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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years

Text

Remnants, Part X

Closing Note: Well, kids. Saddle up because this monster has a word count of over 12k. I want to thank you for taking this journey with me, and I hope you have enjoyed reading this version of Ahkmenrah as much as I’ve enjoyed writing him.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX

Story Summary: You are in the midst of formulating your dissertation, but you’ve hit a wall. Your doting aunt, Rebecca, has a solution that brings you face to face with Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King. As the connection between you and Ahkmenrah grows, and as the secrets of his ancient tablet unlock, the once-king will find himself faced with a difficult choice.

Tag List: @kitkatcronch @kpopperotp12 @seafrost-fangirl @sassystrawberryk @perfect-rami @txmel @limabein @rami-malek-trash @underworldsheiress and @sherlollydramoine

Thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, and leaving comments that kept me motivated!

Warnings: Little bit of swearing

Reading Note: 20--* = Borrowing from the writers of old, I left the exact year blank to let the story feel a little more timeless.

Larry was en route to the British Natural History Museum where you were waiting to meet him in Merenkahre’s and Shepseheret’s exhibit. According to the American museum, Ahkmenrah and his tablet would arrive the following day.

It took a bit of convincing to get them to ship Ahkmenrah early, but you insisted you only needed the sarcophagus and the tablet. The rest of his display could be shipped later at the arranged date. Larry explained to Ahkmenrah that there were experts at the British museum who could help with his tablet. Considering the relationship Ahk had with Jack, he readily agreed to return to England.

To pass the time while you waited for Larry, you fussed about, dusting even though the exhibits were spotless, and adjusting artifacts, some real and some recreated from your trips into Ahkmenrah’s memories.

Another thing you did to prepare for the awakening of Ahkmenrah’s parents was to write a letter in ancient Egyptian that would clarify what had just happened to them. Although your ability to speak their language was improving, it was nowhere near fluent enough to explain the urgency of Ahkmenrah’s situation.

The vibration of your phone pulled you away from your unnecessary tidying. Larry texted to say he was in the lobby; you had left specific instructions with the night guard, Tilly, to let Larry in, no matter what time he arrived.

Rather than wait on the elevator, you took the stairs two by two, both excited to see Larry and nervous to hear more about Ahk. When you entered the lobby just a little out of breath, Tilly and Larry were deep in conversation about their respective flashlights. You laughed aloud at the fact that Larry had brought his along.

Your laughter caused them to look up and Larry opened his arms to wrap you in a strong hug.

“I missed you, kiddo.”

“Me too, Lar,” you said, returning his smile. “Thanks, Tilly. We’ll be sure to let you know when we leave.”

You took the elevator up to Ahkmenrah’s parents’ exhibit.

When you entered the Egyptian wing, Larry let out a low whistle of appreciation as he took in each exhibit, including Ahkmenrah’s future room.

“Wow! This makes me feel bad all Ahk has in America is a dark room with a couple of hieroglyph walls and two giant guard dogs. This will be a real step up!”

“How is he?”

Larry shifted his gaze away from the fountain taps of the bath, and you could see the worry lines that had settled on his forehead.

“He’s getting worse. As of two nights ago, the tablet was visibly corroded.”

“How could this have happened? It’s existed in perfect condition for 4,000 years—over 4,000. It’s made of solid gold for Christ’s sake!”

“No one has any idea, least of all Ahk. He’s . . . angry, irritable. Not like himself at all.”

You frowned and looked at the ground, unwilling to meet Larry’s eye.

“Don’t, Y/N. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Maybe it does, though. Maybe I did something to it the last night we used it. This could be all my fault,” you said, crossing your arms and looking over Larry’s shoulder at the doorway that connected to Shepseheret’s exhibit, the peace of her garden a slap in the face to your churning guilt.

“What last night? What are you talking about?”

“The last thing Ahkmenrah asked of me was to return with him to the night he died. We saw him murdered by his brother. It was . . . I don’t even have a word. Worse than horrible. Ahk was in shock, so I had to use the tablet to escape his memory. Maybe my use of it did something.”

Larry was quiet for a bit while he worked through what you said.

“That was, what? Over a year and a half ago?”

You nodded.

“The tablet was fine until just a month ago. Besides, Rebecca’s used it. I’ve used it. Even Nick’s used it.”

You raised your eyebrows and asked, “Exactly what’s been going on at the museum, Larry?”

Larry laughed nervously, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he ran his hand through his dark hair.

“You know this gig isn’t easy. Sometimes, the exhibits get a bit restless, things get out of hand, elephants end up in Central Park, Custer recreates his last stand in Rockefeller Center, you know, typical museum shenanigans,” Larry finished, his foot tapping a nervous staccato on the floor as he hands settled on his hips.

You stared, slowly processing the strain of being a night guard in a museum where the exhibits come to life, a strain Larry had certainly done his best to keep hidden for the past few years.

“If you can handle all of that, Lar, you’re going to make an excellent teacher.”

Larry smiled that cute, crooked smile of his.

“Thanks. I sure hope so, but I have to admit I’m glad I don’t have to handle this one on my own. If something happens to Ahk—”

“It won’t,” you stated with a finality that hid your desperation.

Larry nodded, encouraged by your strong statement.

“Letting you go . . . it wasn’t easy for him, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

“I do. Doesn’t mean I like it any better now than I did then, but what is a girl in love to do?”

“Find his mummified parents, painstakingly rebuild pieces of their lives, and arrange an it’s been a long time, oh, say 4,000 years comin’ reunion?”

You laughed, at first, and then fell into Larry’s arms as the tears came. You gripped the front of his coat, and felt like an idiot, laughing and crying, but it also felt damn good to say aloud that you were still in love with Ahkmenrah.

Larry smoothed your hair and kept muttering that it was okay until you composed yourself.

Embarrassed by your spontaneous overflow of emotion, you stepped back and wiped away your tears, sniffing loudly before declaring, “I’m fine—really I am. I just had this all planned out, you know. Things were going according to plan and I needed that. Really, really needed that focus to keep me from thinking about him—about us.”

Larry smiled and shook his head. “Love’s like that. It enjoys laughing in the face of your carefully laid plans even more than god himself does.”

You narrowed your eyes, something deep in your mind struggling to make a connection.

“Love. That tablet—it was birthed from an act of pure love. It only makes sense that love will be able to restore it . . . or at least lead us to the right answer.”

On your way out of the exhibit, you stopped at Merenkahre’s coffin and laid your hand on top of it.

“Please help the son you loved so much,” you whispered.

* * * * *

The following cold, February afternoon, you and Larry met the delivery truck that housed Ahkmenrah and his tablet. You couldn’t help but to just stare as they unloaded the pine crate, a seemingly ordinary box that you knew contained the extraordinary. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You had no idea if it was just your imagination, but you thought you could feel his presence.

“Miss?”

“Hmm?” you answered as the deliverers scuttled back into the truck, their breath visible as they aligned two more similar, large crates with the tines of the forklift. “I’m sorry—what was it you asked?”

“I need a signature from the director of the museum or from the curator.”

You shook your head, took the proffered clipboard, and promised the man you’d be right back.

The British museum’s director was a woman by the name of Anastasia Waterhouse; she had been the director for the last twenty years and was damn near old enough to be an exhibit in the museum herself. She held more than one PhD and was one of the most knowledgeable people you had ever met. Dr. Waterhouse was also damn good at her job. She was the one who had negotiated for Merenkahre’s family’s exhibit, promising to relinquish the rights to all three mummies to Cairo once the exhibit spent a suitable time at the British museum.

She also hadn’t fussed when you exploded into her office, begging to bring the Ahkmenrah exhibit over immediately. You explained that something had happened to the tablet and the restorers in the British museum had far more experience with Egyptian relics than the Americans, so it was only logical that Ahkmenrah was brought here now so your entire life wasn’t ruined by being unable to display the famed Tablet of Ahkmenrah.

In typical Dr. Waterhouse fashion, she needed only to raise her weathered hand and your babbling came to an immediate cease. She told you exactly what needed to be done and that was that.

Rather than blow the old wooden door off the hinges again, this time, you politely told Dr. Waterhouse’s secretary you needed a signature and waited for her to clear you to go into the office.

After Dr. Waterhouse signed the delivery slip, she said she would head down to the storage area as she was most excited to see the famed tablet in person, not to mention Ahkmenrah’s ornate sarcophagus.

You rushed back to return the slip to the delivery man, and as soon as the back door on the truck was latched, Larry started a bumbling speech that included wild gesticulations in an attempt to bring your attention to the other two crates.

“No. No way—you mean to say those are not Ahk’s?”

Larry shook his head.

Fuck—you grabbed one of the crow bars that was hanging with the other tools on the pegboard and started prying open the crate closest to the loading bay. Sure enough, it was Teddy on his horse along with Atilla. You were certain that a little cowboy and his Roman friend were also buried in the packing straw.

“I’m not even going to attempt to open the other crate. The museum director is going to be here any minute to see Ahk’s crate. You have to stall her while I grab the forklift and hide these other two crates.”

“Wait—which one is Ahk’s crate?”

“Shit—open them and find out,” you said as you handed Larry the crowbar and hurried off in the direction of the forklift.

“Wait! What am I supposed to say? I don’t even know what she looks like! I’m not even British!”

“Can you drive a forklift?” you shouted over your shoulder as you jogged toward the ramp.

“Damnit,” Larry muttered before shoving the crowbar into the second crate.

You ran down the ramp of the loading dock to where one of the deliverers had parked the museum’s forklift. It was wedged into a corner, but its bright aqua coloring made it easy to see straightaway.

The keys were almost always left in the machine because the storage area was one of the most secure sites in the museum. But of course, today, the key was nowhere to be found—the deliverers must have returned it to the office. You slammed your hands against the wheel in frustration and climbed back out, your feet thudding on the concrete. You ran back up the loading dock and into the small office that housed more tools, delivery paperwork, and an ancient computer that checked artifacts in and out.

Hanging on the wall along with several other sets of keys was the forklift key—or at least what you hoped was the right key. You glanced at the logo etched into the key and it said “MITSUB.” As far as you knew, nothing else around the loading dock was of the Mitsubishi brand.

You ran back to the forklift and shoved the key in the ignition, uttering a nervous, crazy little laugh when the ignition sputtered before kicking on. You revved the engine and quickly backed out of the corner, silently thanking your own tenacity for always wanting to do things yourself. When you worked all hours of the night, you needed to know how to do every job in the museum.

As you approached the crates, Larry shouted and pointed to the box furthest from the dock: “This is Ahk!”

You gave him a thumb’s up and then furiously waved him in the direction of the door.

“Distract her!”

Larry took off as you maneuvered the forklift to quickly pick up the first box and scoot it back into the dark corner of the first aisle. The storage room was a massive maze of towering steel aisles that held thousands of artifacts of all shapes and sizes.

You almost did something really stupid by placing the second, unopened box on top of the other before you realized the panic that would ensue when the exhibits came to life. Instead, you backed out of the first aisle and dropped the box off at the back of the second aisle.

Just as you were driving back to head down the ramp, Larry and Dr. Waterhouse entered the loading bay, Larry cackling like a madman and talking her ear off.

You wheeled around and slid the prongs of the forklift under Ahk’s crate. You cut the engine, then jumped out to greet Dr. Waterhouse.

“Mr. Daley. For the last time, this is MY museum. I do not need a lecture about the proper care of any of its antiquities! I also have no interest in purchasing in American-made flashlight. The flashlights we have here are more than suitable.”

“I apologize, Dr. Waterhouse. This is my uncle-to-be, Larry Daley. He’s been working with Ahkmenrah for the past few years and feels rather attached to him. He also, clearly, believes in the versatility of well-made flashlights,” you finished lamely as you shot Larry a “what-the-fuck” look.

Dr. Waterhouse softened; first, she understood what it was like to get attached to a piece of history. Second, she was delighted to meet a familial relation, considering you were rather reserved about your personal life.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Daley. Perhaps you should have opened by explaining your relationship to one of the best anthropologists with whom I have had the pleasure to work.”

“That would have been . . . better,” Larry agreed, grimacing a bit.

“I was just getting ready to take Ahk’s—Ahkmenrah’s sarcophagus into the transition room. Better lightening there, of course.”

“Most excellent—carry on. I cannot wait to behold the famed tablet with my own eyes!”

Dr. Waterhouse walked off in the direction of the transition room, stopping to press the button that opened the garage-style door so the forklift could drop off the crate.

“She wasn’t exactly impressed with me, but I see the other crates are gone.”

“She doesn’t impress easily. And yeah, by an actual millisecond. The bloody key wasn’t in the machine!”

Larry chuckled as he said in a horrible British accent, “Righty-oh, miss. I see you’re pickin’ up on the language of the land, ya!”

You blinked several times before sighing, “That was about five accents rolled into one, so I don’t wanna hear it. Come on—make sure Ahk’s crate is secure before I move it into the transition room.”

You climbed back into the forklift and cautiously loaded the crate. Larry checked that it was securely tucked up against the back of the forks and you lifted it a few inches. Maneuvering into the transition room could be a bit tricky, so you drove slowly.

Dr. Waterhouse was waiting inside with a crow bar, still unafraid to get her hands dirty. One of the most exciting things about being a museum director was having the first access to new acquirements.

You set Ahkmenrah’s crate down on the marked patch of concrete and backed the forklift out of the smaller room. You parked at the end of one of the closest aisles and jogged back into the transition room.

The transition room looked like an operating room for antiquities. Tools lined the walls as did work benches that accommodated magnifying glasses of all sizes, microscopes, and other sensitive equipment used to run tests. Around the middle of the floor were some lamps that could be swung this way or that to capture the object on the floor in the best light. In this room, the curator worked with his team to get the antiquities ready for display, conducting as much restoration and preservation as was necessary.

“James will be delighted,” Dr. Waterhouse said quietly as she eyed the crate, clearly eager to see the sarcophagus and the tablet.

“James is our head curator,” you explained to Larry. “That’s actually what my aunt does now at the museum in New York.”

“Lovely,” Dr. Waterhouse whispered, more to the crate than as an acknowledgement to your comment. “Shall we?”

Dr. Waterhouse didn’t wait for a reply before she popped out the first nail of the crate. You thanked whatever cosmic power that existed she started at the end that had not already been pried open. She worked slowly, and you and Larry watched with bated breath.

When she was finished, she set the crowbar on a bench and stepped back to allow you and Larry to lift off the crate’s lid. The gold from Ahk’s coffin was blinding as it reflected all the lights in the center of the room. You pivoted some of them to an angle as Dr. Waterhouse ran her gnarled fingers over the face etched into the gold, then slide her hand down to touch some of the jewels that adorned the sides of the sarcophagus.

“Beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking,” she said.

Same, you thought, thinking of Ahkmenrah’s actual face.

Dr. Waterhouse moved around the crate and reached in to pull out the Tablet of Ahkmenrah. The gold of it was also blinding under the lights, but along the bottom, you could see the greyish hue of corrosion.

“You were correct, Y/N. The tablet is in dire need of restoration. I’ve never seen anything like this on pure gold, unless, perhaps this is not?”

“James can run some tests, but I am positive that it is, and that it is the real tablet,” you said, attempting to placate Dr. Waterhouse.

She nodded, and placed the tablet on the work table. “Shall we see what’s inside the sarcophagus?”

“No!” you and Larry both yelled, surprising Dr. Waterhouse so much that she took a step back.

“Goodness! What has gotten into you, Y/N?”

You felt the cold fingers of panic creep across your chest and squeeze as your mind raced for a suitable answer.

“The curse!” Larry yelled from beside you, startling both you and Dr. Waterhouse this time.

Oh, fuck me, you inwardly groaned.

Dr. Waterhouse’s eyebrows shot straight into her hairline before her mouth turned downward, irritation practically leaking from the corners.

“Americans and their superstitions,” you said, giggling nervously, searching for a way to prevent Dr. Waterhouse from prying inside the coffin. “The American museum just completed a full photographic report on the mummy, right Lar?”

“Report? Ah, yes! Yes, I know they did. Took the pictures myself,” he muttered.

Dr. Waterhouse looked offended. “A night-guard photographed a 4,000-year-old, precious artifact?”

“Larry just has a real attachment to Ahkmenrah,” you said as you moved next to Dr. Waterhouse and whispered, “They really just humor him.”

Dr. Waterhouse continued to frown, but nodded. “If the American museum was really just in there poking about, we shouldn’t disturb the mummy again for a suitable period of time.”

“Right! And our clear concern is the tablet,” you said while walking over to the work table and hoping that Dr. Waterhouse’s attention would be diverted.

“Indeed! I’ve never seen anything like this, except, well, let me think—” and Dr. Waterhouse began recounting an experience with a gold statue brought to the museum from the Mayan Temple of Tikal.

You shot a glance at Larry that conveyed your relief as she took the bait, but a quick glance at your phone let you know it was getting late. It was after 4:00, and in mid-February, sunset was around 5:00.

“So, in the end, the makers of the statue proved to be clever by housing the true statue within a false statue. It protected it for centuries,” Dr. Waterhouse concluded.

“That’s fascinating—I can’t wait to see what James discovers when he examines the tablet,” you said as Dr. Waterhouse agreed.

You made a bit of a production of pulling out your phone and checking the time.

“4:18—wow! Time has just flown by this afternoon.”

“My! It has—I need to call the American museum to let them know we received Ahkmenrah and his tablet. I would also like to request a copy of that report.”

You walked over to the interior door of the transition room and held it open for Dr. Waterhouse to exit. You clicked off the lights and as the three of you exited the storage room, Dr. Waterhouse pulled out her keys and locked the door; she also unclicked her radio from her hip and walkied for the head of security to make sure the loading dock and the storage area were all properly secured.

Larry’s face flickered with worry, but you shook your head and patted your jacket’s packet. You had already been entrusted with a key to the storage room.

After saying good-night to Dr. Waterhouse, you and Larry walked back to the lobby.

“Soooo what’s the plan?” Larry asked.

“You’ve got to get back to Ahk,” you said, handing Larry your key to the storage room. “I don’t want him waking up alone and in the dark, especially since he’s been sick. Just keep the lights off as long as you can—actually, put that damn flashlight of yours to good use!”

“Got it,” Larry said while patting over the pocket of his jacket that held his flashlight. “Then, I’ll bring him to you in his parents’ exhibit.”

“Yup. I’ve written a letter explaining what’s happening. There’s no way they are going to wake up speaking English. The real question is what the hell we are going to do about our stowaways.”

“I can’t believe they figured out how to ship themselves here,” Larry said, settling his hands on his hips after sliding the key to the storage room in his pants’ pocket.

“I’m sure they just want to help Ahk, but perhaps we just ‘forget’ they are here for the time being. Maybe they won’t even make it out of the storage room?”

“Y/N, they managed to ship themselves here from New York. We aren’t going to trick them by leaving them alone in a dark room.”

You sighed in frustration.

“Focus on Ahk’s parents. Leave the rest of the guys to me.”

“Thank you—shit, it’s late! Dr. Waterhouse leaves at 6:30 every day after security finishes its sweep. I’m sealing off the Egyptian wing to work, so they won’t walk in on Meren and Shep when they wake up. If you stay inside the transition room with Ahk until 6:30, you’ll be fine.”

“Got it,” Larry said with a firm nod. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes,” you said slowly, your stomach fluttering at the thought of seeing Ahkmenrah in less than two hours.

As you and Larry headed in your separate directions, you once again found yourself asking the cosmos to help you get this right—to help Merenkahre and Shepseheret wake up without losing their minds.

Armed with your letter, you sat in the tiny hallway between the two exhibits and waited for the sun to set. You took off your jacket and used it to cushion your seat on the floor.

As you were reading over your letter for the tenth time, the rattling of the sarcophaguses caused you to shoot up from the floor; unfortunately, your foot had fallen asleep and you fell face forward, just barely catching yourself with your hands.

“Fuck me!”

You shook it off and hobbled your way to Merenkahre’s coffin first; as you lifted the lid, up popped a very dusty mummy. His wrappings were badly decayed, so you figured he could fuss with them himself and you ran over to Shepseheret’s coffin. She had flung her lid aside and was already unwrapping her bandages. You could just see her eyes as you approached and she froze, clearly frightened. You relied on your knowledge of their culture, and bent at the knee, splaying your arms to show you meant only respect.

She spoke, but you were unsure what she said as it was still muffled by her bandages.

Merenkahre had made fast work of his own wrappings and came, dressed in his regal splendor through the opening between their exhibits, stumbling when he realized who had spoken.

Shepseheret began crying as she struggled with her bandages. You stood up and helped her, then helped her out of the coffin.

She looked equally as stunning as her husband, her full regalia much more ornate than anything you had ever seen. She was buried with the highest honors, and you wondered what exactly happened after Ahkmenrah was killed. Surely, Kahmunrah wouldn’t have allowed Meren and Shep to be buried in such ornate clothes because they were a dead giveaway of their identity.

You pushed your questions aside, knowing you had no way to ask them anyway, and watched as Merenkahre gathered his wife into his arms. They cried and hugged each other, whispering in ancient Egyptian. It pained you to break up their reunion, but their son needed them.

“Ahkmenrah,” you stated, hoping to get their attention.

They both turned and looked at you, Shepseheret’s blue-green eyes, the exact same as her son’s, widening. You began the speech you had rehearsed and hoped your ancient Egyptian was understandable.

“Ahkmenrah needs help. His tablet is dying.”

Merenkahre began speaking, much more rapidly than you could follow. You held up your hands and shook your head to indicate that you didn’t understand.

You jogged the few steps to where you had been waiting and grabbed the letter explaining how you knew their son, where he was, where they were, and about the tablet’s corrosion.

Their eyes flew over the hieroglyphs, and Shepseheret’s hand covered her mouth as it fell open, her face filling with concern.

Once again, they began to converse with one another, and you only picked up that they discussed Ahk and his brother, and they definitely did know Kahmunrah had killed them all.

Surprisingly, they didn’t seem all that shocked to be awake. That made you wonder just how much more they knew about their gift to their son.

Merenkahre frowned and tried speaking again. You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders, unable to follow enough of what he was saying. You had planned on Larry and Ahk having arrived by now. You wondered what was keeping them, and then, you remembered you had left your backpack and your notebook in Meren’s exhibit.

You ran to fetch it and hastily wrote out that you could read his language but not speak it.

Merenkahre stared at your pen for a moment and ran a hand over the paper in awe; then, he scrawled in the notebook:

“Where is my son?”

“He’s here, now. That’s why you’ve come to life. The tablet is with him. Can you help?”

“I need to see it, but yes, I believe I know what is wrong.”

“What is wrong?”

“The tablet is most likely in need of Khonsu’s light.”

You nodded, unsure exactly what the moon god had to do with Ahk’s tablet, but you were overjoyed that his father seemed to know what was wrong.

Shepseheret reached for the notebook and pen and scrawled a request:

“Explain more about when and where we are.”

“England,” you scrawled before drawing a crude map that showed them where they were in relation to Egypt. “The year is 20–.”*

“Did you find us?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find us for my son?”

“Yes.”

Shepseheret smiled at you, a soft, knowing smile. She turned and spoke to her husband, and he listened intently.

You stepped away to allow them to converse, and you used that moment to try to call Larry.

He answered, panting into the phone.

“We’ve got—a—slight—problem!”

“Where are you?!”

And in response, you heard some yelling and scuffling before the line went dead. You were left to stare at your phone and wonder what the hell had gone wrong.

You decided to stay in the exhibit with Ahk’s parents, trusting that Larry would get Ahkmenrah here. This was what Larry did best.

Merenkahre and Shepseheret were still deep in conversation but had begun to wonder around each of their exhibits, pointing at artifacts as they examined each room.

Just as you stepped back into the small hallway that separated Meren’s throne room from Shep’s garden, Larry and Ahk, followed by a small, very awkward crew of supporters, thundered up the stairs and skidded into the exhibit. Ahkmenrah’s mouth dropped open as he approached his mother’s garden.

Shepseheret ran to her son, the two of them melting into a loving embrace. Merenkahre followed and reached out to touch his son’s face in disbelief. They began to speak in hushed, low voices, and each of their faces was streaked with tears. Ahkmenrah’s smile was so blinding, it dulled the tracks of tears that had slid from his eyes.

Ahkmenrah asked his mother a question, and she turned and pointed to you as you stood in the shadow of the hallway between the two exhibits.

You walked out slowly, unsure if your legs would sustain you as you saw Ahkmenrah for the first time in nearly two years.

“Y/N,” Ahkmenrah breathed, and asked with awe, “What have you done?”

“I found your family, and my team built this for them. And I had hoped . . . for you, too,” you said as you gestured to the hallway separating Shepseheret’s garden from Ahkmenrah’s chamber.

Ahkmenrah glanced to the doorway and then to his father’s throne room, the golden sun that had been excavated and painstaking restored, glittered within a glass casing on the floor.

Ahkmenrah moved from his mother’s embrace, and he slowly closed the distance between you. When he stopped in front of you, he was so close that you could count his eyelashes, close enough that you could smell the rich scent of papyrus, sandalwood, and the open air of the desert that was so determined to cling to him, even after 4,000 years. Ahk took a deep breath and reached out to grip your upper arms.

You froze as he laid his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, breathing you in. When he opened his eyes, and locked them onto yours, he asked one simple question: “Why?”

You were still frozen, hypnotized by the intensity of his gaze and the only thing that would come out of your mouth was the truth.

“Because I love you.”

Ahkmenrah pulled you to him, and your body softened within his embrace as you wrapped your arms around his waist, sliding your hands across the smooth, warm skin of his back.

When he pulled away, he began murmuring, “I am deeply sorry, Y/N. I should have told you. I am and have been wholly in lo—”

Ahkmenrah’s face grimaced as he staggered forward, almost knocking the wind out of you as you caught him and struggled to hold him upright. As you looked into his face, you were horrified to see the black lines of decay that ringed his eyes, his smooth skin wrinkling to some grey-matter before slowly, slowly turning back to flesh.

His father rushed forward and wrapped his arm around his son, holding him steady, his face full of concern.

Ahkmenrah must have explained what was happening and Merenkahre followed up with talking about Khonsu. You could feel the tension between the two of them, and Shepseheret interrupted, speaking gently as she gripped her husband’s arm.

“That’s it?!” Ahkmenrah exclaimed in English.

“What? What’s it?!” Larry shouted, unable to wait any longer.

“All we need to do is expose the tablet to moonlight,” Ahkmenrah said, irritation tinging his speech.

You felt like your heart stopped—that was easy!

Too easy.

Larry sighed. “That would be easy. If we had the tablet.”

“Uhh, say what now, Lar?” you questioned. “Everyone is alive—the tablet is obviously here. We saw it an hour ago!”

“It was stolen by a loathsome metal man,” Ahk said through clenched teeth, clearly ready to destroy the thief as his fists clenched in anger.

You glanced at Ahkmenrah, worried because you’d never seen him so angry, and worried because of the way he had spoken to his parents.

“Lancelot. You know, of the knights and the round table. He stole the tablet,” Larry finished, looking at you.

“Why would Lancelot steal? That breaks like 500 codes of chivalry.”

“He said something about a quest?” Larry answered, clearly unsure about Lancelot’s motive.

You thumped your hand to your forehead, interrupting yourself.

“Of course! The display here was built around the knights’ quest for the holy grail. I bet he thinks the tablet can help him find the grail.”

“The grail, yes.” Ahkmenrah said, his teeth still gritted. “That’s what the little fuck was babbling about.”

You raised your brows, taken aback by Ahkmenrah’s language.

“Are you okay, Ahk?”

“No—I am clearly not o-fucking-kay as I nearly turned into a pile of rot and bones a moment ago,” he snapped.

Shepseheret, reading her son’s tone, scolded him.

He glared at her, anger tinging his cheeks, before something came over him, washing his anger away. His features softened and he apologized to you and to his mother.

“You don’t need to apologize to me, Ahk. This is all my fault.”

“My mother says I certainly do need to apologize—wait, what do you mean this is your fault?”

“I think I did something the night I used it to return us from your memory.”

Ahkmenrah shook his head before returning to stand in front of you, his hands grasping your face.

“No. This has nothing to do with that night. If anything, it’s my fault for overusing the tablet. I continued my experiments, and thanks to my parents, never knew it needed moonlight to survive.”

“Don’t be angry with them, Ahk,” you said as you reached up to grasp his wrist, stroking your thumb across his skin. “They made that tablet out of love.”

Ahkmenrah lowered his hands and sighed. “I know, Y/N. And I thank you for reuniting us. This means more to me than I can ever express.”

Merenkahre, every bit still a pharaoh, had grown tired of not knowing what was going on and tapped his staff on the floor, the loud clanging causing everyone except Ahkmenrah to jump.

Merenkahre spoke, and Ahk said while rolling his eyes, “He wants me to translate.”

As Ahkmenrah began speaking to his father, you took time to greet Teddy and the others, noticing how depressed and lethargic they seemed, before turning your attention to Larry.

“How familiar are you with Sir Lancelot?”

“He was a knight of the round table, a pretty good one, I think, at least until he fell in love with King Arthur’s wife, Guinevere.”

“Exactly. And guess who is in King Arthur’s display?”

Larry narrowed his eyes, “Y/N . . . I’m afraid of what is about to come out of your mouth.”

“They’re wax!” you barked, startling yourself and causing Ahkmenrah to look up from his conversation.

You huffed and pulled Larry through the hallway and into Merenkahre’s exhibit, damn near shoving him against the wall in your haste to explain.

“Ahkmenrah, his parents—they are flesh and blood! I don’t care if I have to throw that stupid hunk of wax into an incinerator to get the tablet back.”

“I know! I know!” Larry said, his hands raised in defense. “It’s just that, well, I don’t just think of them as wax. I’ve gotten to know all of them, Y/N, and they are real—at least the tablet makes them real enough. Think about it—Teddy and Sacagawea. Jed and Octavius. Those connections didn’t exist in their lifetime. They were forged after the tablet brought them to life. And they remember. Just like you and I do.”

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration.

Larry knew he wasn’t getting through to you, so he tried a different tactic.

“You can’t just take on a knight of THE roundtable.”

“I’m not planning on it,” you said before sighing. “I care about the others, too, Lar, but this is about Ahkmenrah, and now, his parents. What would you do if you were faced with losing Rebecca or Nicky forever?”

Larry answered without hesitation, “I would do whatever it took to save them.”

“So help me—I do have a plan, ya know.”

“Lay it on me, kiddo,” Larry said with a nervous grin.

* * * * *

“Alright, Gigantress,” Jed said from the display he and Octavius were standing on. “The queen is alone—she followed the trail of flowers we left, just like you said she would.”

“This version of Guinevere isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed,” you explained as you readied your rope, gag, and dagger.

“May Fortuna shine upon you,” Octavius said, giving you a tiny bow.

You shot him a nervous smile, muttered your thanks, and took off up to the Arctic exhibit. Larry had taken Ahk to distract the mummies that had risen and had been terrorizing most of the other exhibits, hoping that he would be able to command them.

There was also a very large, very angry rhinoceros that was charging through the museum. It was during that encounter that Lancelot happened upon Larry and Ahk and stole the tablet.

What a mess—Tilly should get a month’s vacation after this.

You hoped that your plan would be executed with a little less chaos. You chose the Arctic exhibit as the place to kidnap Guinevere because it was on the topmost floor of the museum, closest to the roof. Also, because it was kept really cool, the doors sealed shut. You wanted to get Guinevere far away from Arthur or any of the other knights. So far, Teddy had done an excellent job of sending Arthur and his knights on a chase across the museum, claiming to be in possession of the grail because he was the reincarnation of Jesus Christ himself.

On the other hand, Atilla the Hun was busy herding Lancelot toward the Arctic exhibit, relying on a lot of chasing, screaming, and yelling to push the knight into a location where he would see the kidnapped queen.

You also knew the Artic exhibit mostly contained the Canadian Inuit and used dioramas and paintings to showcase their life. While the end of the exhibit displayed the animals, the polar bear and the caribou were behind glass, like Sacagawea had been. Your only real worry was avoiding the walrus. There was a massive re-creation of a walrus attacking a boat that served as the centerpiece in the room that housed the polar creatures. While walruses aren’t prone to attacking humans, they did not appreciate boats intruding on their hunting ground. They had proven to be formidable foes for the Inuit.

After slowly pushing the door open, you stopped to listen for any danger in the exhibit. It was eerily quiet, and the only light came from the dim, round floor lamps. You walked slowly, hoping to catch a glimpse of Guinevere’s silver gown.

As you wound through the entryway, you came upon a reconstruction of an igloo, and inside, seated with all the flowers she had gathered as part of Jed and Octavius’s trail, was the queen. Her entire being seemed to emit a silvery glow, like she was made of some unearthly substance. Her long blonde hair even seemed to glitter, nearly matching the silver of her gown.

You slackened the rope in your hands, hoping you would be able to loop it right over her head.

“You have come to kidnap me, I suppose,” Guinevere spoke up, her musical voice doing little to hide the sigh that escaped as she easily surrendered.

You raised your eyebrows, unaware how she even saw you approaching from the darkened hallway.

“Yes, I have come to kidnap you,” you said slowly. “But I don’t want to harm you. I honestly don’t have the time to.”

Guinevere placed the floral crown she had been weaving on the table in the igloo and stood, proffering her hands.

“Are you a witch?” she asked as you looped the rope around her wrists.

“Nope. Just a regular girl trying to save the not so regular guy she loves.”

“Oh! You are in love?” Guinevere sighed, a light springing into her eyes. “I love falling in love. There is no better feeling in all the realm!”

“Yeah,” you said, tightening the rope. “Camelot really appreciated that quality of yours. Do I need the gag?”

“I’ll scream only if you want me to,” Guinevere offered politely.

“Not yet, sis. But when we see Lancelot, I’m going to need you to scream like a bloody Banshee.”

“Lancelot,” Guinevere sighed. “Such a wonderful knight. It will be quite exciting to be rescued by him. Again.”

You narrowed your eyes, and even though you didn’t have the time, you had to ask.

“Why did you marry Arthur?”

“It twas my duty, and he was so very charming when first he wooed me. But then it all changed,” Guinevere said as she looked through you, clearly lost in the remnants of her past.

“He was trying to build a kingdom, to promote equality and—Jesus, why am I explaining this? You’re a myth.”

Guinevere looked at you again, her eyes looking just as real as any other person’s.

“But my name is known throughout lands and throughout time, and so it will always be. Can you say the same for yours?”

You didn’t answer her and instead took her by the arm and lead her in the direction of the exit. If Atilla had done his job, Lancelot would be on his way to the roof with the tablet to rescue his lover. If you got to the central balcony, you might be able to get Guinevere to scream loud enough to hurry the process along. Ahk and Larry should be on their way there, too, barring the mummies didn’t—

No. No time to think of the what-ifs.

As you hurried Guinevere down the hallway, you finally replied, “No, Queen Guinevere, my name won’t survive for centuries, but I do hope to live with integrity in this one.”

“You would have made an excellent knight.”

Before you could say anything else, the sound of a deep bark stopped you in your tracks.

“Can you run?”

“I am a lady. I needn’t bother with ru—"

“RUN!” you yelled as the walrus began crashing forward, his massive weight shaking the floor as he moved, much quicker than you would have imagined. You pushed Guinevere in the direction of the door, the flickering of her silver dress and blonde hair flashing in your peripheral vision.

The two of you crashed through the door and Guinevere stumbled, and unable to catch herself, fell to the floor.

You grabbed a nearby trashcan and shoved the rim under the door, hopefully buying you some time as the walrus crashed into the door, rattling the glass.

It definitely wouldn’t hold for long.

“Up you go, queen,” you said hoisting Guinevere to her feet.

“What was that?”

“It’s called a walrus, but right now, I need you to look over this railing and scream your head off.”

Guinevere immediately complied and you almost dropped the dagger to clasp your ears. You grabbed her arm again to stop her and looked over the ledge. Sure enough, Lancelot was bounding up the spiral stairs, Attila on his heels.

“FIEND,” he screamed. “You will die for touching the queen! Guinevere, your Lancelot is coming for you!”

“I’m counting on that,” you said, as you pulled her along before she could reply.

“How romantic,” she sighed as you hurried her up the stairs that let out to the roof.

Lancelot was not far behind and just as you shoved Guinevere on to the ledge of the roof, he burst through the door.

Lancelot’s eyes widened at the sight of you with your dagger against Guinevere’s back, her feet just the width of the bricks on which she stood. For the first time, Guinevere actually did appear frightened, and had you been able to see the look on your face, it wouldn’t have come as a surprise that she was.

Your teeth were bared and the hand that wasn’t clutching the dagger was balled into a fist. Rage radiated from you, unable to believe that this idiot was about to inadvertently kill Ahkmenrah.

“Give me the fucking tablet, Lancelot, or I kill her,” you said evenly and with excellent annunciation. Lancelot needed to understand your threat was not idle.

Just as Lancelot was about to reply, Ahkmenrah and Larry, along with Atilla, Teddy and his horse, Jed, Octavius, several mummies, and a few of the other British and American exhibits burst through the door. Larry was holding Ahkmenrah up, his face twisted in pain.

“The game’s over Lancelot—be a true knight—of the round table—and return what you stole,” Larry said through his pants.

“Stole?” Lancelot spat out. “This will lead me to THE Holy Grail. THE greatest gift left to man by THE Holy God!”

“A gift for which you will prove to be unworthy, Lancelot!” you shouted, poking Guinevere in the back so she uttered a sharp little cry. “Give the tablet to Ahkmenrah NOW!”

Before Lancelot could reply, Ahkmenrah’s knees buckled and Larry nearly lost his hold on him. Ahk was gasping for breath as life slowly began to wither out of him.

Attila was next, dropping to his knees, his eyes looking forward in a blank stare. Teddy began to freeze, his mouth an “o” of surprise.

Your scream was damn near feral as you dropped the dagger and abandoned Guinevere to run to Ahkmenrah.

“HE’S DYING!” you yelled through the sob that tore from your throat.

Ahk clung to you as you reached him, dropping to your knees to try to support his torso, cradling him in your arms like the night you returned from witnessing his murder by the hands of his own brother.

Ahkmenrah’s eyes were fixed on you as he tried to speak, but failed.

You whipped your head to look at Lancelot as you said, “The others—they’re wax and clay and stuffing, but Ahkmenrah is real. He’s real,” you repeated before looking into your rotting king’s face and whispering, “You are real.”

Ahkmenrah smiled, a sad quick upturn of his lips.

“Please don’t leave me, Ahk. Please, please, please,” you begged as you pressed a kiss to his greying lips, pieces of flesh wrinkling and falling away, his body becoming lighter, skeletal within your grip.

Ahkmenrah fixed his eyes on you and spoke, his voice faded but capable now, strengthened only by the imminence of his true death.

“Y/N, I love you. I have loved you all this time. I was wrong to push you away. Forgive me?”

“I love you, Ahkmenrah. I never stopped,” you said through the tears that were falling, landing on the greying flesh that was turning to dust, mixing to make tiny spots of ashy-mud.

“What have I done?!” Lancelot cried as he quickly pulled the tablet from within his armor.

“It needs moonlight!” Larry yelled.

Lancelot held the tablet high over his head in an offering to the night sky.

As the moon’s silvery rays hit it, the tablet’s corrosion stopped, then began to reverse; however, instead of just reverting to its golden state, it turned white as the moonlight restored its power, building until it flashed in a blinding white light that pulsed across the rooftop.

You watched in awe as Ahkmenrah was immediately restored, his body growing strong again in your arms, his flesh hardening and smoothing back into its familiar, brown coloring.

Ahkmenrah reached up to grasp your cheek with his palm, cupping it to pull you into a kiss. You could hear the others cheering and you pulled back, laughing with Ahk as the two of you clambered to your feet.

“I believe this belongs to you, your Royal Highness. Please accept my humblest apology,” Lancelot said with a bow.

You could feel Ahkmenrah’s anger, but you shifted into his arms, drawing his attention back to you. You rested your hand on Ahk’s warm abdomen and said to him in ancient Egyptian, “He is a remnant. That is all he is.”

Ahkmenrah’s eyes softened as he understood the implication of your words. Never again would you allow him to use the excuse of only being an artifact. He was bone, blood, and flesh. He was human.

Ahkmenrah tilted his head and accepted the errant knight’s apology.

Soon, the others gathered around you, cheering and celebrating that life would continue for them all.

Larry pulled you into a hug and whispered, “You did it, kiddo!” before releasing you to wrap Ahk into an even stronger hug.

“We saved,” Atilla spoke up, his gravelly voice speaking English and causing everyone to turn. “We PARTY!”

The group on the rooftop exploded into excitement, Ahkmenrah’s laughter warming you despite the cold air of the night that whipped across the rooftop.

* * * * *

You were quite certain the world had never seen a party like this. To an outsider, it might look like a really broadly themed costume party, but you couldn’t help but think about how to now define the word real. You and Larry and Tilly were real. So was Ahkmenrah, his parents, and the other mummies. But the other exhibits? Could you qualify them as real?

Even if you did, you would have shoved a dagger into Guinevere or melted Lancelot with a torch to save Ahkmenrah. Still, Larry’s earlier words resonated with you.

You smiled unabashedly as you saw Ahk manning the DJ table as usual, this time with his parents by his side, utterly fascinated by the technology their son could so easily use.

Someone had found a bubble machine along with an entire crate of Christmas crackers. Bubbles filled the air as tiny bangs burst along with the music, the exhibits dancing gleefully through the throngs of confetti that popped out of the crackers, some even fighting over the tiny prizes inside.

You closed your eyes for a moment and thanked whoever or whatever may be listening, then you turned away from the noise and began climbing the stairs to the Egyptian wing. You were so tired, but at the same time, it felt like your skin was thrumming with electricity. The very air felt different to you; things seemed brighter, more real than they had in the past year and a half. You assumed that’s what love was—finding someone who could electrify your life, brighten it, just with their presence.

You wondered through Ahkmenrah’s chambers, thinking about what the future would hold. It was clear that your life would never be “normal,” but normal was subjective.

You eventually returned to Shepseheret’s garden, settling into the roped hammock that closely resembled a porch swing. You closed your eyes and listened to the distant thudding of the music and the quiet trickling of the stream that ran through the grasses. It was almost as if you were back there, in Ahk’s memory. You could swear that you could even smell him—

“It seems that every time a crisis is averted, we throw a party,” Ahkmenrah said as his sandaled feet crunched along the tiny rocks of the garden path.

Your eyes popped open as you shook off the sleepiness that had nearly claimed you. Meeting his eyes, those beautiful, prominently intense and polychromatic eyes, you said, “Welcome to modern times. We party to forget our pain.”

“Definitely not a modern concept, my love,” Ahkmenrah said as he settled onto the hammock, scooting closer so you could use his lap as a pillow. One of his arms settled across your sweater-clad stomach, but the barrier of clothing didn’t stop your body from reacting to his proximity, your lower abdomen inwardly clenching at the remembrance of the pleasure this man had once given you.

Ahk had removed his crown, and now he kicked off his sandals. You could feel the muscles in his legs shift and tighten as wiggled his toes into the sand that was underneath the hammock.

“If only kids knew that historical figures were this into getting lit. They may actually pay attention in their history classes.”

Ahkmenrah chuckled, but it was clear he had something on his mind.

The atmosphere quickly grew serious. You could feel the tension rise in the air and in his body, his fingers rubbing a pattern, back and forth against your sweater. Suddenly, you were very awake. It occurred to you that you should’ve seen this coming, that you shouldn’t have been so goddamn stupid.

Well, this time, you’d beat him to the punch.

You sat up, Ahkmenrah pulling his arm back as you wiggled away from him. You swung your legs over the edge of the bench, sitting upright as if you were in a proper chair, your own body now taught, stress tightening your muscles.

Every fucking time you let a wall down, Ahkmenrah managed to come in à la Miley Cyrus and her wrecking ball; he flooded you with emotions and made you completely vulnerable.

So, you would babble. You would lie and then lie some more, all in the hope of stifling the blow that was about to come.

“I know, Ahk. You don’t even have to command me this time—I’ll ‘go gently into that good night’ before you even tell me that everything you said was because you thought you were dying. And if you were about to be dead, there was no harm in saying wonderful things because there would be NO issue of where the fuck we go from here because you’d be dead. So, it’s fine. It’s whatever. I did this once. I can do it again.”

Ahkmenrah was very quiet until you stopped speaking, allowing the silence to fill the room again, and just as it teetered on oppressive, he spoke.

“I love you,” he said, clearly and full of emotion.

You looked up from the hammock, your knuckles whitening as you gripped the edges of the woven ropes.

You dared to turn your head to look at him, only to find that he was staring at you.

“I love you,” he repeated, locking his eyes onto yours.

You looked away, the emotion too intense.

Ahkmenrah moved off the hammock and kneeled before you, placing his hands over your gripping fists. You looked down into his face, his beautiful face, and didn’t know what to say anymore. Your lies didn’t work; nothing would soften the blow of what was about to come.

Ahkmenrah continued while your heart pounded in your chest.

“I hurt you because I thought I had to—I thought it was the right thing to do. Never, have I ever regretted something so deeply as not coming after you, not running down the streets of the great city and yelling that I loved you, too. But I knew if I did, none of this would have happened. Look around you, Y/N. You have done this. You have built this. I will never ask you to give up your dreams, but what I am going to ask you for is any piece of your life you are willing to share with me. I will be with you in any way that you will let me.”

His eyes were bright and pleading. The irony of the once great pharaoh of Egypt on his knees before a commoner was not lost on you. This was as significant of a gesture as Ahk knew how to make. A god-king never kneeled, and here he was, his knees in the sandy dirt, begging for any scrap of you that you were willing to give him.

Your mind was engaged in a violent war: Lie, lie, lie, and keep lying your goddamn ass off, said one side. The other echoed only one simple plea: let him love you.

Ahkmenrah watched and couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his lips. “Let me in, Y/N. Let me know what’s going on in here,” he said as he softly touched the middle of your forehead.

It was your turn to let the silence grow, to let the war inside your head rage while the Fourth King of the Fourth King stayed on his knees, his eyes pleading for one more chance.

You took a deep breath and said, “You already have all my pieces, Ahk.”

Ahkmenrah pushed himself up from his knees and pulled you up from the hammock to take you in his arms and kiss you with that same passion you had once poured into your goodbye kiss after the night you witnessed his death. He kissed you with nearly two years’ worth of longing, of regret, and of heartbreak.

And most importantly, when he pulled his lips from yours to allow the both of you to breath, he cupped your face and rubbed his thumb over your cheek and told you he would never let himself become nothing more than a remnant of your past.

You both jumped when Merenkahre spoke up from the head of the garden, neither of you having heard the approach of Ahk’s parents.

You both turned, laughing nervously with your kiss-swollen lips. Ahkmenrah held your hand, tightening his grip when you tried to pull away to let him speak to his parents.

“I want to properly introduce you to them, Y/N,” Ahk explained as he pulled you forward.

“I already did that,” you said, trying to tug your hand away again.

Ahkmenrah stopped and turned to face you, awaiting your explanation.

“When Larry told me you were sick, I knew I wouldn’t have much time to explain to your parents what was happening and I certainly knew they wouldn’t wake up speaking English. So, I wrote them a letter and I . . . well, I told them that I loved you. That I’d do anything to save you.”

Ahkmenrah grinned and stepped forward to kiss you again, a gentle press of his lips to yours as he slid a finger under your chin.

His eyes danced with happiness as he said, “Then there is nothing to be nervous about now, my love.”

You sighed, clearly unable to avoid this awkward reintroduction.

Ahkmenrah spoke to first his father and then to his mother. You understood your name and the Egyptian words for love and for honor. He also referenced Shai, the god of fate. You were almost positive you caught Hathor somewhere in there, too.

When he finished speaking, he stepped back a little and nudged you forward.

“Say hello,” he said nodding with encouragement as if you were a toddler attempting to take your first steps.

You took a moment to gather your translated thoughts and said, “I am honored to be in your presence your Royal Majesties. I understand I am common, unworthy of your beloved son, but I love him and only wish to make him happy.”

Merenkahre and Shepseheret looked at each other and giggled, then Merenkahre clapped his somewhat embarrassed looking son on the back.

“What did I say,” you said, panic sweeping through your eyes.

“You just told my parents that you loved me . . . and wished to provide me with endless sexual satisfaction.”

Your mouth dropped open and you looked back at his parents who were grinning broadly, clearly amused by your gaffe.

You narrowed your eyes at Ahkmenrah and hissed, “This is your fault!”

Ahkmenrah, now grinning, too, clarified what you had meant by “happy.” You noticed the intonation of the two versions of the word were quite different.

Meren and Shep both nodded, laughing a little, clearly understanding what your intended meaning had been.

Shepseheret stepped forward and embraced you. You could feel the beads in her hair slide across your cheek and smell her sweet perfume, a mixture of lavender, rose, and of the subtle smell of papyrus, just like her son. She held on to your hands as she pulled back and said, “My son is lucky to have your love.”

You understood her and thanked her.

Then, Merenkahre moved forward as Shepseheret stepped back. He gripped your upper arms and thanked you for reuniting his family.

“I owe you a great debt, Y/N,” he said as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You smiled, and Ahkmenrah took his place at your side, wrapping his arm around your waist. He leaned over to whisper in your ear, “That was not so bad, was it?”

You lightly elbowed him in the ribs in response causing him to laugh softly into your ear before he straightened, his father clearly waiting to tell him something.

“What is it father?”

“Son, your tablet does not just restore life temporarily. The magic within it contains enough power to return you, fully, to your mortal state.”

Ahkmenrah stared in disbelief as you furrowed your brow, trying to piece together what Merenkahre was saying.

Shepseheret stepped forward and took her son in her arms, hugging him while whispering, “You could have the life your brother stole from you, my beloved. All we have ever wanted was for you to live a full, happy life.”

Ahkmenrah continued to stare in disbelief, your heart dropping into your stomach as you caught the mention of Kahmunrah and his murder of Ahk.

“The tablet will need to be bathed in Khonsu’s light every night for fourteen days. Once it has soaked in all of Khonsu’s magic, it will have the power to restore you, permanently.”

“Father, what do you mean by only saying that it will restore me, not us?”

Merenkahre looked at his son, pride chasing away the sadness that had filled his eyes as Ahk questioned him.

“I did not wish for you to ask that question, but you have always been clever, my son. Once the tablet is drained of its restorative magic, it will turn to dust, as will we.”

Ahkmenrah stared in disbelief at his parents. They were offering to give up their lives for his.

Unable to wait any longer, you seized the gap in the conversation to ask, “What did they say about the tablet and its magic?”

“Y/N,” Ahk said quickly, his robes swirling as he turned to face you. “What if—what if I could be . . . human? Not just at night, but all the time. Would you still want me?”

Your first instinct was to laugh, but the seriousness on Ahkmenrah’s face told you this was not a hypothetical question.

“The tablet . . . can make you . . . totally human?” you questioned.

“Yes.”

You felt light-headed and reached for the hammock, but it was nowhere near you. Ahkmenrah reached for you and held you firmly to his chest. His eyes were boring into yours, searching for an answer.

“Ahk, I love you—you are it for me. You’ve ruined me because I really believe you are the love of my life. Pharaoh ‘alive-only-at-night’ you, or mortal ‘alive-all-the-time’ you. I want you any way I can have you.”

Ahkmenrah smiled one of those blinding, million-dollar grins that you had missed so much.

“I want to be alive-all-the-time with you, Y/N. I want a life.”

You wanted to return his joyful smile but worry niggled too strongly in your mind.

“You won’t be immortal. You will get sick. Get old. You will—you’ll die, Ahk.”

“I know,” Ahkmenrah said softly, the remnants of his smile still on his lips. “But I will also have lived.”

This time, your smile acted of its own accord, exploding across your features and reaching your eyes, your face the embodiment of joy.

* * * * *

For two weeks, the inhabitants of the British museum came to life at night; Larry had stayed for two more days to help Tilly develop a schedule for keeping order, and despite her awed confusion, she vigorously delved into her role as a guardian.

You had kept Ahk’s secret from Larry about becoming mortal. After all, you mostly lived your life waiting for the next hammer to fall, so you figured that if everything did go according to plan, you could give Larry and Rebecca one hell of a surprise when you and Ahkmenrah showed up on their doorstep in the middle of the day.

You and Ahk followed his father’s instructions and exposed the tablet to moonlight every night at midnight. The tablet’s appearance didn’t seem to change, but Ahkmenrah seemed to fill with an energy that you couldn’t explain. You weren’t sure if it was the magic of the tablet or if it was the possibility of him living a life of his choosing.

Ahkmenrah spent most of his time with his parents and you respected their privacy. Besides, it was exactly what you had worked for—to bring them together so Ahk could be happy.

While Ahkmenrah was with his parents, you spent time with the unidentified mummies, unbandaging them and working to identify each of them. While they were no longer in such a chaotic state, they were struggling to transition. They weren’t discovered by someone like you or Jack; they were jostled out of their slumber and thrust into a word they did not understand.

Currently, you were sitting in a circle, getting each of the mummies to share their history. A young boy with dark brown hair and eyes so big and dark they appeared to be black was talking about his parents—at least that was the gist of what you caught.

You knew Ahkmenrah had entered the room before you even saw him because each of the Egyptians stiffened and immediately shifted their positions to kneeling and bowing their heads.

Ahkmenrah told them to rise and to resume their discussion.

They hesitantly returned to more comfortable, seated positions, but their chatter was hushed, their eyes wide and glancing at Ahkmenrah.

“Hi, love,” you said, as he bent down to press a kiss to your temple.

“I do apologize for interrupting your meeting.”

“You are quite the distraction, King Ahkmenrah.”

He chuckled and said, “I only wanted to tell you that I’ll be with my parents until near dawn. It will be tonight, Y/N, that my father will reveal to me the final spell.”

“Oh,” you uttered, unable to articulate anything more than that tiny word.

Ahkmenrah smiled at you and nodded. “Come to the roof at 6:45 once the museum is quiet.”

“That’s cutting it awfully close, Ahk.”

“I am aware, but it needs to be this way.”

“Okay,” you said slowly processing what this meant. “Okay! I will see you then. Give your parents my love.”

Ahkmenrah said he would, and as he reached the door, he turned to look at you, reengaging the regenerated mummies, adding new scribbles to the scraps of paper that surrounded your seat on the floor. The corners of his mouth turned downward in a display of longing to bring them all to life again; while watching them, he felt so selfish.

Then, Ahkmenrah thought about the afterlife, something he and all of his people truly believed in. The tablet had ripped the souls in front of him from The Field of Reeds, including his own parents’. They all had families waiting for them there, and one day, Ahk would be reunited with his family again, too. By choosing to destroy the table, he was also choosing to bear the guilt of ending the earthly lives of the exhibits in the museum and of the mummies and his own parents.

Everything has its price.

* * * * *

“The mummies are all wrapped up and back in their coffins,” you said with a wave good-night to the Tilly.

“Thanks for your help, Y/N. Everyone else is all tucked in for their nighty-night!”

You smiled and popped into the elevator, heading to the roof.

When the doors opened, you were greeted by the bright grey of the pre-dawn. Ahkmenrah was looking toward the place where the sun would rise, a slash of pinkish-orange just barely visible near the line of the horizon.

His breath came out in little vapory puffs and you pulled your coat around you a bit tighter as you moved to stand next to him. You looked over, your eyes absorbing his regal profile. His eyes held a profound sadness that surprised you.

“Are you sure you’re ready to do this, Ahk? There’s no rush.”

“Waiting longer will not make this any easier,” Ahkmenrah said as he tore his eyes away from the growing pink and orange blur.

He turned to face you, his eyes locking on yours to draw strength. He took a deep breath and looked down at the tablet. You watched his lips as they issued a string of ancient Egyptian, his tone low and befitting of a spell.

The tablet began to glow as it did on the night it was reinvigorated by Khonsu’s light, but the light grew so bright that you had no choice but to turn away. Through your closed eyes, you saw a brilliant flash.

When you were able to see again, the bright white light was entering Ahk’s fingertips, slowly sliding its way up his arms. You watched the white light as it slid over his entire body. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even, so you knew that whatever was happening wasn’t painful. The bright light met at his chest and split, the light trailing up and down his torso. You watched as the light washed up and over his face and head, and then down his legs and over his toes.

There was a sudden gust of warm air that blew dirt and the remnants of the last snow out and away from the both of you. You searched Ahkmenrah’s face, and when he finally opened his eyes, you both looked to the tablet as it began to blacken.

In an instant, the tablet crumbled in Ahk’s hands, the black dust falling to the roof, blending in with the black of the dried tar that was partially obscured by the dirty snow.

“No,” you whispered. “Oh, no.”

You dropped to your knees and ran your fingers through the remnants of the tablet, your fingertips smudging with the ash. You rubbed your thumb, forefinger, and middle finger together in disbelief. You looked up at Ahkmenrah and he held his hands palm up. You slid your hands into his, the fingers with the ash drawing soft black smudges across his palm.

He pulled you up and slid his hands up your arms, gripping you.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I knew. I just . . . I just did not know how to tell you.”

“So that’s it? The tablet is gone. They’re all . . . gone. Forever.”

“Yes,” Ahkmenrah whispered, his eyes still the same intense, polychromatic swirl of blue and green, but they were filled with such hope, such infinite possibility that it took your breath away.

“You chose this?” you questioned.

“I chose you, yes,” Ahkmenrah said with a smile.

“But your parents! Did they know?”

“Of course they knew, and this is what they wanted for me. All they ever wanted was for me to be happy. For me to live.”

Your mind filled with an inability to believe what had just happened. The tablet was gone. No more would anything come to life in the museum—it was all, once again, reduced to wax, stuffing, and bone.

But Ahkmenrah was alive. You could feel that, and it squeezed at your heart in the same way his million-dollar smile did.

You took a deep breath and smiled at Ahkmenrah.

“Well, then how do you want to start living?”

“I want to watch the sun RISE,” Ahkmenrah said with firmness.

“And then?”

“I want to marry you.”

You laughed, and Ahkmenrah gave you that million-dollar grin.

“All in one day?” you questioned through your laughter. “Maybe we should take it a bit slower—"

“Do you doubt that this is our destiny?”

“I, uh . . . no. No, I don’t,” you said smiling at your eventual assuredness.

“Then let us begin our life together now. Let me teach you how to live like we lived, Y/N. I will prove to you that every day is a gift from the gods,” Ahkmenrah finished as he kissed you, his lips moving with practiced ease against yours, his tongue lightly twining with yours.

You closed the kiss, much quicker than you wished as you remembered what Ahk’s first request had been.

“You’re going to miss your first sun rise in 4,000 years!”

Ahkmenrah’s eyes never moved from your face, his gaze settling again on your lips.

“We have a lifetime to watch the sun rise, my queen. For now, kiss me until I cannot breathe.”

* * * * *

The streaks of pink and orange began to swirl together, combining until the ball of brightness that was the sun formed and burst above the horizon. The two figures on the top of the British Natural History Museum hardly noticed as the rays of the sun washed over their bodies, warming them as they continued to embrace, lost in what was considered a kiss for the ages.

Epilogue, forthcoming . . .

#Ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah fanfiction #natm ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah imagine #ahk #ahkmenrah x reader #female reader #rami malek's character #rami malek #NATM

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Emergency Contact (Branjie) - hy-jinkx, athena2

AN: A huge thank you to Writ for being an incredible beta for this, we hope you all enjoy it!

You can also read on AO3.

José is watching TV when he gets the call. It’s a number he doesn’t know, and he’s about to complain about hoes dialing the wrong number and just ignore it, when something drives him to answer. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s nearly Christmas, stores blasting the same songs over and over, list of presents to buy his family still untouched, and the holiday always brought phone calls from random relatives he’s never seen in his life. Or maybe it’s the same force that drove him to answer the odd number when he got picked for Drag Race, a number that’s taken him to a pink workroom twice and into the arms of a tall Canadian man for what was too short of a time as he lived it and now feels too long a time to have spent memorizing Brock’s breathing and the freckles dusting his back, for it all to come crashing down anyway.

He presses the phone to his ear, and a kind voice says she’s calling him because—and then it’s like the ocean roars in his ears, and he misses all the medical nonsense the woman is spouting, because all he hears is that Brock is in the hospital.

Brock is at the hospital, and they’re calling him.

He is Brock’s emergency contact.

José realizes with a start that he doesn’t know his own emergency contact, wouldn’t even know how to change it. But Brock, always so responsible, so organized, must have changed his when they were dating. The thought that Brock trusted him enough to be an emergency contact gives his heart that familiar flutter. It quickly dies, though, at the confusion. Why, when Brock always takes care of that shit, hasn’t he changed it back to Steve or his mom or whoever it was before they started dating? Why is José, Brock’s ex-boyfriend, answering a call that should be making someone else’s heart–a heart that could handle this, that hadn’t been broken just a year ago– pound?

Is it worse if he just forgot to change it, or left it intentionally? It doesn’t matter. Brock is alone in the hospital in LA, and it’s almost Christmas, and leaving him there isn’t an option, regardless of whatever status they’re in right now. He tells the woman he’ll be on his way, writing down the name of the hospital so his forgetful ass doesn’t blank on it in ten seconds.

Brock must be freaking out, José thinks, hating himself for knowing how Brock would react, for still feeling that familiarity toward him, for trying to understand Brock’s mind. Too bad he couldn’t understand his mind all those months ago.

He grabs his coat without so much as another thought. It occurs to him that he doesn’t even know what’s wrong with Brock, had zoned out for that part of the call. Was he sick, or hurt, or even worse? Was he in pain or asleep? What if it was really bad?

Fuck it. He’s out the door.

The hospital was one of Brock’s least favorite places. He felt out of his element in his hospital bed, completely out of his realm of control. His care was in someone else’s hands, and a stranger’s at that.

He wasn’t sure if he trusted a stranger with his life. The only people he did trust with his life were his family and - well, José. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he would likely always trust José that deeply, the younger man just having that effect on Brock.

Maybe that was why he never had the heart to remove José as his emergency contact.

Or maybe he had simply forgotten, his mind too preoccupied once the whirlwind of drag race airing had begun. He didn’t have time to worry about things like that, especially when he was so diligent about his health while being on the road almost constantly.

This was just a hiccup, an accident really. He didn’t see the point in calling José right now, but apparently the nurse disagreed with him.

“Might make you feel better seeing a familiar face,” the nurse had offered, flashing him a stern smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes before stepping out of the room. Damn his inability to say no to people.

The minutes felt like they passed by at a snail’s pace, Brock’s mind reeling. José was coming, but Brock had no way of really knowing how his ex would react. He knew José would be concerned on some level, and there would likely be some yelling involved, but whether that was at Brock or the hospital staff was yet to be determined.

Would José laugh at Brock’s injury, or would Jose dote on him like he had when Brock got sick while staying with him in LA?

Maybe if he was lucky, they would let him leave before José showed up, but he doubted that would be the case. Instead of allowing himself to think about his ex and the sense of dread he felt knowing José was likely on his way, Brock tried to keep himself busy by playing a game on his phone.

José tears through the doors like he’s on a mission, all his confusion and anger replaced with genuine worry, ready to grab the first person he sees and demand they take him to Brock.

“I’m here to see Brock Hayhoe,” he begins at the reception desk. “He one tall-ass hoe, you can’t miss him.”

“Name, please?”

“José Cancel. I’m his fri–” no, his abuela always said Christmas isn’t a time to lie, even if it’s just to himself, “–I’m his emer–I’m his contact person.”

“Room 372.”

He’s off, past the snowmen and bulbs and snowflakes lining the walls, trying to bring cheer to a place that to him really isn’t a place for cheer. Hospitals and all their bad juju always gave him the creeps, and he’s secretly grateful when drag shows and touring give him an excuse not to visit a sick relative. He knows it’s terrible, but he just can’t take it. He can’t take the cold white rooms, all the people in pain and suffering in ways he didn’t understand, in ways no one could help. To have someone he loves in that position…his heart just can’t take it.

Brock is one of the only people he could possibly do this for. He even turned into a full-on nursemaid that one weekend Brock got sick in LA. He checked Brock’s temperature and gave him medicine and tea like people did in the movies and almost started a fire trying to make chicken soup, Brock protesting the fussing all the while. He sat on the couch with Brock’s head in his lap, stroking his sweat-damp hair and waiting until Brock’s breathing evened out and he finally got some rest, staying up most of the night to watch over him. It’s a part of him only Brock has seen, a part no one else has earned since.

There’s a paper snowman outside Brock’s door, and the fake, construction-paper smile only makes the place seem gloomier, because surely there’s people here who won’t see Christmas or a snowman ever again.

He takes a breath and turns into Brock’s room, the sight almost making him walk right back out. There is no way someone as big as a moose should look this damn small. Brock is about half his normal size—a size that completely covered José in bed on those nights he needs to forget—in the hospital bed, and it makes him seem fragile, like those fancy dishes people locked away in cabinets and never used. His Brock–though he needs to give up on that now–is not supposed to look like this. There is not supposed to be an IV in his arm or all those monitors that belong on a spaceship around him. If he thought Brock was pasty before, it’s nothing compared to the ghostly paleness now; a ghost that just can’t stop haunting José, whatever he does.

There’s a chair by the bed, but José is too rattled to sit.

“What the hell kinda mess did you get yourself into?” José demands, holding tight to the angry side of him to keep from breaking, to keep Brock from the spiral he knows he’ll sink into if he sees José scared or worried.

“You came,” Brock deflects. Is that happiness in his voice? Whatever it is, it breaks through José’s anger. If Brock is awake and talking (and maybe even happy to see him), then it can’t be that bad, right?

“Yeah, I came,” he says softly. “I wasn’t gonna leave your ass in the hospital alone. Especially so close to Christmas. I know you hate this shit.” Damn it, he wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t going to get familiar, wasn’t going to let his heart soar when he saw Brock.

“I do.” Brock sighs helplessly, and José notices the rumbled sheets, Brock’s restlessness something he knows well.

“So, what did you do?” José asks. “Had to be some dumb shit, knowing you.” He decides to keep the joking tone, to avoid the part of him that aches seeing Brock so small and vulnerable, the part that wants to take Brock home where the scariness of the hospital can’t reach.

Brock’s cheeks turn slightly pink and he stares at the floor, a sure sign of his embarrassment. No matter how much José told himself he wouldn’t do this, Brock is still a book José’s read so many times his fingertips have discolored the pages, a movie he’s watched so many times he knows every line.

“Well…” Brock begins. “I was practicing dancing and tripped over Henry. I twisted my knee a little. It’s nothing bad, they just want me to spend the night to make sure the swelling goes down and that there’s no other damage.”

“You tripped over your cat?” José tries to hold back a laugh, but he’s so relieved it’s not serious, that Brock was just being his dumbass self, that he can’t help it.

Brock bites his lip the way he does when he’s trying not to smile. “Yeah, I know. Laugh it up.”

“You dumbass twinkle toes,” José snickers, taking the seat next to the bed. “I’m glad you okay, though. You need anything? I’ll go hollerin’ for the nurses, you know me.”

“I’m okay right now,” Brock says. “I’m a lot better now that you’re here.”

Oh shit. José’s stomach should not be tingling now. Brock shouldn’t even be saying this shit. Brock is looking at him with those green eyes soft and wide like a puppy, and José knows he’ll be here all night no matter how much it pains him.

Despite how nervous Brock had been about seeing José, he finds the other man’s presence to actually be pretty calming for him. He figured part of his nerves had probably come from being stuck in a hospital bed alone, having always felt unsettled whenever he had to go to the hospital for any reason. But with José around, Brock felt a sense of ease, and deep down he knew everything would be okay.

So what if he laughed a little more than he should at José’s jokes, or felt himself blushing as José called him out for injuring himself in such a stupid way? None of that really mattered with José around, as much as Brock hated to admit it.

There was a part of him that knew this was probably not a good idea, allowing himself to fall into the comfort of just being around José. They weren’t together anymore, but it was so damn easy to fall back into their old ways whenever they were around each other.

It was easy to forget they had ever broken up.

Now that José is sitting in the chair beside Brock’s bed, Brock feels the urge to reach out and grab his hand. Brock knows he’s not hurt badly, that he’ll probably be just fine in a few days, but there’s a part of him that still craves reassurance from the man sitting beside him. To Brock, it feels a form of validation, a way to silence the worries that threaten to send him spiraling down a rabbit hole of what if’s.

He resists the urge to grab José’s hand, instead folding his hands in his lap as he reminds himself that José is no longer his.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Brock mumbles after they sit in silence for a while, his eyes slowly flicking over to glance at his ex. Their eyes meet for a second, and Brock swears he can feel his heart skip a beat, despite what the monitor on the other side of his bed might say. He quickly averts his gaze, feeling his stomach sink as the reminder hits him once again that he should not still feel this way about José.

They had been broken up for months, they were practically strangers at that point. And yet, José somehow still felt like the most familiar person in the world to Brock.

Brock both loved and hated the duality of their situation.

“You’re hurt. I ain’t leaving you alone, B.” José’s voice sounds soft, almost as if he’s afraid that speaking too loudly will shatter the fragile bubble they’re living within in that moment.

It’s a side of José that Brock hasn’t seen since they broke up, and seeing it now makes Brock feel vulnerable. This is the José that Brock fell head over heels for, consequences be damned. Seeing this Jose now is almost too much, a bitter reminder to Brock of all the things he’s lost by losing José. No more stolen kisses backstage, no more late night calls from halfway across the globe, no more days spent holed up together in hotel rooms on the rare occasion they’re in the same city for more than a few hours. Maybe it’s because he’s in pain, but in that moment Brock wants nothing more than to have José crawl into the hospital bed with him and curl up against his side.

He’s happy to settle for holding José’s hand though, smiling softly at the younger man as José reaches out and gently intertwines their fingers. It’s not much, but it’s enough to ease Brock’s nerves and bring a soft heat to his cheeks.

Maybe, if he’s lucky, Jose won’t leave this time.

José can leave at any time. He knows this. He does not need to be here, in this hard chair making his ass, back, and neck ache at the same time, looking at boring white walls, and half-watching the channels Brock flicks through. He doesn’t need to hold Brock’s hand as long as he does either, but once he touches that smooth skin, he just can’t let go of it.

He can leave at any time. But he doesn’t. There’s some force keeping him planted in that chair, getting Sour Patch Children ( ‘ they’re kids,’ Brock insists) from the vending machine and passing some to Brock, roasting the doctors that walk by, all to keep a smile on Brock’s face as the afternoon-pink sky deepens to a dark plum.

“What you got planned for Christmas?” José asks.

“I think I’m actually gonna have time to go home,” Brock answers. “It’ll be nice to see the snow, you know?” he adds.

“Yeah.” José nods, though he’s used to a warm Christmas in Florida as a kid and here in LA now. Cold weather always made him wish for the sun-kissed beach, but Brock loved the cold and snow. Brock had been so excited when he took José to Toronto in the fall, chatting about how it would be snowing soon, and José let the finger-numbing-even-in-gloves cold fill him with hope that he would get to see a Toronto Christmas with Brock, even though he could feel the end coming by then.

“I think I might be able to stop home for a day too,” José says. “You know I like my warm weather.” He’s excited to go home, he really is, but something in him is missing the Christmas he never got to have with Brock, the snow-covered streets he never got to see.

“Yeah, you do,” Brock says, and José wonders if his voice is so heavy because he’s weighed down with the same ache for what never was.

José has already hit it off with the nurses and is allowed to stay the night, complimenting their sneakers and making them laugh telling them about the time Brock kissed one of the cats in his sleep, thinking it was José. He tries not to let the pain sink in, not to let the gaping hole in his heart devour him, because while he has this collection of stories, memories of just the two of them, that collection will never grow. There will never be more sleepy mornings in bed and movie nights and inside jokes. He can reach for the memories like cookies in a jar, but eventually he’ll scrape the bottom of the container, and all those treasures inside will have rotted.

He forces the thought away as he nestles in a blanket the nurses bring him, as he watches Brock fall asleep, the slow, steady breathing a noise that has carried José off to sleep several times. His own personal lullaby.

He doesn’t think he’s slept the same since he lost it.

There’s a lot of things that haven’t been the same since he lost Brock.

He watches some unfunny late-night show, and doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep himself until a gasp lurches him awake, Brock sitting up in bed panting like he’s run a marathon.

Even though it’s a little scary seeing Brock so frightened, José relaxes, because he can handle this. Calming Brock is something he’s done on countless nights when Brock couldn’t sleep, pacing the room and venting his worries in frantic breaths, when José just held his restless body tight and brought Brock back to himself. Nights when Brock had doubts about himself, questioning if he was good enough for José, doubts that turned into doubts about José, doubts that turned into doubts about them as a couple, doubts that no amount of soothing or kisses could quiet.

But José can quiet these ones, and he will.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, taking Brock’s sweaty hand

“Nothing, I just–I forgot where I was for a second,” Brock explains, slowly reigning in his breathing by himself, the way José used to help him do sometimes when the anxiety got too strong.

“Everything’s okay,” José soothes, “You’re here with me.”

You could be here with me forever, he thinks. You’d never have to be anywhere else, he doesn’t say.

“I’m here with you,” Brock echoes. “I’m really happy you’re here, J. Thank you for staying.“

Fuck. Jose’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t know what kind of painkillers Brock is on, if he should blame it on that, or if being trapped in this room only feet apart for so many hours is bringing something out, but he doesn’t care.

Maybe this is why Brock never changed his emergency contact. Because when it comes down to it, who did you want there in an emergency?

The person you feel the safest with.

And all the dark parts of Brock he’s seen, all the insecurities and fears and times when he was being a dork instead of the Ice Queen, were because Brock felt safe with him.

And still does, no matter what they are now.

“Scooch over, toes.”

Before he can stop himself, he climbs into the bed and wedges himself between Brock and the railing.

“You’re sure?” Brock asks. An ask of hope, not doubt.

“I’m sure. But Imma regret this if you still snore like a moose.”

Brock goes off into that snorting laugh, the one José used to scheme ways to bring out, seeing Brock acting so free and wild his reward for whatever stupid things he had to do to earn it.

José turns on his side and nestles his head on Brock’s chest, into the comforting curve of his shoulder. Brock’s hand snakes around his back, lightly stroking José’s hip, fingers narrating the story that will never leave them. José knows he would go back and relive it all again if he could.

José cranes his neck up and presses his lips to Brock’s cheek, light stubble scratchy beneath him, the kiss bringing back memories he usually tries to avoid.

But tonight, he lets them play in his mind on repeat as they drift off.

When Brock wakes up in the morning, the first thing he notices is José curled up against his side, one leg carefully thrown over his un-injured leg. The other man is still sound asleep, snoring away softly. The sight warms Brock’s heart, making him wish he could reach his phone to take a picture, wanting to remember this moment, because who knows how long it would last once José wakes up.

As rays of sunlight begin to peak between the blinds, stretching across the floor and slowly illuminating the room, Brock wonders how he and José didn’t work out. The distance wasn’t ideal, especially when they were on different continents and couldn’t even get their schedules to line up for a five minute phone call, and it was rough trying to navigate a public relationship. But when José felt like home no matter where they were, why the hell couldn’t they make it work?

The noise outside Brock’s room steadily gets louder as the hospital staff rotate out, the graveyard shift heading home. He winces as he hears a nurse outside his room hollar something to a colleague down the hall, feeling José stir beside him. The younger man’s eyes slowly flutter open, one of his hands raising up to rub at them as he lets out a lazy yawn.

The sight is one Brock is all too familiar with. He’s seen it dozens of times before, and yet he doesn’t think he could ever tire of it. Soft, sleepy José was probably one of Brock’s favorite things to witness.

“Mornin’,” José mumbles quietly, his head tilting up to look at Brock. He feels an imaginary string tug at his heart, the emotional pain a welcome distraction from the aching in his knee.

“Morning,” Brock whispers back. He knows he doesn’t need to stay quiet, they aren’t risking waking anyone up, but the delicate nature of the moment - of their situation - almost feels like it requires him to whisper. As if being too loud would ruin everything, would burn whatever was left of the bridge connecting them.

A heavy silence falls between them as Brock frantically wracks his brain for a way to make José stay just a little bit longer. He knows that soon enough a nurse will come to check on him and make José move from his spot tucked into Brock’s side, and once there’s space between them again, Brock has no guarantee that José won’t just walk out of the hospital without so much as a glance back.

“I miss you,” he murmurs after a few more minutes of silence, earning himself a scrunched up look of confusion from José.

“I’m right here, what d’ya mean?” José’s voice is a little louder now, causing Brock to tense up a little. That’s a mistake though, because then José carefully untangles their legs and sits up. Fuck, he had to act quick.

“I miss being with you. I miss… I miss us,” Brock admits. There’s a moment where Brock is convinced that he’s overstepped, José not saying anything as his eyes dart to look down at the floor.

“I miss us too, B.” José lets out a soft sigh, his hands fidgeting in his lap the way they always do when he’s nervous. Brock hates being the cause of José’s nerves, hates it so much that he has to fight back the urge to place his hand on top of José’s out of fear of overstepping. “But it didn’t work. We didn’t work.”

“We could try again though. Take it slow this time?” So what if he sounds a little too hopeful, a little too desperate? So what if less than 24 hours ago Brock was anxious as hell to see José? Things were different now. The only thing making him anxious now was the thought of losing José again, of letting him slip through his fingers a second time. “We’ll make it work.”

“Do you really think -”

“I do.” Under normal circumstances, Brock isn’t the type to crawl back to exes. But this is José, the only person who had ever felt like home to him, the person he would always safe around. Maybe that was why he never felt like he could fully move on from José.

Before either of them is able to say another word, a nurse knocks on the door twice before stepping into the room, plastering on a sickly sweet smile as she glances between the two men. She tells them that Brock is free to go and tells José he shouldn’t be in Brock’s bed, then leaves the room just as abruptly as she entered.

There’s another moment of silence before either of them speak again, only this time it’s José who breaks the silence.

“Tell you what,” he starts, finally looking over at Brock. “Christmas parade’s goin’ on downtown, why don’t we go then we can figure us out?”

Brock can’t help the smile that takes over his face, hope surging through him. “I’d like that,” he agrees, nodding his head happily.

“Then get your ass up, I’m gonna get you some crutches or some shit so we can leave.”

The words bring a smile to Brock’s face, make him feel like he’s back on Cloud 9 for the first time in a while. The words don’t guarantee that things would be different this time around, don’t event promise that there would be a this time around , but they still leave Brock feeling oddly calm and hopeful, given the fact that he’s still in the hospital. Seeing the way that José smiles at him before stepping out of the room to track down a nurse seals the deal for him.

Now more than ever, Brock is grateful that he never removed José as his emergency contact.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #angst #fluff #hopeful ending #hurt/comfort #hy jinkx #athena2 #tw injury #tw hospitalization

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seungcheolsbodyharness · 5 years

Text

heart shaped: IV

wc: 6.3k

warnings: mild violence

summary: you and jihoon make your way to soyoung’s NYE party. everything is going just fine, until a pair of someones make a surprise, unwanted appearance.

genre: fake dating, angst

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5 || finale (in progress)

nine o’clock comes quicker than you anticipated.

you and jihoon had spent the last few hours huddled together in his studio while jihoon showed you how he did his job - producing, songwriting, a little bit of everything.

the smile on his face as he explained everything had been electric, drawing you in with every word and gesture. you tried your hardest to follow along, but jihoon spoke quickly when excited. it was obvious how much he loved his work.

nine o’clock rolls around with a timely text from soyoung, confirming your attendance since no one had heard from you or jihoon since lunchtime. you text her back to soothe her worry and apologize, saying that you and jihoon had been busy and you’d see her soon.

“guess we should get going.” you stand and stretch, muscles stiff from sitting too long. jihoon does the same, letting out a content little sigh. “do you normally sit for that long? it can’t be good for your back.”

he hums, rolling his shoulders. “i try not to, but…i have a tendency to get sucked into my work. i see a chiropractor pretty regularly, and i uh…stretch and go for a walk for food, usually.” he twists to one side and you hear a small ‘pop’ and does the same in the other direction. he gathers his things and you yours, and then he leads you out of the studio and back down the hallway.

“besides, seungcheol always comes down from upstairs and makes me get up and walk around with him so he can talk stuff out.” jihoon nods to the guard at the desk - dongsoo has left for the night, and the guard here looks much less friendly. but perhaps he’s just mad about working on new years eve.

“so you and seungcheol are close?” you ask as you enter the elevator. jihoon’s face pinches up like he’s thinking too hard, and you can’t help but laugh. “i just didn’t get to meet many of your friends at the carnival. and i already knew woomin, obviously.”

“seungcheol isn’t a baseball friend. actually, of my like…friends that i see regularly, none of them play baseball with me. which is probably for the best.” he steps out of the elevator when you come to a halt in the garage and leads the way towards the car. “i’ve known him a long, long time though. since high school. we were in choir together, actually.” without hesitating, jihoon opens your door before walking around the front of the car to the driver’s side.

you hop in and close the door as he does the same, starting the car. “so he works here with you? what does he do?”

“he’s a personal trainer for the idols and actors in the company.” he pulls the car out onto the street, joining the evening traffic. soyoung lives not too far from the city center, so even with traffic you’ve arrived pretty quick.

before you can go in, though, jihoon says, “uhhh,” which catches your attention, so you look at him expectantly. “so, i don’t really drink, so if you want to get like, you know, shit-faced, i’ll make sure you get home safe.”

your eyes go wide, thinking for a moment maybe he’s giving it up for your sake. “are you sure? i can contain myself.”

he waves you off, though. “i really, genuinely don’t drink that much so holding off isn’t a huge deal.” he shrugs and looks away, flicking an invisible piece of dust from the steering wheel. “and i think that, yknow, as your ‘boyfriend’, i should make sure that you’re safe.” he laughs nervously. “soyoung will kill me if i let anything bad happen to you.”

your face softens and you pat his arm gently. “yeah, i guess you’re right. sounds good. i’ll try to keep myself under control anyway.”

jihoon nods and gets out of the car, hustling around to your side to open your door. you step out and onto the slick ground, arm instinctively reaching for jihoon’s when your feet slide underneath you. he wraps an arm around your waist to steady you, and you blush softly, thanking him.

“don’t worry about it.” he replies. once you’re steady, he releases you and takes your hand in his own, the two of you walking side by side towards soyoung’s door.

jihoon doesn’t bother to knock, twisting the doorknob and walking straight inside instead. you follow him, announcing loudly to soyoung that you’d arrived. her head peeks out from the wall separating the kitchen from the living room and she smiles at the two of you, face already a little pink.

“hey lovebirds.” she coos as the two of you leave your coats and shoes at the door. “have a nice day together~?“

"yeah, nosy, we did.” you glance sidelong at jihoon and smile softly, which he returns. you lead the way to the living room- hands now rejoined having shed your layers - where a number of people have already gathered, drinks in hand. most of them you recognize, some of them you don’t, but jihoon seems to be familiar with the faces you are not, so you assume you’ll get to know them eventually.

you and jihoon snag a spot on the giant beanbag soyoung has pulled out from the computer room, ending up somewhat snuggled together - jihoon leans back against the wall, one leg pulled up beneath him, one arm wrapped around your back and his hand nestled gently on your waist. the two of you manage to seamlessly join the conversation, and being with jihoon like this feels comfortable. feels easy, even pressed up together like you are. once again, you think about how glad you are the two of you came together like this, how you seemed to find each other right when you really, really needed it. if you had to do something like this with anyone, it feels right that it’s jihoon.

you’re pulled from your thoughts when jihoon leans in towards you, saying, “hey, do you want something to drink? i’m gonna get a coke."

you nod, asking him for a cup of whatever concoction soyoung has brewed up, and he nods back as he pulls himself up off the beanbag to make his way into the kitchen. more people pour in through the door while he’s gone, and you follow along with the story soonyoung - a childhood friend of woomin and jihoon’s who you’ve met before - is telling about finding his boyfriend face down in a pile of snow first thing that morning, laughing when soonyoung reveals that he’d gone out there, drunk, crying about frosty the snowman. jihoon comes back to you, balancing your drink, his drink, and a plate of snacks that he sets down on the beanbag between you after handing you your drink.

sometime later, after nearly everyone has arrived, someone (likely seungcheol, who you’ve been properly introduced to now) suggests playing a drinking game. you’re excited to play, actually, considering your confidence in your ability to follow things along even intoxicated. jihoon also seems excited, and when you question his thrill he tells you it’s always fun to watch people get really shitfaced and make fools of themselves.

"you won’t let me make a fool of myself, will you baby?” you ask, pouting up at him. he flushes and laughs, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“no, baby, of course i won’t.” he says softly, sipping at his drink.

“are you going to play too?” you ask. he raises his eyebrows, shrugs.

“i mean, i’m not drinking, so…no?” you pout at him, more dramatically, and he turns away from you. “what? don’t give me that face.”

“you can play with your soda.” you whine. “i want you to play, hoonie. please?”

“yeah, hoonie.” comes a chorus of voices. jihoon turns a glare at seungcheol, soonyoung, and hoseok in turn, who are all laughing together at the kitchen counter. “play with us!” seungcheol whines, and jihoon’s jaw tenses. you reach out to him, about to tell him not to worry about it when he sighs.

“fine.” he looks back at you, pointedly ignoring the cheers coming from his friends. “i’ll play along for you, baby.”

you smile at him, bright, grabbing his arm and squeezing. “good!!! it’s going to be fun, just you wait.”

the game, it turns out, is truth or dare. there is a mixed chorus of groans and cheers, but you all settle into a circle as best as you can in the living room, everyone with either a fresh drink or one at the ready. it is quickly decided that the game will be played with an app from soyoung’s phone - spinning a bottle seems almost too juvenile.

the first few rounds pass quickly - you and jihoon both manage to escape the randomizer’s grasp while some others aren’t so lucky. sohee - seungcheol’s girlfriend - has somehow managed to be picked three times, two of which she’d chosen to drink instead of answering the “truth”s that she’d been asked.

it’s on the seventh - maybe eighth? - go-round that soyoung laughs heartily and calls out your name. your eyes go wide, and you nod, and turn slowly to face soonyoung, whose smile is too wide for your liking.

“truth or dare?” he asks, eyes slowly flitting between you and jihoon.

“truth.” you respond quickly, clutching nervously to the rim of your cup. you can feel jihoon’s hand at your back, thumb rubbing idly back and forth.

“what is something about jihoon that you like better than your ex?”

jihoon’s hand freezes on your back and soyoung squawks something about how “that’s not cool, soonie,” but you respond before anyone can kick up too much of a fuss.

“he doesn’t make me second-guess how he feels about me. with my ex i was always…yeah. i know where jihoon and i stand.” you take a sip of your drink to have something to do, but you feel good about your answer. soonyoung seems pleased as well, and the game continues. jihoon’s hand resumes its idle motion at your back.

he takes a sip from his drink as he watches the game, staying mostly quiet except to quip or laugh at something someone else says. every now and then he leans over to check in on you, whispering “doin’ okay?” and waiting patiently for you to nod.

the game continues and as people drink more, the dares and the questions grow more ridiculous and scandalous. seungcheol gets dared to stand outside in just his shirt and underwear for a full minute, soyoung confesses that before meeting woomin she had never thought she’d settle down and love one person forever. you laugh when she says that, because you know for a fact that it’s true. before woomin, soyoung had insisted she would never be tied down, no man would ever come between her and her goals. hoseok gets dared to call the person he wants to sleep with the most, and with a chorus of hollering in the background, he steps into the kitchen to make the call.

he steps back out a few minutes later, cheeks tinged pink from more than just alcohol and a big grin on his face.

“i’ll see you guys later.” he says, bringing the bottles and cups he’d used into the kitchen. “i have someone special waiting for me.”

jeers follow him to the door, shouts of “use protection!” and “get it!” among other things until the front door closes behind him.

the group erupts into gossip, people wondering who he could have called, shouting out names of possibilities.

jihoon stands and goes into the kitchen for a new drink and brings one back for you as well, setting it down next to his feet for whenever you were ready for it. he leans over close to you, turning his face away from the rest of the group to whisper, “they’re all wrong. he met someone at the gym last week that he’s been losing it over ever since. he’s gonna be embarrassed by this story later, that he only got the courage to call on a drunk dare.” he pulls back and laughs under his breath, and you giggle too. “it’s a secret for some reason though, so don’t tell anyone.”

you nod, solemn, and jihoon laughs again.

everyone settles down and soyoung starts the game back up.

the thing with drinking games is that no one ever drinks only when their turn comes - people sip absentmindedly from the drinks in their hands, getting drunker along with everyone else, and because of that everyone in the room - save for jihoon - was already well on the way to being smashed.

11:30

the game breaks a couple more times, and when it comes back together now, soonyoung’s face is pinched and geared towards jihoon, eyes full of suspicion.

“how come - hic - this whole time, hoon hasn’t - hic - gone yet? m’gon ask somethin’ real good.”

soyoung squints and scrolls through the app on her phone, mouth drawing into a tiny ‘o’. “i forgot!!!!” she cries. “i didn’ put him on the - the list.”

around you, everyone groans and complains and jihoon tenses beside you. slowly, you look up at him and see his brows drawn and his mouth in a tight line. “hoonie?” you whisper. he looks down at you and blinks, smiling reassuringly after wiping the annoyance from his face.

“i’m fine, baby.” he says.

“jihoon has to answer three because he hasn’t gone!” seungcheol demands, lifting his beer into the air dramatically. jihoon rolls his eyes as everyone seems to agree.

“fine. go ahead, drunkards.” he puts his hands out as if to say “do your worst.” you hope for his sake that they don’t, but soonyoung and seungcheol look much too pleased.

“truth or dare, hoon.” seungcheol takes it upon himself to nab one of the three questions.

“truth.”

“what,” seungcheol starts, is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

jihoon sighs and rolls his eyes. “finding out minji cheated on me through social media. from someone else.” his tone is cold and distant and he finishes the though with a sip of his coke. “what’s next?”

seokmin - an actor friend from jihoon and seungcheol’s company - shoots his hand into the air. “truth or dare!” jihoon looks at him with something resembling fondness and responds this time with dare. something bubbles in your stomach, nerves maybe, but jihoon seems unworried. “i dare you to look into your girlfriend’s eyes for a full minute and say something romantic.”

a few boos sound out at this, but there is also laughter, and jihoon huffs out a sigh as he thinks about it.

“fine.” he decides. “someone get a timer.”

someone announces that they’re on it, and jihoon turns his body to face you straight on. his cheeks are the slightest bit flushed, almost as if he’d been drinking, but you know better. whoever has the timer says “start!” and jihoon’s eyes meet yours.

you’re not sure what you’re feeling. you’ve had quite a bit to drink, and your head was already feeling fuzzy before you found yourself staring into the eyes of your fake-beloved. but now, seeing the warmth there, you feel your body heat up and your heart pound faster. he says nothing, not yet, but he smiles at you softly and you smile back, muscles moving on automatic.

whoever’s holding the timer announces, “30 seconds left!”

jihoon’s heart feels like it’s going to hammer out of his chest - he wonders if anyone else can hear it. of course seokmin would think up a dare so sweet, and soft, and jihoon knew better than to take a drink in the face of a challenge so seemingly easy. it wasn’t a secret that jihoon wasn’t the most romantic- not in the loud, typical ways, anyway. the ones society deemed more important. looking directly into your eyes spurs a number of thoughts in his head, but he isn’t sure how safe it is to say them out loud.

“10 seconds!”

jihoon takes a deep breath and lets it out. he blinks a few times, bites his lip. “i’m so happy that i met you.” he says softly. “i hope this - this thing we have - works out in all the ways we want it to.”

you smile at him, fond. the timer goes off and people start to complain that his words weren’t enough, but you turn to them sharply and say that it meant a lot to you.

“and i’m his girlfriend, so my opinion is the one that matters.”

jihoon reaches out and squeezes your hand before settling himself back against the edge of the beanbag, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“who’s next?” he asks. his eyes flit over to soonyoung, who seems lost in thought. sober, that’s usually not a good sign. but drunk and in the middle of a game of truth or dare makes jihoon nervous.

“truth or dare?” soonyoung asks. jihoon takes his time before deciding, considering soonyoung with a heavy look.

“truth.” he decides, eyes narrowed, hand clenching around the drink he held.

soonyoung smiles, more of a smirk, and jihoon’s stomach sinks. “tell us, jihoon.” he drums his fingers together, pausing surely for effect. “if you had to pick between one month into your last relationship, or the one you have now, which one would you say has been better so far?”

jaws around the room drop, and jihoon nearly crushes the can in his hand.

soonyoung’s eyes pop, and you’re not looking but you’re sure the look jihoon is giving him isn’t pleasant.

seungcheol starts to speak up, but soonyoung is already backtracking. “nevermind it was a bad idea, i’ll -”

“now.”

soonyoung’s mouth hangs open, surprised. a chorus of “huh?” makes its way around the room and back to jihoon, whose jaw is set and cheeks are red.

“now. i would pick what i have now over anything with minji. it doesn’t matter how good things were before, she ruined that.” jihoon stands abruptly, walking towards the front door. as quickly as you can on unsteady legs, you stand yourself and follow him. he pulls his coat on and says nothing until you do.

“are you leaving?” you ask quietly. despite what you’d said earlier, you suddenly feel very unsure of yourself.

jihoon looks up at you, almost as if he hadn’t noticed you there. “no - no, i just…need to step outside for a minute. i wouldn’t leave without you.”

you nod slowly and reach for your own coat, your scarf and shoes. jihoon protests, if only mildly, but you ignore them and lead the way outside.

11:45

you and jihoon stand outside together in silence, leaning against his car.

it’s you that breaks it.

“she really hurt you, huh.” it’s less of a question and more of an observation. jihoon hums in response, but you hadn’t expected much more than that. “i’m really sorry, hoonie.”

jihoon hums again, then lets out a short bark of laughter. “the only one who should be sorry is my ex. and yours, i’m assuming.”

you sigh. “haejoon is the last thing i want to think about right now.”

jihoon nods. “right, right - sorry.”

the silence returns, and you play with a loose string on your glove.

“i wasn’t - i would pick our fake relationship anyway.” jihoon says suddenly. “i know i made it sound like it was only because she cheated on me, but really, what you and i have is way better. even if it’s…fake.” there’s something in the way he says in that has your heart clenching, but you’re not sure what.

the icy weather has done well to sober you up, but you’re still definitely drunk. too drunk try and parse out what jihoon might or might not mean.

“we should kiss.” you say, eyes trained on that damn loose string. jihoon makes a choking noise beside you. “at midnight, i mean. the other couples definitely will.”

jihoon stares at you for a few moments before he says anything. it seems he, too, is trying to decide if it’s worth it to find any deeper meaning in your words. “are you sure?” is what he goes with, instead.

“yeah, i think we’ll get too much shit if we don’t.” jihoon reaches out and plucks the loose string off clean, laying it in your palm. “thanks.”

“if you really think we should…” jihoon says softly.

“if you’re worried i’m just….dunno, drunk, i’ve been thinking about this for a while. just…forgot.” you shrug.

jihoon’s chest caves in. you’ve been thinking about kissing him? he clenches and unclenches his fists, urging himself not to look too deep. it makes sense. these things needed consideration for your ruse to really fool anyone. of course you’d thought about it, it was a logical thing to do. nothing more.

“okay.” he says. “sounds like a plan.”

“cool.” you return. “glad we’re on the same page.” you shiver, lips trembling, and suggest going back inside. “do you feel better now, hoonie?”

he nods. “yeah, yeah i do. thanks for coming out here with me.”

you nod back and reach out, taking his hand in yours.

11:55

once returning inside, soonyoung plies jihoon with apologies, reaching out with attempts at hugs that jihoon maneuvers himself away from. the beanbag has been taken over by two people you don’t recognize, locked in a heated kiss, so you manage to squeeze onto an empty spot on the couch. there’s only room for one of you, really, so you end up in jihoon’s lap.

soyoung has turned the tv to the channel homing the ball drop, a counter at the bottom of the screen detailing only three minutes left now until the end of the year. you hold your drink in your hand, other arm wrapped around jihoon’s shoulders for stability.

11: 59

the final countdown begins.

the thirty second mark sparks a cheer amongst the crowd in soyoung’s living room.

you toss back as much of your drink as you can handle. the closer you get to kissing jihoon the tighter your stomach and chest begin to feel. it’s almost worse that the feelings aren’t bad, necessarily. you almost welcome them.

you take another swig.

ten seconds left.

nine.

eight.

seven.

six.

five.

four.

three.

two.

one.

around you, the room erupts into cheers as music starts playing, fireworks to be heard from out on the street.

your heart pounds in your ears, and you turn to face jihoon. he looks calm, and it calms the restless beating. you lean down as he tilts his head up, and you press your lips softly to his.

you’re not sure why you were so worried about this kiss. kissing jihoon, much like every other part of your fake relationship, feels fine. feels good, even. you might almost say it feels natural, but you’re drunk so you don’t dwell on it too much. the kiss is soft, and sweet, and reminds you a lot of first kisses you’ve had in the past. jihoon’s lips move gently against yours, and you respond in kind. the cheers from the rest of the party continue as you pull away from him. you laugh, and he laughs too, bright sounds bubbling up from both of you as jihoon wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. soyoung and woomin are still going at it near the kitchen counter, and numerous other couples can be spotted doing the same as you glance around the room.

“jihoon.” you say softly, tugging at his arm, “i need to pee, let me up.”

“ah.” he releases you and helps you stand on wobbly legs so you can wade through the crowd towards the little hall where the bathroom is. a few jeers follow you, but you ignore them - the pressure in your bladder is much more important.

you finish and wash your hands, opening the door to, surprisingly, find jihoon waiting.

“do you have to pee too?” you ask. he has had a lot of soda to drink, to be fair.

“no, no.” he shakes his head. “i um -”

jihoon doesn’t get to finish what he wanted to say.

from the living room you can hear soyoung screaming obscenities, and alarm bells go off in your head immediately, rushing from the hall with jihoon at your heels to see what was wrong.

you immediately wish you’d just stayed in the hallway.

there, standing in the living room, is soyoung, held back by woomin who looks as if he’d much rather let her go. standing opposite your best friend is someone you thought you’d never see again. someone you’d spent so much time trying to move past after he’d made you question everything you’d ever done.

standing opposite soyoung is haejoon. your ex-boyfriend. who’s decided not only to crash soyoung’s party, but to bring his girlfriend with him.

“how fucking dare you,” soyoung is screaming, “what makes you think i would let you into my home after what you did?”

“that goes for you too, minji.” woomin seethes, eyes narrowed at haejoon’s girlfriend.

the aura of the room is filled with hate, and anger, but you’re just filled with unbelievable sadness.

then haejoon sees you, and he smirks. “well, fancy seeing you here.”

“i was invited.” you say meekly. you hate this, hate the way he makes you feel even after all this time. small and weak and unsure of yourself.

he shrugs. “well, the party we were at before was a bust, and soyoung has always thrown a good party, so i thought we would drop by.” the girl he’s with smiles, something full of spite and malice, her eyes narrowed at you.

“that’s your ex, babe?” she simpers. “no wonder you broke up with her.” she titters a ridiculous little laugh behind her hand, and haejoon chuckles before telling her to “behave.”

you feel like you’re going to throw up. soyoung looks like she’s ready to claw this girl’s eyes out - her name is already gone from your memory, she isn’t important, she’s not - and several of the men in the room have stood and are moving closer to haejoon. you don’t want things to get violent, not at all, but you do kind of wish someone would punch haejoon’s lights out.

and then jihoon is stepping out from behind you, making his way through the crowd until he’s standing face to face with haejoon. haejoon’s girlfriend is staring at him, eyes wide and face gone pale like she’s seen a ghost.

“so you’re haejoon.” jihoon’s voice is eerily calm and your heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest any moment.

haejoon nods, looking jihoon up and down. “and you are?”

jihoon’s eyes glance towards the girlfriend, who won’t meet his gaze. “i’m surprised she didn’t tell you.” he turns back to haejoon. “i’m minji’s ex-boyfriend. the one she cheated on to be with you. did she ever tell you that? that she had to lie and sneak and hurt people to go out with you?”

you feel like your world is going to explode. you need a drink. you need ten drinks. but jihoon doesn’t seem to be done.

haejoon scoffs.“she told me, yeah. right after she dumped you. by then you guys were over, so what does it matter to me?”

jihoon sees red. “you’re a piece of shit. both of you. you deserve each other.” his fists are clenching at either side and the whole room seems to be holding its breath.

“what’s your fucking problem, dude?” haejoon raises his eyebrows. “i didn’t do anything to you.”

jihoon considers this. his fists clench tighter. “no, i suppose not intentionally. you did, however, hurt someone very important to me.”

haejoon seems thrown off by that. and then his balance is thrown off when jihoon rears back and punches him straight in the jaw, knocking him back towards the wall.

“jihoon!” minji screeches. he ignores her and stalks towards haejoon.

“you both need to get out of here while i’m still being nice.” jihoon seethes. “you’re a piece of shit boyfriend and a piece of shit altogether, so i guess i’m glad you two found your way to each other. but,” he points back towards you, eyes locked with haejoon. “before you go, you owe my girlfriend a fucking apology for how you treated her.”

you start to tell jihoon that it’s fine, you’re fine, but he turns back towards you with determination in his eyes before turning back to haejoon.

“i’m waiting.”

haejoon is, by all means, much larger than jihoon. regardless of this, he’s always been a coward with only self-preservation to drive him, so he glances over jihoon’s shoulder at you and nods his head.

“i’m sorry.”

“that’s not good enough.” jihoon bites out.

“i’m sorry i was a shitty boyfriend, okay? i treated you bad and i was talking to other girls while we were dating and i should have broken up with you sooner.”

jihoon punches him again, right in the gut. ��that’s not a fucking apology, i ought to-” jihoon stops speaking when you let out a choked sob, and makes the choice to leave haejoon doubled over and instead move back towards you. woomin takes the opportunity to let soyoung go, and she rushes forward to grab haejoon by the ear and drag him towards the door. minji makes to follow, but you call out to her this time.

jihoon, much like everyone else in the room, looks surprised.

“you owe jihoon an apology too, you bitch. i know you never gave him one.”

she narrows her eyes at you and walks away, and now in addition to the unbridled sadness there is unimaginable rage boiling under your skin. you start to walk towards her but jihoon holds you back, wrapping his arms around you and whispering into your ear.

“it’s fine.” he murmurs. “i’m not worth that kind of trouble.”

you scoff before wrapping your arms up around his shoulders. “what, and i am?” you whisper back, laying your head in his neck.

“of course.”

you chuckle, but it ends up paving the way for a sob. you’re still reeling from everything that just happened, and seeing haejoon had been enough of a slap in the face before he’d opened his goddamned mouth and -

“sweetheart.” comes soyoung’s voice, soft. “why don’t you let jihoon take you home, okay?"

you turn your head to look at her, and she looks like she’s ready to cry herself. you hate that the party has turned out this way. you can’t help feeling like it was all your fault.

"i - i want to stay.” you reply. “i just - i need a few minutes.”

soyoung shakes her head. “i think after all that excitement it’s best we call it a night. go home, drink lots of water, and call me tomorrow, okay?”

behind her, woomin is rounding everyone up and herding them towards the door. no one seems upset, but you still feel awful. your lip wobbles and soyoung reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear.

you promise to call her and release your hold on jihoon, sniffling and rubbing at your nose. everyone else is gone now, you notice. jihoon takes you by the hand and brings you to the door, helping you back into your shoes and coat. now that everything is over, you just feel…numb. it’s probably shock, you think.

you say goodbye and once more promise soyoung you’ll call her, waving goodbye to woomin. jihoon does the same, and then you’re back out into the cold and heading for his car. he helps you up before getting in himself, and there’s only quiet between you other than the sound of the car engine turning over and music playing from the bluetooth. he pulls out of their driveway and onto the street, and it’s not until you’re out on the main road that he says anything.

“are you hungry?”

you look over at him, not really sure. you shrug. the two of you had eaten a light dinner, and there’d been food at the party, but you find yourself sort of…craving something, if only so you don’t have to talk.

“do you mind if we stop somewhere on the way - “

“i don’t want to go home, jihoon.” you say softly. “not - not right now. can we just - drive around for a while?”

jihoon blinks, caught off guard, but nods. “sure. then we should definitely eat something.”

you end up at a 7-11, which works just fine for you. jihoon peruses snacks and sandwiches while you bee-line for the liquor - desperate to distract yourself from the ache beginning to gnaw fiercely at your insides. you grab three bottles of soju - surprised that there are any left - and march up to the counter, handing over your id and your money, thanking the clerk before wandering back to jihoon. he has a few bags of chips and some instant ramen tucked into his arm, and when he sees your bag his brows draw together.

“i’m not trying to tell you what to do, but is that - are you sure that’s a good idea right now?” he asks, trying his best to show that he’s concerned, not bossy.

you sigh. “i wanted to drink more anyway. it’s - i would have drank more at the party.”

jihoon nods slowly. “if you’re going to drink, why don’t we go back to -”

“i don’t want to go home.”

“go back to my place,” he finishes. “i can take you home later.”

you sniffle and shrug your shoulders. “okay, i guess we can do that.”

“okay.” he nods, mostly to himself this time. “let me pay for this and we can go.”

once he’s done so, you get back into the car and open one of the bottles of soju. jihoon makes a face but doesn’t ask you to stop, so you take a deep gulp from it before replacing the cap and sliding the bottle into the cupholder. the drive is silent, this time. neither of you say anything until jihoon pulls into his own driveway, hopping out of the car and waiting for you to do the same before heading inside.

you settle onto the couch after shedding your layers at the door, and jihoon disappears into the kitchen only to show up a few minutes later holding two steaming bowls of ramen. he hands you one, and you’re surprised by the familiar container. “my favorite.”

he hums, sitting down beside you with his own. “you told me about it when we were at the carnival. do you want to watch a movie?”

you nod slowly, taking a small sip from your soju - now onto the second bottle, you were taking things slower. you let him pick, something from the mcu, but you’re not paying any attention. you can’t help it. you can’t stop thinking about the way haejoon had shown up after all this time and only made things worse, how could he have possibly made anything worse after the way he’d treated you? and to find out he’d cheated, too - you don’t notice the tears streaming down your face or the way your chest is heaving until jihoon has pulled you close to him, wiping your eyes with a tissue.

“please.” he whispers. “that piece of trash isn’t worth this.”

“it’s my fault, jihoon.” you sob. “something is wrong with me. why else - why else would he be like that towards me when he’s - he’s perfectly fine with her?” your entire body shakes as sobs wrack through your body, barely able to see jihoon through your tears.

“no.” jihoon insists, firm. “it’s not you, it’s him, he’s not worth a rotting piece of shit, he’s less than that, please just - there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“i made him stop loving me.” you whimper, chewing at your lip.

“someone like him isn’t capable of love.” jihoon pauses. “and he isn’t worthy of yours, either.”

you reach for the bottle of soju before jihoon can stop you, downing the rest of it. “i loved him so fucking much, hoonie.” fresh tears fill your eyes. “i loved him so much and he didn’t give a shit about me, and it hurts so much.”

“i know, baby.” jihoon whispers. “i know exactly how you feel.”

the nickname strikes you in a funny way, knowing there’s no one here for him to pretend for, but you take it. “i hate him so much.”

“good.” jihoon grabs a new tissue to wipe your face with. “he deserves all that and more. i should have - i wish i would have -” he lets out a frustrated noise and clenches his fists. you reach out and unfurl one of them to intertwine your fingers.

“thank you for what you did, jihoon.” you say softly, unable to look at him. “i’m sorry the party was ruined on my account.”

“stop that.” jihoon squeezes your hand. “it’s not your fault. it’s theirs, for showing up where they know they aren’t wanted. they knew something like that would happen. it’s what they wanted, i’m sure.”

“but -”

“no buts.” he insists. “eat your ramen.” he stands for a moment and walks back towards the kitchen, returning with a glass of water. “and drink this. your head is going to be pounding tomorrow.”

you take the glass from him and sip slowly as he sits back down on the couch, noticeably closer than he was before. he’s pressed up against you almost as if he’s trying to remind you that he’s there, if you need him.

you wonder if he knows how much it means to you.

#Seventeen #seventeen imagines #Lee Jihoon #seventeen woozi #woozi imagines #svt woozi #seventeen fanfic #woozi fanfic #seventeen jihoon #svt jihoon #lemon drop

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vegetacide · 5 years

Text

Whump●tober - Scars

Veg-notables: This one was hard for me to get through for some reason possibly something to do with my muse getting distracted by something shiny and skipping out of the friggen room while I was being berated by an angry person on the phone… GrRrRrrrR After which I poking at it for 2 days and I think I have poked it to death… Result = not 100% satisfied with it but if I look at it much more my brain may combust.. so here you go

This is an continuation of my vegetable Virgil story line,

Thanks @gumnut-logic for taking a look at this for me last night and your continued encouragement,

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Conversations and vague memories

Characters: Virg/Kayo and Scott

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous posts can be found HERE.

15. Scars

Enjoy…

oOo

Virgil blinked slowly as he resurfaced from the depths of slumber, his groggy mind coming back on line through the foggy vagueness of confusion and disuse.

His body felt stiff and oddly overused for some random reason that he couldn’t remember. Like he’d been on back to back missions and had over exerted himself but he couldn’t recollect the context and breadth of those rescues.

Fleeting images of flames and rubble hovered around the periphery but when he tried to latch on to them they skittered away like dust motes in the ethereal light of dawn streaming through a villa window.

As a throb of something in his temple made him grimace he gave up on the sluggy chase through his memories and shifted to his physical reality.

A steady beeping sound coming from nearby rang dully through his ears and as it counted its rhythm he noted that it seemed to be keeping pace with thump beneath his breastbone. His mind conjured up the image of a heart monitor, that with the stinging antiseptic quality to the air had him drawing the immediate conclusion of a medical facility but he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there.

The hard mattress under him and the feeling of rough sterile sheets further confirmed his findings along with the moderate pang of an IV catheter as it pulled at the crook of his arm and the itch caused by the medical tape keeping it in place.

Further assessing an oddness struck him , one side of him felt exceedingly warm and heavy while the other was slightly chilled.

Peeling gritty eyes open that he hadn’t consciously realized he had closed, he looked down. He couldn’t help the lazy smile that turned up the corner of his lips as soft, dark strands tickled his cheek and a sultry scent of living jasmine curled its way up his nose.

Kayo…

She was snuggled into his side, an arm slung sleepily across his midsection and her head tucked in tight to his chest. Her own chest rising and falling steadily with sleep, the limpness of her limbs suggesting she was buried deep within R.E.M and most likely not to rouse for a while.

Lifting his head took some effort, but he managed and lay a soft kiss on her crown, breathing deep and savouring her comforting fragrance.

With a little more effort, he stretched his arm across his body despite the IV line and oximeter on his finger and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, slipping it neatly behind her ear.

Energy spent, he let his head fall back on the thin pillow and his hand came to rest over hers on his chest. His fingers automatically threading between hers.

God, what the hell had happened to him? He felt like the world had steam rolled over him a few dozen times.

Flattened, deflated and utterly spent all under a heavy miasma of fog.

‘Breathing, just work on breathing for a moment,’ He told himself and did just that. Eyes flickered open and closed as exhaustion threatened to pull him under again.

A movement at the edge of his awareness forced him to focus and concentrate.

Long, legs where propped up and crossed at the ankles on the end of the bed. Shoes shucked off, socked toes twitching periodically.

Virgil’s gaze traveled along rumpled pants and a creased oxford to a crown of messy brown hair. The slumped form of Scott, hunkered awkwardly in one of the standard plastic chairs synonymous for hospitals the world over was just off to one side of the single occupant room that he highly suspected was the ICU by the array of equipment that cluttered its confines.

Concerned twitched at Virgil’s brow at seeing his brother so unkempt and unlike his usually put together self. He posture looked haggard, worn in a way that his years shouldn’t though Virgil knew those years hadn’t been the kindest to any of them with respect to what life had thrown at them repeatedly.

Scott too was sleeping, but his sleep was not the unhindered kind that Kayo was currently blessed with. He could make out the twitches of movement in the low light of the room and the dark line of his brother’s brow low brows spoke of a mind whirling with unpleasant imagery.

He’d caused this.

Scott always always wore his concerns for his siblings blatantly, the fine lines and greys where evidence of that and Virgil couldn’t help the pang of guilt for being the cause even if he couldn’t remember the how and why of it.

Not be able to bare his brother’s continued suffering, Virgil summoned what little energy he had and forced his leaden body to do his bidding. A shift of his foot and he nudged Scott’s.

The blaze of discomforted that seared through him had him holding back a gasp and Kayo stirred, her fist tightening on the bed linens and pulling at his hospital johnny which in turn snagged on the packing that apparently padded his side

Virgil cursed to himself for disturbing her, tensed and instantly regretting it as an ache intensified and spread like wildfire during dry season across his lower torso.

Ow…

A memory flashed as vision greyed. A burning building. The red flash of his baby brothers baldric. Black smoke and stifling heat.

What the..?

He recalled a door. A big, heavy mental door. A glimpse of inside, snippets of long metal benches, lab equipment, an odd wavering and then…nothing.

“Christ…” He hissed out softly and sank back into the bed, eyes clenched shut. His pressed his hand to his flank and drew a leg up in hopes of finding some relief from the burn of pissed off nerve endings that where currently screaming bloody murder at him.

A warm weight on his upraised knee and a soothing gliding through his hair had him squirting up thought bleary, watering eyes.

He was met by deep blue, filled with worry staring down at him as comforting, familiar fingers combed over his skull and a thumb brushed his creased brow.

“Hey, little brother. You in pain?”

“I moved.” God, his voice was like gravel

Scott smiled at that. “Well that’s an improvement from drooling all over your pillow.” He reached up, flicked something on the head board that Virgil didn’t have the energy to investigate.

Kay shifted at his side again. A long elegant stretch followed by a jaw cracking yawn and she was sitting up, the lovely spring green hue of her gaze scanning over him with worry.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Hey yourself.” She said and brushed a kiss over his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Virgil swallowed, his tongue felt like a block of lead in his mouth. He fought a moment to clear his throat and was thankful when Scott brought a cup of water to his lips.

A few sips and he eased back. “I’m okay,”

It was an answer that had Kayo head shifting towards Scott looking for confirmation one that would most likely not be his favour

“That was Virgilese for I hurt too much but it takes too much effort to say otherwise so…’I’m okay.’ ”Scott translated.

“You’re a horrible liar, you know that right?” Kay said, turning back to Virgil with an eye roll as she fussed with his sheets.

Scott chuckled at the exchange knowing well the frustration of dealing with the engineer. “Kay, I paged the nurse but you think you could hurry them along a bit?"

Kayo gave a nod, slipped from the bed. “Sure thing, I’ll be right back soon.” Her hand lingered on Virgil’s arm a moment ““Maybe I’ll check in on Grandma too and leave the two of you to your own devices for a bit. She said she wanted to know when he was awake.”

“Might as well, Grandma has been driving the staff up the wall with questions. It’s best to distract her until after the nurse finishes up in here.

Kayo go Virgil’s shoulder a soft squeeze, a loving glare of exasperation and she was gone.

Scott grinned, his head shaking as he settled a cheek on the edge of the bed. “You got your hands full there, little brother.”

“Ugh.” Was the only response Virgil could come up with, his lids starting to feel heavy so he let them close.

“What the hell happened?” He winced as he tried to ease the burn that lingered by shifting position.

Scott wandered across the room, pulled a pillow out from a small supply closet, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Virgil furrowed his brow, tried to peel back the thick fog over his memories. The answer coming slowly and in spurts.

“Chemical plant.”

Scott nodded as he came back over, raised the sheet at the end of the bed. “Globalmax Chemicals. Lift your legs.” The transition from information to command was seamless

Virgil shook his head as he tried to comply but the effort of tightening of his abs to accomplish the task only added fuel to the banking fire in his gut. Scott frowned and stepped in to assist, sliding a hand under his calves and settling the pillow beneath his knees to ease the pull on his abdomen.

“What else?”

“There was a fire, Alan was with me…” There was a question in his statement that Scott caught on to right away..

He looked up as he tugged the blankets back into place and reached up to adjust the bed angle. “He’s okay, shaken up but in one piece. You saved his life though he might want to thump you for it. Something about him having body armor.”

Virgil rubbed tiredly at his brow as the bed shifted beneath him, sighed as the pain eased off a bit.

“Better?”

He nodded. “There was an undocumented fire room. Massive blast doors but it was near the storage vats… door wouldn’t open..but then it did..”

Scott’s eyes grew dark, something unpleasant flashing across them that Virgil would have missed had he not known his brother as well as he did. “Scott..?”

Just then a redheaded nurse pranced into the room.

8-8-8

Scott turned as the nurse flounced through the door.

Oh great… Nurse Ratchet was back on duty…oh joy. He rolled his eyes as she perked up at seeing him, thrust her double D’s out and checked her tightly bound hair as she made her way across the room to Virgil’s bedside.

Scott shuddered when her eyes racked up his body like he was a top sirloin steak waiting to be eaten.

It was a good thing Kayo was still out of the room or the laser beam war would start again and Scott was pretty sure he was done refereeing that fun show.

Kayo had nearly throttled the woman earlier and had Scott not seen all the signs and stepped between the two there would have been bloodshed…high point, at least they were in a hospital. Scott was pretty sure though that modern medicine wasn’t advanced enough to put back together the mess that Kayo was capable of making when she put her mind to it.

Eyeing the nurse dubiously, Scott went over to the other side of the room out of the way of the top heavy, rather abrupt nurse and took up residence at his brother’s side.

Nurse Ratchet did the standard check of vitals, pulse, blood pressure, temperature before moving to checking pupil dilation and jotted it all down on his chart.

“How are you feeling today Mr Tracy?” She asked without looking up from the chart.

“Mr. Tracy is my father,” Virgil replied giving his neck a roll

Scott reached up and helped adjust his pillow and his brother gave him a small smile in thanks, lids drooping. He was flagging and Scott hoped this was over with fast.

“Any pain, My Tracy?” The nurse obviously deciding his last comment was irrelevant.

“A little.”

Scott cleared his throat, the nurse looked his way and he amended. “You can take that as a ‘Yes’”.

A raised brow at the clarification and she made a note on the chart. “I see.”

Putting the chart down she folded back the covers, “I need to check your wound, clean it and change the dressing, perhaps your brother could wait outside.”

It wasn’t a question but Virgil shook his head. “I don’t mind.”

“Very well,” and like that she pulled up his hospital johnny to uncover his gauze covered side.

Virgil squeaked at the suddenness of the exposure to his person and Scott being ever alert to his brother’s modesty adjusted the sheets enough to hide Virgil’s dignity.

Scott’s temper flared. “Really, a little bedside manner would be nice.”

The nurse just tutted. “I’ve seen everything already, no point in hiding it now.”

The comment only made Virgil turn a darker shade of red and Scott scowled but he withheld saying anything else for fear his temper would get the better of him.

The nurse had a brutal personality but she was highly skilled and from what Scott had seen very proficient at her job even if she was a bit too rough for his liking. Virgil deserved the best treatment and Nurse Ratchet or whatever she was called, was it.

Biting his tongue he put a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder and watched as the nurse from somewhere South of Hell pulled back the edges of the gauze to inspected the jagged line of stitches underneath.

A soft curse came from Virgil as gloved hands probed the tender area and his eyes closed.

“Ouch…”

Scott leaned a bit closer to inspect the damage himself and held back his own grimace at the angry red flesh. “Looks better than it did” He supplied.

“Good to know” Came a pained response through clenched teeth.

The synth-skin mesh that had been grafted over the injury was doing its job of holding things together along with sutures but it wasn’t in the prettiest of stages. The team of Doctors had been forced to remove some necrotic flesh around the jagged slice as the infection had progressed to prevent further harm to his sibling’s already battered immune system.

A few additional trips under the knife would be needed in the coming weeks to implant more grafting but it was a start. There would be a scar for sure and no amount of surgery would ever be able to fully erase it existence. The mark would serve as a constant reminder of what their chosen profession had nearly cost them all.

It wouldn’t be his brother’s first one and would most likely not be the last but Scott figured it would have a lasting effect on his family as a whole for some time to come.

They’d all be marred in one way or another by what had occurred and like any scar it would take some time to dull but it would still be there. A distant memory that all one had to do was look in the mirror to see and remember.

A hiss from Virgil dragged Scott out of his head and back to what was going on in the room.

“I know it stings but try not to tense up too much, the musculature beneath sustained some damage as well and clenching up is only going to exacerbate the discomfort despite the pain blocker and numbing salve.”

“No…shit…”

“Now Mr Tracy, no need for such foul language. I’m almost done.”

A grunted reply from Virgil and a short while later, the nurse was snapping off her gloves and tossing them in a biological waste bin. Her beady eyes turned to Scott. “Visiting hours haven’t officially started yet but they don’t seem to apply to your family… I suggest you let him sleep and try not to agitate him too much. He’s immune response is still compromised with the infection and things can easily go from good to bad in his current state so he requires rest.”

The warning shot had been fired and Scott had received the message loud and clear. “Gotcha” He said as the nurse flounced back out of the room.

“…fuck me.. I’m already agitated.” Virgil grumbled as the door swung closet.

Scott chuckled at that and helped Virgil settle again. “Well, she is scary as hell and I am pretty sure that your girlfriend might take a hit out on her by the end of all this but Nurse Ratchet does know her stuff.”

A pained snort, “Coming from the guy that didn’t just have to go through that… your words aren’t worth much.. And really? Ratchet?.”

A smile split Scott’s face. God, he had missed this easy back and forth they shared. He shrugged, “It seemed appropriate..”

Scott crossed mental fingers and hoped, prayed that he wouldn’t ever lose this camaraderie if all the dark things ever came to light.

“You have no idea what her name is do you?”

Scott faked a thoughtful look and gave up with a nonchalant shake of his head. “Not a clue…”

“No wonder she’s brutal…” A yawn split his brother’s face.

“That is a possible cause, sorry about that.” Scott rolled back on the heels of his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets as quiet descended in the room.

Virgil’s eyes drifted closet.

“I think Nurse Ratchet has a thing for you.”

Scott gaped, “You did not just go there..”

“I think I did.” A smiled turned up Virgil’s lips though he didn’t bother opening his eyes.

“Remind me why you’re my best friend again?”

“Cause your only other options are the Terrible Two,” He didn’t elaborate further than that as if just mention Gordon and Alan was answer enough, “John on the other hand is way too smart for you to have an intelligent conversation without leaving you in the dust with a brain hemorrhage…that and you can’t play chess worth beans..”

“I can too play chess.”

An eye cracked open and looked at him with skepticism.

“Oh shut up and go back to sleep” Scott grumbled and crossed the room to slump into a chair.

“Stop sulking. You know I’m right.” The voice was teasing and very, very tired.

“Shh..”

oOo

Next post can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

#whumptober2019 #whumptober #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanfic #no.15 #scars #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Kayo Kyrano #virgil/kayo #poked this one to death #had to post #scars come in all sizes #some are invisible #made him sulk

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