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#i just noticed so much fuzz in these might have to re do them oh lord
angelnicknelson · 2 years
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heartstopper + my inbox [part 2]
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The Dark Team (part 6)
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“What did you fuck up?”, you heard Loki’s sharp whisper through the earbud, while you frantically searched through papers and papers and some more papers.
“I didn’t fuck up. I have the guy. I have information”, cleared Bucky. “Hey, DON’T MOVE”, he shouted at the kidnapped, cocking his gun. He cleared his throat before talking again. “Good and bad news”.
“Must be Christmas”, you said.
“No, Christmas is when you only have good news”, said Bucky.
“Not in my family. Generally, there was only bad news and food. Food was the good news”.
“I love how professional and focused on the mission you two are. Stark would be so proud”.
“Wait, I’m invested now. Tell me more about your family, y/n”.
“For the Norns, I don’t have much time. The information, Barnes”. You could hear Loki's footsteps resonate. According to plan, he should've been walking through a hall full of burocrats, so he was right; he did not have much time.
“Okay, so, I know who has the stick”.
“Good”.
“He’s dead”.
“Not so good”.
“Not really, no”.
“What do we do now?”.
An alarm on the building had set off and every door locked down, with a man on a speaker announcing the disappearance of an important object followed by an awfully accurate description of the three of you.
“We run, that’s what we do now”.
You didn’t have to say more. Bucky threw himself off the window before it finished closing. You looked around desperately, trying to find a way to free yourself from that office. Two security guards entered the room screaming for you to get on the floor, and instead you made an unstable wall with the desk and chairs, avoiding getting shot and giving you enough time to figure out some sort of weapon to take them down.
The watch was already used, the knives were useless if they had guns, you didn’t have a gun yourself (silly you), and the parachute was apparently not working anymore, so you couldn’t jump off the window like your teammates. Damn.
“By any chance”, you whispered through your microphone “could you tele…”, but Loki gave you no time to finish the sentence and teleported himself to the office, still in the shape of a security guard.
“My dearest friend”, he said to one of the shooters, opening his arms welcomingly, “how’s the family?”.
“What the fuck, Robert?” asked angrily one of the real guards. “How did you…”.
Loki kicked off his gun and touched his head with a halo of green lights, making him fall unconscious to the floor. He looked up and down at the second security guard and formed half a smile.
“And what about your wife? Is she well?”.
“You ain’t Robert, ain’t ya?”.
“Mmh, nah”.
You grabbed the second security guard from behind and made him trip, immobilizing his arms and legs, and held his own gun to his head. Loki watched you amused, and then transformed back into himself.
“Oh, there you are”, you greeted him. “Did Buck say anything about the walking dead?”.
“The… what?”.
“The man with the stick. If he’s dead, who activated the alarm? Someone has to have it”.
“He didn’t say anything else. Can’t you track it down?”.
“If I could, why would we have done all of this for?”.
“Point made”.
“I need to get back to our room, take some things off the checklist before going all in for a new plan”.
“Alri…”, he started saying, but his gaze fell back on the immobilized guard you were holding down. “What are you planning on doing with him? He saw our faces”.
“If you let me live I won’t talk about this at all”, he pleaded, face squished against the floor. “I have kids, please”.
“He’s lying, he has no kids”, he said with a neutral face, and you looked at him trying to tell him to communicate telepathically. Surprisingly, he understood. “What?”.
“I’m not killing him, what do we do?”.
“Just kill him, what’s all the fuss about?”. You looked at him horrorized and he rolled his eyes “alright, just threaten him enough”.
You let him go, still pointing the gun at him, and gestured to the door so he could leave. When he reached for the door knob, you shot twice at the wall, mere inches from his head, and he froze in place.
“Talk and I’ll find you”, you threatened.
“I won't say a word, I promise”.
You looked at Loki and he nodded, letting you know the man was telling the truth. You kept your eyes fixed on him while he ran away, terrified. Must be new, you thought. Loki grabbed your waist.
“What the Hell are you doing?”, you pushed him away.
“Teleporting us, as you asked”.
“You have to grab me to do that?”.
“I don’t have to. It’s so you get stability”.
“Oh. Give me a big bear hug, then. No, better, let’s cuddle” you spat with sarcasm. He sighed annoyed, massaging his temples.
“Fine. I’m not even touching you”.
As he teleported both of you, you felt your whole body tear its own cells apart and dissolve, and then regenerate them. Your head spinned like it never has, and something hit your head; but you weren’t sure if it was the floor, a wall or the roof, for your sense directions were nowhere to be found. You took a few seconds to compose yourself before opening your eyes once everything stopped moving. When you finally managed to realize where your head even was, your eyes met with Loki’s, who was holding back a smirk with his arms crossed.
“Reconsidering that cuddle next time, are you?”.
“That was… hilarious. Such a shame I missed the previous part to give me context, though”, said Bucky from the counter of the hotel room, munching on some chips. “Look, the tiny fridge had these. You were right, they’re actually great”.
“Yeah. Grab whatever, they’re on Stark’s”, you said, still with your head a bit fuzzed. Loki offered his hand to help you get up but you did it yourself. He sighed.
“How do you fit your clothes with that huge ego of yours?”.
“I don’t, I walk around naked”, you answered, opening the nearest laptop and starting to work on the checklist.
That night was like the last one. Dark, silent and with your head full on the work. Bucky was barely snoring, and Loki was sitting on his bed reading a book. Every once in a while you glanced up your work to look at how painfully beautiful he was. You hated every thought about it, of course, but you couldn’t deny his sight grew on you a bit. He was an asshole, of course. A parasite on your head. An inconvenience. A distraction, sometimes. But the warm light of the bed lamp and the shadows it formed on half of his face enhanced his features, almost like a sculpture, a piece of art.
While you thought of that you checked on his expressions, making sure he wasn’t listening to your highly embarrassing thoughts.
After a few hours, Bucky had already woken up and you were still spread on the floor, surrounded by the files and laptops from before. The light conversation had caught half the attention of the God, who was still reading peacefully. He seemed so calm you wondered what kept him up anyways.
“You think he still has it on him?”, asked Bucky, changing his shirt.
“I think it’s a possibility. I’m tracking his body down. Should be in the morgue by now, maybe they haven’t taken off his clothes yet. But if not, the security cameras would have recorded who took it from the body”.
“Groovy”.
"Oh my God, James".
"What?".
"What does groovy even mean?".
"You know... it's like saying cool beans".
"Coo... alright".
After a while, you collected all the data you needed for tomorrow. You were so exhausted your eyes were getting dry and blurry. Loki was still reading in that same place, not even fazed by the amount of hours that had happened. You got up to clean the dishes from the last meal, and he lifted his gaze up from the book.
“Wait”, he stopped you. With a wrist movement, the dishes got as clean as they could get and arranged on the shelf. You chuckled.
“I wish I had that ability”.
“Are you going to sleep now?”.
“A few hours”.
“Sleep here”, he said from his bed. You looked at Bucky’s; he fell asleep back again.
“You haven’t slept yet. I don’t want to occupy your bed”.
“I won’t, don’t worry”, you nodded, kind of worried he might pass out of tiredness in the middle of the mission. Why the hell was he not sleeping? “If it doesn’t bother you, I’d rather finish this book on here too”.
“I think there’s enough space”.
He moved and gave you space for half of the tiny bed, and you laid by his side with your arms crossed and a leg on top of the other. He went back to his book, and even though he was sitting and your sight couldn’t reach the pages, you were sure it was in Old Norse.
“What are you reading?”.
He didn’t answer right away. Doubtfully as in to share it with you or not, he then proceeded.
“Hamlet. It’s a translation in Old Norse from an author I adore. I’d say it’s an even better version than Shakespeare’s”.
You felt yourself about to smile. You tried not to, but you probably did. That was your favourite piece of literature of all times. You wondered how could that have gotten to Asgardian hands, and why would he (certainly a Midgardian hater) want to read Earth’s literature. You were so curious in that version. Was it really that good, that would be better than Shakespeare himself? Sadly, you didn’t even know how to say hello in that language.
“Do you like it so far?”.
“I’m re-reading it. Brings good memories”, he said with a subtle smile he had hoped you wouldn’t notice. But you did. Something in your chest warmed up a bit and you shook it off. No, no. Not feelings. Don’t confuse your physical attraction, don’t feed your touch starved soul. No. You had to repeat to yourself a couple of times. You were just very, very tired.
“Brings good memories to me too. I love this book”. You figured it was alright to open up a little. The situation was relaxed enough. He wasn’t snarky or avoidant. He looked… melancholic. Sad, even. Like a facet of himself he didn’t allow everyone to see.
You connected with that. Maybe you could even relate to him in some way. For years, you had a feeling of something not adding up quite right. A longing for something you couldn’t exactly pin up. Melancholy for a blank space.
But there you were, barely knew him for three days yet felt close enough. Not too much. Just a feeling. Just the traces of something that maybe happened in another life. But in this one, you would get the mission done and leave. So don’t get attached, you ordered yourself.
“It’s a really good version”.
“Wish I could read it but I don’t know Old Norse”, you said slower than you intended. Loki chuckled at your tiredness. Maybe you could push your curiosity a little further. What was the damage? That he could just say ‘piss off’ or something like that? “What good memories does it bring to you?”.
He sighed and muttered almost to himself “I used to read it to my beloved”.
You almost gasped, surprised he actually answered you. You didn’t ask for more. It was already a lot he had just trusted you with. He told you he had a beloved. You didn’t even know he had a lover, but of course he had. He was nearly a thousand years old; why wouldn’t he? Did he lose that lover, in past tense?
Curiosity grew bigger on you, but fear pushed you aback. But the questions floated around in your head as a lullaby. Your head started to weigh a little more on the pillow and everything happened slightly slower. Loki closed the book and left it resting on his lap. He whispered “I feel you have questions”, and you denied it with your head. Your eyelids fell heavier than before.
“I’m mmnmnnhnm”, you managed to sort of say before getting knocked down by sleep. You heard his laughter, but nothing more after that.
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readyplayerhobi · 4 years
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Flower | 17
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; Hoseok x Reader
; Genre: Angst, very slight fluff
; Word Count: 6k
; Warnings: Emotional breakdown, depiction of a panic/anxiety attack, in depth discussion/description of depression, brief mentions of suicide, lack of self-worth, self-hatred, self-doubt, dissociation
; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?
; A/N: I haven’t proof read because...well I don’t really want to re-read it. So forgive me for any mistakes! It’s early by a day because I’ve missed a few weeks so I want you all to have something on what is a rainy night here in England <3
PLEASE make sure to read the warnings on this one. This chapter is very hard hitting for anyone who has suffered depression/anxiety. I put myself back in the position I was in last year when I had my own breakdown and I know people have said before that I write in a way that makes you feel what the character is feeling. Therefore, please don’t read if you’re going to be affected by the warnings! And please also be kind if you don’t agree with the way I depicted this. This is how my own depression and anxiety affected me, only I didn’t have a Hoseok in my life. The experiences the reader goes through in this are the ones I personally have experienced. It’s still a reader insert, don’t worry. She after all has a lot of things I don’t, and I’m also okay, so don’t worry on that front either! If you feel upset about anything after reading this, please consider reaching out to friends, family, professionals or a helpline that specialises in it!
And remember throughout everything...you’re not alone! You’re not worthless and you are loved. <3
-
Leaning against the railing outside your work building, you let out a deep and heavy sigh as you read through the email you’d just received. It’s a rejection email. The third rejection email you’d received today and the twenty-third you’d received in two weeks.
After an in-depth talk with your parents and support from Chungha, Soyeon and Hoseok, you’d decided to finally try and get that career change you’d always wanted. Though you’d pointed out that you didn’t know what you wanted from life anymore.
You didn’t know what you wanted full stop. 
One of the things that you’d been most afraid of when you’d realised that your relationship with Hoseok was turning into something genuine and real, had been what was going to come after. Not in terms of breaking up, though that did terrify you as well, but how your mental state was going to cope.
You’d tried to explain it to the girls a few times in an effort to get them to understand what went on in your rollercoaster of a mind, and you’d clumsily told Hoseok a few months ago. Or you’d tried at least. 
Talking about your emotions wasn’t easy for you and the fear of being too honest about something so crippling with someone who meant so much to you already had scared you away from telling him too much. Your mind had balked at it, afraid that if he found out just how bad you got sometimes that he might just leave before he got in too deep.
So you’d given him a very bare bones explanation of what happened to you sometimes. He probably didn’t think too much of it at the moment as you’d been pretty cheerful throughout the start of your relationship; the bliss of him overriding any of your deep seated depression and anxieties.
Hoseok was obviously aware that you suffered from anxiety and had been very caring in regards to that, but it was entirely different to be with someone in the grip of a depressive episode. Your form of depression could almost be charted, it was that easy to see what was coming, and you’d been so afraid for the last few weeks.
The lethargy and disinterest that associated itself so strongly with your depression had been creeping back into your life slowly. It had frightened you, but you just didn’t know how to combat it. Doing things that were big or made you extremely happy always seemed to come with a huge cost, and the cost was unfortunately your mental health.
Every single time you felt exhilarating highs in your emotions, the feelings so joyful and euphoric from your excitement and pure happiness, you suffered a plunging crash afterwards that often felt like it sucked the joy out of your life. It was something you’d tried to cope with for years now, and sometimes you could go months upon months without feeling like it was affecting you.
But the happiness of finding Hoseok and all of the early stages of your relationship, from the first kiss to sex and meeting your parents, had finally waned. The last few weeks had the deep sense of unhappiness that plagued your negative moods spreading quickly.
It had started as usual with the slowly losing interest in going out; the energy you’d once had to be social outside of your apartment dying until the idea of anything other than work or grocery shopping was too much effort. Then had come the lack of interest in anything.
You’d always found it hard to see that you were slipping, only recognising it properly when you would realise that you’d been laid on your bed or the couch for hours on end, doing nothing at all. Any attempts to find something to watch on television failed as your brain couldn’t find anything interesting enough to keep it’s attention, games sat unplayed as you couldn’t find the energy to turn them on while even just reading bored you.
In particularly bad spells, such as your final year of college when you’d been so afraid of failing but also afraid of having to go into the real world, you struggled to find the energy to even get out of bed. Hygiene only became a thing because of your severe distaste of being unclean, but other than that your bed often became your home.
You would sleep for hours upon hours, napping the day’s away as you consoled yourself with the knowledge that you didn’t have anything to do and so therefore didn’t need to get up. Even though a small voice in the back of your mind told you that no, you should get up. You should do something.
That small voice was drowned out often though. Vanishing on a fast current of melancholy. It frightened you that you were experiencing that now again, even with the wonderful light and joy that was Hoseok in your life. Waking up long after he’d already gotten up on the weekend and realising that you didn’t want to get up and follow him, that not even the comfort of his arms was enough to soothe the jagged hole inside your soul that seemed to grow deeper and wider with every day that passed.
Applying for the jobs had been an appeasement to those in your life who were worried about you. You knew that Hoseok could tell something was wrong, but he just didn’t seem to know what to do or how to help. Understandable really, as you didn’t tell him what was wrong.
But staring down at your phone screen, the black letters bold against the white background that once more proclaimed you weren’t good enough, you felt something deep inside you break. Something that you hadn’t realised was holding on by the thinnest thread, chafing away with each negative thought that had passed through your mind over the years.
What’s the point?
The insipid question whispers through your mind.
Why am I trying?
A second slithers into place, taking comfort with its neighbour.
Why am I doing this?
A third nestles safely between the two brooding thoughts.
I’ll never be good enough for anything.
Leaning your head forehead, you let it rest on your hand on the railing, eyes closing as your other hand tightens on your phone. The hopelessness that your mind has spun to life explodes to life, multiplying into countless thoughts of desolation and gloom that somehow combine together to make your head feel heavy and your limbs tired.
Slumping down onto the ground, you turn and let your back press against the railings. It was your lunch currently and you were at the back of the parking lot that faced your building, the facade blank with no clue as to what was going on inside. 
Blinking slowly, you realise that your breath is stuttering, almost choking itself. Like your throat is closing around nothing while your heart races a thousand miles a minute. Glancing down, you realise that your hands are shaking violently and you try to swallow, the movement so hard. And then you press a palm to your chest, a small whimper leaving your mouth as you simply try to breath.
But it all feels too much. It’s all just too much.
There’s nothing inside your head but despondency and yet your body feels too much, like it can’t cope. Your mind swings violently between the white fuzz of nothing and the sheer panic of a looming sense of dread, the fear of failure, rejection. The fear that you meant nothing and your life was nothing.
I can’t do this anymore.
It’s a simple thought, only five words long and it dances through your mind like a leaf on the breeze. Effortless and simple. 
For a few seconds you think nothing of it, the part of your mind that wasn’t well agreeing with it and conceding that there was no point anymore. You weren’t doing anything useful in life anyway and you doubted anyone would truly notice if you’d gone. A cog in the machine of life, that’s all you were.
And cogs could be replaced after all.
But then that tiny voice that had been washed away earlier appeared again, resolute and defiant against the tidal waves of desolation that swamped it. The tiny kernel of hope and happiness that you’d once had, that had slowly grown and blossomed into a tree with roots so deep it couldn’t be moved. It was a little dejected and a little threadbare from lack of nourishment, but it was there all the same.
The part of you that didn’t want to give up, the part of you that wanted to fight for your life. The part that had spurred you to confidence to message Hoseok, that had encouraged you to keep going in college. The part of you that told you it didn’t want to give up, didn’t want to give in.
Your lungs are heaving now, body hunched over as you grip your legs so tightly, head pressed to your knees while salty tears drip down your face. A heartbeat that feels like it’s working overtime is so loud you can feel it in your chest, the tension in your arms and torso so strong that your muscles hurt from the ache of holding them for so long.
Eyes hot and stinging as the tears overflow, you press hard on your chest and try to regulate your breathing. Try to calm yourself down, to bring yourself back from the precipice of the pain and panic that you feel. The overwhelming rollercoaster of your emotions is giving you whiplash, the melancholy you had been swept with being beaten savagely by the fear of your inability to breath and the panic of how dark your thoughts had gotten.
You needed to talk to someone, you needed to see someone. You needed someone there, someone to tell you that it was okay. That you weren’t worthless. That you had value, that you were loved. That you would be missed. That life wouldn’t be okay without you, that you were needed and necessary. Someone to push away your thoughts for long enough to just let you think clearly.
You don’t even realise you’ve dialled his number, fingers moving on autopilot as if your body is trying to help when your mind has become so paralysed. It’s not until his voice finally manages to pierce through the incessant self-flagellation that your mind is undertaking that you blink in confusion, brow creasing as you wonder why he’s here.
Glancing up, you wipe away at the tears that keep falling and stare at your phone, squinting to focus. The familiar smiling face of your boyfriend stares back, a photo taken weeks back on a date day to the beach. Your heart clenched tightly and your breath shudders, the wheezing sound as your lungs work hard to try and get oxygen loud as you have the odd mixture of desperation to talk to him along with the dread of annoying him.
One of the things you’ve always hated was talking about these personal issues with people. Even though you knew rationally that people would rather you tell them about what was worrying and upsetting you, the gleefully self-destructive part of your mind told you that you were annoying them with your concerns.
But Hoseok was talking through the small speaker, his voice loud against the quiet scenery around you with only your hyperventilated breathing being the odd noise. And then his words finally made sense, the syllables that had broken through your ennui turning into sounds you understood.
It was the confusion in them that caused you to listen properly at first, the way he said your name repeatedly before the ragged sound of your breathing obviously began to register. Then your name became more frantic, the fear in his voice slicing through your own inner wail of despair.
“Y/N? Hello? Y/N are you there? Hellooo? Y/N? Are you okay? Hey, are you...Y/N are you crying? Y/N? Talk to me, come on. Answer me sweetheart, baby answer me. Y/N what’s wrong? Are you crying? Y/N please answer.” His voice is getting progressively louder, the concern and worry louder and you suddenly feel even more self-loathing at the knowledge you’ve panicked him.
“Hobi.” It’s all you can get out though, the word pushing past the tightness of your throat as it contracts so violently, air struggling to get past. Clutching your chest, you recognise an odd wailing sound that escapes with each breath outwards. Hands shaking, you press the phone to your ear and let out a broken sob, trying to talk to him.
“Baby, baby what’s wrong? Has something happened? Are you okay? Have you had an accident? Is it your parents?” He fires questions at you quickly, trying to find some answer as to why his girlfriend has called him in the middle of a workday only to be sobbing and wailing down the phone at him.
Particularly when you both knew how much you despised talking on the phone.
But just the sound of his voice is soothing to the frayed nerves within you, a balm to the deep and aching pain that lurks inside. It’s not enough to pull you out your breakdown, not yet at least. This isn’t a film and television show and you’re aware enough to realise that real life doesn’t happen like that.
God you felt warm, so warm. So unbelievably warm but the sweat on your skin is cold, like you’re ill. Squeezing your eyes shut, you choke as you inhale too fast and your diaphragm jerks in a way that has you almost hiccuping.
Even though he doesn’t actually know what’s happening, Hoseok still manages to do the right thing. Because he stops his own panicked questions, his voice suddenly stabilises and a calm tone taking over.
“Okay baby...baby, listen to me. Okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. It’s going to be okay sweetheart, I swear. Come on, can you hear me?” A torn sound of acknowledgement leaves you, your muscles aching with tiredness from how hard you’ve held yourself.
“That’s good, that’s really good baby. I want you to listen to me, okay? Listen to what I say and then do it for me. I want you to try and breathe in, take a big breath. Really big, come on, do it with me,” You hear him inhale loudly and you try to follow, the shakiness overtaking. “And now it let out. Nice and slow, come on. Do it again.”
He continues on encouraging you through it, his deep voice that you’ve fallen so deeply for so soothing and reassuring. It almost makes you want to cry just hearing it, but you listen to what he says. Closing your own eyes and simply focusing on inhaling and exhaling, pushing all the negativity away until all that’s left is breathing.
Finally, after what feels like an hour, you realise that your breaths are jerky but almost stable. Deep breathes in and out help your body to relax itself, muscles releasing while the demons of depression and anxiety take a step back in your mind. They’re still there, you can feel them hovering over the edges, but you feel like you can cope again.
Wiping at your face once more, you sniff and almost burst into tears again when you realise how utterly pathetic you feel. How stupid you are to fall apart like that over a job rejection of all things. And those demons inch forward, whispering into the fragile parts of you.
“Y/N, are you with me? Are you okay?” Leaning your head back against the railing, you nod quietly before remembering he’s not actually there. The first time you try to speak, your voice is croaky and what sounds like a bubble pops in your throat.
The second time works though. “I’m here. I’m...Hobi...I just...I can’t.” 
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the words cause you to start crying once more. But this time, there’s none of the panic and fear behind them. These tears are blazingly hot, your skin prickling from the salt of them while your head pounds from the previous crying and emotional ride you’d just gone through.
This time, your tears were because you simply wanted him there. You wanted to just bury yourself in his arms and try to forget what had happened.
“Okay, okay. I don’t know what’s wrong, but do you think you can go back to work? Or do you need to come home?” The very idea of going back into the office, sitting at your desk and doing all the mindless jobs that you loathe and despise with every fibre of your being fills you with a surge of feelings that makes you gasp in pain, head shaking rapidly.
You can’t, not today. You can’t go back to that, you can’t go back to the thoughts that this is going to be your life. That this is all you’ll ever be. All you’ll ever be worth. That you’ll never be good enough for anything.
“No.” It’s whimpered out, so soft and quiet but carrying a level of pain that you can’t even begin to properly explain to him. He understands though, a quiet sigh of his own as he obviously considers what to do.
“Okay...go in and ask them if you can take the rest of the day off. Tell them you’re ill. That you’ve been throwing up or something, whatever it takes. Are you okay to drive? Or do you want me to come get you?” Glancing over at your car, the Hyundai your dad had helped you to buy that was a dream compared to your previous car, you chew on your lip as you wipe at your face.
“I can drive. I can drive, it’s not far.” 
“Good. Go home and rest. I’ll be home when I can. Do you want to talk about whatever just happened when I do?” Looking down at the ground, you consider it before sniffling quietly.
“Yeah. I think I should.” Your voice cracks on the last word, yet more tears filling your eyes as your lip trembles dangerously. The thought of telling him is terrifying, but you feel like you’ve gone too far down this dark road now. And you don’t want to walk down it alone anymore, not when what you’re finding is so terrifying and scary.
“Okay. I’ll see you at home then.”
-
It was surprisingly easy to get your boss to let you go home early, easier than you thought it would have been. But maybe you looked a little worse than someone who had been throwing up, given the puffiness of your eyes and the overall haggard appearance you’d managed to take on. You didn’t look well, which worked in your favour in terms of being able to go home.
But you didn’t look well because you weren’t well. And you knew this.
As soon as you got home, you’d practically torn off your clothes before slipping on a well worn pair of soft grey leggings and a fuzzy sweatshirt, the material so soft on your body. It’s approaching the end of November and you revel in the warmth it offers you, curling on the couch into a tight ball with your head buried into the velvety Pusheen pillow that Hoseok had bought you a few weeks ago.
The soft padding of tiny paws on the wood floor alerts you to an incoming presence and you smile tiredly when Kasumi jumps up onto the couch with you, chirping at you quietly before butting her head against yours. Gently, you stroke at her fur and sigh as she settles, her head buried firmly into your neck and her small body vibrating as she purrs away happily.
“Are you happy my little purrbaby? Yeah?” You whisper to her, running your thumb over her silken ears before pressing your nose against her sleek fur. “My favourite little girl, aren’t you? A purry baby.”
The next few minutes consist of you just muttering nonsense to her as usual, your hand stroking automatically as you revel in the solid warmth of her against you. She remains where she is, paws flexing open and closed as the she pads at your chest and you can’t help the tiny smile that escapes as she does so.
“I love you, yes I do.” Maybe it’s a sign of how bad of a person you are that the only person you feel even remotely comfortable saying that to is your own cat. A cat who can’t answer back. Though maybe that’s the point. She relies on you for survival, therefore her love is a given.
Other’s though?
Her ears twitch suddenly and her eyes widen, that familiar look of alarm taking over her feline features and causing her to jerk upright. Frowning, you coo to her before realising you can hear the door opening.
A quick glance at the clock tells you that it’s not even 2pm and your brow creases in confusion. You go to question whoever it is, only he appears from the hallway into the room and your throat tightens immediately.
Hoseok isn’t wearing a fancy suit this time, instead just a pair of black jeans with a black button-up, his socks a contrast in white. His work had since changed their dress code policy to smart-casual, hence his jeans. But he wasn’t supposed to finish until 5pm.
“Why are you here?” Your words aren’t nearly as solid as you intended them to be, the sounds shaky and he lets out a tiny sigh.
“You really think I was gonna stay at work for the next few hours after my girlfriend, who hates using the phone, calls me and all I can hear is hyperventilating and crying? And then she’s so not okay that she actually goes home? No way. I’m gonna work the time back later but I felt that you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He makes it all sound so simple, like there wasn’t even a question in his mind about what he’d do.
It chips away at something inside you, a chink in the solid wall of protection you’d built over the years that held back all your deepest and darkest fears and concerns from others. And in an instant, that wall shatters in a tsunami of emotion.
Lips trembling violently while your vision blurs from the tears filling it, you simply open your arms to him and whimper out his name in a tone so broken and lost that it almost makes Hoseok cry just hearing it. Not that you know that, nor can you see the way his face crumples for a moment at seeing you break so quickly.
You don’t see because the tears block your vision of him, but you feel it when he sits on the couch next to you and wraps you in his arms. Without a word, you squeeze your arms around him so tightly, as if you were afraid that if you let go then he’d vanish.
And you let yourself break in the comfort of his embrace, in the safety of presence and the reassurance of his stability. A horrible sound of pure agony escapes your throat, dragged from the deepest depths and a part of you is surprised at it. At how much pain it encapsulates.
Once you start though, you can’t stop and you simply cry into Hoseok’s arms, letting yourself go in a way that you never have before. Exposing your vulnerabilities and all the jagged points of pain inside your psyche that you’d kept hidden for so long, afraid that no one would care or would see them as a sign of weakness if you let them out.
Hoseok doesn’t judge you though, he doesn’t complain or sigh in annoyance. Instead, he spends the next ten minutes simply hugging you so tightly to him, his hands stroking your back in long movements that soothe you and reassure you that he’s here, that he cares. Vaguely, you recognise him whispering things to you but you don’t put enough thought into what he’s saying.
The earlier breakdown you’d suffered had been frightening and painful; the fear of not understanding what was happening properly combining with the gaping hole of self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy. This didn’t feel like a breakdown though. It felt cathartic almost, like each sob that escaped you, each tear that wet Hoseok’s shirt was another weight being lifted off your mind and shoulders.
By the time you finally calm down enough until the tears are silent and the only noise you make is the hiccuped breathing of someone who’s cried so hard their throat and eyes hurt, you feel almost relaxed. Maybe crying was a good thing sometimes, but you knew that it was because you’d come to terms with the fact that you had to talk about your issues and most importantly, you had to reach out to others for help.
Now the room is completely quiet, only broken by the occasional sniffle from you. You’d expected him to start asking questions immediately but he doesn’t, instead just holding you in a protective embrace while you calm down.
Oddly, it makes you feel a little better that he doesn’t freak out or pepper you with questions. His reassuring presence helps to calm your frayed nerves and you find yourself playing with one of the buttons on his shirt, bottom lip pouting out as you realise his shirt is plastered to his chest from your tears.
“I’m sorry about your shirt.” You whisper, voice hoarse and low. There’s no response for a second before he lets out a breathy laugh, warm lips pressing to your hairline affectionately.
“That’s fine. It’s just a shirt,” Hoseok pauses, shifting to hug you in a more comfortable position on the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”
The way he leaves the question open for you lets you know that he’s giving you an out, a way to turn him down. You know he wouldn’t be particularly happy if you didn’t talk about what had caused you to have such a breakdown, but he would acknowledge your decision.
“I just...I got another rejection.” Fingers smooth at the wrinkles in his shirt, the text from the email running through your mind once more and you can practically feel your spirit sinking again. “I don’t know, it just...it got too much. I know it sounds really stupid and I can’t really explain it all or anything but...it was just too much. Everything has been too much lately and yet I just feel so empty and uncaring.”
Hoseok doesn’t interrupt you, letting you spill out your inner thoughts to him, even if they don’t make a lot of sense. 
“I’ve been...I mean...lately I...I’m not...I’m not okay.” Your voice wavers dangerously, lip trembling and you tighten your hand on the fabric of his shirt. “I just feel...I can’t...I can’t, I just can’t. I don’t feel like I can do this anymore, it’s just so hard. So hard to get up and go to work when I hate my fucking job. It’s like my mind is dying every second in there and my soul is shrivelling up too. But I’m not good enough to get out and I’ll never get out and all I can think is...is this it? Is this going to be my life? Is this all I’ll ever do? Is this all I’ll ever be worth? Is this all I’ll do? And the thought of this being all I do for the rest of my life is...I mean...I just...I can’t Hoseok. I can’t, I can’t do it. I don’t even want to wake up if I have to do this forever.”
The words are rushed from you, blurring together as you feel the deep hysteria and panic rising within you once more. Hands clenching his shirt are shaking while your breath is coming a little faster again and your poor, swollen eyes are stinging from the heat of yet more tears. You’d have thought you had none left to cry.
“It’s like everything is weighing me down, all of it. My job, my lack of career, my finances and just me as a person. It’s all building in my head and I just...I can’t. But at the same time I feel nothing inside. I wake up and wonder why I’m bothering to get up because I have nothing to do, I can’t focus on shows or games or books. I’m lethargic and unhappy and the idea of going out just makes me want to cry. I drove home from the store the other day and the entire time I felt like there was a hive of bees in my stomach, all angry and my heart was racing. I didn’t even know what I was anxious about! That’s not normal and it happens all the time. I’ve tried, for you and my parents and friends but it always comes back. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t.” You’re not entirely sure what you can’t do, but you say it so forcefully that Hoseok simply nods.
He doesn’t speak at first, contemplating what to say and trying to remember what his therapist had discussed with him all those years ago when he’d gone. It was hard, because obviously your case wasn’t like his. But he wanted to help, or at least try and guide you in the right direction. Because you were reaching out, and he wanted to be the one to hold you steady while you fought your way out of the darkness.
“How long have you been feeling like this? I’ve noticed you pulling away recently, I didn’t want to push you on it though.” Hoseok admits, his voice soothing as he runs a thumb along your cheek, wiping your tears away.
Almost childishly, you shrug. “I don’t know. It comes and goes. I always...I hate doing things that make me happy or excited because I always crash after. And the longer my happiness goes on, the harder and further I crash after. It’s like my mind can’t cope with just...being...normal.”
Hoseok shakes his head firmly then, pulling back slightly to get you to look at him. His eyes are worried and his expression is concerned, but you can tell he’s determined. You can also tell that you’ve just said something that he disagrees with.
“Don’t call yourself not normal. At the risk of sounding like some lame quote from the early 2010s, there’s no such thing as normal. You’re just...you’re not okay right now. I think we can both tell that. And there’s nothing wrong with not being okay. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re having mental health problems and I hope you won’t be angry with me for saying it but...this...today...baby I think you need to see a doctor or something. I can’t tell you what will help because I don’t know, and I don’t want to mess it up. But you have to want to get help.”
Looking down at your hands, you sniff quietly as you contemplate what he’s said. As per usual, he’s said it sweetly and in a way that isn’t offensive. The very idea of admitting that you had mental health issues made you quail inside, wanting to tell him that he was wrong and you were fine. 
But he wasn’t wrong...and you weren’t fine. 
“What if they don’t believe me? Or tell me it’s just in my head? Or that I’m just sad or something? And what if work finds out and they get angry at me? People will tell me I’m just faking it or something, looking for attention.” The stereotypes slip from your lips without you realising it but you’re worried.
Despite the push for being more open around mental health lately, you know that people still don’t view it positively. That admitting depression or anxiety can often come with an eye roll or an exasperated sigh. You knew how it went, you weren’t depressed you were just tired or weren’t willing to put in effort and so forth.
But you knew it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be, not when it felt so real and strong.
“Sweetheart, if they think at your work then fuck them. You already hate that place and you’re looking for something new. Don’t let them get to you, you are more important than anyone there. And if they want to act like shit around something as serious as this, then they don’t deserve you. Your doctor should listen, and if they don’t then make them listen. They’re there for you, not the other way around. It’s in your head purely because it’s your mental health and it can be helped. I won’t lie, it’s probably not gonna get cured. But you’ll find ways to cope. And I’ll be here for you. So will your parents and your friends. We care for you and we want you to be okay.” He rubs at your arms then, his touch warm even through the soft material of your sweater.
“I’ve watched you draw into yourself and it’s worried me for a while now. But if you’re willing to reach out to me at your lowest, which I’m going to assume that breakdown was your lowest, then I think you want help. I can’t make it go away, but I can help support you while you get your feet back under you. Will you consider going to the doctor? Please?”
Pushing your head into his neck harder, you sniff hard and pushing the sleeves of your sweater past your hands. Your heart races at the thought of discussing your personal issues with someone you don’t know, but you know Hoseok is right. You need help, you need to reach out.
Swallowing hard, you realise that you need to do what he’s suggesting. You don’t want to get back to that point where you realised you didn’t care if you lived or died anymore. Because you wanted your life to get better. You just didn’t have the tools to pull yourself out of the swamp.
“Okay. I’ll go.” His body relaxes imperceptibly at your agreement and you feel bad, realising how worried he must have been for you. But that worry vanishes when he tilts your head up to his, a sweet smile on his face before he kisses you gently.
“Good. You won’t regret it, I swear. And thank you. For trusting me enough to call me when you were afraid and for telling me now. I want to try and help you anyway I can. I know what it’s like to feel very lost and afraid. I just got angry at the world though. So...please talk to me when you’re not feeling okay, even if you think I’m going to be annoyed or can’t be bothered. Because I’d rather you talk and vent to me than do something else.” And suddenly, you realise he’s got tears in his own eyes.
Reluctant tears you can tell, the way he gives a small smile that’s forced, his dimples showing but no real happiness behind it. Swallowing, your own smile wobbles too as you realise that he must have been so worried.
“I will. I swear. I swear.” His lips press to your forehead, resting there long after he’s finished his kiss and you simply embrace it, absorbing his deep feelings to you that you can tell he has even though he doesn’t say a word. Unsurprising really, because you feel all the positive and warm feelings you have towards him blossoming through the hollowness in your chest.
He’s not going to fix you and you both know that. But you’re surprised to realise that you don’t want him to either. That this is something you have to start yourself. For your own peace of mind but also so that you don’t become reliant on him while pressuring Hoseok with something as precarious as your mental health.
You’ve reached out for help finally, and now you just need to accept the help you’re given in turn.
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catracorner962 · 3 years
Text
Cherished After All
Cleaning up Shadow Weaver's belongings, Adora and Catra make a shocking discovery about Catra's past. A past she never knew.
Or: My take on how Catra ended up in the Horde.
It was bitter, exhausting work. Cleaning out Shadow Weaver’s belongings from the palace. Glimmer had repeatedly offered to have someone do it for them but Adora and Catra were determined to sort through the stuff themselves. It would be fine. There weren’t many items anyway and according to Perfuma it might help bring some catharsis and closure. Catra wasn’t too sure about that, but Adora agreed it would be better for them to do it and so, she conceited.
“She really didn’t have much stuff,” Adora mused, crouched in Shadow Weaver’s old room, over a single chest. Most of the items were innocuous. Several changes of robes, a handful of coins.
“Psh yeah,” Catra scoffed from where she stood, looking out the window at the gardens. “The only thing that old hag ever cared about was the Black Garnet and the last piece of that was in her mask. Which got blown up with the rest of her.” The magicat’s tail twitched at the thought, her lips curling into a resentful smile. Still….a bit of sadness lingered. A sadness Catra knew Adora harborded too. She hated it. Hated herself for feeling anything other than satisfaction at the demise of the only mother figure either of them had ever known.
She hurt you….hurt Adora. Why do you cry for her?
Even Perfuma couldn’t answer that.
Back by the trunk, Adora rummaged through belongings, throwing the robes around without much care. A book, bound in leather with First One’s writing on it.
“It’s a spell book,’ she murmured aloud. Fingers gracing the pages. “Who knows what’s in here?!”
“Adora…” Catra warned, dragging herself back to the task at hand.
“Alright, alright, I’ll give it to Glimmer,” Adora set the book down. “Maybe she and Micah can use it.” She turned back to the trunk, hand fumbling against the flat bottom of the wood.
“What’s this?” Adora curled her fingers around a small metal item.
“It looks like one of Entrapta’s recorders,” Catra peered over her shoulder. “But slightly bigger. There’s a button on it,” she pointed. The two of them exchanged the all too familiar “let’s-do-it,” look. Adora pressed her thumb into the single red button on top. A faded red light blinked, projecting a fuzzy hologram before them. Adora squinted, trying to make out the images. Only static sounded through the small speakers.
Two people...a tail? No...two tails...and? Are those…?
Adora’s eyes flitted from the static images of the hologram to Catra. Her own tail was swiping back and forth intrigued. Her ears perked forward.
No...it couldn’t be... No one knew anything about Catra’s species. She herself never expressed any curiosity in knowing...only bitter resentment at her more feline characteristics, thanks to Shadow Weaver.
“H..hello?”
Adora’s attention drew back to the two figures, one of whom spoke in a male voice.
“Is...is it working?”
The second figure, also male, asked.
The image fuzzed and spluttered, in and out.
“If...if you’re seeing this...it...it means you’ve found her.”
Adora leaned closer, the hologram slowly becoming more clear. Two male figures...two male figures with ears and tails like Catra. The one speaking...he was crying. His clothes in tatters. The second one looked no better, but he held something to his chest. A bundle.
“There’s no chance for her here,” the first one spoke in breathy gasps. “If..If she stays with us...she’ll…” The second magicat, the one holding the bundle reached out and gripped the other’s arm tightly. He too, was in tears. 
“Please…,” he begged. “We can’t feed her...we can’t take care of her.. Horde Prime..he...he destroyed everything.” The magicat held whatever it was to his chest with a desperation that made Adora’s heart ache. Realization slowly dawning on her. Catra betrayed no such epiphany. Her face...showed nothing. Stone cold.
“We haven’t even named her,” the first one glanced down at the bundle, smiling through her hurried breaths. He reached out, placing one clawed hand atop of it and stroked it gently.
“Kitten,” he whispered. The second man held the baby close to him, looking directly at Adora.
“Please, have mercy on her. Give her food and a bed...that’s more than we have. And when...when she’s old enough please show her this...so...so..” he heaved for air. “So she knows we loved her.”
Adora’s own eyes sparked with tears, looking helplessly at the two desperate magicats and the thing in their arms.
“Kitten, if you ever see this,” the first one began, nearly choking on his words. 
“Know that we love you. We love you so much; with all our hearts… that is why we can’t keep you. With the Horde...you...you have a chance….for some sort of life. That’s all we have to give you.”
The second magicat, the one holding the kitten, buried his face into the bundle for a moment, lifting his head eventually. Adora nearly gasped, his eyes...blotchy with tears..they were two different colors. One gold, one blue.
“We love you. We are so proud of you….we…”
The recording fizzed and went blurry. Shorting out.
“No!” Adora panicked, pressing the button fervently. “No, no, no! There’s gotta be more! There has to be…”
The hologram re-appeared. Only this time the two magicats had set the bundle down inside a small box. They each kissed it lovingly. Checking and rechecking the blanket it was swaddled in. The hologram broke out again, then came back. Only this time a baby’s face, thin with signs of unger but serene in blissful sleep, sucked at the end of her stubby tail.
A runt, Adora recalled Shadow Weaver’s exact words.
The image of Catra as an infant lingered for a moment, then the hologram cut out for good.
Adora braced herself, turning to Catra slowly. Eyes wide in shock, she starred forward as though the hologram was still playing.
“Catra….?”
“I…” she whispered. “I...ha...had parents,” she stated monotone. “They didn’t abandon me….th..they loved me.”
“Oh Catra, of course they loved you.” Adora wiped her eyes with the back for her sleeve. One hand reaching out to take her girlfriend’s.
“Shadow Weaver,” Catra’s tone shifted instantly to hatred. “She knew...she knew all this time.” She began to tremble, fists curled.
“Come here,” Adora offered, standing and wrapping her arms around Catra. She remained stiff but didn’t push away. Adora held her tightly, one hand rubbing her back carefully, the other stroking through her short hair. She could feel Catra’s heart racing and her body shaking.
“She knew…” Catra whispered, broken. Tears coming to those heterochromatic eyes...just like her father. “That bitch!” Adora patted her back more incessantly as Catra tightened her grip on Adora’s shoulders, her claws retracted thankfully...but her grip was tight, clinging.
“She knew this whole time and she never told me! She said she found me in a box, abandoned and left half-dead at the edge of the Fright Zone.” Catra was fully crying now, burying her face into Adora’s neck.
“Shhh….they loved you Catra...they loved you so much and so do I.”
Catra sniffed, sinking into Adora’s chest.
“The day Shadow Weaver found you in that box,” Adora sniffled through her own crying, “was the happiest day of my life.”
She rubbed small circles around Catra’s shoulder blades, holding her as they sunk to the floor together. “I didn’t know it at the time but it was.”  She could feel Catra nod against her but didn’t say anything more.
“I should’ve known…” Catra whispered, “should’ve trusted that hag….I could’ve found them Adora! I could’ve saved them!” She adjusted her hold on Adora, slumping from a hug farther into Adora until she curled all the way in her lap. Adora held her, tenderly cradling her there the way she should’ve always been comforted. The way both of them should’ve always been comforted as children.
“You already did save them Catra. Look at you! You grew up, you became the Leader of the Horde! You saved all of Etheria! Think of how many parents get to live with their kids now because of what you did!”
Catra withdrew from her chest, face gaunt with grief but somehow still resembled that little peaceful face sleeping in her swaddling.
Adora reached a hand up to Catra’s cheek, caressing her there.
“They would be so proud of you.”
Catra smirked,
“What?”
“Those were Shadow Weaver’s last words to me,” she whispered, the hatred gone from her tone. Her voice now breathy and exhausted. “I’m so proud of you Catra. It was probably a lie.”  Adora looked down at the magicat, her fingers gingerly stroking her velvet ears. She bent down, leaning over her until her lips graced against Catra’s ear.
“ I’m proud of you Catra. Your parents...wherever they are. They would be proud of you too, and they loved you.”
She didn’t know what else to say truly. What could she say? It was true. Catra had not been abandoned. Catra only curled around Adora more, burying her face into her stomach. She took the hologram device with twitching hands, holding it against her chest.
“Adora? Catra? George and Lance are here! Come say hello!”
Adora instantly tightened her grip on Catra, pulling her closer instinctively to protect her in this vulnerable moment.
“W...we’ll be right there!”
Too late, shimmer pink sparkles appeared before them. Catra shot up, hissing. Pocketing the hologram device. Glimmer materialized instantly.
“George and Lance! They’ve come to help us clean things up and…” the words died on her face as her eyes shifted between the two.
“Did...did I...interrupt something?” Glimmer asked hesitantly. She gave Adora a silent look, trying to ask what was going on without Catra noticing.
“Yes, Sparkles,” Catra grumbled, composing herself with practiced skill Adora had watched her perfect in the Horde.
“S...sorry I d..didn’t,”
“It’s fine,” Catra pushed past the princess towards the main corridor of the castle. Adora offered Glimmer an apologetic smile, fighting the urge to explain what had happened.
It’s not your place to say. It’s Catra’s.
“Catra! Hello!”
Adora watched as Catra managed a wave. Bow’s fathers threw their arms around her, hugging her tight. The magicat stiffened at first, waiting for them to withdraw their hold. They did, after a moment. Lance looked at her, brows furrowing with concern.
“Catra, honey? What’s wrong?”
Adora and Glimmer approached as Catra tried to fumble for an explanation. The two men enveloping her in a hug once more. Between the men’s loving embraces Adora watched Catra close her eyes, sniffing to suppress her tears. Her own heart inflated with bittersweet emotion watching Catra slowly return their gesture, her arms going around them.
“It’s just...good to see you,” Catra remarked, straightening herself. She offered a small smile.
---
Entrapta fixed the hologram device some days later. Adora brought it to her asking her to transfer the files from the old device to a new one. Despite Entrapta’s eager questioning, Adora did not tell her what the hologram actually contained. She eventually relented, transferring the data in a blink of an eye.
“Here you go. Just let me know how it turned out so I can jot it down for my notes!”
Adora agreed, thanking her and going off to find Catra.
Catra accepted it with a sad smile, playing the first few moments before switching it off.
“If you’re seeing this...it’s because you found her,”
Adora blinked awake, feeling around for where Catra should’ve been. She shot up, looking around in a hurry.
“Catra?!”
“We love you...we love you so much.”
Adora sighed, the glow of the hologram reflecting off the walls. Catra sat perched on their window seat. Watching unblinking at the hologram of her fathers. Adora tip-toed up behind her, winding her arms around the magicat lovingly and resting her chin on her shoulder. She placed a tender kiss on her temple.
The recording played on. Catra watched it once, then again, and again. She rarely cried when she did so. But when she did, allow the tears to fall, allow herself to be held and comforted, Adora was there for her, clutching her tight.
“If they never brought me to the Horde,” Catra whispered one night as they sat in bed, watching the image of her parents, “I...I never would’ve met you.” She pressed the hologram off. Surrounding the two of them in darkness. Catra’s eyes found Adora’s in the dark. Adora leaned down, winding her arm around Catra’s waist and pulling her close. She kissed her sweetly on the lips.
“That is true,” Adora murmured, not knowing what else to say. Catra smiled returning her kiss.
“I guess I’m glad they brought me to the Horde then. Even if it was horrible. Can you imagine if they brought me to Bright Moon?”
“You might’ve been raised a princess,” Adora giggled at the thought.
“Gross don’t make me puke.”
Catra let out a sigh, sad but content, pressing herself closer to Adora.
“I love you,” Adora murmmed. Catra answered, tucking her head under the other girl’s chin. Her tail wrapping around Adora’s leg.
“Maybe they aren’t dead. Maybe they made it,” Catra whispered after a time. “...I could find them and then...then we could find your parent’s too.”
Adora had never entertained the thought. She always assumed them dead or lost in some galaxy far far away outside Despondos.
“I’d like that,” Adora answered. “Can you imagine introducing your parent’s to She-Ra?” Adora laughed. Catra giggled too, and Adora’s heart exploded with fireworks. Making Catra laugh was something she never got tired of. They laughed the night away, imagining the thought of their parent’s meeting. Introducing each other. Giggling through their shared sorrow. Through the uncertainty. After all that was their specialty.
“Your old family, your parents.” Adora whispered, watching Catra’s tail twitch in her sleep. Trying to come up with the right words. Transforming such thoughts into speech was not her strong suit. She knew it. But here sleeping beside Catra as she slept Adora needed to say it.
“They...they brought you to the Horde, which brought us together and now...despite everything else you...you have a family again.”
Catra only continued to slumber, snoring lightly.
“Me, and Bow, George, Lance, Scorpia, Micah, Entrapta, Glimmer, we’re your family Catra and we love you. Just like your parents did.”
Adora startled, as one golden eye opened, looking at her. Catra shifted curling even smaller into her embrace.
“I love you too…..I love all of you.”
THE END
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malkumtend · 4 years
Text
I Like Your Laugh (A CrowSquirrel AU fic) - Chapter 10.
If a cat were to ask Ashfoot if her eldest son had ever gotten into fights before, her response would be that all-too-familiar mother’s laugh to the sky before laying down with a droll, “How long have you got?”
In other words. A lot.
Her son, as prickly as he was, didn’t help himself most of the time. He was no bully by any means, but he was no pushover either. He fought with all his might whenever he found himself in a scuffle, be it with clanmates or even other clan Warriors when encountered on the border.
Needless to say, Crowpaw was used to wounds. He could deal with a few scrapes or bites; all it would take was a day and they would close up again. And even though he hated losing, he understood the best thing was to suck it up and re-strategize for next time; then he would be the one basking in victory.
He was going to be a Warrior soon; he couldn’t afford to get bothered over a loss.
It was like a coping mechanism.
Now, it was failing.
Because, for some aggravating reason, he couldn’t force away the stinging in his shoulder whenever he moved, and the flashing wracks of pain in the clawmarks on his neck made him hiss softly whenever they panged.
The cuts hadn’t been too deep and whatever blood that had been drawn had dried. But none of that gave Crowpaw any comfort, he still boiled from the anger and indignity of his loss.
He knew it was stupid. He couldn’t have done anything, Brambleclaw had come out of nowhere, when Crowpaw’s back was turned. It also didn’t help how freakishly large the Warrior was, Crowpaw had felt like he’d have had better luck in pushing off a log than the Thunderclan cat.
But whatever he said couldn’t change the fact that the Warrior now held something over him.
He hated that.
Half of the sun was now visible over the shape of the hill, whatever light sprouting was now dull and toneless. The orange sky darkened and crept around the cats as dusk padded closer. At least the air had cooled and they were all full with prey. It would make the approaching night a tad easier to get through.
Not so much for Crowpaw.
He almost felt guilty, Squirrelpaw and Feathertail and kept close by him, trying their best to pepper him with light jokes and comforting purrs. Deep down, Crowpaw was truly grateful for their efforts, but it wouldn’t shake off the looks he had received from the others.
He didn’t mean the mistrusting, deceitful glares he’d typically receive, he couldn’t care less about those. It wasn’t like he trusted the other Warriors himself. No, it was how they looked at him now that bothered him, and it didn’t matter who it was, he would be furious to receive those looks from anyone.
Those soft, sympathising glances that made him turn cold.
Just because a cat had caught him off-guard, they all stared at him as if he was some wet kit crying for mama. He was almost a Warrior for Starclan’s sake! He was willing to fight again and again for his clan whenever he was needed, he deserved their respect not their thin compassion!
Feathertail had tried to tell him that the others would go easier on him now they knew he wasn’t looking for trouble. Crowpaw could have started spitting. They should have known that already from how much he’d tried to help the group, but no, it had to come because that hare-brain had attacked him. It was just bitter sympathy, nothing more.
Crowpaw didn’t need that kind of friendship.
He kept his gaze low so he didn’t cat any of those condescending glimpses anymore. Though he was still aware of the presences beside him. Nobody had said anything for a while now, an eerie silence loomed over them and no one really had the desire to say anything in fear of provoking anyone.
Like always, Brambleclaw had made his way to the front, but he was shadowed by isolation. Tawnypelt may have been only a few steps behind him, but it was as clear as the sun that she was aggravated by her brother’s actions. Whether or not Brambleclaw cared was not an issue as he hadn’t met a cat’s gaze since the fight, Crowpaw assumed it was just his fox-brained stubbornness.
Stormfur was walking closer to Feathertail than normal, they shared a hushed conversation, but it wasn’t a mystery on who it was about. Before, Stormfur usually was the most obvious in how much he distrusted Crowpaw’s friendship with his sister, but now he kept on sneaking gentle glances back on the apprentice. It stung Crowpaw like his cuts were frazzled with saltwater.
And Squirrelpaw.
She hadn’t left his side once.
And while part of Crowpaw desperately wanted to appreciate her friendship, a stronger feeling just made him feel sick.
He didn’t want her pity.
Even now, Squirrelpaw continued to stroll beside him. She wasn’t saying anything anymore, she’d learnt that was pointless after Crowpaw’s obvious lack of investment in small talk. But she was still there, close enough to be brushing fur with him, and she was warm and humorous and Crowpaw knew she only wanted to cheer him up. But those eyes! Those sad eyes that kept on finding him! They frustrated him so much!
“You don’t need to keep looking at them.” Crowpaw monotoned when his wounds felt her gaze for the hundredth time. “They’re already healing.”
Squirrelpaw had jumped enthusiastically when he actually spoke again, but her ears fell back in disappointment when she heard his tone. “I know. I’m just checking them.”
“Thanks, but I already said I’m fine.”
Squirrelpaw managed a wry smile, “I’m sure that’s what you thought before you were going to fight those kittypets with your scratched side.”
Always one for a laugh. If only Crowpaw was.
“These aren’t as bad as that.” He wasn’t lying to her. The wound from that thorn had been strangely deeper than Brambleclaw’s claws. “Just give it a night and it’ll look like nothing happened.”
Crowpaw winced when he saw Squirrelpaw’s eyes narrow. The Thunderclan molly shook her head weakly, “That isn’t the point.” Her gaze found the front of the group, narrowed on her target. “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”
Crowpaw felt a chill go through him. He couldn’t talk about it right now. It made his head hurt.
“Well, it already did. Just drop it.” Then they could try to move on at least.
“And if I say no?” Squirrelpaw remarked listlessly.
Crowpaw’s tail swung agitatedly. His jaw tightened. “What’s the point? Done is done. I can handle a few swipes.”
“You just want me to act like nothing happened?” Squirrelpaw asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that would be great!” Crowpaw wondered why his mind wanted him to sound gentle but his voice just came out cold. Idiocy. His tail drooped even further in guilt, but he couldn’t find the heart to apologise. Not right now.
Squirrelpaw blinked slowly at him. Her head dropped for a moment, rising and falling in a quick puzzled pattern, then reserved to face down with a heavy exhale. “Fine.”
Crowpaw’s eyes widened and he tilted his head to face her. She didn’t usually give up so easily, not with her natural stubbornness. What was going on? Yet, as if on order, she looked completely uninterested in what had been said before. She just wandered beside him, face up, blank expression, abnormally indifferent.
Wait? Wasn’t this what he wanted her to do. He wanted silence, and she’d given him silence.
The silence was deafening.
Crowpaw twisted away from her exasperatedly, whining softy as his neck stained again. Fox-dung! Now he was annoyed by something else that was completely unreasonable! This afternoon was stretching out like a nightmare! He couldn’t wait for it to get dark already so he could try and sleep this stupid day away.
A more uncomfortable quiet now surrounded Crowpaw, one that made his fur prickle and his mind fuzz. He swallowed and it felt like a river was overcoming a mound of sand. The cuts were not throbbing so frequently now, but he still felt ill at ease.
He knew what he wanted to do. Say something to her. An utterance of thanks. An apology maybe? Crowpaw knew it couldn’t be any worse than the nothing he had brought between them, but no words would form.
He didn’t feel like he deserved to say anything.
Not when the cat who he’d stood by her against had left him bleeding.
He grunted at his own stupidity, but he still wouldn’t bring his mouth to move.
And so the silence reigned until Crowpaw noticed someone slow down in front, only regaining the normal speed when they were right next to him.
“Hey guys.” The shadow remarked in a familiar tone, but an unfamiliar friendliness.
Crowpaw didn’t respond initially. But Squirrelpaw chirped with her normal comity, “Hi Stormfur.”
The Windclan apprentice could tell Stormfur was waiting for him to say something. Tough luck, Crowpaw considered. He wasn’t interested in whatever phony politeness the Warrior wanted to offer. Looking forward, he saw Feathertail looking back. Upon seeing his gaze, she gave him an innocent smile and looked away.
Of course. She had put him up to this.
“Are you doing alright?” Stormfur asked anyway.
Knowing he wasn’t going to respond, Squirrelpaw answered for him. “They don’t sting anymore he says.”
From the shadow, Crowpaw saw Stormfur nod. “That’s good. Brambleclaw really went for it, I was worried.”
He couldn’t resist. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
Stormfur gave out a small blow of air, and Crowpaw could feel Squirrelpaw’s eyes cutting into him. “Crowpaw!” She snapped, clearly holding herself back.
“No, it’s fine. I understand.” Stormfur sighed, his yellow eyes flashing with forgiveness. “Um, how are you holding up, Squirrelpaw?”
You would want to know that, wouldn’t you? Crowpaw rolled his eyes.
The Thunderclan apprentice exaggeratedly groaned, “Honestly, it feels like my paws are about to drop off.” Crowpaw could share that sentiment. It had been hard enough walking without the scars of that fight, he couldn’t describe how exhausted he was now.
“Ugh, I know what you mean.” Stormfur groaned. “I’m trying not to lose faith here, but I’m seriously wondering how long it’ll be before we start thinking about turning back.” He said, solemnly looking out to the endless hills.
Squirrelpaw rose with a start, “No, don’t say that!” She exclaimed, her tail pointing to the air. “We’ll get there eventually! Even if it takes until we are elders, we can’t just give up!”
Crowpaw could appreciate his friend’s optimism, but he too was beginning to lose hope. In all honesty, he’d been sceptical of this journey from the beginning, and now he was slowly fearing that he was right all along.
Not that he regretted coming along, of course. Even if he went back without some special message from Starclan, he had some things to look back on fondly.
Stormfur let out a raspy chuckle, “I feel like an elder now!” He said stretching his strained neck.
Squirrelpaw laughed along and Crowpaw could tell that the Warrior was blushing when he heard it. Crowpaw stiffened, as if things couldn’t get even more annoying.
Squirrelpaw whipped her tail excitedly, “Oh, you just need to loosen up a little! Like Feathertail!”
Stormfur seemed to flinch at his sister’s name, suddenly realising what he was there to do. “O-Oh yeah. Heh, you’re probably right there.” Starclan above, he was horrible at hiding his nervousness. “Um, listen Squirrelpaw?”
“Yeah?”
“Could I just have a word with Crowpaw?” Stormfur asked.
Crowpaw had to hold back an audible groan.
Squirrelpaw didn’t speak for a second. She looked at her friend, and Crowpaw wanted to give her a begging look. He couldn’t handle his friend’s company now, nevermind those he still didn’t really like. But he didn’t have the heart to do it. He couldn’t meet her eyes.
It’s that reasoning that made Crowpaw unsurprised when she agreed to his request.
She rubbed her pelt against Crowpaw once more, still smiling despite his mood. “Have fun.” She said, walking ahead to where Feathertail was, but still shooting cautious glances back at the two toms.
Crowpaw felt like he wanted to smile at her.
For a long time, the two toms did nothing. Just a replaced silence between two cats who were not as close. Inevitably though, it was Stormfur who broke the ice.
“So, listen,” Was that embarrassment in his voice? “About earlier?”
Crowpaw sniffed dismissively. It was just like he thought. All it was going to be was empty pity that didn’t mean a whisker, the kind you feel for a hatchling that’s been thrown out of its nest before you give it the killing blow.
But he had to just take it in now. Just take in his stupid sentimental dirt, chew it up and spit it out when he was most certainly looking. He knew what this was. He allowed his face to rise without meeting the warrior, already looking unimpressed.
“I’m sorry.”
Crowpaw was surprised.
FOX-DUNG!
He has to get this moving or else he would quickly lose his cool. He allowed himself to find enough strength to murmur.  “About what? You didn’t do it.”
“No.” Stormfur quavered, “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry about how I believed Brambleclaw so quickly.”
(He did what?)
Oh… that. Crowpaw honestly hadn’t thought much of it at the time, he’d really been too furious at the rat who had just beat him up. But if he thought about it clearly, he could just about make out how sharp and full of anger Stormfur had been at Brambleclaw’s accusation.
He’d really believed Crowpaw had attacked Squuirrelpaw.
Thinking about it now, Crowpaw realised how angry that made him. He knew that Stormfur probably trusted a rogue with Feathertail more than he did Crowpaw, but to think he would just spring on her with tooth and claw out of nowhere?
He really had no brains at all.
But still… It wasn’t like they’d ever gotten along in the first place, Crowpaw would have probably thought the same thing if he’d seen Stormfur pinning down Squirrelpaw. Besides, if the fool was apologising with his tail between his legs, there was no reason to hold a grudge. It would just get tiring. He was already angry enough at Brambleclaw.
Plus, if he held a grudge against Stormfur, that would definitely incense Feathertail. He didn’t want that. Internally, Crowpaw shrugged. It wasn’t worth getting bothered about.
“Whatever, it’s fine.” Crowpaw said, flicking his ear carelessly at the Warrior.
Stormfur looked astonished. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, you don’t believe him anymore now, do you?” Crowpaw gave him an icy look, pointing towards his bruised face as an explanation.
“No, not at all.” Stormfur shuffled around awkwardly, “I shouldn’t have thought you’d try to hurt her.”
Crowpaw noticed Stormfur’s eyes soften at the mention of her. The Windclan cat let out an exasperated puff of air. At least that explained Stormfur’s anger a little more.
“No, you shouldn’t.” Crowpaw agreed stonily, “Just because that fox-brain said so, it doesn’t mean a mouse-tail.”
Stormfur seemed to take it on the chin, sighing guiltily. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s just that…”
Crowpaw flicked the Warrior with his tail to shut him up. “I get it. He’s a Warrior; why would he lie? The answer is that he’s a self-righteous idiot.” Crowpaw fumed, his claws glinting as they flicked out.
Stormfur made a small humming noise, his fur shivering slightly. “Maybe. It’s just, I mean, he’s her clanmate. I thought he must have been right.”
“Well he wasn’t.”
“I know.” Stormfur’s lips turned up. “It was kind of impressive that you didn’t just take it, though.”
Crowpaw lifted his head in bemusement. “What are you talking about? I didn’t land a strike on him.” Bramblelcaw hadn’t been the one left almost limping, he didn’t have blood seeping through his fur. What did Crowpaw have to be proud of?
Stormfur chuckled lightly, “Crowpaw, look at him. None of us would have if we were pinned under that! I certainly wouldn’t have done much better.” The grey warrior looked down warmly. “But still, most apprentices would have been in tears if that had happened to them. At least you just got up without making a hassle about it.” Stormfur nudged the apprentice playfully. Friendly. “I, for one, respect that.”
Crowpaw stared at the elder cat, not knowing what to say. Stormfur respected him? Just because he’d tried to take on Brambleclaw back. “But that’s just what any Warrior would do?”
Stormfur laughed, flicking Crowpaw’s ear with his tail. “Maybe any Warrior, yes. But not just any apprentice. Only one as stupid and brave as you would do that, Crowpaw.” Stormfur piped.
Crowpaw could have cringed as he felt a sudden admiration burst for the Riverclan cat. This cat had only days ago claimed that he didn’t trust Crowpaw with his sister, and now he was openly praising him for just not taking Brambleclaw’s attack like a young kittypet? Despite himself, Crowpaw couldn’t deny the Warrior’s words gave him a jolt of pride.
Stormfur didn’t pity him at all. He respected him.
Luckily, Crowpaw was able to cover that up. “I’m not as stupid at him, at least. You still think he makes a good Warrior?”
Stormfur hardened with a sigh. “Skilfully? Without a doubt.” Crowpaw frowned but he too had to admit the mouse-brain was good in terms of strength. That’s clear enough… “But I have to admit, I am worried about his attitude?”
“It took you this long.”
“Shut up.” Stormfur quipped softly, making sure no one else could hear them. “I was talking to Tawnypelt earlier. Even she is getting concerned about how officious he’s become?”
Crowpaw winced. His own sister doesn’t trust him. The grey apprentice scoffed though; he certainly wasn’t going to give the fool any sympathy now. “He’s always been like that to me.”
Stormfur looked forward pitifully, “I was okay with it before when it was just him acting like a leader. But… if he loses it like that again…” Crowpaw could see fear begin to well inside Stormfur. Something erupting in his memory.
Crowpaw pursed his lips. Then he gave the Warrior a light push with his pelt. “Steady. After what happened, I don’t think he’d dare.” And he didn’t. Brambleclaw surely couldn’t be stupid enough to try that again after how it had made him look.
Stormfur gave the apprentice a gentle look. “Starclan, I hope you’re right. Or else-”
“WAIT!”
The two toms, along with every cat, spun their eyes towards Squirrelpaw. The molly’s nose was in the air, sniffing and quivering in excitement.
Beside her, Feathertail gave her a questioning glimpse. “What is it?”
The apprentice turned to her, eyes glimmering with joy. “Can’t you smell that?! It’s salt!”
They all stared at her, unsure whether to let the hope seize them. Crowpaw quickly lifted his mouth to taste the air. Sure enough, that disgusting taste he’d received from that Twoleg pond, days ago, came back to smother his tongue. It sent a shockwave of emotions through the young cat.
“She’s right!” Stormfur exclaimed, his gape contorting into a grin. “It’s close!”
As if seizing the moment, Brambleclaw thrust his head into the direction of the sun, storming off into a sprint. “Come on!”
Every emotion was swept away from the cats, leaving cold adrenaline. They all burst off after the brown Warrior, their muscles clenching with a thrilling power. Crowpaw’s heart pounded, not with exhaustion, but with hysteria. The salty tang was growing closer and closer, beckoning them all to their destination.
Then, Crowpaw raised a brow as he saw Brambleclaw skid to a halt. The apprentice was about to lash out until he looked closer; soon enough he and every other cat paused as they met the edge of a huge cliff, towering over an expanse of blue-green water, shifting across itself in spitting white waves.
In the furthest reaches of what they could see, the sun sank into the watery bed, casting a gleaming orange glow over the horizon.
Crowpaw felt a sudden giddiness creep across him, making him sit down as he felt his paws numb in amazement. This was it. Their destination. The Sun-drown place.
This journey hadn’t been all for nothing.
For once, Crowpaw was glad that he had been wrong.
“We made it.” Feathertail’s voice came from Crowpaw’s left. Her eyes sparkled against the golden rays, glistening just like the water below them.
Crowpaw nodded to his friend. “Yeah, we actually did.” Feathertail turned to him, smiling brightly at the tom, almost looking like she was about to cry from the relief.
“Was there ever any doubt?” Squirrelpaw cut in playfully, rubbing her tail between the two cats before resting at Crowpaw’s right. The grey cat sighed aside, not able to stop himself from smiling at the apprentice’s attitude.
“Not from you, Squirrelpaw. You know best after all.” Feathertail teased with a half-lidded smirk.
Squirrelpaw shook her fluffy pelt. “The words of a genius, Feathertail.” Against the glow of the sun, her orange fur swayed gracefully, almost mimicking a small fire. Crowpaw felt his stomach settle peacefully for the first time in hours, and he snickered before he knew it.
“Great work on finding the smell.” Crowpaw praised, gently pressing his tail against the cat.
Squirrelpaw may have blushed, but she shrugged so quickly that Crowpaw couldn’t tell. “Hey, I learnt from the best.” She smiled at him.
Crowpaw smiled back.
Then Brambleclaw cut into it. “We’ve got to hurry. We have to find the cave with teeth before it gets dark.”
As much as Crowpaw tensed at the sound of the idiot’s voice, he had to let it slide. Brambleclaw was right. They did need to move on and find Midnight as soon as they could. Just because they’d found where Starclan had directed them to, it didn’t mean their journey was over yet.
“Which way should we go?” Tawnypelt asked, looking out over the cliff face. There wasn’t a clear direction now, unless they wanted to submerge themselves in a watery grave.
Before anyone could even look around, Brambleclaw seemed to have made a decision for them. “This way.” He ordered, leading along the cliff face.
Crowpaw noticed the others looking between themselves questioningly. Clearly, Brambleclaw was losing his hold as a leader. However, there was nowhere else that could have been any worse, so they just followed along. Maybe one of us can spot a place to rest if he doesn’t. Crowpaw thought.
They all kept as safe a distance as they could from the cliff’s edge, but near enough to peer over to check for the cave. It filled Crowpaw with a small anxiety to imagine any of the cats tumbling down into those waters. Especially from this height.
He shuddered to think about it.
None of the cats said anything to each other as they walked. They were all concentrated on finding the cave. Crowpaw squinted down time and time again, but all he could see was the roaring waves, jagged rocks spiking from the bottom, and the land of the cliff slowly becoming less and less steep. The latter was a comfort at least.
Another comfort was that as they travelled, they could make out plenty of places where they could rest if they didn’t find the cave. From clefts in the cliff face, there had been several hollows made in the ruinous rock, but also creases wide and deep enough for the cats to gather if they needed to.
“There are plenty of places to shelter for the night if we don’t find the cave.” Stormfur pleasantly echoed their thoughts.
“We’ll find it!” Brambleclaw insisted roughly, jumping over another cleft as he did so. The cats shared a collective groan at the crude desperation of his tone. “Don’t lose heart so quickly when we’ve just found the Sun-drown place.”
“I’m not!” Stormfur exclaimed, exasperated. “I’m just saying we have other options.”
Brambleclaw grunted, not bothering to look back. “Well how about we stick with Starclan’s option until it gets dark. Then we can follow your lead, alright?”
Crowpaw exhaled deeply. Here we go.
Stormfur’s ears went flat against his head, his eyes burning into the tom’s back. But Feathertail wouldn’t let her tongue rest. “Would you mind calming down? How is snapping at everyone for no reason going to help any of us?” She hissed.
Squirrelpaw watched carefully over Feathertail, hoping her anger wouldn’t make her lose focus. “Careful now.”
“Better than another setback, at least.” Brambleclaw spat. “We’ve been out her for days, who knows what’s going on back in the forest? Our clans aren’t going to wait while we waste another day.”
“And they might not have anything to wait for, if we take needless risks!” Tawnypelt snapped, her tail flaring in a fury. “You may want to push yourself beyond your limits, Brambleclaw, but it isn’t just you that Starclan chose!”
Brambleclaw’s shoulders broadened at his sister’s harsh tone. When he spoke, his teeth were clearly clenched. “I’m just trying to make sure nothing happens to my clan. Is that so wrong?”
Crowpaw couldn’t stop his lips from whispering. “Knowing your judgement, yes.”
It wasn’t clear if Brambleclaw had heard what was said, but his ear flicked at the sound of the apprentice. “What was that?!” He yowled, looking over his shoulder maliciously.
Crowpaw stared him down, he wasn’t going to submit to this bee-brain. “Keep your eyes on the cliff.”
“If you want to keep your eyes, you’ll shut up!” Brambleclaw grumbled, clearly not caring who heard him as the rest of the cats drew back in shock.
Crowpaw wasn’t intimidated, but before he could laugh off the threat, Squirrelpaw started forward with a snarl. “Don’t you threaten him!”
“That’s right, favour other clans over your own, like you always do.” Brambleclaw growled, his tail shaking in anger.
Squirrelpaw’s eyes blazed like the sun over the horizon. “Oh yeah! Because you treated me soooooo well when we first set off! You’re a real good clanmate, you are!” She hissed sarcastically.
Brambleclaw’s eye appeared over his shoulder, along with the grit of his teeth. “If it wasn’t for me, you ungrateful kit, you wouldn’t even be here in the first place! You should be thanking me!” The Warrior seethed with an unbelievable venom.
Crowpaw pulsed, rage filling his heart. After ever insult, every cold shoulder, after his attack, this fox-heart still had the nerve to say that to Squirrelpaw. Crowpaw wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt as enraged as he did now. His fur was on end until he could have resembled a hedgehog.
But what he also knew was that Squirrelpaw was perfectly capable of speaking for herself.
The Thunderclan apprentice narrowed her eyes, not even blinking at her clanmate’s words. “Remember what you said? I would have come along anyway. I don’t owe you anything but a rake on the ears!”
As sharp as always.
Brambleclaw let out a growl that was more like a roar. He blazed with outrage, but he knew he couldn’t react, every cat was staring at him as if he was the bad guy. His expression twisted, he looked certain to say something else, even more hurtful.
“Brambleclaw, please just shut up for once!” Tawnypelt exclaimed, stepping forward to her brother cautiously. “This isn’t helping any of us!”
“What in Starclan has happened to you, Tawnypelt?” Brambleclaw hissed softly, stopping in place.
For once, Tawnypelt looked caught off-guard. “Excuse me?”
“My leader, my clan?” Brambleclaw’s voice was low and dangerous, bubbling with icy fury. “And now my sister. Why can’t any of you understand that I’m trying my best for you all?!” He spat ruthlessly, his back quivering as he did so.
Tawnypelt stared at her brother, silent for a moment, then her lips contracted into a grimace. “Will you stop blaming everyone around you?” She erupted, taking another heavy step towards the Warrior. “It’s no one’s fault but your own that you’re acting like this!”
“Acting like what? A loyal Warrior! Is that so wrong to you?!”
“No, it’s not-” Curtly, Tawnypelt stopped. The air around the cats dropped, becoming cold and hollow. The only thing they could hear was the crash of the waves below. “…Was that supposed to mean something?”
At that, every cat realised that it had. And they shivered when they put together what it was that Brambleclaw had meant.
If there had been any regret at his words, Brambleclaw didn’t turn to show it. He continued to shake, growling softly. That was his only frustrated reply.
The scrape of Tawnypelt’s claws against the rock became evident. The Shadowclan Warrior breathed slowly and roughly. “No, Brambleclaw.” Tawnypelt said with a remarkable, frightening calmness. “There’s nothing wrong with acting loyal. But there is something wrong when you’re acting like…” Tawnypelt stopped again, wondering if she was angry enough to stoop to that.
Every cat realised what she was about to say. Every cat’s eyes widened with caution. Brambleclaw’s head rose up sharply, his claws clenched in, and his breathing became fast and ragged. “Acting like who?” He dared her to finish.
She did.
“Acting like him.”
The roar of waves built up, crashing against the rocks violently. Brambleclaw didn’t move, only motioning with the shaky, rasping breaths coming behind his fangs. No cat could find the strength to make a move. A cruel tension had swept over them all. Suddenly, with a rush, Brambleclaw twisted to face his sister. Eyes wild with furious, aching tears. “DON’T COMPARE ME TO-”
He wasn’t able to begin on his tirade. When he turned, his paw had found the edge of the cliff face. He slipped on the cleft. The anger in his face subsided, panic welling as he tumbled sideways into the hollow.
That panic swarmed over the other cats as they watched him helplessly slip through the hollow. Brambleclaw tried to cling his claws into the loose vines, but it didn’t help as soil battered his face making him cough and fall further. Crowpaw watched the frenzy in horror. Even if he hated Brambleclaw, he didn’t want the Warrior to die! But what could they do? There was no way he was going to be able to cling on, and they couldn’t reach him even if he did.
That didn’t stop Stormfur though.
“Stormfur!” Feathertail wailed after him. The Grey Warrior leapt into the hollow after the Thunderclan cat, trying to cling onto his shoulders. It didn’t work. The soil was too loose and soon both began tumbling down at a more furious pace.
Crowpaw’s heart clenched with dread. That idiot! What had he been thinking?! Feathertail’s jaw hung with hysterical fear, wanting to go after her brother, but Crowpaw held her back. He couldn’t sit back and watch more cats potentially lose their lives. If they could just take a moment to think, just maybe they could find a way to reach them at the bottom.
Then Crowpaw watched as Squirrelpaw darted into the hollow with a yowl.
He watched as she landed on top of the falling cats, and saw when they fell out of the dirt, flailing into the water.
“No!” He yowled, grim despair enveloping his heart. But he couldn’t do anything but watch as they plummeted into the unknown.
“Brambleclaw!” Tawnypelt cried, peering over the edge, but the hollow blocked her sight to where they could have fallen. Horrifically, the soil beneath her feet crumbled and she too tumbled over the edge with a howl.
“Where are they?” Feathertail screeched, trying to find any signal that their friends were still alive. Crowpaw searched desperately as well, never before overcome by such sheer terror. His heart thundered as the sound of the water rushed through his ears, taunting him. The current carried along the cliff, slow but clearly heavy. Crowpaw rushed along beside it. He couldn’t even find the time to breathe.
Come on, come on, please! Please be alright! Had he ever been this terrified before? No. He didn’t care. He just had to find his friends! The other two ran behind him as he did so. But not as fast as him. He ran until his sides hurt and his scars felt like they were burning and it was painful to breathe and he was pretty sure he was crying and when he stumbled he got back up again in half a second to continue through the pain.
His body wasn’t in control. His mind was. And it was set on one thing.
He didn’t even question anymore why he was so scared.
That would just be stupid at this point.
How had she ended up here?
The short answer would be that she jumped off a cliff. But that was also the dumb answer. There were so many things running through her mind, and she only knew how to handle a select few.
On the one hand, they had found the Sun-drown place. They were one step closer in completing their journey. That was the good news, and it was amazing news after all they’d been through so far.
On the other hand, she was certain she was going to lose her mind over that grey apprentice.
She couldn’t get him out of her sight. Not once. She didn’t want to. Every time she tried to keep her eyes forward and focus, some part of her panged to look back, to check over him, to hope to see him better.
It wouldn’t stop.
And after it had become clear that he was in no mood to talk, she surprisingly didn’t find herself bothered that much. She understood. So she tried to keep it quiet, to lie that she would forget what had happened that had hurt him. She knew she wouldn’t, but she would try. If that would help him, she would try.
It was only when they had found the Sun-drown place that it had worked. That was when he smiled again, looking more like the cat she had grown to adore.
But that was when another problem had surfaced. When she saw his smile against the yellow-blue radiance of the water, fizzing around him like the aura of a star.
Squirrelpaw knew that something had changed. And it scared her. It scared her more than the roar of the waves below them ever had.
That was why she had kept necessarily quiet when Brambleclaw had started on his tirade. She had other, more important things to worry about. She couldn’t be. She just couldn’t.
She thought about how Feathertail and Stormfur would never see their father again because of his feelings.
She thought about Feathertail and the way she looked at Crowpaw.
She thought about the Clans back home.
And then she finally brought up her voice again when Brambleclaw had threatened Crowpaw. She wouldn’t allow that to go unrecognised, not after what he did. She didn’t care about whatever cruel comments he had to say about her, but he was never going to attack her friends if she had anything to say about it.
Maybe her heart throbbed a little at how much it had hurt Brambleclaw when Tawnypelt had said what she’d said, but her satisfaction that someone had finally said it was stronger. If Brambleclaw really wanted to wipe away the visage of that cat, he needed to hear it. Especially from Tawnypelt.
Then he had fallen into the hollow.
Squirrelpaw did not like Brambleclaw anymore. He had shown her nothing but insults and hurt throughout the journey; while the others had given her the confidence to speak up and treat herself like the Warrior she was going to be, Brambleclaw had seemed determined to remind her that he was the chosen cat and not her.
She knew that he had no respect for her.
But that did not mean that he wasn’t her clanmate. Her Clan flowed through her blood, and it meant that she would always protect them when she needed to. No matter who it was.
That was why she had jumped. It wasn’t a choice, it was instinct.
Although she had to roll her eyes despite falling through the hollow when Brambleclaw had protested her help. “No-go back!”
A little late to do that! He’d sure picked the wrong time to act like he cared!
The wind rushed in Squirrelpaw’s ears, and it was harder than she’d thought to keep her balance as they fell. She braced herself to be enveloped by the water, taking in a deep, life-saving, breath.
Only to be met with the heavy slap of pebbles.
Squirrelpaw hissed from the pain, looking around to find her friends, where her jaw dropped at what stood before them. The cave: a massive mouth of rock, splintered with sharp pillars of stone near it’s entrance. Fresh drops of water gleamed against the murky rocks, winking in the red sunlight.
It’s here! The cave with teeth! Squirrelpaw thought excitedly.
Squirrelpaw tried to stand on her paws, and was whisked back down as a torrent of water shoved against her backside, dragging the weight away from her feet. Taking a small breath, she stopped the salty liquid from entering her mouth, shifting her small weight in the waves and just about managing to find her balance.
Nearby, she heard a mixture of frightened yowling and coughing. Squirrelpaw turned and saw Brambleclaw writhing helplessly in the water, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. He must have swallowed and gotten an eyeful of the saltwater. A protective impulse pounded in Squirrelpaw’s mind and she forcefully kicked her paws into the direction of her clanmate.
The waves were strong, but Squirrelpaw was persistent. Once she was near enough, she latched her teeth onto Brambleclaw’s shoulder, dragging him up, making sure his head was above the draining water. The tom coughed out a splatter of saltwater, hazily blinking at his clanmate.
“No.” He rasped, water spilling out as he spoke. “You can’t-you’ll drown…”
So will you if I don’t help you, mouse-brain. Was what she wanted to yowl, but she couldn’t do that without letting go of him. She kicked her paws away from the sucking waves, furiously edging towards the cave. She settled slightly when she felt pebbles beneath her feet, and the tide changed, pushing them onwards.
She found herself on drier pebbles and she shifted all of her strength into pulling Brambleclaw along with her. By Starclan, was the tom heavy. It also didn’t help that the shallow water threatened to drag him back into the watery tomb. The pebbles scattered underneath her, almost causing her to trip. Then Bramblecla seemed to lighten, and Squirrelpaw noticed Stormfur behind, showing Brambleclaw along with his head. He looked so much smaller with his fur sodden and plastered against his skin. She’d hate to think how small she looked right now.
Finally, she and Stormfur had pulled Brambleclaw onto what felt like solid rock. Squirrelpaw released him, gasping and collapsing onto her belly. Every bit of strength had been sucked out of her and she felt clagged from the water soaked in her fur. She looked down at Brambleclaw who lay still, softly panting, his eyes dimming over.
Oh no you don’t! Squirrelpaw stumbled over to where the still tom laid, and she frantically prodded him with her paw. He didn’t have the right to leave them now! “Brambleclaw, wake up!” She shouted, feeling her heart pace at the thought of darkness taking over her clanmate. They all needed each other, every clan cat deserved the right to go home a hero.
Blinking lazily, Brambleclaw rose his head, opening his eyes finally and managing to meet Squirrelpaw’s eyes. She let out a sigh of relief. Even though he was moaning in pain, at least he was alive.
“Thank Starclan.” Squirrelpaw muttered, taking a step away to give the tom some space. “I thought you were dead.”
Brambleclaw grunted weakly, “I-I’m okay.” He said, seeming to choke as he did so. The haze faded from his eyes and he softly rose to meet Squirrelpaw’s eyes. Squirrelpaw was amazed, he actually looked… thankful. Well, he should have been, anyway. But he also looked fragile. Not so much the angry cat that had darkened her journey.
She sighed. What was she thinking? This wasn’t the place. Of course, she was glad he was okay.
Something shifted in Brambleclaw’s gaze and he suddenly made an effort to lift himself up. Retching, he vomited several mouthfuls of water, clearing his body of the heavy pain. As he shivered from the cold and the sickly tremors, Squirrelpaw never thought she’d seen him this vulnerable before.
“Feeling better?” She asked.
Brambleclaw spat out whatever saltwater was left and he nodded.
“Thanks to you, he will be.” Stormfur called. Squirrelpaw found him shaking his sodden fur, but his eyes gleamed with admiration for her. It made her blush slightly. “If it wasn’t for you, that could have ended badly.”
“Oh, it wasn’t like it was me alone.” Squirrelpaw purred.
“You still jumped in.” Squirrelpaw turned with a start towards Brambleclaw. Wearily, the tom lifted his head again, his amber eyes darkened with confusion. “You could have died… Why- I thought you said you hated me.” The tom challenged, his voice numb with fatigue and mystery.
Squirrelpaw rolled her eyes. That was the first thing he thought about. Starclan… what a bee-brain. “I did.” She affirmed, her green eyes flickering with annoyance. “But you’re still my clan. What else am I going to do?”
Brambleclaw only stared at her, his eyes hazing over again with a misty expression. His head dropped again, staring at the pebbled floor, when they all heard footsteps approach.
“Brambleclaw?” The tom turned at his sister’s voice. She approached him with a hard expression, her legs were damp with water, but her body was mostly unscathed. She must have been lucky enough to find her footing on the pebbles before the wave came.
Brambleclaw’s tired eyes brightened suddenly at the sight of his sister, then dropped again, the memory of their last conversation thundering over them. He frowned deeply at the floor, but his mouth was thin with visible conflict. As Tawnypelt’s steps closed in, Brambleclaw’s hard façade crumbled like the pebbles below him, making his mouth quiver and his tail dip between his legs.
It was only when she was right in front of him that Brambleclaw found the courage to raise his head. “Tawnypelt… I-”
He sounded off when Tawnypelt leaned close against him, rubbing her head against his tenderly. Brambleclaw’s pupils shrank at his sister’s action, but when he tried to speak she swiftly silenced him. “Just, shut up.” She yapped, her voice strained with relief.
The Thunderclan Warrior did shut up, and his eyes creased with unspoken words that needed to be said, and he buried his face back against hers, sharing in her momentary fondness.
Squirrelpaw and Stormfur looked on at the sentimental display. It was kind of cringy to look at, but Stormfur pointed out that he could see Squirrelpaw smiling. Perhaps there was some hope for them after all.
“Are you all alright?” Feathertail’s panicked tone erupted around the cave. The cats turned towards the cave. Just past the rush of water and the sparkling pebbles, the cave opened its mouth in a frightening invitation. The walls were large and smooth, mostly covered by shadow, except for a small hole in the roof.
Where Crowpaw and Feathertail peered through.
Squirrelpaw’s heart leapt with alleviation. “We’re okay now. Just a little wet.”
“Hold on! We’re coming down!” Crowpaw exclaimed. Squirrelpaw’s ear twitched at the panic in his tone. That was something she’d never heard before. The two cats padded quickly down a series of clefts and ledges safely embedded in the rock, until they too had found their destination.
Feathertail wasted no time rushing to her brother and enveloping him with loving licks on the cheek. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought I’d lost you!” The Warrior exulted through her fear.
Stormfur blushed under his sister’s affection but he rubbed against her comfortingly. “Hey, hey, we’re fine. Look around, we’re here.” He cooed as his sister continued to smother him.
Now Squirrelpaw didn’t mind that she was smiling. Feathertail’s happiness had that effect on cats. She heard pawprints coming towards her and she went to grin at Crowpaw. “Here we are! Pretty amazing, r-”
She lost her voice as Crowpaw pulled her into a tight embrace.
It came back like the roar of a lion.
He was so close. His paws were wrapped around her body, never breaking, like he was afraid to let go. Her heart began to thunder again, and she lost her breath like she had been submerged by another wave.
There was wetness were his cheeks were pressed against her. It wasn’t from her fur. Had he… Had he been crying? He’d been that worried? About her?
It no longer shocked her why that made her heart melt.
“C-Crowpaw…” Squirrelpaw sputtered, she felt his grip around her tighten.
“Mouse-brain.” He tried to hide the break in his voice. “You could have been killed.” There was a low anger there, but he never let go at all.
Squirrelpaw felt something bloom inside her. He really had been… scared over her safety.
Was she meant to want to smile this much?
“W-Well, I wasn’t.” She breathed, hoping wit would calm him down. It did a little as he let out a crooked note of a laugh, but mostly he just hugged her.
“Just be quiet.” He snapped, but she could feel him smile against her cheek. “And never ever do anything like that again.”
Earlier on, she’d wanted him to cheer up. Squirrelpaw wasn’t sure if this counted at all. But it had to be better.
Why else would it feel so good?
She knew why. That was why it was such a delight to wrap her arms around him and hug him back.
“I won’t.” She promised, knowing that she would break it like she did to so many.
It wasn’t like it mattered now.
It didn’t even matter that in a few minutes they would be thrown off by what Midnight really was, and the dreading news she was to bring about their clans.
That could wait.
All that mattered was now. And now was hugging Crowpaw.
Now. It was nice.
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adoreyou303 · 4 years
Text
Sweet Creature (H.S. Fic)
CW: Pregnancy, lots of fluff!!
Chapter Six
Sharp, short knocks echo through the dark hotel room. She groans out of frustration, rolling over and pulling a pillow over her head. After a fitful night of sleep, the last thing she needs, nay wants, is someone pulling her back to reality. She would rather stay in her cocoon of blankets and pillows where her aching body is supported by a mountain of fluff and fuzz. 
Once again, the knocks ring through the room, signaling her again of someone’s presence at her door. If it’s important, they will let themselves in… she thinks. A familiar beep sounds before the click of the door lets in a sudden rush of light from the hallway.
“Lucky I have a key to your room,” Harry chuckles, quietly closing the door.
“Whatever would I do without you,” she mutters sarcastically. 
“How’re you feeling, love?” he murmurs, sitting at the foot of the bed. He places his hand on her foot and squeezes gently. She throws the pillow off of her head and looks at him through squinted eyes. Dark circles outline the skin below her eyes. Her eyes are stormy blue, darker than he’s ever seen. The tip of her nose is pink, standing out from the pale translucency of her face. She’s cuter than a button, even when she feels like she’s been hit by a bus. 
“I felt so sick, I barely slept,” she admits, closing her eyes. She feels the weight at the end of the bed lift and for a moment, she feels white hot whips of panic roar through her chest. Did she scare him away? Is this what finally makes him leave? 
Before she can think of any more worst case scenarios, the bed dips again, but this time, it’s much closer to her body. 
“Oh, Mel. Have you thought about saying something? Your team could help you when you don’t feel well. I don’t want a repeat of last night. I barely convinced them you were just tired,” he sighs.
“What if they make me stop doing all of this? Or make me go home? I can’t do this alone,” she whispers, slowly reaching out towards Harry. His eyes search her face worriedly until their eyes meet. The eyes are the beholder of true feelings. They say everything without uttering a word. Harry’s never felt more connected to a single soul. There is no tension or awkward feelings. There’s a comfortable silence as they both drink in each other’s presence. 
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises, holding his hand out, allowing her to weave her fingers through his. 
“Can I-”
“Will-”
Both stop midsetence, cheeks flushed at the mutual interruption. “You go, love.”
“No, you started first,” she insists. 
“I was just going to ask if I could hold you,” he asks sheepishly, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. No one has ever held this much power over him. Usually he is the one making others flushed. He’s not used to someone making him feel this way. Instinctively, his other hand reaches up to scratch at his neck. Nervous tick. 
Instead of answering, she nuzzles her head closer, immediately inhaling his intoxicating scent. She releases their intertwined hands and wraps her arm around his torso. “Do believe you were going to say something,” he reminds her. 
“No need. It seems you happen to have read my mind,” she hums, tucking her face into the safety of his chest. He takes the moment to breathe her in. The smell of her shampoo is emintating off her hair in gentle waves. A faint trace of her favorite chapstick still lingers on her lips. Deep, glittering purple swatches of nail lacquer expertly decorate her nails, executenating her devine hands. And, no matter what time of day, she always smelled of something sweet. Call it what you will-- a sweet tooth, a lack of self control, but Melanie loves her chocolate and will go to the lengths of the end of the Earth to make sure she gets it. Something sweet for someone sweet. 
“How would I tell people?” she questions, pulling her head from it’s safe burrow in Harry’s chest.
“Well, that’s up to you. It doesn’t have to be all fancy like you see in the movies or anything. I reckon you could call a meeting or summat?” he suggests.
“That’s… too formal and rigid,” she rejects. He hums in response, lost in thought. 
“There is that label dinner next week. ’re all expected to be there. Would you consider doing it then? I know ’s in public and all, but-”
“H, that’s perfect,” she beams, reaching up and grabbing his face between her two hands. There is a deep ache in his chest, a pull at his heart. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the nickname and the sudden contact of the girl of his dreams or if he’s elated to see his best friend happy after seeing her struggle for so long.
“Really?” he smiles. “What makes you say that?” 
“We’re supposed to be discussing our upcoming projects. It can be treated like… I don’t know, a new beginning or such. You keep going on about support and what not, so why not start in a positive place? I don’t want it to be in a record label boardroom with contracts and attorneys fussing over details. It would be more like… friends finding out news. Right?” she ponders, her voice wavering slightly.
“You’re brilliant, love. I was thinking if it didn’t go well you could just fill up on pasta and breadsticks, but you really blew me out of the water on this one, didn’t yeh?” he chuckles, pressing a hand to the back of her head. 
This movement sends a thousand tingles down her spine. His thumb gently caresses the nape of her neck, slowly and softly swiping back and forth every so often. Almost as if to remind her he’s still there, he still has her. 
The next week passes way too slow for Melanie’s liking. She tries to distract herself with recording and writing, but anxiety about sharing the news swells in her chest. That isn’t the only thing swelling, either Her ankles have grown twice in size and she can no longer fit into her favorite pair of jeans. She isn’t huge, but she’s growing. Fortunately, the change hasn’t been noticeable by too many. The focus has mainly been on Harry promoting his new single. He’s been away doing various promotions, so the team has paid Melanie less and less attention. Once he returns, though, it’ll be back to the spotlight with their currently underwraps collab album. 
She has no doubt the second Harry lays his eyes on her, he will notice the changes in her body. Unsure of how his attention on a body that is quickly becoming not her own will make her feel, she soaks in all the non-attention as much as she can. 
As she prepares for the company dinner, her mind races with various scenarios of how the evening could possibly play out. She could get fired… she could be told off… her friends could leave her… they could laugh at her… anything could happen. She slips a light blue dress over her hand, letting it slide down over the rest of her body. She has to shimmy, pulling it down with more umph than usual. Her butt has also joined the swelling party. 
A soft knock at the door pulls her from her harsh gaze in the mirror. 
“Who is it?” she asks curtly. The driver isn’t supposed to be at hers for another 15 minutes.
“‘S me, love. Thought you might fancy a cuddle before dinner?” She could practically hear his smirk through the door.
“It’s open, Harry,” she calls, walking back into the bathroom to grab her earrings. Pushing through the door, he is hit with the scent of home. Fresh cookies. Vanilla. Faint Citrus. Her. He feels as though a permanent smile has been etched on his face as he places his bags on the floor near the door.
“Where are you, love?” 
“Bathroom, be out in a sec,” she responds. After placing her jewelry in the right places, she takes one last look in the mirror. She sighs a breath of relief, fixing her hair yet again. Satisfied. 
She returns to her bedroom to find a familiar face sitting on the edge of her bed. The mere sight of him makes her feel as though there is no air left in her lungs. His ring-clad fingers are sat upon loose fitting light teal trousers. One hand runs through his curly locks, bringing her eyes up to his torso, snuggly tucked in a matching dress shirt with the top buttons undone. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, allowing for his tattoos to dance freely on the toned muscles of his forearms. If she wasn’t staring before, she was now. 
“You look gorgeous,” he smiles, standing up for a hug. 
“You clean up pretty nice yourself,” she covers, avoiding his piercing stare. Allowing herself to fall into his embrace, she remembers back to the times he’s complimented her appearance. She’s never doubted his sincerity, but why did it feel so different now? 
“I, um, need help with my dress. Would you mind?” she asks, pointing toward the back. He gives her a quick kiss on the check before reaching up to her shoulders to turn her around. His gaze falls to admire her dress when suddenly he flinches and pulls away as if she was the most repugnant thing he’s ever seen. 
“What??” she exclaims, looking over herself to see if she had some sort of anomaly or something to cause alarm. 
“Melanie, love, you’re showing,” he whispers, his eyes trained on her belly. Her gaze follows down to her stomach and back up to his face, whether their eyes meet. 
“I-I am,” she says, almost as though she’s trying to convince herself. Harry’s hands reach up to cradle her face.
“This is incredible. Can I?” he asks, breathless. Unsure of what he’s doing, but not wanting him to stop, she nods furiously. His hands drop to her sides, thumbs rubbing gently over the taut skin of her belly. “When did this happen?”
“I’m not sure, maybe a few days ago?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not exactly something to be… excited about,” she sighs, averting her gaze.
 “C’mere.” 
He brings her around to her floor-length mirror and pulls her in front of him. Instead of zipping her up, he pushes her straps down. 
“Harry, I-”
“I promise ‘m not going to hurt you. Let me show you something.” 
The dress slowly comes off her figure, leaving her only in her bra and panties. His large hands rest on the outer sides of her thighs. His eyes meet hers in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes brimming with tears.
“Do you know what I see?” he questions in hushed tones. She shakes her head, instinctively retreating into his chest. “I see a beautiful, glowing woman who is growing a child. Her child. She’s the strongest person I know. Smartest, too, I reckon. She could beat my ass any day,” he snickers. This earns a small laugh from the girl in his arms. His heart gleams with pride and love as he sees her stand a little taller. He raises a hand from her thigh, trailing his fingers along her sun kissed skin, and places it on her belly. Her little swollen belly. Gently, his other hand follows until both his hands are embracing her, holding both Melanie and her baby. After a few minutes, her hands wiggle free from his embrace. She gently rests them on his large ones atop her little baby belly. She relaxes back into his chest, letting her fears melt away.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, squeezing his hands. He nudges his nose into her cheek with a soft smile. 
“Now, let’s get you dressed, yeah? Can’t take you to dinner in your knickers.”
Melanie can’t lie, dinner with friends is exactly what she needed. Although it is technically a company dinner, she loves everyone she works with. Laughter and fun stories pass the time so quickly, she almost forgets she has to break life changing news. So much so, it isn’t until Jeff mentions the collab album that she breaks into a nervous sweat. Almost as if on cue, Harry places a calming hand on her knee, talking cooly about plans he had thought up on his recent promo trip. 
“Actually, if I might chime in,” Mitch interrupts, eyes darting between dinner guests. Mitch has been with Harry since he went solo, so his word is just as important as Harry’s. Everyone’s attention turns towards the guitarist as he pushes his chair to stand. “I think this collab album is a great idea. It could really showcase both Mel and Harry’s strengths and teach them a lot about each other as artists.”
He pauses as he walks around the table, nervously pulling at his black velvet blazer. “However, I don’t think the timing of this is… ideal.”
Melanie gulps and she swears the whole table could hear it. Her frantic eyes meet Harry’s, who looks just plain confused. There is no way he knows… could he?
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m all in favor of this project. Here’s my issue.” Here it comes… I’m ruined. “When I started working for this company, for Harry, I only had myself to think about. I could drop everything and go to studio and write for hours on end. Hell, Styles dragged me to Jamaica at a minute’s notice. Well, I can safely say that is no longer the case. I’m not on my own anymore and I don’t want to be ever again,” he says softly, training his eyes on Sarah. Her mouth drops, clearly not expecting his speech. “Sarah, you took my breath away the moment I saw you. Somehow you manage to bring me out of my shell and make me unafraid. I never want to imagine what it would be like without you practicing drums at the worst hours or praising my cooking even though, darling, we both know it belongs in the bin,” he admits, a water chuckle escaping his lips. Tears are fully dripping down Sarah’s cheeks as the realization sinks in. “I loved you when you rejected my first attempt to ask you out and I love you now. I will love you always. Please, darling, will you marry me?” he asks, bending on one knee, gently grasping her hand in his. 
The whole table is dabbing tears away from their eyes as they take in the scene in front of them. Melanie sheds a few tears herself, but promptly feels a kick to the gut, like the wind has been taken out of her sail. 
“Yes, yes, I will,” Sarah finally answers, fully crying. Mitch slips the ring on her finger before engulfing her in a full embrace. There is a full uproar of cheers and congratulations from the party, but Melanie just feels sick. She joins her friends in happily (and tearily) congratulating Mitch and Sarah before quietly excusing herself from dinner. This wasn’t her moment. Not yet. 
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losingmymindtonight · 5 years
Text
I started writing this so long ago. It’s dedicated to for @agib-2002​, for the original idea, and @the-great-escapism​, for sparking it up again and giving me the inspiration to finish it.
(An extended scene between when Tony, Peter, and Strange originally meet the Guardians on the Q-Ship and when they all start planning on Titan.)
He doesn’t even know how it happened.
One minute, he’d been crashing an spaceship onto an alien planet. The next, his spider sense was flashing and he was being flung (for the second time in a handful of minutes) across the ship, Iron Spider suit clanging and screeching as it grated against the metal floors.
There was an alien with antennas, which was weird, and then some guy with a mask kicked him down. He knew, distantly, that he should never have let himself get separated from Mister Stark in the first place. He didn’t have a lot of practice fighting multiple opponents at once, and he wasn’t sure Berlin really counted.
There was just so much happening. Pieces of the damaged ship were still breaking off. He could hear pipes bursting, circuits sparking. The air was a chaos of shouts and repulsers and the hiss and sizzle of Doctor Strange’s magic. He’d lost contact with Karen way back on Earth, when he’d torn off his original mask, but the complex equations and data from the heads-up display still raced in the corners of his vision. All he could see was flashes: flashes of movement, of guns, of falling debris. There was blood in his mouth, blood in his nose. Every lungful of air was sweet with sweat and smoke and kicked up dust. His suit was too tight, too tight, too tight. The metal plates pressed against his skin and he didn’t think they’d ever come off.
For a minute, he really didn’t want to be a superhero anymore.
He scrambled across the ceiling above Mask Guy. He had to get behind him, right? He could’ve sworn Mister Stark had told him to get behind the enemy during training once. Or was that just something he’d learned from the video games he played with Ned on Sunday afternoons? Either way, it was the only plan he had. 
It turned out to be a bad plan. A very, very bad plan.
He wasn’t thinking straight, and not taking that into account was his major mistake. His vision was so bright, so skewed, that he didn’t even notice Mask Guy turn to stare straight at him when he jumped, the extra legs Mister Stark had put in his suit curling around him protectively.
Not that it mattered, of course. The ropes of electricity that snapped around his torso made the whole suit short circuit anyway.
Everything got even scarier after that. A mix of sensory overload and, you know, being electrocuted, made his brain fuzz out. Even after the shock stopped (but the ropes stayed, to his dismay, clamped tightly around his ribcage), it still took him a minute to re-acclimate himself to having a body.
By the time that happened, there was an arm around his neck and a gun against his head.
Oh. Oh shit.
Mask Guy hauled him to where Mister Stark and Doctor Strange were still fighting with the other aliens. The gun squealed loudly in his ear as he armed it.
“Everybody stay where you are! Chill the eff out!”
Peter only felt a little bit better when Mask Guy turned to gun to point at Mister Stark. “I’m gonna ask you this it one time. Where is Gamora?”
He could see his mentor swallow hard, eyes dancing between Peter and Mask Guy (who had disengaged said mask and, from what Peter could see from the corner of his eye, looked surprisingly human) as he held his repulser towards them.
Mister Stark’s mask had also been retracted, and it struck Peter rather suddenly that he’d never actually been on the receiving end of his fury before. Sure, his mentor had been mad after the Ferry Incident, but that was nothing compared to the rage burning behind his eyes now.
He looked livid. And... scared. Really, really scared.
For some reason, his adrenaline-fueled mind couldn’t reason why.
“Yeah. I’ll do you one better. Who is Gamora?”
It wasn’t until the Blue Alien spoke that Peter realized Mister Stark had a hostage of his own. “I’ll do you one better. Why is Gamora?”
If Peter wasn’t so sure he was only a few seconds away from literally dying, he might have laughed.
Mask Guy’s voice was murderous. The gun was back against his temple. He couldn’t feel the metal through his mask, but he imagined it was cold. “Tell me where the girl is or I swear to you I’m gonna french fry this little freak.”
Something washed over Mister Stark’s face at the threat. Something wild and vulnerable. His voice was a mix of harsh determination and pure terror. “Let’s do it! You shoot my guy and I blast him! Let’s go!”
A massive gun folded out from Mister Stark’s gauntlet at the threat. Despite the circumstances, Peter felt a brief flash of awe at his mentor’s suit. It was cool.
“Do it, Quill. I can take it.”
Another wave of fear washed through his veins. Maybe the Blue Alien could take it. Peter was 90% sure that a direct blast from Mask Guy’s gun at close range would kill him, even with the safety measures he knew Mister Stark had packed into the suit. 
Then, Antenna Alien spoke. “No! He can’t take it!”
Doctor Strange shook his head dryly. “She’s right. You can’t.”
“Oh, yeah? You don’t wanna tell me where she is? That’s fine. I’ll kill all three of you and I’ll beat it out of Thanos myself. Starting with you.” 
Mask Guy’s arm tightened around his throat. The gun jammed into his temple hard enough to ache. Tears stung at his eyes. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. Please. He didn’t want to-
“Wait, what, Thanos? Alright, let me ask you this one time. What master do you serve?”
“What master do I serve? What am I supposed to say Jesus?”
Some of the fear left Mister Stark’s body. In fact, he almost looked annoyed, like when Peter told a really bad pun in the middle of a fight. “You’re from Earth.”
“I’m not from Earth. I’m from Missouri.”
“Yeah, that’s on Earth, dipshit. What are you hassling us for?”
He’s from Earth. He’s from Earth. He should know Mister Stark. Iron Man. He should know. 
He finally got up the courage to speak, and he hated how small and childish his voice sounded. He was sure Mister Stark could hear that he’d been choking back tears. “So you’re not... with... Thanos?”
“With Thanos? No! I’m here to kill Thanos. He took my girl.” The gun fell away from his head. “Wait, who are you?”
The mask retracted. The suit must have sensed the danger had passed. 
He tried to force bravery into his voice. “We’re the Avengers, man.”
The arm around his neck disappeared. He pushed out a breath of relief and hauled in his first full lungful of air in god knows how long. The restraints around his torso were still painfully right, but at least he didn’t have a gun shoved against his head anymore. At least Mister Stark only looked a little bit frightened.
Antenna Alien looked surprised. “You’re the ones Thor told us about.”
“You know Thor?”
“Yeah. Tall guy, not that good-looking,” Peter couldn’t help but flinch back at that, face scrunching in indignation, “needed saving.”
“Where is he now?”
“Nidavellir.”
Mister Stark’s mouth twitched in frustration. “I’m sorry, he’s where?”
“Nidavellir. Place that makes Titan-killing weapons, apparently. He said he needed a hammer.”
“He has a hammer.”
“He told us that his first one got destroyed.”
“How the hell did-” Mister Stark shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. We’re good, right? Awesome. Peter, c’mere.”
Mask Guy reached forward and held Peter’s bicep in an unforgiving grip. “Whoa, slow down. You give me my guy, and I give you yours.”
“Fine.” Mister Stark gestured for Blue Alien to get to his feet and then pointed at Peter’s chest. “But get those things off of him.”
The electricity binding his arms to his side disappeared and he relaxed, wincing the muscles in his shoulders pulled. Mask Guy shoved him forward as Mister Stark did the same with Blue Alien. The moment he was in reach, his mentor lunged forward and hauled him a few stumbled steps backward. 
Mister Stark kept a firm grip on his arm as he maneuvered himself so that he was between Peter and any danger. He didn’t look at him, although Peter could tell he was dying to.
“You good, kid?”
“Y-Yeah.”
“Alright. Hang in there.” He watched Mask Guy calculatingly. “You gonna introduce yourselves?”
“Quill, but most people call me Star-Lord.” He pointed at Blue Alien, then Antenna Lady. “That’s Drax and Mantis. Your turn.”
“I’m Tony,” he nodded in Strange’s direction, “Steven Strange,” he tugged Peter so he was just slightly visible to the other gang, “and this is Peter.”
Quill’s face brightened. “Hey! My name’s Peter, too!”
He forced a shaky smile on his face. He felt light-headed. “It’s a good name.”
“Yeah it is!”
“Alright, alright.” His mentor squeezed his arm lightly. “This is nice and all, but I’m gonna need some confirmation that we’re working together here. So,” he took a few steps forward, dragging Peter behind him, and held out his hand, “truce?”
Quill met him in the middle and gave a sharp nod. “Truce.”
“Perfect.” Mister Stark swung to face Peter head on, gripping his shoulders to hold him steady. “Hey. Hi. You hurt?”
“I-I don’t think so.” He swayed a little. The ground didn’t feel very stable, all of a sudden. “But I, uh, I think I need to sit down.”
“Okay, okay. Easy.” His mentor lowered him to the floor slowly, kneeling in front of him and holding him in a sitting position with concern in his eyes. “You’re alright.”
Quill’s face popped up over Mister Stark’s shoulder. “Is he okay?”
Mister Stark shrugged. “Strange?”
The sorcerer wandered over and looked Peter up and down. “Did his suit report any major injuries?”
“No. Just bruises.”
“It’s just adrenaline, then.” Strange gave Mister Stark a significant look. “He’s only a child, after all.”
The world spun around him lazily, like he was on a really bad tilt-a-whirl. “‘M not a child.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mister Stark cradled the back of his head as he laid him down, leaving his hand buried in his hair like a makeshift pillow. “Not a child, we know. Now take a breather.”
Quill seemed to survey Peter, and winced at whatever it was he saw. “Uh, he doesn’t look too good, does he?”
Uh oh. Mister Stark looked pissed. His head snapped towards Quill and his voice dripped with venom. “Yeah, he doesn’t. Probably has something to do with the fact you scared the shit out of him, asshole.”
Quill raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, listen. I’m sorry, man. Didn’t know we were on the same side.”
“Doesn’t give you a right to-”
“Mister Stark?” He winced at the way his voice wobbled. God, he really didn’t wanna cry. He was an Avenger now, and Avengers didn’t cry, even if they were stranded in a wrecked spaceship on the homeworld of a psychotic alien. “‘S okay. Jus’ gimme a second, and I’ll be fine.”
He liked the way Mister Stark’s face melted when he looked back at him. It made his chest feel warm and gooey, despite the adrenaline crash. 
“I know you’ll be fine, kiddo, but you’re gonna stay right there until you’re 100% again, y’hear me? No jumping the gun on this one. There’re only so many heart attacks I can handle in one go.”
He gave a half-hearted nod, then dropped his head back against the cool metal floor with an exhausted sigh.
God, he hadn’t even gotten to the big fight yet, and he already felt like he could sleep for a million years.
Mister Stark’s hand, his real hand, not the gauntlet, was suddenly pressed flat against his forehead. “You doing okay, buddy?”
“Mhm. Just... taking a sec.”
His mentor’s voice was apologetic. “Alright. Just don’t fall asleep, okay? I’m sorry, kid, but we don’t have time for naps.”
He flexed his fingers and blinked his eyes back open, suppressing a groan at the ache in his ribs. His gaze collided with Mister Stark’s, and there was a brief moment when neither spoke.
Up until that point, he hadn’t really realized that fear in Mister Stark’s eyes hadn’t been for himself, or for Earth, or even for the universe as a whole.
Now, though, the subject of his mentor’s terror hit him like a ton of bricks.
The fear was for him.
A fresh wave of tears glazed his vision, and he blinked them away.
“This’s,” he swallowed, offering his mentor a lopsided grin, “this’s been a really long day, Mister Stark.”
He won a wry smile in return. “Yeah, kid, it has.”
“It’s only gonna get longer, huh?”
“Probably.” Mister Stark ran his hand through his hair, either not noticing or not caring about how stiff it was with drying sweat. “But it’ll be over eventually. You just gotta stay alive until then, alright? Promise me. Promise me that your number one priority’ll be staying alive.”
He nodded, desperately wanting to relieve some of the terror in his mentor’s eyes.
“I promise.”
He really hoped that it was a promise he wouldn’t have to break.
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kittysukagasterfics · 4 years
Text
Locks Of Love
Note: No, I will not be apologizing for the pun in the title. >:3 Anyway, onto the fic!
Handplates belongs to: @zarla-s
Requested by @randomstuff7739
Summary: The brothers seem to have taken an interest in playing in Sam’s hair! How long will it take for Gaster to join in?
     It was once again another morning down in the True Lab and Subject 1 had just woken up. He gave a tired yawn as he rubbed the sleepiness from his eye sockets. He mumbled as he greeted his brother with a ‘good morning’, only to see 2-P petting and playing in Sam’s hair while they slept soundly. Subject 2 was so distracted he didn’t even notice his brother was awake. Curiously, 1-S walked over to his brother.
    “hey bro, what are you doin’?”
    “OH, GOOD MORNING BROTHER! I’M JUST PLAYING IN HUMAN SAM’S SOFT HAIR. WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN?”
    “...ok.”
     Even though he was given little context, 1-S reached up and began running his fingers through the Human’s snowy hair. It felt very fluffy to the touch causing the brothers to get excited with their petting and fuzzing. This must be how Sam felt whenever they pet the brothers. The Human’s hair ended becoming quite the mess from the two babybones’ excessive pets. Eventually, Sam woke up from their slumber 
    '*You wake with hair in your face and tiny, bony fingers running through it.’
     They smiled warmly at the two, even though they were most likely going to get scolded for teaching this kind of behavior to the brothers...again. Sam reached their hands over to Subject 1 & 2′s heads to give them pets back, only for their hands to be grabbed and gently pushed back.
    “NO, HUMAN! WE’RE GOING TO BE GIVING YOU PETS TODAY!”
    “yea, you get to be fuzzed...hehehe.”
    “*You apologize to the brothers and let them continue.”
     After a few minutes of petting, Gaster appeared and unlocked the cell for the three of them. He started to greet them but stopped when he noticed how messy the Human’s hair was.
    “Sam, what did you do to your hair? It’s very unkempt. You need to fix it right now because I will not allow you to walk around like that...”
    ‘*You try to smooth down your hair, but you can’t get it all completely...’
     The brothers tried to help them but that just made Sam’s hair even messier. Rolling his eye sockets, Gaster reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black hair brush. He handed it to the Human, telling them to brush their hair immediately. Sam questioned as to why he had a hair brush in the first place but Gaster just told the Human not to worry about it and to hurry up. After fixing Sam fixed their hair, Gaster took the three of them to his office where Toby was waiting for them. He gave them their breakfast and then sat down at his desk to begin his work when Sam walked up to him.
    “*You ask him if you can borrow that hair brush again.”
     Looking up, Gaster saw that Sam’s hair had once again gotten messy. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he took out the hair brush again and let the Human re-fix their hair. They went back to playing with the brothers after they had finished. This time though, Gaster kept watch on what the three of them were doing. That’s when he saw the Human allowing 1-S and 2-P to play and ruffle up their hair. Gaster face palmed himself as he watched but didn’t say anything. At least, not until Sam began to repeatedly ask him for the hair brush.
    “*You ask Gaster for the hair brush again.” ‘*He gives you a stern look...’
    “Again?! Human, I just-Ugh, you know what? I think you three need to be separated for a while.”
     The three of them tried to protest about this but Gaster didn’t want to hear any of it. He took the brothers back to the cells while the Human was forced to stay in the office with him and Toby.
     When Gaster got back, Sam was already keeping themselves busy by brushing Toby’s fur. Taking a seat on the couch behind them, Gaster got busy on finishing up some work. The three of them sat in silence for a while. He wouldn’t admit it but Gaster was getting increasingly jealous of the attention Toby was currently getting. He stared at the Human’s short, fluffy hair. It wouldn’t hurt to try, right?
     Reaching over, Gaster began to causally run his fingers through Sam’s hair. This caused them to suddenly freeze up and stop brushing Toby, who looked up and glared at the skeleton. Gaster only responded by running both hands through it. It really did feel soft, which was probably why the brothers loved playing in it. Sam let out a soft noise as they melted into the petting. The Human had completely abandoned brushing the dog now. Just like he planned,,,
    “I was just curious as to what about your hair the Subjects were so interested in. It is extremely soft as they’ve said so that might be the reason.”
     Gaster smiled as Sam leaned their hand more into his petting. They seemed to have a completely different reaction to petting when he does it. He looked over at Toby who was glowering at him and gave a smug, defiant smile at the pup. Toby huffed at losing Sam’s attention so he just got up and walked out of the office. Gaster took this as a silent victory as he pulled Sam into his lap to continue petting and stroking their hair.
    ‘No matter how hard you try mutt, Sam’s affection will always be directed towards me...’
Note: Gaster’s certainly not taking this rivalry lightly! I hope you all enjoyed reading this fic! Sorry if it’s shorter than my fics usually are. I try to make them as long as possible without adding unnecessary details. Thank you everyone so much for reading! I love all of you! Stay tuned for more. 
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builder051 · 5 years
Text
Everything that kills me
A commission for an anonymous client.  Criminal Minds.
_______________________________________
take that money
 watch it burn
sink in the river 
the lessons I learned
everything that kills me 
makes me feel alive
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The plane ride is uncomfortable.  Usually JJ has no problem reading or writing while in motion, letting her eyes and hand move gently with the turbulence, but today, the legal pad in her lap seems to be swimming.  The green lines fuzz over and disappear into a blur of the yellow paper, leaving her pen marks looking stark and dreary.  A subtle throb has developed behind her right eye and invited a streak of bright aura with it.  Some of her letters stand out in three dimensions while others seem to retract into the page.
“The local PD is still calling him a serial rapist,” Hotch says, flipping around his iPad to show the battered faces of four young women.  “But with one found dead at the scene and one failing to survive her injuries, we’re probably looking for a serial killer.  His time between victims is short, bordering on a spree.”  He glances around at the other members of the team.  “Time is really of the essence here.”
JJ nods and copies down the note.  She scans over what she has so far, as if reading it again will press the bit of information into her brain.  She only gets a moment, though, before her vision starts to cross again.  JJ rubs her eyes with her knuckle and brings the butt of the pen up to tap against her teeth.  
Come on, she tells herself.  Concentrate.
It’s been like this on and off for a while now, not that she wants to admit it.  If anyone asks, she’s fine.  No problems.  She’s good to work.  And truly, she is.  She has more good days than bad ones, sleepless nights notwithstanding.  The insomnia probably isn’t even related to post-traumatic stress.  JJ lies awake next to Will as often as she does when she’s away on a case.  The migraines are a different story, but not one she’s ready to tell anyone else about.  At least not yet.  
She blinks hard and starts over, re-reading the first line on the page.  Her forehead throbs before she finishes the first line of text..  
Four young women, raped and battered.  Patsy Michaelsen.  Age 22.  Found at the mouth of a bike trail with two punctured lungs, a miraculously non-lethal slash across her throat, and a used condom in her mouth.  The scar will show for the rest of her life; the raspy whisper of her voice is supposedly temporary.  The BAU has a file of notes from an interview with local law enforcement, but it’s none too enlightening.  A man.  A dark hood.  A knife.  JJ could have guessed the details.  She imagines the specter of the unsub leaning over her; large, sweaty hands finding her neck.  It makes a line of cold sweat run down her spine.
Then Lydia King, a 24-year-old grad student with a UK passport, dead and buried in a pile of leaves just off the road in front of a playground.  Kids found her on their way out to play.  Not that she was much more than a kid herself.  JJ examines Lydia’s photo, taking in her unblemished chubby face.  If she didn’t know better, JJ would have pegged her for an innocent 16.  She finds herself wondering if Lydia was a virgin.  Then her stomach knots as she feels guilty, so instead hopes the abuse was at least post-mortem.
Jersey Jones was found fewer than twelve hours later.  Technically it was the next day, but the accelerated timeline between victims two and three means a spree.  The unsub is unravelling.  Possibly getting sloppy.  He left semen in the vic this time.  He’d forgotten the condom, or disregarded it.  The 27-year-old Jersey looked closer to 30, another departure from the previous MO.  They won’t know for sure it’s the same perp until DNA results come in, but JJ has little doubt.  
Then there was Sarah McQueen, the one who got away.  She managed to pick her way across six lanes of traffic and into a 24-hour diner where the owner called for an ambulance.  The authorities thought she’d been hit by a car until she started vomiting up strips of latex.  Local PD put two and two together and called the feds within the hour.  Hotch accepted the case as soon as Penelope finished downloading the files, and the team was on the jet before Sarah was out of surgery.
“She’ll be in a delicate position.  Traumatized and probably having trouble expressing herself.  She has head injuries in addition to slashes on her torso and neck,” Hotch warns. 
“That’s another difference from the last three,” Emily points out.  “Are we sure she’s not number three?  Is this all the same guy?”
“Lexington isn’t that big of a city,” Spencer supplies.  “It’s unlikely to have more than one active at a time with that population density.  Killer or rapist.”
JJ nods absently in agreement, still scanning her notes. 
“Anything to add?” Hotch asks, looking at her. 
“Um.”  JJ struggles to focus for an uncomfortable moment.  
“You ok?”  This time, it’s Emily, glancing her way with a concerned expression.
“Yeah.  Of course.”  JJ clears her throat and swallows.  “Looks like he’s escalating.  Jersey might have been a victim of opportunity, but things didn’t go as expected, so he went after Sarah before he cooled off?”
“Sarah does have more defensive wounds,” Spencer says.  “And the blows to the head might have been an attempt to incapacitate her.”
JJ nods again, glad the spotlight is off her.  Focus, she tells herself again.  What is with you?  You’ve worked while feeling this bad before, no problem.
Hotch starts to lay out plans.  As soon as JJ’s instructed to visit the victims in the hospital with Spencer, she lets her mind wander.  She taps her pen again, absently counting the dull clicks of the plastic against her teeth.  
Five.  The number of Patsy’s broken ribs.  
Twelve.  The number of hours between vics two and three.  
Eighteen.  The age of Sarah McQueen. 
“Hey.” 
JJ jumps, instinctively bringing her hand to her chest.
Spencer appears at her shoulder.  “Sorry,” he says.  “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine.”  JJ smiles and drops her defensive position.  “Want to compare notes?”  She looks back to her tight cursive spread over the first page of her legal pad.  As usual, Spencer’s written about five times as much, his untidy scrawl marching across several crumpled-edged sheets.
He quickly reads over her shoulder.  “No, I think you got everything important.”
“Good.”  JJ runs her fingers through her hair, embarrassed of being put on the spot, even though she and Spencer are close.  Her nails catch and pull on a few strands, making her wince.
“You ok?”
“Oh, yeah,”  JJ repeats.  For a second she thinks considers saying headache, but she thinks better of it.  All that’ll do is put another worry in her friend’s mind, one that he certainly doesn’t need.
Spencer pauses and squints slightly.  “Tell me if you’re not?”
“Of course.”
JJ’s glad when the pilot’s tinny prep for landing announcement sounds.  Spencer sits beside her, and she’s relieved to be taken off the spot.  He can’t look at her now without being awkward. 
The silence between them still feels odd, though, so she takes a bottle of water from her bag.  JJ makes to unscrew the cap, but finds her hands trembling too hard to hold it steady.  Luckily the jet hits a patch of turbulence to cover the movement, but she feels caught either way.  Her mouth is full of thick saliva, and she isn’t thirsty anymore.  JJ settles for picking distractedly at the label until the plane touches down on the runway.
The drive to the hospital is downright painful.  JJ’s knees ache as she pulls herself up into the front passenger seat of the shiny black SUV.  She’s not sure how she wound up riding shotgun, but she’s grateful for the bit of good fortune.  The stiff leather seat feels hard and lumpy behind her back, and the air conditioning all but makes her teeth chatter.  Clammy sweat gathers on her forehead, but she wipes it away before the local detective behind the wheel has the chance to notice.
“How far to the hospital?” JJ asks, swallowing hard and trying to smile.  Her stomach twists uncomfortably again as her mind flickers backward to other times she held pain between her teeth like this.
It’s nothing like those other times.  No one is hissing in your ear.  No one is holding you against your will.
“Fifteen, twenty minutes?” the detective says, his voice thick with an Appalachian accent.  “Not too far.”
Not long for you, but a long time for those girls.  A long time when you’re the one tied up.
JJ shakes her head to clear it, but all it does is reignite the throb.  “Good,” she says, though her voice sounds anything but..
Spencer asks a question from the backseat, taking control of the conversation.  JJ silently thanks him, though he probably has no idea.
Or does he?  Guilt joins the noxious brew churning in her gut.  They aren’t supposed to profile each other, but they’re not supposed to keep secrets, either.  However she puts it, JJ knows she’s in the wrong. 
But what’s wrong about hiding a headache? she asks herself.  That’s all it is.  Just a little headache.
The hospital smells of antiseptic.  One whiff practically makes JJ’s eyes burn.  Cold discomfort rises in her stomach again as she picks up something else, something like salt and copper hovering just under the pervasive curtain of alcohol-based sanitizer.
The local cop leads them through a maze of hallways to Sarah McQueen’s room.  Through the window JJ sees her on her back in the bed, a layer of bandages wrapped tightly around her head, giving the impression of a snowy white ski cap pulled over curtains of icy blonde hair.  It looks like a dye job to JJ, maybe even one of those at-home bleach kits.  She makes a mental note to check the details of the other girls’ hair and see if that’s part of the pattern.
You should already know, the voice in her head tells her.  You’re falling behind.
JJ sighs and shakes her head slightly, her own blonde waves moving on either side of her face.  Her eyes feel wet, and she blinks a few times to get a handle on herself.  A pool of tears threatens to loose itself down her cheek, so she quickly swipes her thumb across her lower lash line. 
When JJ lifts her head, Spencer’s staring at her.  He narrows his eyes to a concerned squint, but Sarah begins to cough, and he focuses his attention on her instead.
“Hi, Sarah,” JJ says.  She clears her throat, bursting what feels like a bubble of mucous blocking the top of her esophagus.  “My name is Jennifer, and this is Spencer.  We’re with the FBI.” 
The girl doesn’t even have her eyes open, but if the doctors and local PD are letting them question her, JJ assumes Sarah is up to the challenge. 
“Mmph.”  The girl makes a little groaning sound.  Her lashes flutter slightly, but other than that she remains motionless.
JJ swallows.  She can’t decide if she needs to cough again.  Her vocal cords feel tight, as if an invisible hand is pressing down on the front of her throat. 
Spencer picks up where she left off.  “Do you remember how somebody attacked you?  When you were—Were you walking last night?”
Sarah’s eyelids move again as she squints up at them.  A litany of facts and figures flick at the back of JJ’s mind.  Don’t walk to your car by yourself.  Don’t go out alone after dark.
Don’t give up information no matter how hard you’re questioned.
Don’t let men have their way with you.
Sarah starts to say something, her voice low and raspy.  Only a few sounds come out before she moves her head painfully to the side to hack and sputter into her shoulder.  A few flecks of blood spatter on the pale green fabric of her hospital gown.
JJ can taste the copper from across the room.  She swallows quickly, but cold sweat gathers on the back of her neck as her gag reflex moves jerkily up and down.  She practically feels thick fingers reaching for her shoulder, then her throat.
“It—“ JJ starts, desperate to shake the feeling.  “You’re not in trouble.” 
Too much spit froths under her tongue.  Of course Sarah’s not in trouble.  Why would she even think that?
Maybe you’re the one in trouble.
Guilt bubbles in her stomach again, combining with something hotter and angrier that sends sickly tendrils up into JJ’s chest.  She crosses her arms in front of her, hoping the pressure will at least give her a momentary hold. 
“Just, anything you remember can be helpful.”
Sarah opens her mouth.  It makes a wet sound, and somehow that’s the last straw for JJ.  Oh god, she prays silently, please no.  Please not now. 
Sourness rises in the back of her throat, and not the kind that can be swallowed back down.  Her jawline prickles as her gut presses upward into her chest.
“I’m—excuse me—“ JJ delicately touches her lips with the tips of her fingers, then turns on her heel and hurries from the room.  There has to be a bathroom, a trash can, even a mop bucket.  Something she can get to before she completely destroys her dignity. 
There are emesis basins stacked neatly on the counter at the nurse’s station.  JJ snags one and hurries down a deserted hallway.  She slows, her breathing ragged, as a heave makes her stomach contract and her shoulders jerk forward.  She holds the basin against her chest and backs into the wall, slowly sliding down into a crouch.  Stars flicker in the corners of JJ’s vision.  Nausea rises up in her, and sourness blossoms across her tongue as she vomits, bringing up bitter coffee and orange juice along with the remnants of last night’s dinner. 
The basin trembles in her grip, sending ripples through the disgusting fluid.  A drip runs to the end of JJ’s nose.  She sniffles, getting a good whiff of the odor of her own sick, and gags painfully again. 
“JJ?”
She hears her name from the end of the hall.  It sounds miles away, echoing and hazy, but it brings an icy jolt of panic over her anyway. 
“No,” she says in a choked whisper, but whoever it is doesn’t hear her. Either that or he doesn’t listen.  
Footsteps approach.  Spencer’s hand drops onto her shoulder, and JJ jumps, the basin sliding from its loose position in her arms and clattering to the floor.  She swears under her breath as the pool of vomit seeps into her shoes.
“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to—again, you know,” Spencer stutters, grasping at her arm to keep her from falling.
“I—it’s—”  JJ can’t control the retch that bursts from her chest, and she throws up a third time, bile dribbling in strings hanging from her lower lip.  “Oh my god.  Sorry.”
“It’s ok,” Spencer says quickly.  “It’s ok.  You’re alright.”  He pauses, cringing, to correct himself.  “Well, you’re not, but, it’s fine.  You have to breathe, JJ.”  He pats her on the back a few times, the soft percussive movement forcing air into her lungs. 
JJ’s throat burns with acid.  Her mouth waters, and she goes through the motions with a fourth, tiny heave.  She stands bent at the waist with her hands on her knees, her hair obscuring her burning face.  Spencer tries to help her upright, but JJ resists.  “No,” she murmurs.  “Just—just a second—”
“Of course.”  Spencer gently touches the back of her neck.  “I—you feel really warm,” he says.  “Do you think you have a fever?”
“No,” JJ says automatically.  She whips her hand behind her head to catch Spencer’s wrist.  His touch is nothing but soft, but she still can’t stand it.  “I’m sorry.”  She slowly begins to straighten, retracting her hand into her sleeve and dragging it across her lips. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes again.
“Don’t worry about it.”  Spencer’s eyes are huge and glassy with concern.  A soft wrinkle forms between his brows.  JJ wants to reach up to smooth it out, but that would require touching him, and she isn’t ready for that yet.  “You’re really sick.”
“I’m…”  JJ plans on saying fine, but she knows she can’t continue to lie.  “Yeah.”  It comes out as the tiniest whisper, quiet and crackling with the physical and emotional strain of pushing out the word.  “I guess.  Yeah.”
“Should I get a doctor?”  Spencer glances around.  “A nurse, maybe?”
JJ shakes her head.  They are in a hospital after all, but she can’t accept help.  She can’t let the team see her like this.  Fever be damned, she’s been through much worse.  She isn’t supposed to fall apart.
“No, I just—”  JJ pauses to swallow.  “Let me just—back to the hotel.  Or the police station.  If I just lie down for a minute, I’ll be fine.” 
Speaking leaves her fatigued and short of breath.  JJ feels herself sway on her feet, and Spencer gently catches her shoulders.
“Please don’t…” JJ murmurs.  She can’t stand his touch anymore; it’s as if his long fingers are leaving red-hot furrows that burn away her sweater and blister her delicate skin.  “I’m sorry.”
“Ok.”  Spencer slowly nods.  His face blurs, and JJ isn’t sure if it’s the vertigo finally taking over or a fresh round of tears.  “Should I call someone?  Hotch?”
“No—”
“Emily, then?”  It’s clear what he’s not saying.  JJ hates to admit it, but she would feel more comfortable with a woman.
“I—”  JJ wavers.  “I don’t know.  I guess.” 
“Alright.  Here.”  Spencer reaches for the disgusting basin she still has clutched to her chest.  “Are you, uh, done?”
“Yes, I think so.  Sorry, that’s…”  She shakes her head, reigniting the nauseating pain throbbing behind her eyes. 
“A natural process of the human body,” Spencer finishes.  “I won’t give you any more facts, I promise.”
JJ tries to smile, but her face feels heavy and frozen in a pained expression.  “Thanks.”
They drop the basin on an abandoned nurse’s cart and slip out a back door, then down the steps to the parking lot.  As soon as Spencer helps her into the car, he dials Emily and puts the phone on speaker.
“Prentiss,” the other woman answers on the first ring.  “Did you get anything from Sarah McQueen?”
“Oh.”  JJ’s practically forgotten about the girl.  Another swoop of guilt rises in her stomach, and she has to swallow hard to keep it from turning into something worse.  “Um…”
“You have any luck with the victims’ online presence?” Spencer asks, covering for her effortlessly.
“Actually, yes.  Garcia’s pulled what she can from all their accounts, and it looks like they were all into fitness.”
“What, same gym?”  The words sear on the way out of her throat, but JJ’s desperate to participate.
“No, more like trail running.”
“That’s really dangerous,” Spencer pipes up.  “Women going out alone after dark.  Probably wore their hair up.  Ponytails are easy to grab, making them more appealing targets…”  JJ sees the cogs turning in his head. 
“Could it really be that simple?” Emily asks.
“Talk to their friends.  See if you can recreate their running routes,” JJ suggests.  The last word sticks, and she covers her mouth before the resulting cough can turn into a gag.
“You ok?” Spencer reaches for her again, but retracts his hand quickly.
“JJ?”
“I’m fine, I just—”  Nausea rises in her, sending sweat trailing down from her temples.  “Oh god.”  JJ scrambles to open her door and hang her head out of the car.  She barely frees herself from her seatbelt when she throws up a weak stream of bile, almost all of it running sideways into her hair. 
“What was that?” JJ hears Emily ask, panic plain in her voice.
“I, um,” Spencer waffles.  “Actually why I was calling.  JJ’s sick, and I was wondering if you could meet us…  I don’t… I just…” he loses steam and begins to stutter.
“What’s wrong?  What happened?”
“An anxiety attack, maybe?” Spencer guesses.  He undoes his seatbelt and scrambles out and around the car.  “She’s vomiting, and I think she has a fever.”
“You’re still at the hospital, aren’t you?  Try urgent care—”
“No!” JJ says firmly.  She wipes her mouth with a shaking hand and uses the car door to push herself upright again.  “I just spooked.  I’m fine.”
“If you need a rest, you can take one,” Emily says.  “Hotch will let you—”
“Please don’t tell him.” JJ presses her fingertips into the corners of her eyes.  “I can’t let this get in the way.  What if someone else gets attacked tonight?”
“That’s not on you.”  Spencer shakes his head emphatically.  “We need you at your best.  Even just a little sleep will help.”
JJ sighs.  Guilt and sickness weigh heavily with the excess saliva running under her tongue.  He has a point.  She’s not at her best.  She hasn’t been at her best for weeks, and a nap isn’t going to make much of a difference.  “I’m sorry.”  JJ shakes her head.  She’s not even sure what she’s apologizing for, but she feels she needs to.  Badly. 
“JJ…”  Spencer looks from her to the phone.  “I know there’s something you’re not telling us.”
She shoots him a venomous look, and he quickly continues with, “You don’t have to say anything.  And I promise I won’t profile you any more.  But, just, you have to know we’re here for you.”
JJ swallows.  Her throat feels tight, and she isn’t sure if it’s more or less comfortable than it was before. 
“That’s,” she rasps, “I mean, thank you.”  She wants to explain more, but at the same time, she’s glad to remain silent.  “I will.  Sometime.”  A hiccup forces its way up, and she covers her mouth.  “Sorry.”
“Forget the police station, ok?” Emily says.  “I’ll meet you at the hotel.”
“Don’t—” JJ starts
“No, I’ll have Garcia load up some files.  I’ll look at them while you rest.  Then maybe we can put our heads together once you’re feeling a little better.
“I…”  JJ knows she can’t protest.  “Thank you.  You’re… Just, thank you.”
“You’re just welcome,” Spencer says at the same moment Emily says, “Of course.”
Spencer drives back to the hotel.  He appears to do his best to move the car smoothly, only skidding through one dangerously short yellow light.  “Ok, here we are,” he says after a few minutes of silence.
Thank god, JJ thinks.  She opens her door with trembling fingers, pausing to breathe through a queasy hiccup before attempting to exit the vehicle.
“Let me help you--”  Spencer runs around the back of the car and meets her on the passenger side.
“No!” JJ squeals before she can stop herself.  “I--I’m sorry.”  She covers her mouth with one hand and holds the other up to stop him.  “I just--I can’t.”
“That’s alright.”  Spencer stops in his tracks and holds the car door open instead.  “I won’t touch you.  Is it fever aches?”
The kid has to know that isn’t it.  He’s offering you an out, JJ thinks.  Take it.
“Um.  Yes,” she says with more formality than she means.  She wraps her arms around her chest as she stands up, a shiver wracking her thin frame.  
“Here.”  Spencer holds his hand an inch or so off the back of her shoulder, ready to catch her should she fall.  “We have rooms on the ground floor this time.  No elevator ride.”  He offers a wan smile.
“Good,” JJ manages.
They walk to the end of the hall.  Spencer taps on the last door in the row, and Emily opens the door.  “Oh, my god,” she says upon seeing them.  Then, “I’m sorry.  That’s--you look--”
“Dead?” JJ suggests with a dark smile.  It’s so inappropriate that she wonders if she’s getting close to delirium.
“Well, that’s not what I was going to say, but now that you mention it…”  Emily trails off, shaking her head.  “Get in here and take your shoes off.”  She points to JJ’s vomit-covered loafers.  
“Looks like you’ve got it from here,” Spencer says.  He lifts his hand in thanks to Emily, then gives JJ a hard stare.  “Take care of yourself, ok?  We’re all here for you to lean on.”
“Yes, exactly,” Emily echoes.  She looks to Spencer.  “Hotch wanted you back at the police station.”
Spencer nods.  “Ok.  See you later?  Hope you feel better, JJ.”
“Thanks,” JJ whispers.  
Now that she’s in a room where she can relax, her energy seems to be draining out of her along with her guard.  She divests herself of her shoes and gingerly moves toward one of the beds.  Emily helps her sit, then slips into the bathroom to run a washcloth under the tap.  
“Did you bring files from the station?” JJ asks.  “I thought Penelope was putting some on a laptop for us.”
“Yes,” Emily answers.  “But for me.  You need to rest.”
“I--”  JJ starts, but her train of thought leaves her as a wave of exhaustion crushes over her.  Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes as she feels tired and frightened and thankful all at once.  
“Hey.”  Emily sits on the edge of the bed and begins to carefully sponge JJ’s face.  “It’s ok, you know?  We all have our days when we need a little help.”
“Hm.”  JJ nods and presses her lips together.  “Yeah,” she whispers.  “Thank you.”  
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A Tale of 2 Souls - Chapter 2
“Asriel! Hold…Still!” “I can’t help it…It tingles…!” “Well would you rather it tingle or would you rather it be sore?” Toriel had her 10-year-old son in a tight chokehold as she pressed her hand into the top of his head where little white horns covered in peach fuzz were starting to sharpen to a point. Green magic swirled around her hand and seemed to be slowly seeping into his head in a similar way that liquid seeps through a coffee filter. The poor boy’s horns had been killing him lately as they began to grow bigger and bigger. So his mother had been performing this sort of healing ritual twice a week that managed to take the pain away for a few days. Slowly, Toriel removed her hand. The green healing magic dissipating until it was just a few faint wisps floating in the air. “Better…?” Asked the older monster. Asriel nodded slowly, embarrassed. “Good. Now, go wake up your brother. He’s going to be late for his first day if he stays asleep much longer.” Perking up suddenly like he’d forgotten what just happened, Asriel jumped out of his mother’s lap and ran down the hallway, up to where his little brother Kris and him shared a bedroom. First, as he’d been taught, he knocked. “Kriiis! Come on, knucklehead! Wake up!” No answer. "Kris! If you don't open this door, I'm gonna kick it down!" Still no answer “Alright! You asked for it!” He backed up all the way to the wall, charging up like he was a bull in an arena. He began to scream and ran straight at the door with his shoulder prepared to break it down. But what he didn’t expect, was the door suddenly opening, and him falling right on his face and skidding across the carpet. Kris was standing right by the door holding onto the doorknob. Dressed in his favorite leaf green and pastel yellow turtleneck. Long stringy chestnut-colored bangs falling in front on his pale face, masking gleaming crimson eyes. “Oh, there you are, Kris!” Asriel said casually, scrambling up from the floor. “Are you ready for your first day of school…??” “...” The 5-year-old stared at his much bigger brother, and then just smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Kris didn’t say much, even when he did speak, it was never more than a few words. “Great! Let’s go, or Mom will kill both of us!” Asriel gently grasped Kris’ hand as they both ran out of the bedroom and into the Living Room, where Toriel was just packing the last of the supplies into Kris’ backpack. She’d gone over the list multiple times over the past few weeks, checking, re-checking, and dumping everything out to make sure it was all accounted for. She was finally confident that he had everything he needed for a successful first day at Kindergarten. “Kris, my child, are you sure you do not want me to trim your bangs back a little…?” She asked as she handed the two their lunch-boxes. Kris nodded. She sighed. No point in trying to argue when they were already five minutes away from being late… “Mom, if we see him on the way, can we say hi to Daddy…?” Asriel questioned Toriel. Toriel sighed through her nose. “We shall see…” === Unfortunately, they didn’t see Asgore on the drive to School. Made sense, since the Shop he’d been spending more and more time at was on the other side of town. The Dreemurr’s little red car was soon pulling up to the massive School. Seeing as how it was the only School in Hometown, it had to double as a Daycare, Kindergarten, Elementary School, Middle School, and Highschool all at the same time. The Kindergarten was in the North-East wing while the Elementary Students generally stuck to the regular East wing. Kris’ red eyes could be seen practically shimmering from behind his bangs, his smile only growing wider and wider as Toriel led him and Asriel inside. She kindly asked her eldest to go wait in her classroom while she showed Kris where he was. “I won’t be staying with you, Mommy…?” Kris finally spoke in a quiet timid tone. They had stopped right outside the Door with butterflies and Smiling Suns drawn all over it.   “I’m afraid not just yet, my child…But in only a year or two, I promise you’ll be in my Classroom just like Asriel!” She reassured him, getting down on one knee so she was at his level. “Now, be good for me, alright…? I know you’ll do great…!” Giving him one final tight hug goodbye, Toriel ushered Kris inside and shut the door. Kris’ wide bright smile slowly began to sink, as all the little kids in his new class turned their head collectively to him. The room went dead quiet as soon as he'd stepped in. At a desk in the corner was a sort of Reindeer Monster, only with an unconvincing Toupee and dark circles under his eyes from stress and lack of sleep. “Hello there! You must be Kris…!” The Teacher greeted. “We’re all…Very excited to have you here! Please find yourself a seat…!” Kris’s smile only dropped more, as he walked through the classroom looking for an unoccupied desk. His ears were able to pick up every single murmur and whisper. “what is that?” “is that a human…?” “my mommy told me about humans…!” "It's so weird looking, where's the rest of its fur?" “they have big long sticks that shoot metal and fire…!” “do you think it’ll show us where it keeps its blood…?” “my mommy told me that humans are mean…!” “whatever it is, I don’t want it sitting with us. It smells funny…” Kris cringed. He tried his best to block out their words but finding a table with both an empty seat and kids who weren't giving him dirty looks was hard. The teacher must have realized how much attention he’d drawn from his presence alone. “U-Uhh…Hey, Kris! How about you sit over there with Noelle and Catty!” He said, pointing to the table closest to his own desk. A chubby white kitten with yellow eyes and black hair in a ponytail, and a little Reindeer girl who looked very similar to the Teacher (only with blond hair in two tiny pigtails) were sitting there. When Kris came near their table, they seemed to be the only kids in class who didn’t visibly flinch when he looked at them. And it wasn’t like he had any other choices. This was his seat now I guess. “Okay, class! Now that we're all here and accounted for, why don’t we get started with introductions? You say your name, and then something you like! I’ll start! My name is Mr. Holiday, and I like Christmas Lights!” Hands of varying shapes, sizes, and colors shot into the air. Some answers were rather mediocre if you asked Kris. Actually, all of them were pretty unrelatable to him. There was this odd tight sensation in his chest. He couldn’t understand what it was or what was causing it. But for whatever reason, it made him keep his hand down. His head was down, staring at the table. He could feel a burning feeling in his eyes that he recognized as tears. He didn't wanna have to raise his hand and answer to a class of Monsters who made it very clear there was something…Different about him. Something…wrong with him… “Anybody else?” Mr. Holiday asked after the majority of the class had introduced themselves, and then repeated. His eyes drifting down to Kris as if he believed he couldn’t see him. Still, Kris kept his hand down. After a moment, Mr. Holiday just sighed. “Alright then. Get out a piece of paper, we’re going to practice the basic rules of math!” Kris reached into his book bag and pulled out a blank sheet of notebook paper. But as he looked deeper and deeper, he realized something. He couldn’t find any pencils! He just kept digging and digging through all the crap Toriel had shoved in there, but… no pencils! Noelle must have noticed Kris’s increased frantic sifting. “Do you need any help…?” She asked in a sweet voice that rang like a brand new bell. After fruitlessly looking for a third time, Kris nodded. “I-I can’t find my pencil…” He muttered, so only Catty and Noelle could hear. “Oh! That’s okay! My daddy got me way too many…!” Noelle reached into her book bag and dropped an entire case of Christmas Themed Pencils on the desk. Reindeers, Santa Clauses, Elves, Candy Canes. If you can think it, she had a pencil that had it printed on. Kris eventually settled on a red and white striped pencil since he wanted to leave her with all the pretty pencils. “You know…I actually think humans are really cool…! I always wanted to know what one actually looked like…!” Noelle smiled at Kris, clearly recognizing his discomfort in a classroom of monsters and trying to make him feel better. But the irony was, what she just said might have only made him feel worse…Was that what he was to these kids? A strange never before seen animal to gawk and stare at…? === After what felt like an eternity, the bell rang, indicating it was Lunchtime. Mr. Holiday ushered the room of Kindergartners to the large playground just outside. Off to the side of the play equipment were benches for all the kids to sit, eat, and chat at. Kris took the only completely empty bench left and opened his lunchbox. A ham and cheese sandwich, a bottle of milk, some sliced apples, and a leftover slice of Butterscotch Cinnamon Pie for dessert. As much as he wanted to dig into the pie first, Toriel had always told him that sweets would spoil the rest of his meal if they had dessert first. So, reluctantly he took a few bites out of his sandwich. He wasn’t really paying much attention to anyone else around. Suddenly all the other kids began to scream, their footsteps indicating some were running away. Kris looked up for a moment (assuming for a moment they were running from him.) That’s when he saw her. A Lizard Monster girl dressed in a cute purple and white jumper, not much bigger than him. She had light violet scales and dark brown hair with bangs that were covering her face in a similar way to Kris’s bangs. Only he could still see golden yellow eyes glowing from behind them. She scanned the entire playground, like a crazed T-Rex looking for its prey.  When her eyes locked onto Kris. He tried to move but something kept him pinned to his seat. Before he could barely react, she ran up and shoved him harshly off of the bench. “Give me your lunch, freak!!” She barked. Kris stayed silent. Just hugging the paper bag closer to his chest and shaking his head. “Give it now or I’ll take it myself!” Again, Kris said nothing. “What’s wrong with you?? Can’t you speak??” “...” “...That’s it!” The little girl grabbed Kris by his sleeve and yanked his arms away from the bag, forcing him to release it. She easily snatched it and just sauntered away. “And don’t bother telling the Teacher. He’ll never believe a freak like you.” She growled over her shoulder. Kris just laid there on the ground in shock, watching her go. He looked around at all the other kids, who were just standing there. Contempt and pity in their eyes. But no one even attempted to help him. His chest heaved as he bit back tears. His lunch was gone. His arms were sore. And that bully had made a point he couldn’t help considering was true. Would the teacher really take his word over one of his own��? Was it worth risking? Or would it just get him in more trouble…? The kids all eventually shuffled back to the benches to finish their lunch, and then played. But Kris stayed behind on the bench. No one would probably want to play with a freak like him anyway. He’d never felt more lonely in his short life than right then… === Before he knew it. The day was over. Toriel and Asriel were waiting at the door of the Kindergarten for him. He came out sulking. The wide smile he’d entered with was long gone. How long until Toriel realized something was off? “Hello, Kris…!” She said with a beaming smile, bending down and giving him a great big hug. “How was your first day?” “...” “C’mon, Kris! Mom’s gonna take us to QC’s Diner!” Said Asriel, not noticing the sad expression on his sibling either. Toriel led her children out of the School the same way she led them in. Both on parallel sides of her, holding her hand. She looked down at them, smiling through her reading glasses. “So…How was your first day, Kris…?” She repeated. Kris thought about it for a moment. Should he lie, or tell her the truth of what actually happened…? “well…” “M-Mom! You’re hurting me!” Kris heard a familiar gruff and scary voice begin to fuss and cry. “I don’t GIVE a shit! Get your ass in the car and shut your damn mouth!” Another woman slurred. Kris looked in the direction the voices were coming from. As he’d guessed, it was that same bully who stole her lunch earlier. Another monster, her mother by the sounds of it, was roughly dragging her by her arm to a dirty beat up old pick-up truck parked on the curb. “Rotten…” Toriel muttered, standing and watching as the mother threw open the door of the car and shoved her daughter inside. For a brief second, the bully and Kris made eye contact, before the door was slammed shut. The mother got in the driver’s side, before squealing away. “Poor child, having such a nasty woman for a mother…Oh well, nothing can be done about it…” Toriel said, sounding half uncertain. But it was already too late now. She ushered Asriel and Kris into the backseat of their squeaky clean red minivan. === -Later that night- Toriel tucked in Asriel first, and Kris second. “Mommy…” Kris began as Toriel tucked the blankets up to his neck. “Hm? Yes, my child…?” “When will I get my horns like Asriel…?” She paused, trying to think of a proper answer to give. “I-I…I’m sure it won’t be much longer…!” She tried to reassure him. “...Mommy…” Kris said again, voice lower and shakier. “Am I…different…?” Toriel was taken aback. Never would she expect such a question to come from a child. Though in hindsight, she realized it was only a matter of time before Kris realized they weren’t like any of the Monsters in town… “What makes you say that…?” “a-at school today…Everyone wouldn’t stop staring at me…I heard them call me ‘weird’, or ‘a freak’…did…did I do something wrong, Mommy…?" Her heart ached as she listened to her child hold back tears. “Oh, sweetie…You know there’s nothing wrong with you, nor did you yourself do anything wrong…Yes, you may be different, very different, but do you want to know something…?” “What…?” “You’re the most special kind of different they come by…! You are the future of humans and monsters everywhere. I know things may be hard, but just give everyone some time to come around. And even if they don’t, know that we will always love you no matter who you are or what you become…” Toriel brushed Kris’ hair out of his face, wiping away his tears and giving him a tender kiss on the forehead. “Sleep well, my-” A loud knock on the door interrupted her. Toriel sighed as if she knew exactly who was there. “I’ll be right back…” Of course, she should have expected Kris of all children to disrespect a simple order. As soon as Toriel was out of the room, he waited for a minute, and then slowly crept out of bed and out the door. Once in the hallway, he pressed his back to the wall, able to hear every word that was being said. “Asgore, what are you doing here?” “Please, Tori…I just want to see my children…” “They’re asleep. And even if they weren’t, you really think I’d let them stay with you in that rundown shithole you call a shop?” “B-Business hasn’t been doing so great, but I can clean up…! I-I can-” “Business was never doing great. You’re the one who quit your job and made the very impulsive decision to open a business using most of the family’s savings, and as I expected, it was doomed to fail. Now I’m left as the sole provider for our children. You made your bed, Asgore. Now lie in it…!” “I’ll find a way…! I’ll fix this…! I’ll make it up to you…!” “Face it, Asgore…We’re just not the same we used to be…The spark we felt when we first met is gone…I...I think it’s time we…” “Tori, y-you can’t be serious…! Think of our kids…! How will they feel about this? You’re really going to put them through that…?” “...How dare you label me as the bad guy here…!! I have done nothing but the best for our children and I will continue to from here until the end of time…! And I personally think you are the least best thing for them…You are childish, impulsive, and reckless…! And I refuse to have them influenced by you…” “T-Tori…Please…Don’t do this…!” “Asgore…Just…Leave…Leave and don’t bother coming back…” A moment passed of uncomfortable silence before the door slammed. Kris held a hand to his mouth, trying to choke back tears that couldn’t be held down. He’d never before heard his two loving parents speak to each other like that. So this was the reason Toriel never let him or Asriel see their own father…But…They couldn’t be over…! Parents were supposed to love each other no matter what…! To always be there for each other, and to always be in agreement…Right…? Toriel huffed and walked back into the hallway, immediately noticing Kris sitting there, crying and hiccoughing. She stared at him horrified, realizing he’d just heard everything. “K-Kris…I…” “You and daddy are going to stay together, right…?” He asked. "Kris...Sweetie..." "Right!?" They made eye contact. Small red-ish brown eyes meeting large crimson ones swimming with tears. “.…Darling, please...just...go back to bed…”
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miax1119 · 6 years
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Marillas child - updated
I´ve done a little math concerning the age of Marilla and Matthew. In season one Gilbert Blythe´s father dies at the age of 61 ( we see Marilla standing by his grave and on John Blythe’s tombstone  we see which year he was born 1835 and died in 1896). Marilla and John were sweethearts when they were teenagers so I assume Marilla is about same age, maybe a little younger. In season one Marilla refers to Matthews’s age as being sixty. Something doesn’t add up, because we a photo of Marilla, Matthew and Michael as children, and to me it looks like Marilla is the oldest followed by two younger brothers whereas the smallest must be around 2 years old. So, something is very wrong. According to the books Marilla is the youngest of the three children and Matthew is sixty-one and Anne Eleven when she comes to Green Gables. And Is Gilbert an only child? I assume Gilbert to be around 15-16 years old, which means his father was in his late forties when he became a father. Kind of old, isn’t it? Or is it because he travelled around the world with the army. Maybe waiting for Marilla to say yes to his proposal, and when that didn’t happen, he found Gilberts mother. Marilla and Matthew both look like they are in their sixties, but keep in mind the average age of men and women in the 19th century was about sixty years, so people would look like sixty years old when they´re in their forties. In season one Anne asks Rachel and Marilla how they have been able to stay friends since school and Marilla tells Anne they have been friends for fifty years. Assuming they began schooling around the age of six, Marilla therefore must be around fifty-six.
In my story Marilla is in her mid forties and Mathew was in his late forties.
Marilla stood by the kitchen sink as a wave of dizziness washed over her. One hand to her forehead she inhaled and exhales heavily while the other hand held on to the sink. She had been feeling under the weather for a few days but she tried to hide it, didn’t want to make a fuzz or to alarm twelve year old Anne. Anne had been with them for almost a year. It had meant a change of life for both Mathew and Marilla, but a change they wouldn’t want to be without. Much had changed in Green Gables when Anne came into their life and made new friendships such as Dianna Berry and Gilbert Blythe. The world opened for Marilla and Mathew. All of a sudden they were invited to all social gatherings in Avonlea. Not something they had been used to. Rachel Lynde had been Marillas only contact to the “outside world” of Green Gables ever since Marillas mother died. Mathew had never been a social boy. His only friend besides from Marilla was their older brother Michael. When Michael died so did their mother. Little by little, piece by piece until one day she didn’t wake up. Mathew lost his brother, his mother and a few years later his father. All he had in the world was Marilla. But Marilla had been spending a lot of time with John Blythe before all of this. He was her beau. Everybody knew they were a couple. But as things turned for the worse at Green Gables Marilla had to let go of the love of her life and stay at home taking care of the family. John had waited for years. He kept coming by after nightfall begging her to come with him, to travel the world with him, to be his one and only.. they would sit in the meadow holding hands. He would talk about faraway places to visit. She could tell him all of her fears and worries. He knew she couldn’t keep her promise to him and it broke both of their hearts. The moon was shining down on them and John admired the silver light on Marillas brown hair and how the moonlight highlighted her eyes and her cheeks and her lips. He leaned in and kissed her softly. She didn’t pull back. She returned the kiss and John gently guided her on the ground. He caressed her hair and removed her two hairpins and unfolded her hair on the grass. She was a true beauty. He had dreamt about this. She was his girl. She was only seventeen but was the housewife of Green Gables. But who was taking care of her? John promised to take good care of her. He would make her a good husband. He would always love her to the moon and back. When he took her home, he kissed her hand and she said goodbye for good. He watched her go inside and lit a candle in her window and then he left. A few months later she heard from Rachel that John had joined the army and left for Africa. She received letter and wrote him back. But he was out of her life. Unfortunately their night together left Marilla with a little surprise. Mathew found her in the barn. He was about twenty years old, knew a few things about life and he knew she had been meeting John every evening for months.. Marilla was throwing up next to the barn as she did every morning after milking the two cows. She said the smell of the warm milk made her nauseous. The nausea went away during the day only to return the next morning. He was scared she was getting sick like their mother and therefore asked Rachel for advice. Matthew stopped Rachel one day on her way home from Green Gables, she had her small boy by her side and a hand on her expecting stomach. Rachel, might I have a word? Of cause Matthew, what´s on your mind? Well it´s Marilla. She hasn´t been feeling well lately. She throws up every morning. Says the smell of the milk makes her sick. I don’t know what to do. I can´t lose her too. Rachel put her hand on his shoulder. I´ll talk to her. Thank you Rachel. Rachel knew what this sounded like. And if she was right Marilla would need her help. A few days later Rachel was sitting in the kitchen of Green Gables. She didn’t know how to approach the subject. So, how have you been Marilla? I´m fine, thank you. Why do you ask? Well, Mathew is concerned for your health… Seems you´ve been a bit under the weather of late. Matthew should keep his mind to himself! You want to talk about it?” No! Come on Marilla. Let me help you. Marilla understood she couldn’t do this on her own. She needed help. Marilla told Rachel about her situation. She wanted to keep the baby but Rachel explained what it would look like to people outside Green Gables. People would assume improper relation between brother and sister. She would have to give away the baby. Rachel talked to Thomas her husband and they arranged for Marilla to stay at a farm the last four months of her pregnancy. Meanwhile Rachel and Thomas took care of Mathew. Marilla gave birth to a beautiful little boy. She called him John and when the little baby was one month old he was given a good home on the farm.. Marilla never saw him again. She returned to Green Gables. Life continued. Until now.
At the kitchen sink “This can´t be happening. Not again”, Marilla thought to herself and looked out the window. I better go milk the cow. This will pass. It´s just the flu.
John and Marilla had met nearly a year ago when Anne and Gilbert were participating in a school play together. John had been a widower for ten years and Marilla hadn’t left his mind for a second in those ten years. He had thought about getting her back. Just go talking to her and the school play was his chance. He asked if he could come visit using Gilbert as excuse of cause, and little by little one visit became many and they stated meeting in the meadow again after sundown. The moon was their companion again and once more John couldn’t resist the beauty of the silver light, the sparkle of her eyes and her sweet smile. I´ve missed you Marilla. You´ve been on my mind for years. I missed you too John. There´s something I must tell you. Something happened… But she didn’t get to say more… John kissed her and pulled her to him. She felt like melting ice in the sunshine in his arms. And once again she was his. But this time it didn’t stop when he walked her home. This time they continued their relationship and now it had been going on for six months.  
She milked the cow thinking of nothing and everything. Matthew was milking the other cow and enjoying the warmth of the cow on his forehead and the smell of the hot milk made him hungry. All of the sudden Marilla hurried out the stable door scaring the cow and kicking the bucket spilling all the milk. Matthew looked puzzled at Marillas exit and followed her. Outside the barn Marilla was holding her stomach and stable wall while empting her stomach. Matthew supported her by her shoulders and when she was finished asked her if he should help her to bed. It´s just the flue. Go milk the cows. I´ll go inside and make breakfast. Anne can do that Marilla. You´re ill, you should be in bed. I´m not ill, it will pass. She left her brother who was looking her way. He was concerned. Maybe he should have a talk with Rachel.. at that thought memories washed back over him. Marilla had acted like this before, twenty-five years ago. He decided to keep an eye out for her and her socializing with John Blythe.  
Marilla met with John Blythe that evening. Anne saw them from her bedroom window. They met at the gate and he took her hand as they walked off. Anne thought it was romantic beyond words and dreamed about every possible subject they could be talking about as she starred their way from her window. She noticed Marilla did all the talking which was kind of odd. Usually she didn’t say much. She was upset about something. She was looking down and tried to walk away but Mr. Blythe stopped her grapping her hands trying to talk to her. Suddenly their conversation stopped. John Blythes posture looked shocked. Oh no, Anne hoped Marilla wasn’t turning him down. But then he put his hand on Marillas stomach and he then went down on one knee. Anne almost lost her breath. Why would he do that? Was he proposing??? It took all of Anne´s self restrenght not to run down and ask Marilla a million questions: Why did Marilla want to leave? Why had he caressed Marillas stomach? Why did Mr. Blythe go down on one knee? Anne withheld a little scream with both her hands covering her mouth. Were they having relations beyond courting?  Could Marilla be pregnant? Was that why Mr. Blythe had caressed her stomach? Anne had lived with enough families in one room to know that relations of a certain kind always resulted in a baby.  But to have those kind of relations would mean marriage, and Marilla and Mr. Blythe were not even engaged. She would have to talk about this with Diana. From another window Matthew observed the same scene as Anne. He felt like he had robbed Marilla of her youth. She had taken care of him for more than twenty five years. She deserved to be happy. It wasn’t too late. She could still have John and a family. But what about Anne? The thought broke his heart and he went to bed feeling anxious about the future.
The next morning The Cuthbert family went about their business as usual. Marilla was setting the table as Anne came down the stairs and Matthew entered the door. Anne was in an extra cheerful mood dreaming of the romantic meeting between two lovers the night before. Morning Marilla – how are you this fine morning? Marilla had gotten use to Anne’s greetings and answered her usual short reply: fine thank you. Marilla had been sick all morning, but didn’t want the extra attention from Matthew and got up even earlier to milk the cow to Matthews surprise. Marilla, you´re up early? Yes well, couldn’t sleep. You got a lot on your mind Marilla? Anne asked with big eyes and even bigger interest. Marilla looked at her suspiciously. No nothing more than usual, why do you ask? Oh nothing, Anne replied innocently and continued to sit down. Marilla carried on thinking nothing of Anne’s behavior but Matthew was lost in thoughts by the table. Marilla stopped her tasks and looked at puzzling at him: Matthew is something the matter? I don’t know – is there? He asked back. She didn’t know where to look. Let´s talk tonight. She gestured for him to take a seat. He understood she didn’t want to talk about this while Anne was present.
Anne went to school and Marilla had the house to herself. She sat down to enjoy a cup of tea and thought about her conversation the night before with John. He was quite surprised to hear she was pregnant of cause. Mostly because it had taken him and his wife several years to have Gilbert.   She put a hand on her stomach. It was getting a bit more firm and her breasts were a lot tender. This was her second child with John. The thought made her feel sad and ashamed. Unmarried and pregnant for the second time. John had proposed to Marilla, and she would think about it. But her thoughts were mostly concerning Anne and Matthew. How could she leave them? She couldn’t leave them! There was a knock on the door and Marilla was a bit surprised to see Rachel stand at the door. But then again, Rachel would have seen John Blythe come and go almost every evening for the last six months and she already had dropped a few colorful lines of what and why… Morning Marilla – care to give a cup of tea? Rachel looked at Marilla with suspicious eyes. Of cause Rachel. Take a seat. Marilla stood up to fetch a cup but was overtaken by dizziness and she stumbled to the table. Rachel hurried to her side: Marilla, are you alright? I guess I just got up too fast. I´ve been a little under the weather lately. Oh? How, under the weather? Marilla let go of Rachel arm. It´s nothing. I´ll pour you some tea. Rachel’s curiosity was surely stirred and she looked at Marilla closely. I believe I saw Mr. Blythe leave Green Gables last night. Am I right? Yes, John came by. It seems to me he comes by quite a lot? And at a very late hour. Marilla eyed Rachel and put down the cup of tea a little more hard than usual. Is there anything you want to say then say it Rachel! Rachel drew back her stare and comments for a moment while pouring a spoonful of sugar into the tea. I came by to ask if you would accompany me to Charlottetown tomorrow? Do you need me with you? No, but I thought it would make you a nice break from your daily routine… So will you come? I guess Anne could do without me. Splendid. I´ll come by to fetch you… Sure you´re okay to go Marilla? You said you felt a bit under the weather? And you do seem a little pale. It’s nothing. It´ll pass. If you´re sure.
The ride to Charlottetown went smoothly. Rachel was buying a new corset and while she was being measured, Marilla had time to look at all the fine dresses. She could use a new dress. A wedding dress maybe? All so colorful  and bright. Rachel was finishing up and approached Marilla near the big window. Suddenly Marilla remembered they had delayed lunch. The hunger made her nauseous and her head spinning. She graphed the nearby clothes rail for support while closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing. Rachel who was just coming out, saw her friend feeling unwell and supported her around the waist. Marilla why didn’t you say you really felt ill? It´s nothing – it´ll go away. Rachel smelled something was up, and being who she was, she asked directly in the presence of the young shop assistant. Would this have something to do with Mr. Blythe? I remember similar symptoms about twenty some years ago. Marilla looked chocked at Rachel but didn’t know what to answer and that was answer enough for Rachel. Rachel hooked Marilla under her arm, paid the assistant and off they went to the nearest café to have a seat, a cup of tea and some bread Tell me Marilla: Are you pregnant? Marilla looked down at her hands. Yes, I believe I am. But at my age..I didn’t think.. She looked up at Rachel with a desperate look. What am I going to do about Anne.. and Matthew? Have you talked to John? Yes. And? He wants us to get married. Thank god, I hope you accepted. I said I’d think about it. Did you tell him about John junior? Marilla bowed her head No.   Do you want him to know about John Junior? Yes, I’m just not sure how… I need time to think. Well, as long as you know time isn’t on your side. How far along are you? About four months. My god Marilla. You´ll need to do something soon. You´ll be showing before you know it. Yes, I know. I just don’t know how. What about Anne and Matthew? I don’t want to leave Green Gables.. a small tear ran down Marillas cheek and Rachel caressed her hand on the table. We´ll find a solution. Hopefully in time. Rachel smiled in her own supporting way.
Soon after their trip to Charlottetown, Gilbert came by Green Gables. He asked to see Marilla and told her his father had gotten ill and asked for her. She went to see him of cause and his illness was much more serious than firstly assumed. He had a bad cough and the doctor recommended a stay at a sanatorium in Colorado near the hot springs. John didn’t want to leave Marilla. Not now but he kept getting worse and Marilla insisted that he made the journey. She stayed at his side for more than two days. She was exhausted. She sat on a chair next to his bed serving him some hot soup. Marilla please take care of yourself while I’m gone. She forced a smiled and promised to do so. But somehow it felt like she wasn’t going to see him anymore. And take care of our baby. He smiled and caressed her hand. Marilla looked around to make sure no one was around to see the affection between the two. I´ve been thinking… we could get married before I go. Just in case… I don’t… make it.. John coughed a lot leaving his sentences short. Please don’t talk like that John.. a tear followed by another ran down Marillas cheeks. Please come back to me John.. I will do all in my power to do so. He took her hand and kissed it then pulled her towards him for a quick kiss. Then he leaned back while coughing something fierce and Marilla kept holding his hand until he slept. Marilla fell asleep too on the chair, exhausted. Gilbert had talked to his father and therefore knew of the delicate situation. When he came into the room and found Marilla asleep holding his father’s hand, he decided it was time for Marilla to have a break. He guided her to the other side of his father’s bed. Lay down Miss Cuthbert. But Marilla resisted. Oh but I can´t – it´s not appropriate. Please Marilla. You two have known each other for thirthy years and you need the sleep. Gilbert looked at her abdomen. Embarressed beyong words Marilla looked the other way. So you know? She asked Yes. My father told me a week ago. Please take a rest. You deserve it. Gilbert lifted the covers and Marilla looked deeply into Gilberts gentle eyes. You don´t mind Gilbert? Of cause not. You deserve happiness both of you. You´ve waited so long Marilla. Please get some sleep. She smiled a small tired smile and crawled into bed next to the man she loved and slept for hours. John awoke to find Marilla sleeping beside him. He caressed her cheek and felt comepletely happy.  
A few days later they were wed in the living room in the Blythe house. Matthew, Gilbert, Rachel, Thomas and of cause Anne were there. Anne didn’t know about the pregnancy yet. Marilla wanted to wait until after the wedding. They agreed the homestead would belong to Gilbert since he was turning eighteen in the autumn and John would come live at Green Gables after his stay in Colorado. Gilbert would accompany his father on the journey… Marilla was needed at Green Gables and her delicate condition best be kept at home. Of cause Gilbert was welcome to stay at Green Gables too but he was going to medicine school.
Marilla spend the wedding night with John and the next morning John and Gilbert left for Colorado. He was to be gone for one month, maybe more. Marilla hoped she could hide her pregnancy that long. Thank god for the corset.  
Spring came early that year. And it was a warmer spring than usual. Everything was in bloom including Marilla. It was getting more and more difficult to hide her secret. She was coming close to six months and Anne didn’t know anything yet. Marilla had received word from John, he would be coming home at the end of the month. He had been gone almost two months and Marilla looked forward to telling Anne about the baby which would make its appearance in about three months. Marillas morning sickness had stopped about a month ago and Marilla felt bubbles and butterflies inside her stomach. Proof that life was growing inside her and the feeling made her warm and happy. She couldn’t wait for John to feel the baby kick and share the growing anticipation. They were working in the field, Matthew, Jerry, Anne and Marilla. Matthew had an eye on Marilla and Anne was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with her since Matthew was so overly concerned for her wellbeing. Take a break Marilla. You shouldn’t work so hard. I´m fine Matthew. Get on with your work. At dinnertime Anne and Marilla went inside to prepare a hot meal which they enjoyed and afterwards Anne were clearing the table and Matthew was enjoying his pipe by the fire when Marilla all of the sudden doubled over in pain by the sink. Marilla, are you okay? Anne asked and her comment caught Matthews attention. He got up fast and was by Marillas side in a second. He supported her around the waist. Here let me help you – tell me what to do. I can’t breathe, Marilla whispered.  She leaned heavily on Matthew who yelled for Anne to help him loosen Marillas corset. He sat down on the floor with Marilla between his legs and in his arms. He would never forgive himself if anything ever happened to her. He loved her deeply. They had always been there for each other. He unbuttoned her blouse and asked Anne to open her skirt. Matthew open the corset and it allowed air Marillas lungs. She had tightened it too much in a desperate effort to hide her growing stomach. Anne watched as the thin white under blouse revealed something underneath. Marillas was unconcious and Matthew feared the worst – loosing Marilla. Anne, go get Rachel. She´ll know what to do. Anne was still in shock and couldn’t take her eyes away from Marillas stomach. Is she?... I mean… how is she?... Anne asked Matthew thought it better to let Anne know: Yes she is pregnant. John Blythe is the father. Rachel knows, please go get her. I don’t know what else to do for her. Anne got up fast and ran out the door. Meanwhile Marilla came around. What happened? she asked You couldn’t breathe. You shouldn’t tie you corset that tight. I know you try to hide the baby, but maybe it´s time to set aside the corset. Marilla looked down at her blouse and skirt: Matthew Cuthbert what have you done? Well we had to get you some air.   Help me get up. Marilla commanded Anne has gone to get Rachel. Oh for heaven’s sake Matthew. Marilla was annoyed of the extra fuss and tried to get up with Matthews support. I don’t need Rachel here. And what did you tell Anne? She didn’t get to ask more because at the same time Rachel and Anne came through the door with great haste. Marilla are you alright? Rachel asked rushing inside to Marillas side. I´m fine. I just got a little dizzy. I don’t need the fuzz. Rachel looked at Marilla with critical eyes. Marilla tried to cover herself while still leaning on Matthew trying to hide how dizzy she still felt, but she couldn’t fool Rachel. Matthew please help Marilla upstairs to bed, I´ll come and assist you. Anne please bring us a cup of tea. Anne didn’t know how to think or feel. Was it really true what Matthew had said? Was Marilla expecting a child? And how could this be so? For all the time Marilla had been married to John, he had been away at the sanatorium. Matthew did his best to support Marilla up the stairs and to her room. She was still quite unsteady on her feet. Matthew please hold her while I get this skirt off. Are you sure I should be here? He asked For heaven’s sake Matthew, she´s your sister. You´ve lived together all your life. Matthew held on to Marilla while Rachel removed her skirt and blouse. Standing there in her underdress only, Marillas baby bun was clearly visible. Rachel touched her abdomen, pressed it slightly but was stopped by a moan from Marilla. Matthew, put her to bed. Then fetch the doctor, I don’t feel calm until the doctor has had a look on her. Matthew went right away and Rachel focused on Marilla. How are you feeling now Marilla? I feel as if a great stone is resting on top of me. Marilla touched her abdomen and a tear escaped her eye. She turned her face away and Rachel took her hand. It will be alright Marilla. You´ll see. Anne was watching from the door. She approached carefully not sure if her presence was wished for. Carefully she stepped inside: How are you Marilla? Marilla reached for Anne. Come sit with me Anne. There´s something I´d like to tell you. Rachel moved to make room for Anne. Matthew told me you´re going to have a baby. Oh Marilla that is absolutely romantic. Your husband far away and you staying behind struggling at the farm. I´m not struggling Anne! Oh but wouldn’t it be romantic if you were. Rachel put a hand on Anne’s shoulder and Anne knew she was getting too excited. Sorry Marilla. She looked at Marillas abdomen. Oh you´re already showing. Does it kick yet? Yes, sometimes. Marilla smiled Can I feel it? And without asking Anne placed both her hand on Marillas stomach. Marilla was quite shocked at first, but then placed her hands on top of Anne’s, and within a few seconds a small flutter was tickling under her hand. Anne’s mouth was wide open. Oh my Marilla. That is fantastic. Have you felt this Mrs. Lynde? Come feel it! Anne pulled Rachel by the hand and placed her on Marillas stomach. Both women got slightly embarrassed by the physical contact. Yes Anne I’ve felt it before – I’ve had ten children. Oh yes – of cause. Anne got quite self-conscious and removed her hand. I should go down and help Jerry. Thank you Anne.
The doctor came by and told Marilla to take it easy and no more corsets. It would endanger the life of the baby. Rachel left for home and Marilla was left alone to rest.
when everyone had gone to bed, Matthew knocked lightly on Marillas door.
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ncfan-1 · 6 years
Text
Not As You Remember
In which Ursa Wren tries to talk to her daughter. [Gap filler between 'Legacy of Mandalore' and 'Zero Hour'.]
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Whenever Ursa Wren left her family to go fight, bright, staticky holocalls home became a commodity more precious than gold, squabbled over by the operatives, so that even a clan chieftain’s heir was left to barter, threaten and bribe just for a few minutes at the comm. Barter and bribes were beneath her dignity, she knew, but after the last time she’d nearly gotten her head cracked open, Ursa was inclined to be a little more sparing with threats.
Holocalls were a commodity paid for in currency of long watch shifts and meals of Ursa’s least-favorite field rations and unsatisfying, near-tasteless protein paste—often the kind Alrich liked to joke bore a closer resemblance to sculptors’ clay than actual food. (She often found herself missing his humor when they were apart. She could find traces of it in his kin, but those traces only made her hungrier for the genuine article.) But when a time came that their leader thought it likely that transmissions wouldn’t be intercepted or used to discern their location, these things earned Ursa a few minutes more at the comm than she might otherwise have had
First, one of her parents (usually her father, but sometimes her mother) appeared, seeking a status update. The fortunes of Clan Wren, sworn as they were to House Vizsla, were closely tied to the successes and failures of Death Watch. Any report Ursa gave them was to-the-point-this wasn’t the primary reason for her calling, and they both know it.
“Alright, Ursa,” her father would often say, with a shake of his head that signaled a particular kind of exasperated fondness. “I’ll put that artist husband of yours on the comm. Mind, he may not be able to stay awake all through your call. It’s been paint, paint, paint non-stop ever since you left. I don’t know when that boy finds time for sleep.” ‘That boy’ being nearly the same age as Ursa herself, but her father never seemed quite able to accept the younger generations as anything but children.
Alrich would eventually appear, blinking sleep out of his eyes, just as likely to be holding Sabine in the crook of his arm as not.
Ursa found a smile unfurling over her lips, muscles that had had no exercise in what felt like an eternity aching as they were called back into use. “Have you been sending your work to our esteemed Duchess again?”
His eyes sparkled. Ursa wasn’t sure if it wasn’t just the connection dropping momentarily. “My latest piece should reach her any day now.” He flashed a slightly lopsided smile her way, shifting Sabine—fast asleep, though she’d been fussily wakeful the last time Ursa had called—in his arms. “I wonder if the Duchess will finally follow through on her threats to have my gifts to her jettisoned into the sun.”
Personally, if Satine Kryze ever did such a thing, Ursa thought she might storm Sundari and kill the woman herself. What a waste it would be for her husband’s artwork to be destroyed, what an intolerable waste. “Another woman might find cause for concern in her husband sending so many unsolicited paintings to another woman.” He seemed supremely unconcerned, which suited Ursa perfectly. “One day, you will have to forward one of the ah, love notes she sends back to you after receiving your gifts.”
Quick as a shriek hawk, his smile widened to a grin. “I’ve saved them all; I keep them in a scrapbook. I’ll show them to you, the next time you come home.”
Yes, when she came home. Those words made Ursa all too aware of the distance. Holocalls provided the illusion of proximity, but reality gave the lie to that illusion whenever his face shimmered and froze, before the connection was reestablished. The price she paid for fighting for the return of the old ways, Ursa recognized, now that Clan Wren no longer put up a façade of supporting the Duchess’s rule. It was a worthy burden, one she had shouldered willingly, and not one she would abandon now. Still, its weight grew burdensome at times.
“How are things at home?” Ursa asked, more quietly than she had first intended. “How are the children?” How are you? but it wouldn’t budge past the back of her throat.
“Tristan is sleeping, presently. He’s recently progressed to level two of basic blaster training.”
Ursa had thought her older cub’s aim was improving the last time she had overseen his training. She nodded. “And Sabine?"
Alrich shifted the baby’s weight so that her face was more readily visible to her mother. “Also sleeping. At last,” he added, so tiredly that Ursa couldn’t help but laugh.
“Is she so unmanageable as all that?” Ursa teased. “Has my husband at last exhausted all his nerve?”
“She cut her first tooth last week,” Alrich replied tersely. He stroked the soft, dark fuzz on Sabine’s head as he went on, “The doctors have given her medicine for the pain, your mother has supplied us with more teething rings than I think one baby could ever use, but the only thing that will quiet her for more than a minute at a time are the handles on my paintbrushes.”
At that, Ursa’s smile faltered, though Alrich’s despairing tone over the savaging of his paintbrushes might, under other circumstances, have made her laugh. “Isn’t she rather young to have begun teething?” It hasn’t been that long since I was last home, surely?
He shrugged. “I’m told that human babies can begin teething as young as three months old. Don’t concern yourself over it, Ursa; she’s just trying to get a head start on her brother. Now, you are currently stationed on the second moon of Kalevala, are you not?” His eyes gleamed with curiosity. “I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting that moon. What is it like?”
Ursa felt tension seep out of her spine as he asked a variation on a question that was, by now, intimately familiar to them both. Alrich had grown up in Sundari, and though the nature of his work had taken him to other cities, other worlds, he spent most of his life before (and for a few years after) their wedding in Sundari. (He went into raptures over the architecture whenever the subject was broached. Ursa honestly felt a little guilty about all the times she had blown up buildings in Sundari under orders from Pre Vizsla. She was also just a touch worried about what Alrich might do if the Crusader Mural at the base of the royal palace was ever targeted.)
Alrich had not traveled as Ursa had, and his curiosity led him to ask, “What is it like?”
She started, as ever, with descriptions of the native flora. Ursa was rarely ever stationed inside a city, so descriptions of plant life, geography, the weather, they inevitably came first. If she had visited one of the cities on the world where she was stationed, descriptions of the city followed. Of course they did; Alrich was so hungry for information about local artwork and architecture that he would hardly have let the call end without that information being passed along to him.
That was where it started. As they spoke more and more, Ursa found herself drifting into other topics. Sometimes, the dialect of Mando’a spoken where she was stationed was so different from the ones she had grown up with that she could barely communicate with the locals. At times, she found herself complaining about the weather, which was invariably incredibly unlike the frigid wastes of northern Krownest or dry, sterile Sundari. Petty squabbles among the operatives were discussed, along the reconciliation that followed. A song she had learned. A holonovel that was being passed around camp.
All of it came pouring out of Ursa’s mouth in a torrent, because the timer was reading thirty seconds, and she knew she would have to disconnect soon, but oh, I love you, I’ll speak with you again as soon as I’m able.
-0-0-0-
Ursa had no difficulty picking out Sabine in a crowd or out in the wilderness. In fact, she had so little difficulty that she was actually somewhat concerned. If Ursa could so readily identify her daughter, she had little doubt that vengeful members of Clan Saxon could do just the same. But her armor, in shape and design, was her armor. Even a child was entitled to that amount of freedom of expression.
(She found it buried deep down past her worries, but that Sabine was so easily recognizable gave birth also to a spark of relief. Sabine was a starburst of color in the tundra, and it made it easy for Ursa to focus on her any time she wished to—which, these days, was most of the time.
The only thing was that, when things had settled down enough that they could do so, the bits and pieces of Sabine’s armor that she had had to discard while she was… away would have to be re-forged to fit her properly. Ursa know that there were certain communities that wore less armor than was Clan Wren’s standard, but looking at Sabine with these bits and pieces missing was just… It reminded Ursa of far too much.)
Now, Sabine was out by the eastern wall of the fortress, inspecting a malfunctioning utilities box, brow furrowed as she examined the tangle of wires.
“This is worse than…” Sabine cut herself off with a sharp click of the tongue as she reached further into the box, her eyes narrowed slightly. She now spoke Krownest Mando’a with a provincial, slightly slurred accent Ursa longed to iron out of her voice, but when she had last tried to broach the subject, Sabine’s face had crumpled like paper crushed in someone’s first, and Ursa’s voice had failed her.
Ursa watched as Sabine went about her work, wondering when she would notice her. She always was prone to getting lost in her work. I see that much has not changed.
What had changed was the speed with which Sabine realized she was under scrutiny. All of a sudden, she whirled around, wrenching her hand out of the utilities box and reaching for a blaster, before her eyes focused in on Ursa and she let her blaster fall back into its holster. “Mother,” she greeted her, making like she wanted to fold her arms across her chest, but stopping shy and letting them fall at her sides. "I’m sorry; I didn’t hear you coming.”
“You should be more mindful, Sabine,” Ursa chided her. “I don’t know how much longer we will be able to suppress news of Gar Saxon’s death. His kin will be out for your blood.”
Even if Sabine hadn’t been the one who killed him. Even if Gar Saxon had attempted to do something that every Mandalorian everywhere would recognize as an act of base cowardice (Different communities had differing rules of engagement, especially where duels were concerned, but one rule that was universal was thus: under no circumstances do you ever shoot your opponent in the back after the conclusion of the duel). Gar Saxon had forfeited his own life when he aimed his blaster at her daughter’s retreating back, but Ursa was coming to realize, bitterly, that this would matter not at all to his kin. She was slowly coming to grips with the idea that Mandalorian space would be just as lawless a place as it had been during the Siege.
(Coming to grips, perhaps, with the idea that Mandalorian space had never stopped being a lawless place, that the Empire had painted over the rot with sterile black and white and “do your duty,” and she had never realized. The lawlessness had grown quieter, conducted away from the light. Ursa had been focused on one thing or another, and hadn’t realized what was slipping away from her.)
“They’ll be after yours, too,” Sabine pointed out. “And—“ She stopped herself, clamping her mouth shut. Jaw taut, fists clenched.
‘And’… ‘And’ what? Ursa feared she knew. She hoped Clan Saxon would have sense enough not to jettison the only piece of leverage they had over Clan Wren. She hoped. “How are the repairs coming along?” she asked, and her voice sounded pitifully faint to her own ears, even accounting for the wind. Milksop meek, trembling at the knees.
“They’re… coming.” Sabine scowled at the utilities box. “The wires are messed up pretty bad—we’re probably gonna have to order replacements. But I can bypass some of the bad ones for now. It’s not a permanent fix, but it should tide us over until we can replace the wires.”
Ursa caught her mind snaking in mild confusion even as she nodded. “You seem well-versed in rerouting utilities.” It had been years since she had thrown away Sabine’s old class schedules, but memory held an edge as keen as mullinine. Her daughter, already skilled with repair and mechanical work, had taken many classes to further her knowledge. None of those classes, Ursa thought, would have taught Sabine how to rewire a damaged utilities box.
Sabine flashed a hard-edged smirk her way. “When I was living on Nar Shaddaa, the place where I lived had problems like this a lot. The landlord would remit half our rent for the month if I’d do repair work for him without charging.”
Nar Shaddaa. Ursa had not actively kept tabs on where Sabine went and what she did after fleeing Sundari. What little she knew, she had learned from others (well-meaning informants or political rivals come to gloat), and it painted a picture so incomplete Ursa would have sworn it was moth-eaten. She’d had no news of Sabine after her flight from Sundari that she would have credited, not entirely, not until it was reported that Sabine had joined the Phoenix Squadron.
The idea of Sabine having lived on Nar Shaddaa for any amount of time made Ursa itch. She knew that the life of a fugitive was hardscrabble, but the idea of either of her cubs, let alone the younger, living in such a crime-infested hive was not something that could be borne gladly. “I have never been to Nar Shaddaa,” Ursa remarked, fixing Sabine in a piercing stare. “The closest I’ve come was a visit I paid to Nal Hutta—“ Terrorizing the Hutts and gunning down their lackeys; not once did I ever hope that a child of mine would do something that could top that, not once did I ever hope for that “—and Nal Hutta is, by all accounts, a far cry from the Smuggler’s Moon.”
For the best results, phrasing it as a question would have been better. Ursa wasn’t so green as to not know that. Her lips were pressed firmly shut as she looked expectantly at Sabine.
Sabine’s hand was trained on the utilities box, her eyes narrowed against the glare that made the snow on the ground seemed to glow. “…Nar Shaddaa’s about like you’d expect,” she said finally. “It’s cold—not as cold as here, but colder than Nal Hutta—and dirty, and crowded.” She grimaced. “Really crowded. Plenty of people go there looking for any kind of new start, but can’t scrounge up enough credits to leave if their luck’s no good.”
“Still, you would encounter greater diversity there. Diversity of people, of languages.” Two images flashed through Ursa’s mind like a sudden burst of sunlight through gray clouds. First, there was Sabine, all of eight years old and reading through Huttese workbooks and lexicons when other children her age would have been reading chapter books and comics. Second, the surprise stamped on visitors’ faces when they caught sight of non-human faces among Ursa’s clan; when, when had that become the exception, rather than the rule? Even Alrich had been a touch surprised when he first met Clan Wren as a whole, which in retrospect Ursa supposed she should have taken as a clue.
“Yeah, there was plenty of that,” Sabine agreed. “Lots of diversity with their art, too.” Her eyes warmed slightly, but otherwise her face remained carefully neutral, a mask of skin and muscle stretched over bone, as impenetrable as beskar. “You can see Corellian holo-sculptures and Tatooine sand paintings on the same street. The locals, the people who were born and raised there, have their own kind of art.”
“And what is that?”
Sabine set her toolkit on top of the utilities box, rooting around for whatever it was she needed inside. “You know how shopkeepers on some worlds use neon signs? Nar Shaddaa makes an art form out of neon lights. There’s a whole genre of art there dedicated to neon artwork. Not just flats mounted to a base, either; I’m talking free-standing sculptures, with multiple colors. Malachite, ultramarine and this purple color about halfway between mauve and heliotrope were the most common where I lived, though some people liked to use silver and black, too.” Her eyes glazed over in reminiscence. “There was a sculpture of a Cassius tree in a market square that must have been over four meters tall.” The eagerness in her voice seemed close kin to what Ursa felt in battle—ever-hungry, never quite satisfied. “The ‘tree’ was supposed to be in bloom; its flowers changed color from gold to silver depending on what time it was.”
Listening to her talk like this was like listening to Alrich whenever he returned home after a viewing at one of Sundari’s art galleries (Provided he had actually liked the artwork he had seen there). Ursa smiled and found herself asking, “Did you ever participate yourself?”
A shutter came crashing down over Sabine’s eyes. “No, Mother. You know me; I stick to my paints.”
“…Of course.”
Sabine said no more, and eventually Ursa headed back inside, unsated.
-0-0-0-
She wasn’t coming upstairs for supper much.
Oh, fair, it was rare for all of Clan Wren to be in the dining hall at the same time—the only time they ever were was on feast days, or when they broke their fast after a death. Typically around a quarter of the seats were filled on occasions when Ursa took meals there. More commonly, people took their meals in their own living quarters, or ate outside while on watch duty. Ursa was used to presiding over a mostly-empty hall, and with all the years her husband had been held hostage, her son had served in the ISC, and her daughter had been… away, Ursa was used to having none of her immediate family with her when she took her meals.
Ursa should not have felt the absence keenly. She should not have felt it at all, she thought irritably. After so many years of absence, it should have been more surprising to look down and see her daughter’s head (dyed) and distinctive (brightly colored) armor. Should have been more jarring to hear her voice than not.
Absence was determined to be more jarring than presence.
Sabine rarely came to the dining hall for supper (Ursa suspected she had continued her old habit of going straight to the kitchens whenever she was hungry). Even Fenn Rau showed up in the dining hall more often than Sabine, and half of the warriors of Clan Wren still tensed on impulse whenever he sat down with them. Perhaps it had something to do with the way some of the children had decided that this strange warrior, who spoke a dialect of Mando’a strange to their eras and who had accompanied the chieftain’s runaway daughter home, was just the person to ask the sort of questions they thought a strange warrior from another Mandalorian world might know the answer. If the man was going to be pestered, it might as well not be while he was trying to work.
But tonight, still no Sabine.
Finishing her meal—no rations or veg-meat or protein paste that looked like sculptor’s clay, but toothsome stew packed with enough meat and fruit and tubers that the broth was barely discernible—was like being a child again. All Ursa wanted to do was leave the dining hall and go elsewhere, but she was constrained to sit and finish her stew. As a child, her mother had watched her, keen as a tundra burrowing owl in the dead of night; now, her whole clan watched her, and her dignity demanded that she stay instead of storming off like an impatient child.
 Yes, my whole clan watches me. Looks to me for guidance, and depends upon me for protection. They all do, but for the one I—
Ursa credited the years her mother had spent teaching her how to eat properly for the fact that she didn’t just wolf down her stew.
It was difficult to say where Sabine might have gone. She avoided notice quite comprehensively for someone with armor more colorful than the aurora, much more so than Ursa could ever remember from the days before Sabine went away to Sundari. As best as Ursa could determine, Sabine hadn’t really reconnected with any of the distant cousins she had been friends with as a child, not even the ones who were apparently willing to let bygones be bygones concerning the weapon. As best as Ursa could determine, Sabine hadn’t even tried to reconnect with them. Tristan was the most likely to be with her, and he told his mother that Sabine mostly just kept to herself.
Kept to herself and worked—Ursa had noticed that much. Sabine had a preternatural gift for knowing when something in the fortress needed fixing. If a sensor beacon needed repairs, Sabine did the repairs. If the software in the fighters’ targeting computers was malfunctioning, Sabine knew just what needed to be done to fix it. When the shield generator for the fortress began to sputter, Sabine crawled underneath with a toolkit, and there she stayed until it was fixed. For the life of her, Ursa couldn’t tell if she was just trying to make the most of the calm before the storm, or there was more to it than that.
(That Sabine knew how to do maintenance and repairs on fighters had taken Ursa aback, at first. It was Sabine’s expertise with machines that had drawn the Academy’s eye, but this was another thing that the Academy hadn’t taught her. The Academy had taught Sabine slicing and reprogramming in preparation for a ‘glorious’ career in espionage, and weapons repair and creation when she was discovered to have an aptitude for that, but nothing to do with fighters.
It had occurred to Ursa later that living aboard a ship constantly involved in dogfights and being involved with a rebel cell that housed fighters, if a different type than those found on Krownest, had likely given Sabine ample opportunity to learn. She wondered who had taught her, who had left their mark on Sabine in the form of their teachings, but couldn’t find it in herself to ask.)
The fighter bays were empty, as was the control room or the ground-based defenses. Ursa checked the sparring rooms, but no Sabine. The outer walkways yielded up no vibrant color, just the darkness of winter night.
Finally, Ursa went where she supposed she should have gone first, if she’d not assumed that Sabine would still be working. The door to her daughter’s room was shut when she came to it, but not locked, not this time. When Ursa opened the door, she was immediately struck by an astringent odor so powerful it made her eyes water. The sight that greeted her when she got past the smell was still an incongruous one, even though Sabine had been living here for a few weeks now.
She’d found her daughter, alright. She had found both of her cubs sitting on the floor, a floor one could barely walk on for everything that was strewn about. What’s this, now?
None of what was lying out was Tristan’s—Ursa knew that much. Tristan was invariably much more well-organized than this, and he didn’t bring his things into other people’s rooms unless it was absolutely necessary. He was sitting on the edge of the mess, besides, while Sabine was perched in the middle of it, as though sitting behind a shallow wall.
Directly in front of Sabine was a small easel supporting a strip of painter’s wood about three quarters of a meter in height. A box of paints sat open by her right leg, along with a palette and a cup full of water and paintbrushes. A sheet of cleaning paper lay on top of a wooden block, the paper dotted with streaks of paint and water. One of Sabine’s blasters had been disassembled, lying in pieces on the floor while the barrel soaked in a small tub of cleaning solution, the source of the odor that had struck Ursa when she opened the door. Datapads were strewn all around, some of their screens showing fighter schematics, some showing artwork, some showing topographical maps of Krownest, one with text in Bocce, and one with text in a language that Ursa thought might have been Ithorese.
They weren’t talking when Ursa entered the room, instead sitting in a silence that she would almost have said was companionable, if not for the fact that Tristan was looking at Sabine with a sort of concern that was noticeable even past his baseline-worriedness. Silent they might have been, but not lost in anything; they both looked up the moment Ursa crossed the threshold into the room. Tristan nodded mutely, but Sabine’s face creased in light annoyance.
“You might wanna knock next time,” Sabine said, frowning. She picked up a paint brush and dabbed it with a splotch of dark blue paint on the palette. “I could be doing anything in here.”
“I… apologize.” She had a point, after all; it had just occurred to Ursa, like sandpaper on bare skin, that Sabine had been prepubescent the last time she had lived in this room. (Ursa was, perhaps, a little surprised that Sabine’s rebuke had been delivered so calmly; she would have expected more anger, maybe shouting.) “I wanted to tell you that if you want to eat, it would be better to eat while there is still food left.”
Sabine nodded, her eyes straying back to whatever it was she was painting. “I will. I’m working right now.”
Since sunrise she had been working. Come to think of it, Ursa wasn’t entirely certain Sabine had eaten lunch, either. Pursing her lips, Ursa wondered if the crew of the ship Sabine had joined (the Ghost, wasn’t it?) had ever had to force her to eat. Ursa found herself briefly contemplating tying Sabine to a chair and force-feeding her. It would undoubtedly end poorly, but still…
Ursa caught Tristan’s eye. Immediately, he was getting to his feet, nodding at his mother and his sister in turn. “I need to check in with the watch,” he apologized, staring down at Sabine’s head with his brow furrowed. “I have to go for now.”
“’Kay.” Sabine looked up briefly, but her eyes were far away. “I’ll see you later.”
Still fixing Sabine with that concerned look of his, Tristan left.
This left Ursa and Sabine, the latter settling back into her painting as though she had been alone the whole time. Ursa wondered bemusedly if Sabine would even notice if she tried to catch a glimpse of what she was painting. Apparently, she was in that area still perfectly aware, because when Ursa came closer to try to get a look at the wood, Sabine abruptly angled it away from Ursa and glared up at her. “I’ll show it to you when I’m done. I don’t want anyone seeing it before it’s finished.”
Her father was just the same; Ursa could recall with awful clarity how he would never so much as give her a glimpse of the portrait he had made of her until after it was done. That point of similarity wasn’t a balm so much as a thorn, when Ursa had been left to wonder if their work was all of them that she would be allowed to keep.
Ursa settled down in the low wicker chair by the sliding doors of Sabine’s closet and watched her in silence. The lights flickered from time to time (a problem in a room with no windows), but never for more than a moment or two at a time.
 Something else to make a note of on the maintenance lists. I let this room stand empty for far too long.
“If you won’t let me see your unfinished work,” Ursa said after a few minutes had passed, “may I at least ask you what the subject is supposed to be?”
Sabine stared at the front of the wood for a long moment before replying, “Have you ever been to Garel?”
Ursa narrowed her eyes as she peered more closely at her daughter. “I’ve never heard of Garel, Sabine. Is it one of the planets you’ve been to?”
The idea that her daughter was well-travelled, let alone more well-travelled than she herself, jarred. It had jarred when it first occurred to Ursa, when she realized that the fact that Sabine had survived all those years… away meant that she had likely traveled to more planets in the space of several years than Ursa, even during her time in Death Watch, had visited in her life. It still had a sense of wrongness to it now.
“Lived there for a while.” Sabine put down her paintbrush and reached for one of the datapads. She tapped the screen with her fingernail, biting her lip. “The cityscape was… something. I’ve been planning to do a piece on it for a while; I’ve just never had time.”
Ursa glanced over the datapads and the disassembled blaster with a jaundiced eye. “From everything else you seem to be trying to do at the moment, I’m not certain you have time now.”
Sabine jerked her head back, her lip curling back from her teeth just a little, less threat than simple reflex. “I’m working, Mother. I’m getting plenty of stuff done like this.”
Familiar ground yielded no traps or tricks. Ursa scoffed, almost smiling. “Sabine, we have had this conversation more times than I can remember.” How many times had she walked into this room when Sabine was younger, only to find her daughter apparently trying to do several different things at once? “I have a hard time believing that you can give your attention to so many disparate tasks. At the very least, I have a hard time believing that you can give all of these tasks as much attention as they require when you try to do them all at once.” She tapped the handle of one of her blasters for emphasis. “For instance, the blaster you are trying to clean. How likely is it that you’ll finish that quickly when you are trying to paint, look over fighter schematics and read maps, and read… whatever it is on those other datapads?”
“Maybe it won’t get done fast.” Sabine stared intently at the screen of the datapad she held in her hand. “But I don’t have watch duty tonight, and I’ve got plenty of other blasters. That’s not even one of my main blasters over there.”
There was a slight bite to her voice, but otherwise, no display of temper. No real show of her teeth. The ghosts of old shouts and complaints clamored in Ursa’s ears, even as Sabine said nothing, even as Ursa said nothing. Sabine tapped a few more times on her datapad, set it down gently, and resumed painting.
This… A shade of a child sat on the floor before her, small and thin, her long, black hair spilling over her shoulders. She was sketching in a sketchbook, slapping away her father’s hand when he tried to filch it and laughing at his exaggerated expression of pain. She was forever trying to do five things at once, paint, sketch, work she had brought home from the auxiliary Academy at the end of the term, work her mother had assigned her, maintenance on her weapons, and any number of other things, depending on where her mood took her. Ursa was never convinced that she could do five things at a time as quickly as she could have done one thing at a time, but she never missed deadlines, never turned in pitifully inferior work.
What sat before her today was a stranger by comparison. The child’s face had been like a window to her mind, revealing thoughts and emotions. None of her experiences were strange to Ursa; she had been present for them all, or had a good idea of what her daughter was experiencing when out from under her supervision. Now, her face was as a mask, stronger than beskar and more opaque than Chandrilan SinguBlack*. No weapon could break it; no light could pierce it. No eyes could discern the truth behind its wall. There was no key with which to turn the lock.
Her child, the child who had left these halls to go to Sundari, had devoured and repurposed herself, cannibalizing hair and lips and armor and voice and hands. Hair dye in lieu of war paint, garish paint on her armor eradicating blood and scrapes and the marks that had been made at their forging. Heart chewed up, rent to pieces, stitched back together in a shape Ursa didn’t recognize. Similar, yet different. Technically the same person, and yet no one Ursa recognized.
For a moment, one horrible moment, a protest dripping with her blood battered against a wall of teeth. However ignorant she had been, whatever cruel innocence had caused her to wreak that abomination, Ursa found she wanted back the child who had left for Sundari, snowflakes catching in her hair.
She was Ursa Wren, chieftain of Clan Wren, ruler of Krownest. She mastered herself, and with a silent nod, left her daughter to her painting.
-0-0-0-
Years ago, Ursa Wren made a choice. A choice that was perhaps no true choice at all, the choice of a woman with a blaster digging into her back and a firing squad before her. Still, she claimed it as a choice, because whatever her cub had done, whatever perversion she had wrought, there were things a mother owed her child. Her child was owed an explanation that didn’t involve mealy-mouthed justifications for what she did. Her child was owed the truth, however unpleasant.
Years ago, Ursa Wren made a choice, and resigned herself to living with it. She could have her daughter back, or she could have her clan (less her daughter and her husband) safe, for a certain value of “safe.” She could have her daughter by her side and her clan hunted to the ends of the galaxy, or she could cast her daughter away and live under the yoke, but still, live. It was a matter of what she wanted: did she want the knife trained over her neck to fall, or didn’t she? No, of course not. Ursa Wren was not just a mother, and what her daughter had done…
“You will never see her again. She is exiled; whatever path she walks will never lead her here. She will die in the great expanse, or you will die before she ever returns.”
This was what Ursa told herself to quiet her mind.
“Your sister is gone. She can never return. I will not ask you to forget her, but do not speak of her if you wish for your father to live and your clan to survive.”
She had said something similar to Tristan. Her daughter was gone but her son was still with her, and a mother had as much of a duty to the one as to the other. He had accepted it in his quiet, unhappy way, and they never spoke of Sabine. Not once in all those years. With nothing else to do, Ursa had not… had not forgotten, exactly. She had locked memory away as you would lock a dangerous prisoner in a high-security prison cell. Monitored closely and kept quite comprehensively under control.
With glacial slowness, memory had crystallized.
And then, Sabine returned.
It was nearly as much a curse as a blessing that her daughter had returned. Everything Ursa had done to keep her clan safe was at risk, but she could not find it in herself to regret allowing Sabine to live under this roof again, any more than she could regret gunning Gar Saxon down. However many problems it created for her, fighting for survival and dominance came more naturally to Ursa than did politicking and bowing and scraping to the Empire.
She’d not dared to hope for her daughter’s return. She’d not dared to hope that Sabine’s exile would be rescinded, let alone that she would rescind it on her own initiative.
Neither had Ursa expected that Sabine would return to her so different.
When the Jedi insinuated that he knew her daughter better than she did, Ursa had bristled. How likely was it that a man who had had her daughter for only a few years would know Sabine better than the woman who bore her, who raised her for over a decade? How likely was it that Sabine would ever open her heart to a Jedi? Ursa still wasn’t certain of just how well the Jedi knew her daughter. But neither was she certain any longer that she knew Sabine so well herself. She had changed the locks of her mind, and not furnished her mother with a key. Ursa wasn’t certain she ever would.
-0-0-0-
The morning dawned as winter mornings were wont in the polar tundra of Krownest—marginally lighter than the dead of night, but the sun did not grace the earth for long, nor with any strength. The stars shone bright and cold, glittering like shards of broken glass. Though trying to find Sabine once the day had begun could be like trying to track down a single pebble in a quarry, it was easy enough to find her when morning was still “dawning.” Sabine wasn’t the early riser she had once been; Ursa didn’t even have to rise that early herself to catch her on her way out of her bedroom door.
“Sabine?” she called, her voice damnably faint again.
Faint enough that Sabine, it seemed, did not hear her the first time. She was blinking sleep out of her eyes, hiding her yawns behind her hand. There she went, walking away, and Ursa followed after her as though she might never…
No, that was foolish. “Sabine?” she called, and it was as though her voice had never been faint at all.
Sabine paused and turned around, blinking rapidly. “Mother?” Ursa was greeted with a look of blank incomprehension. “What’s wrong?”
A slightly disbelieving smile curdled on Ursa’s mouth. “I wish to speak with you. Is that so difficult to believe?”
Silence drew up between them like a fogbank, clouding an already indistinct impression. Sabine’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been wanting to talk to me a lot lately. I just have to wonder…”
You were gone for so long. Is it really so difficult to believe that I would want to speak with you often? Even were she at her most reckless, Ursa knew (hoped) she had sense enough not to say such aloud. If ever there was something fit only for driving Sabine further away from her, that was it. And Ursa had already given her as much of an explanation as was needed, spelled out the necessity of it. If there was nothing more to be said on the matter, then let nothing more be said.
“There were…”
‘There were’ what?
Ursa closed her mouth and opened it again, even as Sabine’s eyes searched her face with caution. As Ursa groped for something, anything to say, she met only emptiness. What was it… what could she say that would not sound trite even to her own ears? She had only a vague idea of what Sabine would be responsive to, and what would drive her walls higher, her mask thicker, her heart harder.
“Sabine, I—“
Whatever Ursa might have said died suddenly when a siren started going off, then another, then another, in a cacophonous din. But what her ears recognized immediately, her mind was slow to accept. She stood there, open-mouthed and gaping like a fish stranded on dry land, while the words slipped further away.
Sabine glanced past her down the hall. “Sounds like trouble,” she pointed out in the provincial, slightly slurred accent that Ursa longed to smooth and sharpen until it was just the same as the voice Sabine had possessed when she left for Sundari, lightyears and eons ago. “We should get moving.”
Before Ursa could say anything, Sabine slipped past her, caution etched still on her face.
After entirely too long staring at her daughter’s retreating back, Ursa followed, nearly choked with formless words.
-----------------
*Ersatz VantaBlack paint.
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lastoneout · 7 years
Text
Alone Together
Chapter 1: And The World Keeps Turning
Rating: PG
Ship: Kidge/Pieth/Keidge, Pidge/Keith
Fic Summary:
It had been a long, exhausting year since the Paladins of Voltron had finally defeated Zarkon and brought a fragile peace to the universe. After the loss of Shiro, the team tries to move on, and the tension brings together Keith and Pidge in ways neither could have imagined.
Fic Notes:
Fic was written pre-season 3, and thus is now an AU that diverts from curren canon. I have, however, taken current canon into consideration and adjusted several details to be closer to what’s actually happening in the show.
I started writing this right after season two came out, but its a long fic and I didn't get a chance to finish it before season three hit. But since I felt that season three was kinda anti-climactic, I decided to finish writing this as a way to get my ideas out and to give me something to do until season 4.
A03
It had been a long and exhausting year since the Paladins of Voltron had finally defeated Zarkon and brought a tentative peace to the universe.
It had also been a year since anyone had seen Takashi Shirogane.
It was hard, at first. They frantically searched every corner of the galaxy, called every old ally, but they came up empty time and time again. Eventually it was agreed that there was nothing to be done. He was gone.
But there was still much to do. Even without Shiro they had a job, and peace was a relative term. While the high command of Galra empire had been quiet, there were still hundreds of planets held under generals and commanders with delusions of grandeur who refused to loosen their hold. Besides, Pidge still had to find her family, and Allura began reaching out and laying the foundation for a more formal alliance between the worlds and rebels who had fought against Zarkon in Voltron’s absence. And all the while they hoped that somehow, somewhere, they would find Shiro.
Keith, despite his strong reservations, had agreed to be their new leader. The new Black Paladin. The whole team had been supportive. Voltron was needed, and Shiro had the right as their leader to chose who would take his place. Even Lance had eventually agreed, uncharacteristically kind as he said “It’s what Shiro wanted.” None of them even mentioned his Galra ancestry. In the end the only one who ever seemed hesitant about his ability to lead, was himself.
“Keith? Keith are you ok there?” Pidge’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he snapped to attention. “Lance and Hunk are in position, should we proceed?”
“Right, you said you found the prisoners?”
She sighed, “Yes, deck three, Hunk and Lance are ready to break them out and Allura and Red are waiting by the escape pods to get them to the castle. Should we proceed?”
“Yes, right, Proceed.” He said over the coms, “Pidge and I will be right behind you.”
“I’m almost done,” She said from her post by the ship's main computer, her glasses glinting in the monitor light.
Keith nodded and turned back to guarding the door, groaning internally. He spaced out again, probably costing the team valuable time, seconds and minutes that could mean the difference between life and death.
The missions they took on had a simple formula, take out the galra command, break the prisoners out, download whatever data they could and get back to the ship. It was simple and it worked, but he still faltered, the weight of his role almost too much to bear. He tried to be quick, decisive, but he second guessed every choice, worried that one wrong move could end in disaster. Most days, even after successful missions, he picked apart his performance, every little detail, and wondered why Shiro ever thought that he could be a leader.
“Alright, that’s everything.” Pidge said, snapping her personal computer closed, “Let’s get out of here.”
He nodded, and they quickly made their way down the glowing purple corridors to where their lions waited.
The flight back to the castle was uneventful, he could hear the team celebrating over the coms, asking Pidge about her data and checking in with Allura and the prisoners. They laughed at something Hunk said, and he resisted the urge to take his helmet off. They needed to be able to contact him, even if their jovial tone made his stomach turn as his mind begin tearing down his moves and decisions. How could they not see that he could have cost them everything?
Back at the castle he lingered with the team long enough to see the prisoners into the healing pods and to confirm that they had warped far away from the outpost. He let the team congratulate him over another mission well done, forcing a smile and returning their sentiments. They needed him to be strong. He noticed Pidge out of the corner of his eye, staring at him oddly, and he wilted slightly under her gaze. He forced a smile and waved at her, but the burning judgement of her inquisitive gaze still lingered after he had turned away.
When at last he excused himself and retreated into the cool darkness of his room he felt the anxiety and disappointment fall over him. He quickly stripped the armour that he would always think of as Shiro’s(Allura assured him that it would fit whoever wore it, but it always felt to big, too wrong, too much like Shiro.) He let the pieces clatter to the ground and pulled on a shirt and loose pants, collapsing onto his bed. He let out a heavy sigh, ignoring the deep achy feeling in his eyes and the pain in his chest.
His mind drifted back to the mission, to his hesitation. Sure, the team hadn’t said anything, but there was exasperation in Pidge’s voice as she re-explained the situation to him, (and her subsequent judgemental stare still lingered in his mind.) He knew they all noticed his failings. It wasn't the first time his mind had wandered during a tense situation. He tried to stay focused, but the thoughts of failure, of ‘what would Shiro do’ and all the doubt clouded his judgement no matter how hard he fought them.
‘You’ll never be as good as he was.’ a quiet, scary voice spoke from somewhere in his mind, and he felt loathing build in his chest, directed only at himself. He couldn’t disagree. It hurt, and he knew Shiro would be disappointed, but he couldn’t drive the feeling away. Often he wanted to pass the role of leader to someone, Allura maybe or Lance, convinced that anyone could do it better. (At the core of it all, he just wanted Shiro back. But that thought was still too dark and broken for him to linger on it.)
Instead he let his mind fade into fuzz and quiet chaos, floating half-awake in the nothingness for a long while.
...But then someone was knocking on his door, and a quiet voice called out, “Hey, Keith? Are you in there?”
He screwed up his eyes, briefly wanting to just ignore whoever it was, but after a moment he stood and walked to his door. He paused for a moment, breathing deeply and gathering himself, before he hit the button and it opened with a hiss.
Pidge stood there in her pajamas(a pastel green and orange thing she had picked up on some market) and was holding a plate of what looked like cookies in one hand and her laptop in the other.
“I just wanted to check on you,” She said, holding up the plate, “and I brought you some food, it’s the last of the pastries the Olkarians gave us.”
“I’m pretty sure Hunk was saving those.” He said, trying to dodge the questioning look in her eyes.
“He’ll live.” She deadpanned, before her face fell. She looked almost embarrassed as she continued, “Besides, you seemed like you needed some company...we don’t have to talk if you don’t want, I’ve got a few movies on my computer.”
He stared at her, and her shy look turned irritated at his silence. “Well? Can I come in?”
“Oh...um, yeah. Sure.” He stepped to the side, letting her in. He flicked on the lights while she sat awkwardly on his bed. He joined her, keeping his gaze averted.
“So what’s it gonna be, talking or a movie?” She asked, and he sighed. He could tell that she really wanted to talk about the mission, but he didn’t think he was up for it. But, she wasn’t prying, clearly giving him another option, and it had been a long time since he had hung out with any of the others...maybe a one-on-one movie night would be nice. Besides, out of all of the Paladins Pidge was the one who best understood what he was feeling. She had lost her whole family, and Shiro was not only her friend and confidant, he was her only link to them.
“...What movies do you have?”
She seemed disappointed for a moment, but she shook it off with a smile and pulled her computer onto her lap, opening it and turning it on. “I’ve got got all of the Star Wars movies, Interstellar, The Martian, and Pacific Rim, you might like that one...”
“Pacific Rim? Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”
She gasped dramatically, ”Really? I cannot believe you pilot a giant robot and you’ve never seen Pacific Rim.”
“What?” He said holding his hands up in defense, “There’s not a lot of time to watch movies when you live in a shack in the desert.”
“That’s fair. Still, this is a problem we need to fix.”
Keith ended up liking the movie a lot. Pidge occasionally chimed in with small comments about scientific inaccuracies or comparisons to Voltron. She even let out gasps of excitement when things got intense, grabbing his arm, her eyes practically shining. He smiled more at her than the movie, and felt some of the stress and pain of the day ease up, the scary voice in his mind uncharacteristically quiet.
They started on the Star Wars movies next, and eventually somewhere between them Pidge rested her head on his shoulder, and in a moment was sound asleep. He tried to pay attention to the movie, but her soft breathing and warm presence was just enough to distract him. He gazed down at her, a warm, melancholy feeling growing in his chest at her peaceful face. Sometimes he forgot that they were all just teenagers, basically children forced to grow up too soon. How long had it been since Pidge, or any of them for that matter, had felt free? Out in space, growing up fighting and saving people. So much weight on their shoulders. When would any of them have the chance to be teens again? Go to school, make friends, fall in love...
He blushed, suddenly very aware of Pidge’s weight against his own. She mumbled something, reaching up and wrapping her arm around his chest, pulling herself closer. Her hair, now shoulder length, tickled his arm. She really was cute.
The reasonable side of him wanted to wake her up and send her on her way. Forget inappropriate, this was falling into much more dangerous territory. Keith had reasons that he didn’t get close to people, every loss taking another part of him leaving only pain and darkness instead. Pidge was sweet, and he could see himself...liking her. But he could just as easily lose her, lose any of them. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t smart.
But her breathing was light and she smelled nice, and soon his own eyes were drooping. A little nap couldn’t hurt, right? He sighed, yeah, just a little nap. He closed her laptop and set it aside, sliding down lower under the blankets and letting his eyes fall shut. He focusing on her warmth and soft breaths, soon slipping into a deep, restful sleep.
Keith didn’t wake until the early morning. He stretched out, wincing at the cramp in his back from an old injury. Pidge was still deep in sleep, her face now smooshed up against his bed, her hair a mess. He suppressed a laugh. She really was cute.
But as he sat up the reasonable side of him was back. He felt the depression curl around in his chest, pushing away any warm feelings and leaving only dull pain. This had been a bad idea. What had he been thinking? Pidge needed to go back to her room, and then they could both forget this ever happened. Keith was a leader, and leaders didn’t do...well, whatever this was.
“Pidge.” He shook her shoulder gently and she groaned, “Come on Pidge, gotta get up.”
“Five...five more min...” She mumbled, and he sighed.
“Pidge, get up.” His voice had a bit more bite to it than he had intended, and he winced internally. She sat up slowly, her eyes tired, but he could see that fire in them again. He turned away.
“Let’s go, I’ll walk you back to your room.”
“Ok, fine.” She said quietly, and he tried to ignore the hurt in her voice.
The walk was awkward to say the least, Pidge shuffling along a few steps behind him, both silent. He felt a new sensation burn in his chest at the situation, something like regret and he suddenly had the crazy notion to turn and pull her into a hug. But that was ridiculous, so he pushed it away. Sure, hanging out with Pidge had been fun, something he hadn’t had in a long time, and sleeping next to her had helped relieve his anxiety. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept that deeply, no nightmares or panic attacks to speak of.
But, again he reminded himself, he was a leader, and none of the team, not even Pidge, needed to see him weak. He had an image to uphold, they needed him to be strong, and attachments...were not a good idea.
When they made it to her room he stopped and gave her a quick look. She seemed contemplative, her eyes still giving him that weird, penetrating look. He needed to get out of here. He mumbled something like a thank you or a sleep well and turned away, prepared to dash down to the training deck and bottle up all of the horrible weird feelings that were coursing through him, but before he could take a step she spoke, her voice clear and accusatory.
“I can feel it, you know.”
“What?” He asked, thrown off by her hard, accusatory tone.
“Your pain. Through the bond. Though Voltron. You try to keep it hidden but I know it’s there. It’s affecting us all. The others don’t know where it’s coming from but I can see it, the weird sadness that falls over us sometimes. It’s you.”
He stared back at her, a sudden pang of rage and fear hitting him. “And?”
She put down her computer and stepped closer to him, her voice rising, “And I don’t understand why you try to keep it to yourself!”
“I...I am the leader I hav-”
“Oh cut that ‘I’m the leader’ crap. We’re your team...we’re your friends. We want to help. It’s hard all around, you know. We all miss Shiro,” He flinched at the name, but she continued regardless, “and I know you were close and that you’re stressed ‘cuz of it, but you can’t keep hiding your feelings and keeping secrets. I know that better than anyone. It just ends up hurting people.”
“What do you want me to say Pidge?” He countered, the rage and hopelessness he was feeling making him reckless, “That I’m scared? That I’m constantly worried that I’m going to screw up and someone’s going to get hurt?”
“Yes, if it helps!”
He threw his arms in the air, “Well I am! But it’s not like I can let it show, now can I? Would Shiro? No, because a leader isn’t weak. You all need me to be strong, you all need me to lead and keep you safe and make the right choices, that’s what Shiro did!”
“You’re not Shiro! You will never be Shiro, ok?” She shouted back, and he instantly tensed. He took a step back, the anger and adrenaline mixing with fear and loathing, pushing his pulse through the roof. She froze, her face falling into hard realization as he stepped further back from her, but he didn’t notice, trying hard to relax, to breathe, to see past the thoughts overtaking his mind. ‘You’re not Shiro, you’ll never be Shiro you’ll never be good enough you’ll never be a lea-’
He felt hands, small but strong on his shoulders. Pidge was in front of him, her gaze cutting through the panic. She looked scared and regretful, but she still spoke, her voice level.
“Keith, listen to me.” Her hands kept him close, kept him focused, and he nodded.
“Yes, you will never be Shiro, but that is not a bad thing. You have to stop holding yourself to these ridiculous standards. You’re Keith, not Shiro, you’ve got to do things your way.”
She gave him a small smile, and his breathing started to calm, his muscles relaxing, “We all screw up sometimes Keith, it’s ok.”
“But...but what if...”
“We get hurt?” He nodded again, “That won’t happen. We’ve got brains, stupid. We can fight and stay safe.”
“Look...I know it’s not easy,” She continued, “But please, just believe that we are here for you. Stop keeping all of this to yourself. We...We are all we’ve got out here, and that’s scary...but we’re a family. We aren’t gonna let you face this alone. I won’t let you face it alone.”
She stepped back finally, and he tried not to miss the soft, grounding pressure of her hands. He took one last deep breath, surprised at how her words had calmed his mind. He felt a swift relief, and wanted to laugh for some reason, but he held it back.
“So the next time this gets bad, come find one of us.” She said, “I’m always up for another movie night.”
He smiled, “Ok.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Alright, good.” She crossed her arms, stifling a yawn. “Are you gonna be ok for right now? And don't lie.”
“I think so, yeah...” He said, shocked at the sureness in his voice. He had used that as a quick lie before, but suddenly it felt true. “You should probably try to get some more sleep, Pidge.” he added.
She blinked tiredly in agreement, and turned away, before pausing. She looked up at him, her face colored with an odd blush, her eyes unsure.
“What?” He asked, nervous.
“Katie. My real name...you can call me that, if you want.”
He felt a blush grow on his own face, as if she had trusted him with some great secret, not just her name.
“Ok...Katie.” It suited her, he thought, small and sweet, with a bit of a bite. He blushed harder.
An awkward silence grew between them, neither sure what to say, so Pidge broke it, clearing her throat.
“Ok then. I’m gonna...go back to bed.” She gestured at her door.
“Sounds good.” He said quickly, nodding.
“Right. See you around.”
“Right.”
Her words didn’t leave him, even days later, new missions planned and prisoners freed, they still lingered in his mind.
“I have to do things my way.” he said to himself during a solo training session, trying the words out. It was something he hadn’t really thought of before. Shiro had been a great leader, and Keith had only thought to try to do what he did. But now he felt himself considering past situations in a new light. What would he do?
Sometimes the answer was good, decisive and straightforward...other times, not so much. He knew he had a tendency to dive in without thinking, hot headed and ready for a fight. Thinking felt...unnatural to him. But Shiro’s words still rang true in his head, patience yields focus, and he noticed that when he paused to think, asking ‘What would Keith do’ yielded significantly more focus than, ‘What would Shiro do’.
The training bot swung at him and he dodged the attack, rolling and coming up behind it. He slashed, and his sword hit its mark, knocking the bot off balance and providing him the perfect opening to end the fight.
He stuck the final blow and the bot powered down. Keith felt his bayard revert forms and de-materialize. That was enough training for one day. He walked over to the wall, where a bench held his water and a fresh towel.
He drank the cool water and dried off, his mind wandering again. It was still early, and there were a few days before their next planned attack. Keith had never been a fan of free time, back on earth he filled it with planning and training and gathering supplies. The others of course, disagreed, and when they were done fixing up their gear and preparing they were more than happy to relax, bathe and talk and nap. It was weird to him.
But Pidge...she had said that he could come hang out with her. Of course, she had actually said ‘if things get bad’ and he was feeling pretty ok...but maybe...
Before he knew it he was leaving the training deck and making his way to Green’s hanger. He would just stop by, see how she was doing, maybe chat for a bit. No harm in that. It was team building. Yeah, just team building.
He found her at her workbench, slumped down in her chair, her eyes reading over line after line of galra text. She was busy. That was fine, he thought, ignoring the slight disappointment in his chest. It wasn’t like he really needed to hang out or anything. He’d just...wanted to, that’s all.
‘I’ll just say hi real fast’, he thought, stepping into the room, but he stopped when he got a good look at her face. She seemed troubled, her features scrunched up, and her eyes...they looked glassy, almost wet. Was she crying? He walked closer, his reservations falling away. Pidge had helped when he was feeling down, the least he could do was return the favor.
“Hey...” He paused. She had told him to call her Katie, but it still felt too private, too personal. “Hey, Pidge.” He called instead, and she sat up. He pretended he didn’t see how she blushed and wiped at her eyes before she turned to look at him.
“Oh, Keith, what’s up?” She asked.
“Nothing much. I just wanted to say hi...and see if you maybe wanted to hang out. Or something. You know?” She grinned at his awkward tone. “What did you have in mind?”
He faltered, having not thought that far. What was there to do on a giant castle-ship? It was cool, sure, but pretty barren. It was built to house hundreds of people, not six. He looked down at her again, faltering again at her knowing grin.
“Um, how about we...uh...” He shrugged, gesturing helplessly at her workbench, “...You could show me one of your projects?”
Her eyes lit up, but when she turned back to her computer she deflated, and slowly closed the laptop. “Maybe some other time, yeah? Hey!” She perked up again and lowered her voice conspiratorially, “I heard there was a pool on the ship, right? We could check that out. I haven’t been swimming in ages.”
Keith shivered, thinking back to being stranded in the elevator with Lance, having to climb up the tube and hope that he didn’t die a dumb, painful death next to the most insufferable person on their team. If that never happened again it would be too soon. But Pidge was good with tech stuff...and he could think of worse people to be stuck in an enclosed space with.
“Do you know how to hot-wire an elevator?”
“Yeah...but why would that matter?” She asked, giving him an odd look.
“No reason.” He said, “But yeah, there’s a pool. I’d be up for a swim.”
“Sounds good, meet you there in ten?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
Keith made it there before Pidge did, standing awkwardly in the humid air, suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious. He had been shirtless in front of the team more than a few times, but suddenly he found himself eying his chest in the shiny glass windows, wondering vacantly if he looked alright.
“This is stupid.” He mumbled, turning away from his reflection. He looked just like he always did, completely fine. Muscles, arms, skin in all the right places. And even if something was wrong it’s not like he could do anything about it now. Everything was just fine. Just. Fine.
At last Pidge arrived, dashing in clutching a towel and apologizing for being late. “Sorry, it took me forever to get changed and then I got lost and ran into Allura and she tried to get me into this skimpy swim outfit and shaking her was a whole thing on it own...”
“Not a problem, Pidge.” He said with a smile. He noted that she looked rather adorable in her swim trunks(the same ones all the paladins had, just in green) and a t-shirt, and tried to push the thought of whatever odd outfit Allura had wanted her to wear out of his head.
“Wow,” She said, whistling as she took in the large room, “This is way better than the pool on the base.” Keith agreed. The room was quite elegant, clearly showcasing the Altean’s passion for grandiose interior design.
“Well let’s get this party started!” She pulled off her glasses and tossed them to the side with her towel, running to the water and jumping in with a huge splash. After a moment she surfaced with a gasp, shaking the water out of her eyes and shivering. Apparently Alteans didn’t believe in pool heaters.
“Come on, w-what are you waiting for? The water’s great!” She shivered again, “Really....refreshing.”
He turned away, silently walking back towards the far wall, and Pidge scoffed.
“What, a-are you t-too chicken?”
“You wish,” He said with a smirk, before taking a running start and jumping in. Pidge laughed as his wave overtook her and sent her spiraling a few feet away.
When he came up she grinned at him, “That was awesome!” she shouted, and he was suddenly struck by how, well, beautiful she looked. Water droplets flying everywhere, hair messy, skin glowing in the muted light, and that huge, wonderful grin on her face. Somewhere, something inside of him decided that he would do anything to protect that smile, and his face took on a rosy blush.
She swam towards the edge of the pool, hoisting herself up and eyeing him, “But...I bet I can do better.”
“Is that a challenge?” He asked.
“Oh, you bet it is.”
They took turns cannonballing into the water, both laughing and judging each other's splashes. After he gave her a pitiful five out of ten she decided to tackle him, and they splashed and playfully shoved each other ‘till they both could hardly breathe from all the laughing.
“Hey!” They both jumped and turned to see Lance standing at the door, Hunk following not far behind. “They stole our idea!”
“Finders keepers,” Pidge said with a shrug, “What are you gonna do about it?”
Lance grinned, throwing his towel off and stalking into the water. “Chicken, right now, me and Hunk against you and Keith. Winner gets the pool.”
“Best two out of three?” She asked and he nodded.
“What’s chicken?” Keith asked quietly as Lance occupied himself with getting Hunk into the chilly water.
“You’ve never played chicken?” She asked, and he gave her a look.
“Shack. In the desert. Remember? Not a whole lot of water.”
“Ok, it’s really simple.” She explained, “You have two teams, and the smaller one gets on the shoulders of the bigger one and tries to push the opposite team over.”
“I think we might have a slight disadvantage.” He deadpanned, looking at Hunk, who despite shivering and complaining waist deep in the pool and still looked solid and sturdy.
“Oh don’t worry about him, he’s ticklish.”
“If you say so.”
“Alright you pansies, let’s get this started!” Lance shouted, a cocky smile on his face, and Keith couldn’t help but get excited. Lance was like that, it was hard not to mirror his enthusiasm.
“I hope you’re ready to get your asses handed to you!” Pidge shouted back. Keith moved to pick her up but hesitated, blushing again. She gave him another odd look and he quickly shook the feeling off and leaned down so that she could climb onto his shoulders.
In the end, Hunk’s ticklishness was his team’s downfall, and in no time at all Pidge and Keith had knocked them off balance three times, laughing as the pair surfaced, sputtering and shivering.
“Ok, t-that one wasn’t fair!” Lance shouted, flipping his sopping hair out of his face.
“No tickling, Pidge, sheesh.” Hunk added, holding his hands under his arms.
“All’s fair in love and war, guys. You’re just mad cause you lost.” Pidge replied, giving Keith a congratulatory fist bump.
“But,” She continued, still perched on Keith’s shoulders, “I suppose we could be persuaded to share the pool. What d’you say Keith, should we let them stay?”
“Hmmm...” He feigned consideration, “Well, as the leader of Voltron...my vote is, yes. They can stay.”
“Like we needed your permission...” Lance mumbled, “Ok, new challenge. Keith, I bet I can hold my breath longer than you!”
Keith smirked, ready to accept, but Pidge wiggled off of him and pointed at Lance. “I’m getting in on this because I know for a fact that I can hold my breath longer than both of you.”
“No way. Water is my element, after all.”
“That’s a lot of talk Lance." Keith interjected.
"Yeah, why don’t you put some proof behind those words before I make you eat ‘em.” Pidge added.
It turned out that Pidge could not, in fact, hold her breath longer than Lance. But, never the type to back down from a fight, she demanded a re-match, and after she lost again she and Lance took turns coming up with wild and slightly dangerous contests. Keith happily played along, gloating when he won and laughing when he didn't. Eventually Hunk joined in, and ended up schooling the three of them more than a few times.
When at last they decided to retire, poking fun at each other's messy hair and prune-y fingers, and laughing at some bad joke Lance had come up with, Keith couldn't help the warm feeling in his chest from growing. And it wasn't until he was showered and warm in his bed that he realised that they had had fun, together as a team, for the first time in ages. Even without Shiro they could be friends, be together...be happy. It was a weird, wonderful, scary thought, but for once Keith fell asleep, not sad and empty, but happy and feeling like things would actually be ok.
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reactingtosomething · 7 years
Text
Reacting to Baby Driver
The Wright Amount
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The Setup: For this post we’re thrilled to bring you two Guest Reactors, both former film school classmates of ours, and both Edgar Wright aficionados. One is Andrew, one half of the Punder Twins (we hope you’ll meet the other half in the foreseeable future), and the other wanted a codename like Bats and Buddy, so we’re calling him BOB. All caps, because BOB likes that it works as an acronym for “Boring Old Bob.”
SPOILERS -- and fan/re-casting -- after the jump!
MIRI: Ok, so what did we think of Baby Driver?
ANDREW: Oh we're starting this? It was very, Edgar wright-y
KRIS: I don’t know how much this will matter, but for context I thought it might be fun to start with everyone’s favorite (pre-Baby Driver) Edgar Wright movies/moments
MIRI: I went into the movie not really expecting to like it (the trailers just didn’t grab me the way they did SO MANY people) so I was actually really pleasantly surprised by how much I liked it
Ooh, I like that
What are yours?
BOB: "You ain't ever seen Bad Boys 2?" - Hot Fuzz
KRIS: With the caveat that I haven’t rewatched any of them, I think my favorite is Scott Pilgrim
ANDREW: The entirety of Scott pilgrim vs the world 
KRIS: which admittedly has the unfair advantages of Anna Kendrick and Aubrey Plaza
But also “Chicken’s not vegan?”
Just an insanely stacked cast
ANDREW: I was about to say that!
MIRI: I’d have to go Sean of the Dead
*Shaun
BOB: 
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KRIS: Of the Cornettos I do think Hot Fuzz is my favorite
ANDREW: Mine too! I still wish he directed ant man. I mean, I liked ant man. But...
MIRI: Hot Fuzz is excellent, but Shaun of the Dead just surprised me so much in so many delightful ways
KRIS: Oh also I liked that in the big GQ interview Chris Evans did when he got cast for Captain America, he mentioned that his friends thought his Scott Pilgrim character was hilariously spot-on, though maybe they thought this ironically
I’d have to revisit the piece, which I feel like is semi-legendary in entertainment journalism circles
BOB: I really like how he took that film and made it both a reflection of the action genre as a whole while also making it very much so an original film 
KRIS: I’ll try to find and link
MIRI: Yeah, he does great things with loving parodies
KRIS: Shaun of the Dead was definitely revelatory, although I probably saw it a year or two too early to fully appreciate it
BOB: Which when I watched Baby Driver, you could say he does the same to an extent with heist and car chase movies
MIRI: This didn’t feel as much like a sendup to me as it did just an example of the genre
BOB: It has a little Reservoir Dogs / The Killing (Kubricks) feel to it with the nicknames
KRIS: Guillermo del Toro’s very complimentary Twitter thread about the movie made a point of stressing that where Wright has previously been ironic, Baby Driver was newly and lovingly earnest
MIRI: Yeah, I’d agree. And in some places that worked better for me than others
ANDREW: I concur with the famous director.
MIRI: I’m curious--on a scale of 1-10 how much did you guys love this movie?
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BOB: 9.5 
ANDREW: ...8?
BOB: Maybe cause i am sucker for the non verbal acting in the first half and the syncing of music with action 
ANDREW: That's true. The non verbal acting was top notch.
KRIS: I’m probably a 6.5 - 7? I liked but didn’t love it, and the framing for my expectations is that I follow approximately 3 million film critics on Twitter and everyone who saw the movie screen at Austin L O V E D it
MIRI: I’m somewhere around a 6.5 or a 7. It’s totally fun! The performances are great! But it’s also pretty lazy in some ways and has some plot issues. But the action is GREAT
KRIS: The physicality of Baby was definitely great
(Do we know that actor from anything?)
BOB: Fault in our stars
MIRI: Kris, I love you
He’s also in the Divergent films
and he’s the new Han Solo
ANDREW: He is also in baby driver
MIRI: This definitely seems like a step away from the teen heartthrob of it all for him
KRIS: The new Han Solo is Alden Ehrenreich. Same initials, different dude
MIRI: Ohhh oops
BOB: Fact check - han solo is alden something
They look very alike though!
MIRI: Was Elgort in the mix at one point or am I 100% wrong?
BOB: However... he is credited as Ansolo in Bad Santa 2
Yes he was
MIRI: Ok, that makes me feel slightly better
BOB: Damn this guy is only 23!
MIRI: OOOhhh, Alden Ehrenreich is the kid from Beautiful Creatures
I’m never going to get them fully separate in my head now
ANDREW: Bob! Don't look at ages!
It's depressing.
KRIS: (To our guests: we also have frequent and lengthy digressions)
(we very briefly tried to fight it but we know our limits)
MIRI: My favorite person in this movie was definitely Joseph, the foster dad
ANDREW: My favorite was Kevin spacey's kid.
KRIS: I kind of wished we’d gotten more of Jon Bernthal but I did love the Joseph scenes
OH YEAH
He was great
ANDREW: Oh my god, yes! I thought Jon was gonna come back!
I almost forgot he was in the movie.
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BOB: Back to BD, BOB is very interested in getting his hands on seeing how much of the movie was motivated by the actual words on the page. A bevy of characters like the nephew and Jon Bernthals limited scenes. Heck even the small bits like the postal worker were interesting
MIRI: I liked the interactions with the postal worker
The headshake played really nicely
BOB: One plot hole for me was who was the hero that tried to ram them (The Flea/Brian Tee trio) because that guy had some guns on him
KRIS: I did really like how IMMEDIATELY everything went to shit in that moment
The second act really dragged for me but I thought this started and ended really strong
MIRI: That’s the plot hole that bothers you?
KRIS: Say more BOB
ANDREW: Damn you good Samaritan! 
BOB: Seemed like a setup that wasn't fully explained. Was Brian Tee's character in on it? Is that why he got s bullet in the head? Or was it more so over the fact that he fucked up 3 times
MIRI: He seemed like an ex-military hired security guy to me
BOB: Mike myers, dragged getting into car, left his shotgun
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KRIS: I think he was just a Good Samaritan but he had a Marine Corps hat
BOB: I noticed that hat too but unsure if there was a fix there
MIRI: Oh, I thought it was additional hired security since there had been so many robberies lately
BOB: Miri good point!!!
KRIS: Oh, I didn’t think about it after the movie but in the moment I thought the lost shotgun would come back to bite them
ANDREW: Ooooh that's smart. ... I hope that it.
BOB: Yes likewise about the shotgun 
MIRI: Yeah, I definitely thought the shotgun would come back
I did like the clear willingness to take out allies like that
BOB: What plotholes bugged you MS?
MIRI: BUT that makes me buy Doc helping Baby TO THE EXPENSE OF HIS OWN LIFE even less
BOB: Yes that was good. Start of seeing how Bats was real fucked up
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KRIS: Yeah, I did like the setup of Doc’s operation a lot
BOB: Bats killed him
Not Doc
MIRI: I get the weird affection, but that carried it way beyond believability to me.
There’s no planting of that (at least not any that works for me)
ANDREW: I don't know. I bought doc helping baby.
MIRI: Oh, Bats killed him? How do we know that?
BOB: "Moment you catch feelings, moment you catch a bullet."
KRIS: But it would’ve been on Doc’s orders, right?
MIRI: But the guy didn’t catch feelings, he was just bad at his job
BOB: He was already riled up. And he is very trigger happy
Perhaps Docs orders but he didn't seem type to get dirty.
He caught a feeling of being dumb then! Lol
MIRI: I don’t buy Doc helping Baby. Baby destroyed his whole operation, put his actual loved ones in jeopardy, and is now leaving him meaning he can’t pull any jobs for/with him ever again. Plus Doc definitely seems like a survivor above all else, which helping Baby totally invalidates
BOB: Would it have made sense if say Doc was like a relative ala how we see him train the nephew?
MIRI: Sure, but he’s not
BOB: I thought it was gonna go in that direction
ANDREW: You’re right, but he essentially raised Baby and worked with him for like a decade. Albeit forcefully. Do you really think after all that doc would just shoot baby in the face?
However logical it seems?
MIRI: For the level of betrayal Baby has just given him, maybe
ANDREW: Doc seems likes family man to me.
MIRI: Or at least let him twist on the rope he’s put up himself
ANDREW: A sick
KRIS: I buy Doc not killing Baby, if not the risks he then takes on Baby’s behalf
MIRI: He definitely seems like a family man, but I don’t think he treats Baby as family enough to justify the turn for me
ANDREW: That fair.
MIRI: Agreed
KRIS: I think meeting his son, and seeing how the kid is totally well adjusted, is part of setting that up
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BOB: Doc shooting up people was a stretch 
MIRI: The kid was his nephew, I think
BOB: I buy the take this money and run angle a lot
Yes nephew
ANDREW: Then baby is the son he never had!
Son of a bitch!
MIRI: But he’s clearly close with him--watches movies with him, etc. He doesn’t spend time with Baby outside of business
BOB: He bought him dinner!
ANDREW: He bought him dinner!
MIRI: i’m with Kris--I don’t think he would have killed Baby necessarily, but he goes way further than I believe
He bought him dinner once, and partially as a chance to threaten Debbie and get Baby back into the game
BOB: He talks to him perhaps more so whenever he picks up him for a job
KRIS: I can sort of see dots to connect from Doc being willing to order terrible things but deliberately distancing himself from them to avoid catching feelings, because he knows or suspects that if he gets too close then he’ll stop being the criminal mastermind he wants to be
MIRI: He’s clearly closer with him than with most employees, I’m not denying that!
I just don’t think they put in enough groundwork to make me believe the turn
KRIS: I don’t think the movie does that work for you
MIRI: The movie expects me to buy emotional connections that it doesn’t show on a couple of fronts
The fact that Deborah is willing to run away with a guy she BARELY knows is ridiculous
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BOB: Stop trying to catch feelings Miri!!! Bats may be listening!
ANDREW: Bro, that train I can get on.
MIRI: Even without the bank robber, just shot someone right in front of her thing
ANDREW: I kind of wanted Debra to say "thanks but no thanks" in act three.
That would have been a funny twist.
MIRI: I would have been into that
BOB: It happens... maybe she felt protected?? But they do have moments where they are similar. The love for the road, the music, the need and want to escape 
Maybe she was tired of the old humdrum reality of things
ANDREW: But baby just shot a man at the diner
BOB: Ala Thelma and Louise
MIRI: Right, they have the building blocks for dating, but not “Run away from everyone you’ve ever known with me forever”
Thelma and Louise were lifelong friends
BOB: I'm comparing the desire versus status of relationship length
MIRI: Baby and Deborah have had like 7 conversations
KRIS: (Oh god for like days I’ve been confusing Lily Collins with Lily James)
ANDREW: Most of them are about names.
MIRI: (Me too! Can I blame you this time??)
KRIS: (Yes, because you were there when I did it out loud)
BOB: Too many Lilys and Han Solo look alikes!!
MIRI: BOB: Right, but the “you jump I jump” of it all makes sense because of the love that’s already there. You don’t risk it all for a virtual stranger Basically, I think some of the relationships are weak. They knew what marks they wanted/needed to hit, but didn’t do the work of getting there well
KRIS: I think they do establish that Debora doesn’t have anything in her life early on, but I agree that across the board the movie wants me to make emotional leaps that it doesn’t work to achieve
HOWEVER
MIRI: When there’s an actual depth of relationship like between Baby and Joseph it WORKS
Buddy and Darling work
KRIS: For the sake of argument, there’s this “all the characters in Baby Driver are archetypes” case I’ve seen floated
MIRI: (we have three spellings of Debora’s name going and Kris is right about it)
KRIS: Which doesn’t work for me, but I want to know how you feel about it
In fairness, I have IMDB open
MIRI: Eh. Feels like an excuse. Especially when there are the examples of genuine emotional connections
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ANDREW: Can we talk about how there are only two female characters in the movie? 1 is a love interest and the other is fodder for Jon Hamm to be the villain?
MIRI: I would say that Debora and Darling fit the Madonna/Whore archetypes to a disturbing level
KRIS: AND EIZA GONZALEZ IS 20 YEARS JON HAMM’S JUNIOR
ANDREW: Genre be damned. That's a little ridiculous.
MIRI: more than a little
BOB: Hmmm interesting point Andrew! But what about the Mom? So 3?
KRIS: She’s not a “character”
MIRI: The mom isn’t a character
ANDREW: Fodder for baby to have tinnitus?
MIRI: she’s an excuse for maintain
*manpain
BOB: Ahh man pain 
MIRI: She has no arc or actions, and her only voice is filtered through Baby
Also, they do an interesting thing of rarely showing her face fully, which I assume is due to his memories being limited/fading
and it’s very cool on that front
BOB: Ditto with Miri
MIRI: but also she’s about 1/4 of the women in the entire film and we barely see or hear her
it’s not great
Can we take a moment to imagine how much more interesting the Buddy/Darling dynamic would have been if their ages and roles were reversed?
Just for fun
ANDREW: No. I was kind of hoping for something more out of Darling. But then she got shot... a lot.
BOB: Maybe if Doc was a female then perhaps the whole giving themself up in Act 3 seems more believable
MIRI: Because I would have been totally there for that
ANDREW: I was just thinking that Miri!
BOB: She got shot the fuck up
This movie put the female characters through the ringer in terms distress and pain
MIRI: The whole benevolent tolerance of Baby thing that Buddy does would have hit so harder from a potential mother figure when it went away
Yeah, it’s very lazy on that front. And--much as we love him!--not super surprising from Wright
He doesn’t seem to hate women by any stretch, he just doesn’t really seem to think of them much
KRIS: I want writer-directors like Edgar Wright and Christopher Nolan to have to take a seminar co-taught by like, Ava Duvernay and Patty Jenkins
MIRI: Is there more than one female character of note in any of the films he’s written and directed (not based on preexisting property)?
BOB: Now you have me catching feelings... questioning my overall thoughts
MIRI: YES
Also, I want to take those seminars too!
Sorry, BOB
BOB: Sign me up
MIRI: But also not sorry because it’s important to be critical of the media we love!
And the dude is clearly smart and awesome and I expect better of him
ANDREW: True that!
MIRI: Female Baby would have been interesting too
BOB: Very true... i guess I was caught up with the beauty of the action and syncs with music. Didn't take a step back to examine the archetypes 
I'm down to an 8 now
KRIS: I do think that Lily James and Eliza Gonzalez both do a lot with a little, but I also want to point out that that’s something actresses in every genre and every budget range have to do all the time
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MIRI: SO true
KRIS: Also here is a tweet for Miri:
https://twitter.com/carolineframke/status/880639492025090048
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MIRI: HAHAHHAHAHA
BOB: Still thinking about your posed question
MIRI: I love Caroline Framke
KRIS: About reversing the age dynamic?
BOB: I loved Lily James in this
KRIS: I’m trying to think of who I’d like to see in that reversal
BOB: Daisy Ridley?
MIRI: Ooh
BOB: Or in the Buddy / Darling?
MIRI: Wait, Daisy Ridley as female Baby? I’d be into that
KRIS: Buddy/Darling I mean
Ohhhh
BOB: Helen Mirren / Dave Franco 
KRIS: I don’t know that she’s my first choice but I could see it
MIRI: Ooh, interesting! Even more of an age gap, but I’m not it
ANDREW: No... James Franco. 
Spring breeeeeeak
MIRI: Maybe Marisa Tomei and someone?
BOB: Susan Sarandon / Zac Efron
MIRI: (Spring Break fo’evaaaaa)
BOB: Ahh Marisa! Aunt freaking May
KRIS: I almost went with like Kate Beckinsale/anyone but then I thought about all the thinkpieces about movies/TV that keep pairing brown men with white women
MIRI: She’s a similar level of hot and unexpected for a vicious role like this
GINA TORRES
GINA TORRES AND SOME HOT YOUNG DUDE
BOB: Hmmm let's switch it up.... Viola Davis / White dude
KRIS: Or like Jennifer Lopez
Jennifer Lopez would’ve killed in this
BOB: Ahhh J Loooooo
MIRI: Omg yes to both of those
BOB: J lo and Drake
MIRI: Drake’s not young enough, is he?
ANDREW: De age him 
MIRI: Ooh ooh ooh, John Boyega
JLo and John Boyega
BOB: No he seems to big in size
For J Los taste
MIRI: This tangent has gone wildly afield and I like it
KRIS: This is making me think we should make fan-cast pieces a regular thing on Reacting to Something, not that it’s super original but it would be fun
BOB: But i like that it'd be interesting to see her be the one in control and she is super tiny
MIRI: YES LET”S DO THAT
BOB: slap hands!! Yes
MIRI: I think JLo could play that
KRIS: It’s also making me think of a writing exercise Writing Teacher likes to suggest, where you have a stack of locations, a stack of actors, and a stack of genres on index cards, and you draw randomly and have to come up with loglines
BOB: 
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MIRI: Wait why are we not doing that as a party game?
KRIS: Oh she also always includes tequila when she says this
MIRI: I am IN
KRIS: Literally always
BOB: I like tequila
That would be a fun game 
MIRI: I might do gin instead sometimes, but I am IN
KRIS: We’ve never actually done it but she likes it as a brainstorming thing
MIRI: ok, we should maybe talk some more about Baby Driver
Let’s talk about the awesome music some, because it really was great!
KRIS: Yeah
BOB: Actually I have a game like that minus the whole actors/ actresses names
KRIS: You still have to write a Saoirse Ronan movie, BOB
Film school cohort reference, sorry readers
ANDREW: I would like to talk about something I did really like though, and that was the use and portrayal of tinnitus. I know a few people with the condition, one more severe. But whenever there isn't music, there is a faint ringing in the sound.
KRIS: (I like that the all caps just comes off as accusatory)
MIRI: Say more, Andrew
ANDREW: How it’s something he lives with, but it's also his biggest weakness.
Like when Jon Hamm blows out his ducking hearing at the end.
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BOB: Don't remind me Kris :-(
MIRI: Oh I misread that as something you DIDN’T like, whoops
ANDREW: Fucking*
MIRI: OMG that was such a vicious move!
Honestly, I didn’t expect it
And I may have jumped in my seat a little
BOB: It was vicious and a great line/scene
MIRI: Totally
KRIS: Yeah
MIRI: I expected the whole kill your girl thing, but the hearing was a great touch
ANDREW: It's just nice to see people acknowledge that it exists. And having it shown with accuracy.
MIRI: Did anyone else not super buy his whole Quirky Thing?
ANDREW: Which quirky thing? There are like 30z
MIRI: Exactly
KRIS: And whose quirky thing?
MIRI: Baby’s
It felt like a very deliberate persona
ANDREW: It did, yeah.
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KRIS: I mostly bought the mixtape stuff etc. as an extension of his obsession with music between both the tinnitus and his mom
MIRI: I liked him a lot when he wasn’t performing--when he’s dancing around in the apartment, etc--but as just a dude on the street who doesn’t care that he’s walking out in front of people all the damn time it’s a bit much
The mixtapes I buy
ANDREW: I liked that he had 5 pairs of sunglasses.
KRIS: I actually bought his clumsiness on the street because I read it as a cost to having to pump music into his ears all the time
MIRI: And the iPods, now that I’ve read the Edgar Wright explanation that he finds them (and the sunglasses) in cars
BOB: I can understand it as him thinking its a little game the first time he does that
But yeah running into people is just rude!! Expected someone to deck him
ANDREW: Ooooh I like that he finds them in cars.
MIRI: He just felt like he was trying really hard to be weird a lot of the time
(Right? that’s a nice detail!)
ANDREW: I didn't even think of that. But I love it!
MIRI: But then again, he only feels comfortable with a very small number of people, so I guess a persona is not surprising
BOB: Just thought of anther Baby - Chloe Grace Moretz! 
KRIS: I’ll say I didn’t really buy him as turning out to be a badass
MIRI: And the bigness of it all makes a lot of sense with Joseph, since ASL relies pretty heavily on exaggerated gesture to convey tone
KRIS: I’m going to pitch Saoirse Ronan, who is also 23
MIRI: Really? It semi made sense to me as an extension of his driving insanity
KRIS: Not just because I’m giving BOB shit
Hmm
MIRI: omg YES to Saoirse Ronan
KRIS: (BOB have you seen Hanna yet?)
MIRI: Like, he’s super willing to take risks and put it all on the line when driving. He doesn’t have a desire to be violent, but when put in the position to be I believe him capable
BOB: Yeah not a badass. The him running and jumping scene when he escaped and jumps over the car was a little crazy. Only reason I could see it being believable is because he had a pull up bar in hid kitchen and he might work out or like to swing around and shit.
MIRI: (I haven’t seen Hanna yet and I know I need to)
KRIS: (I FORGOT YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT)
BOB: (no ... stop making BOB feel bad)
MIRI: Him being able to outrun the cops surprised me some
(I KNOW, I KNOW)
ANDREW: I... also haven't seen it.
BOB: (Let's watch Hanna Miri)
MIRI: (Is ist streaming anywhere??)
KRIS: I almost bought the parkour-lite, because it seemed to be an extension of how in tune he is with his physicality
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ANDREW: Sorry Kris.
BOB: (Checking Netflix)
MIRI: Yeah, that makes sense. Except that I’m also supposed to be ok with him being super clumsy and unaware other times
KRIS: I forgive you Andrew
MIRI: Maybe it’s all a matter of focus?
KRIS: (Miri/BOB Guest Reaction!)
BOB: (no sadly)
MIRI: (I’m checking Amazon)
BOB: Yes matter of focus like an adrenaline rush??
ANDREW: Yeah, probably.
KRIS: That and it doesn’t involve him in direct confrontation with another human
BOB: (No to amazon)
KRIS: the same way driving is impersonal
ANDREW: I empathize with that.
MIRI: (rentable, though. We could do a watching party sometime)
KRIS: I own Hanna
MIRI: (Oh, sweet)
KRIS: should’ve led with that
MIRI: Way to abandon the parentheses convention too
KRIS: SORRY
MIRI: 😉 
SOMEONE TALK ABOUT THE MUSIC IN BABY DRIVER
I liked it
ANDREW: Is there a reason half the convo is in parenthesis?
MIRI: Yes, because it was an aside about Hanna, not anyhting about Baby Driver
KRIS: I thought it worked the way Wright wanted it to, and BOB and I talked about how it’s almost like the logical next step of what Guardians of the Galaxy does with its music supervision
MIRI: it theoretically helps keep this tangle all straight when you read it
Does it, readers?
BOB: I liked how he used the music to drive (pun intended) a lot of the action and dialogue 
MIRI: Hmmm, how so, Kris?
ANDREW: Ooooooooooooooh. I get it.
MIRI: Also, how many steps between this and the jukebox musical format? Because I feel like it’s getting close
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KRIS: But we’ve previously established on this blog that I much prefer instrumental scores to needle drops, and at some point that’s more a taste thing than an artistic criticism
MIRI: Not that I mind that
ANDREW: Like one. Baby needs to actually sing.
BOB: Wright had the music in mind as he wrote it ala James Gunn but it does more than just be backdrop music or something that comes on when play is clicked
MIRI: Kris hates excessive needle drops so much, you guys
BOB: I love needle drops
MIRI: Does the fact that it’s all diagetic make it more palatable, Kris?
KRIS: I guess what I mean -- and BOB please interject here -- is that Guardians uses really well chosen needle drops as a critical part of Peter’s emotional arc
Yes
ANDREW: I agree with that too, actually.
KRIS: And Baby Driver takes that to 11 by syncing it to the physical action
MIRI: I’m with you
BOB: Like the Jamie Foxx scene where he tells him to play something funky --> shootout --> Tequila line
KRIS: That like half-second shot of Buddy cocking Darling’s pistol in time with the music in the warehouse gunfight is super cool
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BOB: The music itself lended to the shootout scene
KRIS: And of course the timing of Buddy’s shots in the shootout with the cops when Darling gets killed
ANDREW: That was pretty sweet!
MIRI: I also liked him making them wait for him to restart the song on the second job
BOB: Whenever a drum banged, a gun shot rang out
ANDREW: That's me. That's what I would do.
MIRI: God, that one was screwed from the beginning, wasn’t it?
KRIS: Yeah, and I read that partly as a way he has to compensate for his hearing being compromised
BOB: Haha yes it was Miri
MIRI: Yeah, the shooting synchronization was obviously awesome
KRIS: Presumably he knows all the streets of Atlanta really well so he figures out his route ahead of time and syncs it to his playlist
Have any of you been to Atlanta?
Or I guess spent serious time there?
MIRI: Yes, but it was about 6 years ago and I didn’t drive
So no
ANDREW: Nope!
KRIS: I’ve seen/heard different opinions on how well it’s used as a location
And I was just curious if any of you knew it well enough to comment
BOB: I've seen the show... that count?
MIRI: Yeah, lots of relief that something shot in Atlanta is actually being presented as Atlanta instead of New York or whatever
But some people feel like they kept it very surface level, right?
KRIS: Right
Almost touristy, I guess is that line of thought
MIRI: I’ll agree that it didn’t have a particularly Atlanta feel in anything other than Baby’s accent (which ALWAYS surprised me every time he opened his mouth)
BOB: Yes much relief!! I liked that. Wish they had used Ludacris now that i think about it in the soundtrack... but perhaps since he is in F&F probably thought otherwise
KRIS: Hahaha
BOB: It felt somewhat like a different city when he walkef around during the coffee runs
Driving on the highways too.
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This move may have been Miri’s favorite thing Baby did all movie
So it didn't have the NYC or LA feel to it
KRIS: Yeah, the first coffee run scene for sure definitely felt distinct in that way
“for sure definitely”
shut up Kris
MIRI: Don’t tell yourself to shut up, Kris
ANDREW: I didn't really realize it was in Atlanta. To me it was nameless city.
But, I don't know anything about Atlanta, so... *shrug*
Can I tell Kris to shut up?
KRIS: I also had that!
The not realizing where it was exactly
And yes
BOB: (Gonna be driving for next 10 mins - so a little radio silence on my part)
It felt like a Southern city though
Thanks to the accents
ANDREW: Good! I'm glad I'm not the only one, Kris. Now shit your pie hole!
KRIS: I need to get better at placing accents
MIRI: I guess the food didn’t feel very regional to me, and I would have expected it to
Better like you didn’t pick up that they were Southern? Or better like you didn’t read it as Atlanta specifically?
ANDREW: The second one, for me personally.
KRIS: Both that I definitely didn’t read Atlanta specifically, and that while I recognized Southern accents I didn’t connect the dots to “oh this is in the South”
MIRI: I don’t think most people not from the South would read it as Atlanta specifically, so I wouldn’t worry about that
KRIS: Partly because I think Southern accents are sometimes used in kind of a tropey way with characters like Debora
MIRI: They so are
ANDREW: Right!!
KRIS: And I guess I’m also just used to hearing Kevin Spacey as Frank Underwood?
MIRI: Yeah, I think I am too
ANDREW: Me three.
MIRI: Ok, any points (or random thoughts) left to address? 
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ANDREW: Man, the last two action films I saw had Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright in them respectively...
MIRI: What Does It Mean??
I thought the dude describing guns as cuts of meat was incredibly Extra and I liked it
ANDREW: That we are in... a house of cards?!?!
KRIS: That we need a movie where Robin Wright punches Kevin Spacey in the throat
I also liked the gun thing
Although it’s hard to beat John Wick 2 for that
BOB: Lol a house of cards?!
Need to see that still
MIRI: “we need a movie where Robin Wright punches Kevin Spacey in the throat” YES YES YES OH MY GOD YES
I just need there to be an Antiope movie
And for most if not all of it to take place on Themyscira
I NEEEEEED it
KRIS: I feel like most people would agree this is a very surface-level movie, and that where opinions diverge is on whether that’s A) deliberate and especially B) a good/cool thing
MIRI: That’s fair
Where does everyone stand on both points?
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KRIS: I have definitely liked style-as-substance things very much before
I mean again, John Wick comes to mind, at least the first one for this point
MIRI: John Wick might be style over substance, but I think it’s consistently so
KRIS: And Tarsem Singh’s wild Greek mythology action movie Immortals
But I don’t know, this lost me for a good long while in the middle
ANDREW: It also very auteur. In the sense of, if you watch this film, you either learn what wright is like as a director, or recognize his directing.
KRIS: For sure
MIRI: That’s the hanging point to me--if you want that as an excuse, you can’t go deeper on some parts. You have to stay on that level and have fun there 
ANDREW: Even if there are better films in his roster.
MIRI: Yeah, you always know you’re watching an Edgar Wright film
ANDREW: For me, it's more surface than anything else. Stylish and fun, but there are much better films of his, and better stylish films in general.
I guess it depends on how much you like Edgar Wright.
KRIS: Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t put this in the upper half of his filmography
MIRI: It’s definitely a fun movie. I enjoyed the whole thing in the theater, with some moments of having to just accept the flaws. 
KRIS: Which I guess is why the reactions out of Austin surprised me in hindsight
Oh I did really like that Baby didn’t get away
MIRI: Basically, if you can resist pulling the threads and you want a car chase movie it’s exactly what you want
KRIS: Although I don’t know that I loved him getting out of prison early
ANDREW: Me too!!!
MIRI: Yeah, I’m surprised it’s been as critically loved as it has (and largely without caveat)
ANDREW: What a twist!!!!
MIRI: Yes, that was an actually unexpected beat and I really liked it!
KRIS: Yeah I was really like “Man, how is he going to end this?” and then he really did the right thing and went with something that felt both surprising and inevitable
MIRI: Props to Mr. Wright!
ANDREW: I was still expecting him to escape Bourne style into the water until he got the cuffs thrown on.
MIRI: That would also have been a turn
ANDREW: Like Debora would smile as Baby swims away and the action music will play.
And credits.
KRIS: And the structural success there again makes the characterization choices frustrating to me
https://twitter.com/tvoti/status/881358030016618497
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MIRI: HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA
KRIS: I didn’t actually CARE that much about Baby
MIRI: Well that’s not a great thing, is it?
KRIS: I would’ve dug a Bourne style ending
Although I could also see it feeling tonally more like previous Wright films than this one
Because it was such a “Fuck yeah!” moment in Ultimatum
MIRI: I think Debora should have busted out unexpected abilities and gotten them out
KRIS: And I guess this was generally more elegiac
ANDREW: The Baby Ultimatum.
MIRI: hahahahaha
KRIS: A+
ANDREW: Or the Bourne Driver?
KRIS: We need a Punder Twins reaction at some point
I’m out of stuff but I want to wait for BOB to get back to check in one more time
MIRI: Btw, if Baby’s Saoirse Ronan I still want Debora to be a girl (which I know surprises no one)
ANDREW: The Punder Twins will always be there Kris, when you need us.
MIRI: Hmmmm, what should we have them React to?
KRIS: Something they could use as a Nostalgiology tie-in
#crosspromotion
ANDREW: *Shrugs* I'm up to anything.
MIRI: ANASTASIA
Because then there can be gifs of the dress to fully convey the wonder of it and I can talk more about Anastasia
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Which is always a goal
KRIS: I have not seen Anastasia
MIRI: KRIS
KRIS IT’S A GODDAMN DELIGHT
ANDREW: In the dark of the night... Kris will watch it!
Watch it!
You'll get that someday, Kris.
MIRI: ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 
KRIS: BOB I am starting an arbitrary countdown
I am not sure what the units are
Or how many of them
But it is happening in my head
MIRI: That is the most arbitrary of arbitrary
I like it
KRIS: What was the first song in Baby Driver? Let’s do the runtime of that
MIRI: I don’t know
KRIS: 
youtube
ANDREW: I think "Bellbottoms?"
Oh hey!
KRIS: THIS IS A VERY GENEROUS COUNTDOWN BOB
ANDREW: Let's hope he doesn't... bottoms out?
IM NOT SORRY!
KRIS: Oh now that I’m listening to it this was a REALLY fun opening wasn’t it
MIRI: You’re never sorry
ANDREW: It was!!!
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MIRI: It really was
Although!
KRIS: Offscreen action is almost always a fun choice
MIRI: Him operating the windshield wipers dry BOTHERED ME
KRIS: Like in Mission Impossible 3
ANDREW: They didn't do a good amount of off screen action.
KRIS: I guess it wasn’t really offscreen here
But it sort of feels like it in my hazy memory
MIRI: But it was removed--we were seeing it from a distance
KRIS: BOB has 2 minutes
ANDREW: And the heist gone wrong had off screen action too. Before the Good Samaritan got involved.
KRIS: Oh yeah and that was used pretty well as a dramatic beat rather than a comic one
MIRI: The Heist Gone Wrong is a good title
What genre would we put this in?
ANDREW: Rom com
MIRI: I’ve seen it described as a comedy and it isn’t to me
Andrew
ANDREW: What?
MIRI: If it was a rom com she’d have held him not talking to her in front of his friends against him way harder
KRIS: Oh maybe that was also part of why it didn’t totally work for me, in terms of expectations
BOB the song is over
BOB
ANDREW: I was taking about the Heist Gone Wrong as a rom com!
MIRI: A lack of communication gone horribly awry is fundamental in rom coms
Ohhhhhhh
That makes sense
I meant to ask about Baby Driver
ANDREW: Oh! Action... thriller... musical?
MIRI: Is The Heist Gone Wrong our alternate universe version of this film with Ronan, JLo, etc? Because I’m into that
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It is now
KRIS: Hmm
MIRI: Yeah, I’d put Baby Driver as action drama, not comedy
ANDREW: Yeah, it wasn't really funny.
KRIS: I’m thinking of how the Golden Globes lumps musicals and comedies together
MIRI: I mean there are definitely comedic beats! But they’re not the focus. Plus way too many people die if we’re going classical on our definitions
KRIS: There’s an element of genre snobbery
MIRI: Very much so
ANDREW: A lot of people do die in Shaun of the dead though.
KRIS: I like action musical
MIRI: But it’s not actually a musical
KRIS: Hmm
ANDREW: Its more of a... ballet
But with driving
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MIRI: Yes!
Very apt description!!
ANDREW: And murder
Why thank you!
KRIS: Yeah, that’s good
MIRI: A...Ballet but with Driving and Murder for sub-heading?
KRIS: BOBDAMMIT
Yes
MIRI: hahahahhahahahha Bobdammit
Ok, we may just have to call it, guys
KRIS: I won’t hold anyone else hostage here if anyone needs to bail but I’ll wait it out
MIRI: Ok. I have to get my Orphan Black thoughts in order to post, so I’ll be around
ANDREW: It's up to you two. I'm a guest here.
BOB: Sorry reading 
KRIS: BOB!
MIRI: BOB’s back!
BOB: What's the question?!
KRIS: Just anything else you wanted to bring up
MIRI: We just didn’t want to wrap up without you
BOB: In a different life I am Baby
Very interested in the idea of reclassifying films such as this one with an alternate casting
Got me thinking all types of things now
MIRI: We should definitely make that a thing we do
KRIS: I actually really want to hear more about you-as-Baby, if you have more to say about that
BOB: Overall down to an 8 after the very Wright-ful comment on lack of women
MIRI: Andrew, he’s coming for your pun king crown!!
BOB: Well based on him driving and my life as a Lyft driver i started thinking about what I jam out to
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ANDREW: Welcome to the fold, BOB.
BOB: But I enjoyed the film thoroughly and as mentioned yesterday want to get my hands on the script
To see how the link up and syncing up with action and music
MIRI: I wonder if Wright is a better director than he is a writer
BOB: I believe that despite its flaws with some characters and a few plot holes, as a whole should be considered for something award worthy because of its ingenuity with music and action
ANDREW: A Wright... er.
MIRI: I wouldn’t say it deserves best screenplay or anything, but a sound design nom would be well deserved
Especially factoring in the ringing
(Is that sound design or sound engineering? I always mess them up)
BOB: I think a Golden globe nod
ANDREW: I think design!
I could be wrong.
I'm probably wrong.
MIRI: Whichever I mean, that one!
KRIS: For the Oscars, Sound Editing is for making effects, Sound Mixing is for how you layer them together
So I could maybe see nods for both in this case
MIRI: So design isn’t even an option
That seems right
KRIS: I tend to say “sound design” as a safe/cop-out catchall
Oh I could totally see a Globe nod
BOB: How about its cinematography?
KRIS: in that weird Best Musical or Comedy category
MIRI: Hmmmm. I never really noticed the cinematography the way I did the sound
(don’t tell my dad)
Miri’s dad is a camera operator
KRIS: Same, except in that single shot coffee run
MIRI: Yeah, that was fun
BOB: It was shot really well
KRIS: But I would believe it was a hard movie to shoot, since most of the effects/stunts were practical
MIRI: They ought to get recognition for the stunts/driving
ANDREW: It was shot very stylistically too.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
MIRI: Is there a stunt Oscar or Globe?
ANDREW: How many cars were destroyed in the making of this film?
BOB: Not yet
KRIS: I feel like I’ve heard that stunt people have been pushing for an Oscar?
Which should definitely be a thing
MIRI: Yeah, looks like no go yet
BOB: The Wright amount of cars were destroyed
KRIS: Oh my god
ANDREW: Son of a bitch!!!!
MIRI: Roughly 150, apparently 
ANDREW: Is that really the number?
Holy shit!
MIRI: http://www.cinemablend.com/news/1665810/the-crazy-number-of-cars-edgar-wright-used-for-baby-driver
Not sure they were all wrecked!
Just used
KRIS: I think we may have a new title contender
That’s also going to be hard to beat as an exit line
ANDREW: I will play Angel by Sarah McLaughlin as I think of those cars this evening.
Thanks very much to Andrew and BOB for Guest Reacting! You will almost certainly hear from them again.
For even more pop culture reactions -- just, uh, mostly from people who aren’t us -- follow us on Twitter!
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The Knowledge of Good and Evil: Part Four
Writer’s Note: The Knowledge of Good and Evil: Part Four was published originally in Jump Point 2.12. Catch up on the story by reading Part One, Part Two, Part Three.
“Forgive me.” I feel cold though I know it’s not the library’s air. My finger just about to press the button on Dirk’s small, black, featureless cube. My muttered prayer ringing in my own ears. Someone else responds as I feel a hand close around my wrist.
“Forgive you for what?”
I wheel around and come to face the speaker as I pull hard to wrench my wrist free, falling to the ground. Mom Super is standing over me like a dark tower.
“For what are you asking forgiveness, young one? What is that device?” Her words are soft but with an edge of steel.
No. Anyone but her. Let me be delayed or shamed or caught, but not by her. Not Mom Super. I can’t . . .
I break down at the realization that I will either have to lie to Mom Super just so I can betray her more, or admit I’ve already lied and am about to try and destroy the Holy Vault for Dirk.
“Young one, what’s wrong?” Mom Super starts to come to my aid.
“No!” I shout. I can barely speak through my sobs. “No, don’t help me. You can’t. Because of what Dirk . . .”
“Dirk? The man you used to work for in the Bazaar? Is that who’s been attacking you? What did he do?”
I don’t know what else to do. “He didn’t . . . he hasn’t yet. But . . . if I don’t wipe out the Vault he’s going to kill the children.” I’m panting for breath.
I point at the dormant cube. “If I don’t use that thing to fry the Vault, Dirk’s going to kill them all.”
She looks at me with a rage I’ve never seen, but eventually breaks the stare that has me paralyzed. She steps to the desk and picks up the cube and studies it. I’ve never felt this dirty or guilty in my life. The nights I slept in trash were cleaner than this.
“You will explain this, young one. Now.”
“I . . . I.” Gulping down a breath, I closed my eyes and clenched my fist. I already lied to her. I can’t do it again.
“I had an old debt to Dirk. He found me. Said I was finally going to pay him back. Knew I was with the Sisters. Threatened to hurt the school children if I didn’t do what he said. I brought it,” I point to the cube, “back with me.”
I look for some sign of sympathy but I don’t see any. Shoulder to me, she is only looking at the thing in her hands.
“I didn’t do it! I studied it, the cube, and I found out what it did. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t let it attack the Vault. So I took it back and told him I wouldn’t do it. And then he stunned me and the others, and now he’s kidnapped the children, and now if I don’t do it he’s going to kill them!”
I haven’t felt like it, but by the end I am almost yelling, my helplessness finally coming out as tired anger.
The silence is hot and heavy. My ears thunder with each heartbeat.
“You lied to us about what was happening to you and it has put the children we befriended in mortal danger. If you had told us earlier we could have had the authorities looking into the matter all the sooner. Now, their efforts may already be too late. And this?” She thrust the cube towards me, “Did you know what this would do then, if you turned it on? Did you lie to me about what you knew?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have attacked us all. There is nothing I can do for you.” Mom Super pulls out her mobiGlas and enters some commands.
I stay where I fell, unable to motivate myself to move. Soon four Sisters arrive and pick me up. Mom Super turns her back without another look at me. The Sisters escort me out of the library, but I notice they are not leading me back to the rooms.
We get to the door that leads out into the world and another Sister, the Returned, meets us with a large bag. Her hood is up on her habit. I suddenly realize all of them have their hoods up. The way the Sister do around outsiders.
“Oh god, no!” I say it out loud when I only mean to think it.
She thrusts the bag into my arms.
I don’t have the energy for more tears.
“You must go, now.”
The massive door opens to the first hints of light across the sky. The other Sisters back away from me. I turn to go, not wanting to. Each step feeling like a new punishment.
As I step across the doorway, a sudden memory flashes across my mind of the abused and beaten child being held by Dirk. Then my mind conjures worse of what might happen to them now. Does Mom Super think that the Blues care about a bunch of street rats going missing? They’ll call every shelter in the city but they won’t step one foot onto the dirty streets of Bazaar to actually find them.
My back stiffens and I turn around to say something.
The Sisters have left and only the closing door remains where my former life among them had been.
No good watching a door close when I have to find the kids. I don’t even know how long I have. Dirk might not be patient enough to wait a week to do something to them. If he hasn’t already, just to make his life easier. I pull my mobiGlas from my bag and ignore the pang of guilt remembering where it came from and why. I’m no good to the kids if I’m not strong enough to take care of myself.
Just standing there, the weight from the bag is starting to drag on me and I remember I haven’t slept in . . . I don’t know how long.
But it’s time to hunt Dirk and get my kids back.
I have to get back on the street. I’ve been using a lot of old information, and what I know about Dirk doesn’t match what’s been happening. Attacking the Sisters makes no sense for a Bazaar Boss. And since when does a Boss kidnap kids and make death threats?
His old shop is a noodle stand now. I’d checked into that when I’d first started teaching school with the Sisters. Barely anyone remembered that it had been a tech shop at all.
I feel two steps behind. I’ve been playing this to Dirk’s tune the whole way and it’s only gotten me into worse trouble. I was and still am a street rat and I can use that. The streets are hard and you don’t get ahead without making some enemies. If I can nose out Dirk’s reputation, I might get a better idea where he’s operating from. That’s my top priority. Find the kids.
A plan starts coming together in my head. Dirk is like me. He came from the street. No matter how far he’s gone up in the world, he probably has loose ends around Bazaar, and if I can find them they might just lead me to where he’s holding the kids.
“I’m coming. Hold on.”
I’m on the rail at first light, headed towards Bazaar Street. I get off two stops early and as I walk I see some street children, but most bolt when they notice me looking at them. They seem used to being chased off, since they are close to places the Blues and shop owners actually care about. I spend a few hours avoiding main drags and looking down alleys for the right kid to approach.
I finally pick out an older kid, maybe thirteen or so, loitering at the entrance of an alley like she has a purpose to be there. She has a tool pouch too, bingo. I walk up to her. I’m far enough away from Bazaar still that I hope she won’t recognize me if she ever came to school. Street kids all try to look the same and they tend to do a good enough job. The kid sees me coming and sets her feet, ready to talk or run.
“Eh rat. Need lock some info. Got a name, need a place.”
“Ha. Creds talk Lady. Null comm free. Creds up front.”
The kid points to the ledge on the wall next to her. Her slang is different than I’m used to, almost Bazaar, but I catch the meaning well enough. I’ve got to pay her up front and place it out in the clear for others to see if I want information. Making sure I’m not a Blue and making me a target if I flash too much money. Smart move. I don’t have much money, just one ten credit. I take it out and put it on the ledge. The kid eyes me and then snatches the chit.
“Wha’ handle got tha’ need indexed, Up?”
“Boss Dirk.” The kid does a good song and dance. Even stroking her chin as she ‘thinks.’
“Yeah . . . Oldie name tha’. Wrong eve’. Dirk ain’ null Boss. Dirk’s a Big. Been ’round long time. Tech stuff most . . .”
Dirk as a Big Boss? That means lots of credits and a crew of people working for him. There were only two Bigs in all of Bazaar when I was a rat. Did Dirk off one and take his place, or stake his own territory? Too complicated, I just need the basics right now.
“I need a place, got business with him. Hard kind.”
“Res’ ’s fuzz, Up. Hard ta scanner.”
The kid points to the ledge again. I already overpaid and she knows it.
“Listen, you give me where and you’ll get fifty more cred when I’m done with Dirk. Deal?”
This time she actually does think about it for awhile. Even if she has a boss that takes a cut, this would make her week. Maybe her month.
“Yeah . . . Some got say he got place at tha towers. Some got say a place down in Black Street. Lock is tha’ him got both. Tower stuff is legit front for wha’ he got at Black. Chop an’ Break shop makin’ parts out a black salvage. Gang stuff maybe.”
I know the place by name and the fear that was put in me as a street rat. No one goes to Black Street. I pull up the map on my mobiGlass. “Where in Black Street?”
“Dun know Lady, got some fuzz ’bout . . .”
Dodging again to try and get more cred. I’ve already promised what I don’t have. I can’t shake this with another empty bribe. I need to offer her something else. Her tool belt is welder style, but without a torch in the holster. She has some tech tools, but most are heavier, like for vehicle or ship work. She’s old enough she might be able to get work at the welding depot at the commercial spaceport. Working there gets you certifications. Certs means fees and a steady job. They take walk-ins and train them up, but don’t advertise it. That had been my backup plan for a few years now. Maybe it’ll be enough.
“Lock tha’ you got ship tools. Wha’ some rat doin’ with them? Got think tha’ ships is can get you out from here? How you going to get work on ships? I know some welders that work ships. Got ta be good at welding. You torch some?”
The sudden shift in conversation puts the kid on her heels. She looks away, trying to come up with one answer to all of my question.
“I torch some! Had ta trade ta meds when ’m got sick las’ freez.” The anger in her voice is a thin disguise for pain. Having to trade a prize possession for medicine. That depression didn’t kill her afterwards says a lot.
“Trade you straight info for info. Spaceport always needs welders. They’ll train you and get you basic certs. You use their gear and get paid daily. No lie. I plan on doing it but got business with Dirk first. You got your info now. So, you for info for me or not?”
That’s my last chip in a game I’m losing. I probably won’t get a second shot with someone else without more credits to start things off. The kid looks at me hard for awhile. Trying to weigh the worth of what I told her, whether it’s a lie.
“Rats an’ works know ’bout Big Dirk. Put out ’cast ta whole local ta work for him. Dirk double scans ’em for Gov or Blues an’ take ’em ta eight hundred wes’ sixteen thousand south.”
She taps my map to set the point.
“Got info out a rat tha’ run. Place got hangars ’round an’ one tower some. Only place like i’ ’round. Lot some folk head tha’ way. Null come back. Some ships come an’ get chopped. Some come an’ go. Rat tha’ ran say ’em work dead hard an’ then got sold ta slavers.”
The information almost sounds first hand. Maybe this kid could help me.
“You the rat that got out? Might need a guide around the place.”
No answer for that and the kid looks like she wants to bolt now.
“’m null go there. Craz that. Go at i’ from tha wes’ an you’ll get pas’ tha cams easy. Tha’s all ’m got tell. Ain’ eve’ glint zap on ya. You craz Up goin’ there. Ain’ none Up got business there.”
The kid give me one last look and walks away down the alley to places I shouldn’t follow. It’s a bad idea to push someone that just did you a favor on the street. My old street habits are starting to come back more as I check my surroundings and catch at least one person’s eyes lingering on me longer than they should have. I take in the rest of the passing crowd and don’t see anything that looks like a setup. I’m feeling paranoid. If Dirk really is a Big he could have people anywhere.
I get chills thinking that, and the kid’s comment about not having a weapon repeats in my head. I put up my hood and check that the map saved the location of Dirk’s chop shop. I make sure to avoid the area near the lingering eyes as I leave and don’t look back. I’ve got a lead, even if it’s a trap. I’m still the only hope my kids have.
I only hope I’m not too late.
The place I’m watching has to be Dirk’s. It fits the description and it’s in the most dangerous area of Bazaar, where even rats never go. Blues don’t come here, not like they care about Bazaar or rats. I saw three bodies on the ground on the way here. No way to check if they’re alive or dead without the chance of getting stabbed for interrupting someone’s high. My perch in the abandoned organics storehouse across from the compound is cold and the smell makes the sandwich I stole taste terrible. I only manage to force down a few bites, and my stomach is rebelling against even those.
From here I’ve been able to pick up some transmissions from the four-story office tower and the hangar’s fire suppression and alarm systems. My directional antenna found a dead spot in the office building, though. Second floor, northwest corner. Everywhere else has at least some sort of signal coming out. I even got the model number and command access of the robot vacuum next to it, but that area is dead. Like someone’s trying to hide something there. It’s my best shot.
While I’m planning out my approach I see armed people going between the hangars and the office. They’ve got about twice as many much-worse-off-looking adults surrounded. I see one of the group being herded turn and make a run for the fence. He doesn’t make it ten steps before a shot catches him in the back.
He falls to the ground, spun by the force of the shot hitting him. I’m thankful I can’t hear the sounds he makes thrashing on the ground. At least he’s still alive, I think blackly. The guards pick the runner up by the arms and drag him back to the hangar. It doesn’t look like they’re taking him to a medic. Dirk’s thugs mean business.
After watching all that I decide to make some modifications to my recently acquired stunner to give it more kick. I had lifted the cheap stun pistol from a rich Up kid I saw taking vid of Bazaar folks like it’s some sort of zoo. It might fry the first time I use it, but I’ll have to take that risk.
It’s only taken me a few hours to get here, set up, and find all this out. I put in a call to Mom Super but she didn’t answer. I don’t blame her. The Sisters have locked me out of the systems at the convent, but I had a direct tunnel to my education program that I never turned off. Like a private connection. It only lets me get to that room’s equipment, but it’s a way for me to get a message into the convent where someone might see it.
I’ve turned up the volume on the speakers and recorded a message. That message includes the video of what I saw earlier and explains what I’m doing so that someone will know even if I don’t get out. Now I’m just waiting here in this stink, second-guessing myself.
The sun has started to go down finally and my nerves are buzzing again. I’ve got thirty minutes before the next guard patrol will check this side of the grounds. If the kid I got this information from decided to sell me out, I’ll know soon enough. I double check my connection to my jury-rigged life-line and start towards the fence. At the fence I check it for a charge or alarms and don’t find any. My snips make quick work of the wire and I slip through.
A quick optic and radio scan shows cameras in the area, but none I can’t dodge. Thank god for small miracles. There’s still about fifteen meters of open pavement between the hangar I’m using for cover and the door to the service stairwell I picked out. I peek around the corner of the hanger and see that the main door is closed. I take a deep breath and start towards the office building.
About halfway there I hear the sound of ship engines and look up. Landing lights trace the ground a little ways away. I dash to the door and watch the ships appear and then travel out of sight from where I am. The hangar I had come from opens and a truck full of armed people drives out and off in the same direction. My heart is pounding and I know I didn’t run hard. I’ve got to pull it together. I turn my attention to the door.
A standard lock that’s not networked. No risk of external hack like that. Too bad for them, I’m right here. I pop the front panel off and start working. I almost have the bypass ready when I notice the inconspicuous block with two wires in it. Explosives.
I break out into a sweat as I realize how close I am to setting it off with what I’m about to do. How could I have been so stupid? This is craz. A bomb in a door? I was about to actually blow this and the kids would still be in danger. How can I do this if I can’t even get through the first door?
My hands are frozen as I look at what’s in front of me. It takes everything I have not to turn and run. My mind starts to latch on to things about the door to replace my runaway emotions. This is a prefab, like the ones on rail cars. Doors like this are cheap but not cheaply made. They cut corners on features, not substance. Like only having one power source.
That’s it. If I can cut the power to the lock, it will come free just like on a rail car. Hopefully no power will also mean no boom. It takes me just a second to find the thick connector that is the power plug and grab a hold. I take a deep breath and hold it, then I pull hard. I hear a hollow pop and the status lights inside the door panel all fade out. No boom and I’m still here. I let out the breath I’m holding long and slow. I have to keep moving.
After a few more seconds of frantic work in the dark I’ve got it rigged to stay open for when I come back. I hear the sounds of the truck coming just before I slip into the dim stairwell. About half the lights are missing and the unpainted walls show water spots and neglect. Not a camera in sight.
The second floor door is high tech but still not networked. The indicator shows locked. The access panel is on the other side. I rack my brain for something to get past it. After a few painful minutes of nothing I lean against it in despair. It moves. The latch must not have been caught.
I can’t believe it. I open it just enough to roll a camera sphere out as I pull up the feed on my mobiGlas.
The picture shows a bright white hallway with an elevator at one end and only a few other doors. I see one camera but it is pointed at the elevator. Two big men with pistols on their hips come out from the farthest room and get in the elevator. I freeze even though they can’t see me. The indicator shows it going down. I say a silent prayer hoping they are going out to meet the new arrivals. I find the door that looks like it should lead to where I’m going. I wait a few seconds more, and then walk into the hall and head for my target.
It has an old manual handle and is unlocked. My heart skips a beat at the thought of a trap. I take the stun pistol from its holster and open the door.
I look around but find myself alone in a big room. I close the door quickly and quietly, finding myself surrounded by computer panels and monitor lights. My mobiGlas beeps. I’ve lost connection to the outside. My eyes take a moment to adjust to dim lighting once more, as I put the stunner away.
I head to the station that looks most important. It’s a system monitoring terminal that has stats on dozens of sub-systems, all of them seemingly run from this room. I sit down and dig in. The setup is incredible. Star charts, financial information, shipping schedules, even payroll information for dozens of companies. All of them must be fake and controlled from here. This is how Dirk is laundering his salvage. The kid had said one side of Dirk’s operation is legit. Not for long. There is another set of information here that’s being kept separate. Ship manifests with destinations in Banu space. Pictures of people chained together and prices per shipment labeled only as ‘cargo.’ I skim through them quickly but I don’t see any of my children in the pictures. I copy as much as I can to my mobiGlas’s storage. This is all good, but it’s not why I’m here.
After some digging I find access to the cameras and pull up all the local feeds.
I get one of each floor’s elevator door, the main entrance, the front gate, a small room with a single chair in the middle, and a few showing parts of the fence. The last feed I check is an entirely black picture. It seems out of place in such a spartan set of things to record. I check it again. It’s a live feed. Then I see something. Black moving in the black. Something small. Someone.
My heart jumps. That has to be them. The label on the feed is Hangar 4 Storage. I’d seen that each hangar has a number painted on the side and know that 4 is on the north side of the building. It’s away from all the action outside right now, but the only way in from the outside is a huge cargo door. I pull up the controls for the door and try to open the cargo door remotely. As I do, I see a red warning flag pop up and the system locks. I must have triggered something!
I need to get out of this room.
They may already know I’m here, and if they don’t they will soon. I jog out the door and make a mental note as my mobiGlas beeps its reconnection to the network.
I head around the side of the building to the north and get within sight of the number 4 hangar. Lights are flashing on each of the buildings and a siren goes off. I hear shouts behind me and the sound of ship engines revving to launch prep. I head straight to the hangar door’s access panel. This one is standard, like the one to the stairwell, but this time no explosives. I get it to open after just a few tries and I scramble underneath and into the safety lighting.
A door just inside has ‘Storage’ on it stenciled in white. I run to it. It’s another manual door but it’s been chained shut.
My wire cutters can’t get through something this thick. I didn’t bring a torch. A chain? That’s stopping me? I got past explosives and around guards and into computers and now I can’t get past a chain? I kick the lock in frustration.
Flakes of rust float from the chain to the floor.
The rundown hangar has rusting bits and pieces all around. On the ground I see a pipe about two meters long. Jackpot!
I grab the pipe and examine the chain. It’s got some links that have been repaired before. I remember the materials book I studied. The chain is more likely to break than the pipe because of the welded links. I struggle a bit to wedge it between the door and chain. Once it’s securely set, I put my whole weight into pulling. The pole starts to bend but I keep the pressure on.
I hear a pop. Then a clang and the pipe goes slack, almost tumbling me to the floor. At the same time the chain and lock fall to the floor loudly. I recover, grabbing the door handle and pulling.
Light from the hangar lights flows into the small room as seven sets of eyes all stare back at me. The smell of human waste hits me like a wall. One child is lying on the floor. All the others are standing, backs against the wall. I can see the bruises. The ripped clothes. The gauntness. The fear. But they are still alive. Thank god, they are still alive.
One speaks in a whisper, “Sister?”
I almost say yes, but Mom Super’s betrayed face flashes in my mind.
“I’m here to get you out.” I hold out my hand to encourage them. “We have to go before the guards come.”
That seems to get through to them. One, then two more start to come out of the filthy prison they’d been kept in.
Another one is standing at the back of the room next to the child who hasn’t moved from the floor.
“’em can’ null walk none.” The standing one says, looking at his companion on the floor. I rush in and scoop up the child in one hand, trying not to gag on the smell.
“Out, everyone, and then through the door, then left keep going till the fence.”
Seeing me take their weakest as a burden sets the rest of them in motion, but as I come out of the filthy closet I see a pair of trucks loaded with vicious looking people heading straight for us.
All the children have stopped with me just inside the door. They’re looking at me. I can feel the one I’m holding barely breathing.
I will not let them take you.
I slam my fist into the door release and the door comes rattling down.
I pull the stunner from its holster, aim at the door’s control panel and pull the trigger. Nothing. I pull it again. Nothing.
“Got a hold tha trig down ta shot.” One of the children said it so softly I almost didn’t hear it. It was the one in my arm.
I do as she tells me and hold down the trigger. Seconds tick by and I hear the trucks stopping. The door is starting to move again. Suddenly my stunner fires and fries the controls. Someone on the other side doesn’t like that and points a weapon through the three centimeter opening and starts to fire.
The children duck behind what larger scrap pieces are around. Someone shouts and the shooting stops. The alarm sirens are still wailing but I can hear more commotion on the other side of the door.
“Rat! ’m know you there!” It’s Dirk. “Give up, rat! You null comin’ out a there ’less ’m let you out!”
The children start moving to better cover. If there is one thing a street kid knows, it’s how to find a place to hide. I look down at the one in my arms, passed out and filthy. Helpless.
“I’m not going to let them take you.” I say softly. Then I turn my face to the door and let out all the rage and anger I can call on. “You’re not my boss anymore, Dirk. You’re nothing to me now. You’re bigger than us, and you’ve got guns, so you think you can do whatever you want. And maybe you can, but I’m not gonna make it easy. I’m gonna fight for these kids. I’m stronger and smarter than you think, Dirk. All us rats are.”
A shot rings out and I duck back behind the beam I’ve crouched next to. The bullet punched a hole in the door. Someone sticks a hook through the hole and I hear an engine rev outside. The whole door starts to creak and strain.
Another shot, hole and hook. A second truck revs up and I see the panels of the door flexing under the pull. I have to find a way out of here. I remember specs of old hangars sometimes having ventilation at the ceiling. My eyes shoot up, looking for some sign of that and I find it almost immediately.
“You all have to climb. Get into the vents. It’s a way out. Come on.”
These children have been through hell and still they amaze me as they start to climb, helping each other. I nearly cry as they break every rule of the street by doing that. The first of them gets to the opening. One after the other they disappear into the closest thing to safety I can get them to. It’s little comfort but a better chance than they had locked up.
The last one through turns around to me, “Get heading, Sister. Got get out.”
I’m still holding the child in my arms and I realize I can’t climb and take her with me.
“Go, I can’t make it, I’m too big. I have to stay and take care of them.”
I get an intense look from more than one set of eyes.
“Go!”
The walls start to shake, the eyes disappear from the vent and dust falls from every angle as one side of the massive front door comes crashing down. It’s still obstructing the way but once the other side pulls free . . .
I move as far back among the scrap metal and tools as possible. I can barely see through the dust. There is yelling and flashlights shining into the newly opened gap. The trucks rev their engines again and then suddenly — they stop.
Gun and laser fire pop off and I can hear a new siren. No, sirens. They’re growing louder and closer. The trucks rev up again but this time I can hear them heading away.
The new sirens get louder still and then I see flashing blue lights streak past. Then again. And again. The Blues? How?
As the dust clears some vehicles pull to a stop outside the wrecked hangar door and several large men in plain clothes get out, guns drawn.
I shrink down, still keeping an eye on them, hoping they’ll leave if they don’t find anything.
Another vehicle stops and, like a ghost in a dream, I see Mom Super get out with a uniformed Blue next to her.
My lungs burn as I take in a dust-filled breath trying to shout to her, but I only cough. I get up and all eyes move to me and the child I’m carrying. I stumble out from behind my hiding place. I have to get to Mom Super.
That thought drives me forward. I stumble and fall. One of the Blues catches me, taking the child gently from my hands and laying me down against a wall.
“Are you hurt?” the Blue asks, “are there others?”
“The vents,” I cough, “in the vents.”
The Blue shines a light to the vent opening where six children are looking back at her. I motion them down with my arm and after a long pause they start to climb out. More Blues are coming in and helping the children. Blues helping street rats. This time the tears do come.
Mom Super is here now, next to me.
“Are you all right? Are you injured?”
The concern in her eyes and voice shame me. I don’t deserve her caring about me.
I take off my mobiGlas and hold it out to her. I clear my throat with a cough.
“I got as much information about Dirk’s operation as I could. Financials, dummy corps, contacts. It’s more than enough to shut him down if you give it to the Blues. This can keep the rest of the children safe.” I’m so exhausted my arm shakes with the effort of holding up the weight of the mobiGlas.
Mom Super takes it and moves past my hand towards me. Her arms surround me in an embrace. I don’t even know what to do. I let my hands fall to my side, feeling unworthy to hold the only Mother I’ve known.
“Well done, young one.”
A week later, the Blues have all the information I collected and I have my mobiGlas back. The children have been put in protective custody. Dirk’s operations have been shut down, though he is nowhere to be found. The news is talking about fixing poverty in the city. Street School has started again, with kids coming from all over. This week over a hundred come. They call us the Big Sisters now, like the Sisters took Dirk’s title. All of this and I’m getting ready to leave.
Mom Super has said that I can stay at the convent but I know I can’t. I put the children we were trying to help in danger and I almost attacked the core of the Sisters’ religion. I’m going to go to space and see all the things I’ve read about. I’ve always been just a guest here. I’ve never been one of them. I’m packing the last of my things when she comes to see me.
“Hello, young one,” she says. My back’s to the door.
“I’m not so young anymore,” I answer. “I’ve grown a bit since you gave me that name.”
Mom Super has a grin in her voice. “Gave you a name, did I? You refused to tell me what to call you. So I choose a description by which to call you. Hardly a name I think.”
There’s an unspoken ending to that sentence. I can feel it.
I turn around to see Mom Super standing in the doorway wearing her best habit. I guess it makes sense she would wear it on the day that I leave.
“We have something for you.”
“We?” I ask.
“Come, young one. It is time I do what you claim I have done already.”
There’s no way to refuse Mom Super when she has a plan.
She motions with her hand and I follow her out of the living area, past the meal hall and into the library.
Where rows of Sisters stand waiting in front of the book cases.
Three stories full. Rows about twenty feet long of sisters in their ceremonial best. One sister stands in the middle of the assembly on the main floor with a camera. Mom Super walks to stand next to her. I’m frozen just inside the door trying not to panic.
Turning in place Mom Super looks at me and then up to the gathered Sisters. She speaks loudly, “One has come among us whom we now know. One has been our guest who has had no name. One among us is leaving, following the call of her heart. These are all the same person. She had meant to do us harm but only in the cause of saving others, which she then did of her own accord. It would be right to record her name and good deeds in the histories of our Hall, but it would not be right to do so without using her name. What say you?”
A figure from the left of me steps forward, “We propose that she be given a name.”
Another figure steps forward, this time from my right. “We have come to consensus in this.”
“Step forward,” Mom Super says as she motions me toward her. I walk in a daze and stop when she signals.
Mom Super lays a hand on my shoulder. Her gaze drills into my eyes as she speaks. “This one has been found worthy and good among us. An inspiration to the study of knowledge and an example of courage. A changed person, remade by the force of her own will. What will you name her?”
A chorus replies as one.
“Luther, the reformer.”
The End
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inexcon · 6 years
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RSI Comm-Link: The Knowledge of Good and Evil: Part Four
Writer’s Note: The Knowledge of Good and Evil: Part Four was published originally in Jump Point 2.12. Catch up on the story by reading Part One, Part Two, Part Three.
“Forgive me.” I feel cold though I know it’s not the library’s air. My finger just about to press the button on Dirk’s small, black, featureless cube. My muttered prayer ringing in my own ears. Someone else responds as I feel a hand close around my wrist.
“Forgive you for what?”
I wheel around and come to face the speaker as I pull hard to wrench my wrist free, falling to the ground. Mom Super is standing over me like a dark tower.
“For what are you asking forgiveness, young one? What is that device?” Her words are soft but with an edge of steel.
No. Anyone but her. Let me be delayed or shamed or caught, but not by her. Not Mom Super. I can’t . . .
I break down at the realization that I will either have to lie to Mom Super just so I can betray her more, or admit I’ve already lied and am about to try and destroy the Holy Vault for Dirk.
“Young one, what’s wrong?” Mom Super starts to come to my aid.
“No!” I shout. I can barely speak through my sobs. “No, don’t help me. You can’t. Because of what Dirk . . .”
“Dirk? The man you used to work for in the Bazaar? Is that who’s been attacking you? What did he do?”
I don’t know what else to do. “He didn’t . . . he hasn’t yet. But . . . if I don’t wipe out the Vault he’s going to kill the children.” I’m panting for breath.
I point at the dormant cube. “If I don’t use that thing to fry the Vault, Dirk’s going to kill them all.”
She looks at me with a rage I’ve never seen, but eventually breaks the stare that has me paralyzed. She steps to the desk and picks up the cube and studies it. I’ve never felt this dirty or guilty in my life. The nights I slept in trash were cleaner than this.
“You will explain this, young one. Now.”
“I . . . I.” Gulping down a breath, I closed my eyes and clenched my fist. I already lied to her. I can’t do it again.
“I had an old debt to Dirk. He found me. Said I was finally going to pay him back. Knew I was with the Sisters. Threatened to hurt the school children if I didn’t do what he said. I brought it,” I point to the cube, “back with me.”
I look for some sign of sympathy but I don’t see any. Shoulder to me, she is only looking at the thing in her hands.
“I didn’t do it! I studied it, the cube, and I found out what it did. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t let it attack the Vault. So I took it back and told him I wouldn’t do it. And then he stunned me and the others, and now he’s kidnapped the children, and now if I don’t do it he’s going to kill them!”
I haven’t felt like it, but by the end I am almost yelling, my helplessness finally coming out as tired anger.
The silence is hot and heavy. My ears thunder with each heartbeat.
“You lied to us about what was happening to you and it has put the children we befriended in mortal danger. If you had told us earlier we could have had the authorities looking into the matter all the sooner. Now, their efforts may already be too late. And this?” She thrust the cube towards me, “Did you know what this would do then, if you turned it on? Did you lie to me about what you knew?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have attacked us all. There is nothing I can do for you.” Mom Super pulls out her mobiGlas and enters some commands.
I stay where I fell, unable to motivate myself to move. Soon four Sisters arrive and pick me up. Mom Super turns her back without another look at me. The Sisters escort me out of the library, but I notice they are not leading me back to the rooms.
We get to the door that leads out into the world and another Sister, the Returned, meets us with a large bag. Her hood is up on her habit. I suddenly realize all of them have their hoods up. The way the Sister do around outsiders.
“Oh god, no!” I say it out loud when I only mean to think it.
She thrusts the bag into my arms.
I don’t have the energy for more tears.
“You must go, now.”
The massive door opens to the first hints of light across the sky. The other Sisters back away from me. I turn to go, not wanting to. Each step feeling like a new punishment.
As I step across the doorway, a sudden memory flashes across my mind of the abused and beaten child being held by Dirk. Then my mind conjures worse of what might happen to them now. Does Mom Super think that the Blues care about a bunch of street rats going missing? They’ll call every shelter in the city but they won’t step one foot onto the dirty streets of Bazaar to actually find them.
My back stiffens and I turn around to say something.
The Sisters have left and only the closing door remains where my former life among them had been.
No good watching a door close when I have to find the kids. I don’t even know how long I have. Dirk might not be patient enough to wait a week to do something to them. If he hasn’t already, just to make his life easier. I pull my mobiGlas from my bag and ignore the pang of guilt remembering where it came from and why. I’m no good to the kids if I’m not strong enough to take care of myself.
Just standing there, the weight from the bag is starting to drag on me and I remember I haven’t slept in . . . I don’t know how long.
But it’s time to hunt Dirk and get my kids back.
I have to get back on the street. I’ve been using a lot of old information, and what I know about Dirk doesn’t match what’s been happening. Attacking the Sisters makes no sense for a Bazaar Boss. And since when does a Boss kidnap kids and make death threats?
His old shop is a noodle stand now. I’d checked into that when I’d first started teaching school with the Sisters. Barely anyone remembered that it had been a tech shop at all.
I feel two steps behind. I’ve been playing this to Dirk’s tune the whole way and it’s only gotten me into worse trouble. I was and still am a street rat and I can use that. The streets are hard and you don’t get ahead without making some enemies. If I can nose out Dirk’s reputation, I might get a better idea where he’s operating from. That’s my top priority. Find the kids.
A plan starts coming together in my head. Dirk is like me. He came from the street. No matter how far he’s gone up in the world, he probably has loose ends around Bazaar, and if I can find them they might just lead me to where he’s holding the kids.
“I’m coming. Hold on.”
I’m on the rail at first light, headed towards Bazaar Street. I get off two stops early and as I walk I see some street children, but most bolt when they notice me looking at them. They seem used to being chased off, since they are close to places the Blues and shop owners actually care about. I spend a few hours avoiding main drags and looking down alleys for the right kid to approach.
I finally pick out an older kid, maybe thirteen or so, loitering at the entrance of an alley like she has a purpose to be there. She has a tool pouch too, bingo. I walk up to her. I’m far enough away from Bazaar still that I hope she won’t recognize me if she ever came to school. Street kids all try to look the same and they tend to do a good enough job. The kid sees me coming and sets her feet, ready to talk or run.
“Eh rat. Need lock some info. Got a name, need a place.”
“Ha. Creds talk Lady. Null comm free. Creds up front.”
The kid points to the ledge on the wall next to her. Her slang is different than I’m used to, almost Bazaar, but I catch the meaning well enough. I’ve got to pay her up front and place it out in the clear for others to see if I want information. Making sure I’m not a Blue and making me a target if I flash too much money. Smart move. I don’t have much money, just one ten credit. I take it out and put it on the ledge. The kid eyes me and then snatches the chit.
“Wha’ handle got tha’ need indexed, Up?”
“Boss Dirk.” The kid does a good song and dance. Even stroking her chin as she ‘thinks.’
“Yeah . . . Oldie name tha’. Wrong eve’. Dirk ain’ null Boss. Dirk’s a Big. Been ’round long time. Tech stuff most . . .”
Dirk as a Big Boss? That means lots of credits and a crew of people working for him. There were only two Bigs in all of Bazaar when I was a rat. Did Dirk off one and take his place, or stake his own territory? Too complicated, I just need the basics right now.
“I need a place, got business with him. Hard kind.”
“Res’ ’s fuzz, Up. Hard ta scanner.”
The kid points to the ledge again. I already overpaid and she knows it.
“Listen, you give me where and you’ll get fifty more cred when I’m done with Dirk. Deal?”
This time she actually does think about it for awhile. Even if she has a boss that takes a cut, this would make her week. Maybe her month.
“Yeah . . . Some got say he got place at tha towers. Some got say a place down in Black Street. Lock is tha’ him got both. Tower stuff is legit front for wha’ he got at Black. Chop an’ Break shop makin’ parts out a black salvage. Gang stuff maybe.”
I know the place by name and the fear that was put in me as a street rat. No one goes to Black Street. I pull up the map on my mobiGlass. “Where in Black Street?”
“Dun know Lady, got some fuzz ’bout . . .”
Dodging again to try and get more cred. I’ve already promised what I don’t have. I can’t shake this with another empty bribe. I need to offer her something else. Her tool belt is welder style, but without a torch in the holster. She has some tech tools, but most are heavier, like for vehicle or ship work. She’s old enough she might be able to get work at the welding depot at the commercial spaceport. Working there gets you certifications. Certs means fees and a steady job. They take walk-ins and train them up, but don’t advertise it. That had been my backup plan for a few years now. Maybe it’ll be enough.
“Lock tha’ you got ship tools. Wha’ some rat doin’ with them? Got think tha’ ships is can get you out from here? How you going to get work on ships? I know some welders that work ships. Got ta be good at welding. You torch some?”
The sudden shift in conversation puts the kid on her heels. She looks away, trying to come up with one answer to all of my question.
“I torch some! Had ta trade ta meds when ’m got sick las’ freez.” The anger in her voice is a thin disguise for pain. Having to trade a prize possession for medicine. That depression didn’t kill her afterwards says a lot.
“Trade you straight info for info. Spaceport always needs welders. They’ll train you and get you basic certs. You use their gear and get paid daily. No lie. I plan on doing it but got business with Dirk first. You got your info now. So, you for info for me or not?”
That’s my last chip in a game I’m losing. I probably won’t get a second shot with someone else without more credits to start things off. The kid looks at me hard for awhile. Trying to weigh the worth of what I told her, whether it’s a lie.
“Rats an’ works know ’bout Big Dirk. Put out ’cast ta whole local ta work for him. Dirk double scans ’em for Gov or Blues an’ take ’em ta eight hundred wes’ sixteen thousand south.”
She taps my map to set the point.
“Got info out a rat tha’ run. Place got hangars ’round an’ one tower some. Only place like i’ ’round. Lot some folk head tha’ way. Null come back. Some ships come an’ get chopped. Some come an’ go. Rat tha’ ran say ’em work dead hard an’ then got sold ta slavers.”
The information almost sounds first hand. Maybe this kid could help me.
“You the rat that got out? Might need a guide around the place.”
No answer for that and the kid looks like she wants to bolt now.
“’m null go there. Craz that. Go at i’ from tha wes’ an you’ll get pas’ tha cams easy. Tha’s all ’m got tell. Ain’ eve’ glint zap on ya. You craz Up goin’ there. Ain’ none Up got business there.”
The kid give me one last look and walks away down the alley to places I shouldn’t follow. It’s a bad idea to push someone that just did you a favor on the street. My old street habits are starting to come back more as I check my surroundings and catch at least one person’s eyes lingering on me longer than they should have. I take in the rest of the passing crowd and don’t see anything that looks like a setup. I’m feeling paranoid. If Dirk really is a Big he could have people anywhere.
I get chills thinking that, and the kid’s comment about not having a weapon repeats in my head. I put up my hood and check that the map saved the location of Dirk’s chop shop. I make sure to avoid the area near the lingering eyes as I leave and don’t look back. I’ve got a lead, even if it’s a trap. I’m still the only hope my kids have.
I only hope I’m not too late.
The place I’m watching has to be Dirk’s. It fits the description and it’s in the most dangerous area of Bazaar, where even rats never go. Blues don’t come here, not like they care about Bazaar or rats. I saw three bodies on the ground on the way here. No way to check if they’re alive or dead without the chance of getting stabbed for interrupting someone’s high. My perch in the abandoned organics storehouse across from the compound is cold and the smell makes the sandwich I stole taste terrible. I only manage to force down a few bites, and my stomach is rebelling against even those.
From here I’ve been able to pick up some transmissions from the four-story office tower and the hangar’s fire suppression and alarm systems. My directional antenna found a dead spot in the office building, though. Second floor, northwest corner. Everywhere else has at least some sort of signal coming out. I even got the model number and command access of the robot vacuum next to it, but that area is dead. Like someone’s trying to hide something there. It’s my best shot.
While I’m planning out my approach I see armed people going between the hangars and the office. They’ve got about twice as many much-worse-off-looking adults surrounded. I see one of the group being herded turn and make a run for the fence. He doesn’t make it ten steps before a shot catches him in the back.
He falls to the ground, spun by the force of the shot hitting him. I’m thankful I can’t hear the sounds he makes thrashing on the ground. At least he’s still alive, I think blackly. The guards pick the runner up by the arms and drag him back to the hangar. It doesn’t look like they’re taking him to a medic. Dirk’s thugs mean business.
After watching all that I decide to make some modifications to my recently acquired stunner to give it more kick. I had lifted the cheap stun pistol from a rich Up kid I saw taking vid of Bazaar folks like it’s some sort of zoo. It might fry the first time I use it, but I’ll have to take that risk.
It’s only taken me a few hours to get here, set up, and find all this out. I put in a call to Mom Super but she didn’t answer. I don’t blame her. The Sisters have locked me out of the systems at the convent, but I had a direct tunnel to my education program that I never turned off. Like a private connection. It only lets me get to that room’s equipment, but it’s a way for me to get a message into the convent where someone might see it.
I’ve turned up the volume on the speakers and recorded a message. That message includes the video of what I saw earlier and explains what I’m doing so that someone will know even if I don’t get out. Now I’m just waiting here in this stink, second-guessing myself.
The sun has started to go down finally and my nerves are buzzing again. I’ve got thirty minutes before the next guard patrol will check this side of the grounds. If the kid I got this information from decided to sell me out, I’ll know soon enough. I double check my connection to my jury-rigged life-line and start towards the fence. At the fence I check it for a charge or alarms and don’t find any. My snips make quick work of the wire and I slip through.
A quick optic and radio scan shows cameras in the area, but none I can’t dodge. Thank god for small miracles. There’s still about fifteen meters of open pavement between the hangar I’m using for cover and the door to the service stairwell I picked out. I peek around the corner of the hanger and see that the main door is closed. I take a deep breath and start towards the office building.
About halfway there I hear the sound of ship engines and look up. Landing lights trace the ground a little ways away. I dash to the door and watch the ships appear and then travel out of sight from where I am. The hangar I had come from opens and a truck full of armed people drives out and off in the same direction. My heart is pounding and I know I didn’t run hard. I’ve got to pull it together. I turn my attention to the door.
A standard lock that’s not networked. No risk of external hack like that. Too bad for them, I’m right here. I pop the front panel off and start working. I almost have the bypass ready when I notice the inconspicuous block with two wires in it. Explosives.
I break out into a sweat as I realize how close I am to setting it off with what I’m about to do. How could I have been so stupid? This is craz. A bomb in a door? I was about to actually blow this and the kids would still be in danger. How can I do this if I can’t even get through the first door?
My hands are frozen as I look at what’s in front of me. It takes everything I have not to turn and run. My mind starts to latch on to things about the door to replace my runaway emotions. This is a prefab, like the ones on rail cars. Doors like this are cheap but not cheaply made. They cut corners on features, not substance. Like only having one power source.
That’s it. If I can cut the power to the lock, it will come free just like on a rail car. Hopefully no power will also mean no boom. It takes me just a second to find the thick connector that is the power plug and grab a hold. I take a deep breath and hold it, then I pull hard. I hear a hollow pop and the status lights inside the door panel all fade out. No boom and I’m still here. I let out the breath I’m holding long and slow. I have to keep moving.
After a few more seconds of frantic work in the dark I’ve got it rigged to stay open for when I come back. I hear the sounds of the truck coming just before I slip into the dim stairwell. About half the lights are missing and the unpainted walls show water spots and neglect. Not a camera in sight.
The second floor door is high tech but still not networked. The indicator shows locked. The access panel is on the other side. I rack my brain for something to get past it. After a few painful minutes of nothing I lean against it in despair. It moves. The latch must not have been caught.
I can’t believe it. I open it just enough to roll a camera sphere out as I pull up the feed on my mobiGlas.
The picture shows a bright white hallway with an elevator at one end and only a few other doors. I see one camera but it is pointed at the elevator. Two big men with pistols on their hips come out from the farthest room and get in the elevator. I freeze even though they can’t see me. The indicator shows it going down. I say a silent prayer hoping they are going out to meet the new arrivals. I find the door that looks like it should lead to where I’m going. I wait a few seconds more, and then walk into the hall and head for my target.
It has an old manual handle and is unlocked. My heart skips a beat at the thought of a trap. I take the stun pistol from its holster and open the door.
I look around but find myself alone in a big room. I close the door quickly and quietly, finding myself surrounded by computer panels and monitor lights. My mobiGlas beeps. I’ve lost connection to the outside. My eyes take a moment to adjust to dim lighting once more, as I put the stunner away.
I head to the station that looks most important. It’s a system monitoring terminal that has stats on dozens of sub-systems, all of them seemingly run from this room. I sit down and dig in. The setup is incredible. Star charts, financial information, shipping schedules, even payroll information for dozens of companies. All of them must be fake and controlled from here. This is how Dirk is laundering his salvage. The kid had said one side of Dirk’s operation is legit. Not for long. There is another set of information here that’s being kept separate. Ship manifests with destinations in Banu space. Pictures of people chained together and prices per shipment labeled only as ‘cargo.’ I skim through them quickly but I don’t see any of my children in the pictures. I copy as much as I can to my mobiGlas’s storage. This is all good, but it’s not why I’m here.
After some digging I find access to the cameras and pull up all the local feeds.
I get one of each floor’s elevator door, the main entrance, the front gate, a small room with a single chair in the middle, and a few showing parts of the fence. The last feed I check is an entirely black picture. It seems out of place in such a spartan set of things to record. I check it again. It’s a live feed. Then I see something. Black moving in the black. Something small. Someone.
My heart jumps. That has to be them. The label on the feed is Hangar 4 Storage. I’d seen that each hangar has a number painted on the side and know that 4 is on the north side of the building. It’s away from all the action outside right now, but the only way in from the outside is a huge cargo door. I pull up the controls for the door and try to open the cargo door remotely. As I do, I see a red warning flag pop up and the system locks. I must have triggered something!
I need to get out of this room.
They may already know I’m here, and if they don’t they will soon. I jog out the door and make a mental note as my mobiGlas beeps its reconnection to the network.
I head around the side of the building to the north and get within sight of the number 4 hangar. Lights are flashing on each of the buildings and a siren goes off. I hear shouts behind me and the sound of ship engines revving to launch prep. I head straight to the hangar door’s access panel. This one is standard, like the one to the stairwell, but this time no explosives. I get it to open after just a few tries and I scramble underneath and into the safety lighting.
A door just inside has ‘Storage’ on it stenciled in white. I run to it. It’s another manual door but it’s been chained shut.
My wire cutters can’t get through something this thick. I didn’t bring a torch. A chain? That’s stopping me? I got past explosives and around guards and into computers and now I can’t get past a chain? I kick the lock in frustration.
Flakes of rust float from the chain to the floor.
The rundown hangar has rusting bits and pieces all around. On the ground I see a pipe about two meters long. Jackpot!
I grab the pipe and examine the chain. It’s got some links that have been repaired before. I remember the materials book I studied. The chain is more likely to break than the pipe because of the welded links. I struggle a bit to wedge it between the door and chain. Once it’s securely set, I put my whole weight into pulling. The pole starts to bend but I keep the pressure on.
I hear a pop. Then a clang and the pipe goes slack, almost tumbling me to the floor. At the same time the chain and lock fall to the floor loudly. I recover, grabbing the door handle and pulling.
Light from the hangar lights flows into the small room as seven sets of eyes all stare back at me. The smell of human waste hits me like a wall. One child is lying on the floor. All the others are standing, backs against the wall. I can see the bruises. The ripped clothes. The gauntness. The fear. But they are still alive. Thank god, they are still alive.
One speaks in a whisper, “Sister?”
I almost say yes, but Mom Super’s betrayed face flashes in my mind.
“I’m here to get you out.” I hold out my hand to encourage them. “We have to go before the guards come.”
That seems to get through to them. One, then two more start to come out of the filthy prison they’d been kept in.
Another one is standing at the back of the room next to the child who hasn’t moved from the floor.
“’em can’ null walk none.” The standing one says, looking at his companion on the floor. I rush in and scoop up the child in one hand, trying not to gag on the smell.
“Out, everyone, and then through the door, then left keep going till the fence.”
Seeing me take their weakest as a burden sets the rest of them in motion, but as I come out of the filthy closet I see a pair of trucks loaded with vicious looking people heading straight for us.
All the children have stopped with me just inside the door. They’re looking at me. I can feel the one I’m holding barely breathing.
I will not let them take you.
I slam my fist into the door release and the door comes rattling down.
I pull the stunner from its holster, aim at the door’s control panel and pull the trigger. Nothing. I pull it again. Nothing.
“Got a hold tha trig down ta shot.” One of the children said it so softly I almost didn’t hear it. It was the one in my arm.
I do as she tells me and hold down the trigger. Seconds tick by and I hear the trucks stopping. The door is starting to move again. Suddenly my stunner fires and fries the controls. Someone on the other side doesn’t like that and points a weapon through the three centimeter opening and starts to fire.
The children duck behind what larger scrap pieces are around. Someone shouts and the shooting stops. The alarm sirens are still wailing but I can hear more commotion on the other side of the door.
“Rat! ’m know you there!” It’s Dirk. “Give up, rat! You null comin’ out a there ’less ’m let you out!”
The children start moving to better cover. If there is one thing a street kid knows, it’s how to find a place to hide. I look down at the one in my arms, passed out and filthy. Helpless.
“I’m not going to let them take you.” I say softly. Then I turn my face to the door and let out all the rage and anger I can call on. “You’re not my boss anymore, Dirk. You’re nothing to me now. You’re bigger than us, and you’ve got guns, so you think you can do whatever you want. And maybe you can, but I’m not gonna make it easy. I’m gonna fight for these kids. I’m stronger and smarter than you think, Dirk. All us rats are.”
A shot rings out and I duck back behind the beam I’ve crouched next to. The bullet punched a hole in the door. Someone sticks a hook through the hole and I hear an engine rev outside. The whole door starts to creak and strain.
Another shot, hole and hook. A second truck revs up and I see the panels of the door flexing under the pull. I have to find a way out of here. I remember specs of old hangars sometimes having ventilation at the ceiling. My eyes shoot up, looking for some sign of that and I find it almost immediately.
“You all have to climb. Get into the vents. It’s a way out. Come on.”
These children have been through hell and still they amaze me as they start to climb, helping each other. I nearly cry as they break every rule of the street by doing that. The first of them gets to the opening. One after the other they disappear into the closest thing to safety I can get them to. It’s little comfort but a better chance than they had locked up.
The last one through turns around to me, “Get heading, Sister. Got get out.”
I’m still holding the child in my arms and I realize I can’t climb and take her with me.
“Go, I can’t make it, I’m too big. I have to stay and take care of them.”
I get an intense look from more than one set of eyes.
“Go!”
The walls start to shake, the eyes disappear from the vent and dust falls from every angle as one side of the massive front door comes crashing down. It’s still obstructing the way but once the other side pulls free . . .
I move as far back among the scrap metal and tools as possible. I can barely see through the dust. There is yelling and flashlights shining into the newly opened gap. The trucks rev their engines again and then suddenly — they stop.
Gun and laser fire pop off and I can hear a new siren. No, sirens. They’re growing louder and closer. The trucks rev up again but this time I can hear them heading away.
The new sirens get louder still and then I see flashing blue lights streak past. Then again. And again. The Blues? How?
As the dust clears some vehicles pull to a stop outside the wrecked hangar door and several large men in plain clothes get out, guns drawn.
I shrink down, still keeping an eye on them, hoping they’ll leave if they don’t find anything.
Another vehicle stops and, like a ghost in a dream, I see Mom Super get out with a uniformed Blue next to her.
My lungs burn as I take in a dust-filled breath trying to shout to her, but I only cough. I get up and all eyes move to me and the child I’m carrying. I stumble out from behind my hiding place. I have to get to Mom Super.
That thought drives me forward. I stumble and fall. One of the Blues catches me, taking the child gently from my hands and laying me down against a wall.
“Are you hurt?” the Blue asks, “are there others?”
“The vents,” I cough, “in the vents.”
The Blue shines a light to the vent opening where six children are looking back at her. I motion them down with my arm and after a long pause they start to climb out. More Blues are coming in and helping the children. Blues helping street rats. This time the tears do come.
Mom Super is here now, next to me.
“Are you all right? Are you injured?”
The concern in her eyes and voice shame me. I don’t deserve her caring about me.
I take off my mobiGlas and hold it out to her. I clear my throat with a cough.
“I got as much information about Dirk’s operation as I could. Financials, dummy corps, contacts. It’s more than enough to shut him down if you give it to the Blues. This can keep the rest of the children safe.” I’m so exhausted my arm shakes with the effort of holding up the weight of the mobiGlas.
Mom Super takes it and moves past my hand towards me. Her arms surround me in an embrace. I don’t even know what to do. I let my hands fall to my side, feeling unworthy to hold the only Mother I’ve known.
“Well done, young one.”
A week later, the Blues have all the information I collected and I have my mobiGlas back. The children have been put in protective custody. Dirk’s operations have been shut down, though he is nowhere to be found. The news is talking about fixing poverty in the city. Street School has started again, with kids coming from all over. This week over a hundred come. They call us the Big Sisters now, like the Sisters took Dirk’s title. All of this and I’m getting ready to leave.
Mom Super has said that I can stay at the convent but I know I can’t. I put the children we were trying to help in danger and I almost attacked the core of the Sisters’ religion. I’m going to go to space and see all the things I’ve read about. I’ve always been just a guest here. I’ve never been one of them. I’m packing the last of my things when she comes to see me.
“Hello, young one,” she says. My back’s to the door.
“I’m not so young anymore,” I answer. “I’ve grown a bit since you gave me that name.”
Mom Super has a grin in her voice. “Gave you a name, did I? You refused to tell me what to call you. So I choose a description by which to call you. Hardly a name I think.”
There’s an unspoken ending to that sentence. I can feel it.
I turn around to see Mom Super standing in the doorway wearing her best habit. I guess it makes sense she would wear it on the day that I leave.
“We have something for you.”
“We?” I ask.
“Come, young one. It is time I do what you claim I have done already.”
There’s no way to refuse Mom Super when she has a plan.
She motions with her hand and I follow her out of the living area, past the meal hall and into the library.
Where rows of Sisters stand waiting in front of the book cases.
Three stories full. Rows about twenty feet long of sisters in their ceremonial best. One sister stands in the middle of the assembly on the main floor with a camera. Mom Super walks to stand next to her. I’m frozen just inside the door trying not to panic.
Turning in place Mom Super looks at me and then up to the gathered Sisters. She speaks loudly, “One has come among us whom we now know. One has been our guest who has had no name. One among us is leaving, following the call of her heart. These are all the same person. She had meant to do us harm but only in the cause of saving others, which she then did of her own accord. It would be right to record her name and good deeds in the histories of our Hall, but it would not be right to do so without using her name. What say you?”
A figure from the left of me steps forward, “We propose that she be given a name.”
Another figure steps forward, this time from my right. “We have come to consensus in this.”
“Step forward,” Mom Super says as she motions me toward her. I walk in a daze and stop when she signals.
Mom Super lays a hand on my shoulder. Her gaze drills into my eyes as she speaks. “This one has been found worthy and good among us. An inspiration to the study of knowledge and an example of courage. A changed person, remade by the force of her own will. What will you name her?”
A chorus replies as one.
“Luther, the reformer.”
The End
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