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#even quite catch on that it involved that contempt until like months later. not Just a friendlily ribbing nickname ;0
sxvxrxssnape · 3 years
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minerva mcgonagall’s personal mission to make severus love christmas part 5
aka snolidays/snapemas day 11 and 12 (hot chocolate, baking) // pre-PS/the years between. minerva and severus friendship // content warning: panic attack and mentions of lily potter. i feel like this should be considered a snapetober entry oops. word count: 4287  @blog4snape
The night ended with more hot chocolate as the five stood together and watched a choreography of lights move above the pond, creating elves loading a sack full of gifts onto the outline of a waiting sleigh, watched it become glowing reindeer pulling it off the ground, rising in height and getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared and the light show began again. 
It felt like magic and he refused to believe none was involved. 
He fell asleep fully clothed that night, contentment and milk chocolate running through his veins as he begrudgingly made another mark on the imaginary scorecard. 
Minerva was definitely winning.
Saturday was spent finishing the potions for the infirmary, bottling and stoppering the dozens of phials, and methodically scrubbing the cauldrons clean as he read from a book hovering above the wash basin, the pages turning with a flick of his head. 
He dropped the potions off at the hospital wing, secretly pleased that Poppy was far too busy with a floo call to a student’s parents to bother giving him more than a thankful nod and a wave of her hand. He didn’t mind their conversations, but when three students were laid up sick on starched cots, Severus preferred to be as far away from the infestation as possible. 
He spent the night reading, a cup of tea in hand, the soft glow of candlelight nearby to illuminate the words of one of the books he had picked up from Diagon Alley. 
Sunday morning found him sprawled out on the couch in his living quarters, fully dressed once again, with the candles snuffed and the book astray, the teacup still nestled between a cushion and his thigh. 
He spent the day holed up in his office with a correcting quill, the stack of essays he kept putting off, and no less than four packets of crisps. It was dinnertime by the time he finished reading all the scrolls of parchment, his fingers cramping and eyes bleary. He had the beginning of a headache forming, but the grading was nearly caught up on. 
The remainder were short-answer questions, at least.
He wasn’t sure he could sit through another stack of eighteen inch essays for at least another month.
Perhaps two. 
The crisps had made him nauseous, so rather than attending dinner in the Great Hall, he flooed into the staff lounge and helped himself to his precious french press that had been left behind. As the coffee grounds soaked, he glanced around the room and took in the stockings.
There were some new additions.
There were his and Minerva’s - white, cable-knitted with fur trim, bearing their names embroidered in black thread - but also a bright blue with Filius’ initials, a pastel-pink made from crushed velvet with Pomona’s name spelled out in tiny yellow flowers, a black with silver snowflakes bearing Aurora’s family crest, and a neon orange war crime that could only belong to the headmaster. 
All of them had candy canes peeking out. 
There was a tree in the corner now - a tall, proud-looking noble fir - looking like an oversized houseplant when it was devoid of lights and decorations. He finished making his coffee and sat down at the round table, eyeing it carefully.
The rest of the castle was still surprisingly devoid of holiday decorations, but if this tree had already arrived, it was only a matter of time before the rest of it started creeping in. Soon enough, the place would look like a tinsel factory had exploded inside of it and the number of trees within the castle walls would put the Forbidden Forest to shame. 
He scowled at the thought. 
Later, he realized he had spoken too soon. 
Monday morning brought a fresh shower of snowflakes, a drop in temperature, and about thirty-six douglas firs into the Great Hall. These were already decked out with lights, ribbon, and colorful baubles. Some of the trees had clearly chosen sides, cheerily standing tall with the weight of red and gold ornaments, while others were laden with green and silver, blue and bronze, or gold and black. 
Garland clung to the old brick, neatly tied with red ribbon and perfect pinecones, spaced out above the portraits and high, arched windows. 
He didn’t want to think about the rest of the castle. 
There was white chocolate peppermint tea waiting for him at the staff table, so he conceded that not everything that morning was absolutely terrible. 
Tuesday was a bad potions day.
Not for him as a brewer, of course, but as a professor. 
By the time both his classes ended, eight different cauldrons had either melted, exploded, or absolutely disintegrated without a trace. He lost a full jar of moonstones because one student had decided to bring the entire fucking container to her table rather than count them out beforehand like he had advised, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from breaking down right in front of the class of sixth years. 
He had collected those moonstones himself, wandering the Forbidden Forest all fucking night, with only a lantern to light the way. They were supposed to last him at least another two months before he would need to venture out again - and the last time he had gone out, he’d nearly sprained his ankle on an upturned root and gotten a tree branch to the fucking face. 
Tuesday evening found him four drinks in, asking the house elves to please bring him some hot, salty chips from a local shop, and when the darling little elf returned with the newspaper cone, he babbled stupidly for two solid minutes from gratitude alone. 
Wednesday was a headache, a blur of back-to-back classes, a lot of frustrated yelling at completely inept students, a full pot of that wonderful white chocolate peppermint tea, and a sudden decision to not assign any more homework for the rest of the year.
Not because the awful little slimeballs deserved a break, but because he did. 
The elves made mushroom and wild rice soup for dinner, alongside everything else they always made, and Severus took more comfort than usual in the hot meal. 
Wednesday night was his turn to patrol the castle, so he stayed up half the night wandering the empty corridors. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he entered the Astronomy Tower, groaning as he realized Aurora was still there, carefully packing away her supplies post-lesson. 
“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t glad to see me.”
“Believe me when I say I’m not.” Severus returned, stepping to the edge and looking over the grounds. Most of it was cloaked by shadows, but the silver light from the moon was still enough to softly make out the silhouettes of the greenhouses and Hagrid’s little hut. “What, no comment on how I’m out past my bedtime?”
Aurora laughed, putting a bronze telescope back into its case and fiddling with the straps. “Not this time, no.” She glanced up at him and warned: “But don’t you ever make me miss out on family dinner again or you will regret it.” 
Thursday morning he slept in. 
He barely had enough time to pull on his teaching robes and run fingers through his hair before he had to hightail it to his classroom, frazzled and out of breath. He hadn’t had time to prepare the chalkboard the day before, and was quickly writing out the recipe in his messy scrawl, when the seventh years started filtering in.
“Alright, you’re going to need number three pewter cauldrons today,” he called out over his shoulder, finishing the last line of script. “Fill them with two liters of room temperature water and put your burners on low. Today we’re going to be brewing a more complex -”
“Professor?” 
He scowled at the interruption. “What is it, Mr. Greenwood.” 
“I think your robe might be inside out.”
He blinked and tried not to let his face flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, now as I was saying -” he continued awkwardly, shrugging out of his robe and flipping the sleeves inside out. 
“Your shirt buttons are fucked up too.” 
“Language!” he scolded, swallowing down the sharp coil of emotion building at the back of his throat. “And do not speak to me like that.”
“Hey, you’re the one walking in here, unprepared, with your clothes all fucked.” Greenwood muttered. “Just what were you up to before class, sir?” he grinned, his comment eliciting a few chuckles.
“Detention, Greenwood.”
“Now, wait a second!” the boy faltered.
“Do you wish to make it two?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he raised an eyebrow in questioning contempt. “Because we can surely arrange that.”
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
He finished the lesson on autopilot, quickly fixing the buttons on his shirt in the supply closet, fingers shaking nervously as he muttered angrily to himself. He shrugged back into his robes, double-checking they weren’t inside out again, and downed a calming draught on a whim - the shiny light blue bottle catching his eye from its place on the shelf - before returning to his desk. 
He made sure to scowl at each of them in turn and surprisingly enough, not another student made an unwarranted comment about his appearance, his teaching, or even each other. It kept him from reaching for another calming draught when he felt its effects lifting. 
Friday found him having a panic attack.
Then again, if no one opened the door to the broom closet he had squandered in, if no one came face-to-face with his crouched down, fingers tangled in his hair, not-quite-yet-out-of-breath, full body trembling self, could anyone really prove he was having an anxiety attack?
He’d barely made it through his second class and had dismissed the second years twenty minutes early, sans homework - and oh, Merlin, they were going to think he'd gone soft - before attempting to return to his personal quarters.
It didn’t quite work out as planned. 
His knees had felt shaky and he’d felt as if something were gripping at his throat, pressing down on his lungs, and he had to sit down and ground himself before he had a full-on breakdown in the middle of the corridor. He’d found himself stumbling, as he hid behind the closest doorway, the tidal wave of unchecked emotions too much.
His resolve was breaking.
He tried to focus on his Occlumency shields, tried to push back the unfiltered pain and fear he refused to think about - could not think about - because if he did, he was afraid he would never be able to function again. He was afraid he would break.
The dam was already broken though and now, now the rest of it felt inevitable. 
Now he was simply gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall, sitting on the floor of a dusty broom closet, bathed in the dull yellow light that flared whenever it sensed movement, like some sort of spotlight - a beacon honing in on him, existing solely to put his downfall on display. 
Far too many thoughts were flitting around his head, crashing into each other and making it difficult to tell them apart, to pinpoint just what had been the trigger, the reason behind his weakness - because surely, that’s what this was right now: weakness.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he tried his best to muffle his ragged gasps, hand curled into a fist and pressed into his mouth, teeth sinking into the pale flesh, threatening to break through from the force he was using, so desperate he was to not make a sound. 
It didn’t work.
The footsteps paused, their owner faltering. 
Voices were speaking from the other side, hushed and mumbled, and with another stroke of panic, Severus realized they belonged to more than one. Students, most likely, and he curled tighter into himself, vehemently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 
“Are you okay?” a hesitant voice traveled through the aged wood. 
He didn’t answer, but he figured his breaths were answer enough.
“Are you having a panic attack?” a different voice called out, sounding just as unsure as the first. “It sounds like you’re really struggling.”
“Do you need help?”
“They probably can’t answer, dummy.” a third voice spoke up, but this one wasn’t addressing him. They were all familiar, but his brain wasn’t letting him process anything to fruition. “Hey, if you can hear us knock on the door.”
He considered ignoring them, but in the end he knocked.
“Good!” the first voice praised. “Alright, knock if we were right about the panic attack.”
Again, he knocked. 
“Do you want help?” the second student asked. “I’ve helped my share of students through these.” He suddenly recognized Casper Jenkin’s voice, one of his seventh year Slytherin prefects. 
He groaned; as if this situation could get any worse. 
“I’m gonna take that as a no.” Oliver Greenwood’s voice muttered, so apparently yes, it could get worse. He was stumbled upon by his own snakes - and his disrespecting seventh years, at that. 
“Do you want us to get someone?” Allison Bone, the original speaker, questioned. “Madam Pomfrey or your Head of House? If you’re all the way down here, you’re probably a Slytherin, huh?”
He choked out a laugh at that. 
“Laughing!” Bone approved. “Laughing is good! That means you’re getting control of your breathing. The worst part of it is over now.” 
“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Jenkin told him, and the doorknob started turning. “It’s probably pretty cramped in there - definitely won’t help.”
“Don’t!” he let out, just as the door opened and he found himself blinking up at his snakes, the three of them blinking down at him, equally dumbfounded, and he wanted to scream at whatever joke of a higher being had shifted the cards enough to lead him here. 
“Oh!”
“Professor Snape?!”
He lifted a shaky hand to his face, brushing back disheveled locks of hair. “Get out.” he whispered, low and angry, not caring about the semantics that it technically didn’t apply. 
“Are you sure you don’t need -” Bone started, then faltered at the growing expression on his face. “Right, we’re leaving.” 
Greenwood eyed him a second longer than his companions, but rather than the teasing glint he usually held whenever addressing him in class, he wore something softer. “Sorry.” he mouthed, genuine concern flickering for a brief moment before he also left. 
He put his head in his hands and started laughing, softly at first, but when it became an ugly sob, he fought to regain his composure, nails digging into his scalp. 
He managed a deep breath, wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe, and hurried to his personal quarters. He was moving on autopilot now, slipping out of his teaching robes and into a jumper, grabbing a bit of floo powder and calling out a quiet, “may I come through?” when the flames turned a brilliant green. 
He stepped into Minerva’s quarters, bypassing her concerned look and collapsed onto the old couch, pointedly ignoring her as he stared at the vaulted ceiling. 
“Severus?”
“Panic attack.” he mumbled.
He remained silent after that, listening to the rustling of parchment and paper, the soft scribbling of a quill nib making its way across the page. For a few minutes, that was the only sound, until suddenly Minerva stood up and opened up the floo. Hushed voices followed, then silence, and he finally sat up when he heard the distinct pop of a house elf apparating into the room. 
Dorset, one of the school elves most identifiable by his height, was balancing a tray on one hand and a heavy-looking box on the other. He placed both on the kitchen table, nodded at the two, and apparated away.
“What’s this?” Severus asked, his voice gravelly and tired, as he stood up and approached the table. 
The box was filled with an assortment of items - butter, eggs, icing sugar, flour, and the like. He could see a bag full of dirigible plums sitting right on top and he smiled despite himself. The tray was holding two ceramic mugs, their contents hidden by the mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon they were topped with. 
“Sit down with me.” Minerva said simply, picking up the tray and bringing it to the couch. She sat down at one end, placing the cups on the coffee table, and waited. When he sat down, facing her, she handed him a warm mug. “I asked for hot chocolate.” she told him, eyeing him carefully. “Specifically the gingerbread one we had last week.”
“I liked that one.” Severus mumbled, staring down at his cup.
“I know.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, sipping on their hot chocolate, and Severus could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away as it was replaced by warm comfort. 
“You look awful.” she finally spoke up.
He smiled ruefully, but it felt more like a grimace. “I appreciate the honesty.”
“Have you noticed, how every time you experience feelings of distress, someone always tends to interrupt before we can talk?” she asked, watching him. “I think we’ve been putting it off long enough, don’t you think?”
“No.”
“We never got to talk about Yaxley.”
“We didn’t need to.”
“We also never finished our conversation about how you ask for my company whenever you venture out of the castle.”
Severus gripped his mug tightly. “You said enough.”
“You still flinch when people touch you.”
“Can you blame me?”
Minerva paused, studying him in a way that left him feeling exposed. “They’re all connected.”
He kept silent.
Her next words were unexpected. “What about Lily?”
“What about her?” he growled out, anger taking hold and manifesting into shaking hands. He swallowed down the bile he could feel rising, the taste of milk and chocolate suddenly acrid on his tongue.
“You never talk about her.”
“That’s because I don’t have anything to say about her!” Severus finally yelled, nearly dropping his mug. He set it on the coffee table and balled his hands into fists, refusing to break eye contact with the professor before him. “Lily died four years ago, but she stopped being my friend long before that! Do you want to talk about the guilt I carry, knowing it was my fault she died? Because no amount of talking, nothing I do will ever be enough to make up for the fact that I killed my best friend! And I hate myself for that, but Merlin, do I hate her too.”
“Do you?”
“Yes!” he burst out, the words he could never dare himself to say aloud now slipping off his tongue without trouble. “She was my best friend and then she sided with them, with him, after what he did to me! And that’s when I knew she was never really my friend! She saw what he - what he did,” he was starting to gasp for air again, “and she still, she - he -” 
He focused on steadying his breathing, arms wrapped around his torso. 
“I don’t.” Severus finally amended, in such a soft voice he wasn’t sure it even carried. “I want to hate her so much - and I am so angry at her, angrier than I’ve ever been at anyone - but I don’t hate her. I can’t. Maybe I wasn’t her friend, in the end, but I know she was mine. I lost so many people in the war, but she’s the one who hurts the most, so no, I don’t want to talk about Lily.”
Minerva hummed. “You sort of already did.”
He scowled.
“Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”
Some of his anger fizzled out as he finished the drink. When they were done, Minerva stood up and started pulling out the contents of the box, lining them up on the counter. He joined her, watching as she leafed through a cookbook he hadn’t noticed. 
“We’re going to do some holiday baking now.”
“Are we?”
“If you’re not going to talk to me about what led to all this,” she gestured in his general direction, “then we’re going to bake some things for the staff party tomorrow.”
He nodded, sighing. “Where do you want me?”
They spent a few minutes in stilted silence, as he washed the bag of dirigible plums and cooked them down into a sauce, stirring in ground cardamom and honey. Meanwhile, Minerva whisked double cream and cornstarch with vanilla sugar and salt, the pot resting over low flames. He added the plum sauce and smiled as it came together and turned into the warm orange color he remembered. 
“What next?” he inquired, after the thickened mix had been poured into a mold and tucked away in the cold cupboard. 
“Biscuits?”
The sugar dough came together easily enough, pale yellow and perfectly smooth, and as they sprinkled flour over the table to roll it out, Severus started fiddling with the holiday cutters. 
“I can hear you thinking.” Minerva spoke up a few minutes later, dusting her hands off on a clean towel. She reached for a tree-shaped cutter and started pressing it into the dough. “Are you ready to talk now?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Sure you don’t.”
They finished cutting out all their shapes, moved their biscuits into the oven, and cleaned off the kitchen table. Minerva was opening small jars of sprinkles while Severus whisked together icing sugar and egg whites. He focused on dividing the royal icing into small bowls, adding droplets of colored dye and stirring carefully as if they were a temperamental potion, when he finally broached the earlier subject: “They are all connected.”
“Pardon?”
He didn’t look up, merely repeated himself. “They’re all connected.”
Minerva pulled the baking tray out of the oven and cast a cooling charm before bringing the perfectly baked biscuits to the table. Severus picked one up and absentmindedly broke it into pieces. He shared it with Min and picked up another biscuit, carefully dipping this one into the bowl of red icing and shaking off the excess. 
He reached for the star sprinkles. “I try not to think about any of it.”
“You’ll have to, eventually.”
He thought about the broom closet. “I know.”
Minerva dipped a star biscuit into the bowl of yellow icing and handed it over to Severus, who immediately covered it with three different colors of sprinkles. They worked in tandem for a few minutes, dipping and sprinkling all their biscuits, and eventually a spoon was introduced to their project and Severus found himself drizzling thin stripes across some of them.
“I’m giving this one a Dreadful.” Minerva decided, picking up what was supposed to be an ornament, originally dipped in white icing, but then covered with uneven globs of blue. 
“Fair enough.” Severus shrugged, levitating the dirty dishes and moving them to the wash basin, spelling the water on. He picked up a candy cane-shape that had been rolled in yellow and violet sprinkles and then drizzled with green. “This one, however, is deserving of a Troll.”
Minerva spelled the dishes to wash themselves and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Severus, you decorated that one.”
“I’m aware.”
The yule log cake was a little more time consuming to make. He sat down at the table and watched Minerva separate eggs and whisk the whites with sugar until it foamed.
“It would be faster if you spelled the whisk.” Severus offered.
“We tried that once.” Minerva laughed, not slowing down. “It worked great at first, but all of a sudden, the whisk was flinging meringue all over the room.”
“How delightful.”
Meringue was light and shiny and the brightest white he could imagine. Min filled a piping bag with the foam and showed him how to pipe little mushroom tops on the baking paper. When he took the bag from her, he was surprised to find it bore no weight.
“Do you not know how to hold a piping bag?”
“Evidently not.” he grumbled, looking at his hand and the fluff of meringue that had spilled out of the bag and over his hand. 
“You’re supposed to hold the end closed, you numpty.”
“Numpty?” Severus muttered under his breath.
“Elphinstone always did the same thing.” Minerva shook her head, fixing the bag and finishing the job. “No matter how many times I corrected him, that man couldn’t hold it right. Always went off about how he’s the ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Min, I don’t need piping meringue mushrooms in my skill set.” She took in a shaky breath and set down the bag. “See? Perfect.”
“Min-”
“Don’t just stand there, Severus.” she scolded, thrusting the cookbook in his hands. “Get to work measuring the dry ingredients. You can make the cake while I make the frostings.” 
He started sifting flour and cocoa powder. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”
“Of course I know that.” she humphed, putting the tray in the oven and spelling the dishes clean. She unwrapped a stick of butter and stared at him. “Do you know that?”
“Minerva, I only met your husband twice.” he deadpanned.
She flicked a bit of icing sugar at him. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not the one repressing all my emotions and pretending they don’t exist until I can’t stave off the impending panic attack and end up crashing in my colleague's quarters because of it.” 
“Fine, you win this one.” he muttered. “You are the pinnacle of mental health, professor.” 
“Excellent.” Minerva grinned, but her smile seemed a little bitter. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to me now?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Numpty.” she repeated. 
---- a/n: i was in the mood for angst tm also the ending feels a little rushed but it is 3am rip. im not gonna finish this series by christmas but my goal is new years. time exists in a vacuum anyway and is not real. ps. let me know what you think pls!! it gives me all the seratonin
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fortitude-sakura · 6 years
Text
Noir [2/?]
Oh hey. They finally meet.
Rating: M
Tags: Corporate AU
AO3
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She had hoped to see the dark haired stranger again. However among all her coffee runs, she never saw him again.
A few weeks later and 2 months into her first intern rotation, her Team Leader approaches her desk.
“Hey Sakura, there’s a meeting with all the other team leads for the Hyperia 2 project. I’m supposed to take you with me.” he says, rather bluntly, as if it were a huge inconvenience to him. “As part of the intern program.”
“Sure. Is there anything I need to prepare for it?” she asks, grabbing her notebook and pen.
“Nah, you’re just there to observe or something.”
With that, he shuffles back into his office (probably to play Solitaire on his computer or look up motorcycles as Sakura had caught him doing on multiple occasions).
He didn’t even tell me when the meeting is. Sakura realised. Rolling her eyes, she finds the calendar item on the team calendar.
This afternoon? Way to give me a heads up.
She still hadn’t finished the scope work for one of the tickets she was working on and she also had a dozen tickets in her triage queue. Technically sorting through the triage was the duty of the Team Leader but she noticed that he had a propensity to ‘delegate’ those duties to her. In fact, if there was anything he could delegate, he would.
At first she was happy to accept more responsibility, but in doing so she had opened a floodgate of other delegated duties on top of those coffee runs every few hours. However she wouldn’t back down from the challenge. It would make for a compelling case for Uchiha Enterprises to keep her on as a full time employee.
She’s called to do one last coffee run before the meeting and walks with her Team Leader towards the meeting room. By the time they arrive at the meeting room, she could see all the other interns there already and she knows they were the last ones there. The Head of Talent Acquisition, Hatake Kakashi is also there, standing in the corner reading something.
She received some side eye glances from her fellow interns (however only Toshiro maintained a smug, self assured smirk on his face) and joins them quietly at the back of the room while her Team Lead took a seat at the table.
“Now that we’re all here. Let’s start.” a baritone voice says from the head of the table.
Sakura looks up from her notebook and her eyes widen with recognition.
The guy from Milk Grind!
“Before we begin - interns, this is Uchiha Sasuke, Director of Uchiha Enterprises and his executive assistant, Toshiba Keiko.” said Kakashi. Keiko gives them a quick wave without looking up from her laptop.
Sakura felt her face grow hot with the realisation that she had been checking out her boss’ boss. She thanked her lucky stars that he hadn’t spared her a glance that day, with all that ogling she was doing. That would have made for something awkward if he had called her out.
Uchiha Sasuke was so much more than the handsome stranger from Milk Grind. He was calm and collected, listening intently to all the Team Leads and making his own comments and observations. There was no pussyfooting around - his comments were sharp and could almost be considered rude with the tone of voice he was using but they were all valid points to make.
He never seemed to smile, even if the ideas presented were good, he would simply acknowledge it with a nod and a curt “Okay.”.  
After all the ideas were pitched, Director Uchiha leans back in his seat, arms folded across his broad chest, a frown maring his handsome face.
“All of these ideas are good, but they don’t solve the problem of our clients leaving us while the development of Hyperia 2 is underway.”
Tension hung thick in the air. The Team Leads were at a loss. The meeting was to propose solutions in order to prevent clients from not renewing their licence to Hyperia. They had been working on Hyperia 2, it’s successor but troubles in development meant that deadlines had to be pushed back. Hyperia was outdated by current standards and a few clients had opted not to renew their licence as there were other software solutions that were more modern. At least, that’s what Sakura had gathered from the reports she had read.
“Anyone?”
She looks over at her fellow interns, who were all staring at each other blankly.
Sakura did have an idea but it was more like the application of theory they fed you in university than an actual workable solution. Nonetheless, it wouldn’t hurt right? It made sense in theory.
“Um,” she says, her voice catching in her dry throat. “User involvement.”
No one moves.
Director Uchiha raises an eyebrow.
Oh god oh god oh god. That’s it. I’m totally done. I’m going to get the ‘know your place’ lecture. I’m toast  Burnt toast.
“Go on.” he says quietly, inviting her to explain further.
“Well in the interim we could dedicate a team to provide ongoing support for our users as well as develop some new features for Hyperia.”
“You mean Hyperia 2?” asks one Team Lead.
“No. For the original Hyperia. We conduct user tests to gauge what our users like and dislike about Hyperia and what features they’d think would be valuable. We can conduct user acceptance testing and those new features can then be incorporated into Hyperia 2 which might make the transition easier.” she says slowly. “We buy ourselves time and also appeal to our users directly. They get perceived value because we’re listening to what they want which gives them an incentive to stay with us. We could also offer them opportunities to beta test Hyperia 2 because they would have the best idea of how a user wants to utilise the software.”
“You sound like you’re reciting a textbook.” Director Uchiha says.
The interns and Team Leads at the table snicker. She felt her face go red and her eyes burn.
“But.”
Silence fell over the room in an instant. Even Keiko stopped typing (or from what Sakura could tell from the reflection of the window she’s sitting in front of, browsing for shoes).
“It was a good idea.”
She looks up to see him smirk. Her heart feels like it wants to leap out of her chest with pride.
“What’s your name?”
“Haruno Sakura.”
“Who’s your Team Lead?”
“That’d be me.” her Team Lead says gruffly.
The Director narrows his eyes and if she isn’t mistaken, there’s a hint of contempt. “Keiko, did you write that down?”
“Huh? That part with user acceptance testing and Hyperia? Yeah.” she says. Keiko had gotten so bored during the meeting that she was slouching in her chair.
Director Uchiha shoots her a look before giving a subtle eye roll. “Alright, that should be it for now.”
They all file out of the room, separating as they head back to their own offices. Her Team Lead is really taking his own sweet time getting his papers in order. She decides to wait around for him outside the meeting room - it was the polite thing to do, right?
When he finally comes out of the meeting room, his hand finds her elbow.
“Come here.” her Team Lead growls at her as his grip tightens rather painfully. Sakura is marched over around the corner into the lobby. .
“I know what you’re trying to do you, you conniving little bitch.” he snaps.
“What?” Sakura asks, feeling both perplexed and angry by the sudden insult.
“You should have shared that  little idea of yours with me before the meeting. What did you expect to achieve by humiliating me?”
“Nothing! It was just something I thought of in the moment. I didn’t even know what the meeting was about until it started.” Sakura says, trying to keep her voice as even as she possibly can. It’s hard considering her Team Lead’s grip on her elbow is painfully hard now. She tries pulling away but it only makes him hold on tighter.
“Don’t forget, I’m the one who writes your intern review.” he snarls, finally letting go. “Now go get me some coffee.”
“Keiko, go write up the minutes of that meeting and find out which organizations that use Hyperia would be best for user testing.” Sasuke says as the Team Leads and interns head out of the meeting room. Keiko nods and leaves.
“Hmm, and to think we almost didn’t hire her.” Kakashi muses quietly.
“That intern?” Sasuke asks, immediately interested. “With the pink hair?”
She had been quite an interesting intern indeed. Not once in a meeting did an intern ever speak up - they were all either too scared to contribute or their heads were filled with cotton candy and not much else. He also doesn’t remember any other intern with such shockingly pink hair either. The dress code was business professional and having hair that colour was certainly not part of the dress code.
“Yes, and before you ask, yes apparently her hair is naturally pink. She even sent us baby pictures to prove it.” Kakashi says chuckling as they turned the corner towards the elevator lobby. “They’re quite adorable.”
Suddenly, Sasuke’s arm flies out and hits him in the chest.
Sasuke hears hushed, harsh whispers from the elevator lobby. It’s undeniably the intern and her useless Team Lead.
“You should have shared that  little idea of yours with me before the meeting. What did you expect to achieve my humiliating me?”
“Nothing! It was just something I thought of in the moment. I didn’t even know what the meeting was about until it started.”
“Don’t forget, I’m the one who writes your intern review. Now go get me some coffee.”
They listen for the tell tale elevator ‘Ding!’, the shuffle of feet and the closing of the elevator door.
“Get me a file on her.”
“Sure, I can get Takaya to email you her personnel file.”
“No, I want you to compile a dossier.”
Kakashi raises an eyebrow. Never once in his time at Uchiha Enterprises has Sasuke ever asked him to compile a dossier. Sure, he had once worked as a private investigator (searching for cheating spouses and the like) and it’s what compelled Uchiha Itachi to hire him (aside from his friendship with Namikaze Minato who was familiar with the Uchihas), however Sasuke had never once asked him to utilize this set of skills.
A few days later, Kakashi puts a manila folder on his desk.
“There’s not a lot to her.” Kakashi says, pulling out a book - Icha Icha Paradise.
“Seriously?” Sasuke gives him a withering look. Kakashi was fairly shameless about his love affair with the Icha Icha erotic novel series and would openly read everywhere - in restaurants, in meetings, right in front of his employer. According to Kakashi, Jiraiya is a genius writer.
“I want to finish the good part before I have to check up on Ponyu.” Kakashi shrugs.
Sasuke wants to point out that he had read that particular Icha Icha novel already (Kakashi also likes to re-read). Annoyingly enough as well, Kakashi also made a special agreement with Itachi that he could take off early to care for his rescue dogs and work from home instead. Kakashi has been taking more time off than usual because his newest rescue, a goofy dalmatian called Ponzu, was a bit of a handful.
His intercom buzzes and he hears Keiko clear her throat.
“Uzumaki Naruto wants to know if you’re still on for lunch.”
“Why on earth did you hire Keiko?” Sasuke snaps at Kakashi.
“A lesson in patience, my dear Sasuke.” Kakashi’s eyes twinkle in amusement and Sasuke knows that he’s smiling underneath that facemask he likes to wear so much.
Sasuke glances at his watch -  “Yeah, tell the dobe I’ll be at the usual place at 12:30pm.”
Foolishly, he brings the file out to lunch with him with the intention of looking through it after.
He sees his best friend outside the ramen bar, his loosed orange tie standing out.
“Oi, teme!” Naruto calls out as he spots him on the street. “Whatcha got there?”
Sasuke decides to sidestep the topic - not that he’s trying to hide anything from Naruto but he’d rather not have to endure Naruto’s idiotic looks.
It’s not a very kind thing to say about your best friend but it’s because Naruto is his best friend that he feels at liberty to think these things. (Although you’d never hear Sasuke admit that without Naruto, his life would be rather dull and sometimes the dobe’s idiot tendencies can be endearing).
“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
Their usual haunt is a ramen bar - Ichiraku’s. It’s a hidden gem of a place in one of the side alleys of the city. There’s barely any room to swing a cat but it serves the best ramen and Naruto is one of Ichiraku’s best customers. They even named a menu item after him - tonkotsu ramen with all the toppings and an extra serving of meat, otherwise known as the Naruto special.
“So, are you going home for Itachi’s birthday?” Naruto asks between large slurps.
“Yeah, I’d never hear the end of it from Izumi or Shisui if I didn’t.” he replies, taking another big mouthful of ramen. While he didn’t share the same kind of intense affection for ramen that Naruto does, he could certainly appreciate how good Ichiraku makes it.
“Oooooh. Who’s this? She’s kinda cute.” Naruto said. Sasuke had been so busy savouring his lunch that he hadn’t noticed Naruto reach for the manila folder he brought out.
“What the fuck? Hey!” Sasuke snatches the folder out of Naruto’s hands. “Need I remind you that you’re engaged?”
Naruto laughs. “Oh yeah I forgot to ask you but you’ll be my best man at the wedding right? I just assumed but Hina-chan told me to make sure.”
Sasuke rolls his eyes at Naruto. “I’d be offended if I wasn’t, usuratonkachi.”  
“Alright good.”
He heads to Milk Grind before returning to the office. He comes down when he can because of Keiko’s inability to remember is damn coffee order (which is weird considering Keiko wasn’t stupid by any means. He suspects she does it on purpose just to piss him off).
He finds an armchair in the corner and finally goes through the dossier Kakashi had compiled for him.
There are some baby pictures - indeed proving that Haruno Sakura was born with this abnormal strawberry milk coloured hair. He learns that she had graduated from Konoha University and attended with a scholarship. Clever girl. The only other employment she had before the internship was at Lucky Sevens - a small diner near the university. Independent girl. She lived in an apartment in a rather shady area of Konoha with a roommate - Tenten Wu. Most likely due to the lack of finances and how cheap the rent is. Aside from the academic transcripts, there really wasn’t a whole lot more to Haruno Sakura.
There were also some notes from when Sakura was being interviewed for the internship. She had answered the questions reasonably well and she was a well qualified candidate. Scribbled at the bottom on the notes there was the word ‘Hair?!’.
“Hey Sakura! What is this, your third run today?”
His ears perk up at the sound of her name being mentioned. Sure enough, at the counter was the pink-haired intern.
“Yeah, I have to go drop off his dry cleaning too.” she complains, “I still haven’t finished all the work he gave me yet either.”
“Man, he’s running you like a slave.”
“Tell me about it. I just hope whoever I have to work under next is better. Anyway, see you later!”
He frowns. Why the hell are interns running around like personal assistants?
He pulls out his phone and sends a text to Kakashi.
I want you find Keiko another position.
Where?
Anywhere. Wherever she wants. Put Haruno Sakura on as my EA when the interns change teams.
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mosylufanfic · 7 years
Text
Reading Faces
So obviously I saw the promo pics. And obviously I had some Feelings. Luckily this was perfect for Season 4 Day of Killervibe weekend.
Reading Faces
When Caitlin walked in the staff door, the afternoon bartender was in the stock room, pulling down a case of Dos Equis for the cooler out front. "Hey," Allie said, glancing up. "You've got an admirer out front.”
“You’d think after what happened when he groped my ass, jean-jacket guy would steer clear,” Caitlin said absently, clocking in.
“Not jean-jacket guy. Long-haired dude at the end of the bar. He came in half an hour ago asking for you."
Caitlin frowned at her. They had pretty strict rules about telling people their schedules, because that was how a female bartender got stalkers. She wasn’t in the mood to scare someone off today. "You didn't tell him I'd be here, did you?"
Allie shrugged. "I said maybe you'd be around later, and he said he'd wait." She flipped a bar towel over her shoulder. “Do me a favor would you? Don’t break his pinky. He tips real good.”
Of course he did.
She walked out to the front of house and spotted Cisco right away, perched on a stool at the end of the bar, nursing a beer. A bowl that had held bar mix sat empty in front of him.
She stood in the shadows a moment, soaking him in. His hair was longer, falling in curls to his shoulders. He didn’t have any visible bruises, and he sat on the stool easily, without any stiffness that might indicate he was in pain from the epic throwdown on the docks a few nights ago.
(She'd really just seen it mentioned in passing, online, browsing her phone during her break. She wasn't keeping tabs on them. She wasn't.)
He looked - older. Not in a bad way. More certain of himself, more certain of his place in the world.
With a pang, she wondered if all he’d ever needed was for her to leave.
He looked up and his gaze unerringly found her.
She felt pinned to the floor, sick with dread. His face, usually so expressive, was a calm mask of nothingness. He didn't look happy or sad or angry or . . . anything, really.
But he'd come here.
He tilted his glass. “Hey there. I could use a refill.”
She stalked across the back of the bar, her boots sticking to the floor in a few spots. Allie must have spilled again. “You got a tab?” she asked - the first words she'd said to him since let me go, under a tree in a cemetery, six months ago.
“Yep.”
She pulled another beer - Tecate, she knew without asking - and plonked it in front of him, then turned to the register to add the drink to his tab.
“Great service here,” he commented. “So warm and friendly.”
He probably hadn’t meant warm in that way - probably. But all the same, it jabbed at something in her chest. She turned to him and crossed her arms. “What do you want?”
“Hi,” he said. “How are you doing? Oh, just fine. Thanks for asking.”
“You’re here to drag me back.”
“Maybe I came by to catch up with an old friend.” He looked her up and down. “You got a new look. It’s . . . interesting.”
She snorted. “You’re here to drag me back because it’s what you do. After Ronnie died, you came to my apartment with your whole sob story about Wells and the coma guy, and how much they needed a doctor. After the singularity, you came to Mercury Labs with your weird drained ID card story. You even tried to drag me back - “ She bit her own tongue, hard, and felt blood flood her mouth.
From the look on his face, he knew what she was stopping herself from saying.
Her memories of her time as Killer Frost were foggy. Mostly she remembered how free she'd felt. She'd been loose, wild, unshackled from the chains of caring about anyone or anything.
And a small, hideous part of her missed it even now.
Clearer memories surfaced sometimes, with a sound or a smell. She remembered attacking her friends. She remembered taking Iris (who she thought was Iris) to be murdered. She remembered HR dying.
She wished she could erase all of it. Wipe it away, wipe Killer Frost away, wipe Caitlin Snow away. She wished she could be a person who’d never known or hurt any of them.
But she remembered Cisco. His face when she'd attacked them in the pipeline before escaping Star Labs like she should have done years ago. His face when he'd faced her down in Tracy Brand's lab. His face when she'd said she never loved any of them. Devastated, longing, disbelieving.
His face when he’d thrown the cure at her feet, that last night in the forest. That time, his expression had been different. Sometimes she thought it had been anger. Sometimes, she thought it had been contempt.
(A relationship can survive anything but contempt, she’d read once, and the words gnawed at her now, like the eagle gnawing at Prometheus's vitals.)
He swirled his beer in the glass. A little sploshed over onto his hand. “It's been six months since you walked away from Star Labs," he said to his hand as he wiped it clean with a bar napkin. "I’ve left you alone like you asked.”
She grabbed the empty bowl in front of him and dumped the crumbs into the trash before pouring it full of bar mix again. She slapped it down. "And now you're back. Let me guess. Barry needs help."
His eyes flickered, and she nodded, moving down the bar to refill more of the bowls. Allie had a bad tendency to let them get empty by the end of her shift, because she knew it was one of the first things Caitlin did. "It's always Barry first, isn't it? Your word is good only so long as Barry's not involved."
"No," he said. "I know what you think, and I’m not having that fight right now."
"He hung up his cowl after Savitar, didn't he? Turned over the mantle of protector to you and Kid Flash?" You're doing a good job, she wanted to say, and didn't. "What does he need now?"
Cisco poked at the bar mix, picking out several of the little honey-flavored twists. "He went into the speed force the night of H.R.s funeral. To protect us all."
The plastic of the bar mix canister crumpled briefly under her fingers.
Oh, god, Iris.
Maybe she should -
What was she thinking? She was the last person Iris would want commiseration from right now.
"Of course," she said, carefully loosening her grip. "Of course he did. That sounds just like him." She made herself set the canister down and screw the lid on, even though she hadn't filled all the bowls yet.
She leaned against the bar, staring across the room at the light-up beer ad with the naked pinup girl. Once upon a time, she would have fought to get it taken down. Now, it was wallpaper.
Barry had been in the Speed Force all this time and she hadn't known.
Slowly, as if the words were wrenched out of him, Cisco said, “We need Barry back because Vibe and Kid Flash aren't doing it, okay? We're holding this city together with string, and it's fraying faster by the day. Central City needs the Flash, and you can help us get him back."
When she didn't say anything, he snapped, "Last time I checked, this was your home, too.”
She snapped back, “And don’t you think I've done enough damage to it?” To you?
“We need you,” he said. “Just help us this one time.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Poor baby, all alone in your turtle shell, and here’s mean old me trying to get you back out into the world again. God, I’m a monster.”
“No you’re not,” she said. “I am. Remember?”
His face contorted with a mix of emotions, too much and too fast for her to parse out.
He didn’t contradict her.
She turned away. “Drink your beer and get out."
At the other end of the bar, someone hailed her. She went and took an order for a round of shots. The vodka they wanted was at the end of the bar near Cisco. She set up the tray and poured them out, avoiding his gaze.
He waited until she'd delivered the tray and was wiping down the bar to say, “So you’re not coming back?”
“I can’t imagine anyone's a fan of the idea," she said, scrubbing at the gummy splotch just under the soda gun. It dripped no matter what anybody did about it. "Did you bring backup? Did you tell anybody where you were going? What if I turned you into a popsicle?”
He ignored that. "So you'd rather stay here working a shitty job and looking like an extra from Coyote Ugly?"
She slid him a dark look. Clearly, he'd never dressed for tips. It was amazing how fast your high-minded ideals about sexualization and objectification eroded when you had to make rent. "For a guy who runs around in head-to-toe leather as much as you do, I don’t see how you have anything to say about my new look.”
"You're not denying it's a shitty job."
"This is about all I’m qualified to do."
"You're a literal doctor."
"I was never board-certified, remember? I never had any business treating any of you." Maybe it would have been better if she never had.
“Still, this gig is like the anti-Caitlin. You're serving assholes and working crazy hours. Are you punishing yourself?”
"I'm used to working crazy hours, and this place offered me a job with very little experience.”
And she’d gotten knocked down several more pegs, learning how to do it. She’d thought she was all the way down at the bottom but she’d found deeper, somehow.
"You could have gone back to Mercury Labs."
"I quit Mercury Labs, remember?” For you, she didn’t say. Because you came with your puppy eyes and your tantalizing mystery and I couldn’t resist and you knew it.
“Like they wouldn’t take you back."
"My life and my choices are none of your business."
He stood up. He hadn't touched his refilled drink. “I left you alone because you asked me to,” he said. “Like I did all the other times.”
She slapped the washcloth onto the bar and spun to face him. “Until Barry needed help. Like all the other times.”
“No. Until I had a good enough reason to come see you.”
Their eyes held. It was too dim in here to read the expression in his. Or maybe she didn’t want to.
He said, “Tell me to leave you alone.”
She opened her mouth. The words snarled her tongue.
He waited ten seconds, thirty, a minute. Then his shoulders and his mouth softened. Relief? She didn’t know. “You know where to find us,” he said.
“I won’t.”
“Sure,” he said, turning to go.
“Cisco,” she said.
He turned around.
“You need to close out your tab.”
“Oh,” he said, his exit ruined.
She avoided his eyes while she printed out his receipt.
She could have covered it, actually, but he was here for another few seconds as he took it from her and pulled a pen out of his pocket. She stared at the one long curl that fell out from behind his ear as he bent his head to sign the receipt.
I do miss Star Labs. I miss being part of something. I miss being in your life. I miss being your friend. I miss you.
She didn't say any of that. Instead, she said, awkwardly, “How - How’s it going with Cindy?”
His head popped up. Surprise flickered across his face. “How do you know about that?”
“She showed up from another dimension to rescue you when I tried to kill you,” she said very evenly. “And she's been in Central City a few times since then. Helping out. I figured there had to be something there.”
“It’s going okay,” he said after a long moment. “Good, actually. Long distance is hard, but I think we’re making it work.”
Months ago, before Killer Frost, she would have asked another question or two, and they would have ended up talking it out for hours. But she didn't have that right anymore. “Good,” she said instead.
He handed the receipt back, took a five out of his wallet, and tucked it in the tip jar. This early on a Tuesday evening, it was the biggest denomination in there. She immediately resolved to give it to Allie.
She didn’t watch him go. She could at least tell herself that.
For the rest of her shift, she pulled drinks and rang up tabs, filled bowls of bar mix and fended off come-ons, and pored over every moment, every blink, every twist of his mouth.
It was only as she was walking home early in the morning that she thought of the one expression she hadn’t seen on his face -
Contempt.
FINIS
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