.”

Ángel falls back against the pillow, groans when the spring digs into his back just above his kidney. He closes his eyes, presses the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. “I can’t remember half of last night. After I started dancing again. After I told you guys about the soulmark ritual.” He groans again, long and loud. “And fuck me, why did I start telling you guys all my personal shit, anyway? It’s not like you care.”

Gabi rests a hand on his shoulder. “We care. Sort of. I mean, we’re stuck with you for another month, right? And you’re almost family for Maritsa and Cleto, which makes you our family once removed. Also, you should be warned for next time that Zita plus alcohol is a really potent combination for spilling your guts. You are not the first to fall prey to that. Danny won’t drink with her, and they’re married.”

Ángel opens his eyes slowly, rubs the sleep from them.

Then stops.

Because fuck.

There’s ink on his wrist: a sleek spotted cat with tufted ears and chin, poised to pounce, with a simple circle behind it. The skin around is slightly red, the color faded as if it burned into being hours before.

“What…? Oh.” Gabi leans in, sniffs at his wrist. “Yeah. It’s done now.”

He grabs her hands, twists them both. “It can’t be you. We touched—”

“Several times and it was still clouded when we talked last night, yes,” she says. “It’s not me. Hey.” She reaches for his face, cups his cheeks carefully. Her fingers are to the side of his eyes, blocking out the light so all he can see is her. “It’s okay, Ángel. You’re going to be fine. Whoever it is, they’re marked too, right? How hard can it be to figure out who got a surprise tattoo last night?”

“Unless they were drunk and think they got a real one,” Ángel says. His chest is too tight, and his hand curls into his shirt, twisting it above his heart. “They have no idea. I don’t know who it is. I touched someone last night, and it’s—they’re… fuck. I don’t know.”

“Breathe.” Gabi says, and Ángel does his best.

His skin itches, and his wrist aches like burning now that he’s seen the mark. He’s wide awake now, heart hammering, and he feels like his bladder is going to burst if he doesn’t move soon. “I need to go,” he says, and she lets him go, pulls backward to give him room.

He gets his feet on the floor, and the room spins, head pounding as he makes it upright. He grips the side of the couch for a moment, then takes a step. He stops, turns back. “Bathroom?”

Gabi points at a door on one side of the room, while the door on the other side opens. Ángel just reaches the door she pointed to when he hears Luca ask, “Is Ángel all right?” and Gabi’s whispered response.

No footsteps follow him, and that’s fine. Good.

The door opens into a hall, and Gabi yells, “Left!” so he turns in that direction. One door stands slightly open, and he hurries to it, thinking that has to be it. He shoves it further open, stopping when it smacks into someone.

Yes, it’s the bathroom.

Sam and Max are in it, one in boxers and the other in sweats, lips locked as they lean against the counter. Sam grunts at the impact from the door, and Max blinks at Ángel, pupils large and black.

“Bathroom,” Ángel manages to say, his throat tight.

Max tugs at Sam and they both squeeze through the open door, leaving Ángel just enough room to get past them and in, slamming the door behind them. He falls to his knees in front of the toilet, waits.

His stomach roils, but doesn’t empty, despite the ache behind his eyes. He closes his eyes, lowers his forehead to touch the lip, groans quietly.

“You okay in there?” Sam calls out.

“I’m not dying,” Ángel replies, even though he feels like his heart is pounding so hard they must all be able to hear it. Maybe some of them can hear it. Clan. He hasn’t confirmed it, but Gabi keeps smelling him. They have to be Clan. Right? But Clan and Mages. The Mollicones and Maritsa and Cleto.

It doesn’t make sense in his head.

Nothing makes sense.

A knock at the door. “Do you need me to get you some water?” Sam asks. “You’re probably dehydrated. You had a good time last night.”

“Heard you did, too,” Ángel mutters. “Probably better than I did after we left Antigone.” He draws in a breath, relieved that it comes more easily this time. He lets it out slowly, pushes himself to his feet. “I’m okay. I’ll go to the kitchen after this.” He pauses. “If you tell me where the kitchen is.”

“Stairs are at the end of the hall. Go down, and to the back of the house. You can’t possibly miss it.” A soft rap against the door. “And if you need something, yell. There are enough of us here. We take care of each other.”

Ángel laughs dryly. He’s pretty sure no one can take care of this.

He takes care of business, now that his stomach is no longer roiling, and washes his hands. He tries not to look at his wrist, but the ink catches his eyes every time he glances down. When he exits the bathroom, Sam and Max are gone, but Gabi and Luca are hovering in the door to Luca’s room.

Ángel crosses his arms as he walks back to them.

“It’s going to be colder today than yesterday,” Luca says, nodding at Ángel’s short sleeves. “Want a hoodie?”

Maybe asshole isn’t the right word for Luca. Maybe savior, at least right now, although Ángel suspects he’ll be back to asshole later. Ángel nods, takes the soft grey Tampa Bay hoodie that Luca offers. Luca must have arms like an ape, because the thing is too long, covering Ángel’s wrists easily, and he takes another shuddering breath once they’re hidden.

Luca holds up his hands, wrists toward Ángel. Both are blank, and Ángel nods.

“Thanks.”

“Anything to make you stop stinking,” Luca says.

“I just don’t know how I missed it. When it happened to Hayley, she jumped like something bit her. She didn’t see it happen, she felt it.”

“You weren’t exactly feeling much after the amount of beer you had in you last night,” Gabi says dryly. “You should probably start the morning with some painkillers and a lot of water, or you’re going to be miserable at the garage.”

“We leave in thirty,” Luca adds, and that’s another small punch to the gut.

“Right.” Ángel’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He smells a little like beer, and he’s feeling that headache coming on. And every time he looks down, he knows that his wrist is there and he’s going to see some damned cat that means something to someone else and he doesn’t know what.

And the worst of it is, he doesn’t know what would show up to signify himself, either, so he doesn’t know what to look for. If he even had any idea where to look.

He wavers, uncertain. He tugs on the sleeves, pulling them over his wrists, curling his hands inside. “Sam said the kitchen’s downstairs?” he asks, because he just needs to get away.

“Yeah, Tony’s been up for an hour already, so there’s probably food out. He does that when Sam and Max crash here,” Luca says. “It’s easier than letting them go through the cabinets. Gives us some more control over what they eat.”

“They don’t live here.”

Gabi snorts. “God, no. They have an apartment. So do Maritsa and Cleto, although honestly, they stay here half the time because this place is better, so they might as well kick in for rent. Zita lives with Danny in the suburbs. Me, Tony, and Luca all share this place, and we’ve got three guest rooms, too. Big rooms, but it’d be better if we had en suite bathrooms. I have to share with Luca and whoever’s in the guest space on this floor.”

“It’s a huge house for the area,” Luca admits. He grabs his leather jacket, shrugs into it. “I’m going out for a bit. You should eat. Shower if you want, there are towels in the closet inside the bathroom. No one will mind if you use something. But you’ve only got twenty-five minutes now, unless Tony says he doesn’t mind if we’re late.”

“I’ll ride in with Tony, give you a few extra minutes. You need to drop Tanner and Hayley off anyway,” Gabi reminds him.

Because Tanner and Hayley are here as well. Somewhere.

Ángel gestures down the hall to the stairs he can see. “I’m just going to….” He fails to finish the sentence, but Gabi nods as if he did. He doesn’t wait for either of them to reply before he walks away.

The stairs at the end of the hall go both up and down. Ángel can hear footsteps on the floor above, plus he spots a small landing only a few stairs up, and another door there. Maybe a space over the garage.

It’s none of his business. This isn’t his house, and it’s probably the only time he’ll be in it.

He really doesn’t care how big it is, doesn’t wonder where that door leads and why there are so damned many rooms.

Still, he walks up the few stairs to the landing, pauses looking out through the window, his hand on top of the low bookcase. He’s somewhere on the outskirts; he doesn’t really recognize the area, but there are other houses, mostly low and close together aside from this one. It has a yard, and with three floors he already knows it towers over most homes. With the bright grass outside, and the wrought iron fence he can see in the distance, he wonders exactly how much this house and land cost.

And how the hell three people under thirty afforded it.

The idea that Mollicone’s is a mob front drifts back into mind, and Ángel tries to ignore it. He knows it’s not true and it’s honestly a horrible stereotype, but he also knows there’s money coming from somewhere.

His fingers trail over the wood, knocking into a small statue that is on top of the bookcase. Ángel crouches down to take a closer look, snickers when he realizes that it’s a cheap ceramic knockoff of Michelangelo’s David. When he lifts it, the words Florence 2001 are written in awkwardly formed letters on the bottom. He sets it back down carefully, not wanting to destroy something that’s so obviously a keepsake from childhood.

He rocks back on his heels, lets his fingers drift over the spines of the books lining the two shelves of the case. All hardcovers, all old, and all well-read. He’s pretty sure some of them are older than he is, including a copy of a children’s book that’s so tattered that he’s afraid the binding would rip if he tried to pull it out. Still, he wonders what a book about a little girl named April and her kittens is doing here, alongside girl detectives and boy wizards, and not a few classics written long before anyone in this house was born.

The sound of laughter drifts up the stairs, and Ángel turns to go back down before he’s made a conscious decision to do so. He follows the murmur of Hayley’s voice, finds the kitchen just as Tanner bends down to lightly press a kiss to her lips. Hayley leans back against the long island, her hands framing Tanner’s face. His hands are on the marble, his body language cautiously staying out of her space except for where their lips touch. Sparks dance from her fingertips, lighting the tips of his hair.

Ángel coughs, and they break apart. A flush suffuses Hayley’s cheeks, but Tanner just grins.

“Dude, look at all the food. Real food.” Tanner gestures at the long, heavy oak table on one side of the huge kitchen. There are enough chairs to seat a dozen people, but no one is there currently. Plates line the table with bacon, eggs, fruit, bagels, along with two boxes of cereal and a carton of milk. It’s obvious that most of it has already been dug into, but there’s still plenty left.

Hayley reaches up, tucks her hair behind her ear then twists the strand around her fingertip. “Tony was down earlier, said he does this after nights like last night. He called us Gabi’s strays. Or Sam’s strays. I don’t know which, he kept changing it. He’s really cute, isn’t he? Tony, I mean, although Sam’s really kind of hot, too, and he and Max are so very hot together. Luca’s cute, too, and Gabi’s adorable, and did I hear that you slept with her last night?”

“Slept,” Ángel replies curtly, arms crossed, trying not to tug the wrists of Luca’s hoodie down. “I apparently used her like a teddy bear, or she used me as a mattress or something. And she’s kind of an asshole, and so’s Luca, but I like them. And I don’t really care how hot anyone is, I’m not looking.”

He’s not looking at anyone here, anyway. He’s touched them all before, he knows it’s not them. It can’t be any of them. Which means it’s someone anonymous out there… and… fuck. His chest tightens and he swallows hard, pressing his hand against his temple. The headache is starting to bloom, and he feels like he deserves every aching thud behind his eyes.

“Eat.” Tanner gets his hands on Ángel’s shoulders, nudges him toward the table. “Drink plenty of water or OJ or something, and you’ll be fine.”

Ángel picks up the pitcher of orange juice, heavily pulped and apparently freshly squeezed. His stomach turns.

He quietly puts a plate together of orange slices, a half a dry bagel, and grabs a bottle of water. He pushes Tanner’s hand away when Tanner tries to offer eggs for protein. “If I eat eggs right now, I’m going to puke,” Ángel mutters, and Tanner steps back.

“Are you okay?” Hayley asks softly, and her sparks prick along his spine when she touches the nape of his neck.

Ángel shakes his head quickly, regrets the motion immediately after. “Not really. I’m just going to go—” He trails off, not really sure where to go, but there’s a door on one side of the kitchen and he can see the sun streaming in through the window on it. He gestures with his plate. “There. I’m going out there.”

“Is it us?” Hayley asks, and Ángel turns so quickly that she has to grab his plate before it hits her.

He stops and they stand there, her hands curled around the edges of his plate before he pulls it back slowly. “It’s not you,” he says, and it’s only a minor lie. It’s them, and that kiss he just saw, and the fresh mark on the inside of his wrist that makes his arm feel heavy. It’s everything from the last few days and weeks. “I just need air.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Hayley says softly.

“I want you guys to give it a chance,” Ángel responds, and that much is true. Very true. He doesn’t want to distract them. He just… he just needs to breathe.

Footsteps, and Ángel’s attention shifts to the entrance to the kitchen. Tony stands there, brows drawn together in a deep frown. Tony’s gaze skips across Hayley, comes to rest on Ángel. Tony stares at him for a long second before his eyes drop, skimming over Ángel from head to toe. The corner of Tony’s lip curls slightly, and Ángel tugs on the sleeves of Luca’s shirt.

Tony crosses his arms, thumbs peeking out from the holes in his long sleeves. “Hayley. Tanner. Luca’s dropping you off. Ángel, Gabi and I will open the shop. Ride in with Luca.”

“I was going to.” Ángel gestures with his plate at the door to the outside. “Right now I’m just going to eat. Out there.” He licks his lips, inhales roughly and twists to force himself to turn away.

“Dude,” Tanner says softly as Ángel touches the door knob.

“I’m fine,” Ángel repeats, voice low, not giving him a chance to say anything else before he escapes, the door slamming shut behind him.

It’s definitely chilly outside, cold enough that he’s glad he’s wearing a hoodie, although compared to the temperature he left behind in New York, it’s balmy. Ángel sinks to sits on the step, sets the plate down with a clunk beside himself. He knows he needs to eat, but his stomach is churning, and the idea of putting anything in it does not appeal.

He needs to know more about the mark.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, swipes to unlock it, and stops before opening the browser. There are three unread messages that must have come in sometime late in the night.

That’s okay, but next time let me know earlier.

I know you’re an adult, but still.

I worry.

Papi. And Ángel never went home.

He scrolls back in the conversation, finds the start of it.

Papi, heading to Antigone with the people from work. Tanner is bringing Hayley. They will bring me home.

Ángel remembers sending the original text from Luca’s car on the way to the restaurant. When Papi hadn’t replied immediately, Ángel had switched his phone to silent and forgotten about it, until later. Much later apparently, after Papi sent a text Ángel doesn’t remember reading at midnight: Ángel, where are you?

At least it looks like he replied to let Papi know that he was staying at Luca’s. He must’ve passed out before the new messages came in. He quickly types out a message for the morning.

I know, and I’m sorry. I was drinking, and Luca was our DD, and everything’s fine, except I’m hungover and going to work now. We’ll drop off Tanner and Hayley with his truck so he can bring her home.

Ángel presses send and shoves the phone in his pocket, leaving the sound off. Papi won’t be thrilled, but at least he knows they’re all alive, and that’s what’s important right now.

He presses the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose, tries to stave off the headache that is blooming rapidly. He’s hungover. He’s marked with ink he doesn’t understand, and he has no idea who he touched. And right now, he feels like shit. He twists open the bottle of water he carried out. He’s pretty sure that there isn’t much that’s going to help right now, but at least he’ll be hydrated.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #not your destiny #phu marked #marked

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sadwizardjessi · 7 years

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YO HEY SPACE GRUMPS STUFF YEAH

Also on ao3 now :) @dannyaviclan

Darkness . And suffocation. And the sharp pain of needles pricking into every inch of his exposed body.

It filled Dan’s head as he breathed harshly into the air around him. His hands squeezed at his sheets, eyes wide open, as he searched for something to ground him. Remind him he wasn’t in that /horrible/ place anymore.

With another shuddered breath, Dan pushed himself up to a sitting position, reaching aimlessly along the side table for the light before remembering that wasn’t the way to turn a light on in the future.

Running the same hand down his face, Dan let his eyes fall shut, quietly asking, “Barry. Lights please?” Shivering as they flickered on.

Slowly he opened his eyes, squinting at the harsh change in lighting, and felt a little relief seep into him.

He was home. It was okay. They couldn’t touch him here. Brian and Arin won’t let them.

He’d already been back a week and still the memories plagued him. Still he jumped at unexpected noises. And tensed up at the sound of footsteps approaching. And flinched at any sort of raised object.

He’d been saved and yet still he kept acting like he hadn’t.

It was pathetic.

Dan rubbed at his eyes painfully, refusing to let that escalate any further, and got up on shaky limbs to grab his leather jacket. It always made him feel good, with the long gone earthy scent and band patches holding it together.

Slipping it on, Dan sighed, walking across the room to curl up in a big arm chair. He ran a thumb over the dull pink stitching along the left arm. A phantom pain shot through his wrist.

Right. Arin must have sewed it back together after they’d taken him.

With a deep breath, Dan pulls his legs up to his chest and looks up to the ceiling, where he often discerns Barry to be located at.

“Hey Barry? Where is Arin at? Is he asleep?”

“The Captain is currently drawing in the observation deck. Should I call him down here?”

Dan shakes his head after breathing through the crackling through the speakers. It was eerily similar to… well. Yeah.

“Are you okay, Danny?”

The often times human like A.I. always through Dan off. He was a friend but a machine. But then again, so is Ross. Barry is just a spaceship rather than a robot. Android. Whatever.

“Yeah man. I’m okay. I just-… I don’t know man. I should be okay. I am okay.”

“You should go talk to Arin. He’s worried about you.”

Dan sucked in a breath, glancing around subconsciously in suspicion. “How do you know? Did he tell you anything?”

“Mm no. I can tell. Plus he keeps scratching out incomplete drawings. And he hasn’t taken off his gloves since we got you back. They’re pretty big indicators that something is bothering him. It’s only logical that he’s worried about you.”

He rubbed his thumb over the pink stitching again. Tracing the thin string with his eyes. Dan idly wondered why Arin sewed the leather together rather than just use some kind of future clothing fixer thing. That’s how he kept fixing Brian’s shit right? In any case, Dan was happy for the more modern, or well maybe not modern anymore, way of fixing things. The stitching made him feel safe. More at home.

“Maybe I will…,” he finally replied, Barry humming at his response.

“So do it.”

Dan huffed a weak laugh and shoved his gangly legs to the floor, pulling himself out of the chair. “I’m going! Geeze. Nice talking to you too, Barry.”

“Danny, you know I love our interactions. But you and I both know I’m not the one to be talking to right now. In fact, later tomorrow you should hang out with Brian as well. He’s been testier than usual.”

“I just got everyone worked up, huh.”

“Well yeah man. Everyone loves you. With all due respect, I think you were the most ideal person to take out of all of us. You just… Everyone loves you. So much.”

With a flush, Dan started at the wall, shaking his head and tugging the jacket closer as he pulled his blanket up to wrap tightly around himself. “Uhh I guess. Thanks Barry. I don’t think Ross was too affected though. He seems to still be suspicious of me.”

“You’d be surprised. Now quit stalling. Go talk to Arin. Before I cut off the power in here.”

Flipping him off with a laugh, Dan walked out the door with a roll of his eyes, blanket cape trailing behind him dramatically. “Yeah yeah. You have too much power.” His laugh quickened a bit as he ran for the door, the lights in his room flickering. “I’m going! Fuck dude! Chill.”

The lights stopped, staying on in the dull white they usually shown as Dan exited the room.

The observation deck. Right.

Just as Barry said, there sat Arin, plain as day, quietly doodling with his back to Dan. And that was odd. Arin usually perked up to his scent before Dan even entered the room.

As Arin let out a frustrated growl, pencil almost ripping through the thin paper, Dan cleared his throat, causing Arin to jump, pencil skittering across the floor.

Dan quietly picked it up before making his way next to Arin, plopping down to a criss cross Applesauce.

“Hey.”

Arin looked at Dan with wide eyes, drawing pad close to his chest. Dan raised an eyebrow, half smirk lingering on his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry man.”

With a quick shake of his head, Arin looked back down before tucking some hair behind his ear. It was usually up when he was feeling professional, but he kept it down otherwise. “It’s okay dude. I just wasn’t expecting you to be out and about. Especially at this hour.”

“Does time even exist in space? I mean each planet has it’s own day and night cycle so like. Technically when we’re drifting, can’t we just like make our own cycle?”

“Uhm well I guess that’s true. But I’ve tried to keep going by terra’s cycle ya know? It’s what I’m used to.”

Dan hummed in response, pulling up his knees and pulling the blanket tighter. He took in Arin’s tense form, sweat pants pulled taut and the back of his black shirt lightly perpetrated with sweat. Maybe Dan shouldn’t have come… Maybe he was intruding…

“Uh sorry. I just… couldn’t sleep. I can go though, if you’d rather be a-”

“N-no! No it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting you. But for real, Danny. It’s fine.”

Dan frowned, looking out the window at the vastness of space. “You never call me Danny. Or well, you do when I’m being particularly dense. Or when you’re worried about me. Or when you’re upset. So am I being stupid right now? Or did something happen.”

With a sigh, Arin laid his head on Dan’s shoulder, eyes shut, gloved fists clenched. “I’m not upset. And you’re not stupid. I just…. I’m glad you’re back, man. I REALLY really am. It’s just… ugh. Sorry. I don’t know. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Dan hummed, gripping his thin pajama pants as a distraction for his hands. He looked down at Arin, a light smile being forced. For Arin’s sake. “Hey dude, it’s fine. I’m okay now. Because you guys saved me. Thank you by the way. I don’t think I’ve said that yet.”

Arin was quiet for a few seconds before letting out a low huff. He sat up straighter, but kept his head down, face curtained by hair. “You really don’t remember us saving you, huh.”

“Uhm. Yeah? Or at least, parts. I remember you kicking the door down. And I remember Brian picking me up. Or… no. He went to pick me up? But then you did. It’s all… Sorry. Like I said. Parts. I also remember Mark being on the ship? He helped heal me, right? Because I was pretty messed up? Still pretty messed up…. But he helped with at least the physical wounds. Though I have this wicked scar on my side now.”

Arin cleared his throat and clutched the pad a little tighter. His voice was low enough to force Dan to strain to hear him. As if speaking too loud would shatter the window separating them from the void outside. “You uh. Yeah. You were just… I remember laughing with you. About something stupid. And thinking, ‘nothing could get better than this’. But then we took that fucking job. And you were taken. And I just… I just watched. I couldn’t move-”

“You were paralysed, Ar. Remember? They shot you.”

“It doesn’t matter!” He growled. Dan stared with wide eyes at his friend’s feral expression. It was… scary. Honestly. And that was the last word Dan would associate with Arin. “They took You! They took you right from under me and I couldn’t do a Damn thing! Ross told me something was fishy about that job! But no! I just /had/ to take it. And then you were gone and I didn’t know what to do and we didn’t even know who they were and I just-”

“Arin, it’s fine though. You saved me. It’s okay-”

This time Arin stood up, eyes nearly glowing in the dark as he stared down at Dan. He looked every inch of rage and frustration. “It’s not okay, Dan. It’ll never be okay until I rip those bastards piece by fucking piece for what they did to you. You may not really remember what happened but I do! I remember the look on your face. Like I was about to eat you alive. How you kept asking for me and Brian to save you and fighting is, like we were imposters. I remember how your fucking fingers were twisted and broken and misshapen and the way your body looked paper thin and all the cuts and bruises, like they just tossed you about. I fucking remember Daniel. And it’s not something I’m going to ever forget. So no. It’s not okay. Because I had to get you out of there. I tried to kill them. Every fucking one, but I had to get to you. I let them take you. I had to be the one to save you.”

Dan stood up too, blanket falling into a forgotten puddle, and taking in Arin’s now defeated and angered form. He stepped forward, trying to deny the shaking in his hands. Honestly it was horrifying. Hearing about everything they went through while he was gone. And Dan is building brick wall after brick wall in his mind as the memories resurfaced. But he couldn’t afford to have a break down here. Not when Arin needed him.

Dan took Arin’s shorter but thicker hands into his, rubbing his thumb gently into the knuckles, trying to get Arin to at least relax his hands. It kind of worked, as Arin slowly uncurled them, only to grip Dan’s in a much tighter grip than he was expecting. “You did save me though. You did it, Ar. You came in and took out those in your way and got me out of that Hell. It’s over. And I’m never going to leave again, okay? I promise.”

“But what if-”

“No.” Dan shook his head, pulling Arin into a tight hug. Claws dug into his back despite the thick gloves and Dan was pretty sure that was tears being pressed against his neck, but he didn’t care. He meant what he said. He was never going to leave. Those on this ship are his family. Even if he found a way back to his time, Dan didn’t care. Brian, Arin, Barry, Ross, everyone. He wasn’t leaving them anytime soon.

Dan pulled back and tried to look at Arin’s eyes but the hair was too thick and it appeared Arin wasn’t going to help him out anytime soon. So with a frustrated grunt, Dan kept an arm around Arin’s shoulders, raising the other to move some hair behind his ear again. “Arin. Look at me.”

Slowly, but surely, Arin looked up at Dan, but kept drifting his eyes across the room, not sure what to focus on. Dan sighed. It would just have to do. “Hey,” he said a bit softer, his smile now coming a bit easier. “Arin. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re okay. You did it, man. You saved me and yeah okay so things still suck ass, but at least we have each other, right? And the ship’s still intact. And we know who the bad guys are now. So that’s a plus, right?”

Arin nodded, looking down again. “They’re the same people that… let this happen to me. I was- I was taken prisoner and they just… let it happen and-”

“Hey. You don’t have to tell me. Not until you’re ready.”

Arin nodded again, a relieved sigh falling from his lips. “Thanks Dan. Though I should be comforting you here. I’m your Captain. Hell, none of this even happened to me. I should be fi-”

“Mmm nope. You’re my friend. And you’re a person. With thoughts and emotions just like the rest of us. You’re allowed to be freaked out when bad people kidnap your best friend.”

Arin made a self deprecating sound in his laugh and subconsciously held Dan a little tighter, staring at the pink thread in the leather jacket Dan loved so much. “That’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. Or at least that I’ve heard.”

“Is it? Weird.”

They fell into silence as Dan drew Arin into a second Hug. Arin needed it, and he didn’t mind so what was the harm.

“I’m really glad you’re safe, Danny,” Arin whispered as he buried his face in Dan’s neck.

Smiling, Dan nodded back, pressing his lips to the side of Arin’s head, just above his ear. “Me too, man. I’m glad you’re safe, too.”

#space grumps #my fic #me #writing #slight egobang?#whoops #dannyaviclan #you're au seriously has me fucked up #polygrumps #shipgrumps #ficgrumps #fanfic

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tipsoctopus · 5 years

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The USA women's national team are heroines not villains - opinion

By any and every metric the Women’s World Cup of 2019 has been a resounding success.

Fans have flocked in a friendly fashion to the stadia to watch mostly entertaining games with barely a dour draw in sight. The standard of football on display has been excellent even if Danny the absolute lad thinks that a corner should have been taken better and mocks it on Twitter (and no Danny, you won’t get a link here: you’ve had quite enough attention for one lifetime and besides, your homework is due).

The promotion of the sport too has been prosperous and this is important for a game now far beyond its infancy that is seeking another level entirely of acceptance and interest. Television viewing figures have been enormously high in the UK and the same phenomena has occurred in Holland and Italy also. In France the hosts have become thoroughly smitten with the tournament and, with record audiences tuning in for every match and a million tickets sold across the competition, major sponsors such as Coca Cola have been left happy also. Sadly this matters.

So it can safely be said that by any and every metric the Women’s World Cup of 2019 has been a resounding success.

Watch Womens World Cup Live Streams With StreamFootball.tv Below

Yet, all the same, there has been a bugbear that has persisted throughout, for this particular writer at least and that is a widespread insistence of making comparisons between the men’s game and the women’s equivalent. Actually no, that’s not quite right. Comparisons are understandable and indeed inevitable. It’s the type of comparisons being made that annoys. People are getting it all wrong.

For years this has been the case. Throughout the last Women’s World Cup in Canada and two years’ later at the Euros as England reached the semi-final in each, it was posited time and again that the women’s game was quite patently purer – thus better – than the male version. There was very little evidence of diving. There was scant time-wasting or feigning of injury. Instead, the games were played out in a Corinthian spirit with a welcome absence of ego, entitlement or attitude.

All of which is true by the way, and all of which should be celebrated and embraced. But when I saw these virtues being endlessly trumpeted again this summer I began to feel a little uneasy. It all began to feel a little…pious. A touch ‘Mary Poppins’.

How refreshing is Women’s football? No egos, diving about & cheating, no abusing each other or officials. Just heads down and playing the game!! Don’t change!! Men watch and learn!!

— Robert K Hirst (@RobertKHirst1) June 27, 2019

Give me the women's game anytime. Proper football. No diving, play acting or general time-wasting. The ladies show us how it should be done

— Colin Payn (@ColinPayn) June 27, 2019

Still though I didn’t realise why it bothered me. After all, where’s the harm in acknowledging a sport’s plus points? And why not take a dig at the men’s game in the process? It’s big and ugly enough to take it.

But then the USWNT were pitted against England in the latter’s third consecutive semi-final in a major competition and it all fell into place. Aficionados of the women’s game should not solely rejoice in the differences between the two disciplines. To do so is counter-productive when the end-game is to one day equal it in scale and popularity. It should rejoice too in its similarities.

Alas, the very opposite has played out.

By virtue of being ultra-professional the USA players – who let’s not forget have won three World Cups and four Olympic golds in the modern era – were damned by the British press and public alike for being ‘arrogant’. “We are the team the French public want to win,” declared Phil Neville intimating at the USWNT’s unpopularity while the Daily Mail – who else? – ran with a provocative two-page splash included in the tweet below.

Greetings from London, where I am injecting this into my veins. pic.twitter.com/ULthPGTfEC

— Dieter Kurtenbach (@dkurtenbach) July 1, 2019

The American’s crimes? Well, there was their celebrating of all thirteen goals against Thailand. Elsewhere U.S. veteran Ali Kreiger twice declared that the Americans “are the first and second best teams in the world.” And then later came Alex Morgan’s tea-sipping goal celebration.

More so, well, it’s their demeanour isn’t it: ultra-confident and strutting around like….like….the professional footballers they actually are.

Because here’s the thing: everything that the USWNT have been lambasted for these past couple of weeks – from their ‘attitude’ to their cast-iron belief in themselves to their celebration of themselves – these are exactly the traits we associate with elite winners within the men’s game. Only there they are ‘legends’, the surly, cocky Ronaldo and the rest of them; they are almost expected to act in such a way; in fact they are lauded for it.

Thogden challenged himself to DM 100 footballers on Instagram. Find out who replied in the video below…

Alex Morgan summed up the skewed logic and open hypocrisy perfectly when she said this week – “I feel that there is some sort of double standard for females in sports, to feel like we have to be humble in our successes and have to celebrate, but not too much or in a limited fashion. You see men celebrating all over the world in big tournaments, grabbing their sacks or whatever it is. And when I look at sipping a cup of tea, I am a little taken aback by the criticism.”

Regardless, the USWNT will go into this weekend’s final as villains and that’s fine I suppose because every sport needs a villain. Everyone likes someone to boo.

It’s just a shame that the team that has elevated the women’s game closest to the mainstream – and all while retaining the proud, unique identity of what make’s women’s football so special – has been so unfairly chosen for this role.

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