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ladyseaheart1668 · 3 years

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Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 56)

Description: The Catalysts attempt to return to their lives as River Skye finally comes home. tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11

Chapter 56: Not Over

Alodia

I almost can’t believe how quickly I start to feel better once the fever breaks. The pain, which had felt like some hellish demon with teeth made of red-hot iron gnawing at my lower back, begins to recede within hours.

“That’s how it tends to go with an infection like this once we find the right antibiotic,” the doctor tells me. “You are fortunate, though. These days, a lot of bacteria have developed resistance to antibiotics. But the infection is responding well to treatment, and all your vitals and your blood work look good. And your daughter appears as healthy as a baby horse. ...I would just like to take a quick look at how you’re healing from the birth if that’s okay.”

I nod, turning onto my back with Jake’s help as the doctor draws the curtain around the bed. Improved as I am, I know I’m not at full strength yet, because moving still hurts. I guess I must have winced, because the doctor raises an eyebrow in concern as she pulls on a pair of gloves.

“You okay there?”

“I think so. Guess I’m still pretty sore.”

“That’s to be expected. You probably won’t feel one-hundred percent for another week or two at least.”

I draw my knees up and part my thighs while the doctor pulls up a stool at the foot of the bed and lifts the blanket. I keep my attention focused on Jake’s face above me and the pressure of his hand on mine as the doctor carries out her checks. Occasionally, I let my eyes wander around to the multiple bouquets and mylar balloons that have built up over the past couple days, gifts from the Catalysts, Tahira’s team, my aunt and uncle, and Jake and Diego’s parents.

“Everything is healing beautifully. Stitches should be dissolved by next week. You’re probably going to be feeling pretty tender for a while though.”

“Yeah, we had the whole tearing conversation with my OB in California some time ago.”

“Good. If you have any pressing questions regarding the birth and recovery, you can of course ask me, or one of the maternity staff. We can also forward your hospital records to your regular OBGYN.”

“How long do you think it will be before we can go home?” Jake asks.

She pulls the blanket back down and stands, peeling off her gloves. “Well, the fact is, we want to get her and your baby out of here ASAP to lower the chances of either of them picking up a secondary infection.” She smiles at me. “Now that the fever’s gone, we’re gonna get you off the drip and onto some oral antibiotics, and we can pretty much start the discharge process immediately.”

“So soon?” My own question surprises me, but it’s out of my mouth before I realize it’s on the end of my tongue.

“Believe me, it’s better we get you both out of here.”

“I know. It’s not that I want to stay here. It’s just...thinking about how we’re going to get home...how soon we can get home…”

“That’s all taken care of, Princess. Aleister is having Castor and Pollux deep cleaned, and he and Grace are gonna put us up for a few days until Mike gets up here from Santo Domingo. Diego and Varyyn are with Estela and Quinn, and your aunt and uncle basically paid for hotel rooms for everyone else.”

His infodump has my head reeling a little, but there was one particular tidbit I find myself fixing on.

“Why is Mike…?” I trail off as realization crashes down on me in an icy wave. A bit of information I had nearly forgotten in my struggle to bring my baby safely into the world while fighting a fever. Jake wasn’t worrying about me for all that time from the safety of our home in California. I don’t know the details, but I have a sinking feeling that has something to do with the reason that Mike isn’t here with us now.

Jake folds my hand between his palms, glancing at the doctor. “Hey...do you have everything you need? I’d like a few minutes alone with my wife, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll get the ball rolling on your discharge.”

I wait until I’m sure she’s well clear of the room before I reach to stroke Jake’s cheek. “...I know Lundgren got his filthy hands on you. ...Fiddler told me. ...I’m guessing he got a hold of Mike, too.”

He leans into my touch. “...And Sean and Michelle. Nabbed us all as I was bringing ‘em back from the island.”

“I don’t know if she told me that. That conversation got swallowed up in worrying about you, and then I got sick and River started coming, and…” I swallow, running my thumb along the fuzzy ridge of his cheekbone. “...Did they hurt you? Any of you?”

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Knocked us all around a little. Michelle’s the smart one, of course, so she escaped the worst. ...Mike’s in Santo Domingo having his prosthetics repaired. Lundgren ripped them out ot torture him.”

I shudder. “Oh, god...Oh, Jake, I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…”

I’m crying before I realize it. And as soon as I do realize, it turns into sobbing. Jake reaches down to gather me in his arms and cradle my head against his shoulder, rocking me tenderly.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s okay. He’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. In a few days, we’ll be home with our baby.”

“I w-wanna be home,” I hiccup. “I wanna be home with River, but I’m scared of leaving everyone again. I just wanna bring them all home with us…”

“Well, it’s a very big house. ...On the other hand, you cram us all into the same house long term, it might start to feel less big. Plus, it would mean a brutal cross-country commute for some of them.”

I can’t help chuckling a little bit, which makes the sobs start to die down. Jake gives me a moment to get myself under control before he speaks again.

“...How are you feeling, Princess? Really?”

“Physically?” I pull back gently to lie down on the pillow again. “Definitely better. My head is clearer, and I don’t hurt as much. But I’m still worn out. And by the way, you’re gonna have to make due with blow jobs for awhile, because it’s gonna be a long time before you stick that thing in me again, if ever.”

It’s his turn to laugh, and he bends to kiss me. “Princess, I will tug it for the rest of my life as long as you’re still a part of that life.”

“I will be a part of your life as long as the universe allows,” I promise. “...But Jake, we both know this isn’t over.”

He sighs, and I see his forehead crease before he presses it to mine. “I know. I know you’re right. But for River’s sake--and mine--will you let the others take care of that for now? I ain’t saying don’t worry, because I know that’s impossible. But River and I need you healthy. Can you stand to let yourself be looked after for a while?”

I feel a rueful smile tug at one corner of my mouth. “Am I to assume that arguing is pointless?”

A tapping at the open door to the birthing suite distracts Jake from answering. We both look up to find Raj and Diego hovering in the doorway, Raj with a paper bag in his hand, and Diego with his right arm in a soft blue sling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since River was born, and I sit up a little straighter as he hesitantly steps over the threshold.

“...Are we interrupting?”

The baby has started fussing, and Jake eases off the edge of the bed to go pick her up. I open my arms to Diego. Just before he rushes into them, I see his face twist with anguish. And as he falls against me, his one-armed grip is surprisingly strong.

“Goddammit, Allie,” he whispers quiveringly. “Goddammit…”

“...Did I scare you?”

He pulls back sharply, enough so he can look me in the face, but he keeps a grip on my shoulder. “Did you scare me?! You had me on my knees saying the Ave Maria! Do you know how long it’s been since I said the Ave Maria?!”

There isn’t really a lot I can say to that, but I smile ruefully. “...Thanks for staying with me.”

“What, you thought I’d bail?”

I snort. “God, no. But I can still be grateful.”

“...You’re really okay?”

I nod. “I’m fine. The fever is gone, and the wound doesn’t really hurt anymore. I’m still pretty sore down there, though.”

A smile finally starts to play cautiously around his mouth. “...Well, that part’s Jake’s problem.”

“How about you?” I ask, gingerly touching the strap of his navy blue sling.

“That’s nothing serious. It was dislocated, but they popped it back in. Just got to wear this for a few more days, and take it easy once we get back home. ...Raj brought food, by the way.”

“Oh!” I pull back a little to smile at Raj. “Sorry, big guy. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

Raj chuckles. “We’ll blame it on the new mommy brain and leave it at that. Speaking of which…” He shoos Diego back enough that he can drag my bed table over across my lap, and sets an insulated lunch box on top. “I figured you could do with something better than hospital fruit cups and oatmeal, so I brought you a special Raj lunch. Michelle supervised its creation, and it’s full of stuff that’s supposed to be good for new moms.”

“What is it?”

“So glad you asked!” With a flourish, he opens the bag, and pulls out each item in turn, presenting them like a game show prize lady. “A sandwich of salmon, spinach, and poached egg on whole wheat bread with a garlic white bean spread; in case you are extra hungry, a side of gourmet trail mix made from an assortment of nuts and dried fruit; and to drink, a pineapple-orange-banana smoothie with extra protein powder, and just a few extra leaves of spinach!”

I can’t help but be uplifted by his enthusiasm, and hold out my arms for a hug. “I must be the most spoiled new mother in the world.”

Raj embraces me lightly over the table. “As you should be. You know in some Asian cultures, a new mother spends a whole month resting while her mother-in-law takes care of her and the baby.”

“Oh yeah?” I look at Jake. “Think your mother would spend a month taking care of me?”

“Honestly, I bet she would. The problem would be getting her to ease up and let you start taking care of things after the month was up.”

“Hmm...probably best not to give her ideas then.”

“Probably. We’ll have my folks over in few more months, when we’ve had a chance to get settled.”

“...But…” Raj says, “in the meantime, do you think you guys will be needing any extra help? I know it’s going to be a pretty full house as it is, but Diego’s going to want to take it easy with lifting and stuff for a while, and Michelle says Mike will probably need time to recover, too. If you need a couple extra pairs of hands and someone to do the cooking, I have some downtime, and I know Lila would be happy to come along.”

I look questioningly at Jake, who shrugs. “I don’t have anything against that. It’s a big enough house. And if Varyyn and I are gonna be the only ones at full strength for the time being, I wouldn’t say no to a couple extra pairs of hands.”

“And probably better those hands be Raj and Lila than anyone’s parents,” Diego adds. “I bet Varyyn would prefer not having to wear his disguise twenty-four-seven.”

“Yeah. And,” Jake adds with a sigh, shifting River to rest against his shoulder, “it’s probably preferable not to involve anyone who ain’t already involved in the bigger picture. ...Like you said before, Princess, this ain’t over.”

“But for now, we’re all safe and sound, and Allie has a lunch to eat.” Diego smiles encouragingly as he pushes the tinfoil-wrapped sandwich toward me. “Go on. Dig in.”

Jake

I gotta admit, it does my heart good to see my wife savoring the meal Raj brought her and enjoying our friends’ company. She seems almost back to her old self as she talks and tells jokes and teases with them. Although, as I put River in her arms, I can’t help but be reminded that she’ll never be exactly like her old self again. Not now that she’s a mama. Not like I’m ever gonna be exactly like my old self again either. I’m a daddy now. That’s gonna change me forever. The thought scares me, like it has a lot over the past nine months. But just a look at that precious little face is enough to reassure me that I am never gonna regret it.

Diego and Raj eventually leave us on our own again. After nursing and burping, River sleeps just long enough that we can fill out her birth certificate, nestled side-by-side on the bed. From there, it’s not more than an hour or two before they’re wheeling Alodia toward the hospital exit with River in her arms again while I walk at her shoulder, a baby carrier in the crook of my elbow and my arms laden with flowers and mini mylar balloons. Any staff we happen to pass on the way out smile and wave or give us their congratulations. I have a feeling that in a hospital, any chance to see a patient off happy and healthy is a cause for celebration, and that probably goes double for a new mama leaving with a baby.

Grace is waiting in a car for us at the curb outside the hospital. One of Reggie’s old carseats is in the backseat. Grace settles the baby in the carseat while I help Alodia into the seat beside her.

“There’s a surprise for you guys when we get to our place,” Grace informs us as I circle around the car to get in on the other side of River.

“Nothing too strenuous, I hope,” Alodia quips. “I am not up for a party yet.”

Grace chuckles as she starts up the car. “Oh, believe me, I realize that. No, everyone is pretty sure parties are off the table for you for the time being. ...But you do know that everyone is going to want to see you before you leave, right? You gave us a scare, and no one wants you to go before we all know you’re okay. ...Plus, everyone wants to see River.”

“I am not opposed to visitors,” Alodia assures her. “Just...only a few at a time.”

“Absolutely. We won’t let you get overwhelmed.”

“River, either,” Alodia adds, stroking our sleeping daughter’s downy hair. “Poor thing is probably overwhelmed as it is, suddenly coming into all this noise and color and light.”

“Birth is the craziest thing that ever happens to us, and none of us remember it,” I remark, letting the blade of my forefinger run gently back and forth across the soft back of River’s tiny hand. Her little fingers twitch just slightly, and the base of her pacifier rocks back and forth across her lips, but she doesn’t wake up. I don’t expect the quiet will last.

River does sleep throughout the half hour or so it takes to drive to Aleister and Grace’s luxury Northbridge apartment. As we pull up to the curb, I realize what our surprise is.

“Mike!”

I must have been a little louder than I thought, because River wakes up with a cry that can only be described as irritated, but it doesn’t fully register until I have already launched myself out of the car towards Mike. He’s balancing on a walker, so I at least have the good sense not to jostle him, but I can’t hold myself back from grasping him firmly by the shoulders. He grins, carefully removing his hands from the walker one at a time to grasp me back.

“Good to see ya, Grandpa.”

“Shit, you too! We weren’t expecting you for another couple days! How are you feeling?”

“Well, as you can tell,” he says, nodding at the walker, “I’m not quite ready to run a marathon yet. But my new legs are healing up nice. ...Good to see you, Goldilocks.”

His gaze shifts over my shoulder, and I turn to look back at my wife supporting herself on Aleister’s arm while Grace bounces River in her arms. Alodia smirks at me, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I feel like I should make a joke about you abandoning your wife and child in the car to go hang out with your buddy,” she drawls.

I grin sheepishly as Mike carefully returns his grip to the walker. “Sorry about that. Let me make it up to you.”

I lunge and sweep her up bridal style, and I have the pleasure of feeling her arms twine around my neck.

“Mmm, much better. However, unlike your daughter, I am actually capable of walking.”

“But you don’t have to. Not right now, anyway.” But I do return her to her feet after capturing her mouth in a kiss. I don’t entirely take my hands off her yet, though. After her ordeal, I don’t think she’s really that much steadier than Mike right now. Her grip as she slips her arm through mine confirms my concerns.

I’m standing between my wife and my best friend, and neither of them are fully able to stand under their own power. I’m starting to feel that much more grateful to Raj for volunteering to help us out for a while.

I think Mike notices Alodia’s weakness, too, because his forehead creases just a little. “You all right, Goldilocks? From what I hear, you gave everyone a real scare.”

“It was pretty scary on my end, too. But I’m fine now. How about you?”

Mike shrugs. “Ahh, you know. A few weeks of rehab, I’ll be a six-million dollar man again. In the meantime,” he adds wryly, stroking the frame of his walker, “it’ll be hard to call Jake ‘Grandpa’ when I’m dottering around on this thing.”

“You just called me ‘Grandpa’ two minutes ago.”

“And I cannot tell you how hard I internally cringed. Seriously, if you could have seen my internal expression, you’d have thought I was sucking lemons.”

I am morally obligated to reach out and swat him for that, but before I can, Alodia abruptly steps forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. It’s an awkward embrace, encumbered by the walker and both of them still being weak, but it’s a sincere one, and Mike leans into it gratefully.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Alodia murmurs.

“You too,” Mike says softly, reaching up to pat her shoulder with one hand. “But can we go inside? I wanna properly meet that baby you’ve been carrying around for the past nine months!”

***

The Catalysts come by in shifts throughout the afternoon and evening, apparently having planned it all out beforehand. No one stays more than an hour at a time, which proves to be a good thing, since Alodia is clearly worn out by about eight in the evening. We’re set up in the guest room of the Rourke apartment, with River in a bassinet beside us, and Mike on the foldaway bed in the living room.

Alodia nurses River and rocks her to sleep before lying down herself. At first, I curl up beside Alodia in bed. She’s asleep within minutes, but I’m not as quick. And after an hour, it’s pretty clear that I’m not on my way to dreamland any time soon. I don’t want to leave Alodia or River. I never want to leave Alodia’s side again. But I’m restless. Anxious. And eventually, the desire not to disturb what precious little sleep my wife might have before our daughter wakes her up again wins out over my irrational need to pace back and forth between them. I check the windows, making sure they’re locked, then I slip out of the room as quietly as I can, heading back out into the living room.

I find Mike, Aleister, and Grace all seated in the living room. On the coffee table are four short, round glasses and a bottle of golden red liquid that I’m guessing is some kind of whiskey.

“We were starting to wonder if you had also fallen asleep,” Aleister says. He gestures to the glasses. “We thought you might like to wet your baby’s head.”

“Kind of a weird expression,” I remark. Nonetheless, I pick up the bottle and take a seat in an armchair to read the label. “Ooh, Irish Mist. Fancy.”

“It is not every day that one becomes a father. The night Reginald was born, Diego, Varyyn, and I toasted his birth with Irish Mist.”

I crack open the bottle, and lean forward to fill each of the four glasses about halfway. I set down the bottle and raise my glass, the others following suit.

“To River Skye McKenzie, my beautiful angel. And to her mother, my better half, who is truly the best and bravest of us.”

“Here, here!” Grace says. We clink glasses, and I take a long, deep drink, savoring the sweet notes of honey and spices riding atop the alcoholic burn of whiskey. I return my glass to the table empty and lean back in my chair.

“When my sister and I both were born, my grandpa had my dad and the men of the neighborhood over to smoke cigars on the porch.” I chuckle a little. “Rebecca remembers helping our grandma in the kitchen, and seeing all the men outside smoking. She says what she remembers most about the day I was born was our dad coming in from outside to give her a hug, but she pushed him away and said, ‘No, Daddy! You stink!’”

My story prompts the expected laughter.

“I am afraid Irish Mist will have to do tonight,” Aleister says. “I did not think to buy cigars. Nor would I know enough to ensure I was purchasing a quality product. As I understand it, Cuban cigars are the best, but those are illegal.”

Mike shudders. “Honestly, I think the smell of a Cuban would be enough to give me flashbacks. Lundgren used to smoke contraband Cubans.”

“Same here,” I agree. “I mean...there was that one time…”

“...That one time what?”

I chuckle a little, rubbing the back of my head. “Okay, no one currently in this room was there when Zahra blew up MASADA…”

“What’s that got to do with Cuban cigars?”

I sigh, but in spite of myself, in spite of how literally everyone else in the room with me was in some kind of bad situation at the time, I feel a smile playing around my mouth at the memory.

“Okay, so it’s me, Alodia, Sean, Quinn, Estela, Craig, and Zahra trying to find another way out of the complex after the gondola gets severed, and when we go through a control room, Zahra gets the idea to blow the whole thing up. We figure it’s worth the couple extra minutes, so we let her do it. And while she’s rigging the system, I find one of Lundgren’s Cubans somewhere on the floor. ...And I light it up. But only to spite the bastard.”

“But did you enjoy it?” Mike asks.

“Hell, yeah! The hype ain’t a lie, buddy. Not saying I’d do it again unless it were one of his personal stash, but that was a real good smoke. ...Still...it wouldn’t be right to celebrate River with Cuban cigars. Lundgren and Rourke did enough to taint her birth.”

“Nothing has been tainted,” Grace says firmly. “She and Alodia both came through it well and healthy.”

“I ain’t losing sight of what’s important,” I assure her. “But I can’t let my guard down, either. ...We all know this ain’t over.”

Grace sighs. “...No, you’re right. It isn’t over. ...Which means...I should probably tell you what I learned in Ireland.”

Diego

I knew that the Catalysts wouldn’t have sat on their hands while any of their own were in danger, but I am surprised to learn just how busy they were during the time that Allie and I were in Arachnid’s claws. I’m even more surprised--and frankly unsettled--by some of the things they learned. Yvonne might be alive. Lundgren flew the same plane that killed Allie’s parents, even though the twisted wreckage of that plane is the property of the NTSB. The whole mess with Allie’s mom, that weird AI message from a program made by Allie’s mom. It all leaves us with a lot more questions than answers.

I told the police everything I felt like I could safely tell them. I went so far as to tell them that I think Everett Rourke might be alive because that’s who our kidnappers claimed they were taking us to. I don’t know if they believed me. I don’t know if the future of the Vaanti is safe. A part of me hopes that they lose interest in the case since everyone who was abducted has been recovered safely. But I also know that none of us are really safe until Rourke is either back behind bars or dead.

Aleister and Estela make all the travel arrangements for those of us going back to California, including my folks and Allie’s. Castor carries me, Allie, Jake, Varyyn, Mike, Raj, Lila, Rebecca, and River. For once, Jake and Mike aren’t going to be flying. Pollux is taking our families. A third plane, smaller but no less luxurious, takes Jake’s parents back to Louisiana. They’re reluctant to leave him. They don’t want to be apart from their son, or their daughter, or their granddaughter. He assures them they can come visit soon, but that their daughter-in-law needs some time to recover first.

At the airport, Allie’s aunt and uncle hesitate to part from her on the tarmac. Allie stands with River in her arms, patiently enduring as Molly smoothes her hair and kisses her forehead, asking if she’s sure Allie doesn’t want her and Rob to wait at the airport in California to drive her home. When Allie insists she’s sure; that Molly and Rob should go ahead and get home so they can rest. Rob says they’ll make sure there are cars waiting for us to take us all back to the house in Laguna.

My parents board the plane before I arrive at the airport. On board the plane, I nestle up with Varyyn on one of the double-width leather seats. I wind my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He kisses the top of my head.

“Are you alright, my love?” he murmurs.

“...I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I’m just...disappointed. I knew my parents weren’t ready to meet you. But I had hoped...I don’t know. I had hoped it wouldn’t be like this. Even if I knew it probably would be.”

Varyyn sighs, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek. “They may yet come around. Or they may not. In the end, it is up to them. All I can promise is that I will love you regardless of their decision.”

“...I love you, too.”

“You guys all set?” Raj’s voice makes me look up. The others are boarding behind us and finding their seats. Jake helps Allie settle in and get her seatbelt on, River still cradled in her arms.

“Are you sure a plane is really the best way to travel with a newborn?” Lila asks.

“When the choices are between a rental car, a train, or a private plane for a cross-country trip, a private plane is hands down the best option,” Rebecca declares. “I mean, if we were on a commercial plane, I’d think twice, since those things are basically flying petri dishes. But this plane has been deep-cleaned, unlike the train. It’s more comfortable than a car, and faster than both the car or the train.”

“Yeah, but what about her little ears? All the pressure?”

“The doctor says that if I nurse her during take-off and landing, that should keep her comfortable. Besides...I just want to be home.”

Home. The word washes through me in a way that comforts me even as it makes me want to cry. Images flash through my mind of the house I share with my husband, my best friend, her husband, and his best friend--and now, my little niece and goddaughter. Watching movies in the living room with Allie. Sharing dinner around the table or out on the balcony. Cuddling with Varyyn in the hot tub in the evening, letting the warm, swirling water sap the energy from my body, and then sliding into bed beside him and drifting off to sleep in his arms. At home, I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to walk on eggshells or worry about losing anyone’s love. At home, I’m safe and free. I meet my best friend’s eyes, offering her a tired smile.

“I’m with you, Allie. Let’s get home.”

Raj

Nothing but the best for my friends, that’s my motto. I came to the house in Laguna Beach to make sure that my friends would have the best care while they needed it, and I waste no time in getting down to business. Alodia, Diego, and Mike need space to convalesce. But with a new baby in a huge house like this, there is a lot to be done. Jake and Varyyn can’t be expected to do everything, and that’s where I and Lila come in.

River is constantly monitored. Whenever she cries, someone is ready to come running to change her diaper, or to bring her to Alodia for feeding. I prepare meals ahead of time that can be easily heated and served, so no one goes hungry. Lila helps me cook and keep the house clean. Alodia’s aunt and uncle attempt to send cleaning and catering services to her at one point, but they end up being politely refused. Lila and I have everything under control, and none of us want strangers poking around here.

Alodia is occasionally moody, snapping at everyone to stop fussing over her, and she can’t wait to be free of this gilded cage and go back out into the world. This is usually followed by tearful apologies, with all of us assuring her that we don’t take it personally. She just had a baby, she’s allowed to be moody. Besides, the moment someone places River in her arms, it seems like everything is right in her world, and everything is right in our world, too.

...Except it’s not. Not entirely.

River is happy and healthy. Alodia is getting her strength back. Diego gets rid of the sling, and Mike starts to get around without the walker again. But underneath the surface, there is still trauma. There’s still fear.

“They’re having nightmares,” I tell Lila one morning as we’re preparing breakfast. She pauses for a moment with a knife poised above an orange before swiftly slicing it in half.

“Is that so surprising?” she asks. She doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but concentrates on making sure the thick, white heart of the orange half in her hand is positioned properly on the cone of the juicer before she presses down and begins to twist. Bright yellow juice splashes down into the container below.

“Well, no. But it is sad. Jake and Alodia especially should be concentrating on enjoying their new baby, not having nightmares and worrying about whether Rourke’s coming back for them.”

Lila pulls the now-deflated orange rind off the cone of the juicer and tosses it on the countertop. Ribbons of tattered orange flesh cling to the inside of the rind. She picks up the other half.

“...Do you ever have nightmares from Mr. Rourke?” she asks softly.

“Of course,” I reply. “Not as much as before, but I think we all have them sometimes. After what we all went through, I think I’d be more surprised if any of us didn’t.”

The twisting of the orange on the juicer slows just slightly. The toaster pops behind me, and I pluck four pieces of perfectly browned bread from the slots to toss onto a plate.

“...I have nightmares, too.”

The butter has been softening on the counter, and my knife slides easily through it. The heat from the toast softens it further, and it spreads cleanly.

“...You want to talk about it?”

Lila shakes her head, picking up her knife and another orange. “No. Not now. They don’t really matter anyway. They’re about things that happened in the past. I’m less scared of them than I am of what happens in the future.”

“Do you mean Rourke’s next move?”

“Of course that scares me. ...But more than that, I’m scared of him trying to use me against all of you again.”

“We won’t let that happen, Lila. You’re safe with us.”

“...But are you safe with me?”

I pause a moment before putting down my knife. I turn to Lila, put one hand on each of her shoulders, and turn her toward me.

“Lila...look at me. ...Has Rourke approached you at all since you’ve been with us again?”

Her eyes widen in what looks like genuine surprise. “What? No, I...that isn’t what I meant!”

I relax just a little. “...Okay.” I slowly take my hands away from her shoulders. “...You’d tell me if he had, wouldn’t you?”

She nods. “Of course.”

“Good. ...Because if he approaches you again, we can help you. We can help keep you out from under his thumb. ...We’re not gonna let him just have you back.”

A weak smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “I believe you.” She hastily turns back to the oranges in front of her. “You should...um...finish buttering before the toast gets cold.”

Overhead, the sharp, piercing cry of an infant rings through the air. I smile. Another morning blending into another day. It’s not perfect. We’ve got reason to worry. But for now, all is well.

Diego

I keep my head down as I move through the halls of my high school, clutching the straps of my worn-out backpack. It’s the same shabby gray one I’ve been carrying since freshman year. I’m a junior now, and the corners near the bottom are starting to fray where the sharp corners of paper-bag covered textbooks have dug into them.

My stomach growls. I skipped lunch again today. My parents were gone to work early again, and I didn’t leave myself enough time to make myself anything this morning. I barely had time to scarf down a banana for breakfast. I didn’t have enough cash for a cafeteria lunch, either, and besides, I preferred spending my lunch period playing on the computer in the library to sitting by myself at the end of a table filled with noisy strangers anyway.

If I can scrape together enough change from the bottom of my pencil case, I might have enough to get a bag of chips from the vending machine before I have to go to my after school job. But for now, my hunger isn’t all that sharp, and I am heading towards English Lit, the only class I currently look forward to.

The class is taught by Mr. Hunter. He also teaches the film-making class I want to sign up for next semester. He’s in his early fifties, and not handsome. He is tall and lanky, with gray-green eyes and a dark helmet of slicked back hair that sits atop a rectangular face. He has one of those mustaches that seemed to be popular in the 1970’s that always make a man look a little sketchy. He wears paisley shirts and slacks, and his voice reminds me of Bert from Sesame Street.

Mr. Hunter is the best teacher I’ve ever had at this school. When we studied Romeo and Juliet, he started off by giving us all a printed-off list of Shakespearean insults. When one girl tried to mumble her way through a line-reading, he shouted, “Put some feeling into it, you saucy wench!”

Mr. Hunter is also gay, and he does not attempt to hide this. When my parents ask about my teachers and which ones I like best, I leave this fact out. If they knew, they would make me switch to another class. Mr. Hunter has a picture of himself with his boyfriend on his desk. I’ve seen it when I’ve gone up to hand in assignments. His partner is bald and ruddy-skinned. He’s not handsome, either, but he has an open, friendly smile. Sometimes, I imagine them kissing. I worry that I have a crush on Mr. Hunter.

On the post of every classroom door is a laminated pink triangle, with a message proclaiming that this is a safe space for LGBTQ students. These triangles are mandated by the school district. Not every teacher honors them. One teacher actually tore hers down and refused to put it back up. She was fired. Last year, two girls were voted “Cutest Couple” in their senior class. I look at the triangles, prominently displayed as I walk into each classroom, and I don’t feel particularly safe. I feel safe in Mr. Hunter’s classroom.

Inside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, two boys from the football team act out a love poem with one of them in a curly blond wig and the bottom of his shirt tucked into his collar to create a crop top. They end with a flourish, with the boy in the wig jumping into the other boy’s arms and goosing him. Everyone applauds their performance, including Mr. Hunter.

Outside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, guys of all stripes growl “faggot” in my direction, and even the girls who are nice to me seem pitying more than anything. There’s a Pride club that meets after school two days a week, but I don’t dare join. I’m slowly realizing I can’t deny the truth anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can just announce it to the world.

I have just enough change to buy a bag of chips after school. I put it in my backpack as I make my way toward the library where I work for a few hours each day. I see Sam Dzugan eyeing me as I pass through the main doors to the school, and feel dread so familiar that it’s almost dull. Of all the bullies at this school, Sam is the worst. He also knows where I work. If he’s bored and hungry for a power fix tonight, I’m in for a rough walk home.

But he doesn’t follow me to work. At the library, I set to work filing back the books from the return cart. As I do, my mind wanders to the same place it always does: Alodia.

Alodia. My ideal friend. I conjure up an image of her beside me. She would be pretty, like all the most popular girls at school. I summon a small, pale figure with blonde hair, big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. I talk with her in my head as I wander the aisles of the library with the return cart. I can picture her cheeky smile as clearly as if she were really beside me. I have spent many years getting the details of her perfect. Early incarnations of her were dark-haired. Green-eyed. Taller. I drew pictures of her. I wrote down her description in a private notebook that I kept under my mattress. But she never felt as real as when I wrote her with golden blonde hair and sapphire eyes.

She laughs at all my jokes as I work the rest of my shift. I forgot to eat the chips I bought, and I’m hungry enough now to start feeling dizzy. ...Alodia would invite me to dinner at her house. A huge, fancy house with a pool, where a chef would have prepared a gourmet meal.

“Don’t worry about Sam,” she would say. “If he gives you any trouble, I’ll fight him off.” ...Because Alodia would be fierce. A fighter. Alodia was a hero. A hero who loved me unconditionally.

Alodia was never meant to be my lover. I wasn’t looking for a lover when I first dreamed Alodia into existence, which is probably why I always imagined her as a girl. I could scarcely imagine having a lover before I had a friend. That was what Alodia was to me. A friend. A friend who would always love me. A friend who I could tell my secrets to without judgment. A friend to fight for me and protect me, who saw value in me, and needed me back.

But my friend is a fantasy. And when I leave work and Sam corners me in the encroaching darkness, Alodia vanishes…

...I wake up with a gasp, bolting upright in the darkness of my room. Beside me, Varyyn grunts in his sleep and rolls over, the moonlight reflecting off his blue skin. I stare at his sleeping form for a moment, trying to take stock of myself. I’m shaking. My pajamas are damp with sweat. I feel cold. I feel sick and empty with fear. I don’t exactly remember what I was dreaming about, but one thought keeps echoing in my mind: Allie. I have to find Allie.

I slip out of bed as gently as I can while I’m still trembling. I don’t want to wake Varyyn. As I slip into the hall, motion-sensitive lights plugged into the sockets near the floor illuminate my path. My dream is still hazy, but bits and pieces trickle back as I shuffle down the hall with my hand on the wall. I was alone. Allie didn’t exist. It was a timeline that I have all but forgotten, and it felt entirely too real.

I need to find her. Or at least evidence that she still exists. The door to the nursery is slightly ajar, enough that I can see the soft glow from the lamp on the bedside table. I peek through the crack in the door and relief floods through me. Allie, bundled up in her robe and slippers, sits in the rocking chair with River in her arms, gently rocking back and forth. I exhale slowly. I should go back to bed, but I am not ready to let her out of my sight yet. I start to push open the door. She gasps a little, looking up sharply.

“Oh, Diego!” She smiles at me, settling back into her chair. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” I whisper back. “...Did I wake up River?”

“No. I just fed her, so she’ll probably be out for an hour or two.” She looks up at me as I come to settle into the armchair across from her. “...What are you doing up?”

“...Bad dream,” I admit. “...About...about you. I had to come check on you or I was never going to get back to sleep.”

I half-expect her to joke about me being a creeper watching her while she sleeps, but instead she sighs. “...I kinda know the feeling.”

“Yeah. I bet you do.”

“You wanna stay up with me for awhile?”

“Yeah. But I feel like I should be telling you to get some sleep while you can.”

“I probably should be sleeping,” she admits. “...But I don’t really want to let her go.”

There’s not really much I feel like I need to say to that. I understand. I don’t think there’s anyone in this house who doesn’t empathize with that feeling in one way or another. Especially now.

“...Diego…?”

“Yeah, Allie?”

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, though her mouth opens and closes a couple times. Then, she swallows and takes a deep breath.

“...I love you. I love you, and I love Jake, and Raj, and all the Catalysts…”

“We love you, too, Allie.”

“...When you imagined me. In that other timeline. When I didn’t come to be until the Island...did you ever imagine my future?”

I can’t help flinching. Her words feel like a cold pinprick at the top of my spine. “...Allie...I...I don’t really remember that timeline…”

“I know. I know. But...it happened. It existed. I was once born to be what you needed. What all the Catalysts needed. ...But now...now I have River. Someone new who needs me. She needs me more than any of my Catalysts.”

“I...I think that’s true,” I say slowly. “...We all love you, and we want you with us. But River is your child. She’s helpless and new. She needs your love and your care and your guidance to survive.”

“...I’m scared, Diego. I’m scared by how much I love her. I’m scared by how much she needs me.”

My earlier fear is being replaced with concern that is entirely for my friend. “...Allie...are you okay? Is this some kind of postpartum depression?”

“I don’t know what this is, Diego. I know that I love River more than I ever thought I could love anyone alive. I would have torn myself apart for my Catalysts without hesitation. I gave up my existence to give my Catalysts the world. ...But I can’t consider that anymore. Because River needs her mother.”

“Oh, Allie. That’s not a bad thing. None of us want you to tear yourself apart.”

“I know. ...But I am afraid of what happens if the world asks for it. ...If I end up at the Threshold again, or a new Raan’losti…” She looks up at me. “...Diego...I think I have to face what’s in the pool shed.”

I feel my blood run cold. I know what’s in the pool shed. The collection of objects that were left for us in the Crystal dimension when we went to rescue Tahira. Including…

“...Are you sure?”

She nods. “...It was left for me to find for a reason. I have to touch the Andromeda idol again.”

#playchoices #choices stories you play #pixelberry choices #Endless Summer #hero

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chibi-pix · 3 years

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Ah! It’s been a few weeks but now I’m back home with faster internet and able to watch Voltron: Defender of the Universe! I’ll admit, I was tempted to bear with my grandpa’s middle-of-nowhere internet to try and watch an episode here and there, but I didn’t. Other things came up. But now I’m home and enjoying it! And I’m going to be honest, time and distance truly do make the heart grow fonder. No, not about Lotor, the only good thing about him is his hair. I’m talking about Bandor’s voice. The anthropomorphic kazoo’s voice doesn’t bother me as much.

Anyway! I’ve been a busy creature! Episodes 39 through 45 have been watched! In the next day or two, depending on my evening art binges, I may have the first part of Voltron finished! Then it’ll be on to Vehicle Voltron and then the third season with Merla since that’s the order on the site I’m watching at. Keep in mind, I do miss some details since I’m drawing while watching/listening to this show in the corner of my screen. So! Without further delay, let’s get to this!

Episode 39. Ah, an episode with a comet! It may not be a trans reality comet, but it’s still a comment. I snorted at Lance’s comment of “If we wanted to play it safe, we would have stayed home.” Dude, the comet was going towards Arus. You wouldn’t have been safe. Oh well. Now it was kinda expected but clever of the baddies discussing the “attack plan” and tricking Romelle into telling Voltron. At first I thought they were being just dumb and talking in front of her, then Lotor smirked. Very clever, guys. “With friends like you, Voltron doesn’t need enemies.” Ouch. Poor Romelle. When paying attention to the gravity, my mind went to VLD when they dealt with planet Naxzela. It seemed interesting to me. I enjoyed Bandor going to try and help Voltron. I felt sorry though. He seemed so pained to fire upon Voltron and the comment in the attempt to help them! Bandor! Be strong, baby! My mind went to thinking of the song “All the Mad Men” (or something like that) by David Bowie when the others were making their comments about their peace with near death. Just thought that was interesting to say. “Come and try it, strange one.” Really, Lotor? That’s your best insult?

Episode 40! Bandor: “There will never be another force like Voltron.” Um... what about Vehicle Voltron? Or do you not know of them Bandor? It’s okay. You do care for the lion force team members. And so much he wants to save them. Even risking robot mutiny. Do your best, baby! You’ve got this! And everyone having these deep realizations at the end of the universe. Personally I would have liked a restaurant at the end of the universe. Lorot: “Do you know how many princesses would love to be my bride?” Um, probably zero, honey. You’re toxis and your only good quality is that hair of yours. And sending Romelle down a pit of skulls. Me personally? I’d hate being dropped, but those skulls? I’d have stolen a few to decorate my room. Skulls are cool.

Episode 41. Oh look, Sven, totally not his brother captured from Earth before it was destroyed since Earth is fine and dandy in this series, is alive! And found Romelle! Sorry you went a bit crazy buddy, but it’ll be fine. You just need a hug and a cookie. Or Romelle could help. That works, too. Sven: “We have to move quickly and quietly. Like cats.” Um... didn’t a cat have to do with you getting hurt in the first place and you no longer got to be blue paladin? I feel like that was it. I mean, it was Haggar’s doing in the end, but didn’t it start with chasing a cat? Anyway! At the end when the Pollux siblings were reunited, it made me super happy! That’s what I’ve been waiting for!

Episode 42. Sand people! Now the tags from @breadstickcat left on a reblog of a palakitty art makes more sense! And those buggers are so cute! I want one! Or many! They’re so precious! And they stack! I’m gonna cry! I was so amused at how tall Pidge felt before they stacked. It just made me grin. It also makes me wanna draw palakitty Pidge, Chip, and Shorty stacking to make themselves taller. I also feel like the Baltoans of my palakitty au would be taller than the sand people. But not by much. I wonder if I should incorperate the sand people in other AUs for my VLD stuff. That’d be amusing. I just want these precious babies to be happy. Those cute sand people. And Sandy! Allura giving him the bracelet. I was ready to cry when he was taken and converted. Thank the ancients that this series doesn’t let people die. This may be my favourite episode thus far.

Episode 43. I really don’t have much to say about this episode. Though Lotor’s line of “I’ve punished many kids on many planets”, my mind went to I think episode 34. Flashbacks, my dudes.

Episode 44. The title “Voltron vs. Voltron caught my interest. And it was kinda clever seeing the fake Voltron arriving before the real one to trick and catch the people off guard. And I like how perceptive the kid was in noticing something was off. Good job kid! And doing his best to dig in the sand to warn Voltron. You’re doing good, sweetie! You’ve got this! “All these people are lying stunned.” Um, are you trying to convince yourselves or the audience? I looked up to see Pidge’s face when things weren’t going well and they were getting shocked. It was hilarious and I did snort with laughter.

And finally, episode 45. Sven: “I think they’re trying to decide which one is the ugliest.” You just like calling things ugly, don’cha buddy? It was amusing to see Sven be a master of disguise to get his job done. Makes me kinda wish we had that reference with Shiro in VLD. Though we did get VLD Allura donning the soldier uniform to sneak in with Shiro in a crate, so I guess that’s good, too. Anyway! Sven! Not only is he a master of disguise, he can also bitchslap a guy! Good job, honey! And then planting the bomb on the ship, definitely gave me Sven vibes from VLD when the others saw the other reality. I enjoy that. What I didn’t enjoy was looking up to see what looked like a spider robeast. Why? Why does there have to be a spider? I hate spiders. Eeeeee! Anyway! Sven returning to Romelle and ticking her off. “So much for a hero’s welcome.” Well buddy, maybe if you approached her with more sincerity instead of joking, she’d have welcomed you better. You’ll learn. Maybe. Hopefully. Hmm...

Anyway! That concludes my night of watching Voltron: Defender of the Universe! I feel glad to resume this show. And! Another doodle inspired from watching. It was only a matter of time until I ended up drawing this.

Anyway! I hope y’all enjoyed this! Until next time.

#voltron defender of the universe #Voltron DotU #chibi writes #chibi doodles #chibi watches #vld Slav #the sand people!#they're too cute and perfect!#i want them to be happy #and i want them in general #more than the skulls #i now understand breadstickcat's tags on my last palakitty doodle

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clovis-enthusiast · 5 years

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Little thought about The Tyrant’s Tomb. [SPOILERS!!!!]

oKAY, so I’m gonna start off by saying that, as usual, Rick Riordan’s writing style never fails to impress and draw me in to keep reading and not stop until I’ve devoured every last word. I was DESPERATE to read this book because it took me longer to get it than usual, and I was trying to go into it spoiler free (aside from reading the snippets that Uncle Rick posted on his Twitter every now and then.) I pretty much managed to do so, and it made the experience that much more emotional for me. I went into The Burning Maze KNOWING that Jason was going to die, but I had absolutely no idea what I’d be facing in this book.

Camp Jupiter

I’m just gonna flat out say it; I was never really all that interested in Camp Jupiter in the beginning. I didn’t like the majority of the characters (aside from Dakota who is my legal son) and the camp structure (though accurate to the Romans) seemed too strict and harsh to me. The ranking systems confused me, and it all in all just did not appeal to me the way Camp Half-Blood does. However, the more I read, the more attached I grew, and although I still MUCH prefer Camp Half-Blood and would choose it in a heartbeat when choosing between the two camps, it still became an interesting place to read about. I ADORE the idea of New Rome and the sharp contrast of silly demigods like the fifth cohort vs. the strict rules and upbringing of the camp.

When Jason died in The Burning Maze and the next book was set to take place surrounding Camp Jupiter, I grew excited. I REALLY wanted to meet more of the demigods of the Roman camp and explore them more (mostly Dakota but I digress.) Although I knew reading about everyone’s reactions to Jason’s death would be hard, I fought through it and was somewhat surprised by the lack of grieving that was presented. I mean, the ENTIRE first few chapters were ALL about Jason’s coffin and Lester and Meg grieving and trying their best to get it to camp but when it actually got there there really wasn’t that much of an uproar. At first I thought that was strange but looking back at it the Romans are brought up to be strong and not let emotions take over them, and people like Hazel have to show absolute strength. Besides the camp was already in mourning over DOZENS of other campers at the time.

That was another thing that sort of bugged me. I was absolutely ITCHING to meet some new characters and granted I got a few, but the majority of the ‘newer’ characters had already been killed and served only as the undead army.

THAT WAS SO FUCKED UP. It was one thing that I think Rick did a really good job with in upping the deep and darkness of the Riordanverse series. Can you imagine fighting your undead comrades and friends?? Like holy shit, that was emotional. I was super worried I spoiled something for myself on Istagram bc I read a post someone made about Jason trying to get the undead Romans to follow him instead or direct them away from camp, but I should have known it wasn’t true since he was literally burned.

Frank

Speaking of burning, I ACTUALLY thought Rick killed Frank off. Up until this book, I hadn’t really realized how much I loved this man. His character is just so well-written and likable and when he sacrificed the wood, I was like NOOOOOOOOO. I was SO grateful he came back in the end because I was sure Rick would never hear the end of THAT one if he allowed it to really happen. On the bright side, my baby boy can now enjoy his life with a little bit more vigor and less fear now that the stick is gone for good.

New Characters

Lavinia Asimov: Okay, Lavinia is a REALLLLLLLY weird character to me. She reminds me a lot of Lou Ellen to be honest, but for some reason, she doesn’t appeal to me as much as Lou Ellen does. (Maybe it’s just because I tend to prefer minor characters) Her rebelliousness seemed a little too... forced at times?? And her whole thing with the dryads and fauns was kinda weird too, but I guess since she likes Poison Ivy, it makes sense. However, she kinda did grow on me, I suppose, and I wouldn’t mind seeing more of her.

Poison Ivy: I REALLY wished we could have met her even just once. Lavinia would not shut up about her and was CONSTANTLY rebelling against the rules in camp just to see her, so I wanna know just what kind of a character she is. I’m sure she would have been very interesting and sassy to have been Lavinia’s love interest lol

Pranjal: He’s a good boy!!! Not quite sure how to pronounce his name properly, but his appearance is adorable and I LOVE the fact that he’s a son of Aesculapius because he’s one of my favorite gods soooo... I really wish we could have seen more of him!! He’s kinda like Clovis in the way that he has like one important part, gets mentioned like two times afterwards and then never again :^/

Aristophanes: he’s a cat,,, i love him,,,

Harpocrates: This was SO interesting and out of the blue to me having gone in spoiler free!! He’s earned a new spot up in my favorite gods list because of how interesting and mysterious he is. His concept was great and although i was sad to see him sacrificed, I hope that he and Sibyl are together wherever they are bc that was damn cute and made me so emotional afgkjldg why did Apollo have to be such a dick as a god,,,

New names with little to no info: Carl (Roman demigod,) Reza (Roman demigod,) Reginald (faun,) Felipe (faun,) Harold (faun,) Lotoya (dryad,) Buster (unicorn,) Muffin (unicorn,) Whagadoodle (unicorn,) Shirley (unicorn,) Horatio (unicorn,) One Eye (pegasus,) Small Ears (pegasus,) Boost (pandai,) Ida (Roman demigod,) Caelius (Roman demigod,) Thomas (Roman demigod,) Colum (Roman demigod,) and Terrel (Roman demigod)

Lester/Apollo

MY BOY HAS GROWN!!! He’s so human now, and I’m so proud. He doesn’t even second guess sacrificing himself or humiliating himself to save his friends. I just... I have a lot of feelings over his character development. Rick handles him SO well, and I just,,, I love him,,, i am,,, in love with him,, i would date lester papadopoulos

Meg

She’s grown to be such a doll!! I was SUPER annoyed by her in the first books, but now she’s my daughter. I love that she’s actually expressing emotions other than ‘annoying 12 year old’ now. Like I wanna protect her.

Reyna

She was a pretty good character in this book and her leaving the camp was a HUGE surprise to me. I kinda wish she was still praetor because idk Hazel just doesn’t rlly seem as fit for it as Reyna was, and I like Reyna a lot, but idk i guess it’s coolio. I was also glad Rick cleared up all the romance discourse about her too though the way he did it was kinda weird (she literally was using the word ‘ship’ out loud like wh-- and i don’t remember the venus thing at all so maybe i missed it from a different book? idk it came out of nowhere to me)

Ella and Tyson

I actually like Ella a lot now!! I used to find her quite annoying, and her relationship with Tyson felt forced, but now that I had the time to get used to her and figure out her character a little more, I do like her. She sort of treats Tyson weird, but I think towards the end, I fell for their relationship more. Tyson was literally excellent, show-stopping, breath-taking, amazing,,, like YESSS KING I LOVE YOU AND YOU PEANUT BUTTER-SMELLING SELF (that one scene where he just started dancing and apollo didn’t know if it was for the ritual or just bc he felt like it killed me)

Character Deaths

Dakota: I AM NEVER GOING TO GET OVER THIS ONE FOLKS. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY TIMES I HAD TO REREAD THE SAME SENTENCE TO MAKE SURE THAT I WASN’T HAVING A NIGHTMARE. I PHYSICALLY CANNOT BELIEVE THAT RICK KILLED HIM OFF. I’M STILL EMOTIONAL OVER IT, AND JUST AJSDHF;AMNJ ‘; NOOOOOOOOOOO THIS IS THE SECOND SIBLING POLLUX HAS LOST IM GOING TO S C R E A M HE WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS AND HE DESERVED BETTER DAMN IT I’M LITERALLY IN SHOCK LITERALLY DO NOT TALK TO ME LIKE I’M STILL IN SHOCK FROM CREST’S DEATH IN THE LAST BOOK TBH AND NOW THIS??? NOW I’M SCARED CLOVIS IS GONNA DIE JSDKLFKS the only thing that gives me comfort is that Jason can be with his friend in Elysium now fuckkkk,,, rick why did you do this to me,,, I LITERALLY CANNOT EXPRESS HOW UPSET I AM I WILL N E V E R HEAL

Don: Don was sort of a comic relief character in SoN, and it was very sad to see him go. He reminded me a lot of Grover, and his death scene with Lavinia ACTUALLY made me tear up. THIS BOOK MADE ME SO EMOTIONAL GOD DAKOTA AND DON WERE LITERAL BABIES RICK GIVE THEM BACK

Bobby: listen,,, we never even met this kid rlly and i was still super sad when lavinia had to kill him again and hannibal is without him and just ughhh whyyy

Julia’s mother, father, AND foster parents: HOLY SHIT RICK WASN’T THAT KIND OF OVERKILL??? I felt so bad for the poor girl, especially cause she’s like six??? But it’s very sweet that Terminus adopted her. I really liked that.

Jacob: AAHHHAHA this one made me sad too!!!! he was such a minor character, but he reminded me of Damien White and Ethan Nakamura (if he were allowed to actually be a kid,) so I think that’s why I was sort of partial to him. The way he died was SUPER horrid too, so I just,,, im big sad for him (on a good hand, he went down F I G H T I N G)

Mentions of anything relating to Hypnos or his children

Yes, i am keeping track, sue me. Somnus was mentioned one time in this book as one of the gods Apollo briefly considered summoning to his aid, and it is presumed he has some sort of tribute at Camp Jupiter had he not before. You’ll make another appearance someday Clovis, I know it :’^D

Final Thoughts

I literally CANNOT wait for the next book (which I presume is the last one.) From what it seems, we’re returning to New York, so Camp Half-Blood will be present. I can’t wait to see my babes again, and I’m REALLY hoping more minor characters will be allowed to shine (cough clovis cough) but like i KNOW some will die and just,,, im sad,,, dakota’s death has wrecked me,,, but on the side note, the new book is coming out in my last year of school!!! i’m so excited because this series holds emotional value to me like i’ve literally gone through my high school career with trials of apollo like it was with me the whole time and it’s one of the only things that keeps me going. i just,,, i have no words to express how much this series and all the others mean to me...

thank you so much for keeping me going, uncle rick. i can’t wait to see how this all ends :^) <3

#my post #spoilers #the tyrants tomb #toa #mine #me #clovis-enthusiast

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wisepuma23 · 5 years

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The Butterfly’s Shelter Chapter 3

First Chapter - Previous Chapter

Notes:

puma - okay okay this is late! I know >.< But gosh darn it I made it longer so it’s worth the wait!! And a big round of applause for Tashi to draw two wonderful illustrations for this chapter. And her writing helped <33 So much!! Also, shout out to @my-happy-little-bean and @sher-soc-the-famder for being my betas for this chapter!! Love them. Also, I’m not going to make promises for the next chapter, but I do think it’s gonna be around the end of November. Hopefully! Also, I’m trying out a taglist so let me know if you want to be on it!

Tashi - I had so much fun working on this chapter and doing the illustrations for it! Thank you to the betas and for you followers who have been so patient! Also shout out to Puma cause they're always reminding me when my illustrations are inconsistent to what's in the fic so I can fix them! I appreciate it so much!

Warnings: Language, Minor Injury

Read on AO3

Logan opened his eyes to a wide blue sky. Grass waved in his vision as blurry confusion took hold of him. Where was he? Logan groaned as he sat up, clutching his head. Any knowledge he had slipped through his fingers. He rubbed his eyes as the wind whistled through the yellow grass in all directions.

He was in the middle of nowhere.

Fear clutched his heart as he stood up. Grass stretched to the horizon, no matter how much he spun around, the sight of fields in all directions. This...this wasn’t right! Logan’s mind raced as he took in the idyllic scenery. It was something straight out of one of Roman’s storybooks. But there were no houses. No cars. Nothing but the faint buzz of insects and the flowers.

‘Where...where was home?’

I want to go home.

Logan stumbled from the wave of homesickness that almost overtook him. This wasn’t home, but where was home? He...he didn’t remember.

God, I can’t be lost.

Logan patted his pockets but he had no phone, no compass, and certainly no money. The sun! Yes, the sun was important.

Logan blinked up at the wide open blue skies again. Birds flew up so high that they were nothing more than black dots. His world tilted as he saw himself from a bird’s eye. Small, unassuming, and a black dot in a yellow field that stretched to infinity. Nausea made his legs weak and with a thud, he fell down to the grass. The wind whipped through his hair as existential dread crawled up his spine and whispered in his ear.

You’re inconsequential.

Tiny in the grand design.

How can you ever be a good parent to--

Logan blinked. To who? He racked his brain. A name on the tip of his tongue. A knot of anger twisted in his chest as the name slipped through his fingers. Failed memory retrieval.

Logan pulled on his hair, an old habit from his formative years; pain pain pain. Who?! He almost yanked a fistful out when--

The sky shook.

Logan looked up to see a bright light streaking across the sky. Distant rumbling disturbed the quiet peace of the fields. A star! Logan walked forward as he followed the trails of dust scattered in the atmosphere. In one blink to the next, the sky went dark. Then, thousands of stars lit up the sky; but Logan only had eyes for one.

A star was falling.

Logan broke out into a run. Leaves and twigs broke under his shoes as the wind’s whistling grew louder. The rumbling in his ears marched like a heartbeat. He had to catch it! Logan held out his arms as he chased the star streaking far overhead. Questions wracked his brain as his breaths grew short.

All stars had names.

Logan looked up at the glittering constellations, vainly hoping to see an empty spot; was it Sirius? A or B? Canopus, Vega, Rigel?

‘No’, his gut answered, ‘that isn’t his name’. Polaris, Pollux, or even Alpha Centauri?

No, no, what was his name?! Think, think, think!! Remember.

The tip of his tongue burned with the word! If only he could find the empty space it left behind. Yet all the stars in Orion’s Belt, both Ursas, and in the Zodiacs were still there, offering him no clues to the star’s identity.

A wolf’s cry split the night. Invisible teeth nipped at his heels as the grass rustled with more wolves. The star grew brighter until it outshone all the others as it careened down further to the horizon in front of him. A hill rose up in the distance. Logan ran but he couldn’t outrun the wolves. They licked their chops as they stared up at the falling star.

No, no, he’s mine.

Logan snarled as he pushed ahead. Run, run, run! His thoughts were racing faster than him; if he jumped from the hill, he could catch him. Before wolves could ensnare the little celestial in their wide smiles and bury him in a place where no star could shine.

The hill rose up before him; so close! He outstretched his hands upwards.

Suddenly, he felt teeth tearing into his shins. He let out a scream as he crumpled to the ground. Jagged rocks bit into his arms as his shins burned with sparks.

Logan craned his head upwards towards the glittering star, the light refracting in his broken glasses. A heavy breath panted down the back of his neck. A stench of animal permeated the air as saliva dripped down his collar.

Logan raised a shaking hand up to the star as three wolves rushed past him. There was no time. Run, run, run away!

“Virgil!” Logan screamed before sharp teeth clamped around his throat.

His eyes snapped open as he clutched his throat. Confusion roiled through his mind as he felt smooth skin under his fingers instead.

A nightmare…

Logan drew in a shuddering breath as he leaned forward on the couch as he rubbed his temple. He’d never had one so vivid before. Logan didn’t take much stock in dreams; they were nothing more than hogwash and subconscious mutterings.

Logan took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He breathed in through his nose until his chest loosened.

The sound of the floorboards creaking echoed in his ears, and his head snapped up at the sound.

Standing in front of him was his sheepish best friend, frozen in place. His sunglasses almost slipping off his nose.

Logan glanced up at the clock; was it really Thursday already? Logan shook his head as Nate came closer and handed him a piping hot cup of green tea.

“How long have you been waiting?” Logan said as he took the cup. “I didn’t mean to sleep in so late.”

“.....Ten minutes,” Nate said, looking over his sunglasses with soulful brown eyes. “And you look like hell for a guy who slept till noon.”

“Five hours,” Logan murmured to himself. “A new record…”

Nate’s eyes narrowed as he pushed his sunglasses over his head.

“Please tell me you aren’t sleeping less than the recommended six to eight hours of sleep. Insomnia can be fatal.”

Logan quirked a smile.

“Perhaps in your shows, but you know I don’t have a history of chronic insomnia. It’s a rare disorder after all,” Logan took a sip of his tea, his shoulders relaxing as it settled in his stomach. “Virgil is the cause, and the only treatment is time. I’ll be fine.”

Nate raised an eyebrow at him.

Logan let out an exhausted exhale as he held his teacup tighter. Scrutiny always made his skin itch and led to him feeling a few sizes too small.

He pushed the memory of his father’s disappointed glare out of his mind. Nate wasn’t his father. Even if his observance skills were off the charts, his eyes held more kindness than his parents ever did. They weren’t awful by any stretch of the imagination, but they weren’t paradigms of greatness either.

“So, Daddio–” Logan snapped out of his thoughts as Nate sat next to him with a soft smile– “when will I see my godson, huh?”

Logan coughed on his gulp of scalding tea. “Oh, excuse me. Yes, we can go see him. His name is Virgil.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nate said as he helped Logan up from the couch. “You don’t shut up about him. His name was the first thing you said to me two days ago and it took you five minutes to stop gushing to tell me who Virgil was. Also you send blurry pictures of your son at 3 AM. And at 9 am. And at--”

Logan adjusted his half-made tie. “I may have gone overboard. Apologies.”

Nate threw off his leather coat onto a table to reveal a loose muscle shirt with dog tags clinking around his perpetually tanned neck. He waved away Logan’s apology like he never minded it at all in the first place. Logan pushed opened Virgil’s bedroom door a crack and then held up a finger to Nate. Quiet.

Logan padded over to Virgil’s bassinet and the exhaustion in his bones ebbed at the peaceful expression on Virgil’s face. His hair stuck up in all directions like a dark halo. His little fingers twitching in his sleep and the tiny little puffs from his tiny lungs paff paff paff in perfect rhythm...

Logan gently picked him up and almost sighed in relief that he hadn’t woken up. Nate watched him with wide eyes as Logan walked over to him.

“Here,” Logan whispered, and held back a laugh of dark amusement at Nate’s sudden anxiety. “Support his head with the crook of your arm and hold him close.”

“Okay, oKAY!” Nate said as he held Virgil in the crook of his defined arms. “Shit, I didn’t mean to be loud. Sorry, I should stop cursing around a baby. He’s just so fudging cute.”

Logan smirked. “Fuck.”

He muffled his laugh at Nate’s face.

“He won’t talk so soon,” he added, almost reassuringly.

“I don’t know,” Nate whispered as he ran a finger over Virgil’s face. “He’ll be as smart as his daddy. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he talks early.”

The tips of Logan’s ears burned at the praise, "We aren't biologically related."

Nate turned around with a smirk. "Like biological parents make any sort of difference. How they raise you– that makes a difference."

Logan held out his arms to take Virgil again, and Nate readily set Virgil back into Logan's waiting arms once more. Virgil sniffled in his sleep. Logan let out a breath, thankful that Virgil hadn't woken up. Logan set Virgil back onto his bassinet and pushed aside his wispy hair to kiss his head.

"Sweet dreams, son."

Virgil gurgled out a sleepy giggle.

These two minutes of pure bliss made up for the rest of the day's hard work of cleaning, changing, and feeding Virgil. Having a baby was no easy task. There were no allocated break times and sleep was inconsistent at best. Logan ran a hand through his greasy hair as he gestured to Nate to leave. Logan left the bedroom door open a crack in case Virgil cried. Even if he had the baby monitor, Logan preferred to be cautious.

Logan crossed his arms as they came to a stop. Nate rested a hand on Logan's arm, gentle and heartfelt. He looked away from Nate's all too piercing eyes. His best friend's remarkable intellect is how they became friends in the first place. However, it made him too perceptive when it came to things like this.

Nate knew Logan was in love before he even knew himself.

"Something is bothering you," Nate said, not even phrased as a question in the slightest of ways. "Spit it out."

Logan shifted in place and then craned upwards to meet Nate's eyes. He rubbed his neck as he sighed. No use dragging it out.

"I had a nightmare," Logan explained. "But it was nothing. Dreams are nonsensical mutterings and it would bore you and--"

"Logan."

Logan huffed out a breath, "Fine."

Nate guided Logan to the couch as Logan told him everything. Nate winced as his dear friend described the teeth at the end. Logan rubbed his arms; he didn't believe in hidden messages in dreams, but Nate had a way of interpreting them into meaningful advice. But it always started with…

"Did you drink water today?" Nate asked with one arm on the back of the couch.

"...No."

"And you haven't been sleeping right," Nate tsked. "Babe, you need to eat and sleep right. Wait, when was the last time you ate?"

"...I can’t remember."

"Sonova--" Nate clasped his hands in front of his face and then dropped it. "LOGAN!" He pulled out a lollipop from a pocket and popped it into Logan's mouth.

"Suck on this. It's cherry, your favorite, and I'll whip up some breakfast."

Logan's eyes widened then took the lollipop out to say. "It's noon."

Nate pushed his wrist to put the lollipop back in. "Time isn't real. But your bad eating habits are."

The sweet flavor of chemical cherry burst on his tongue. Logan sucked on it and immediately his hunger pangs ebbed away. It wouldn't be enough, but judging by Nate's march to the kitchen, he knew that he wouldn't need to wait much longer for real food.

A soft smile grew despite his own attempt to stamp it down. No one told him a side effect of having a son would be smiling much more.

His own mother certainly didn't exhibit the same symptoms.

Logan's smile disappeared. So much for smiling more.

Nate came back with a platter of buttered toast and milk. Logan took the tray with a grateful nod.

"Stress," Nate said as he took a bite from Logan's toast. "That's what your dream meant."

"But what about--"

"It's stress, baby!"

"The wolves---"

Nate shook his head with a cocky grin. "Stress wolves. Come on, when I ever been wrong?"

Logan shook his head, "You need to work on your cockiness."

"And you with your pride."

"Touche." Logan conceded with a nod. He took a bite of his toast, slathered with a heavy helping of Crofters jam, and the taste possessed him. Logan dug into his breakfast like a madman. One bite after another until nothing left but crumbs littered his plate. Nate laughed at the sticky jam around Logan’s face. He raised a napkin and wiped the jam off as Logan grumbled at his manhandling.

“Mmmph!” Logan glared at him, “You need to know the definition of boundaries. I am not an infant.”

Nate laughed a hearty sound from the depths of his stomach, and pulled Logan in for a hug, despite Logan’s incessant squirming. Logan giggled out protests as Nate’s strong arms encircled him; unfortunately, there was nothing to stop Nate’s affections. Logan laid breathless on Nate’s chest as he let a fuzzy feeling overtake him.

He’s never felt happier with a son sleeping in another room, his best friend hugging the daylights out of him, and as he snuggled deeper, the dread of Playdate Saturday faded away.

Logan sat in the driveway, fiddling with the keys, unable to turn them in the ignition. Virgil gurgled around a blue pacifier as he kicked in his car seat. Logan wondered what dreams went through his son's head. No, incorrect, dreams were illogical and nonsensical. However, he did wonder if Virgil had nightmares. Logan's insides froze, what if he had nightmares from the fire?

Logan shook his head, no; he spent every waking moment with him and he would've noticed if Virgil had distressing dreams. And he couldn't escape the feeling that his worry over this simple detail was nothing more than a distraction from what truly ate him up.

Patton's bakery was only a ten-minute drive at the edges of the market district. Yet Logan sat in his car and waited for any burst of courage to go face his best friend.

He watched his fingers glide along the wheel of the car, hyper-focused on the grounding texture. Logan bit back a sigh of frustration at his own cowardice. He knew Patton; he knew his kind smile, his eagerness, his excitability, and his deeply soulful eyes. He knew Patton like his own mind. Perhaps it was those very eyes he feared. Seeing his deep and bright blue eyes staring at him with, what? Shock? Confusion? Anger?

Patton’s kindness swelled from him with no end and tended to be very open-minded. He never hurt a soul in his life. So why did Logan’s palms sweat at the idea of telling him about Virgil? He could just get them both back into the house and call him first but what would he even say?

Why did this have to be so hard?

Then again, Logan did miss seeing Roman and his toothy grin. The kid was adorable too. However, the cardboard sword Roman made himself less so. He carried it everywhere, even to kindergarten, and Logan suffered many 'defeats' at the end of it. Five years of existence had done nothing to extinguish his bundle of energy. Perhaps in ten years, Roman would be less... dramatic.

The click of his seatbelt surprised him; he hadn't even realized that while lost in thoughts, the ice in his bones disappeared.

Logan looked up in the rearview mirror one last time to see Virgil properly strapped in. He looked far too tiny in the red car seat. The belts were fine but were they? Logan's fingers thrummed the wheel and with an exasperated sigh he clicked off his seatbelt again. He turned around and leaned into the backseat to check Virgil's straps for what must have been the umpteenth time. Luck favored the cautious after all.

Logan smiled at the outfit he had picked out for Virgil. It was a striped white and green onesie with a hoodie with two horns sewn on it. Daddy's Little Monster was written across it in a dark cursive script. There weren't many choices in the clearance aisle, but most were for upcoming holidays such as Halloween. Objectively, Logan had to say it looked cute on him. Positively adorable.

Logan pulled on the straps and breathed out as it didn't give. Good. That was good… Logan kissed Virgil's forehead and then settled himself back in the front. He clicked his belt back on. Now to turn the ignition on.

Now, to turn it on.

His thoughts drifted back to the memory of Roman's bright grin as he made grabby hands for Logan to pick him up.

The engine growled to life. Logan winced at the sound and resisted the urge to turn it back off. It would damage the ignition over time if he frivolously turned it off and on to his every nervous whim. Logan changed gears and reversed out of his parking spot. He pulled out of the parking lot and well on his way to Patton’s bakery.

Ten minutes later, Logan pulled into the parking lot of Patton’s bakery. Bright pink and blue umbrellas glowed against the backdrop of the grey sky. Logan turned the knob down to quiet the weather report on how it’d rain tomorrow. And the day after that. Logan turned the ignition off and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding at the sudden silence.

Logan looked up at the neon shine of a pink cupcake with rainbow sprinkles adorned over the bakery. Milena’s Treats, it read in purple cursive below. Pink light spilled onto the dash of his car from the sign, soft rays catching on the bumps of his knuckles. A corner of his lip curled at the sight, if it were any brighter, Logan wouldn’t be surprised if the ungodly glow could be seen from space.

Logan craned his head over his shoulder to glance at Virgil one last time. He hadn’t woken up yet. He looked down at the car clock, three in the afternoon, a time when Virgil commonly fell asleep. His old routine had gone up in flames, and died screaming, so it stood to reason to create a new one around Virgil’s. He found that he didn’t mind the thought at all.

“We’re going to go see your...uncle,” Logan said as he unclicked his belt, “I’m sure you’ll love him. All the kids do, or at least, more than me.”

Logan stepped out of his car with a brown tote bag on one shoulder full of the usual supplies. He shut the door with a gentle click. Then opened the door to the back and picked up Virgil gingerly from his car seat and into his arms. Virgil’s little hands twitched against his dark purple sweater vest and his pacifier cool against his collarbone. Unable to resist, he pulled the hoodie up over Virgil’s head against the slight chill of the fall day.

Logan locked the door with a jingle of his keys. Once. Twice. Then three times to ensure the memory of his car being locked secured in his head. Logan rubbed Virgil’s back in circles as he walked toward the bakery doors. He stopped dead as he saw himself reflected in the windows. God, what even was his hair?

Logan wore a rumpled white dress shirt under his vest and he had rolled up his sleeves. Better to test milk bottles that way. Dark bags under his eyes was a new permanent fixation, no matter how many times Nate texted him the past week about better sleeping habits. Logan looked down and let out a sigh at the new spot of drool as Virgil slept against his chest. Another shirt to throw in the wash when he got home.

Logan didn’t look his best. A vast understatement on his part, no doubt. It mattered not, Logan needed to introduce Patton to his new son, Virgil Crofters.

A burst of giddiness bloomed at the back of his mind, far more subdued than the first time he held Virgil, but no doubt the shock will settle in eventually.

Surely so.

Logan took in a breath and opened the door. A bell ringed his arrival and the sound was enough for Virgil to grumble in his sleep. He knew babies slept deeply but he hadn’t realized they slept like the dead. He certainly didn’t get that impression when Roman at this age woke at every jolt and jingle and certainly had trouble believing it when Virgil spent half the night crying for Logan to feed him, change him and fetch his dropped pacifier. Logan shook his head, better not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he should count himself lucky he slept for four hours straight today.

The chatter of customers were quiet. Logan came after the lunch rush so he didn’t distract Patton from his job more than necessary. His eyes scanned around the bakery: more empty tables than taken, but no sight of his best friend. Kitchen, then.

Logan drifted to the counter as he rang the bell, “Patton?”

The back of his neck burned with the weight of heavy stares. Babies often garnered attention but he couldn’t help but shift in place. The chatter slipped into furtive whispers.

“Patton?” Logan called out again, “Are you there?”

The kitchen doors whooshed open as Patton walked backward out with his hands full of a fresh batch of sugar cookies. The frosting was an eye-searing orange that Logan squinted at. Patton had a sweet tooth even if it killed him someday. Patton opened the glass counter with his hips and pushed it in under the soft golden lights.

“One second Lolo!” Patton said, his pink tongue sticking out in concentration, “I didn’t realize the Spooky Sugar cookies would sell out so fast.”

“It’s September.”

Patton stood up, his smile wide.

“It’s never too early for Hallowe--whOA!” Patton paused in what he was doing and took off his oven mitts, placing them on the counter. His lips curled into a smile and he leaned over the display case, reaching his hand forward.

“Babysitting today?” Patton cooed. Logan took an instinctive step back from him. Patton glanced up at him, crestfallen, but moved back down to finish the display of cookies in the case. He wiped a few bat-shaped sprinkles off the plate to make it neater and popped them into his mouth, but he turned to pop one of the leftover cookies into a cute little bag and handed it to a woman who had been standing nearby waiting patiently for her order.

“Have a wonderfully spooky day!” Patton called after her and then wiped his hands on his apron and looked back at Logan. His crestfallen expression gone like it was never there. Patton turned to Logan with a smile bright enough that Logan almost believed it was real.

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled lightly, “so Logan, who’s this little fellow here?”

Logan faltered, “Uh, uhm. This is…”

Patton’s smile faded a little as he looked between Virgil and up at Logan, and it struck Logan that he might be perplexed at his continuing hesitation. He reached out a hand over the counter again; Logan leaned back on his heels. Hurt crossed Patton’s features before a new smile stretched over it, not quite reaching his eyes. Guilt and shame twisted Logan's stomach at knots. Here it comes.

He… he never meant to hurt him. Especially for a lie that had lasted for the past two years. Logan swallowed past the thickness in his throat.

“Patton, this….” It was now or never. Logan had to face this reality and Patton deserved to know. If he held back now they'd never truly be friends. He had to do this.

“This–” He let out a steadying breath– “is Virgil Crofters.” Logan didn’t even attempt to hide his smile as he said the words. “I adopted him last Sunday. He’s my son.”

Patton's face grew ashen as his jaw dropped. A strange sort of croaking fell out from his lips. It was a good thing he'd set the trays down already because he looked like he would have dropped them flat on the floor.

Patton shook his head as if he didn't believe it. He came around the counter and sat onto a stool and ran flour-covered hands through his brown curls. Logan grimaced at the action, no doubt he had to wash his hair later after that….

"What?" Patton whispered, and the sound broke Logan's heart with how much hurt there seemed to be beneath it. "Logan, what?"

Logan opened his mouth to try and speak when a loud sniffle broke his train of thought. Awake and sniffling, Virgil dug his face into his collarbone. He seemed to detect the tense atmosphere. Another thing that Logan had observed over their first week together: when frightened, Virgil clung onto him for dear life. Logan bounced him gently and rubbed his back.

"Shush, it's okay," Logan said, his voice neutral and serious in his low drawl, "Daddy is here. I got you."

Virgil blinked up at him with those grey eyes. Logan smiled as Virgil's hoodie fell down from the action. His cheeks looked rosier than the sickly color he first saw. Perhaps Virgil was recovering from Colic faster than he thought? He had read papers, articles, and even doctors’ case files on the illness and it was rare but not impossible. He rather hoped Virgil had a faster recovery than most because he wouldn’t be in constant pain anymore.

"Oh my goodness gracious." Patton had his hands over his mouth. "You aren't pulling my leg."

"Uh, no…?" Logan said, "And why would I pull your leg? What goal does that achieve? Would that not hurt?"

Logan covered Virgil's ears in time to shield Patton's high pitch squeal that made every dog bark in a ten block radius. Patton bounced in place as he threw around a million questions too quick for Logan to process. Virgil looked up at him and Logan rolled his eyes in return. Truly, why did he love this man?

Virgil giggled, a sort of laugh that tinkled like bells and was as light as a feather. He couldn't look away from the sight. His son's first laugh; among the thousands of the words in the English language, only one was enough. Wow...

"Oh my gosh!"

The two of them flinched. "Inside voices, Patton."

Logan looked up and he froze at the expression on Patton's face. His eyes sparkled alight as his hands were held up in his patented too cute, I'm going to die pose. If Patton sparkled any brighter, he would outshine his garish sign outside. Logan never felt so much like an exposed wire and wished he wore a tie or even a binder labeled "Taxes". He floundered as he gathered up Virgil closer as a shield.

"CUTE CUTE CUTE!!!" Patton hopped around Logan; he already had his phone out and the shutter went off every second. "God, Virgil is such a cutie pie!! Aren't you?" Patton cooed as he snapped another. "Yes you areeee, yes you are!! So handsome like his father."

Patton looked down at his phone, "Oh wow, you sure he's adopted?"

"What do you mean?"

Patton held up his phone to show him, "Both of you got the same look of utter contempt. Boy, he doesn't like the camera either. Like father like son!" His grinning was terribly insufferable.

Virgil squinted in the photo, his grey eyes held a piercing glare. While Logan squinted in much the same way. He never did like candid photos. Much more stressful than a scheduled photo like for his driver's license. Patton tapped at his phone and within a few moments later, Logan heard a buzz from his back pocket.

He mentally noted to save it as his new lock screen later.

Patton came closer and held out a finger to Virgil, "Awww, he's such a cute little bean!"

Virgil burst into tears and wailed. The customers flinched and some Logan could see were covering their ears. Patton winced and gestured for Logan to come behind the counter and into the kitchens. Logan bounced Virgil and shushed him quietly as they followed Patton inside.

Patton brushed his fingers against the small of Logan's back as he led them to a soft chair at the far back next to a spiral staircase upstairs. The touch burned in its wake. His face heated up as he took the seat with a grateful nod. Patton had a habit of giving Logan heart palpitations without him ever realizing he did so. Curse him.

Virgil wept against Logan's shoulder. "It will be alright, little starlight. Daddy's here," Logan rubbed his back in the hopes he relieved some of his boy's pain, "It's just Patton."

Logan squinted into Virgil's shiny eyes for any cloudiness of pain. Perhaps it was his Colic acting up, even if he's been recovering steadily. Logan bounced him on his knee as he talked to him. Patton went upstairs for a few minutes then came back down with something hidden behind his back.

"Hey there, Virgil." Patton cooed as he kneeled in between Logan's legs, Logan refused to acknowledge it even as he seared the image in his brain for later, "Look what I got you!"

Patton waved a stuffed lion in front of Virgil. The surprise was enough to startle Virgil out of crying. Logan pulled out a tissue from his pocket and wiped Virgil of snot and tears. His son scrunched his face up at the action. He would have to deal with it; cleanliness and hygiene were paramount to healthy living.

Virgil cooed as he reached out to grab the lion. His little fingers outstretched and had total faith in his dad's strong grip to hold him steady. Patton held it out to him as Virgil grabbed an ear of the lion. It promptly fell to the floor and out of his frankly uncoordinated handhold. He glared down at the lion as he pouted at his failure and made audible whimpering noises. If they weren’t careful he might burst into tears again.

"You'll figure it out, kiddo!" Patton beamed as he picked it up again, then looked up at Logan, "Yeah, Cow here used to be Roman's favorite until he learned about dragons and white horses." Patton slipped into one of his more fond smiles, "But you can have him."

"Cow?" Logan said as he took the lion, Virgil's eyes brightened as he grasped for it, "Are you quite sure, Patton? I quite remember Roman throwing a tantrum about him when he was three when it went 'missing'."

"He dragged the poor thing through the mud! I had to wash it!" Patton said, then blushed at his outburst, "All I'm saying is that I know you well enough to know that you might need some toys–" Logan opened his mouth but Patton pushed on– "that are not puzzles."

"It's never too early..." Logan mumbled.

Virgil giggled around his pacifier as Logan shook the lion in front of him. Fascinating. Patton held out his finger again but much more slowly than last time. Logan looked between them and hoped Virgil didn't hate him. Well, hate was a strong word, or if babies were even capable of hatred. Most likely they did but Logan didn't want to test that hypothesis out.

Virgil unsteadily reached out his hand and then gripped Patton's finger. He clung onto Logan's sweater for dear life with the other. Patton's face at that exact moment of acceptance went through several expressions that Logan couldn't describe. His wonderfully blue eyes went wide with surprise then grew shiny with stars. And tears, definitely tears. Logan now didn't feel so ashamed about crying profusely for the past week anymore.

Virgil simply had that effect on people it seemed.

Patton stood up and took off his glasses to look up at the ceiling. He blinked and Logan froze at the quiet sniffle. Patton easily cried, but unfortunately, when he cried, Logan soon followed. This cause and effect phenomenon made it hard for them to watch even remotely sad movies together.

Patton set his glasses back on with a rare expression of fragility. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He couldn’t seem to look up just then and that gnawed at Logan’s heartstrings but it was only fair as Logan couldn't meet his eyes. "I...I had expressed my desires in the past about fatherhood. But you told me to wait for a partner, romantic or not, to raise a child with."

The leaden weight of Patton's gaze shifting to look pointedly at him made his skin burn at the contact. Not in the pleasant yet stomach-flop kind of way. The sort that made him want to fling himself into the sun to repent for his sins. If Logan didn’t know embarrassed guilt before he sure knew it now. Love was funny like that.

Virgil's cooing echoed in his ears but it wasn't enough to drown out his own insecurities.

"Logan, I--"

"I couldn't find a partner, Patton." Logan said as his shoulders slumped, "Haven't you said it yourself once? Love has failed me." Patton flinched. "I don't need to fulfill societal milestones to the letter. I can’t simply wait for the one–" For you – "anymore! I...I need to do whatever in my control to live a happy and fulfilled life. And I simply thought you didn't support me in that endeavor..."

"I'm so sorry!!" Patton cried, and here came the waterworks; damn it all. "I was thinking about myself and how hard it was to raise Roman on my own. I didn't want the same thing to happen to you! Because it was hard Logan, it was really hard and it’s going to be really hard!"

Logan twisted his nose in his best attempt to stem the tears at the back of his throat, "But....you made it seem so easy."

Patton barked out a laugh, "It's not. It's really not..."

Logan huffed out a laugh. "I suppose you were right. I'm sorry too. I should've called you earlier." Logan looked up and finally met Patton's eyes head on as his voice wobbled. "I was a mess. I have no idea what I'm doing, I puked. Several times. Oh god, I never puked before and--"

Patton bent over at the waist and engulfed Logan into a hug, careful so he wouldn’t crush Virgil. Logan dropped Cow in shock. A few moments passed then Logan sank into the touch with a sigh and brought a free hand to grasp at the space between Patton's shoulder blades. His fingers shook like pool noodles in a storm. Patton shushed and rocked them gently. Virgil grumbled below the hug. Logan let out a wet giggle and couldn’t fight a smile off his face at imagining Virgil’s little pout.

The tangled mess of his thoughts and anxieties smoothed out as Patton hummed a lullaby in his ear. Every inch of contact they shared made Logan experience what he called "Heart Pat-pilations" and symptoms he had noted over time often included extensive blushing, processing errors, and a reluctance to let go. Such as now. He clutched Patton's shirt, hoping against hope it would never end.

Just for a few seconds longer. Please.

Patton pulled away, with a cheeky smile, "Hey, you can make it up to me by letting me see this goofball more often, huh?"

Logan released his white-knuckled grip of Patton’s shirt as he raised an eyebrow, "Consider it done."

The emptiness between his fingers from the lack of contact wailed. Logan picked up Cow off the floor again and hoped the stuffed lion would abate the feeling. However, nothing could replace the burning of Patton’s touch. That delectable taste of madness at the edge of his awareness. Tortured love life aside, Virgil seemed to enjoy the appearance of Cow again as his giggles filled the air.

Patton held out his arms with a shy smile. Logan hesitated then let Patton take Virgil from his arms at last. Patton beamed as he rubbed an absent thumb against Virgil's cheek. Logan stood up and clutched the stuffed lion in a death grip against his chest. Virgil tried to grab Patton's glasses but the baker saw it coming a mile already and leaned out of his reach.

Patton moved Virgil to rest in the crook of his arms despite his squirming, "Golly, I've missed Roman when he was this age. Full of wiggles and loud as can be. It's been so long."

"If I recall, both you and your ex-wife–" Patton winced as Logan cleared his throat– "didn't get a wink of sleep and went through living hell for the first year of Roman's life."

Patton leaned down to press his forehead against Virgil, "God, I missed that smell. You don't forget it."

"Patton?"

Patton wrenched his head up, his face beet red with embarrassment. Virgil's pacifier threatened to fall out from how much he giggled. Logan resisted the urge to palm Patton's cheek to feel the heat from his blush as he walked closer. Such a gorgeous flush against his unrequited love's freckles.

"Sorry," Patton said, his blush fading, "It's weird. I know it's weird. You can't just sniff people's babies without permission. No wait, I meant like--"

"Patton." Logan smiled as Patton's babbling came to a stop. "There isn't much I don't understand, and if or when there comes a day where I do, I'm sure I will respect it."

Patton broke out into a sunny smile, "Oh golly, you say the sweetest things! I'm the luckiest man alive to have you as my best friend!"

Logan's smile grew a little sadder. "I feel the same way."

A few beats of silence passed as the two of them shuffled in place. Logan squeezed Cow tighter; the stuffed lion was the same size as his son, but smelled too much like old pizza and spilled hot chocolate stains to be an exact replica of Virgil. Logan buried his face into Cow's head and hoped the ground would swallow him whole. Just end his suffering already.

Logan peeked over Cow to glance at Patton and Virgil. Logan couldn't decipher Patton's expression as he baby-talked down at Virgil. A mix of thoughtfulness and sadness, Logan could tell from the slight pinch at the corner of his eyes.

"What's his story?" Patton said, at last, his voice quiet. "He's so tiny, but why choose him? I don't understand how could anyone could give this little treasure up."

Logan squeezed Cow even tighter as he snarled, "No one did. His family-" He swallowed past the anger at the back of his throat.

"His family died in a fire. But his extended family believed Virgil to be a bad omen and–” He couldn’t help but let out a bitter huff at the word– “ abandoned him at the hospital." Logan took a breath as his voice grew more unsteady. "They...they didn't visit him even once when he could've been dying from the smoke. He could've passed away among strangers, all alone in a room with beeping machinery, scared and crying....”

The thought made Logan’s gut twist like he’d been stabbed and the knife twisted in circles. “But he didn't."

Logan looked up and balked at the sheer fire alit behind Patton's eyes. He wondered whether Patton still kept his shotgun hidden under the counter. He never had bullets since he never actually wanted to hurt anyone, but at this moment, Logan wouldn't be surprised if he did. Patton looked ready to march out and punch Virgil's old family's lights out.

Logan cleared his throat.

"As for why I chose him? Because he needed me. As simple as that." He brushed a hand over Virgil's head, "He was so small and he was the only one in that room that was going to be looked over because he was sick." His heart squeezed with a sting of pain. "How could I say no to eyes this big?”

Patton’s fire softened into embers. “...You’re a good man, Lo. And I think you made the right choice.”

Logan looked up into Patton’s eyes, that wonderful shade of blue that haunted his dreams. He...he said he made the right choice. Logan preened at the praise as the top of his ears burned. Logan’s palms grew sweaty against Cow’s knotted fur. Patton’s approval made his heart soar. His worries were for naught.

“Ah, that is ki-kind of you to say.” Logan started to say, his voice faltering in this rare moment between them, Patton’s soft look tangling his tongue. Then a loud slam echoed from the bakery. Patton looked away, their tender moment lost to life’s innumerable surprises, and his heart shriveled a little more.

“Daaaadd!!!” a voice shrieked, “You were late! I had to walk home!”

Patton glanced up at the clock. “Oh, shoot! I had to be there to walk Roman home five minutes ago. I better go see him.”

Logan gestured to the door, after you; Patton stuck out his tongue. Virgil’s little grey eyes shone with ire as they made their way back out to the front. Logan held the door open for Patton and they were greeted by the sight of Roman pressing his face against the glass of Patton’s display counter. Patton cleared his throat. Roman shot up and leveled a glare at his father as he crossed his arms petulantly. Logan set Cow aside on the counter.

“Where were you?!” Roman stomped his foot, his little Mickey Mouse backpack jingled on his back, “I can’t believe you forgot me!”

Logan pushed past Patton and kneeled down to Roman’s level and put his hands on Roman’s shoulder. “Did you walk home, Roman? You’re far too young to be doing that.”

Patton adjusted Virgil to lay against his chest to put a hand on his hip. “Who let you walk away? You should’ve waited for me.”

Roman glared up at Patton with tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. “You should’ve been there!”

“Roman,” Logan said sharply. “It’s far too dangerous for a child your age to be walking alone in the city. Next time wait patiently until your father picks you up.” Roman pouted and kicked his feet. “Even if he’s only a block away.”

A hand landed on Logan’s shoulder, “I’m his dad, but thank you.”

Logan jolted and then stood up.

“Excuse me, you’re right: it isn’t my place, I am sorry.” He let Patton walk past him as he rubbed his arms. Patton was more of a father than he could ever be, no matter how many books he read.

“Roman, it’s okay,” --It’s not, “Tell me who was the teacher on watch? You’re not in trouble.”

Logan raised an eyebrow but kept silent.

Roman rolled his eyes, “Mr. Trumpbull was. He sucked on a weird lollipop that glowed and smelled funny. Like winter. But bitter and gross.” Roman scrunched up his nose, “Didn’t like it so I walked home.”

Patton bounced Virgil gently as he ran a hand through Roman’s curls. “Well, I’m glad you made it home safely. I’ll call the school and see what I can do about it.”

Roman’s eyes sparkled. “You’re glad I walked home?!”

“Uh, no,” Logan said, his voice cold as ice. “You need to move schools, that teacher is incompetent and exposing children to secondhand smoke. Not only that–” Logan adjusted his glasses– “no one should’ve let you walk away at all. You could’ve been kidnapped or worse.” He squinted down at Roman over his glasses, “So incorrect, I personally am not glad you walked alone home.”

Roman let out a frustrated yell, “What! Dad, tell him he’s wrong!”

Patton coughed uncomfortably.

“Well, he’s right, kiddo. Even if I could have phrased it better.” Logan’s fuzzy feeling of pride drained away, Patton didn’t approve of his methods or his words. “But it was dangerous what you did. Go grab a cookie, okay?”

“A cookie?” Logan said aghast at Patton’s coddling, but then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Very well.”

It wasn’t Logan’s place to do or say anything more. Patton’s glare over his glasses shut him up on the matter anyhow. Just because Logan was a father now too didn’t give him the right to chide Roman. Logan knew that. He shouldn’t have spoken up at all, but he couldn’t help speaking up on an important matter such as Roman’s safety.

However, Patton did spoil Roman far too much. It made the boy grow up into bit of a brat if he said so himself. Roman’s face lit up and opened up the counter to pluck up a Spooky Surprise cookie and bit into it. Black crumbs fell to the floor unceremoniously as Roman groaned at the sheer amount of sugar. Logan’s mouth twitched with a smile while Patton looked at his son with open fondness at Roman’s unabashed love for his dad’s cookies.

Roman turned around and finally zeroed in on Virgil. “What is that?"

“Oh! This is Virgil,” Patton said as Virgil gurgled, “He’s Logan’s son, so say hello to him! He’s just the cutest little thing ever.”

“Ew.” Roman wrinkled his nose as he looked up at Virgil in Patton’s arms, “Why do you have it?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “Are you asking why I have Virgil? I adopted him.”

“Oh…” Roman took a bite out of his cookie thoughtfully, “When do you give him back? I know Ms. Applebee gave her hamster back after a few weeks.”

Patton giggled, “No, kiddo. This kind of adoption is forever I think.”

“It is forever.” Logan said firmly, no hint of hesitance in his voice.

“Do you want to hold him, Roman?” Patton said, “Oh, I almost forgot to ask, Logan, how old is he?”

“Three and a half months old,” Logan said, then picked up Roman as he squealed. “Up you go.” Logan set Roman on top of a stool and fought back a smile at the resulting giggles from the kindergartner, “Be very careful when holding Virgil, okay?”

Roman crossed his arms, “Okay, okay. I will, Lo! Geez, I’m not a baby.”

Patton walked over and bounced Virgil to soothe him. Logan’s hands twitched to take him back, but Patton was the more experienced father here. He had to concede to him. Logan instead focused on coaching Roman on how to hold Virgil properly. Within a few heartstopping moments, Virgil settled into Roman’s arms.

Virgil squirmed as he sniffled, Roman stuck out his tongue at him. “Are all babies this gross? Why is he crying?”

“He has Colic,” Logan said, both adults kneeling close to Roman in case anything were to go wrong, “It means his tummy is sensitive and he can be in great pain sometimes.”

“Aw, poor little guy.” Patton frowned.

Roman’s fingers were sticky with crumbs and frosting, staining his cute little onesie. Logan wished he had the foresight to wipe Roman’s fingers ahead of time. Then grimaced as he remembered how infectious playgrounds could be, he hoped Roman didn’t catch anything. Roman looked between the two of them, wheels turning behind his beautiful green eyes, then shouted, “Are you even looking at me?”

“What? Of course, sweetheart.” Patton said, but he kept glancing down at the squirming baby, “Virgil is just so small. Gah, he’s so adorable…”

"He is," Logan said, brushing a finger down his cheek. "I can hardly look away."

Roman huffed, "Is this why you haven't seen me in like fifty years?"

Patton and Logan glanced at each other. Virgil kicked his feet and squirmed in Roman's arms but Roman held him steadfast and true. Patton raised an eyebrow, Logan's shoulders dropped in response, fine, he needed to tell the truth.

"It’s only been two weeks. And yes, I had to baby proof my apartment. I wanted it to be a surprise," Logan said, "Which meant I had to decline our usual game nights at my place and visit county offices in my free time instead of coming here."

"Well, it was certainly a surprise," Patton muttered under his breath, "Hold his head a little higher, yes, that's it."

Logan couldn't read Roman's expression as he whispered, "So...you picked him over me?"

"Kiddo!"

"Preparing for an arrival of a baby takes extensive work and perhaps I should've warned ahead of time." Logan cleared his throat while Roman stared down at the baby in his arms. "Virgil will require a lot of my attention to make sure he's happy and cared for. And he'll come to our game nights too, regardless."

"What?!" Roman shouted, "But that's our thing! Not Vergil's!"

"Virgil."

"Whatever!" Roman's eyes shone, Logan bit back a sigh, children's emotions were so incredibly volatile and unpredictable that Logan didn't know what to say in response, "What about my happiness?! Do you even care?! You love this ugly little thing more than me!!" Then quieter, "Am I not good enough?"

"Roman," Patton cut in, "We talked about this. Sometimes Uncle Lolo might be busy but it's not because of you. Okay?"

"Yes, your father is right," Logan said, "Virgil is harmless. He doesn't have any teeth nor any capacity to replace you. I love him and I love you. Very much."

Roman glared down at Virgil, his jade eyes full of fire. Virgil kicked his feet and squealed in Roman’s arms. Then his cute little blue pacifier fell out his mouth. Oh no, that wouldn’t do! Logan dropped his eyes down to the floor and looked for it. It rolled under the chair. He reached a hand to grab it when Patton’s hand bumped against his.

“Oh--”

“Apologies--”

Patton pulled his hand back like it been burned. Logan ignored the slight sting of hurt at the action, his friend was simply being courteous. Logan picked up the pacifier gently and looked up at Patton’s soft smile. See? He was just being polite, he told his anxieties. Logan met Patton’s eyes and let a smile escape. Not for the first time he wondered if they could be together in another and more kinder life.

Roman screamed, “Ow! You little jerk!”

Patton’s eyes widened as the two of them realized they hadn’t looked at their sons in all this time. A whole minute unsupervised. They whipped up their heads back up to witness Roman’s index finger in Virgil’s mouth, and it looked like Virgil wasn’t letting go any time soon. Tears sprung at the edge of Roman’s eyes. Meanwhile, Virgil practically glowered.

Ah, it appeared like Logan was right after all. Like always. Babies were capable of hatred then. Logan grimaced, but he hadn’t expected it to be at the expense of Roman. In different circumstances, Logan would’ve laughed.

“Virgil!”--”Roman!!” the fathers said in unison.

Virgil let go of Roman’s finger with a slimy pop. Logan reached out to pick Virgil out of Roman’s arms. Patton brought Roman’s fingers closer to inspect. Both of them knew Virgil was far too young to have any teeth to bite but babies’ jaws were quite strong. Patton let out a sigh at the lack of blood on the tip of Roman’s finger. However, before Logan could carefully extract Virgil away from the unruly kindergartner--

“I’ll show you a real bite!” Roman shouted, then bit down on Virgil’s squirming arm, Virgil shrieked.

��ROMAN ALEXANDER MILENA!” Patton and Logan screeched in horror, then Roman released Virgil’s arm in shock. Virgil sobbed as blood welled up from two dark lines of teeth marks on his pink arm. He wailed, pain clouding his grey eyes, and his two small fists hit Roman’s stomach in his flailing. Roman held him tighter to stop him from falling onto the tiles below but it only made Virgil scream to such unholy pitches that the windows rattled.

“Roman, you are in so much trouble!” Patton said sternly, “Give him back to Logan,” Roman hesitated, “Now!”

Logan’s ears rang as he picked up his screaming son from Roman’s uncouth hold.

Blood. Roman bit down hard enough to make his son bleed. Virgil’s red face of total anger and fright already filed away for nightmare fuel for the next few weeks. Logan shushed him as Virgil clung to his sweater for dear life. Logan rubbed Virgil’s back and hoped against hope that his son’s Colic wouldn’t act up at the same time. Stomach pain and a laceration for a baby must be like absolute torture for him.

“What were you thinking?” Patton said aghast, “You can’t just bite a baby!”

Roman broke out into sobs; he never dealt with scoldings well. Patton never did it often enough since he preferred to give him cookies and make him feel all better. He wanted to see his son smile more often than cry. Logan picked up some tissues from the counter and cleaned up Virgil’s wound of Roman’s spit. Meanwhile, his own shoulder grew wet with snot and tears so much so that Logan considered just throwing the sweater out when he got home.

Patton turned around on his heel to face Logan, his eyes wide.

“Oh my god, Logan I’m so sorry!” Patton said, his voice high and frantic. “Roman, go find the medkit upstairs. It’s under the cabinet, you know where.”

Roman ran away with his jingling backpack growing distant with him. The customers in the bakery whispered among themselves even more. His son’s shrieks and cries made them uncomfortable. Logan abruptly stood up and walked into the back room. Away from the attention and from their stares.

Logan sat back down in the chair next to the stairs. Patton stayed up front to check up customers and to pretend everything was under control. Or more likely, to give Virgil some space to calm down with his Dad. Red and blotchy, his son’s face looked like a tomato, and his shrieks made Logan’s ears ring. Logan couldn’t help but feel like an absolute failure.

If only he wasn’t a lovesick fool and paid more attention! Why couldn’t he just be more attentive like an actual father should be?

“I’m sorry,” Logan said as he shushed Virgil’s cries and rocked him, “It was my fault. One week in and I already failed you.”

Virgil’s cries softened, not so shrill anymore, but he didn’t look like the giggly carefree baby from earlier either. Logan bounced him on his lap and talked to him. He was halfway through his rant about Galileo’s unfair treatment by the Church when Patton came to check on them. Virgil sniffled and his little lungs shuddered but his eyes fluttered with exhaustion. Almost lulled to sleep by Logan’s passionate lecture.

“I found it!” Roman shouted in triumph as he tettertottered down the spiral stairs with a medkit in hand, “I thought it was in the other cabinets but I found it!”

Patton tousled Roman’s hair and then opened it up. Logan held out Virgil’s arm and Patton bandaged and cleaned it up as gently he could. Best to protect it from any infections and germs. Virgil actively fought sleepiness against Logan’s chest at this point. Logan sighed, he needed to call Dr. Picani when he got home for an emergency appointment tomorrow. Or today. Maybe even a hospital. He didn't know.

“Roman…” Patton said as he pushed his son closer to them, “Now what do you say?”

“I’m sorry.” Roman kicked his feet, “That was really mean of me to do. But Virgil bit me first!” Patton glared, “But I’m still really sorry.”

Logan let out a pained sigh, “You’re forgiven, Roman. But don’t do it again. You understand? He’s incredibly delicate.”

“Sorry.” Roman pouted.

Logan stood up and held his sleeping son against his chest, “I have to get going. I’ll call you later, Patton.”

“Oh, of course!” Patton said, his smile a tad too wide, “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what got into him.” Roman huffed. “But you bet I’m going to have a very long talk with Roman.”

Logan adjusted his tote bag as he walked back out into the bakery. “I’ll see you both next time. It’s just...been a long week.”

He glanced at the forgotten stuffed lion, Cow, left on the counter. Logan slowed to a stop, Patton did offer it to him, but did he really mean it? Patton made the decision for him as he grabbed the lion and stuffed it into Logan’s bag for him. Logan’s bone-deep exhaustion dropped a little bit off his shoulders at the action.

“Hey!” Roman protested, “That’s mine!”

“It’s Virgil’s now,” Patton said, “He needs it, and you hardly ever play with Cow anymore. You have more than enough dragons in your room.”

“But-”

“No buts, Roman. That’s when you get older and you want him to be able to have something nice to play with right?”

“No…” Roman crossed his little arms and huffed but his shoulders sagged as a guilty expression crossed his soft features, “Yeah…. Okay…”

Logan tousled Roman’s curls, “Thank you. And I’ll see you next week, little minotaur.”

“HEY!”

Patton giggled, “Drive home safe!”

Logan waved goodbye and left the bakery without glancing back. He drove through the busy city streets as he went through various scenarios on how that first meeting could’ve gone better, or more commonly, much worse. At a stoplight, Logan dropped his head down to the wheel, his heart nearly stopped in his chest when he heard Virgil’s shriek of pain and fear.

He hoped to never hear it again in his life.

taglist! lemme know if you want to be added or taken off

@poisonedapples @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @k9cat @my-happy-little-bean @sher-soc-the-famder @confinesofpersonalknowledge @mariniacipher @finger-gunsss @peanut0303 @ilylogan @princeanxious @khadij-al-kubra @smokeyrutilequartz @pipapatton @ironwoman359 @celestial-firestorm @virge-of-a-breakdown @jadekitten1 @bunny222 @rosesisupposes @wildhorsewolf @sander-fander-sides @polaroid-pumpkins @teacupfulofstarshine @romanussy @ashrain5 @deafgirl-and-hercoven @moonfang03

#sanders sides #sanders sides fluff #logicality #platonic prinxiety #sanders sides fanfic #tbs #the butterfly's shelter #tashi #myfics

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welcometoyournewhell · 5 years

Text

A New Beginning (Part 1)

(This is written based on the Dot U Voltron series)

(Also 80′s Lance has like three diferent names, I just went with Leandro and slapped McClain at the end. In my last fic with him was Leonardo so.. Yeah.)

Night consumed planet Arus, bringing peace and quiet over the land. The perfect time for unknown meetings to occur and people to sneak about. For the king of Arus, this was the same.

He quietly made his ways down the stairs of the Castle of Lions, a cloak attempting to shield his body. A flash of light caught his eye as he reached the bottom. Quickly taking shelter beneath the stair well a slight noise caught his attention. The light flashed over him as he ducked down. “Sh,” he moved his cloak slightly to calm the hidden bundle of blankets in his arms.

As the light flashed back down the hall, he slowly made his way to the door. “Okay sweetie, we’re almost done with the hard part.” He bounced the lump under his cloak as he thought of a quick plan. The doors were locked, and would probably make too much noise to open.

Even if he got them open there was still the matter of the draw bridge.

He was risking a lot right now. The fate of himself, of his soon to be ex wife, and the planet it’s self. But he needed to do this. Akira Kogane was not a man to be locked away. He was a man of honesty, or morals.

The woman his wife had become practiced neither of those. Allura was once sweet and kind. Yes she liked gossip, she didn’t always think things through, and she did make poor choices. But who didn’t? Well... minus the first one anyway. But the Allura he had just left a note beside was not his anymore.

She was nasty, cruel, and uncaring. She ruled with an iron fist, keeping her husband out of the spot light. Locking him in their bedroom or their daughter’s nursery. He didn’t care too much, it was nice to bond with their daughter as he was the only one of the two that was.

But the last straw had taken place about a week ago. Allura had finished meeting with another planet that she deemed worthy of allying with. Most planets they were already allied with the queen had broke off from, deeming them weak and worthless to her planet. This included her cousin Romelle, and the planet of Pollux.

Akira had been sitting in the nursery when she came up. That should have been his first red flag. She informed him that she had agreed for their daughter to marry one of the King of Charmians sons. He was a brute, a close second to Zarkon. Akira froze. Allura would normally flirt or work some kind of char on the rougher planet leaders, but selling their daughter? Yes this wouldn’t be until she was older, but she was one!

Nanny was directed to raise her to be a wife. Allura didn’t want her to be a child, she was nothing but property. She even tried to conceive a replacement heir the same night. That was the last straw, the love was gone.

The king forced the feelings away.

Quietly picking the lock, he opens the door slowly as to not gain too much attention. Making his way out of the castle he looked down to the lake that surrounded the castle. He could swim, but supporting heavy clothes and baggage wasn’t an option.

“Shit,” he mumbled. No boat, no draw bridge, and there was no turning back. Taking a breath he tried to think. The bag on his shoulder would slow him down, as would the cloak. He could ditch those, but not the baby. “Alright Cassie, let’s see if daddy can get us out of here,” he grumbled as he walked around the area of the building. A ramp caught his attention. What luck!

Wait... why was there a make shift ramp out side the castle? Was someone here to harm his family? It didn’t matter, he had to remind himself. He took off across the long, shaky plank. Towards the end it dipped into the water, but he ran through it. As he ran countless possibilities ran though his mind. If someone was coming to attack them it would make a good cover up for him and Cassandra’s disappearance.

He continued to run until he came across a familiar area. Breathless, and now trying to soothe a wailing infant, he felt as if he was going to faint. A smaller lake that held many dear memories to him was before him. To the east of the water was a small ship, a silhouette leaning against it.

His eyes watered as his heart picked up it’s pace. He began to run once more, his lungs and heart screaming for him to stop. “Akira?” The figure pulled out a blade. The man stopped, the baby still wailing. Pulling back the cloak he looked into the other’s eyes.

Dropping the weapon Leandro rushed forward to collect the infant from her father. “Shh, hey little one it’s okay. Your safe now.” He bounced her slightly as Akira loaded his things onto the ship. The other followed, sitting int the pilots seat. Passing the sleeping infant back to her father he leaned in.

“I missed you.”

#non tickles #leakira #cassandra kogane #oc #80's voltron #fanfiction #sure #leandro #leandro mcclain #akari kogane

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eddiespagheti · 6 years

Note

Hey can you do a fix about Boyle being the Peraltiago fanboy that he is and him maybe interacting with their kid? Or just him being a fanboy would be cool, I just want fanboy Boyle

Thatnight when that baby girl raises her eyes up at her, everything in Amy’s lifelines up. The sight of her in her arms warms her chest and nothing in her lifewill ever compare to this moment of pure bliss. It is a moment pulled out ofthin air, bright and momentous. Like the morning after her wedding, when sheawoke to Jake’s sleeping face and she thought, finally,here it is.

She reads herdaughter’s face like astronomical charts. The slight freckles on her cheeksthat will grow more prominent with time are interconnected by her eyes. Shedraws up Pollux and Castor, Ursula, the Big Dipper, but in her heart she knowsthat the cinnamon color of her daughter’s marks are far more beautiful thanthose shiny asterisms.

She wants to bury herface into the chubby parts of her wrists, wants to compare her chocolate eyesto the dark night. As she gazes down, her daughter’s eyelids droop and then, inher arms, she falls asleep.

She wasn’t planning toget pregnant so quickly after the wedding. She had a life plan and Jakerespected it, respected her. But, how could she ignore his eyes like warm sunson Nikolaj, on Ava, on her new niece. At first, she convinced herself itwas just a bug and took three Advils, went to work and pushed away all thoughtsof late periods out of her mind.

But, the thoughtspersisted, stinging her mind like relentless hornets and she gave in. So, onher lunch break, she went to the pharmacy and bought a test, hiding deep insideher purse. Thirty minutes before her shift ended, she locked herself inthe empty stall.

What proceeded wasthirty minutes of anxious pacing, three almost-puking and four full-fledgedfreak outs. But, she finally built her confidence and took the test.

Jake was waiting forher downstairs when she went down almost an hour later. She waited until theywere in the car before handing the test over to him. Then, his eyes likelighting sparked and burst. Hers quickly followed. Finally, her heart.

They’dbeen married three months then and the thought terrified her. She was barely awife and now, she was going to be a mother. There was no thoughtmore terrifying than that; as her stomachgrew, so did her terror. When she didn’t see her feet anymore, she cried, butnot because of that but because it was all drawing so close.

But, the nine monthsquickly melted by and now, here her baby is whole and wonderful, full and heavyin her arms. Here she was, the smell of her skin molding her heart like softwax.

And here she was, soperfect and calming and not at all what she was expecting.

Because, she isn’tscared, she’s ecstatic. She’s a mother to this tiny human in her arms and she’sso ready to teach her everything she knows. As her little mouth puckers as shesleeps, Amy knows she will never lead her wrong. However, the urge to protecther heightens, the urge to wrap up her heart in a crystalline wrap, lightincense to scare away the demons.

For nothing to evertake any shred of happiness from her daughter.

She doesn’t noticewhen her husband walks in, his tiptoeing walk as he makes his way over to them.

“She’s still asleep?”he asks, settling down beside her. His hand reaches over and grazes the baby’srosy cheeks.

“Mhm.”

“Have you looked atthe list?” he asks, voice still quiet. She wants to laugh, remembering thefamous list.

“Jake, half of themare names of sport cars and the other half are Die Hard characters orlocations.”

“Gwyneth Paltrow namedher daughter after a fruit.”

“Well, yeah, but she’sfamous and we’re not naming our daughter Mazda.”

He sighs and thensmiles at her, her favorite crooked smile, the one that pinches up noseslightly. She wants to kiss him. She settles for squeezing his arm.

“How about Astrid?”

She thinks it over,fingers trailing down to his hand, where he tightly wraps her hand aroundhis.She scours her brain for any Die Hard references with Astrid or any carsnamed like that. All she remembers is old Viking myths referring to Astrid andAstrid, queen of Norway and princess of the Swedes.

With a name likeAstrid, with a heart of stone, daughter of the vikings and queen of Norway, sheshould be protected.

“I like it.”

“Good.” he grins widernow and leans in. “It’s from that show on the History Channel.”

She sighs, sheshould’ve known. Still,she leans into him, bringing their daughter closer.

The door opens with astart and they jump away, Amy hugs Astrid closer to her chest, startled.Astrid’s little eyebrows furrow in her sleep.

But it’s justCharles, with Rosa trailing after him. She should’ve known she wouldn’t be ableto keep him away much longer. She could hardly keep him away during herpregnancy but now there was an actual being that shared half her DNA with Jakeand half with her.

Charles was nevergoing to stay away.

She’s surprised as histiptoeing and but his big grin does not surprise her. The door closes afterRosa, quietly.

“Hi,Charles.” Jake greets, the hand holding hers loosening and rising tostroke the baby’s head. Newly-named Astrid fumbles in her sleep, eyebrowstwisted up together. Amy wonders what she’s dreaming about. Are her dreamsfilled with Amy’s eyes or Jake’s smile?

Perhaps, she’sdreaming of being inside of Amy’s womb, the warmth and the calamity gone forchaos and wide blinking faces over hers. Dreams of how she was thrown intoEarth like a tidal wave throwing her onto the seaside, brine and seaweed stuckto her legs, tangled like entrails.

“Hey.” Rosasays, holding a bouquet of assorted colorful flowers awkwardly in her arms.Charles walks over to the edge of the bed, stares down at Astrid.

“How’s my littleniece?”

“Sleeping.”

“Here. These are yours from everyone.” Rosasays, handing the roses to Jake, who takes them in his arms and sets them nextto the big teddy bear her brother dropped of earlier. Charles’ face is asbrightly lit as a star.

“You want to carryher?” Amy asks, knowing the answer. Charles nods widely. With the help of Jake,they slowly leave her in his arms and his smile grows even wider. Amy knowsthat there’s another person on Earth that will never steer her wrong.

“Wow, I can alreadysee that she takes after you Jake.”

“How?” Rosa asks fromthe edge of the room, arms crossed. “She’s like twelve hours old.”

“She has good hair.”Boyle says grinning widely. Amy rolls her eyes at the slight snub. “And, I’mher uncle, I can kind of read these kind of things.”

“Right.” Amy replies.After a moment of Boyle carrying her, Amy gets antsy for the feel of her in herarms. She quietly squirms on her bed, watching as she lies in Boyle’s arms. Inthe twelve hours of Astrid’s life, she’s spent ten of them in her’s or Jake’sarms. Now, her arms call out for her weight.

Jake notices the lookon her face, the pinch of her brow and the discomfort on her face.

“Here, I think Amyshould hold her.” Jake cuts in, transferring her from Boyle’s arms into hisown. His eyes don’t leave her tiny face as he hands her over to Amy.

“She’s cute.” Rosaadds, slightly surprising Jake. Jake, who nods and clears his throat. She cansee the thinly veiled emotion in Jake’s eyes and she urges to kiss him. She’snever felt so close to him more than she has in this moment.

Amy feels whole againat the touch of her daughter’s blanket touching her arms and she nuzzles hercloser.

“Told you she takesafter Jake.” Boyle sing-songs.

“Have you chosen aname?” Rosa asks.

“Astrid.” Jake says.

“After the Swedishqueen.” Amy adds before Jake adds she’s named after a TV character.

“Cool.” Rosa adds.“Also after that character from that show?”

“Yes.” Jake saysproudly. Amy hides her smile.

Boyle clears histhroat, hands clapping, making Jake jump from his wide-eyed gaze onAstrid.

“Okay, Jake. So nowthat you’ve joined the ‘dad club’ I have some things to teach you…”

Jake nods along asBoyle speaks, his nods not encouraging, eyes glued like magnets to hisdaughter. Astrid awakes then, eyelids drooping open. Amy wants to play thismoment forever, being the first thing her daughter sees, being the one thatholds her in her arms.

In this world filledwith hardship, Amy craves to keep her here, wills her not to grow up and gether heart broken, cry, feel any pain.

Jake drifts away fromBoyle, knowing his daughter to be awake, despite the absence of noise. Boyle’svoice slowly drifts and his eyes soften. Even Rosa draws close, the scowl onher face now slight annoyance with a fleck of emotion.

Two dark heads, Jakeand Amy, crowded together in vast wonderment at their daughter. Two sharedlives, now impacted by this tiny twelve-hour old being. Two souls, intertwining and living within Astrid.

Rosa looks away attheir shared emotion, as if a flashlight was lighted in her face. Even thestars hide in the night sky.

Boyle,however, shakes his head and softly says, “Well, what are you listening tome for? You guys are going to be great parents.”

#sorry i hope you like this!!#sorry i'm horribly late! i'm trying to write again and i'm out for spring break so yay #b99 #brooklyn nine nine #b99 fic #peraltiago #jake peralta #amy santiago #idlewheelposts #peraltiago fic #Anonymous #sabrina answers

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daphnewritings · 3 years

Text

Chapter 10: A Father’s Past

Summary: Draco has too many questions and not enough answers. Also, Theo is a cutie

Warnings: Small joke about wanting to die rather than write a paper (if you’re not into that humor, soz), Lucius Malfoy is a creep

Word Count: 5.2k

- Chapter 9 / Chapter 11 -

The rest of the holiday break passed in slow monotony with Draco organizing and reorganizing his room to fit all his new presents into just the right places. He practiced a bit on his new Nimbus 2000, but it just wasn’t as fun without friends around to join him. He thought more than a few times about walking to Theo’s, but remembered the reception his mother had received when he was younger and he discarded the idea. He contemplated sending a note with Pollux, but didn’t want to know what Theo’s grandmother might do if she found out her grandson had become friends with the Malfoy’s son despite her best efforts, and cast aside that plan as well.

Draco wondered once or twice if he should send a note to Pansy, but he had a feeling that she would rather turn Pollux into a teacup than read about how miserable he was.

And that was the truth, the one thing that Draco could have never foreseen when he had tried so hard to needle Potter about going home for the holidays. After spending nearly every day surrounded by friends and learning fantastic new things in his classes for the last three and a half months at Hogwarts, Draco was bored out of his mind sitting around the Manor with nothing to do but mope around and count down the days until school started again.

There was also the fact that Draco Malfoy was, inexplicably, lonely. He had never truly felt lonely in the Manor before now, but he hadn’t had friends before to miss.

Or rather, any friends that were worth missing.

He hadn’t known what it was like to want to tell someone else how his day was going or to actually want to know how they were in return. He had never wanted to share himself with anyone else before Hogwarts. Being stifled in the Manor day in and day out, with no one but his mother to talk to and his father to drag attention out of made him want to start shattering priceless family heirlooms, regardless of what his father might do. At least it would get some sort of reaction out of Lucius besides the “good morning” and the “good night” he was awarded with every day.

The night before he was to board the Hogwarts Express and return to school, Draco found himself staring at the bust of his great-uncle Brutus in the middle of the art gallery, seriously thinking up a plan to break off his great ugly nose, when he heard a scratching from down the hall. Curious, he followed the noise down the hall to the dark music room where a number of instruments sat under white sheets to protect them from dust. Once upon a time, his mother had forced him to learn how to play the piano that was in the corner and he hadn’t been half bad, but he had also despised every second of it.

She had said it was because he had inherited her father’s long, thin, pianist hands, but Draco had a sneaking suspicion she just wanted to justify the outrageous purchase of the baby grand piano. He supposed he should just be thankful she hadn’t thought he had the hands of a harpist, which was one of the other hulking covered shapes in the room.

The scratching became louder as he weaved his way between the musical instruments interspersed throughout the room to the set of bay windows. Drawing aside the curtains, he looked out into the moon-bleached yard and smiled down at the mid-sized barn owl that was sitting on the ledge. It cocked its head to the side in what could only be interpreted as irritation and flapped its wings as if to emphasize how long it had been waiting for someone to notice it.

Draco unlatched the window and allowed the bird to hop down onto the window seat, not really caring if it got feathers or snow everywhere. He kneeled before it and allowed the owl a few seconds to get acquainted with its surroundings before he untied the small scroll tied to its leg. He’d learned when he was younger not to rush owls when Pollux had nearly bitten the tip of his thumb off when he had been too eager to see what he had brought him.

This owl seemed amiable enough as it simply stuck its leg out after a few seconds, giving Draco easy access to the message tied to its ankle.

Unrolling the message quickly, Draco stepped away from the bird as it started to preen and read:

Dear Draco,

I’ve been thinking about sending you a note with Lucy ever since break started, but when you didn’t send anything, I realized you were probably spending time with your family and didn’t want to get in the way of that. But since we’re down to the last few days of break, I realized it was now or never. When are you heading back to Hogwarts? I hope its tomorrow. I figured we could keep each other company if you want.

Send your reply back with Lucy. She likes to bring me all the mail since I give her extra treats, the fat old bird.

Miss you,

Theo

Draco felt like putting his head through the wall. “I’m such an idiot,” he mumbled to himself as he scanned the room around him for an ink pot and quill. Lucy clicked her beak in seeming agreement and Draco made a face at her before turning to rush out of the room. He made it all of one step and realized that he couldn’t just leave the owl alone. She might leave something more lasting than a few feathers. Huffing his annoyance, he doubled back and coaxed Lucy onto his arm with the promise of owl treats in the near future.

Peeking out into the hall, he slipped silently out of the music room on stockinged feet. Not for the first time in his life, Draco cursed the meandering nature of the halls throughout the house. He could never see what was waiting around the corner, just out of sight. And he could rarely tell when someone was coming up behind him, like-

“Draco? What are you doing?”

Fuck.

Draco slid to a stop, causing Lucy to flap her wings indignantly as he turned around at the sound of his father’s voice. “Uh.” His father just arched one dark brow, shuffling the papers in his hands as he stalked past Draco.

Wondering if it was too late to slide backward into the music room and pretend this hadn’t happened, his father’s slightly irked voice called to him from down the hall, effectively cutting off escape. Seeing no other option but to follow in his father’s wake, he looked to Lucy apologetically, “Sorry, it looks like you’re going to have to wait a bit longer for the treats, old bird.” Lucy cocked her head and blinked at him, clicking her beak at the audacity.

Draco hurried down the hall to walk beside his father, putting on an air of disinterest. “One of my friends just sent an owl. He wanted to know when I would be taking the train back to Hogwarts. I was just trying to find a quill and ink to reply to him.”

“Which friend? Is it Vincent or Gregory?” his father asked absently, still staring down at the page in front of his nose.

Draco felt a tightness wind itself around his chest as he coughed, both to dispel his sudden unease and to give himself time to think. There was no harm, surely, in telling his father that he had become friends with Theo. He had been careful to not mention him thus far to his parents, but that was only because he hadn’t wanted to remind his mother of the incident with Theo’s grandmother. It had nothing to do with what had been hinted at about Theo’s history being somehow tied to his own family’s past at the start of term feast.

Nothing at all.

Draco realized that, for the first time in days, he didn’t want his father’s full undivided attention on him. Not about this. But as his gait started to slow, Draco registered that he still hadn’t replied to his father’s question and he needed to say something, anything, fast. Despite the twisting feeling in his chest about having to give up this secret of his, Draco said quickly, “No, the owl was from Theodore Nott.”

His father slowed to a stop in front of Draco and turned, a half smile in the place of the usual flat, disinterested line of his mouth. “Draco, you made friends with the Nott boy and didn’t mention it earlier?”

“Well, I figured with how the interaction went between mother and his grandmother, it wouldn’t be a friendship that you and mother would approve of.”

“Nonsense!” Lucius proclaimed and Draco couldn’t keep the look of surprise off his face.

“But, father, after mother and I went to the Nott residence I assumed that the discouragement of any sort of relationship was mutual between our two families.”

Lucius chuckled lightly, squeezing Draco’s shoulder as they walked side by side down the hall. “You assumed wrong then, my son. The Nott’s and our family have shared much history together, and that batty old witch only delayed the inevitable connection between you too.”

“History?” Draco croaked. “What history?”

Draco stole a glance up at his father who had a small sort of secret smile playing around his mouth that was there and gone in an instant. “Oh yes, our two families go quite far back.” Once they reached the door that opened into his father’s private office, Lucius pulled out his straight, black wand, already topped with the snake head that went with his cane, and tapped the tip of it against his palm.

Lucius sighed, reminiscent. “It’s too bad that we won’t have more time tomorrow morning for you to tell me all about what you two get up to while at Hogwarts. I remember, when I was at school, Sebastian and I-” he was cut off by the flap of Lucy’s wings again from where she was still perched on Draco’s arm. “Perhaps that is a story for another time,” he hummed, waving his wand wordlessly at the locked door. There was a soft click and the door swung open.

Draco followed right behind him, still mystified at his reaction. When Draco had mentioned Pansy and Blaise a week or so ago when his mother had asked about any new friends he’d made at Hogwarts over breakfast, his father had quickly resumed reading page six of the Daily Prophet. He had shown more interest in what Crabbe and Goyle were up too, something that Draco would never understand, since his stories about Blaise and Pansy had more pizzazz to them, even if he did have to gloss over Theo’s part in them.

Crabbe and Goyle were just, well, Crabbe and Goyle. There wasn’t much too them.

Draco was shaken out of his musings by his father sliding a capped pot of ink and a quill in his direction, and Draco quickly scribbled out a reply on the back of Theo’s note:

Leaving tomorrow as well. See you on the train.

Missed you too,

Draco

Draco quickly retied it to Lucy’s leg, which she had obediently already stuck out for him, and then he brought her over to the window his father had already unlatched for him. Once she had flown over the tall hedges and out of sight, Draco turned back to his father, several questions already dancing on his tongue, but he swallowed them all in favor of looking around the room.

It wasn’t often that he was allowed in here, mainly because his mother insisted that his presence within the room would only distract his father from the work he was doing. What that “work” entailed, Draco had never been able to find out since it wasn’t like his father had a day job or anything. Lucius simply sat in his study, fielding various correspondence all day. Normally it was requests for advice from the Ministry of Magic, but sometimes the letters were marked with addresses all the way from places like Romania. His father would be particularly careful with those ones, burning them before Draco could take a more thorough peak at them.

Draco had usually been relegated to sitting outside in the hall with a book, listening to his father’s pacing or the scratch of his quill through the door. Some days his father had let him in, presumably because he took pity on his son the same way a person would take pity on a stray cat left outside in the rain. On those days, Draco would try his best to be absolutely silent, wincing every time he accidentally crinkled a page of the book he was reading on the leather couch in the corner of the room, afraid his father would kick him out.

Eventually, he had stopped sitting outside in the hall, tired of waiting to be let in.

Surveying the room now, he could see not much had changed. The same thick, ornately threaded rug with its creeping vine design still lay spread across the floor, and the same imposing desk, made of wood so dark it almost appeared black, stood above it all at the front of the room. And there, in the corner, sat the same leather couch he had attempted to build a silent relationship on with his father.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Draco?” his father asked, pulling him out of his thoughts again.

His intended “No, father” got lost somewhere in between his brain and his mouth. Instead, what popped out was, “Why is it such a good thing that I’m friends with Theodore Nott?”

Lucius, who had obviously expected his son to bow out, blinked bemusedly up at him from behind the desk. “I already told you, Draco. Our families have been connected for some time.”

“No, but why? Some of the other students at Hogwarts have said that his family isn’t-”

His father waved this away. “Don’t listen to what others have said. He comes from a good, pureblood family. That in itself should explain my interest in you two being friends.”

“Pansy and Blaise are both purebloods,” he said defensively, “and you didn’t seem nearly as interested in them.” Meanwhile, he was mentally kicking himself for not leaving when he had the chance. Who cared why his father was taking such an interest in a few of his friends over the others? He should just be glad that his father hadn’t forbidden him from continuing his friendship with Theo, which had been one of the fears he had held since his mother first started asking about his friends at Hogwarts, and be done with it.

Questions were usually not a good idea in Malfoy Manor on a good day.

His father seemed to ignore the tone Draco had just indelicately flung at him to think over his answer, pulling on one of the ends of the velvet black ribbon holding his mane of white-blonde hair back from his face so he could run his fingers through it.

Lucius leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. “Among the pureblood families in our world, some are more,” he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “trustworthy. They hold the interests of our kind to a higher regard than…others.”

“What does that mean?”

Lucius smiled at him benevolently, patience starting to run out with this line of questioning. “I’ll explain more when you’re older. But as of right now,” he said with a sigh, standing up and walking around the corner of his desk to clap a hand onto Draco’s thin shoulder, “you’re too young to understand.”

Draco, who wasn’t a complete fool, saw the out for what it was and bowed his head obediently, feeling like he hadn’t gotten the answer he wanted, just more questions. The door swung open soundlessly on its hinges as his father pulled it open, leading Draco out. Lucius patted him on the shoulder, firm, but awkward, and allowed him to take a few steps down the hall before he said, “And, Draco?”

Draco spun quickly around on his heel. “Yes, father?”

Lucius’s lips twisted up at the corners in a smile that held no warmth, “Do not take that tone with me again, do you understand?”

Draco quickly slipped a contrite expression onto his face as he bowed his head once again in obedience. “Of course, father. It won’t happen again.”

“Be sure it doesn’t,” his father said, then closed the door with a snap.

Draco was sorry to acknowledge that he wasn’t an ideal seat mate the next day on the Hogwarts Express. He listened with only half an ear to what Theo was saying about his Christmas and his and his grandparent’s New Year’s celebrations. He was too caught up in trying to decipher what his father had said and how that applied to the little he knew about Theo’s family, and the other pureblood families in general, which he had never given much thought to before since there had never really been a need too. The Malfoy name, in his mind, was the only pureblood name worth caring about.

He was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts, which had progressively been going around and around in even tighter circles by Theo swatting his arm. “Ow, what was that for?” he cried, rubbing the barely sore spot.

“I just asked you no less than three times how your break was,” Theo said indignantly. “I’ve been going on for nearly an hour, did you hear anything I said at all?”

Draco huffed, “Of course I did! How could you even say something like that?” Theo crossed his arms and glared at him, blue eyes turning stormy with annoyance.

“Maybe you’re right,” Draco conceded. “But I promise my distraction has nothing to do with you.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I swear to god, if you’re already thinking about Potter, I’m going to pitch myself off this train.”

“What? Why would I – I’m not thinking about Potter!” Draco cried as Theo threw his hands in the air, already expecting the worst. “My thoughts aren’t always Potter centered, you know. I have thoughts about a lot of other things.”

Theo rolled his eyes with a disbelieving snort, “Right.”

“For your information,” Draco snapped, “I was thinking about something my father said yesterday.”

Theo unconvinced, slumped into the cushions with stubbornly crossed arms and fixed his gaze on the world flashing by out the train window.

“Well, actually, we were talking about you, or rather, your family.”

Theo’s eyes darted away from the window as he sat up straight in his seat. “What about my family?” he asked quietly, drawing his legs up in front of him in a protective wall.

Draco was thrown slightly by his shift in mood and said hurriedly, “It wasn’t anything bad, I promise! My father actually seemed excited that I was friends with you, which was weird for him. Usually he’s not excited by much. He said all this stuff about how you come from a good family, better than some other purebloods he knows apparently.”

The look in Theo’s eyes had once again become skeptical and hard as they met Draco’s. “He really said that?”

“Yeah, come on, I wouldn’t lie to you.” Theo glared at him. “Okay, I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

Theo shrugged and looked away again, out the window at the rolling hills flashing by. “It’s just that most of the time people don’t have a lot of good things to say about my family since my dad did what he did.”

It was quiet in the compartment for a moment, Theo’s eyes bouncing from the window, to Draco, to anything else in the small compartment, and back to the window. Draco was tempted to grab his face and make Theo look him in the eye as he asked in possibly the gentlest voice he’d ever spoken in, “What did your dad do?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories already.”

“Actually, I haven’t. And even if I had,” Draco said, seeing Theo’s whole body immediately tense up, “I would still want to hear your side of it.”

Theo sighed, heavily but looked Draco in the eye nonetheless. “Well, I’m pretty sure that Nan hasn’t told me the whole story-”

“Sounds familiar,” Draco grumbled to himself.

“-but the way she tells it, my dad and my uncle got caught up with some bad people, the same bad people that your father was involved with, and when my uncle tried to leave, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ordered my dad to kill him, and he did.” Theo was coiled tight like a spring, obviously waiting for an inevitable rejection, but Draco just waved him on to continue. “She told me that when the aurors finally caught up with him after You-Know-Who disappeared that he didn’t…play dumb like your dad did, even though your dad was the reason he and my uncle joined in the first place. He didn’t try to ‘weasel his way out of it’, she said. He’s been in Azkaban ever since.”

Draco shivered at the mention of the wizard prison. Historically, it was not a place that was painted in a pleasant light. Theo nodded in abrupt agreement with Draco’s reaction. “Yeah, I’ve been there. Once. On my tenth birthday. My Nan got a special concession from the Ministry to take me to see him, my dad. Everything she’d told me up until that point didn’t fit with what I remembered about him from when I was a baby, y’know? Like, I didn’t have a lot of memories of him, but the ones I did have weren’t bad. I just wanted to make up my own mind about him.” Theo was still curled into himself protectively at this point and Draco couldn’t resist the need to comfort him, even if he didn’t really know how too.

He moved across to sit beside him on the bench seat and they both watched the outside world flash by through the window. “Does that make me a bad person?” Theo mumbled.

“What?”

“That I wanted to see him. Maybe get to know him,” Theo said, his voice faint. “Am I a bad person for wanting those things?”

“I don’t think so,” Draco said mildly after a minute of consideration. “I think it makes you a normal kid who just wanted to know his father.”

Theo smiled gratefully at him and Draco felt his ears get a bit warm at the sight. He was reminded, somehow, of when he’d first seen Theo’s house when he was younger. How warm and loved it had looked. He wondered, briefly, if that had been another reason he hadn’t wanted to share Theo with his parents. Theo was easy smiles and sunshine and soft edges. Draco and his family were decidedly not those things.

He didn’t want that to spread like a stain onto Theo. He wanted them kept separate.

After a while, Theo forcefully disentangled himself as if it were a Herculean feat. He relaxed down into the cushions under him again and flung his arms out to the side, refusing the need to cross them. Draco noted how close their pinkies were to touching. “I still have nightmares about it,” Theo murmured, once again looking out the window.

“About what?”

“The Dementors. Have you ever seen one up? Up close?”

Draco shook his head, watching as Theo’s face screwed up as if he were trying very hard not to think about something, and failing miserably.

“Good, I hope you never do. They’re the stuff of nightmares. They suck the life out of everything around them, including people. Especially people.”

Draco suppressed a chill that tried to spider walk down his spine and cleared his throat, “So what happened? With your dad?”

Theo shrugged. “We never got to him. Where they keep him, with the other Death Eaters that were sent to Azkaban, it was so heavily infested with Dementors that we couldn’t get through. It was like they were…guarding them. Jealously. Like they thought we were going to try to take him away.”

“What’s a Death Eater?”

“It’s what You-Know-Who’s followers called themselves.” Theo’s eyes flashed to him suddenly from the window, “Did your dad really not tell you anything about what happened ten years ago?”

“No,” Draco said, fidgeting uncomfortably now that Theo had turned the tables on him. “We don’t really talk…much. About anything.”

“Oh.”

The two boys were silent for a moment, neither one looking at the other as they both thought of the weight of their wretched family histories, both known and unknown, that rested on their shoulders.

“Well, maybe what your dad said was true, maybe he really was under You-Know-Who’s control. What does my Nan know, really? It’s not like they were bosom buddies,” Theo said hastily, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.

“Yes, of course,” Draco said automatically, eager to leave the subject behind. His father had always been something of an unknown to him, but this? Sure, there had been some less than clandestine conversations in their home about the Dark Lord now that Draco thought about it, but that had just been a normal day around the Manor. He hadn’t known to be suspicious of any of what his father said or did when he didn’t think Draco was listening because it had all just been labeled as “grown-up talk” that he would “understand when he was older”.

And if what Theo said about Lucius’s past had any truth to it, then he may not want to understand. Ever. Because that meant his father had some skeletons in his closet that should remain buried.

“Come on,” Theo said, bumping Draco’s shoulder with his own. “Tell me about your holiday. I bet you got better stuff than me for Christmas.”

So, Draco did. He spent the rest of the train ride to Hogwarts telling Theo all about his Christmas, embellishing a little to make it more warm and cheerful than it was. Draco moved on to bemoaning his boredom after the New Year had come to pass through the entirety of the carriage ride up to the castle, the carriage pulled by some invisible force up the dirt path that cut through the forest. Theo seemed content to listen to him talk, interjecting at the right time with his own thoughts and complaints, which Draco appreciated greatly. It was a return to the normalcy and companionship that he had been craving since he had gotten off the Hogwarts Express all those weeks ago before Christmas.

It wasn’t until they walked through the doors of the Great Hall that Draco was forcefully reminded of the possible implications of his father’s past with the presence of the Boy Who Lived himself. Draco wanted to hex Potter off the face of the planet for it. But after sharing a brief glare between them, Potter went back to talking to his Weasel and Granger and Draco let Theo pull him in the direction of the Slytherin table on the opposite side of the room.

He diligently pretended not to hear Theo’s huff of annoyance.

Once they reached the Slytherin table, they were greeted by none other than Pansy, who greeted them with a withering look. “Where the hell have you two been? It’s been just me and Daphne alone for days.”

“Well, aren’t you just in a delightful mood, Miss Parkinson,” Draco said cheerfully, sitting beside Theo across from her. “What happened? Daphne’s company not up to snuff?”

“Have you two ever been alone with Daphne Greengrass for an extended period of time?” she asked the two boys with a dark look.

“No,” they said as one, noses wrinkling with distaste.

“Then you don’t get to judge me for wanting to glue her lips together. She never stops talking.”

“Why didn’t you try putting her in a Full-Body Bind?” Draco asked airily, starting to pile food on his plate. “You shouldn’t have a problem with her talking after that.”

“A what?”

“You know just,” Draco said as he pulled his wand out and flicked it in Theo’s direction, “Petrificus Totalus!”

Pansy’s mouth dropped open as Theo’s fork fell to his plate with a clatter, his arms springing to his sides and legs snapping together. “How did you just – show me that right now.”

Draco smirked, reveling smugly for a moment in his abilities before he lazily performed the counter spell, releasing Theo’s range of movement. Theo fell forward, wheezing. He looked up at Draco from where he’d braced his hands on the table, glaring as a few of the students around them chuckled. “I’m going to murder you,” Theo snarled.

“Ah Theo, no you won’t. You love me too much!” Draco crowed, wrapping an arm around Theo’s waist and drawing him into his side, planting kisses all over the side of his face.

Theo feebly shoved him off, wiping his face off and muttering under his breath about “suffocate”, “pillow”, and “so easy”. But Draco saw that his cheeks were slightly tinged with pink, and knew that he would survive the night. Turning back to Pansy, he explained the mechanics of the curse and how she needed to flick her wand just right to bind her opponent. He laughed along with everyone else around them when Daphne came in a short while later and Pansy dropped her, stiff as a board, before she even saw it coming.

Draco was especially gratified when Theo snickered into his tart at the sight.

Later that night, when they were both settling into bed, the dormitory to themselves for the evening, Theo sat up suddenly and carefully crossed his legs. Draco popped open one eye to see Theo’s gaze flicking between him and his twisting fingers, obviously trying to find a way to say something.

“If this is where you wait for me to fall asleep so you can kill me, please make it quick. I still haven’t written up that paper for Binns and I would really rather die than do it.”

Theo scoffed, but kept fidgeting.

“O-kay,” Draco said, sitting up, “What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to say,” Theo started, mumbling, still staring down at his lap.

“To my face, Theo,” Draco said, but not unkindly.

Theo cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say that you can talk to me about, y’know. Dad stuff. If you want.”

“Oh.”

“Well, because our dads aren’t…the best. All the time. Or ever. So, I just wanted to let you know that I’m here. If you ever feel like you’re going to blow your top. Or whatever,” Theo rushed, his words petering out.

Draco felt one of the corners of his mouth curl, “Blow my top?”

“Merlin’s beard, I don’t know! Rant, yell, cry, break something, whatever,” Theo said, waving his hands about as if to encompass the range of his bombastic emotions. “I just wanted to say that I’ll listen.”

Draco laughed, soft, “Thanks, I think.”

“Cool.”

There was a minute of silence in which both boys rolled away from each other, facing opposite sides of the room. But Draco couldn’t stop the chortle that climbed out of his throat as he said, again, into the quiet, “Blow my top.”

“Shut up!” Theo cried, chucking one of his pillows at Draco, making Draco laugh harder.

< Chapter 9 / Chapter 11 >

#dm #book one

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25 Real or not real? I am on fire. The balls of flame that erupted from the parachutes shot over the barricades, through the snowy air, and landed in the crowd. I was just turning away when one caught me, ran its tongue up the back of my body, and transformed me into something new. A creature as unquenchable as the sun. A fire mutt knows only a single sensation: agony. No sight, no sound, no feeling except the unrelenting burning of flesh. Perhaps there are periods of unconsciousness, but what can it matter if I can't find refuge in them? I am Cinna's bird, ignited, flying frantically to escape something inescapable. The feathers of flame that grow from my body. Beating my wings only fans the blaze. I consume myself, but to no end. Finally, my wings begin to falter, I lose height, and gravity pulls me into a foamy sea the color of Finnick's eyes. I float on my back, which continues to burn beneath the water, but the agony quiets to pain. When I am adrift and unable to navigate, that's when they come. The dead. The ones I loved fly as birds in the open sky above me. Soaring, weaving, calling to me to join them. I want so badly to follow them, but the seawater saturates my wings, making it impossible to lift them. The ones I hated have taken to the water, horrible scaled things that tear my salty flesh with needle teeth. Biting again and again. Dragging me beneath the surface. The small white bird tinged in pink dives down, buries her claws in my chest, and tries to keep me afloat. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" But the ones I hated are winning, and if she clings to me, she'll be lost as well. "Prim, let go!" And finally she does. Deep in the water, I'm deserted by all. There's only the sound of my breathing, the enormous effort it takes to draw the water in, push it out of my lungs. I want to stop, I try to hold my breath, but the sea forces its way in and out against my will. "Let me die. Let me follow the others," I beg whatever holds me here. There's no response. Trapped for days, years, centuries maybe. Dead, but not allowed to die. Alive, but as good as dead. So alone that anyone, anything no matter how loathsome would be welcome. But when I finally have a visitor, it's sweet. Morphling. Coursing through my veins, easing the pain, lightening my body so that it rises back toward the air and rests again on the foam. Foam. I really am floating on foam. I can feel it beneath the tips of my fingers, cradling parts of my naked body. There's much pain but there's also something like reality. The sandpaper of my throat. The smell of burn medicine from the first arena. The sound of my mother's voice. These things frighten me, and I try to return to the deep to make sense of them. But there's no going back. Gradually, I'm forced to accept who I am. A badly burned girl with no wings. With no fire. And no sister. In the dazzling white Capitol hospital, the doctors work their magic on me. Draping my rawness in new sheets of skin. Coaxing the cells into thinking they are my own. Manipulating my body parts, bending and stretching the limbs to assure a good fit. I hear over and over again how lucky I am. My eyes were spared. Most of my face was spared. My lungs are responding to treatment. I will be as good as new. When my tender skin has toughened enough to withstand the pressure of sheets, more visitors arrive. The morphling opens the door to the dead and alive alike. Haymitch, yellow and unsmiling. Cinna, stitching a new wedding dress. Delly, prattling on about the niceness of people. My father sings all four stanzas of "The Hanging Tree" and reminds me that my mother - who sleeps in a chair between shifts - isn't to know about it. One day I awake to expectations and know I will not be allowed to live in my dreamland. I must take food by mouth. Move my own muscles. Make my way to the bathroom. A brief appearance by President Coin clinches it. "Don't worry," she says. "I've saved him for you." The doctors' puzzlement grows over why I'm unable to speak. Many tests are done, and while there's damage to my vocal cords, it doesn't account for it. Finally, Dr. Aurelius, a head doctor, comes up with the theory that I've become a mental, rather than physical, Avox. That my silence has been brought on by emotional trauma. Although he's presented with a hundred proposed remedies, he tells them to leave me alone. So I don't ask about anyone or anything, but people bring me a steady stream of information. On the war: The Capitol fell the day the parachutes went off, President Coin leads Panem now, and troops have been sent out to put down the small remaining pockets of Capitol resistance. On President Snow: He's being held prisoner, awaiting trial and most certain execution. On my assassination team: Cressida and Pollux have been sent out into the districts to cover the wreckage of the war. Gale, who took two bullets in an escape attempt, is mopping up Peacekeepers in 2. Peeta's still in the burn unit. He made it to the City Circle after all. On my family: My mother buries her grief in her work. Having no work, grief buries me. All that keeps me going is Coin's promise. That I can kill Snow. And when that's done, nothing will be left. Eventually, I'm released from the hospital and given a room in the president's mansion to share with my mother. She's almost never there, taking her meals and sleeping at work. It falls to Haymitch to check on me, make sure I'm eating and using my medicines. It's not an easy job. I take to my old habits from District 13. Wandering unauthorized through the mansion. Into bedrooms and offices, ballrooms and baths. Seeking strange little hiding spaces. A closet of furs. A cabinet in the library. A long-forgotten bathtub in a room of discarded furniture. My places are dim and quiet and impossible to find. I curl up, make myself smaller, try to disappear entirely. Wrapped in silence, I slide my bracelet that reads mentally disoriented around and around my wrist. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. There is no District 12. I am the Mockingjay. I brought down the Capitol. President Snow hates me. He killed my sister. Now I will kill him. And then the Hunger Games will be over.... Periodically, I find myself back in my room, unsure whether I was driven by a need for morphling or if Haymitch ferreted me out. I eat the food, take the medicine, and am required to bathe. It's not the water I mind, but the mirror that reflects my naked fire-mutt body. The skin grafts still retain a newborn-baby pinkness. The skin deemed damaged but salvageable looks red, hot, and melted in places. Patches of my former self gleam white and pale. I'm like a bizarre patchwork quilt of skin. Parts of my hair were singed off completely; the rest has been chopped off at odd lengths. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire. I wouldn't much care except the sight of my body brings back the memory of the pain. And why I was in pain. And what happened just before the pain started. And how I watched my little sister become a human torch. Closing my eyes doesn't help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness. Dr. Aurelius shows up sometimes. I like him because he doesn't say stupid things like how I'm totally safe, or that he knows I can't see it but I'll be happy again one day, or even that things will be better in Panem now. He just asks if I feel like talking, and when I don't answer, he falls asleep in his chair. In fact, I think his visits are largely motivated by his need for a nap. The arrangement works for both of us. The time draws near, although I could not give you exact hours and minutes. President Snow has been tried and found guilty, sentenced to execution. Haymitch tells me, I hear talk of it as I drift past the guards in the hallways. My Mockingjay suit arrives in my room. Also my bow, looking no worse for wear, but no sheath of arrows. Either because they were damaged or more likely because I shouldn't have weapons. I vaguely wonder if I should be preparing for the event in some way, but nothing comes to mind. Late one afternoon, after a long period in a cushioned window seat behind a painted screen, I emerge and turn left instead of right. I find myself in a strange part of the mansion, and immediately lose my bearings. Unlike the area where I'm quartered, there seems to be no one around to ask. I like it, though. Wish I'd found it sooner. It's so quiet, with the thick carpets and heavy tapestries soaking up the sound. Softly lit. Muted colors. Peaceful. Until I smell the roses. I dive behind some curtains, shaking too hard to run, while I await the mutts. Finally, I realize there are no mutts coming. So, what do I smell? Real roses? Could it be that I am near the garden where the evil things grow? As I creep down the hall, the odor becomes overpowering. Perhaps not as strong as the actual mutts, but purer, because it's not competing with sewage and explosives. I turn a corner and find myself staring at two surprised guards. Not Peacekeepers, of course. There are no more Peacekeepers. But not the trim, gray-uniformed soldiers from 13 either. These two, a man and a woman, wear the tattered, thrown-together clothes of actual rebels. Still bandaged and gaunt, they are now keeping watch over the doorway to the roses. When I move to enter, their guns form an X in front of me. "You can't go in, miss," says the man. "Soldier," the woman corrects him. "You can't go in, Soldier Everdeen. President's orders." I just stand there patiently waiting for them to lower their guns, for them to understand, without my telling them, that behind those doors is something I need. Just a rose. A single bloom. To place in Snow's lapel before I shoot him. My presence seems to worry the guards. They're discussing calling Haymitch, when a woman speaks up behind me. "Let her go in." I know the voice but can't immediately place it. Not Seam, not 13, definitely not Capitol. I turn my head and find myself face-to-face with Paylor, the commander from 8. She looks even more beat up than she did at the hospital, but who doesn't? "On my authority," says Paylor. "She has a right to anything behind that door." These are her soldiers, not Coin's. They drop their weapons without question and let me pass. At the end of a short hallway, I push apart the glass doors and step inside. By now the smell's so strong that it begins to flatten out, as if there's no more my nose can absorb. The damp, mild air feels good on my hot skin. And the roses are glorious. Row after row of sumptuous blooms, in lush pink, sunset orange, and even pale blue. I wander through the aisles of carefully pruned plants, looking but not touching, because I have learned the hard way how deadly these beauties can be. I know when I find it, crowning the top of a slender bush. A magnificent white bud just beginning to open. I pull my left sleeve over my hand so that my skin won't actually have to touch it, take up a pair of pruning shears, and have just positioned them on the stem when he speaks. "That's a nice one." My hand jerks, the shears snap shut, severing the stem. "The colors are lovely, of course, but nothing says perfection like white." I still can't see him, but his voice seems to rise up from an adjacent bed of red roses. Delicately pinching the stem of the bud through the fabric of my sleeve, I move slowly around the corner and find him sitting on a stool against the wall. He's as well groomed and finely dressed as ever, but weighted down with manacles, ankle shackles, tracking devices. In the bright light, his skin's a pale, sickly green. He holds a white handkerchief spotted with fresh blood. Even in his deteriorated state, his snake eyes shine bright and cold. "I was hoping you'd find your way to my quarters." His quarters. I have trespassed into his home, the way he slithered into mine last year, hissing threats with his bloody, rosy breath. This greenhouse is one of his rooms, perhaps his favorite; perhaps in better times he tended the plants himself. But now it's part of his prison. That's why the guards halted me. And that's why Paylor let me in. I'd supposed he would be secured in the deepest dungeon that the Capitol had to offer, not cradled in the lap of luxury. Yet Coin left him here. To set a precedent, I guess. So that if in the future she ever fell from grace, it would be understood that presidents - even the most despicable - get special treatment. Who knows, after all, when her own power might fade? "There are so many things we should discuss, but I have a feeling your visit will be brief. So, first things first." He begins to cough, and when he removes the handkerchief from his mouth, it's redder. "I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am about your sister." Even in my deadened, drugged condition, this sends a stab of pain through me. Reminding me that there are no limits to his cruelty. And how he will go to his grave trying to destroy me. "So wasteful, so unnecessary. Anyone could see the game was over by that point. In fact, I was just about to issue an official surrender when they released those parachutes." His eyes are glued on me, unblinking, so as not to miss a second of my reaction. But what he's said makes no sense. Whenthey released the parachutes? "Well, you really didn't think I gave the order, did you? Forget the obvious fact that if I'd had a working hovercraft at my disposal, I'd have been using it to make an escape. But that aside, what purpose could it have served? We both know I'm not above killing children, but I'm not wasteful. I take life for very specific reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Capitol children. None at all." I wonder if the next fit of coughing is staged so that I can have time to absorb his words. He's lying. Of course, he's lying. But there's something struggling to free itself from the lie as well. "However, I must concede it was a masterful move on Coin's part. The idea that I was bombing our own helpless children instantly snapped whatever frail allegiance my people still felt to me. There was no real resistance after that. Did you know it aired live? You can see Plutarch's hand there. And in the parachutes. Well, it's that sort of thinking that you look for in a Head Gamemaker, isn't it?" Snow dabs the corners of his mouth. "I'm sure he wasn't gunning for your sister, but these things happen." I'm not with Snow now. I'm in Special Weaponry back in 13 with Gale and Beetee. Looking at the designs based on Gale's traps. That played on human sympathies. The first bomb killed the victims. The second, the rescuers. Remembering Gale's words. "Beetee and I have been following the same rule book President Snow used when he hijacked Peeta." "My failure," says Snow, "was being so slow to grasp Coin's plan. To let the Capitol and districts destroy one another, and then step in to take power with Thirteen barely scratched. Make no mistake, she was intending to take my place right from the beginning. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, it was Thirteen that started the rebellion that led to the Dark Days, and then abandoned the rest of the districts when the tide turned against it. But I wasn't watching Coin. I was watching you, Mockingjay. And you were watching me. I'm afraid we have both been played for fools." I refuse for this to be true. Some things even I can't survive. I utter my first words since my sister's death. "I don't believe you." Snow shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other."

#Mockingjay

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