#i wrote this like 9 months ago - it's time for labour

[faeringfolk]

This time he’s going to do it; the final push.

Yes, he’s aware that this is a tad dramatic. And yes, he knows that Sirius would either laugh hysterically at him for doing this, or scold him relentlessly, but he simply does not care. Regulus is past caring. He hasn’t cared about anything since James left.

So, he paces on the rocks, sending a furtive glance down to the crashing waves climbing up the cliffside. 

The water is furious today. It’s battling with the raging winds slapping it around; waves high and dangerous. It could pull anything under its deadly blanket, send it under, and drag it down to the very bottom.

Regulus tells himself that this is good. If anything was going to send a sign to James or any of the Potter’s to come back and save him, this is it; deadly waves and a death wish to jump in. 

Either he’ll die, or James will come back to him. 

Both of these options sound perfect in Regulus’ mind.

#jegulus new moon au drabble #i have no idea if this is gonna reach the intended audience but god i hope so #jegulus #marauders #the marauders #drabbles #i wrote this like 9 months ago - it's time for labour #i'm kinda liking this idea? should i make a whole fic out of it?! #new moon au #sirius black #regulus black #james potter #crimson rivers #all the young dudes #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #james x regulus #jegulus fic #jegulus au

[whatdoesshedotothem]

: Wednesday 9 January 1839

8 40

[?] 50

A-‘s cousin came coughed all last night as the 2 preceding nights – my chest quite sore – thick snow on the ground this morning – wrote and sent note to ‘Mr. Mackean, Yorkshire District Bank H-x’ done up in parcel with my banking book asking for order on London for £40.10.0 payable on demand to Mrs. Ann Lister and desiring my account to be brought down to the present time  observing that the £1344.3.7 was entered on the 21st ultimo but not the £500 I myself paid in on the 5th ultimo sent off John Booth with this packet at 9 40 and then at that hour breakfast in ½ hour – when A- had a Mr. Heaton –

SH:7/ML/E/22/0096

aet. 23, and said his wife was 19 or just 20, of Brighouse recommended by Mr. Phileman Bancroft to apply for the school – all went on pretty well, till he said he had partly engaged in another situation (not a school) and wanted A-‘s answer today – on which A- told him that as she could not possibly give an answer so immediately he had best think no more of the school – he asked in what time A- could give an answer – but she begged him to think no more of the school and thus he went away – he had been with Mr. Barber solicitor of Brighouse before he failed, wrote a tolerable hand and read in the new testament sufficiently well – a church man and of conservative principles it was now 11 – John B- brought back the bank-draft on London (Messrs. William Deacon and co.) payable to Mr. Ann Lister on demand £41.1.0 instead of £40.1.0 wrote explaining the overpayment of one pound – said I had done what I could to get the water

Rent  41.0.0

underpaid January 1837=  0.30.0

41.13.0

Deduct Insurance 1.12.0

40.1.0

over paid thro’ the bank inadvertence 1.0.0

41.0.0

rent, but had not yet succeeded – mentioned Mr. Sowdens’ having promised to pay on advance of £10 per annum but that my steward seemed to have let him off after the rate of 10/. a year less – I had not said anything about it at present in consideration of the times, and of the loss Mr. Sowden had sustained by the failure of his sons a 12 month or more ago – had just sent off John Booth at 11 ¾ with this letter to the post-office together with A-‘s letter written last night to her sister when Mr. Holmes’ A-‘s Southedge house tenant came and signed his lease, A- signing 1st the lease, and the memorandum at the back purporting that the tenant-right should be allowed according to the valuation of the same by 2 respectable persons – as to all matters and things done in a husband-like manner – very young-looking inexperienced-looking young man – I had David Booth at 12 – he dined with the servants – and then came to me again then A- had Waddington respecting the Lightcliffe church-rate – I with them sometime – Mr. Henry Flather the church warder to be asked to come here to speak on the subject of the organists’ salary – A- mentioned several people to be asked to attend the meeting at 2pm tomorrow and I mentioned 3 or 4 – Waddington to let them know (except Bancroft whom A- was to let know) and she gave W- 5/. for the time it would take him – he has 5/. a day for doing towns’ business – then had Booth again he was at Huddersfield yesterday and paid Mr. Richard Pollard for 59 yards of ground bared for stone adjoining Sun wood – 15 or 20 yards of this still to get that could not be had because of not seaming off – but now that I have permission to get 50 or 60 yards more at the same price that is 1/. per yard I shall be able to get what remains of my 1st lot – the face of the stone to be left open – told DB. to see what wanted doing at John Bottomleys’ and at Whiskam cottage – talked over what wood would be wanted for Listerwick boiler house roof, and roofing of the shades – mentioned taking put off for lumber room, and a small part for an office – wood would be about £30 and labour £5 for the roofing of the whole – talked over tram-road – wheel-stone instead of tram rails – told in brief the story of Mr. Rawsons’ behaviour respecting my coal – DB. thinks I could lay a floor over the coach house dressed on both sides at 4/6 per square yard – and if under drawn the dressing of one side would be saved so that the floor would be laid at 4/. per square yard and the under drawing (2 coats) done at 10d. per yard – say 5/. per yard – shewed DB. Mr. Bull’s bill and report B-‘s estimate of the masons’ work if the clow had been done according to Mr. B-‘s plan, [was] B- thinks 2 or 3 pounds under £30 – the whole job by him and the Manns’ was to have been done for £50 – the shuttle and Iron work could not have been more than £6 or £7 more – In the midst of all this when Mr. Stephen Nelson came at 3 25 – said I was glad   Mr. Booth happened to be here, and thus saying came upstairs immediately and left them together – B- soon came up to say Mr. N- wanted to settle but he had told him I should pay no attention to anything not signed by Mr. Harper – I confirmed this but told to say that he (B-) was my clerk of the works under Mr. Harper, and was .:. the proper person for Mr. N- to leave his bills with – then till 4 35 wrote all but the 1st line of today – then till 5 writing out in my business letter-book copy of letter to ‘Mrs. Lister, 13 Stockwell Common, London’ sent off to be in time for the London post at noon today – vide middle of last p. – then had written 1 ¾ p. to M- when A- returned from Cliff Hill half benumbed to death about 5 25 – rubbed her hands – got her a glass of hot weak marsala wine and water and she was the better for it – she had John B- to walk by her ponys’ side and bring him her Lightcliffe rents – in about 50 minutes more till 5 55 wrote the remainder of p. 2 and the whole of p. 3 and finished my letter as follows – ‘Shibden hall – Wednesday 9 January 1839. My dearest Mary – we were sorry and disappointed not to see you yesterday; but the badness of the weather and the limits put upon your time were enough to reconcile us as far as reconciliation could be possible – we only hope to be more fortunate another time – you will not need invitation upon invitation, but will come when you can – we shall always be glad to see you; and, we are sure you will be always satisfied with your welcome – Have you really ventured to travel today? we have grieved over its being so much worse than yesterday – your horses must have balled terribly – the mail, with a lady and gentleman inside, passed the Lodge yesterday hardly an hour beyond the time – today I have not heard at what hour it passed; but if you really were among the enclosed,  I hope and trust you got on better than could be expected – we shall be anxious to hear of your safe arrival at your

SH:7/ML/E/22/0097

journeys’ end – what a blessing that you all escaped in the minster yard without bodily harm! nobody hereabouts ever remembers such a storm of wind – But your mother seems to be well as of late, at which we rejoice very sincerely – I hardly dared name her individuality, for fear all might not be well – your account of the Norcliffes took us by surprise – we grieved and wondered – Poor Mr. Duffin! From that you say, I fear he cannot last long – Is not Mrs. Duffin herself far from well? How is Mr. Lawton? and we hope you will find Watson sufficiently well to be comfortable to herself, and of use to you – By the way, I must tell you, the wind rocked us as if we had all been in cradles – but we were comparatively sheltered; and all the damage was the blowing out the south and west windows of my new study in the tower – But they were not well fixed; and the plumber and glalzier-man was more than, or as much in fault as the wind – I write in haste as usual – you will begin to fancy, I shall never write at leisure again – not just yet, I dear – I have not got over my potherations – yet I live in hope – God bless you, my dearest Mary! affectionately yours AL. I send you a letter and newspaper which arrived on Monday’ – had just written so far and read to A- and sealed and directed my letter to ‘Mrs. Lawton Lawton hall Lawton Cheshire’ and redirected the letter and newspaper that arrived for her on Monday at 6 20 – then went into the cellar – 1 port Oldfield 2me qualité – dinner at 6 ½ - A- read French – coffee – I read the newspaper till 9 25 – Kind letter tonight 2 2/3 pp. from Miss Norcliffee Petergate York – thanks for the snuff-box ‘one of the handsomest I ever saw’ – ought to have been acknowledged before – but better late than never – the damage does not seem so great to the minster as would seem from Mrs. Lawtons’ letter – the least possible mention of Mrs. Lawton – merely saying she was to bring the letter – yet on some account or other it is arrived per post – fine day over – good deal of snow on the ground – I have not stirred out – I shall nurse a little till my chest is relieved – A- counted her Lightcliffe rents  about four hundred and forty and about one hundred of them still to be paid – came upstairs at 10 35 at which hour F30 ½° inside – and 18 ½° outside at 10 55 pm

[nicklloydnow]

“The higher you ascend the ladder of the Educated Gentry class, the more you become Michael Scott. (…) So, twelve years ago, Venkatesh Rao wrote a lengthy and fascinating series of essays called “The Gervais Principle”, which walked through the NBC show The Office, an American adaptation to Ricky Gervais’ original British series. The essays go after a particular aspect of organizational behaviour, around how organizations that survive tend to self-stratify into three predictable layers. (To a large extent, his analysis derives from another magnificent book, The Organization Man by Holly Whyte.)

  In the bottom layer, you have around 80% of the office, who occupy the rank-and-file roles. They are the losers. Rao carefully notes that “losers” does not mean uncool, or unworthy; he specifically means “economic losers.” Losers are the people who are set in roles or stations in life where the output of their effort is wholly realized by someone else. As they learn throughout their careers, their skill or engagement might lead to incremental career progress, but no real leverage of any kind. Hence, they are “economic losers”, and they know it. They see the world through clear eyes, and cope. (…) Meanwhile, at the top you have Corporate. These are the sociopaths; the economic winners. They are smart, they care about getting power, and little else. The sociopath characters in The Office include: David Wallace, the CFO; Jan (before her series of breakdowns); Ryan the temp, who brilliantly grabs real power only to immediately squander it. And finally, the one character who never quite goes over to the dark side but certainly thinks about it (the real will-he-or-won’t-he drama of the show) – Jim.

  The losers and the sociopaths are actually pretty alike. They are alike in that they both see the world through clear eyes, as it actually is. The losers basically understand how the world works, and how their role fits within it. So do the sociopaths.

  But in the middle, in between the losers and the sociopaths, is a very different group. That group is the middle managers: the clueless. In The Office this group is an iconic trio: in ascending order of cluelessness, Andy, Dwight, and of course – Michael. (…) Michael’s job both shapes, and selects for, a particular kind of detachment from reality. Middle management is a fascinating construct: your employees have literal jobs and responsibilities, and your bosses have literal jobs and responsibilities, but Michael spends his entire day in a construct of his own creation. Everything about his world is subjective and arbitrary. These are people who, in effect, have slipped into a job, worldview, and self-image that is friendly but deeply alienating. (…) The first major speech pattern between the characters is Posturetalk. Posturetalk is everything said by Michael, Dwight and Andy, to anyone: the staff, the execs, or each other. Everything they say is some form or another of meaningless, performative babbling. This is the language of living inside a construct; where your entire world lives within arbitrarily drawn boxes, and you have nothing concrete to attach to. It’s the only language that Michael knows how to speak.

  When people speak back to Michael, Dwight and Andy, they use a different language: Babytalk. Babytalk is the language spoken from the literal, to the clueless. It’s placating, soothing, or often misdirection: “There, there. You have no idea what you’re saying. Why don’t I distract you with something over here.” The three other languages spoken, which don’t involve the Clueless, are Powertalk (the Sociopaths’ internal language, which is entirely about competitive information-gathering and retroactive deniability), Gametalk (The Losers’ internal language: recurring games or coded rituals to get through the day), and the rare instance where Corporate actually speaks directly with the losers: Straight Talk. It’s the one and only time where people actually speak directly, with zero encoding. (…) Several years ago, Michael Church wrote a neat summary of the American social class system, and how the traditional metaphor of “climbing the ladder of social class” is wrong in an important way. There isn’t one single ladder; there are three – each with different values, norms and goals. You have the first, and largest ladder, Labour. Next, you have the “Educated Gentry” ladder that corresponds to what we typically call the Upper Middle Class. And finally, you have the elite ladder. And the remarkable thing about these ladders is how perfectly they correspond to the three-tiered pyramid in The Office, of the losers, clueless, and sociopaths.

  Climbing the labour ladder means making more money. At the bottom are really tough jobs, typically paid hourly, informally, or with tips. Above that there are stable, but modest blue collar jobs; then high-skilled or good Union-protected careers. Finally at the top you find “Labour leadership”, which doesn’t mean being a union boss, but means, “You’ve made it. You own stuff. You drive a new F-150, you have income properties, you enjoy nice things.”

  If you’ve made it to Labour leadership, you are by no means hurting for money. But you have not actually escaped the category of “economic losers”, because the Labour ladder does not create paths to leverage. That is the fundamental difference between how the labour ladder works versus how the elite ladder works. The people on the labour ladder fully understand this. They see the world as it is, with clear eyes, like Stanley, Pam or Darryl – or the one person who actually makes the jump, Ryan – in The Office.

  Skipping the middle ladder for a second, we move to the Elite ladder. The Elite ladder has a lot in common with the Labour ladder: it’s straightforward. You move up by getting more money and more power. The only fundamental difference is that you climb the Labour ladder by working hard, whereas you climb the Elite ladder by acquiring leverage.

  The bottom of this ladder is an entry point – junior Investment Banker roles you can jump into, or founding a startup now also qualifies. The next rung up are the executives who run successful businesses. They are powerful, but nervous. Above them is Old Money: the multigenerational dynasties with power that extends beyond business and into media and politics, like the Bushes and extended Vanderbilts. And finally, at the top of this ladder, are the Barbarians. These are the scariest people in the world.

  The middle ladder works completely differently from the other two. This ladder isn’t about money or power; it’s about being interesting. You climb this ladder by being more educated, and towards the top, by having costly habits and virtues. At the bottom is also a transitional layer: it’s how you get onto this ladder if you weren’t born there, often via Community or 1st generation College. Above that is the upper-middle class Petite Bourgeoisie. Higher up the ladder are “elite creatives”, people with obscure or virtuous-sounding PhDs, notably interesting lives, or Blue Check Marks on Twitter. (They may well earn less money than those below them on the ladder – this ladder isn’t about income.) At the very top of this ladder is an exclusive group: “Cultural leadership”. The litmus test for attaining this group is, “could you write an opinion piece in the New York Times.” Generally speaking, the farther you go up this ladder, the more detached from reality you get. Importantly, this isn’t seen as a problem: it’s actually a virtue, so long as you portray it correctly. Sixty years ago, this group sought refuge and status in the suburbs, explicitly detaching themselves from the reality of dirty, dangerous cities. Now, it’s fashionable to move back downtown, detaching ourselves from the reality of gas-guzzling, chain restaurant normie suburbs. The farther you go into expensive, performative habits (Doing triathlons, eating farm-to-table) and coastal echo chambers (“I don’t know a single person who voted for Trump”; “We should ban cars”), the farther you progress up this ladder.

  On the way up the ladder, you earn social status by doing things that detach you from normie reality. David Brooks wrote a fabulous book on this phenomenon called Bobos In Paradise, about the peaceful merger between the Bourgeois and Bohemian classes that created this strange but durable social tier. These are people that would be mortified to show off a $10,000 watch, but excitedly tell you about their $100,000 kitchen remodel filled with 100-mile diet cookbooks and single-origin Japanese knives, or their 6-month work sabbatical they spent powerlifting. This is a group of people where a Subaru is a higher-status car than a Cadillac, but the highest status car is none. (Or, now, a Tesla.) (…) What’s interesting here isn’t the language of Labour or of the Elites – both of these groups see the world more or less as it is. It’s the language spoken by and to the Educated Gentry. Both reveal the extent to which this group has become detached from normal reality, and also the care taken by others (mostly labour) to manage this detachment carefully. (…) Language is the fundamental reinforcement mechanism of why arbitrarily constructed environments eventually turn you into Michael Scott. The more you have committed to being seen as interesting within your particular area, the more you detach from reality and move into a construct of your own creation. As this evolution takes place, more of your and your peers’ language will become Posturetalk, and more of the language that gets spoken to you by outsiders will become Babytalk. 

As more of the language surrounding you becomes Posturetalk and Babytalk, the more conclusively you will double down on being “serious” about whatever you’re pursuing, as both a defence mechanism and in pursuit of real praise. This drives the cycle forward again, as your values and environment become increasingly defined by doing Triathlons or whatever. Eventually, you become Michael Scott.”

#the office #michael scott #class #lumpenproletariat #bourgeois #petite bourgeois #Aristocracy #marx #marxism #konkin #conger #agorism #agorist class theory

[storytime-with-moth]

Writing modern teen Dad Sokka (zukka uni)

I wrote this a few months ago, but I ran out of steam and inspiration, so anyone is welcome to take this on and finish it as their own or take it as a prompt and try there own story.

Summer of grade 11, Sokka and Yue spend the whole summer as lifeguards, soaking up the sun, making each other laugh and dreaming of the future.

One night it’s just the two of them in the pool after it’s closed, you can see the full moon through the windows above, Sokka and Yue lay on floaties driving around the pool.

“Hey Sokka?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Sokka laughs “Haven’t heard that since I was a kid and I wanted to be and otter penguin - and no I have no idea where that came from.”

Yue turns over so she can look Sokka in the eyes. “Seriously though, what do you want to do when you can leave this small town and its small ideas.

Sokka could tell that there was more behind the question but tired answering it honestly “I dunno exactly “What” I want to be, but I think I would like to build things, useful things too. And I’m not really a car guy or a building guy.”

Yue snorts “Ya not a car guy, says the guy who failed to get his license twice!”

“Hey!” Sokka splashes yue playfully. “Okay okay, I have been looking the some of the research into mixing prosthetics with robotics and focusing more on make prosthetics one with the body, I don’t know much about it yet. But I guess I started reading all about them and I kinda became obsessed.”

“what about hockey?”

“I love hockey, and the coaches at school think I’m good enough to get scholarships, so if hockey helps support an actual career for me I’m all for it, but I know I want to do more than catch pucks my whole life, I want to really use my brain and solve puzzles.”

“hmm” Yue turned over and looked back at the moon thoughtful.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well as you so gracefully put it, what do you want to do when you can leave this place that’s too small for you and your big ideas and dreams?”

“Well when you put it like that… I want to travel, see places, important places. I want to fall in love, out of love, I want to have enough friends that my house is always filled with good food and loud laughter. I want to be a Mom someday, I think maybe I want to go to school and study philosophy, not sure what kind of job that leads to but I want to ask questions, the big questions like why are we here, what is a life well spent?”

“Whoa”

“Ya… Whoa”

“and have you talked to your dad about that?

“Sort of, and it sort of didn’t go well.”

“he’s still set on you making the Canadian swim team? Duty to country and family stuff?”

“YeP” she said as she popped the P

“That sucks”

“indeed it does”

They floated around in silence for a bit longer.

“Hey Sokka?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to have sex?”

Sokka promptly fell into the water, Yue’s laugh echoing around the empty pool.

They did indeed tumble into bed together that night, an awkward interaction for both of them that ended with the laughing covered in sweat. That morning when Sokka woke up Yue was already sitting on his bed looking at his doodles on the walls.

“Sokka I love you, I do, and I honestly thought maybe I loved you like a girl loves a guy, but I think I just love you because you're my best friend.”

“Ookaaay. I think I should add in you’re my best friend too? Because you’re being weird”

Yue looked to her hands in her lap and a tear fell to her hand. “Sokka, think I might like girls.”

She said it so quietly that it took a second for Sokka to understand what she had just told him.

“Whoa, no I mean, Cool! That’s fine. I support you, wait was I really bad last night?”

Yue’s tears quickly turn into laughs “No you idiot! You ere great, it just wasn’t right”

“Okay well cool then…..”

“Cool then”

“promise you won’t tell?”

“Yue, I promise I won’t tell! I can even pretend to be your boyfriend so your dad can’t freak out, and we can totally go to the girls soccer games this year if you want?”

“Sokka I love you, you big dummy”

“Well I love you to, to the moon and back dreamer”

___________________________________

So Sokka and Yue were still best friends and they spent the fall attached at the hip, and when Yue found out she was expecting a baby and her parents kicked her out, Sokka just grabbed her hand and her backpack and walked into his house stating that Yue lived here now.

Hakoda and Bato nodded and welcomed her home, Katara squealed and fawned over becoming an auntie.

And for a while things were good, they were complicated as they prepared to become teen parents, co parenting as best friends, both of them aiming for scholarships and working part-time gigs whenever they could to save up. But life was happy, they were going to have a baby.

But then things went wrong, Yue went into labour 6 weeks early, her pressure dropped, the baby’s dropped, there was blood, there were doctors everywhere, then there was a small shrill cry, more moving and running and yelling. Then there was a lot of quiet.

Yue died in labour, their baby was in the NICU for three weeks to improve her lungs and even then doctors were worried about how premature she was. Finally after weeks camped out in a hospital next to his baby in a box or in his bed in the dark or the shower staring at the wall, he could bring his daughter home. She was going to be okay.

Her name was Juno Kya Last name, and she was perfect, wide hazel eyes like her Mom, and the sharp cupids bow like Kya, it looked like she would have Sokka’s dark hair and complexion. She watched everything with curious eyes, and didn’t cry unless she was hungry or tired which was often the first few months. But Bato and Hakkoda loved their granddaughter to bits and helped with everything. The diapers, the late feedings, the tummy time, the grieving.

The grieving was the hardest. Mostly because he was to busy trying to be there as a Dad and as a student and as a team player. He spent so long being there for everyone else that one night once hockey season was over and Katara took Juno to a girls sleepover he was all alone, for the first time since he was a little boy after his Mom died.

The dam burst and he sat on the floor and cried, he cried until his Dads came home and they wrapped him up in a hug and he cried some more. Then they made hot chocolate and sat on the couch in thick chewy blankets. They talked and talked, Hakkoda speaking about loosing the love of his life with two young children, being a dad by himself, Bato spoke about loosing his best friend Kya so unfairly and traumatically. The spoke about the unfairness of life and the peace in death, and how he will never move on but he will move forward, with one hand holding his daughter and the other pointing him forward to his own future.

When Katara came home the next day, Sokka was already awake and making blueberry pancakes poorly singing ice ice baby. When he saw his sister holding Juno he scooped her up and gave her a million kisses.

They were going to be okay, because they were loved, because Sokka was smart, because Sokka was going to be driven just like his best friend was, he was going to ask the big questions whenever he could, and love and laugh, so much his home was filled with it.

For Juno and for Yue, and for himself too.

_________________________

So Sokka worked his ass off, he won a full ride scholarship to university for hockey to study bio engineering, he was even able to work on family residence on campus, which took a load off his shoulders of trying to figure out travel to and from school with a baby, now he skates, lives and attends school on campus (which even had a daycare)

During the summer leading up leaving for school Bato revealed that ever since Sokka got into school he has been trying to transfer his job to the same city so they could be closer and he had not only done that but he had gotten a promotion out of it too. So Katara was starting at a new high school for senior year and Bato and Hakkoda were moving to be 20 minutes away from Sokka’s school.

He knew he would have to get used to being more independent, as he knew his dads thought he would be annoyed by them following him, or his sister would be upset about changing schools. But no, katara had high hopes for her new adventure and sokka was just relived to not be alone, and that Juno had more than one badly an adult person in her life.

_________________

Little hands grabbed at Sokka’s hair as he hoisted 9 month old Juno up on his hip. “Well June-Bug this is it our home for the next four or so years”

Juno looked up at her dad with wide hazel eyes and replied in noisy baby babble.

From behind Sokka Bato came up and rested a hand on on his shoulder “Deep breaths kid, you’re going to be great.”

Sokka smiled ruefully at Bato as Katara ran up with a stroller full of baby things and his dad struggled with his hockey bags as he tried to lock the car with one hand.

Sokka looked at Juno again and whispered to her and himself “Deep breaths kid”

Later after they had gotten the crib set up in the attached office to Sokka’s room Bato and Katara took Juno for a walk in her stroller to grab some food. While Sokka and his dad finished unpacking.

“Son are you sure you want to stay on campus, are you sure you want Juno to stay with you? We could take her for the weeks mostly and you could come stay with us at the new place on weekends. I know you expected to do this more by yourself, but Bato would move oceans for you kid and got the new position in town, so we’re here, we can help.”

“Dad… Ya I’m going to need help, so thank you, I will take you up on looking after Juno when I need it, but you and Bato are going to be looking after her as her grandparents and not as her guardians. I promised Yue - Juno and I are family, and I’m not going to pass her off whenever I feel like not being a Dad anymore, she’s my kid and I want to be here for all the stuff, the walking the talking everything, and that’s not going to happen if she’s only my kid on weekends.

“Sokka you’re doing just fine son, more than fine really. Okay okay well when Juno wants to see her Great Papa and GB (Grand Bato) you give us a call, or if you need to pull an all nighter for an assignment you call, anything you call and we can be here. And when you get your game schedule, email us so we can make sure one of us can take her to the games, Bato is very excited about the baby headphones he bought her.”

“Okay Dad Okay, Now get out of here ya old man, and Dad Thanks for being here.”

“Of course Sokka”

________________________

Sokka was pretty pleased with his new place, sure it was small, but it was clean and had more room than he expected to get so he was grateful. The suite was in the family/accessible living accommodations which was a small building with elevators to every floor. This suite had two rooms on opposite sides of the small common area which had a worn in couch and a coffee table. There was also a small kitchen and an even smaller dinner table. Sokka’s room had a small attached office space that he turned into Juno’s room, even though she still co-slept with him most nights, it was good to have a crib for naps and a place to put her never ending supply of diapers, blankets and clothes.

Sokka's roommate was a paraplegic kid named Teo who happened to have basically the same schedule as Sokka so they quickly bonded over advancements in the medical and mechanical fields. Teo also seemed pretty chill and took a liking to Juno right away. Which made Sokka endlessly happy because, well they were now living together and babies cry and poop so he was worried about tiptoeing around his new home.

Day care still didn’t open for the next two weeks while sokka would be attending training camp so his Dad would be taking most of the days with Juno, but it happened to shake out where the first day of meet and greet and skate Hakkoda was attending a support group meeting for retired field medics in a new city and Sokka didn’t want his Dad to miss it, plus it gave Sokka an opportunity to introduce everyone to his best girl.

Katara came to hold Juno while he was on the ice excited to get a sneak peek at university life before her high school year started.

“Da da da” Juno babbled as she mushed her fist into Sokka’s mouth, sokka smiled and pretended to gobble up her hand, the baby shrieked and laughed and Sokka adjusted her baby sweater around her neck.

“Sokka she’s fine, I have diapers, formula, and the big blanket you packet in the stroller, if she gets fussy I can take her for a walk to see the birds, and she won’t get cold because you packed a million layers and she will be held by every limbo there so again, she will be fine.”

Sokka checked the stroller again nodding to what his sister was saying. She was right, he was prepared, he had already emailed with the coaches so they knew what was up and he had coffee with the captain yesterday, who looked like a giant holding his baby, but overall seemed like a good guy. Eric “Wooly Mammoth/ Wooly” Woolner seemed like a solid guy, like physically solid and also like the type of guy Sokka could lean on as a leader while figuring out classes, fatherhood and being on a university level hockey team.

Everyone met in a blank sort of room with lots of chairs facing a projector, Sokka thought it was probably to review game footage and make new plays. He settled in with Juno on his lap as the other guys in the room took notice that there was a baby in their midst.

“Sokka you brilliant man!” Shouted a familiar face from across the room as he stood up and ran over.

Haru was taller and broader than Sokka, much bigger at least than when they last saw each other when they played on the same club team when they were 15.

“Haru, dude! You’re here! Awesome!”

Haru took a look at Juno and sized her up, then he stuck out his tongue and did a silly dance, Juno hid her face in Sokka’s shoulder and Haru ran around so she could see him and did it again. This time he managed to get a small smile before she hid her face again, grabbing Sokka’s collar with her hands.

“She’s cute Socks, she yours?”

“Yep, this is Juno.”

“Nice, is she gonna be at the games and shit?”

“Easy up on the potty mouth there dude, and ya I hope so, my dads moved into town so they hope to be there and bring her to them and stuff.”

“Wicked, is the uh - mom in the picture?”

“Nah, she passed when Juno was born so it’s just us.”

“Sorry bro”

“Thanks, anyways we should totally catch up properly later. Let’s introduce the team to our new good luck charm shall we?”

Katara was right, Juno has passed from bro to dude to himbo, once she realized that everyone one here was as big and cuddly as her dad she seemed to warm up and enjoy the attention. Then it was time for everyone to get on the ice to pass around the puck and do some laps getting a feel for the other players on the ice.

Juno sat with Katara smearing her messy hands all over the glass looking at the people on the rink until she fell asleep in her stroller tucked under a whole blanket.

Sokka enjoyed the team, Haru was a great comfort of home, Wooly was a level headed captain that set a tone for the rest of the guys, then there was Lucas “Longshot” Cho, Dennis “The Duke” Cunningham, Sam “Rooke” Chesterfield, Finn “Pipsqueak” Biggs, and the team manager Suki and the assistant captain Zuko.

All of the guys were loud and boisterous, including Suki, but Zuko seemed reserved and maybe a little prickly.

Then there were coaches Piandao and Bumi. Piandao seemed more serious, the man with a plan. He had coached a lot of different teams and was sought after for his reputation of the coach who turns coal into diamonds, Bumi on the other hand had coached here forever it seemed. He gave Sokka Manic genius vibes that had him thinking that maybe he should let Piandao hold Juno for the occasional practise instead of the ripped crazy old guy who ran around the ice in uggs.

——————

Later when Sokka was packing up and talking to the coaches about potentially bringing Juno with him in case he couldn’t find a sitter last minute working out how that would work, Katara pulled up with a fussy Juno in her stroller.

“Sorry Sokka I have to run, Dad is outside waiting for me and I have to finish unpacking my room tonight”

“All good Kat, thanks again for coming tonight!”

Katara leaned down and kissed her fingers and pressed them to Juno’s head “Love you little bug”

The coaches bid their farewells shortly after and Sokka packed his stuff into the stroller before taking Juno out to settle her and give her a bottle.

Just as he tucked her into his arms and pulled the bottle from the bag someone walked briskly into the locker room where he was sitting.

Zuko and Assistant Captain huffed in and sat down hanging up his phone and tossing it on the bench.

“Uh hi?”

Zuko whirled around looking ready for a fight before spotting Sokka and said baby sucking on a bottle. “Hi Baby.” Zuko said shyly.

Sokka laughed “ Take me on a date before you call me that.” And winked at Zuko.

Zuko looked like a startled deer so Sokka took pity on him.

“Just kidding dude, I mean sort of I am Bi - what a discovery that was and anyways - sorry I wasn’t coming on to you - I don’t know you - I just thought I should make it clear that I COULD come on to you because I like guys, and girls…. Whelp I would start running away in shame now for oversharing but I’m currently a food spruce for this nugget sooo, yep just going to sit here and wish I could time travel to punch myself in the face.”

Throughout the vomit of words coming out of sokka’s mouth Zuko seemed to relax and then smirk at the other man.

“You do know I was talking to your kid right?”

“Yep, yes I did”

“Well see you around Sokka.”

And Zuko grabbed his bag and left the locker room. First impressions for today might be bit all over the place Sokka thought to himself.

____________________________________

Sokka talked to Juno all of the time. What can he say, he is a guy with a lot of words and they can’t all stay in his head.

So Juno has an interesting and advanced vocal for a 9 month old baby.

Of course she can address the people in her life, Dada, Kat, Great Papa, and GB (Great Bato)

She can also ask for milk, to go up, and uh oh.

She loves to say no but can infect say yes (sokka swears he’s heard that one)

But it also means she tries to say things that Sokka often says to varying degrees of baby success

“Stupid gravity!”

"Monkey balls”

“Shoot”

“I love you to the moon and back”

“hockey time.

And her favourite word of all time

Puck

It stopped making Sokka freeze after the first 2o times he thought he heard his baby say fuck. Now its just a cute funny thing his kid has figured out, Dada has to find the puck, and it is her job to hide them.

She hides pucks everywhere, he swears sometimes she is multiplying them on her own because he always finds at least two in the diaper bag and one hidden in her crib.

So very quickly into the season the team dubs the hockey baby with her very own nickname

“Little puck”

Sokka quietly thinks that Yue would have liked that one because her favourite Shakespeare play was midsummer night's dream.

________________________

The team gets Juno and Sokka a fancy running stroller for her birthday/christmas

It was Zuko’s idea

Zuko sometimes comes by to offer to take her for a run when Sokka has exams.

_______________________

Zuko seemed to always be the last to leave the locker rooms, Sokka would usually rush out to pick up Juno from whoever had her unless she had stayed with Couch Dao during practise which she had today.

On days like today Sokka takes his time, cleans and folds his gear, re-tapes his stick for next practise and actually has a real shower. So today he was tucking Juno back in her stroller after changing her as Zuko put the tape away. They were casually talking about the hilarious origins of Pipsqueaks nickname when sokka realized Zuko had a funny look on his face.

“What? Do I have poop on me or something?”

Now Zuko looked even more confused as Sokka looked at his shirt, twisting around to make sure he was free of baby droppings.

“No, you just never look at it, is all. I was trying to figure out what was so -weird about you other than being a crazy goalie, and you don’t look at it.”

“I don’t look at what?”

Zuko gestures to the scared half of his face glumly. “You don’t look at it, you look me in the eyes, always have. It’s weird I guess. You pretending it’s not there.”

“Oh”

“Forget it, sorry.”

“No! It’s just of course I know it’s ther, I’m not pretending its not there, it just seems like whatever happen was probably truamitic, ya know? And - well - okay so tragic backstory time. My Mom was killed in a targeted home invasion by some racists, super fucked up... “

“Holy shit.”

“Yep, anyways everyone knew about it, in the town we lived in, in the next town we lived in, So it was like everyone could see my big truma all the time, it wasn’t up to me to trust people enough to share something that was hard for me and that hurt. It was out of my hands and everyone knew including people I didn’t feel safe with or I didn’t know at all. So I get it, in a way. I see your scar I do, but I get that it maybe comes with a pretty sucky story that’s not mine to make assumptions and judgments on. If I’m worthy of knowing then I will, but I will always look you in the eyes, I’m not going to look at your trauma first because you’re Zuko first.”

Zuko stared at Sokka with his mouth open. Sokka looked away and finished strapping Juno into her stoller before looking back up at the other player. When he did Zuko was looking at the wall, his shoulders turned away from the young father.

“Thank you, and I’m sorry about your Mom… I promise I won’t tell anyone, that scar can stay between us for however long you need.”

And before Sokka could stay anything Zuko turned on his heel and walked quickly from the room.

________________________-

Sokka wasn’t sure what was up with this Zuko guy, everyone else on the team except Haru and Sokka had played with Zuko last year, so they all seemed to have an unspoken understanding of the reserve alt captain. But Sokka couldn’t even get him to smile. Sokka knew he was funny, he was full of 100% organic grass fed dad jokes for goodness sakes! But no, Zuko would not smile, he would not laugh, actually most of the time he seemed to be trying to not talk to Sokka in general. Which was hard considering Zuko was one of the defensemen and it was his job to protect Sokka, you’d think there would be an effort to become friends.

“Maybe he’s uncomfortable with the whole baby thing?” Suggested Teo from the table where he was copying data to a new chart.

“Nahh, I don’t think so, he even said hi to Juno at the first prac - ohhhhhhh” Sokka fell to the floor from where he was sitting with Juno, she took the opportunity of her opponent on the ground and began to climb on her dad.

“What ohhhhhh?”

“I totally flirted with him after that and told him I was queer and he like panic walked out of the locker room.”

“Ugh so do you think he’s homophobic or something?”

“Maybe or something? I don’t get bully vibes from him more like “I act scary so people won’t pretend to like me and then stab me in the back” vibes from this guy. So maybe it’s just a little internalized stuff and he’s not going to beat me up just might not want to talk about it.”

“Well it sucks either way!”

Juno continued to climb around her Dad trying to stuff toys down his shirt and then take them out again. Sokka kept a hand two inches from her back whenever she got close to standing just incase she decided that gravity no longer applied to her and she tumbled over.

“Hey Sokka, do you think he told anyone? Would your spot be in danger if you were outed?”

A cold feeling settled in his stomach “oh shit, I uh, I didn’t think about that… I don’t think I would be kicked off the team. There are policies like that for the school, but I don’t know about how safe I would be from the boys.”

“Oh,” Teo finally looked up from his laptop and set down his highlighter. “You know if you need someone to back you up, I know I can’t take them in a fight but I am friends with some freelance hackers and I could make their lives living hell.”

“Teo, you my man are one scary dude, and the wheels only add intimidation with that tricked out chair. You’re also a really great friend.”

Teo blushed and shrugged “Eh it’s whatever, us queers in engineering trying to change the way people use bionic tech gotta stick together right?”

“Totally, isn’t Uncle Teo awesome June-Bug?” Sokka picked up his daughter and flew her over his head as she wiggled her legs.

“Too too!”

“Uncle Teo?” teo said quietly from the table.

“Oh, well ya, if you want? Juno needs a village right? And one day you and I are going to start a bionics company together, so ya you’re going to be around for a while right?”

“Right.” Teo smiled.

“Toto!” Juno screamed again.

Both of the boys laughed and the night went on.

_______________________________________

Juno was still asleep and Teo was in the house studying so Sokka took the opportunity to go for a run around his building with the baby monitor clipped on his waist band.

It was rare nowadays that Sokka could get a good run in outside, his feet pounding the pavement, a chance to clear his mind.

He was surprised to see that Zuko apparently had the same idea because soon they were matching each other stride for stride around the complex. It was surprising even after weeks of Zuko evading Sokka at any chance they seemed to be in sync.

They were still going strong when Sokka heard Juno fuss from the monitor and slowed to a stop. Zuko halted a few paces ahead and looked confused.

“Are you tired? We can stop-” Zuko started but Sokka quickly waved him off.

“No it’s Juno, I just want to see if she’s going to go back to sleep herself or whether I have to call Teo to pick her up, or if I should go get her. Come on J-Bug settle down,”

Zuko looking curious came to hover over Sokka’s shoulder looking down at the tiny screen which showed Juno in her crib tossing and turning.

“Come on J look your penguin is right there- YES!” Sokka pumped his fist and did a little dance. “My baby went back to sleep, ah I love you!” He continued speaking to the machine and the sky and skipped around before remembering he had an audience.

It looked like Zuko was thinking about smiling and Sokka thought that that might be worth celebrating too.

“Hehe whoops, sorry man. I just haven't been able to run in forever, it's like she knows when I grab my runners and demands to see me.”

“No worries, Sokka.”

So the two hockey players started up a soft pace again around the building. It came to Sokka's mind that he shouldn’t poke the bear but he also had poor impulse control so as he thought it the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

“So have you outed me to all the guys and should I watch my back?”

Now it was Zuko’s turn to stop, he looked like Sokka slapped him.

“What.”

“Ugh! You know, like I can not talk about it and we can just play the game but - should I be making sure that Juno is safe? If she comes to a practise and I’m leaving will I get roughed up by the guys? Because I can take a hit, but my daughter is off limits. Nothing has happened yet so, my guess is you haven't told anyone, but are you going to?”

“No!” Zuko still looked scared “ Never - do I come off as someone who would do that?” He followed up quietly.

“I don’t know what to say dude, you looked scared out of your mind when I flirted with you and practically ran out when I told you I was Bi and ever since you have avoided me, I just assumed you were uncomfortable.”

Zuko looked around as if to check for monsters around them, then he looked at Sokka. “I won’t tell anyone, I haven't, I swear to you that I have your back if you ever want to say anything about it. Juno is safe, I swear it.”

“Whoa that’s a serious tone shift, Um thank you then.”

There was an awkward pause as the two men regarded each other for a moment.

“Just out of curiosity why did you avoid me after? Was it the baby thing?”

“No, it wasn't the baby thing.” zuko mumbled and toed the dirt with his shoe.

“Okay… but were good now right?”

“Ya”

Sokka turned and started to jog again, and soon enough Zuko caught up and they continued for a few more laps. As they were cooling down Zuko still looked amped up, Sokka was surprised, running usually calmed him down but Zuko seemed jumpy.

“Well this was fun! If I can ever join again it would be nice to have company, even company as quiet as you along.”

“Why don’t you bring Juno in her stroller or something?”

Sokka rubbed a hand behind his neck “ Well her stroller is a second hand one we got when she was born, it’s not the kind I can take running without it falling apart or bouncing my babies brains out. And her Mom and I both had much to offer in genetic smarts so I would like my babies brain to be perfect so she can run the world or something.”

“Oh and I guess running strollers are expensive?”

“Ya a bit, and I already spend so much on her clothes, she just won’t stop growing!”

“Too bad, it was also nice running with you.”

“Wow a real Zuko compliment, be still my beating heart!”

Sokka grabbed his chest and fell back and rolled in the grass. Zuko’s lips tilted up just a fraction and butterflies fluttered in sokka’s stomach.

Just then Juno started to cry in earnest and Teo’s voice came over the monitor. “Uh Sokka is her bottle the one in the door of the fridge or do I make a new one?”

Sokka sighed a little then pressed the intercom button on the monitor “Don’t worry about it Teo I will be up in two. Just start telling her the periodic table or something.”

“See you later Zuko”

“Bye Sokka.”

_____________

Sokka’s head was pounding and his vision was blurry, as he stumbled in the dark to the toilet and heaved.

“Fuck.”

At some piont after the sweating and throwing up he dragged himself back to his room to fetch his phone. Juno was fast asleep in her crib because he had a headache last night and homework took forever, so he had put her down early.

Back in the bathroom he rested his head on the cool tile and dialed up his dad with shaky fingers.

After three rings Hakkoda picked up in a panic “Sokka, are you okay? Is Juno okay? Where are you?”

Sokka squinted his eyes at the loud voice of his Dad ringing around his skull. “Dad? I think I have the flu.”

“Oh bud, okay. What’s going on, how can I help?”

“I had a headache last night so I put J down for bed early then I woke up with a fever, I keep throwing up, Dad I -” Sokka felt a lump in his throat and tears sting his eyes. “Dad I don’t want to her her, she was just so small, and I don’t want her to get sick. I know I have to do this, but i love her so much and I dont want to fuck up - “

The tears fall down his cheeks to the floor.

“Oh son, okay. One you love that kid more than anything you would die before hurting her this I know. Two people get sick, people also get better with rest and the I think I can help with that.”

“Dad I know I’m grown up ish, but can you tell me what to do?”

Hakkoda chuckled on the other end of the line. “Sokka, Bato and I will come pick up Juno in 30 minutes, we will drop off some crackers and gatorade too.”

“Dad- “

“Nope Sokka, you asked so I am telling you what we are going to do. We will come and get our baby girl and take her for a few days, You will email your profs and get your homework sent to you, you can only go to class when you don’t have a fever and if you do you’re going to wear a mask, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good you will email your coaches tell them whats what, when you feel better you can go watch practise, the cool might even be good for the fever, but you will not push yourself. This week will not make or break the rest of your life. So you will sleep, rest, do your work form home, and Juno will play at GB and great Papa’s house. And everything will be okay.”

“Okay. Thank you dad”

“We will be there soon buddy”

So Juno went with his Dad’s and he sent his emails and face planted in his bed and passed out for 6 hours.

Later an hour before practise Sokka’s phone pinged, he groaned and grasped around for his phone.

A text from Fire Prince Zuko

Coaches just said you won’t be at practise tonight. Is everything okay? Is Puck good?

Flu bug, don’t want to mess up that pretty ice with my vomit. Juno seems fine she’s at my Dads house until I’m not dying of the plague

A few minutes went by after that and sokka’s eyes started to fall again. “Ping”

I can drop off soup and tea on my way to practise, which suite is yours in family huas?

Dude its fine I can feed myself

Dude. I’m helping at my uncle’s tea shop today. They have soup and tea, it’s no problem. In fact my uncle insists.

14a second floor

And thank you Z

What are Alt Capts for?

Hakkoda was right, everything was indeed okay in the end. Juno had a blast at her grandparents house and sokka managed to get all of his homework done and even managed to watch a few lectures online courtesy of Teo. Zuko was the anomaly he could’t account for but was grateful for none the less. Whenever he could he stopped by with snacks, soup, tea and even weirder sent cute cat and baby videos at random points during the days.

Within 4 days Sokka felt good enough to go to classes and do some dryland training uring practise and after one more day he was back catching pucks on the rink with his daughter sleeping in the bed next to him one hand fisted on his shirt to make sure her dad didn’t leave.

After that week sometimes Zuko would still stop by with a tea, which Sokka had begun to like even when he wasn’t dying. Except now he would occasionally stay and drink his own tea while they watched juno play on the floor.

Sokka was starting to think he might have a new friend after all…

_____________________

#zukka modern au #fanfiction prompt #sokka #zuko #team avatar #modern au

[newstfionline]

Saturday, December 19, 2020

Tax cuts for the wealthy aren’t trickling down (CBS News) Do tax cuts for the wealthy really help the overall economy and “trickle down” to everyone else? It’s not a trickle question. David Hope of the London School of Economics and Julian Limberg of King’s College London examined 18 developed countries and did the math. “Per capita gross domestic product and unemployment rates were nearly identical after five years in countries that slashed taxes on the rich and in those that didn’t, the study found. But the analysis discovered one major change: The incomes of the rich grew much faster in countries where tax rates were lowered. Instead of trickling down to the middle class, tax cuts for the rich may not accomplish much more than help the rich keep more of their riches and exacerbate income inequality.” 50 years of tax cuts for the rich failed to trickle down.

Suspected Russian Cyberattack Strikes at Heart of U.S. Government (Foreign Policy) As more details are revealed about Russia’s alleged hack of the U.S. government, it’s becoming clear that the breach is much worse than previously thought. On Thursday, the U.S. Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency warned that is “poses a grave risk” to federal, state, and local governments as well as private companies and organizations. There is a growing list of reported victims: the Centers for Disease Control, the Defense Department, State Department, Commerce Department, Department of Homeland Security, Treasury Department, the U.S. Postal Service, the National Institutes of Health, and the Department of Energy were all affected. “This is, I think, appears to be at this point the most serious cyberattack this country has ever endured,” Sen. Angus King, I-Maine said on NPR. Microsoft, which is helping to respond to the hack, noted that “the attack unfortunately represents a broad and successful espionage-based assault on both the confidential information of the U.S. Government and the tech tools used by firms to protect them … ongoing investigations reveal an attack that is remarkable for its scope, sophistication and impact.”

California hospitals buckle as virus cases surge (AP) Hospitals across California have all but run out of intensive care beds for COVID-19 patients, ambulances are backing up outside emergency rooms, and tents for triaging the sick are going up as the nation’s most populous state emerges as the latest epicenter of the U.S. outbreak. On Thursday, California reported a staggering 52,000 new cases in a single day—equal to what the entire U.S. was averaging in mid-October—and a one-day record of 379 deaths. More than 16,000 people are in the hospital with the coronavirus across the state, more than triple the number a month ago. Patients are being cared for at several overflow locations, including a former NBA arena in Sacramento, a former prison and a college gymnasium.

‘Unbelievable’ snowfall blankets parts of the Northeast (AP) The Northeast’s first whopper snowstorm of the season buried parts of upstate New York under more than 3 feet (1 meter) of snow, broke records in cities and towns across the region, and left plow drivers struggling to clear the roads as snow piled up at more than 4 inches (10 centimeters) per hour. “It was a very difficult, fast storm and it dropped an unbelievable amount of snow,” Tom Coppola, highway superintendent in charge of maintaining 100 miles (160 kilometers) of roads in the Albany suburb of Glenville, said Thursday. “It’s to the point where we’re having trouble pushing it with our plows.” The storm dropped 30 inches (76 centimeters) on Glenville between 1 a.m. and 6 a.m. Thursday, leaving a silent scene of snow-clad trees, buried cars and laden roofs when the sun finally peeked through at noon. Much of Pennsylvania saw accumulations in the double digits. Boston had more than 9 inches (23 centimeters) of snow early Thursday morning.

1 in 5 prisoners in the US has had COVID-19, 1,700 have died (AP) One in every five state and federal prisoners in the United States has tested positive for the coronavirus, a rate more than four times as high as the general population. In some states, more than half of prisoners have been infected, according to data collected by The Associated Press and The Marshall Project. As the pandemic enters its 10th month—and as the first Americans begin to receive a long-awaited COVID-19 vaccine—at least 275,000 prisoners have been infected, more than 1,700 have died and the spread of the virus behind bars shows no sign of slowing. New cases in prisons this week reached their highest level since testing began in the spring, far outstripping previous peaks in April and August. As the virus spreads largely unchecked behind bars, prisoners can’t social distance and are dependent on the state for their safety and well-being.

Shut down by corona, Berlin restaurant opens for homeless (AP) The coronavirus pandemic hasn’t made life on the streets of Berlin any easier for Kaspars Breidaks. For three months, the 43-year-old Latvian has faced homeless shelters operating at reduced capacity so that people can be kept at a safe distance from one another. And with fewer Berliners going outdoors, it’s much harder to raise money by panhandling or collecting bottles to sell for recycling. But on a chilly winter morning this week Breidaks found himself with a free hot meal and a place to warm up, after the German capital’s biggest restaurant, the Hofbraeu Berlin—itself closed down due to coronavirus lockdown restrictions—shifted gears to help the homeless. It was a clear win-win proposition, said Hofbraeu manager Bjoern Schwarz. As well as helping out the homeless during tough times the city-funded project also gives needed work to employees—and provides the restaurant with welcome income. In cooperation with the city and two welfare organizations, the restaurant quickly developed a concept to take in up to 150 homeless people in two shifts every day until the end of the winter, and started serving meals on Tuesday.

Japan: Snow traps 1,000 drivers in frozen traffic jam (BBC) Rescuers are trying to free more than 1,000 vehicles which have been stranded on a highway for two days after a heavy snow storm struck Japan. Authorities have distributed food, fuel and blankets to the drivers on the Kanetsu expressway, which connects the capital Tokyo to Niigata, in the north. The snow, which began on Wednesday evening, has caused multiple traffic jams along the road. Officials have been using a combination of heavy machinery and physical labour to dig out the vehicles one by one, but around 1,000 cars were still stranded on the road as of Friday noon.

‘Nightmare’ Australia Housing Lockdown Called Breach of Human Rights (NYT) The sudden lockdown this summer of nine public housing towers in Melbourne that left 3,000 people without adequate food and medication and access to fresh air during the city’s second coronavirus wave breached human rights laws, an investigation found. The report, released on Thursday by the ombudsman in the state of Victoria, of which Melbourne is the capital, said that the residents had been effectively placed under house arrest for 14 days in July without warning. It deprived them of essential supports, as well as access to activities like outdoor exercise, the report said. The lockdown was not “compatible with residents’ human rights, including their right to humane treatment when deprived of liberty,” Deborah Glass, the Victorian ombudsman, wrote. The report recommended the state government apologize publicly to tower residents, as well as improve relationships and procedures at similarly high-risk accommodations in the city so that they might be better prepared for future outbreaks. Though Australia has won global praise for successfully slowing the spread of the coronavirus in the country, the report was a scathing rebuke of state officials’ decision to apply stringent measures to the public housing residents, who said they felt trapped and traumatized and suspected discrimination. Several described it as a “nightmare.”

Fiji says two dead as powerful cyclone tears across Pacific nation (Reuters) A powerful cyclone pounded Fiji, killing two people and leaving a trail of destruction across the Pacific Island nation, authorities said on Friday. Cyclone Yasa, a top category five storm, made landfall over Bua province on the northern island of Vanua Levu on Thursday evening, bringing torrential rain, widespread flooding and winds of up to 285 km per hour (177 miles) across the archipelago. Scores of houses were destroyed, while power was cut to some areas and roads blocked by fallen trees and flash flooding, authorities said. Officials with the Red Cross said authorities were scrambling to help affected communities. Adverse weather has hampered efforts by aid groups to dispatch assistance, with waves of more than 3 metres (10 ft) preventing ships leaving Suva.

Radio stations may be the real “e-learning” revolution (Rest of World) The impact of a student’s socioeconomic status on their access to education during the pandemic is playing out globally, exposing just how closely tied internet access is to educational opportunity. In Sub-Saharan Africa, over 85% of households lack access to the internet at home and 89% of students do not have access to a computer outside of school. On the African continent, expensive and unreliable internet reaches only 40% of the population. Many governments, companies, and NGOs think that throwing millions of dollars behind providing tablets is the best way to improve the quality of education, but this impulse overlooks infrastructural issues like access to the internet, teacher training, and the cost of upkeep that students need to use the tablets in the first place. “Even if we did have a device for every student, they would have nowhere to charge them,” Reshma Patel, the executive director of Impact Network, a nonprofit that provides education for over 6,000 kids in rural Zambia through community schools, told Rest of World. Impact-run schools adapted radio lessons, since a majority of their students live in homes without electricity. Faced with the shutdown of the 43 schools she supervises, Patel relied on the “forgotten stepchild of tech interventions” to reach students: radio. On the continent, radio has long been a window to the external world. Shoeshoe Qhu works as the station manager at Voice of Wits 88.1 FM, a university radio station in Johannesburg, South Africa. She grew up in a mountainous village of 100 homesteads without electricity or running water. While there wasn’t television, there was radio. As long as her family had access to batteries and a receiver, it was free. “If you wanted to hear what was happening everywhere else, you could only get it through the radio,” Qhu said. “I grew up with radio, and it gave me access to the world,” she added. “It meant everything.”

Watch those passwords (NYT) Dutch hacker Victor Gevers claims to have logged in to President Trump’s Twitter account six years ago by guessing the password: “yourefired.” Then he did it again. On Oct. 16, Gevers, 44, made an accurate guess, “maga2020!,” on his fifth try, according to Dutch prosecutors. Hacking is a crime in the Netherlands. But on Wednesday, Dutch officials said they would not press charges because Gevers had met the bar for “responsible disclosure,” demonstrating how easy it could be to gain access to the U.S. president’s handle: @realdonaldtrump.

#headlines #news

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1826 Friday 12 May

9 3/4

1 55/60

Tired as we were had two at once very good kisses last night had none this morning -

Letter from Miss Robinson of Thorpe Green near Boroughbridge purporting to give me (3 pages and 1 end) some useful hints respecting travelling abroad - very meagre in this particular - only 2 observations worth notice, that (as she told me in York) the road to Rome viâ  Perugia is prettier and has better accommodations than that viâ Siene - and that we ought to ‘take a washed leather sheet, as well as linen ones, to preserve you from damp and insects’ - .... ‘good private lodgings may be had in Rome, for between 60 and 70 scudi a month’ - ‘we crossed the Alps in Fegruary over Mont Cenis; and returned by the Simplon’ -

Letter also from Briggs of Tadcaster to say that after much consideration he had sold Hotspur at Northallerton fair to a Mr Beard, an Edinburgh dealer, for £50! - wrote immediately in answer that he had done right, I was very well satisfied - had rather the horse went to Edinburgh for £50 than came here for £80 but wished Briggs not to mention the price - Bad him keep the bridle for himself, and send the money the sooner the better - found I shall want my gig horse 10 days or fortnight longer but if I do not sell him here at the end of that time will send him to Briggs to make the best he can of him -

Breakfast at 10 1/2 - sent off my letter to Briggs ‘Livery Stables, Tadcaster’, having 1st read it to my aunt who seemed annoyed for the time at the horse being ‘sold for an old song’ -

At 11 50/60 M- [Mariana] and I commenced our labours - she all the day finishing the assorting and dusting of the Leeds and a few other old newspapers, and I finishing looking over the papers and old account and [m.ss] books in the library, and (having Hannah and afterwards George to help me) getting all the books carried out into my uncle’s room to be cleaned and catalogued - soon after we went to our work Mr Parker came and brought me the probate copy of my uncle’s will for which, Mr Wilkinson having made a mistake in his charge, I had £2.1.8 more to pay - arranged with Mr Parker to have a sale at Northgate on or about the 10th of next month - Told him I should appoint Mr James Briggs steward at which he was evidently much disappointed - he asked if speaking to my father would do any good, to which I of course said no! and begged he would not - said my uncle had thought of appointing Mr James Briggs everyone started at the idea of making an attorney steward - he allowed this was natural enough -

In the afternoon Thomas Greenwood came paid me £7 due long ago for wood - will pay the taxes of the fields in Hopwood Lane - would like to take those at Northgate - had bid Mr Parker £6 per days work but looked when I said the buildings were valued at £20 a year and not less than £50 a year would be taken for the lands and buildings altogether - I said it was too much for him to pay, and wished him not to think of them, but he asked to be informed before they were finally let, saying he would give £50 a year rather than miss them - he was in want of a feather room - if what we thought of turning into a cottage was a feather room it would be worth £15 a year to him -

M- [Mariana] and I hard at work till 6 - neither of us could do more than wash - Dinner at 6 10/60 - afterwards at work again - tea and coffee at 8 1/2 - then returned to our work - put away the newspapers into my Canteen, and came up to bed at 11 1/2 I then made memoranda of my accounts since Monday and wrote the whole of yesterday and today which took me till 12 1/2. Very fine day - Barometer 4 1/2 degrees above changeable Fahrenheit 50˚ at 11 1/2 p.m. O.. - Thomas Greenwood thinks he can get us a chap for Caradoc that will give £40 for him - I doubt it much -

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/9/0098

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #gentleman jack #1826 #mariana lawton

[hbostolemysoul]

Band of Brothers fluff alphabet: Joe Toye

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Walking into camp Toccoa had been terrifying for you, not that you would let it show. Having gone through basic training you knew better than to show your ‘girly’ emotions around the guys. That being said having every single set of eyes on you as you walked through camp was nerve-wracking. Most of the men stared at you, some whistled, but most of them left you alone.

You didn’t really have a problem with any of the men until you were out at a local bar one night enjoying your weekend pass. Cobb had seemed like an okay guy, a bit cynical and bitter at times but your interactions had been limited. He approached you, spilling some of the beer in his mug as he invaded your space. Clearly, he had overindulged, and his comments towards you went from inappropriate to near threatening as you denied his advances. Turning to leave you were yanked backward, your lower back slamming into the table behind you. At this point some of the men around you had taken notice, some looking like they wanted to step in, but also not wanting to add to the building tension. You felt your face flush, you broke Cobbs hold on his arm and he stumbled a bit.

As you turned to leave you hear Cobb sputter “Hey bitch”,

You turned on your heel and instead of throwing a punch at Cobb you were surprised to see Toye, Joe Toye if your memory serves you correct, with Cobbs collar in his fist muttering a quiet threat to Cobb to ‘leave the lady the fuck alone’. Behind Toye you could see Guarnere, Randleman, and even Lipton looking ready to back him up should the need arise.

Cobb backed down and stumbled back to his seat on the other end of the bar. Toye turned towards you, hand extended as he introduced himself. The boys ended up inviting you to their table while sitting you leaned closer to Toye,

“I appreciate the sentiment and all, but I could have handled that myself” Joe gave a gruff laugh,

“You flatter yourself too much sweetheart, I stepped in for his protection, not yours”, that got a laugh out of you. You and Joe got on pretty well after that.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Joe had dropped out of high school in his junior year to work in the mines to help support his family. He had been raised to put family first and should he ever get married or have kids their wellbeing would be his first priority.

After losing his leg and spending about 9 months in hospital he is at a loss as to what he can do for work. Before the war, he had worked in the mines and mills but without his right leg, those were no longer options. He wrote to you and in his own ‘tough guy’ kind of way expressed that he felt lost. He did eventually find work as a drill bit grinder at one of the mines in Reading, Pennsylvania.

When the war was over, and you had been shipped back home you decided to visit Toye. You two had always had an easy friendship, so coming to visit felt pretty natural for both of you. A one week visit extended to several, to you eventually moving into his guest bedroom, to said guest bedroom being made into an impromptu nursery.

Your pregnancy hadn’t been planned, but you and Joe took it in stride. Your friendship had always been an easy one, and when you two sat down to talk about things it became apparent that you both had been harboring ‘deeper’ feelings for each other.

You were a champ through the delivery because that child was by no means small. A hearty little thing that was a perfect mix of you and Joe, just having them in your arms made up for the 21 hours of labour you just went through, not that you would tell Joe that. Him doting on you had been kind of nice, and you were going to milk it for as long as possible.  

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

You will usually fall asleep close together, and wake up your back to Joe’s chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Joe is a pretty simple guy, beer and pizza. You also happen to like those things so you two often just order in and hang out. When his leg isn’t acting up you two sometimes go down to one of the local bars. If it’s a particularly good night Joe will even dance to a slow song or two with you.

E = Everything (You are my __ (e.g. my life, my world…))

“You are the toughest little thing I have ever met, y’know that?”

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

You and Joe had talked about ‘feelings’ and what not when you first found out you were pregnant. While you both knew you loved the other the words hadn’t been said yet. Truthfully, they hadn’t felt right until Joe saw you with a hand on your lower back, gently scolding the child within you for “kicking my damn bladder again”. Joe wasn’t a super touchy-feely guy, but for whatever reason, he just blurted the words out. It was kind of funny as you looked up at him, he blinked owlishly at you as if shocked by his own admission. You just grinned and waddled over, raising on your tip toes you place a gentle kiss to his mouth, “Love you too. Do you think we can get pizza for tonight? I really want olives”.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Don’t get me wrong Joe can be very gentle, but that doesn’t mean you always want him to be gentle.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Again Joe is not super touchy-feely, but when the mood strikes him he has no problem taking your hand in his larger one.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

He had seen you around Toccoa, and he had heard enough about you from the men to feel familiar enough with you. Prior to the ‘Cobb’ incident, you two hadn’t really crossed paths. What he remembers clear as day was how you were definitely going to lay Cobb out on his ass if he didn’t step in. Not that the guy didn’t deserve it. After talking with you that night he realized that you were quite funny and would totally take a guy down should the mood strike you. What can he say, he liked you.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Joe can get jealous, it happens more now that you two are officially together than it did before. Sure while overseas he would get annoyed with the way men would look at you, flirt with you, touch you, breath in your general vicinity, but hey you were just friends so he kept his feelings in check. But now that you are together he gets to pull out that ‘back the fuck off’ look that he does so well.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You honestly don’t remember. You two had been bickering about whether pineapple had a place on pizza and somehow your mouths ended up together.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Joe did. You had been standing in the kitchen muttering to your acrobat of an unborn child when Joe just blurted it out. It had been sweet, and so uniquely Joe that it was kind of hilarious. (Also you did get that pizza you asked for)

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

The first day you came to visit after the war had been pretty great. You two didn’t realize how much you had missed each other until you were in the same room. You two had stayed up late that night, drinking beers and just catching up. Joe also ‘forced’ the photos of Guarnere’s various kids upon you. What the hell else was he going to do with all those photos anyway?

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Pizza is kind of your thing. You two aren’t particularly materialistic, so it’s the simple things that keep you two happy.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Red. You are fiery, funny, and a total badass (beast in bed).  

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Sweetheart (not in a sappy way, but like totally Joe if that makes sense?!)

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

He has an old watch that his dad gave to him. The watch face is cracked and the battery died long ago, but it came from family so it means something.  

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Joe’s leg acts up when it rains, “something about the pressure systems or some shit” as he likes to say. So you two usually stay in, sometimes playing cards.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Joe (tough guy) doesn’t get sad, his head just gets cloudy sometimes. Pizza and beer usually fix it, until baby Toye comes along. Joe likes to have ‘conversations’ with your babbling baby, it literally keeps them entertained for hours.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Day to day life stuff mostly, “Have you seen the remote?”, “Why is our child covered in peanut butter?”, “Have you seen my watch?”. You know. Normal things.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Joe will never admit it, but he loves napping with the baby. He will never admit to needing the naps though, always some excuse “The kid was already asleep. Seemed like a crime to get up and disturb ‘em”.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Again Joe isn’t very materialistic, or showy. He is just happy to have the things he does, (You, baby Toye, a reasonable distance between the Guarnere clan and your home)  

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

The topic of marriage comes up occasionally, but you and Joe never really felt the urgency some other couples have. It wasn’t until baby Toye had tuned into ‘full on tiny human Toye’ that the conversation comes up seriously. Mostly because you kid straight up asked “Why don’t you just ask mom to marry you already?”.

You guys had a small ceremony, your families and friends came to the reception afterward. Guarnere full on cackled when he found out how you two ‘got’ engaged, he then promptly high fived your child.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Guest Room- Echos

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

You two had tossed the idea around, it wasn’t until your child literally scolded you that you two got your act together.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Joe had a clear dog or nothing rule. Until your child came home with this mangy cat that they were clearly in love with…It took Joe about two days to come around, but he most definitely did not fall asleep with the cat on his chest. No, that never happened.

#band of brothers #band of brother fluff alphabet #joe toye #joe toye x reader #easy company #band of brothers x reader

[amplesalty]

Christmas 2019: Day 9 - The Christmas Hope (2009)

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

Nine months of gestation!

On reflection, I can see that the past two entries on this years list have been a bit of a downer. Far too centered in talk of mental illness, depression and the like. Let’s perk things up a bit with...*checks notes*...shit.

Right now millions of people across the planet (or galaxy as it were) are enjoying/not enjoying the end to a very different cinematic trilogy. Me? I have a long overdue wrap up to attend to that started many moons ago thanks to a certain little film about a certain pair of shoes based on a certain song. Quite why I’m doing this know I don’t know. I can only suspect that I’ve seen one too many reflective social media posts now that we’re reaching both the end of a year and decade, perhaps I’m subconsciously wanted to sort out unfinished business, hence looking at stuff like this, Christmas Story Live and the Christmas Carol Musical.

The movie starts with Traci here recording herself singing a song before commenting ‘American Idol here I come!’. The camera pans all through her house looking at pictures of her daughter, soppy picture frames with ‘I LOVE YOU MOMMY’ written on them and no sign of a boyfriend/husband so she has the basis for a feel good story if she does make it on. Might need to jazz it up somewhere along the line if we’re to really tug at the audiences heartstrings but it’s a start. This actress would go on to play Vicky in the live action Fairly Odd Parents movies so that’s another tie in to a previous entry. Apparently there’s a third one of those and I’m not sure if I’ve seen it.

She literally runs into a couple on her way to work, knocking their teddy bear to the floor which they graciously give to her when she mentions that her daughter would love it. This is Nathan and Megan from The Christmas Blessing, sadly both recast. Actually, maybe that’s a good thing. Not sure I’d be able to take NPH seriously after all those H&K movies recently. Nathan is a bit more of a ginger this time around, rather than the dirty blonde thing NPH has going on. Megan is expecting and they have about a bajillion teddies so they don’t mind passing one along. Hey, someone probably got you that as a gift. Be grateful!

Meanwhile, the police arrest a drug dealer and find she has a malnourished baby in her apartment so in swoop child services to save the day.

Mr. T feels your pain.

I hope you weren’t getting too attached to Traci by the way because about fifteen minutes into the film, shortly after making a heartfelt promise to her daughter that they were going to decorate the Christmas tree once she got home from work and that she had a very special present for her this year, she promptly gets run over.

Have you ever crossed the road, and looked the wrong way? A car's nearly on you? So what do you do? Something very silly; you freeze. Your life doesn't flash before you, cause you're too fucking scared to think, you just freeze and pull a stupid face.

I know I shouldn’t be surprised given this is one of those melodramatic, Hallmark movies and this whole series has been overly morbid up to this point but it still kinda threw me. Here we are all nice and happy, Traci’s going about her day and there’s a nice Christian, soft rock Christmas ballad playing in the background and then BOOM, SUV to the face.

Then it cuts to her daughter, Emily, going through the Christmas decorations before settling on a angel which she ponders on for a moment before looking to the heavens as she’s having this moment of intuition.

But when child services pop their head in again to take her away, they find that all their usual helpers are fully booked for the holidays so what else can they do? One of the workers, Patricia, has no choice but to take her home. It’s not by the book but, damnit, it’s Christmas and we’re going to give this kid some degree of stability. By sheer coincidence, Patricia happens to be the mother of one Sean Addision who was the kid that died following a car accident the start of Christmas Blessing which caused Nathan to have his Dr Cox crisis of confidence moment. These movies are just ridiculous to how everyone's lives are so intertwined.

Like, up to this point, we met Traci who then bumped into Nathan and Megan, before going to work and having a young, troubled teen skip out on his bill but Patricia was in at the same time and tipped really generously to make up for it. That same kid then pretty much steals her bag following accident and also knew Sean who was mentoring him in one of those Big Brother mentoring programs.

Patricia’s husband, Mark, is played by James Remar, he of The Warriors fame and, more pertinent to this blog, he was in the Miracle on 34th Street remake and one of the segments in the Tales from the Darkside movie. Theirs is a very frosty relationship currently owing to the death of Sean, there’s no sense of chemistry between these two and I’m surprised they’re actually as close in age as they are, Remar only 4 years older. Feels like there’s more of like a 10-20 year gap. He gets on very well with Emily though, they have this instant rapport whilst Patricia is more distant which is understandable. She obviously has to keep things professional as she can’t get too attached to these kids and doesn’t want them getting attached to her, plus there’s probably ongoing issues from Sean’s death, maybe she’s not prepared to slip back into that motherly role again. Which you can tell by that dinner she serves; rolls of wafer thin ham, cherry tomatoes, carrot sticks and celery? That’s just what all the kids want.

At least she’ll read Emily a bedtime story, ‘I’ll Love You Forever’ which documents a mother who sings to her song that she’ll love him forever, even when he becomes a rebellious teenager who thinks it’s lame for her to do that. This leads to the very strange visual of him cradiling her in his arms on a rocking chair and singing it to her when she’s old and frail, a mirror image of how she first sang to him when he was a baby. This really hits Patricia in the feels as she felt distant from Sean as he seemed closer to his father, wanting to impress him by picking the sports and classes he thought his father wanted him to take. She even seems to partly blame her husband for their sons death as he switched around his work schedule to come home early for Christmas, which in turn led to Sean coming home early too. If he’d just come home on the day he intended this never would have happened! That seems grossly unfair. Even when she passed along a family heirloom in the form of her fathers watch, he was unimpressed and even managed to break it whilst horsing around with a friend in his room.

The massively tangled web of these characters comes into play again when Megan is going through some things and finds an old Christmas gift which sends Nathan into some sort of Nam flashback. Turns out Sean was holding it as he was wheeled into the hospital and Nathan had taken it upon himself to make sure it found its way to its intended destination but he just forgot about it over the years. I actually went back to check this and ,yeah, that is in the previous movie. I had this whole thing pegged as just a series of independent stories with loose connections throughout but no, apparently they had whole plot points planned out in advance.

Nathan and Patricia do interact several times as she takes the crack baby to the hospital to be checked up. There’s this strange level of frustration akin to An American Tail where Nathan keeps getting little flashbacks in his head but he’s never quite able to connect the dots.

But of course he eventually does and the present turns out to be, say it with me now, the broken watch! Perhaps more meaningful though is the accompanying note which reveals Sean intended to study social work at college because he wanted to help kids just like his mom. This seems to serve as a form of closure for her but I feel like you could already start drawing that sort of conclusion. I mean, the guy was already in that Big Brother program so you were clearly already having some sort of influence on him.

Strike two of the big overly emotional finale comes when it’s suggested Emily puts the angel atop the tree which promptly makes her bolt out of the room. Everyone is left thinking they’ve upset her but she comes back clutching a picture which she wedges onto the tree, a picture not of her mother as I had suspected but of Sean. She says he is her angel and she feels like whenever she’s felt all alone, he’s been there to help here. Awww.

The big showstopper though is the troubled kid finally coming good and, after realising who everyone is in this story, returns Traci’s bag to the Addison home. Inside was her camera and on that camera was the video from the very start of the movie. Turns out she wrote that song as a Christmas gift for Emily.

Though, I feel the writers fell short of a grand slam here. Near the end, Nathan shares the story with Megan about giving the gift to Sean’s parents and how it gave him his own little bit of closure after how much Sean’s death affected him back then. Megan goes into labour shortly afterwards and I was fully expecting them to decide to call the baby Sean but no such luck.

Christmas Blessing was lacking a little bit in the big emotional ending so it feels like this one is making up for that and then some. It’s not as cheesy as that song from Christmas Shoes but still delivers that overly sentimental feeling. Again, it’s something I am loathed to admit but it got to me a little bit. This whole movie has that same morbid energy as the other two but in a slightly different way, the first two felt like you spent the entire movie watching people who were on deaths door before something happened at the end to soften the blow. Here they just give you the death right up front and everyone is left to cope with the aftermath and reflect on how deal with it. It’s like an encapsulation of everything that Nathan has gone through over these movies, facing death in his personal and professional life but coming to terms with it.

You know what’s bullshit though? No sign of the eponymous Christmas Shoes anywhere. They’re even in the box of stuff that Megan finds the old Christmas present in. How can you make this your big conclusion and not bring them back? You brought them back the last one, you couldn’t have Megan tag along and give them to Emily at the end as some sort of passing of the torch? It was her destiny, Nathan got them for his dead mother, Charlie got them for his dead mother, those shoes have been robbed of their purpose in life.

#Christmas 2019 #The Christmas Hope

[gduncan969]

Enjoying Your Sabbath Rest

Hebrews 4: 9 - 11: “There remains therefore a rest for the people of God. For he who has entered His rest has himself also ceased from his works as God did from His. Let us therefore be diligent to enter that rest, lest anyone fall according to the same example of disobedience.”

The Old Testament Sabbath I was asked recently to explain what the word “Sabbath” meant to me and my immediate response was, of course, “a day of rest”.  The fourth commandment (Exodus 20:8) tells us “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy” and to make sure we understood what that means, the next three verses spell it out in detail: “Six days you shall labour and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it.”  All of us older folks can remember the days when Sunday was a different day from all others; the stores were closed, the streets were empty and church bells could be heard summoning the faithful to church.  In my native Scotland, the bars and movie theatres were closed, the soccer stadiums were deserted and even the children’s play-parks were all locked up, all to keep us obedient to the fourth commandment so that (it seemed to me) God’s wrath would not fall down upon us.  My wife tells me that after church on Sunday her family would go to grandma’s house where the only activity she was allowed was to braid her spinster aunt’s hair!  In those bygone days, Presbyterian Scotland was very obedient to the fourth commandment and it reminds me of a wonderful scene in the 1981 movie “Chariots of Fire” where Eric Liddle, the Scottish 1924 Olympic gold medalist, as he’s leaving the church a soccer ball comes bouncing up the walkway followed by a little boy in hot pursuit.  Liddle catches the ball and turns to the young lad and says, “D’ye no’ ken what day this is?”  “Aye, sir, it’s Sunday”.  “And should you be playin’ fitba on the Sabbath?” “No, sir”, he replies and Liddle hands him the ball with a smile and sends him on his way.  That typified the thinking among us children of what the Sabbath day was all about—what you couldn’t do and if you did, God would be angry!  The Sabbath was to be endured, not enjoyed and It left many of us with a very negative view of who God is and looking back on it now, I realise we were far more instructed in God’s laws than God’s love.  How things have changed, but not necessarily for the better.  I would never have believed in a month of Sundays that a virus would cause the world to shut down so abruptly and so completely but having now spent two months of “Sundays” in quarantine (minus the family visits), I am reminded of what’s been missing in the hustle and bustle of our pre-Covid days—we need a day of rest!   Several years ago I discovered a new law of human behaviour which goes like this: “The volume of work I need to do increases directly in proportion to the number of labour-saving devices I employ to do it.” How many of us remember the early days of computers when we were told paperwork would become a thing of the past?  What a lie that was!  We have all kinds of “labour-saving devices” from computers to dish-washers but we are busier than ever keeping them all going, often at the same time.

So what does “Sabbath” mean to you?  Is it something we are commanded to do or something we get to enjoy?  How you answer that question will show you whether you are under God’s Law or God’s grace?  “TGIF” (thank goodness it’s Friday) is the happy comment of many a worker but I’ve never heard anyone use the term “TGIS”.  In my blog of May 1st I described how as Christians we are no longer under Law but under Grace so we are free from having to obey God’s Law because Christ has freed us from the demands of the law and that includes the fourth commandment.  We are free to walk in the “glorious liberty of the children of God” and we are not subject to any laws save to love God and our neighbours but that comes with a warning (Galatians 5:13) not to abuse our liberty: “For, brethren, ye have been called unto liberty; only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, but by love serve one another.”  Our liberty is not a licence to follow our fleshy desires but to follow Him.  The object of the fourth commandment was to keep the Sabbath holy which means to set it apart to the Lord, to enjoy Him through worship and praise, leaving most of the demands of earthly life aside as we do so.   The problem is that many still understand this as a Law to be obeyed rather than a freedom to be enjoyed and so they legislate some activities as admissible while others are forbidden like swinging on a swing on a Sunday.  

The New Testament Sabbath The Old Testament Sabbath held on the seventh day of the week (and on other “special Sabbaths”) was only a precursor to the eternal Sabbath which God has already entered having “ceased from His own labours” and into which He brings us as we commit our lives to the Lord Jesus Christ.  That’s what Hebrews 4:9 - 11 is referring to when it describes a “rest for the people of God”, a rest where we have given up and ceased from our own strivings for success through our own efforts and are trusting fully in Him.  This is not an easy thing to do and I like how the old King James version puts verse 11: “Let us labour therefore to enter that rest..”   That phrase could easily be paraphrased as: “work hard at not working”.  One of the great challenges in being obedient to the Holy Spirit within us is to do our utmost to REST in Him.  The reason it is so hard for us is that we are so success-driven in our flesh (the natural man) that we find it very difficult to believe that God has already done it all and has quit from His labours.  We see only needs when God sees only supply.  This is what Annie Flynt wrote in her timeless hymn “He Giveth More Grace..”

     He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,      He sendeth more strength when the labours increase;      To added afflictions He addeth His mercy,      To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.      When we have exhausted our store of endurance,      When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,      When we reach the end of our hoarded resources      Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

Hebrews 4:9 tells us, “There remains therefore a rest to the people of God” and our challenge is figuring out how to enter into it.  If we fail to enter in we will have no rest, only striving and struggling.  Entering in is a process of learning to lean on Jesus, trusting him, submitting to him and following him.  For Christians the Sabbath is not a day but a lifetime, not a rule but a rest.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

: Wednesday 9 January 1839

8 40

[?] 50

A-‘s cousin came coughed all last night as the 2 preceding nights – my chest quite sore – thick snow on the ground this morning – wrote and sent note to ‘Mr. Mackean, Yorkshire District Bank H-x’ done up in parcel with my banking book asking for order on London for £40.10.0 payable on demand to Mrs. Ann Lister and desiring my account to be brought down to the present time  observing that the £1344.3.7 was entered on the 21st ultimo but not the £500 I myself paid in on the 5th ultimo sent off John Booth with this packet at 9 40 and then at that hour breakfast in ½ hour – when A- had a Mr. Heaton –

SH:7/ML/E/22/0096

aet. 23, and said his wife was 19 or just 20, of Brighouse recommended by Mr. Phileman Bancroft to apply for the school – all went on pretty well, till he said he had partly engaged in another situation (not a school) and wanted A-‘s answer today – on which A- told him that as she could not possibly give an answer so immediately he had best think no more of the school – he asked in what time A- could give an answer – but she begged him to think no more of the school and thus he went away – he had been with Mr. Barber solicitor of Brighouse before he failed, wrote a tolerable hand and read in the new testament sufficiently well – a church man and of conservative principles it was now 11 – John B- brought back the bank-draft on London (Messrs. William Deacon and co.) payable to Mr. Ann Lister on demand £41.1.0 instead of £40.1.0 wrote explaining the overpayment of one pound – said I had done what I could to get the water

Rent  41.0.0

underpaid January 1837=  0.30.0

41.13.0

Deduct Insurance 1.12.0

40.1.0

over paid thro’ the bank inadvertence 1.0.0

41.0.0

rent, but had not yet succeeded – mentioned Mr. Sowdens’ having promised to pay on advance of £10 per annum but that my steward seemed to have let him off after the rate of 10/. a year less – I had not said anything about it at present in consideration of the times, and of the loss Mr. Sowden had sustained by the failure of his sons a 12 month or more ago – had just sent off John Booth at 11 ¾ with this letter to the post-office together with A-‘s letter written last night to her sister when Mr. Holmes’ A-‘s Southedge house tenant came and signed his lease, A- signing 1st the lease, and the memorandum at the back purporting that the tenant-right should be allowed according to the valuation of the same by 2 respectable persons – as to all matters and things done in a husband-like manner – very young-looking inexperienced-looking young man – I had David Booth at 12 – he dined with the servants – and then came to me again then A- had Waddington respecting the Lightcliffe church-rate – I with them sometime – Mr. Henry Flather the church warder to be asked to come here to speak on the subject of the organists’ salary – A- mentioned several people to be asked to attend the meeting at 2pm tomorrow and I mentioned 3 or 4 – Waddington to let them know (except Bancroft whom A- was to let know) and she gave W- 5/. for the time it would take him – he has 5/. a day for doing towns’ business – then had Booth again he was at Huddersfield yesterday and paid Mr. Richard Pollard for 59 yards of ground bared for stone adjoining Sun wood – 15 or 20 yards of this still to get that could not be had because of not seaming off – but now that I have permission to get 50 or 60 yards more at the same price that is 1/. per yard I shall be able to get what remains of my 1st lot – the face of the stone to be left open – told DB. to see what wanted doing at John Bottomleys’ and at Whiskam cottage – talked over what wood would be wanted for Listerwick boiler house roof, and roofing of the shades – mentioned taking put off for lumber room, and a small part for an office – wood would be about £30 and labour £5 for the roofing of the whole – talked over tram-road – wheel-stone instead of tram rails – told in brief the story of Mr. Rawsons’ behaviour respecting my coal – DB. thinks I could lay a floor over the coach house dressed on both sides at 4/6 per square yard – and if under drawn the dressing of one side would be saved so that the floor would be laid at 4/. per square yard and the under drawing (2 coats) done at 10d. per yard – say 5/. per yard – shewed DB. Mr. Bull’s bill and report B-‘s estimate of the masons’ work if the clow had been done according to Mr. B-‘s plan, [was] B- thinks 2 or 3 pounds under £30 – the whole job by him and the Manns’ was to have been done for £50 – the shuttle and Iron work could not have been more than £6 or £7 more – In the midst of all this when Mr. Stephen Nelson came at 3 25 – said I was glad   Mr. Booth happened to be here, and thus saying came upstairs immediately and left them together – B- soon came up to say Mr. N- wanted to settle but he had told him I should pay no attention to anything not signed by Mr. Harper – I confirmed this but told to say that he (B-) was my clerk of the works under Mr. Harper, and was .:. the proper person for Mr. N- to leave his bills with – then till 4 35 wrote all but the 1st line of today – then till 5 writing out in my business letter-book copy of letter to ‘Mrs. Lister, 13 Stockwell Common, London’ sent off to be in time for the London post at noon today – vide middle of last p. – then had written 1 ¾ p. to M- when A- returned from Cliff Hill half benumbed to death about 5 25 – rubbed her hands – got her a glass of hot weak marsala wine and water and she was the better for it – she had John B- to walk by her ponys’ side and bring him her Lightcliffe rents – in about 50 minutes more till 5 55 wrote the remainder of p. 2 and the whole of p. 3 and finished my letter as follows – ‘Shibden hall – Wednesday 9 January 1839. My dearest Mary – we were sorry and disappointed not to see you yesterday; but the badness of the weather and the limits put upon your time were enough to reconcile us as far as reconciliation could be possible – we only hope to be more fortunate another time – you will not need invitation upon invitation, but will come when you can – we shall always be glad to see you; and, we are sure you will be always satisfied with your welcome – Have you really ventured to travel today? we have grieved over its being so much worse than yesterday – your horses must have balled terribly – the mail, with a lady and gentleman inside, passed the Lodge yesterday hardly an hour beyond the time – today I have not heard at what hour it passed; but if you really were among the enclosed,  I hope and trust you got on better than could be expected – we shall be anxious to hear of your safe arrival at your

SH:7/ML/E/22/0097

journeys’ end – what a blessing that you all escaped in the minster yard without bodily harm! nobody hereabouts ever remembers such a storm of wind – But your mother seems to be well as of late, at which we rejoice very sincerely – I hardly dared name her individuality, for fear all might not be well – your account of the Norcliffes took us by surprise – we grieved and wondered – Poor Mr. Duffin! From that you say, I fear he cannot last long – Is not Mrs. Duffin herself far from well? How is Mr. Lawton? and we hope you will find Watson sufficiently well to be comfortable to herself, and of use to you – By the way, I must tell you, the wind rocked us as if we had all been in cradles – but we were comparatively sheltered; and all the damage was the blowing out the south and west windows of my new study in the tower – But they were not well fixed; and the plumber and glalzier-man was more than, or as much in fault as the wind – I write in haste as usual – you will begin to fancy, I shall never write at leisure again – not just yet, I dear – I have not got over my potherations – yet I live in hope – God bless you, my dearest Mary! affectionately yours AL. I send you a letter and newspaper which arrived on Monday’ – had just written so far and read to A- and sealed and directed my letter to ‘Mrs. Lawton Lawton hall Lawton Cheshire’ and redirected the letter and newspaper that arrived for her on Monday at 6 20 – then went into the cellar – 1 port Oldfield 2me qualité – dinner at 6 ½ - A- read French – coffee – I read the newspaper till 9 25 – Kind letter tonight 2 2/3 pp. from Miss Norcliffee Petergate York – thanks for the snuff-box ‘one of the handsomest I ever saw’ – ought to have been acknowledged before – but better late than never – the damage does not seem so great to the minster as would seem from Mrs. Lawtons’ letter – the least possible mention of Mrs. Lawton – merely saying she was to bring the letter – yet on some account or other it is arrived per post – fine day over – good deal of snow on the ground – I have not stirred out – I shall nurse a little till my chest is relieved – A- counted her Lightcliffe rents  about four hundred and forty and about one hundred of them still to be paid – came upstairs at 10 35 at which hour F30 ½° inside – and 18 ½° outside at 10 55 pm

[allyinthekeyofx]

Impossible Choices

Impossible Choices

AllyinthekeyofX

Summary:

Mulder is returned and Scully is offered a choice. But when does a choice become an impossibility? An alternative ending to the show. Seasons 8 + 9 are just a bad dream!  The story is set a few months after Requiem.  

Notes:

I wrote this in anger at how everything turned out and because of a lingering sense that the characters I came to know and love were sold down the river. But the passing of time gave me perspective and a greater appreciation of what came after. So, after sitting on it for 16 years I decided to polish it up and to unleash it finally on an unsuspecting fandom. I still wish that CC had given them an ending they deserved, but they weren’t. I can live with that now. 

One

“Georgetown Memorial. Go there now Agent Scully.”

I blink my eyes in response to the cold, hard voice that rings menacingly in my ear through the telephone handset I have fumbled for in the dark just seconds earlier.

“Who is this?” I demand.

I don’t expect an explanation. I’m just asking out of habit more than anything else. Falling back on my years of investigative training, unconsciously slipping in to the mode of an Agent of the FBI.

“Georgetown Memorial Agent Scully. He’s waiting for you.”

A click as the connection is severed, leaving me half leaning out of the bed as if bringing myself closer to the phone will make the mystery caller miraculously reappear. He doesn’t though, and after a few seconds, the sound of the dialling tone is replaced with a high pitched whine that urges me to replace the handset.

I can’t seem to move though. It’s as though those four words have turned me to stone. I understand their hidden meaning immediately. I’ve been waiting to hear them, every second of every minute of every day for over seven months now. I’ve heard them in my dreams so many times. Been forced from the arms of sleep by the sound of Mulders voice in my head, only to be confronted by an empty room that is darkened by the shadows of night. Darkened by the fact that he isn’t here. I have found myself living my day to day existence hidden behind a wall of steel. Allowing no one to see or understand my innermost feelings. It’s been hard enough just coping with the whispers that follow me along the halls of the Hoover building. Head held high, I have retreated within myself. But it has hurt so much. 

Special Agent Dana Scully MD. Pregnant with Spooky Mulders baby. The fact that he is missing has made little impact on my peers. If anything it has become a great source of amusing speculation for them. With Mulder gone I have finally slipped effortlessly in to the role of Mrs Spooky. A name Tom Colton christened me with so long ago, but one which hadn’t really stuck. Until now that is.

His nameplate still graces the thick hardwood door. His handwriting still categorises the filing cabinets. I have changed very little in the layout of the office. It’s an office I have, these past months, shared with a ghost. The ghost of the man I refused to mourn. So sure was I that he would return. I never stopped believing.

And now, as I stare dumbly at the phone, I realise with a start, that it is finally over.

It’s enough to galvanise me in to action. The extra weight of the baby inside me makes moving quickly difficult at best, but for the first time in weeks, I manage to swing my legs over the side of the bed and get to my feet in one fluid movement. My back protests just for a second but the pain is quickly forgotten as I grab my robe from the hook at the back of the door and exit the bedroom.

Heedless of the lateness of the hour, I hurry over to the sofa where my Mother sleeps, wrapped in a heavy quilt to protect her against the chill winter air. I don’t notice the cold though. Because he’s waiting for me.

“Mom?”

She awakens before I have even closed my mouth. Instantly alert as she struggles in to a sitting position.

“What is it honey? Is it the baby?”

I realise my mistake as her eyes widen in anticipation. She has been here in the apartment with me for almost a week now. Insisting that, as I grew nearer to my due date, that I shouldn’t be alone. Not once did she suggest that I should be the one to move in with her. I didn’t need to explain my motives for remaining here for as long as possible. She just knew. She immediately understood that I needed to be here for when Mulder returned and I loved her for it.

Seeking to reassure her that I am indeed okay I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently.

“No, Mom, I’m fine. But I need you to drive me to the hospital. I……..I got a call……and….”

I feel the tears rush to my eyes as I stumble over words that stick in my throat like glue. I’ve waited for this for so long, and now the moment’s here, I can’t bear to acknowledge it. I can’t bear to tempt fate by speaking his name aloud. Because I’m afraid that if I do, I will wake up and realise that this is all a cruel trick of my mind.

But she understands immediately, grasping my hand even as she rises to her feet before me, enveloping me in an awkward hug that calms me immediately.

“It’s Fox isn’t it?”

I can only nod shakily against her shoulder as the tears begin to flow. So much sorrow, so much hope, so much disappointment. I’m not sure I can bear anymore. Not sure I can bear it if this turns out to be a hoax of some kind. But her touch calms me marginally.

“It’s okay sweetie. I’ll get dressed.”

***************

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 3:41a.m.

I head through the automatic doors in to the foyer of this vast building. It’s a building I know all too well. Too many visits over the last few years have made it as familiar to me as my own apartment and I skirt around the edges of the humanity which are milling around within its confines in an attempt to get to the admissions desk with as much haste as possible. It’s Sunday morning and the aftermath of Saturday night is still pressing down heavily on the hospital’s resources but despite this, the desk, when I finally reach it, is clear of people.

The nurse behind it raises his eye brows questioningly as I stand before him, his gaze flickering over my burgeoning belly. The fact though that I am seemingly alone, fully dressed and exhibiting all the calm I can muster reassures him immediately that I am not in labour. That my business here is unconnected with the tiny new life I am growing within me.

“Can I help you Ma'am?”

I feel a hand rest gently on the small of my back as my Mother finally caches up with me. With typical practicality, she has been parking the car in the designated long-stay parking area. Like me, she is already sure that one way or the other, this will be a long night. Her presence gives me the courage to open my mouth. Flipping my little used FBI identification out of the pocket of the long, black jacket I wear I hold it in front of him.

“My name is Dana Scully. I have reason to believe that my partner may have been brought in here at sometime during the night.”

The nurse is obviously more in awe of female government Agents than my own work colleagues are because he immediately snaps in to action, tapping a few words in to the computer terminal beside him.

“Okay Agent Scully. I have admissions up now. Can I take the name of your partner please?”

I close my eyes, praying silently to myself even as I feel my baby kick impatiently inside me, almost as though he is urging me to make haste. To take him finally to his father.

“His name is Fox Mulder……….but he may not have been in a condition to give his name. He……….he has been missing for a long time……”

The nurse shakes his head, cutting me off abruptly.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully. No one of that name has been admitted tonight…….it’s been a crazy night though…..I could check descriptions of any John Does though if you wanted….”

I manage to flash him a grateful smile despite the worry that is gnawing away at me.

“Yes, please if you would.”

His fingers fly across the keys once again and out of the peripherals of my vision I see a list of figures flash up on the screen in answer to his query. He doesn’t look up at me as he quickly asks me for basic descriptions. Age, height, approximate weight, hair colour possible nature of injury.

I answer quickly, stumbling over his final question and I have to admit to him that I have no idea. Injury could be as insignificant as a cut finger, as mind numbing as a fatality with every possible scenario in between.

Finally, he looks up at me, smiling reassuringly, no doubt in response to both my condition and the fact that I am now gripping the edge of the admissions desk hard enough to whiten my knuckles. No doubt my face is similarly devoid of color.

“Okay Agent Scully. I have four males who have been admitted to the ER in the past twenty-four hours. Two suffering from gunshot wounds…….I’m sorry, but they were pronounced dead shortly after arrival. The other two - both IC one males in their late thirties/early forties, approximately six feet tall are still in the hospital. One suffering from minor concussion and apparent memory loss is unable to furnish us with his personal details at this time. The other……….”

He frowns suddenly as he skims his eyes over the details on the screen.

“The other was admitted three hours ago. But there must be a glitch in the system somewhere. It says here that he was discovered on a gurney. Unconscious and apparently physically unharmed. No admitting information aside from that……….I’m sorry, if you hold here for a minute I’ll try….”

I raise my hand slightly to cut him off.

“That’s him.” I insist ignoring the way his eyes widen in response to my tone and I realise how it must sound. Of course he has no way of knowing that I have more insight in to this than they can ever imagine in their worst nightmares.

“Could you please tell me where he is?”

He shakes his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully. It’s standard procedure in cases like these to first ascertain some kind of connection between the John Doe and the relative…….I’m sorry, but you don’t fall in to the criteria of relative……now if you could perhaps furnish us with the details of his next of kin so that a proper identif……”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Seven months of waiting. Seven months of heart wrenching uncertainty only to be now held up by bureaucratic red tape. But I have a final card hidden deep within my sleeve, one which this eager young man couldn’t possibly have imagined. FBI Agents or not, we have a connection that will slice effortlessly through the bureaucracy.

“If you would care to check Agent Mulders past medical records you will see that as from January 1997 *I* am listed as his next of kin.”

His expression hovers somewhere between a new kind of respect and out and out disbelief. I’m sure he’s heard the same proclamation a hundred times in the past from desperate individuals searching for their loved ones.

“That might take a couple of minutes to check up on Agent Scully. If you’d like to take a seat for a few minutes, I’ll have someone come down and speak to you.”

I follow the direction in which he waves, seeing row upon row of hard, uncomfortable leather backed chairs. No doubt I would be more comfortable standing, especially now that the baby weighs so heavily on my frame, but I don’t want to make waves so I acquiesce and allow my Mother to lead me away from the admissions area.

We sit, not speaking. I’m not sure that I could at this point. Anticipation has stolen my voice from me. My mouth is dry, my head beginning to throb with the suppressed tension that has been threatening to burst free ever since my telephone rang, tearing me from sleep. It was less than an hour ago. It feels like centuries. But I’m okay. I can get through this. I have to. For Mulder I will remain calm. To start shouting now would only delay what needs to be done in order to see him. Out of a desperate need to do something with my hands, I begin to gently trace circles over my belly with my palms, feeling the solid, reassuring presence of my baby’s tiny rump through my taut skin. Like magic, my breathing slowly returns to normal.

I have waited for so long. I can wait another few minutes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my Mother’s hand reaching across for mine, but instead of grasping it, she simply covers it with hers, smiling gently at me as she too feels the tiny boy who lays, protected within. Not once in the last seven months has she allowed herself to voice the fears she must surly hold. Fears for what might happen if my stubborn assurances that Mulder would indeed return should prove fruitless. Not once has she berated me for not admitting to the intimate relationship Mulder and I shared in those last weeks before he was taken. Not once has she questioned my choices. Not once. She is of course, in the minority.

My eyes are still locked on to the vision of our two hands caressing my baby when the voice cuts in to my thoughts.

“Agent Scully?”

I get to my feet immediately finding myself face to face with a man that I recognise from so long ago.

“Doctor Daley?” my voice must be bordering on incredulous, because he smiles reassuringly at me. Extending his hand which I grasp briefly.

“It’s good to see you Dana,,,,,I was about to ask how you were…..but I see you are indeed blooming. Literally.”

“Thank you. Doctor Daley……..Can you tell me? Is my partner here?”

He releases my hand. Becoming all business once again. But his expression is troubled. I see it clearly in his eyes.

“I’m not sure Dana. When I received the call a few minutes ago telling me you were here, asking after him, it immediately fell in to place. There had been something bothering me about the way we found him, no admission paperwork, no notes on how he came to be there. Just like you were found….but I confess, I never really thought to make the connection. Five years is a long time in a busy hospital Dana…….it’s been a crazy night and…..”

I shake my head. Waving away his apologies.

“It’s okay. I understand, really I do. But I need to see him. Please. Can you take me to him?”

I am holding on to my composure by just a thread now and I know that if he refuses, I will simply push past him and search this damn hospital until I find what I am looking for. The potential consequences of those actions mean nothing to me. Maybe he sees that, because he nods carefully. But there is caution in his tone as he grasps my arm.

“I’ll take you there Dana. But understand that it might *not* be your partner.”

I swallow heavily. Chasing away the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corners of my eyes.

“It’s him.” I whisper. “It has to be.”

**********************

Two

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 4:01a.m.

I’m a little surprised when I realise that Daley isn’t actually heading in the direction of the ICU. I guess I had been expecting Mulder to be in pretty bad shape. Certainly needing a level of care that could only be found in that most specialised part of the hospital, but I find myself following him along one of the many standard corridors that house the many patients in need of basic nursing.

“I’m sorry Doctor Daley….”

He stops dead at the sound of my voice. The uncertainty is evident even to me as I hear myself questioning him.

“I thought…..I mean, I was told that my partner was unconscious when he was brought in…..I just assumed he would be in the ICU….”

I can clearly see that it’s on the tip of his tongue to remind me that this man *might* not be Mulder, but he swallows the words and instead tells me what I need to hear.

“Yes that’s right. He was indeed unconscious when discovered. But pulse, respiration and temperature were all normal. The ECG came back clear although it’s too early to ascertain if there are any anomalies in his blood work. His condition hasn’t changed since then. We saw no reason to subject him to the rigours of the ICU unless his condition should worsen. We’re monitoring him carefully and so far it hasn’t.”

His explanation should soothe my fears, but inexplicably just hearing it causes my heart to begin hammering painfully in my chest. I have a terrible feeling about all this. It’s a feeling that has been building from the minute I replaced the receiver in my apartment. Maybe it’s a combination of the numbing fatigue I have been feeling lately and the fact that I so badly need all this to work out *right*. Whatever it is, I am scared. So scared right now that I am tempted to spin around and head right back to where I have left my mother. I had wanted, had *needed* to do this alone and she had remained, ensconced in a small, comfortable room specially put aside to house worried relatives. Now though, I wish more than ever that she was here by my side.

But I don’t. I simply nod slightly and drop my eyes from Daley’s. My action prompts him to continue walking and I try to keep pace as best I can. He is a fairly tall man. Not as tall as Mulder, but even so, his strides are worth two of mine.

Finally, he comes to a halt outside a plain, hardwood door. No different from any other door we have passed during this journey. But of course it *is* different. Because behind this door lays an answer that has the ability to lift me skywards with joy or to plunge me back in to the depths of despair. I’ve been waiting so long for this moment and now it’s finally here, I am almost afraid to discover which one it will be.

There have been so many disappointments. So many journeys like this one. A roller coaster ride of anticipation and disappointment. But this time is different. Something deep within me senses it. If pressed, I couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain how I just *know*.

Daley reaches for the door knob, but before he can close his fingers around it I reach out and tug at his arm slightly. He freezes at my touch, but his eyes when they turn to me are clouded with concern.

“Agent Scully?” “I’m sorry. But I need to do this alone.”

He hesitates for just a beat before dropping his hand back to his side. He understands I think. Maybe it’s because of our previous connection. Or maybe he sees the yearning that I am sure is shining in my eyes right now. By allowing me to enter the room of what might be a stranger to me he is breaking Hospital protocol. It’s a fact that hasn’t escaped me. But equally he seems to understand in some small way what I have been through and it prompts him to nod his head slowly, stepping back to allow me access.

I grasp the door knob, the metal cold in my palm but before I turn it I briefly close my eyes. The final step. The final few seconds of waiting. It’s both exquisite and excruciating. But the moment passes quickly and I open the door, stepping over the threshold as I simultaneously open my eyes.

The room itself is shrouded in half light. Dark enough to allow the patient within to remain undisturbed. Bright enough to allow the medical personnel to go about their business. Certainly bright enough for me to see him. The figure on the bed is tall. Eyes closed he appears for all the world as though he is simply sleeping. His breathing is evenly spaced, serene even, his lips slightly parted. Relaxed. But the man on the bed is thin. So painfully thin that I have to look twice to be sure. But then I see it. A glint of gold in the darkness that catches my eye.

The waiting is over. One way or another my desperate search is over. Because it really is him. No more disappointment. He’s been returned to me. In what condition remains to be seen. But he is back and right now I can’t think beyond that.

The image before me blurs and for the first time I am aware of the tears that are streaming down my face. Whether they are of joy or sadness I can’t be sure. Because as I get closer to him I can see what all this has cost him. His dark hair, the same hair I had enjoyed running my fingers through after we made love is now tinged with a smattering of grey. There is evidence of bruising on his face, bruises that, even in the half light, lend an unhealthy tinge to his skin. And he is *thin*. So damn thin. I can see the deep hollows in his cheeks, the way his skin seems to be stretched too tightly across his face. But it doesn’t matter. Because he is there before me. And to me he will always be beautiful.

“Mulder.”

I don’t know why I speak his name. I don’t expect him to respond. But something deep inside me needs to hear it. If only to reassure myself that he is really here. I reach him finally, standing above him, watching my tears fall on to his pale skin until I kneel awkwardly, curling my hand around his as I lower my head to his chest. I hear his heartbeat in my head. Strong and regular it blocks out the sound of my gasping sobs. Until finally, something within me is set free. Something that has held my heart in it’s iron grip for so many long months and I am able to finally cry the tears I have suppressed for so long.

Because he is *here*. Finally I have found him. Finally it’s over.

*************

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 9:18a.m.

“Agent Scully?”

The familiar voice pulls me from the arms of sleep and I am immediately aware of a piercing pain that slices across my back when I try to straighten up.

Skinner hovers above me, his face twisted with anxiety as he recognises my discomfort. It’s an expression I have come to both recognise and appreciate in the months since Mulder was taken. Blaming himself needlessly for Mulders abduction, he has remained by my side, supporting me throughout this time. He has become far more than simply my superior agent. Much more than that he has become a trusted friend. I remember vividly the night he came to my apartment. A little over a week after Mulder disappeared, he had returned from making his report to the OPR revue committee that had been hastily assembled in response to happenings in Oregon. Questions had been asked of Skinner. Demands made that he should explain his actions that night. Veiled threats that he would be held solely responsible.

In response to their questioning, Skinner had calmly recounted the details as he saw them. With no regard for his future position within the Bureau he had placed an official stamp on the work of the X-Files department. He had spoken of things that, only weeks ago he would have dismissed as being fantastic, events that would hold him up for ridicule for the remainder of his career. He had laughed bitterly when he had told me that part. I think we both knew that, whatever the outcome of the revue, his career was now effectively over. They hadn’t believed him of course. This assembled group of respected senior agents had dismissed all but the very basic details of his report. Accused him, as they had accused me in the past, of becoming enchanted with Mulders passionate beliefs, of becoming drawn in to a web of misplaced loyalty and an almost comical paranoia that *they* were indeed out there.

Mulder was officially listed as missing, presumed dead by unknown method. No more to add. No more to say. Skinner had come to me that night a broken man after being forced to retract his statement in order to keep his position within the bureau. Weighed down by an all consuming guilt that he had failed us once again. For the second time in the space of a week, I had seen him weep and the bond between us had strengthened never to be broken as I had held him in my arms, whispering assurances that he hadn’t failed. That I understood his reasons. That, more importantly, Mulder would understand his reasons.

He retained his position as Assistant Director if not his reputation, and in doing so, ensured that I kept my own place within the X-Files. He had handpicked me a new partner who I tolerated out of a sense of loyalty towards this man who had risked everything for Mulder and I. He had allowed me to retain my position even when, officially, I should have been on mandatory maternity leave. Perhaps more importantly, he remained the one person who truly understood what I have been through these past long months since Mulder was taken.

So, to look at him as he stands here now seeing the concern for me radiating from him does not surprise me.

In answer to his unspoken question I attempt a smile which I am pretty sure doesn’t quite come off and finally straighten the kinks out of my back sufficiently to sit up. I notice that my hand still covers Mulder’s. That even in sleep I was unwilling to let him go.

“I’m fine.” I assure him. “I don’t think final trimester pregnancy and bedside vigils really complement each other. I’ve been getting a lot of back pain recently that’s all. It’s normal at this stage of pregnancy.”

I feel Skinner’s hand rest gently against the back of my neck, beneath my hair that has grown longer, softer, over the last few months. It’s now almost the same length it was when I first met Mulder. Longer than I have worn it in years. Like a child who relies on silly superstition, I made a decision not to get it cut until Mulder was returned. Stupid really. Even I don’t understand it. I close my eyes against the pressure of his palm on my skin. This simple gesture of concern and protection that causes my breath to catch in my throat. He has slipped effortlessly in to the role of Father figure. Determined not to fail me as he perceives he failed Mulder, he has hovered on the fringes of my life to ensure my constant well being.

“You shouldn’t be here Scully.”

I nod. I know he’s right. I am in no shape to be doing this. Maybe six months ago I could have handled the physical and mental strain of watching over my partner as he lays before me on the bed, but now, with less than two weeks to go until my due date I should be resting. I should be concentrating all my energies on preparing for the birth of my baby. Of Mulders son. Of bringing him safely in to this world. But the advice that the pragmatic, sensible medical doctor part of my brain gives me is currently far outweighed by a much greater need inside of me. It’s a need that comes straight from my heart and one that I refuse to ignore.

“I know” I answer simply, flicking my gaze back to Mulder for a second before I continue. “But I can’t leave him. Not now.”

The pressure against the back of my neck increases slightly and without even looking around, I sense he understands. My belief is only compounded when he immediately switches his attention to Mulder, choosing not to get in to a discussion he knows he won’t win.

“How is he?”

Now there’s a question if ever there was one. I’ve been asking myself that very same question all night and in the cold light of day I am none the wiser. I have endlessly questioned the medical personnel who have drifted in and out of the room during the hours I have been here. Read the charts that hang from the end of the bed so many times I almost know them by heart.

Temperature normal. Pulse normal. Respiration normal. Blood work normal. Brain patterns normal.

Everything about him is so *normal* I could scream with frustration. If there were a reason for this I could accept it. But there is nothing to go on, nowhere to turn. He is slightly dehydrated. Malnourished. But those things are slowly being rectified with the insertion of canulars in his arm that are feeding him a steady dose of high dosage glucose. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, whether desperate hope is clouding my medical judgement, but it seems to me that just the tiniest hint of color has returned to his skin. But still he sleeps. On and on. Unmoving. His pupils react to light stimulant. His reflexes are alert and active. He flinches slightly when subjected to localised pain. But that is where it ends. I have talked constantly to him throughout the night. I believe he can hear me, can recognise the sound of my voice, and I have told him of our son, my voice breaking as I implore him not to give up. That he has so much to live for now. Maybe he hears me. Maybe he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. Because I have to believe that he does. But still he continues to sleep.

So I find myself unable to answer Skinner’s question. How can I explain this to him when I can’t explain it to myself. So I just shake my head numbly.

“I don’t know. There is no medical explanation for why he should be like this. All we can do is wait.”

A cloud passes across Skinner’s face and my eyes narrow slightly at the sight. It’s a look I have come to recognise well over the years. It’s the same look he used to unsuccessfully try to hide when confronted with a dilemma in the way he managed Mulder and I. A look that suggested he was wrestling with his conscience over giving us information that might spell disaster for all of us and the sight of it causes a cold shudder to work its way down my spine. I feel like someone has dumped ice water in to my bones.

“What is it?”

He works his mouth slightly, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth as he regards me in front of him. The silence stretches between us, the atmosphere in the room becoming charged, crackling almost as if laden with electricity. I feel the tiny hairs on my arms prickling as gooseflesh chases away my warmth. And I am suddenly scared. So scared of what he is about to say to me. Even more so as his eyes involuntarily drop to settle on my belly. Almost unconsciously my free hand goes there. Fingers spreading as though in an attempt to protect the child within.

“Sir?”

Until finally, he speaks.

“I received a call. About Mulder. About *you*. They…..they want to make a deal.”

*******************************

Three

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 9:06a.m.

My eyes widen as the true meaning of Skinner’s words settle over me like a death sentence. It’s so quiet in here. Only the sound of Mulder’s breathing suggests that there are people in here at all. I don’t think I’m breathing right now. I’m not sure I’ll ever breathe again. Time is standing still. Before me, Skinner remains, his impenetrable gaze is locked with mine as he allows me a moment to process. But how can I possibly process this? I had thought it was over. Have I really allowed myself to become so naive as to think that they were finished with us? That they would allow us to live out the simple pleasures that others take for granted? So stupid. I’ve been so stupid for so long.

“Who?”

My voice is barely above a whisper now and I am sure that under normal circumstances, Skinner would have a hard time catching the single word. But the room is quiet and it cuts through the silence to hang between us like a swirling leaf caught in an autumn breeze. I don’t know why I’m even asking him. I already know the answer.

Admittedly I don’t know their names. These shadowy men who have ruled Mulder and I for so long. The men who have taken away those that we love as though they were simply pawns in a game. The most precious parts of our lives as expendable and insignificant as a fly caught in a trap.

“You know who Dana.”

Skinner drops on to his haunches beside me. His face only bare inches from mine I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. His voice is so gentle I could weep. Or scream. Or both.

I close my eyes against the sight of Mulder. And for the first time since I entered this room, I pray that he can’t hear me. Because the thought of him hearing my words that before had comforted me in some small way, now fills me with horror. So I struggle against the fatigue, as I attempt to get to my feet, shrugging off Skinner’s hand as he offers unspoken assistance.

“I can do it myself!”

For a second I feel guilt as hurt briefly flares in his eyes. But I don’t want his help. I hate feeling this weak, this vulnerable. I want to be back to the way I was before all this. I want to be back to laying in Mulders arms as we made whispered plans for the future. Watching him sleep, his face tinged golden by the coming of dawn as he lay in my arms. Comfortable. Safe. *Protected* And for the first time in so many years we had allowed ourselves to believe that somehow, together, we might make everything right again. Like children we had *believed*. And like children, we had come to realise once again that life can never be what we want it to be. That there is always danger lurking around corners. Oh yeah, we had become vulnerable. We had made ourselves vulnerable. Our new found happiness had opened doors for them once again. We should have known. *I* should have known.

I reach across and trace my hand along Mulders jaw line, down his neck until I reach the thin strand of gold that encircles it, fingering the delicate cross that has remained with him through all this. I had been surprised to find it there. If only because the hospital had allowed it to remain. But when I questioned one of the nurses regarding its presence she had simply smiled and shrugged. He had appeared at the hospital with nothing. Naked beneath the blanket that had covered him as he lay on the gurney, they had thought it only appropriate that he should not be severed from the only item that might be a comfort to him. And so they had allowed it to remain. Bright and vibrant against his pale skin.

I lay the cross back down slowly. Arranging it so that it touches the hollow of his throat and slowly, with difficulty, I bend down to press my lips against his own. His lips are dry, chapped, but to me it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. I remain there for as long as I dare. Conscious of both the pain in my back and of Skinners eyes boring in to me. Finally, feeling the tears gathering in my eyes, I straighten up once more. Turning to face my superior I know that my face is set. Determined. Unfeeling. I effortlessly rebuilt my walls. Walls that Mulder had begun to chip away and I wonder now if I will ever let them crumble again.

“Let’s go.”

I pick up my discarded jacket, pulling it on even as I sweep past Skinner. I exit the room without looking back because I know that to look back now would spell disaster.

***********

Arlington Virginia 11:08a.m.

“Why have you brought me here?”

I turn my horrified eyes towards Skinner as he coasts the car to a gentle halt in front of the red brick building I know so well. Following Mulders disappearance I found myself drifting here at odd times of the day and night, drifting through the rooms within his apartment. Inhaling his scent. Consumed with memories as I just sat on his couch, staring in to space. I guess if someone were to push me, I would have to admit that back then, I was suffering from a low grade depression. But no one ever did. I hid it well I think. I doubt even Skinner could have imagined the depths of my despair. He would no doubt be horrified to learn that I had spent many hours here with helpless tears streaming down my face as I was forced to admit to myself that no amount of investigation, no amount of searching was going to bring Mulder back. I played a waiting game. It was all I could do. All they had left me.

But I haven’t been here for weeks. Not really out of choice. There have been nights were I have yearned to make the trip over here, but as my pregnancy progressed I found the simple act of driving more and more difficult. Misplaced pride prevented me from asking my Mother to drive me over here. Not that I thought she wouldn’t understand. I think maybe she would understand better than anyone else, but I didn’t want to admit the need to her that I just wanted to be near to him. In whatever way I could.

So, I have stayed away. Relying on my memories of him to see me through. Until now that is. And despite my need to walk those empty rooms again I don’t want to be here. Not like this. *Never* like this.

Skinner kills the engine and sits for a few seconds, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel lightly. The sound cuts through the silence like a knife.

“I was directed to bring you here.”

I wait for him to elaborate, to explain further. But the silence stretches between us, engulfing the cramped interior of the car and when I can take it no longer I twist angrily in my seat to face him.

“Why here? Why now?”

My voice is harsh, the words ragged and I realise angrily that I am once again dangerously close to tears. Skinner’s expression crumples slightly at my tone and I know that I am wrong to be taking this out on him. He’s become a pawn, just like me. Following orders to stay alive. Allowing himself to used as they have used us all along.

“Don’t you know?” He questions softly.

And I blink, because of course I know. They’ve summoned me here because it is where I will be at my most vulnerable. Surrounded with memories of Mulder I will be more easily manipulated, more willing to agree to their demands. It scares me to realise how well they know me. How well they know us both.

“What do they want?”

Skinner shrugs, dropping his eyes from mine for the barest of seconds. It’s enough to tell me that his next words are a lie.

“I don’t know”

A lie to protect me maybe. To prevent me from directing him to turn the car around and head back to Mulder. My touchstone. The one who I have always relied on to make everything right. Whatever his reasons, I am astute enough to realise that there will be no more information forthcoming. We’ve reached a dead end. Nothing more to say. Nowhere else to go. Everything that has occurred in our lives over the last seven years has been heading to this point. More than ever I am sure of it. All along they have known they would win. That one way or another they would get what they wanted. My baby kicks inside me, the movement causing me to catch my breath as a wave of nausea passes over me and a voice inside my head screams out at me to stop this while I still can. To refuse to follow this thing through. To go far away from this place. To keep my baby safe. The vision of Mulder though is pushing at my heart, crowding the space that has been empty for so long and I pray that I am strong enough to do this thing right. Because deep down I know what they want. I think I have always feared that there will be no happy ending for us. No fairy tale vision of a cosy family inside a warm, safe home.

Oh no. A scenario like that belongs to other people. To *normal* people. But not to us.

So, instead, I square my shoulders as best I can. Preparing myself to confront the unimaginable that I am sure is waiting for me inside that warm brick building. To face my demons this one final time. To confront my fate.

I nod my head, the movement almost imperceptible and lock my eyes with Skinner’s. My voice, when it reaches my ears, seems to belong to someone else.

“I’m ready.”

**********

I use my key to let us in to Mulders apartment. I ignore Skinner’s raised eyebrows as I fit it in to the lock. I think maybe he was expecting me to knock. To request permission before entering. It’s something I absolutely refuse to do. Maybe it’s out of defiance towards the men who have controlled my life for so long. It’s childish I know, but just for a second I feel a sense of satisfaction that they haven’t cowed me completely.

The satisfaction though, is short lived. Replaced quickly by a sense of repulsion so strong it overwhelms me. The vestibule of Mulders apartment is fogged with a hazy layer of acrid blue smoke. It catches the sun’s rays which stream through the window at the opposite end of the room. A swirling haze that assaults my senses and brings tears to my eyes.

And then I see him, rising to his feet in the fog. A shambling figure dressed in a sharply pressed grey suit he smiles benignly at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that reminds me absurdly of the kindly rat in the wind in the willows books from my long ago childhood. But beneath those wrinkled folds of skin his eyes glitter dangerously. Grey, cold, unfeeling they pierce me to my core. He exhales, sending a stream of cigarette smoke in to the already clogged atmosphere.

I’m aware that my mouth has dropped open as I stand there stupidly. Because whatever I was expecting it wasn’t this. Not even in my deepest nightmares could I have imagined I would ever have to face this man again. I was told he was dead. Naively I had believed. Had rejoiced in the passing off this man who has stolen so much from me.

He takes a step forward, then another, coming closer as it becomes obvious to him that I have no intention of moving. And he’s still smiling. Smiling as his gaze rests on my belly. It’s an absurdly paternal expression, and just seeing him causes bile to burn in the back of my throat. He comes to a halt just inches away from me, bringing the cigarette once again to his weathered lips, drawing deeply before exhaling. I want so much to hold his gaze, return his gentle smile with all the hate I can muster. But almost involuntarily, I turn my head away from the deadly poison that streams from his slightly parted mouth. Protecting my baby. The notion seems ironic now.

“Dana. It’s good to see you again. You look well……….or should I say blooming?”

His words snap me sharply back to reality and before I can stop to think of the potential consequences I bring up my right hand and deliver a stinging blow to the side of his face. He barely flinches although anger briefly flares in his eyes. A faint, red blush spreads across his cheek where my hand made contact but he doesn’t falter. He remains there. Standing before me until finally he chuckles. The sound cuts through me like a knife and it scares me to know that if I were carrying my gun I would have no compunction in pulling it out and blowing a hole straight through the bastard’s eyes.

“Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for.” He offers, his tone tinged with a trace of the anger I had recognised briefly.

It’s mingled though with such condescension that I find myself clenching my fists by my side in an effort not to strike him again. Only the feel of Skinner’s hands that settle on my shoulders prevent me.

“It’s okay Scully. It’s okay.”

I shake my head numbly.

*Okay?* How is anything ever going to be *okay* ever again? It’s unthinkable that this is heading anywhere other than towards heartbreak. Surly he knows enough to realise that.

The smoking man chuckles once again.

“Well, well, it would appear that the two of you have become rather closer than we envisaged. I’m surprised at you Dana. What would Agent Mulder think?”

This time, it is Skinner who stiffens. I feel his fingers dig in to the skin of my shoulders. Pain flares briefly as he attempts to hold on to his composure. Later on I will undress and see the evidence of his anger in the form of perfectly formed bruises. But right now I barely acknowledge it.

“What do you want?”

I am more than a little surprised when I hear my voice. It comes out strong. Steady. determined. I have no idea where I am drawing this facade of calm from. Because I am as tense as a tightly coiled spring. Ready to shatter in to a million pieces right in front of him.

He gestures his hand towards the living room he so recently vacated.

“Let’s sit shall we?”

I hold my head up high. Attempting to grow in stature. To bring myself more on a level with him, folding my arms across my chest as I sweep past him with all the grace I can muster. Grace doesn’t come easily now. Not now I am so weighed down by the final stages of pregnancy, but for once I am able to retain my posture. Ramrod straight I swing around to face him once more.

“I’d rather stand.”

He shrugs.

“As you wish Dana. I hope though that you’ll forgive me if I take my own advice. Agent Mulders couch is…..comfortable. But then you already know that don’t you?”

And then it hits me. Like a bolt from the blue I understand. He knows *everything*. He is privy to the most personal aspects of my life. He has known from the very beginning when Mulder and I finally answered the need inside of us to turn to each other. Did they watch us through impassive eyes on grainy, low resolution surveillance tapes? Listen to the murmured words we had shared during lovemaking? Reducing our love in to something sordid. Rejoicing at the fact that they had found something else to use against us. The thought sickens me. It sickens me to think that they have known all along.

He watches me shrewdly as the emotions course through me even as I try my hardest to cloak them from him. Refusing even now to let him take anything more from me.

“What do you want?”

I finally throw the demand at him. Anticipation at his answer already prompting a light tremor to run through my body. But instead of answering, his eyes take on a far away look. When finally I think I can bear it no longer, he begins to speak softly.

“It was never meant to happen this way Dana. Like so many things in life it didn’t turn out the way we planned. Another one of life’s ironies. So many ironies don’t you think? We planned so carefully but once again Mulder prevailed, thwarting our efforts unknowingly.”

I shake my head. He isn’t making sense to me.

“I don’t understand.”

“No. But then you wouldn’t. I barely understand it myself. The power we wield has long been a mystery to me. I am a small part in a much larger plan Dana. Smaller than you can ever imagine…”

I cut him off then. Throwing cheap insults that provide nothing other than a brief feeling of satisfaction.

“I’ve never imagined you to be anything other than *small.* Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smiles at my embittered words.

“You still have fire Dana. I admire you for that. I always have…..it’s why we partnered you with Mulder. Even back then we knew that we had made the right choice. Of course it took a little longer than we anticipated for you both to come to recognise the need between you we had always hoped for. But we were content to wait. Ultimately, you didn’t disappoint us.”

“What? What are you talking about?!”

To the side of me I see Skinner shift his position slightly. Obviously uncomfortable as to where this is leading and *then* I understand. He knows. He’s always known. The betrayal I feel is so acute that I am having difficulty remaining in a standing position. But I won’t crumble. Not now. I will see this through to the bitter end.

“Don’t you see? Don’t you *understand* yet? Pairing you with Mulder was carefully orchestrated. We needed someone with whom he would feel he had found a kindred spirit. Someone he would learn to trust….learn to love. Someone he would gladly give his life for. As I said, it took a little longer than we envisaged. But eventually our patience was rewarded.”

His eyes drop once more to my belly.

“In more ways than one, we were rewarded.”

Pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, he pauses as he fits one between his lips. Watching as he thumbs his lighter in to life I find that I am suddenly fixated on the bright orange blaze of light as it ignites. Like a moth I find myself drawn to the flame. He settles back on the couch and draws deeply before continuing.

“Do you have any idea how precious the offspring of Fox Mulder is to the project Dana? Do you have any idea? The *potential* for mankind such a child would broker is beyond the rational thought of most men. We’ve known for a long time that Mulder might hold the key to unlock the secrets of a conundrum that has puzzled us for years. His father knew it of course. That’s why he refused to surrender his son to the project. Why he chose Samantha instead.”

I hear his words, but I can’t make sense of them. I don’t understand. I hear the blood pounding in my ears, making it difficult to concentrate. What he’s suggesting is impossible. To suggest that I was partnered with Mulder in the hope that one day we might come together to provide them with a child who might provide all the answers is ridiculous. I am staring across at the man who, along with others, conspired to take me from Mulder more than once. Giving me a disease that almost took my life. Leaving me barren in their pursuit for the greater truth as they took what was most precious to me. I am almost afraid to answer him. That by doing so I may be throwing myself open to even greater hurt.

“That’s impossible. What you’re implying is ridiculous. I was led to believe I was barren. *You* did that to me. During my abduction. We have documentation to prove that….medical records. Reports……”

“Then explain your pregnancy to me Dana. You’re a medical doctor after all. Explain it to me so I can understand how an infertile woman can be standing in front of me nurturing a new life as you are doing……..”

“I can’t!”

My head is throbbing now. Perfectly synchronised with the rapid beating of my heart I feel it like a hammer with every pulse. I feel sick and I just want to flee back to Mulder. I want him to wrap his arms around me, to whisper assurances that it’s going to be all right. I want to block all of this out. To pretend it’s not happening. But my prayers go unanswered as he continues. On and on I hear his voice.

“I *gave* you that baby Dana. We came to understand that our hopes would come to fruition only by turning back to natural means. So much science at our finger tips, and yet we suffered failure after failure. Children that lived a few hours, a few months…even, on a few occasions, *years* before they withered and died. *Your* children Dana. Yours and Mulder’s. Until we came to understand that what was required would never be found in a laboratory. That the missing link was *you*…….but make no mistake - that baby belongs to *us*…….”

The room begins to spin as the full meaning of his words slam in to me with the force of a runaway roller coaster. This is a nightmare. Please God let this be a nightmare. I feel the tears streaming down my face, the sight of him before me blurring, melding his features together like running tallow.

This can’t be happening.

A *plan*? A game from the beginning? The outcome assured?

“You’re lying” I finally manage through the hitching sobs that threaten to wrench me apart. I want so much to shout at him, but the words come out as little more than a strangled whimper.

There is sympathy in his voice now and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to block it out.

“Why would I lie Dana? What could I hope to gain? I already have what I want.”

I take a stumbling step backwards in a futile attempt to get away from him. But there is nowhere to run and through the fog that has invaded my vision I see him rise before me. He is still smiling, holding his hands out in a gesture of surrender.

“I come to you today Dana to offer you a choice. To give us willingly what we would otherwise have simply taken. A final act of patriotism towards a country you have already given so much to. In return, we will allow you and Mulder to simply walk away. To continue your lives. To rebuild all that has been torn away from you. A final price to pay before gaining release…….”

I slam my palms to cover my ears. A gesture so desperate, so violent, that I almost lose my footing. In the peripherals of my vision I see Skinner heading towards me as though in slow motion.

“NO! I will never let you take my baby…….”

Another step towards me, his lips stretched across yellowing teeth. For the first time I notice the ragged, puckered circle of flesh at the hollow of his throat.

“I don’t expect you to make your choice now of course. Before you decide I think it only prudent to let you know what you’ve been missing these past months. What you *will* miss should you make the wrong choice… I’m sure after speaking with Agent Mulder you will make a balanced decision………”

It is growing darker now. A dizzying sense of vertigo taking me over. Sickeningly, the room begins to spin as I feel the ground slipping beneath me. My last conscious thought is of Skinners arms around me as I begin falling towards nothingness.

**********************

FOUR

12:13p.m.

I fight against the darkness that consumes me. I am aware of gentle hands against my face, stroking softly as my eyes flutter open. For just a second I allow myself to imagine that the touch is Mulders. That the voice I hear, drawing me once again into consciousness belongs to him.

“Mulder?”

I blink rapidly, struggling against the hands that are now restraining me firmly, refusing to let me rise up in to sitting position.

“Ssssshhhhhh Scully. It’s okay. Don’t try to move.”

Not Mulders that voice.

I am disorientated for a few seconds, unable or unwilling to understand why I am laying here on the hard, cold wooden floor. More confused still by the sight of my superior’s hovering face me as he kneels beside me. And then I inhale deeply, feeling my throat close up as the lingering scent of acrid smoke invades my senses. *Him*.

Despite Skinner’s restraining hand I struggle in to a sitting position, glancing wildly around the room. A room that now appears empty.

“Where is he?” I demand. I’m not surprised by Skinner’s response.

“He’s gone. He left a little over five minutes ago. He said he would contact you this evening……to further discuss…….to discuss……”

He falters then and I can clearly recognise the strain in his voice. The tears that linger dangerously close to the surface pushing their way through his normally strong facade.

“I’m sorry Scully. I’m so sorry……”

I allow him to help me to my feet. Not because I want his help but because I know that I would never make it up there by myself. Finally, I face him accusingly.

“You knew? All this time you knew?”

His eyes widen with horror as my accusation sinks in and he involuntarily backs up a couple of steps. Widening the gap between us until it seems as wide as a ravine. I watch as he gropes for the right words. Does he really believe that mere *words* can make this right?

“In the beginning. I admit I knew in the beginning that they wanted a distraction for Mulder……" 

He gesticulates helplessly, his hands waving in the air as he implores me to believe him.

”….but I never knew the reasons *why*. I swear to you Scully. I swear I never knew about *this.*……..“

I am in no mood to listen to him though. My head is still pounding and that, coupled with a spreading feeling of nausea has left me feeling used up and vulnerable. I don’t want to hear his pathetic excuses. I only need one thing from him now.

“Give me your keys.”

“What?”

I take a step towards him, extending my hand in front of me, palm up.

“I said give me your fucking keys.”

“Scully *please*. You’re in no condition to drive. Let me help you…….”

There is such hopeless yearning in his voice that I almost falter. I *believe* him you see. I believe that just like me, he has been played in all this. And maybe one day, I will draw from deep inside myself and forgive him. But that day isn’t here yet. Right now I can barely even bring myself to look at him.

“You want to *help* me?” I laugh then, the sound ringing hollowly in my ears. “I think *sir* that you’ve helped me enough. Now give me your keys.”

His eyes take on a peculiar sheen as they become moistened with unshed tears. But in his defence he is big enough not to allow them to spill over. And for that I silently thank him, because I know that I couldn’t bear to see him weep again. He’s shed enough tears to last him a lifetime. We all have. He doesn’t speak again. He simply reaches in to his jacket pocket and removes the keys, dropping them in to my outstretched hand without ever meeting my eyes. I, in turn, close my hand around them, feeling the jagged edges of metal digging in to my palm. I welcome the pain. It reminds me I am still alive.

“*Thank you*”

Without another word I spin around and head for the door, trying in vain to ignore the sound of Skinner’s harsh breathing as he tries in vain to hold on to his composure. He doesn’t follow me though. He wouldn’t dare.

My cel phone begins to trill even before I have completely exited the apartment. I hardly need to even answer it. I already know what the news will be. But, I go through the motions, depressing the send button as I continue along the corridor towards the elevator.

“Scully.”

“Dana honey…..it’s Mom. Where are you sweetie? I tried you at home but there was no answer….”

“It’s okay mom. I’m on my way back to the hospital now. Is there something wrong?”

I ask this redundant question out of a need to play by the rules. But as my mother’s joyful voice crackles across the airwaves I am filled with despair. It has invaded every corner of my being. All consuming in it’s ferocity as I close my eyes against her words. Knowing that the news she sends me is a cruel deception.

“Dana? Dana honey? Did you hear what I said?”

I snap back in to the here and now.

“Sorry mom, you broke up back then. Say again?”

She is laughing now.

“Oh Dana! It’s Fox…he’s awake….and he’s asking for you.”

“I’ll be right there mom.”

I look at the phone held in my hand, clenched tightly enough to whiten my knuckles as though it alone is to blame for all this, and suddenly, the fury builds in me. Boils up to the surface, refusing to be suppressed any longer.

There is a splintering crash as I hurl the phone against the door of one of Mulders neighbours. Small pieces of black plastic fly through the air as the phone disintegrates with the force of my anger. But it feels good. So damn good to destroy as we have been destroyed. I half expect someone to appear in the hallway in response to the sudden noise. But it remains empty. It’s the middle of the day after all. There is no reason for anyone to hear the effects of my fury. Nonetheless, I am conscious that to be confronted now would mean more delay. I can’t afford delays now.

Not now that Mulder is waiting for me. Not when I have no idea as to how long.

**********

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 12:56p.m.

I don’t know really how I managed to get here in one piece. I have no recollection whatsoever of the drive over here. Thankfully, some inane sense of preservation must have taken over, because I made the trip without mishap.

I am almost afraid to be here. To see Mulder, to share precious time with him, only to have him taken away from me again is almost impossible to bear. But I *am* here. I hear the sound of my footsteps reverberating around the corridor as I make my way to his room and they comfort me in some small way.

I have decided, subconsciously on the way over here, that I can’t tell him of what I have learned. To burden him with this is both unfair and essentially futile. Of course, there is a small voice inside of me that reminds me constantly that the real reason I refuse to share this with him is that I am afraid of what he will say. Deep down I know that he will choose the life of his child over his own. The choice, that for me seems an impossible one, will become starkly simplistic to him. To him there will be no choice to make. And I am afraid that he will persuade me. As he has persuaded me of so many things in the past.

I pause outside his door. Breathing deeply as I attempt to arrange my features in to an expression of calm serenity. Preparing myself to face him. To lie to him as we have been lied to so many times before. I hate myself for it. For what I am to keep from him.

But finally, I am able to push open the final barrier that separates us, stepping over the threshold until I am standing in the brightness of the room. Sunlight streams through the open blinds, glaringly bright. But I have no trouble seeing him. It takes the tinniest fraction of a second for our eyes to find each other, locking together with such intensity it takes my breath away. He looks so pale, so thin, so frail as he watches me from across the room. He is slightly raised on the bed. Not sitting up exactly, but not laid flat like he was earlier. It allows me to see his face. To evaluate what I see there and my eyes fill with tears as I see the wonder in his face.

My mother, who is currently keeping a vigil by his bedside, rises suddenly, bending slightly toward the man beside her as she touches his arm gently. She murmurs something to him that, from my position across the room I can’t make out. But Mulder tears his eyes from mine for just a fraction of a second to acknowledge her words before turning them back to me.

I feel my Mother’s hand on my shoulder as she squeezes gently on her way out. Leaving us alone to make this most precious of reunions with no distraction. No onlookers.

And then finally he speaks. His voice reaching me like a sweet summer breeze.

“Scully.”

Just hearing it, that same voice that has tortured me through long, lonely, desperate nights, allows me to finally move across to him. I am unaware of the journey. Unaware of anything until I feel his arms around me. Embracing me fiercely as he holds me against him as I half stand, half kneel beside the bed. We don’t speak. Not for the longest time. It’s enough for me to listen to the sound of his heartbeat against mine. To inhale the familiar scent of him that, despite his time here, the hospital has not managed to completely eradicate. Nothing exists for me now except him. I never fully realised how incomplete I was without him until he was taken from me. Never realised that without him by my side I am only half a person. A pathetic excuse for a Human being. And I shudder as the full weight of my choice hits me once again. It pierces my heart, invades my very core, because how can I choose? How can I live without him?

The thought is chased away for a minute as Mulder pushes me away from him, cupping my face tenderly in his two hands until our faces are level, inches apart. He slowly brings me back towards him and presses his lips to mine, hesitantly almost, then more urgent and I gasp as snakes out his tongue to trace a line across them. Opening my mouth to allow him access I relish the feel of him inside my mouth as we finally become one again.

It is so excruciatingly painful I could scream. To be allowed this one glimpse of what I have - of what could be between us, stops my very heart beating. I actually feel it cease in its steady rhythm, and I know Mulder feels it too, because he pulls his mouth from mine, kissing his way up my face before drawing me on to the bed beside him. I am turned slightly away from him, at an angle that now makes it impossible for him to see my face and for that I am thankful, because I feel his palm press against my belly as he feels his child within.

“I didn’t believe them Scully. I’m sorry. I should have believed.”

His voice is so full of childlike wonderment that I can’t hold on to the tears any longer, and I lace my fingers over his as he holds me against him. I feel his other hand reach up to cup my head, resting it against his shoulder as I curl myself in to him. he buries his face in my hair and I feel his breathe against me, warm and soft as he whispers soft words. Comforting words.

“Ssssshhhhh Scully. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

His words though, instead of comforting me, only cause to intensify my pain. Because I know that nothing will ever be okay again. To hear his voice, to feel his touch against my skin is like torture. Because I know that whatever happens, we will never be the same again. How could we be?

So I don’t answer him. I simply bury my head further in to him, shaking it slightly as I do so.

“It’s all right Scully. It’s okay. There are other ways.”

My eyes fly open at his whispered assurance. Did I speak the words aloud? Did I allow myself to voice my fears despite my promises to myself? I already know the answer though. It goes against everything I believe in, but I realise suddenly that the words did indeed remain unspoken. I twist around to face him, drinking in the image of him before me, frowning as a tiny smile graces the edges of his beautiful mouth.

“There are other ways Scully.” He repeats as he brings my hand, still entwined with his, slowly upwards until it rests at the back of his neck. 

My fingers come to rest on the tiny, ridge of puckered tissue. Just the tiniest bump beneath. I know what lurks beneath it. A chip. No doubt identical to my own. Controlling him. Controlling and cataloguing his every thought and feeling. His every action. Just as it controls mine.

A ticking time bomb that can never be diffused.

But what he is suggesting is unthinkable. To remove it would bring about a death sentence on him. A slow, lingering, painful death. I know. Oh yeah. I *know*.

I shake my head.

“Mulder no. We’ll find another way……”

He continues to smile even as he runs a finger down my cheek.

“Do you trust me Scully?”

I don’t answer him. I don’t need to. He already knows.

“Then you have to trust me on this. I’ve seen things. I understand now where I didn’t before….and whatever they say to you, whatever they try to do, you have to *trust* me……”

His eyes are beginning to droop slightly and my heart twists painfully as I realise that our time together is short. He realises it too I think, because his words become faster, laced with an urgency I recognise so well.

“You have to remove them Scully. You have to remove *both* of them………”

“But……”

“No. I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. You can save us Scully….you can save all three of us.”

He presses his hand once more to my belly, and I feel my baby kick, as though he is responding to the feel of his father. An invisible connection already established. Flesh and blood. Mulders son.

He is becoming heavy in my arms, slipping towards sleep again, slipping away from me and I have to lean in close to catch his final words.

“Go to Skinner. He knows what to do……..trust him Scully. trust him as you trust me…….”

Tears slip down my cheeks as once more, he closes his eyes. They roll unchecked down my face, crossing to Mulders pale skin where they glisten softly in the light. He is heavy. So heavy and I am not sure for how much longer I can remain here, holding him in my arms. But before I lay him down I press my lips to his, feeling the cool softness of him as I murmur my assurance to him.

“I trust you Mulder. I’ll always trust you.”

Finally, I lay him against the pillow again. Allowing myself the luxury of watching him before I get shakily to my feet. I know what to do now. The choice has been made. Mulder has made my choice.

I only pray it is the *right* one.

********************************

FIVE

It’s all happened so quickly. Even I have been amazed by the speed in which Skinner has allowed things to happen.

I left Mulder at the hospital and sought him out. He was surprised to see me. I could see the relief shining in his eyes as I stepped over the threshold of his apartment, my shoulders set with a new kind of determination. Don’t get me wrong - I found it hard to trust him. The hardest thing I have ever had to do. But the choice was made for me. Mulder had, with just a few words, allied my fears and brought everything in to focus.

We didn’t speak of anything more than inconsequential things in his apartment. Skinner isn’t stupid. He knows all too well the lengths these men will go to gather their information and is all too aware that what we all once took for granted is now an impossible luxury. He has his apartment regularly swept for bugging devices. It has become as normal for him as taking out the trash and I know the last time he ordered the sweep, his apartment came up clear.

But how long does it take to plant a surveillance device? A minute? An hour? It’s a risk we weren’t prepared to take.

So we left. In the great tradition of a million bad cop shows we ‘took a walk’. I watched our breath combine in the freezing air as we planned. Or rather, I should say, Skinner furnished me with the details of *Mulders* plans.

He hardly paused as he told me of the measures he had taken to keep us safe, to keep *me* safe should anything ever happen to him. I was both touched and a little afraid by the amount of trust my partner had placed in this man, but as Skinner spelled it out to me I slowly began to draw closer to him once again. Past digression forgotten as he drew me down beside him on a bench when I began to tire of our constant motion.

Two years ago, Mulder had come to him. Had furnished him with the details of an elaborate plan that would thwart even the most determined efforts of the men who sought to destroy us. Did he know even back then their true purpose? Had he seen things I couldn’t imagine even in my worst nightmares? So many questions that pounded at my skull. Questions I couldn’t possibly hope to answer.

And I learned so much that day. Learned things about Mulder I had never suspected. Not even for a second could I imagine the secrets he stored away in his heart. Secrets designed to protect me. Sitting on the bench with Skinner I learned that Mulder is a wealthy man. Not simply comfortable enough to furnish his life with the material possessions of the rich. No. That day I learned that my partner of seven years - the man who lives his life in a shabby apartment, the man who occasionally aims a well placed kick in the general direction of a video recorder that is less than reliable - is wealthy enough to have put the wheels in motion that, should this day ever come, we could be taken care of.

A house in Canada. Set in acres of it’s own grounds. Far enough away from the scrutiny of nosey neighbours but close enough to major amenities to make our lives easier.

A bank account with enough resources to ensure that, should we choose, we will not have to work for a living for the rest of our lives.

To hear Skinner quietly spelling it out to me was overwhelming in itself. To know that Mulder has been secretly putting the wheels in motion to ensure our survival was enough to bring a lump to my throat. And overwhelming as it was, his next words had shaken me to the core.

New identities. New lives.

A *safe* life.

But the cost is enormous.

To leave all that which is most precious to us. To walk away never to return. Because I know we can never return. To do that would spell disaster. A year, five years, *decades* from now they would still be waiting for us. Waiting to claim our baby for their own.

But we would have each other. Together we could weather the heartache such action would bring. I know it. Mulder knew it. Even before we admitted our true feelings to each other he was astute enough to realise that our hearts and minds entwined a long time ago. Enough to know that we could do this.

So, just three short days ago, I allowed Skinner to bring Mulders plan to fruition. He refused to allow me to return to the hospital. Instead, he immediately rented a car and drove me to a small cabin in the Virginia countryside. He left me there, in front of a fire he insisted on lighting to keep me warm before turning on his heel and exiting this small, safe oasis in the middle of a forest. I sat, unmoving, watching the flames dance in the gloom of the winter evening, casting orange shadows on the rough log walls of the cabin. Occasionally I would lean forwards, just enough to add more fuel to the fire, to keep the fire bright. To warm my partner when Skinner finally brought him to me.

But I was scared. So scared. Because before he left he handed me a thick file of papers. The deeds to the house. The paperwork necessary for me to follow Mulders plans through. Everything I would need to simply take my baby and disappear. I knew his reasons even if he didn’t voice them to me. Simply, he gave me a salvation, somewhere to run to should he and Mulder not make it here. And despite the warmth of the fire I felt chilled at the prospect.

But my fears, this time at least had proved groundless. Because as the darkness had cloaked the tiny cabin my prayers had been answered.

Three dao which now seem like a lifetime.

Lost in thought, I stand, looking out in to the forest, watching the sunlight rays filtering through the trees. The sunshine though is an illusion, because last night the temperature dipped, the air cold enough to cause a thin sheet of ice to form across the cabin’s windows. I woke up this morning to a view of the surrounding area that was cloaked in a thick frost. So beautiful it took my breathe away and I was heartened that I could still appreciate the beauty around me in the face of so much heartbreak. I still am.

I tense suddenly as I feel a presence behind me. I wait for his touch. To feel his palm at the small of my back. I am not disappointed. I know him. I know his every action, his every thought. Not in a literal sense maybe, but more in the way we have come together again. And I know his next words before he even has time to utter them.

“It’s time to go Scully.”

I turn then to face him. Scrutinising him for signs of fatigue. For signs that his recovery is not as complete as I hope it is. But I see nothing there. My fears, so far are groundless. He has slept a lot these last few days. I have held him awkwardly in my arms and watched him sleep. The nightmares I have been afraid will invade his slumber have so far remained dormant. I pray that they always will.

He refuses to speak of his incarceration. Shaking his head slightly every time I attempt to question him. Maybe one day, far in to the future he will open up to me. But for now it doesn’t matter. Because he is here with me. Still too thin. Still a shadow of his former self. But everyday I see signs that he is becoming stronger. That he is recovering.

Twice a day I remove the small square of gauze that covers the fresh wound at the back of his neck. Scrupulously cleaning it to ward off the threat of infection. He is still so weak and infection would spell disaster for him. And when I am done, he returns the favour. Tentatively at first until I assured him that he wouldn’t hurt me. That he needed to cleanse a wound that is healing slowly.

I had managed to persuade Skinner to perform the removal of the chip from the back of my neck. But he had balked visibly at the prospect of stitching the edges together. But the wound isn’t deep. It will heal well I think.

He stands before me. Casually dressed in blue jeans and a thick chocolate coloured sweater. It’s a colour that brings out the richness of his deep hazel eyes. The sweater bulks him up and I can almost imagine him the way he was before all this. But he will heal. We both will. Already, some colour has returned to his pale skin. In just three short days Mulder has begun to come back to me.

He reaches out a hand and gently brushes a strand of my hair away from where it lays against my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. He doesn’t remove his hand though. He leaves it resting against my cheek and almost unconsciously I press my face against it. Revelling in the warmth. Revelling in the feel of him.

“Scully?”

“I know. I’m ready. I was just thinking.”

He nods then. He understands. He’s always understood. So he remains silent, drawing me to his side where he wraps an arm around my back and it comforts me in some small way. Gives me the strength to do what I am about to do.

Together we walk across the room, leaving the bedroom and crossing over in to the living room. She is waiting for us there and her face lights suddenly with a gentle smile at the sight of us. But beneath it I can see the tears, glittering in her fine blue eyes. Dangerously close to the surface as she prepares herself to say goodbye. To let go of her daughter this one final time.

But there is no accusation in those eyes. Just a deep abiding love that pierces my heart as she holds out her arms to me. And like a child I allow her to wrap me in her warm embrace, holding me tightly against her as she transfers a lifetime of love in to me. It’s not enough time. There’s not enough time to say to her all I need to say. I feel tears, hot on my cheeks as I remain there but as my shoulders begin to shake, she draws away slightly, bringing up her palms to rest at each side of my head.

“No Honey. No more tears.”

Even as she utters the words I hear her voice crack as she struggles to hold on to her composure. She swallows heavily as she smoothes her hands over and over against me, finally speaking once again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Your Father would be so proud of you. *I’m* so proud of you Dana. Never forget that. *Ever*. Do you hear me?”

I nod shakily.

“I hear you Mom………”

My words are lost as once again I begin to sob. Huge wracking sobs that make me ache inside and just for a second she pulls me once again to rest in her arms.

“I love you so much my baby girl.”

The words are only for me. Murmured softly in my ear before she steps away finally, turning her attention to the man who stands behind me.

“Take care of her for me Fox.”

He doesn’t answer her. Instead, he steps towards her and embraces her briefly. I am surprised to see that his eyes are moist with unshed tears. But perhaps I shouldn’t be. He is saying his goodbyes to a woman who has been more of a mother to him than his own ever was.

His words are soft, but they reach me without difficulty.

“You know I will. Always.”

He releases his hold on her and she laughs. That peculiar sound that comes from people who are battling with both happiness and despair. The laughter simply a way to hold back the tears.

“Now go. The both of you before I change my mind………..”

But I can’t move. No matter how hard I try I just can’t make my feet co-operate.

“Mom………..”

Until I feel Mulders hand grasp my own. Lacing his fingers through mine he breaks the spell. So I simply nod as I allow him to turn us away from her. We don’t say goodbye. We agreed. No goodbyes. At least not spoken ones. To say goodbye would be to admit that this is forever. And through Mulder I’ve learned never to say forever.

And together we walk away. To where Skinner is waiting for us. Towards the future.

**********

Epilogue

As I stand on the balcony of this graceful house, watching Mulder as he plays with our son, I can barely believe how much time has passed.

Two years almost since we made our last desperate bid for freedom. For normality. It seems like only yesterday and it reminds me once again how rapidly time slips through our fingers.

Time has passed so quickly and together, we have watched our son grow from a tiny baby in to the sturdy toddler who squeals delightedly as he tries in vain to catch hold of the ball Mulder tosses gently to him in the golden light of late summer.

I remember the look on Mulders face as I finally pushed our son in to the world. The look of wonderment as he held him, a tiny, squalling bundle of fury in his arms that night so many months ago. There were no hospitals that night. We couldn’t take the risk, small as it was, that news of his birth would somehow reach across the miles and alert them to our presence here.

So instead, I gave birth here in this house, just five days after our arrival, aided by a kindly, shrewd looking doctor. A friend of the Gunmen, he asked no questions of us as he hovered in the background, giving me the encouragement I needed. Mulder had been assured of his silence and we had to believe that he was friend not foe. So difficult to trust anyone. It still is I suppose. 

But our faith has been rewarded. So far, we have been able to live our lives here enjoying nothing more obtrusive than the occasional raccoon that snuffles its way through the garbage much to the amusement of our son who claps his hands with delight when confronted with one of these creatures.

We named him William after Mulders father. It took us almost a week to reach the decision. Around the same amount of time it took the Gunmen to put together a false record of his birth. Nothing about our lives now is true. Different names. Different birth dates. Our true identities have been erased so completely it is as though we never existed at all.

But here, we are still the people we once were. Here, in the safety of our own little fortress we can be ourselves.

The gunmen have been, and remain, our salvation. Our one connection with the past. Mulder insisted on it. He believed that to cut ourselves off completely would be as dangerous as remaining in plain sight. So, twice a week he sits down at the computer and sends correspondence across the miles. He has to trust that the precautions taken by the Gunmen are enough to keep us safe. A high tech, state of the art scrambler device is fitted to the terminal. It makes tracing the e-mail impossible. Because even the Gunmen are unaware of our exact location. It’s the only way to keep them safe.

I think we realised that fully for the first time only when, six months after our arrival here, we received word from Frohike that Skinner was dead. The victim of a random shooting as he shopped for groceries in a small store just a hundred yards or so from his apartment. A robbery that went tragically wrong. But we know better. We know that there was nothing random about it. Just as we know the reasons for his death. Mulder brought me the news as I was laying Will down for the night.

 White faced and shaking, he had handed me the crumpled piece of paper that he held in his hand. I read the printed words and for the first time appreciated what this man had been prepared to sacrifice for us; His two renegade agents who he had held in a high enough regard to die for.

We cried that night. Bitter tears as we mourned the passing of a man who had saved us in so many ways. Comforting each other as we lay together, watching the first rays of dawn streak the night sky until finally, the hurt had lessened and we were able to carry on. For the sake of our son we carried on.

It hadn’t taken us long to realise just how enormous the stakes had become. Mere weeks passed until we realised the true extent of what our son is. Of what he can be.

It started slowly at first. And for a long time I refused to believe that this tiny baby, who could gaze up at me with his china blue eyes that seemed to delve in to my very soul, might one day be the salvation of all mankind. There is no doubt though that he is special. This rough and tumble little boy who can chase away my tears with a smile can also reach out a pudgy hand to an injured bird and then watch with wonder as it rises once more in to the blue sky. The little boy whose brow creased with concentration only days ago as Mulder came in to the house, his face pinched with pain as he held a broken wrist against his chest, the result of an altercation with the barn door that had slammed shut when a sudden gust of wind caught it.

I didn’t need an x-ray to tell me that the bones were out of alignment. The ugly swelling that marred its smooth shape was evidence enough. Will had been playing quietly on the floor when his father walked in. But immediately, he had pushed himself to his feet and toddled over to where Mulder stood, reaching out his arms to him until Mulder locked eyes with me and hunkered down on his haunches until he was level with his son. And I watched in wonder as Will placed his baby hands over the ugly mottled flesh, heard the click as Mulders bones knitted back together. It was perhaps the first time that we fully realised what our son can do.

He was absurdly pleased with himself and waited expectantly for Mulder to acknowledge him. In response, Mulder had picked him up and covered him with kisses until his son squirmed in delight.

But later, when Will was sleeping I had felt a dread creep up on me that blotted out everything else. A dread born out of a love for my son that is so intense it is blinding. Because I know now why they want him. Why he is so precious to them. Mulder felt it too. Because despite the fact that I tried hard to hide my fear he immediately recognised it, wrapping me in his strong arms. Whispering assurances to me as together, we watched our son sleep. He kissed away my nightmares in much the same way I have occasionally kissed away his.

He still hasn’t ever spoken of what they did to him during the months he was missing. I think the memory is just too painful for him to share it with me. Wanting to protect me even now from my own demons. Part of me yearns for him to open up to me while at the same time a part of me is grateful he doesn’t.

I love him so much now you see and I’m not sure I could ever really recover if I learned how they had hurt him. It would crack a piece of my heart to hear him speak of the suffering I am sure he must have endured at their hands. But the only evidence is the occasional bad dream that surfaces in the dead of the night. When he awakens, shaking and sobbing until I reach out for him and soothe him back to sleep. He remembers nothing of the nightmares when he awakens the next day. Or at least, if he does he chooses not to mention them again.

The nightmares though are lessening. For both of us. My dreams, that were once haunted by the sight of Mulder, laying in a hospital bed. Pale, thin, hollow eyed as I was forced to watch him die a slow, painful death, are now blissfully trouble free.

I understand now why he was so insistent about the removal of the chips. Knowing in some unfathomable way that the consequences I feared would result from such an action would never come to anything more than a handful of frightening nightmares.

Because not since William was born have Mulder or I suffered from so much as a cold.

I don’t pretend to understand it. But I accept without question that our son holds a power within him to keep us safe.

I don’t know what the future holds for any of us. I have learned to take things one step at a time. Tiny steps forward to what we both hope will one day be a normal life. But it has been hard. So hard to leave those we loved behind. But I recognise that to keep them safe, sacrifices had to be made by all of us.

The gunmen have somehow managed to find a way to keep my mother in touch with our lives. I receive regular messages from her, that in the beginning would bring tears of yearning to my eyes. Mulder would watch me from across the room as I tried unsuccessfully to keep my anguish from him.

 But he knew.

He always knows.

And then came a day, not so long ago, when Mulder insisted we took a drive. He refused to give me any information as we wended our way along roads lined with pine trees. Laughing at me as I became more and more frustrated by his apparent secrecy. Until, finally, he came to a halt in front of a small rustic cabin. Much like the one we had fled on that frosty day almost two years before. He had smiled softly at me as I had silently questioned him, taking Will from my arms before guiding me into the cabin where my mother was waiting for me.

The risks such a reunion might have brokered melted away as I threw myself in to her waiting arms and cried tears of pure joy. We stayed together for just three short days. But it was enough. Enough time for me to say all the things to her I wanted to say. Enough time for her to get to know her grandson. But much more than that, she finally got to know Mulder in the way I had always hoped. No government conspiracies, no tragedies. Just the three of us sharing time and space as we finally put our demons to rest.

The sun is warm on my back as I stand here thinking. Watching the man I love with his son. Marvelling at the bond they share. And not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for bringing them both together. To have to live without either one of them is an impossibility now and I will never forget the choice I was almost forced to make. Nor the choices I *did* make.

But I have learned now that no choice is an impossible one. That our lives are made up of different roads. Some easy, some hard, but none are impossible. We travel the road until the day we die. Making choices every second, every minute that we live on this earth, always in the hope that we will somehow make it through and out the other side.

I smile as William runs ahead of Mulder, climbing up the stone steps that lead to the balcony until he is able to straighten up and toddle across to me expecting to be picked up. Right behind him Mulder follows. Shaking his head in amusement as he scoops up his son in strong, tanned arms. I’ve never seen him happier or healthier than he is right now. He glows with a vibrancy that takes my breath away. The lines have all but disappeared from his face. He has filled out again. Well muscled from hours spent in the small, purpose built gym attached to the side of this rambling house he makes my heart contract painfully every time I look at him. His hair is still tinged with grey. But it has slowly been replaced with his original deep brown colour. Until, now, all that remains is a faint sprinkling. As though he has dipped the strands in white paint. The next time he gets a haircut, they will disappear forever.

Oh yes. Here in this idyllic piece of paradise we have healed. We have healed in ways I couldn’t even have begun to imagine during those frightening years when our very existence was, in itself difficult to hold on to. He drops a kiss on to the crown of my head and pulls me towards him. Still cradling Will against him as he lets his free hand come to rest on the gentle swell of my stomach, feeling the new life within flutter against his palm.

A baby girl this time. I am sure of it. Although I couldn’t explain how I know if I was questioned on the fact. A baby girl with deep blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair that will slowly turn darker with the passing of each year. I know this already. I know it because I met her once. For the just the blink of an eye I was allowed to hold her in my arms as she slowly slipped away from me.

But this time will be different. The final healing act that will allow me to finally move on. To allow us all to move on.

The future is still uncertain. There will be more choices to make. Some hard. Some easy. But no *impossible* ones. Not anymore. Because we have, in some unfathomable way, fought the future and won.

End

#impossible choices au my fic they deserved happiness x files msr

[giftofshewbread]

Fulfilling God’s Word

: By Daymond Duck 

Published on: May 10, 2020

One, I want to start by offering my opinion on something.

It is my opinion that the U.S. will be part of the North American Union (NAU; now called the USMCA; the NAFTA replacement agreement that is now scheduled to go into effect on July 1, 2020).

This will make the U.S. one of several regional groups of nations, each region will ultimately have a leader, there will eventually be 10 regions and leaders, and the 10 leaders will ultimately be known as the Ten Kings and dominated by the EU.

There seems to be no question that the U.S. is becoming morally and economically weaker, and the Rapture will weaken the U.S. more.

A weaker U.S. is making the Battle of Gog and Magog more likely, and it could hasten the rise of the Ten Kings, the EU and the Antichrist.

Two, my last article said, “on Apr. 22, 2020, it was reported that 19 members of the G-20 held a virtual meeting and called for a document to be signed to strengthen the WHO and put it in charge of a coordinated worldwide response to the Coronavirus Crisis.”

We can be thankful that Pres. Trump did not sign the document, but if he had signed it, the WHO would already have the power to identify, mark and track everyone on earth (see Rev. 13:15-17).

The group plans to hold another meeting on May 4, 2020; and this is so important, I want to go back to it.

The WHO wants the G-20 to empower it to force everyone on earth to be identified, vaccinated and tattooed (Marked), and they want to deny those that refuse to be vaccinated the right to leave their house, hold a job, buy, sell, etc.

Church leaders should oppose political leaders giving permission to the WHO to decide whether Church members can leave their houses, meet and worship or not.

Following guidelines that come down from the WHO is how some officials justify telling churches what to do, arresting pastors, fining Christians that do not obey, etc.

The WHO issues a guideline, politicians and the media say we must listen to these “scientists and go by their data,” and they try to force Christians to submit without giving Christians a voice in the matter.

Why should Christians submit to leaders that are ignoring the Church and obeying unbelievers in the WHO?

How can U.S. citizens even consider turning control of their healthcare and freedom of religion over to foreigners in the UN?

Gates’ dad headed up Planned Parenthood, and Gates holds many of his dad’s beliefs.

I don’t know what will be in Gates’ vaccine, but there have been lots of reports that some vaccines use aborted fetal parts.

“If the blind lead the blind, they will both fall into the ditch” (Matt. 15:14).

Three, on Apr. 28, 2020, it was reported that thermal imaging cameras are already being installed at some businesses.

People with a temperature above 100.4 degrees will be asked to leave.

Several years ago, it was reported that scanners would be placed in front of the entrance to stores during the Tribulation Period, and the store doors will not open for people that do not have the Mark.

Four, on Apr. 30, 2020, it was reported that Knox County, TN, officials released their Phase One plan for reopening places of worship, and they suggested:

That churches do not serve communion because of social distancing.

That churches discourage singing because singers could expel more virus.

That churches use a donation box, if possible, instead of collection plates.

That attendees wear a face mask.

That everyone be treated like they have the virus.

That there be no activities other than worship in Phase One.

That seats be marked off to guarantee 6 feet of separation.

That people maintain social distancing when entering and leaving.

That churches be sanitized between services.

Five, On April 30, 2020, it was reported that Bill Gates said people could start being vaccinated with his Coronavirus vaccine as soon as 12 months from now, and he should be able to produce billions of doses by late 2021.

As I have said before, the vaccine and tattoo (Mark) that Gates and the WHO are working on are not the Mark of the Beast, but a vaccine with a global ID number and a mandatory, trackable tattoo under the skin is a major step toward the Mark of the Beast (and a major sign that the Rapture is close).

It is important to realize that the Mark of the Beast is the mark, name or number of the Antichrist (Rev. 13:17); he is the son of perdition; he is being restrained by the Holy Spirit; he will come according to the working of Satan (II Thess. 2:3, 6-7, 9); he will come out of the bottomless pit (Rev. 11:7); he will blaspheme God (Rev. 13:6); and he will behead people that refuse to take his mark (Rev. 20:4).

This does not mean that Gates is the Antichrist, but it does mean that Gates’ goal is a stark reminder that Satan’s Antichrist is coming.

Six, on Apr. 29, 2020, it was reported that Pres. Trump has launched a program called “Operation Warp Speed” and given it the task of trying to produce 300 million doses of vaccine by the end of 2020.

Pharmaceutical companies, researchers, government agencies and the U.S. military have been asked to work together at U.S. government expense to rapidly identify, test and produce the most promising vaccines.

This could be an answer to prayer, but Fauci is involved; and if it requires a global ID number and a mandatory, trackable tattoo (Mark), it could become a curse to those that are left behind.

Seven, on Apr. 30, 2020, Bill Gates wrote, “I know it’ll (vaccinating everyone on earth) get done. There’s simply no alternative” (notice no alternative).

Eight, on May 1, 2020, Pres. Trump issued an emergency use authorization for the experimental drug remdesivir and, to his credit, Fauci said, “it has a clear-cut, significant, positive effect in diminishing the time of recovery,” but he called it a “first step.”

Nine, on Apr. 29, 2020, it was reported that the UN International Labour Organization (ILO) said there are 3.3 billion workers on earth, and almost half (1.6 billion) are in immediate danger of losing their jobs.

If this problem is not solved, it will result in the kind of economic collapse, malnutrition, pestilence and death described in the Bible (Rev. 6:5-8).

Ten, earlier this year, the Jewish Sanhedrin applied for a permit to sacrifice a lamb on the Temple Mount on Passover.

The government turned them down in anticipation of Muslim violence.

Currently, Jews and Muslims are not allowed on the Temple Mount because of the Coronavirus lockdown.

So, the Jewish Sanhedrin has requested government permission to sacrifice a lamb on the Temple Mount on May 7, 2020.

The Torah (first 5 books of Bible) allows those that could not sacrifice a lamb on Passover to make it up one month later (Num. 9:10-11).

What the government will do remains to be seen.

Eleven, the Arab League held an urgent video meeting on Apr. 30, 2020, and condemned Israel for planning to annex part of Judea and Samaria.

Palestinian leaders said Israeli annexation of any part of Judea and Samaria will end the Two-State solution.

Israel has been warned not to annex any territory by leaders of several EU nations, but as of now, Netanyahu plans to submit his annexation request to the Israeli Knesset on July 1, 2020. (The U.S. appears ready to recognize what Israel does.)

Twelve, on May 2, 2020, it was reported that 28 meat processing plants are now shutdown in the U.S., and Kroger said there will be shortages at some stores.

In the Bible, God warned everyone that world government is a bad thing.

It is now obvious that globalist policies will fulfill God’s Word; destroy the world’s economy; create global unrest; and impoverish, starve, and enslave multitudes on earth.

#declass #fisa #Obama #shadow #government #presidency #corruption #maximum #scandal #of #all #time

[pensarelvirus]

‘The impossible has already happened': what coronavirus can teach us about hope / Rebecca Solnit

.

Disasters begin suddenly and never really end. The future will not, in crucial ways, be anything like the past, even the very recent past of a month or two ago. Our economy, our priorities, our perceptions will not be what they were at the outset of this year. The particulars are startling: companies such as GE and Ford retooling to make ventilators, the scramble for protective gear, once-bustling city streets becoming quiet and empty, the economy in freefall. Things that were supposed to be unstoppable stopped, and things that were supposed to be impossible – extending workers’ rights and benefits, freeing prisoners, moving a few trillion dollars around in the US – have already happened.    

The word “crisis” means, in medical terms, the crossroads a patient reaches, the point at which she will either take the road to recovery or to death. The word “emergency” comes from “emergence” or “emerge”, as if you were ejected from the familiar and urgently need to reorient. The word “catastrophe” comes from a root meaning a sudden overturning.

We have reached a crossroads, we have emerged from what we assumed was normality, things have suddenly overturned. One of our main tasks now – especially those of us who are not sick, are not frontline workers, and are not dealing with other economic or housing difficulties – is to understand this moment, what it might require of us, and what it might make possible.

A disaster (which originally meant “ill-starred”, or “under a bad star”) changes the world and our view of it. Our focus shifts, and what matters shifts. What is weak breaks under new pressure, what is strong holds, and what was hidden emerges. Change is not only possible, we are swept away by it. We ourselves change as our priorities shift, as intensified awareness of mortality makes us wake up to our own lives and the preciousness of life. Even our definition of “we” might change as we are separated from schoolmates or co-workers, sharing this new reality with strangers. Our sense of self generally comes from the world around us, and right now, we are finding another version of who we are.

As the pandemic upended our lives, people around me worried that they were having trouble focusing and being productive. It was, I suspected, because we were all doing other, more important work. When you’re recovering from an illness, pregnant or young and undergoing a growth spurt, you’re working all the time, especially when it appears you’re doing nothing. Your body is growing, healing, making, transforming and labouring below the threshold of consciousness. As we struggled to learn the science and statistics of this terrible scourge, our psyches were doing something equivalent. We were adjusting to the profound social and economic changes, studying the lessons disasters teach, equipping ourselves for an unanticipated world.

The first lesson a disaster teaches is that everything is connected. In fact, disasters, I found while living through a medium-sized one (the 1989 earthquake in the San Francisco Bay Area) and later writing about major ones (including 9/11, Hurricane Katrina and the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and Fukushima nuclear catastrophe in Japan), are crash courses in those connections. At moments of immense change, we see with new clarity the systems – political, economic, social, ecological – in which we are immersed as they change around us. We see what’s strong, what’s weak, what’s corrupt, what matters and what doesn’t.

I often think of these times as akin to a spring thaw: it’s as if the pack ice has broken up, the water starts flowing again and boats can move through places they could not during winter. The ice was the arrangement of power relations that we call the status quo – it seems to be stable, and those who benefit from it often insist that it’s unchangeable. Then it changes fast and dramatically, and that can be exhilarating, terrifying, or both.

Those who benefit most from the shattered status quo are often more focused on preserving or reestablishing it than protecting human life – as we saw when a chorus of US conservatives and corporate top dogs insisted that, for the sake of the stock market, everyone had to go back to work, and that the resultant deaths would be an acceptable price to pay. In a crisis, the powerful often try to seize more power – as they have in this round, with the Trump Department of Justice looking at suspending constitutional rights – and the rich seek more riches: two Republican senators are under fire for allegedly using inside information about the coming pandemic to make a profit in the stock market (although both have denied wrongdoing).

Disaster scholars use the term “elite panic” to describe the ways that elites react when they assume that ordinary people will behave badly. When elites describe “panic” and “looting” in the streets, these are usually misnomers for ordinary people doing what they need to do to survive or care for others. Sometimes it’s wise to move rapidly from danger; sometimes it’s altruistic to gather supplies to share.

Such elites often prioritise profit and property over human life and community. In the days after a huge earthquake struck San Francisco on 18 April 1906, the US military swarmed over the city, convinced that ordinary people were a threat and a source of disorder. The mayor issued a “shoot to kill” proclamation against looters, and the soldiers believed they were restoring order. What they were actually doing was setting inexpert firebreaks that helped fire spread through the city, and shooting or beating citizens who disobeyed orders (sometimes those orders were to let the fires burn down their own homes and neighbourhoods). Ninety-nine years later, in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans’s police and white vigilantes did the same thing: shooting black people in the name of defending property and their own authority. The local, state and federal government insisted on treating a stranded, mostly poor, mostly black population as dangerous enemies to be contained and controlled, rather than victims of a catastrophe to be aided.

The mainstream media colluded in obsessing about looting in the aftermath of Katrina. The stock of mass-manufactured goods in large corporate chain stores seemed to matter more than people needing food and clean water, or grandmothers left clinging to roofs. Nearly 1,500 people died of a disaster that had more to do with bad government than with bad weather. The US Army Corps of Engineers’ levees had failed; the city had no evacuation plans for the poor, and President George W Bush’s administration failed to deliver prompt and effective relief. The same calculus is happening now. A member of the Brazilian opposition said of Brazil’s rightwing president Jair Bolsonaro: “He represents the most perverse economic interests that couldn’t care less about people’s lives. They’re worried about maintaining their profitability.” (Bolsonaro claims he is trying to protect workers and the economy.)

The billionaire evangelist who owns the arts and crafts chain Hobby Lobby claimed divine guidance in keeping his workers at their jobs when businesses were ordered to close. (The company has now closed all its stores.) At Uline Corporation, owned by billionaire Trump backers Richard and Liz Uihlein, a memo sent to Wisconsin workers said: “please do NOT tell your peers about the symptoms & your assumptions. By doing so, you are causing unnecessary panic in the office.” The billionaire founder and chairman of payroll processing corporation Paychex, Tom Golisano, said: “The damages of keeping the economy closed as it is could be worse than losing a few more people.” (Golisano has since said his comments were misrepresented, and has apologised.)

Historically, there have always been titans of industry who prized the lifeless thing that is profit over living beings, who paid bribes in order to operate unhindered, worked children to death or put labourers in mortal danger in sweatshops and coal mines. There were also those who pressed on with fossil fuel extraction and burning despite what they knew, or refused to know, about climate change. One of the primary uses of wealth has always been to buy your way out of the common fate, or, at least, it has come with a belief that you can disassociate from society at large. And while the rich are often conservative, conservatives more often align with the rich, whatever their economic status.

The idea that everything is connected is an affront to conservatives who cherish a macho every-man-for-himself frontier fantasy. Climate change has been a huge insult to them – this science that says what comes out of our cars and chimneys shapes the fate of the world in the long run and affects crops, sea level, forest fires and so much more. If everything is connected, then the consequences of every choice and act and word have to be examined, which we see as love in action and they see as impingement upon absolute freedom, freedom being another word for absolutely no limits on the pursuit of self-interest. Ultimately, a significant portion of conservatives and corporate leaders regard science as an annoyance that they can refuse to recognise. Some insist they can choose whatever rules and facts they want, as though these too are just free-market commodities to pick and choose from or remake according to one’s whims. “This denial of science and critical thinking among religious ultraconservatives now haunts the American response to the coronavirus crisis,” wrote the journalist Katherine Stewart in the New York Times.

Our rulers showed little willingness to recognise the ominous possibilities of the pandemic in the US, the UK, Brazil and many other countries. They failed in their most important job, and denying that failure will be a major focus for them. And while it may be inevitable that the pandemic will result in an economic crash, it is also turning into an opportunity for authoritarian power grabs in the Philippines, Hungary, Israel and the US – a reminder that the largest problems are still political, and so are their solutions.

When a storm subsides, the air is washed clean of whatever particulate matter has been obscuring the view, and you can often see farther and more sharply than at any other time. When this storm clears, we may, as do people who have survived a serious illness or accident, see where we were and where we should go in a new light. We may feel free to pursue change in ways that seemed impossible while the ice of the status quo was locked up. We may have a profoundly different sense of ourselves, our communities, our systems of production and our future.

For many of us in the developed world, what has changed most immediately is spatial. We have stayed home, those of us who have homes, and away from contact with others. We have withdrawn from schools, workplaces, conferences, vacations, gyms, errands, parties, bars, clubs, churches, mosques, synagogues, from the busyness and bustle of everyday life. The philosopher-mystic Simone Weil once wrote to a faraway friend: “Let us love this distance, which is thoroughly woven with friendship, since those who do not love each other are not separated.” We have withdrawn from each other to protect each other. And people have found ways to help the vulnerable, despite the need to remain physically distant.

My friend Renato Redentor Constantino, a climate campaigner, wrote to me from the Philippines, and said: “We are witness today to daily displays of love that remind us of the many reasons why humans have survived this long. We encounter epic acts of courage and citizenship each day in our neighbourhoods and in other cities and countries, instances that whisper to us that the depredations of a few will eventually be overcome by legions of stubborn people who refuse the counsel of despair, violence, indifference and arrogance that so-called leaders appear so eager nowadays to trigger.”

When we are no longer trying to unlink ourselves from the chain of a spreading disease, I wonder if we will rethink how we were linked, how we moved about and how the goods we rely on moved about. Perhaps we will appreciate the value of direct face-to-face contact more. Perhaps the Europeans who have sung together from their balconies or applauded together for their medical workers, and the Americans who came out to sing or dance on their suburban blocks, will have a different sense of belonging. Perhaps we will find a new respect for the workers who produce our food and those who bring it to our tables.

Although staying put is hard, maybe we will be reluctant to resume our rushing about, and something of the stillness now upon us will stay with us. We may rethink the wisdom of having much of our most vital stuff – medicine, medical equipment – made on other continents. We may also rethink the precarious just-in-time supply chains. I have often thought that the wave of privatisation that has characterised our neoliberal age began with the privatisation of the human heart, the withdrawal from a sense of a shared fate and social bonds. It is to be hoped that this shared experience of catastrophe will reverse the process. A new awareness of how each of us belongs to the whole and depends on it may strengthen the case for meaningful climate action, as we learn that sudden and profound change is possible after all.

“Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers,” Wordsworth wrote, a little more than 200 years ago. Perhaps this will be the moment that we recognise that there is enough food, clothing, shelter, healthcare and education for all – and that access to these things should not depend on what job you do and whether you earn enough money. Perhaps the pandemic is also making the case, for those who were not already convinced, for universal healthcare and basic income. In the aftermath of disaster, a change of consciousness and priorities are powerful forces.

A dozen years ago I interviewed the Nicaraguan poet and Sandinista revolutionary Gioconda Belli for my book on disaster, A Paradise Built in Hell. What she told me about the aftermath of the 1972 earthquake in Managua – that, despite the dictatorship’s crackdown, it helped bring on the revolution – was unforgettable. She said: “You had a sense of what was important. And people realised that what was important was freedom and being able to decide your life and agency. Two days later you had this tyrant imposing a curfew, imposing martial law. The sense of oppression on top of the catastrophe was really unbearable. And once you had realised that your life can be decided by one night of the Earth deciding to shake, [you thought]: ‘So what? I want to live a good life and I want to risk my life, because I can also lose my life in one night.’ You realise that life has to be lived well or is not worth living. It’s a very profound transformation that takes place during catastrophes.”

I have found over and over that the proximity of death in shared calamity makes many people more urgently alive, less attached to the small things in life and more committed to the big ones, often including civil society or the common good.

I have mostly written about 20th-century disasters, but one analogy a bit further back comes to mind: the Black Death, which wiped out a third of Europe’s population, and, in England, later led to peasant revolts against war taxes and wage caps that were officially quashed, but nevertheless led to more rights and freedoms for peasants and labourers. In the emergency legislation passed in the US in March, many workers gained new sick-leave rights. Lots of things we were assured were impossible – housing the homeless, for example – have come to pass in some places.

Ireland nationalised its hospitals, something “we were told would never happen and could never happen,” an Irish journalist commented. Canada came up with four months of basic income for those who lost their jobs. Germany did more than that. Portugal decided to treat immigrants and asylum seekers as full citizens during the pandemic. In the US, we have seen powerful labour agitation, and results. Workers at Whole Foods, Instacart and Amazon have protested at being forced to work in unsafe conditions during the pandemic. (Whole Foods has since offered workers who test positive two weeks off on full pay; Instacart says it has made changes to safeguard workers and shoppers, while Amazon said it is “following guidelines” on safety.) Some workers have gained new rights and raises, including almost half a million Kroger grocery store workers, while 15 state attorneys-general told Amazon to expand its paid sick leave. These specifics make clear how possible it is to change the financial arrangements of all our societies.

But often the most significant consequences of disasters are not immediate or direct. The 2008 financial collapse led to 2011’s Occupy Wall Street uprising, which prompted a new reckoning with economic inequality and a new scrutiny of the human impact of exploitative mortgages, student loans, for profit-colleges, health-insurance systems and more, and that in turn amplified the profiles of Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders, whose ideas have helped pull the Democratic party to the left, towards policies that will make the US fairer and more equal. The conversations stirred by Occupy and its sister movements across the globe incited more critical scrutiny of ruling powers, and more demands for economic justice. Changes in the public sphere originate within the individual, but also, changes in the world at large affect our sense of self, our priorities and our sense of the possible.

We are only in the early stages of this disaster, and we are also in a strange stillness. It is like the Christmas truce of 1914, when German and English soldiers stopped fighting for a day, the guns fell silent and soldiers mingled freely. War itself paused. There’s a way that our getting and spending has been a kind of war against the Earth. Since the outbreak of Covid-19, carbon emissions have plummeted. Reports say the air above Los Angeles, Beijing and New Delhi is miraculously clean. Parks all over the US are shut to visitors, which may have a beneficial effect on wildlife. In the last government shutdown of 2018-2019, elephant seals at Point Reyes National Seashore just north of San Francisco took over a new beach, and now own it for the duration of their season of mating and birthing on land.

There’s another analogy that comes to mind. When a caterpillar enters its chrysalis, it dissolves itself, quite literally, into liquid. In this state, what was a caterpillar and will be a butterfly is neither one nor the other, it’s a sort of living soup. Within this living soup are the imaginal cells that will catalyse its transformation into winged maturity. May the best among us, the most visionary, the most inclusive, be the imaginal cells – for now we are in the soup. The outcome of disasters is not foreordained. It’s a conflict, one that takes place while things that were frozen, solid and locked up have become open and fluid – full of both the best and worst possibilities. We are both becalmed and in a state of profound change.

But this is also a time of depth for those spending more time at home and more time alone, looking outward at this unanticipated world. We often divide emotions into good and bad, happy and sad, but I think they can equally be divided into shallow and deep, and the pursuit of what is supposed to be happiness is often a flight from depth, from one’s own interior life and the suffering around us – and not being happy is often framed as a failure. But there is meaning as well as pain in sadness, mourning and grief, the emotions born of empathy and solidarity. If you are sad and frightened, it is a sign that you care, that you are connected in spirit. If you are overwhelmed – well, it is overwhelming, and it will take decades of study, analysis, discussion and contemplation to understand how and why 2020 suddenly took us all into marshy new territory.

Seven years ago, Patrisse Cullors wrote a sort of mission statement for Black Lives Matter: “Provide hope and inspiration for collective action to build collective power to achieve collective transformation. Rooted in grief and rage but pointed towards vision and dreams.” It is beautiful not only because it is hopeful, not only because then Black Lives Matter set out and did transformative work, but because it acknowledges that hope can coexist with difficulty and suffering. The sadness in the depths and the fury that burns above are not incompatible with hope, because we are complex creatures, because hope is not optimism that everything will be fine regardless.

Hope offers us clarity that, amid the uncertainty ahead, there will be conflicts worth joining and the possibility of winning some of them. And one of the things most dangerous to this hope is the lapse into believing that everything was fine before disaster struck, and that all we need to do is return to things as they were. Ordinary life before the pandemic was already a catastrophe of desperation and exclusion for too many human beings, an environmental and climate catastrophe, an obscenity of inequality. It is too soon to know what will emerge from this emergency, but not too soon to start looking for chances to help decide it. It is, I believe, what many of us are preparing to do.

*

Fuente: https://www.theguardian.com/about-hope-rebecca-solnit

[Publicado 7/abril/2020]

#Rebecca Solnit #The impossible has already happened #what coronavirus can teach us about hope #reflexión #literature #society #salud #sociedad #UK #USA #covid-19 #coronavirus #crisis #pandemia #virus #hope #capitalism #necropolitics #worldpolitics

[biofunmy]

EU grants new Brexit delay to Jan. 31

Britain got Brexit breathing space but no clarity on Monday when the European Union granted a three-month delay to the U.K.’s departure from the bloc, postponing it until Jan. 31.

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British politicians immediately began using the extra time to do what they have done for more than three years: bicker about Brexit.

Prime Minister Boris Johnson pushed for an early election as a way of breaking the political deadlock over the country’s stalled departure from the EU, only to be rebuffed by lawmakers.

Legislators voted by 299-70 for Johnson’s motion to hold a Dec. 12 election — short of the two-thirds majority of the 650 members of Parliament needed for it to pass.

Still, an election appears inevitable well before the next scheduled one in 2022 if Britain is to move on from the stasis caused by a prime minister who vowed to deliver Brexit “do or die” and a Parliament that has repeatedly thwarted him.

Johnson said he would try again Tuesday, using a different procedure: a bill, which only needs a simple majority to pass.

“We will not allow this paralysis to continue, and one way or another we must proceed straight to an election,” Johnson said.

Earlier, he had accused his opponents of betraying voters’ decision to leave the EU by thwarting the government’s Brexit plans.

He said that unless there was an election, the government would be “like Charlie Brown, endlessly running up to kick the ball only to have Parliament whisk it away.”

“We cannot continue with this endless delay.”

Yet further delay stretched ahead after the EU agreed to postpone Brexit until Jan. 31, acting to avert a chaotic U.K. departure just three days before Britain was due to become the first country ever to leave the 28-nation bloc.

After a short meeting of diplomats in Brussels, European Council President Donald Tusk tweeted that the EU’s 27 other countries would accept the U.K.’s request for a “flextension.” Under the terms of the agreement, the U.K. can leave before Jan. 31 — on Dec. 1 or Jan 1 — if the British and European parliaments both ratify a Brexit divorce agreement.

It’s the third time the Brexit deadline has been changed since British voters decided in a 2016 referendum to leave the bloc.

The decision was welcomed by politicians in the U.K. and the EU as a temporary respite from Brexit anxiety — but not by Johnson, who said just weeks ago that he would “rather be dead in a ditch” than postpone the U.K.’s leaving date past Oct. 31.

In the end, the choice was not in his hands. The U.K. Parliament forced Johnson to ask for a delay to avoid a no-deal Brexit, which would hurt the economies of both Britain and the EU.

In a letter to Tusk, Johnson said that under U.K. law “I have no discretion . to do anything other than confirm the U.K.’s formal agreement to this extension.”

But he called the delay “unwanted” and said it was “imposed on this government against its will.”

Johnson urged the 27 other EU countries “to make clear that a further extension after 31 January is not possible.”

Johnson took office in July vowing to “get Brexit done” after his predecessor, Theresa May, resigned in defeat. Parliament had rejected her divorce deal with the bloc three times, and the EU had delayed Britain’s scheduled March 29 departure, first to April, and then to October.

Johnson has faced similar political gridlock, as Parliament blocked his attempt to push through his Brexit deal before the October deadline and made him ask the EU for more time.

Johnson hopes voters will give his Conservative Party a majority if there is an election, so that he can push through the divorce deal he struck with the EU and — finally — take Britain out of the bloc.

Opposition parties also want an election, though not on Johnson’s terms.

Kirsty Blackman of the Scottish National Party said her party favored a slightly earlier Dec. 9 vote and “we will not be dancing to Boris Johnson’s tune on this.”

The main opposition Labour Party said it would study the government’s bill before deciding whether to back it.

“We look forward to a clear, definitive decision that no deal is absolutely off the table and there is no danger of this prime minister not sticking to his word,” said Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn.

There’s also a strong chance an election could produce a Parliament as divided over Brexit as the current one. All the political parties are worried about a backlash from grumpy voters asked to go to the polls at the darkest, coldest time of the year. Britain has not had a December election in almost a century.

European officials, meanwhile, urged Britain not to waste the extra Brexit time.

German government spokesman Steffen Seibert welcomed the Brexit delay, but cautioned Britain to “use the additional time productively.”

Guy Verhofstadt, head of the European Parliament’s Brexit group, wrote on Twitter that whatever Britain ultimately decides to do, “the uncertainty of Brexit has gone on for far too long.”

“This extra time must deliver a way forward.”

France had resisted another extension to Brexit, but European Affairs Minister Amelie de Montchalin said the prospect of a new election in Britain justified the new delay. Montchalin also said it was not too late for Britain to revoke Article 50 of the EU treaty and cancel Brexit, something that Johnson has vowed he will never do.

“The prime minister can pick up his phone and call Brussels to say: ‘I stop everything,'” she said.

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Samuel Petrequin reported from Brussels. Lorne Cook in Brussels and Gregory Katz in London contributed to this report.

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Follow AP’s full coverage of Brexit and British politics at http://bit.ly/2ZsFieN

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[stoneheartedblog-blog]

April 3rd

So it's been a month since I wrote here. Some things have changed. Some things have not.

Our daughter and her two daughters moved in with us almost a month ago to give her husband so e space to deal with his PTSD. The possibility of violence made it a no-brainer. He's at our house a lot of the time and even spent the last two evenings. I suspect/hope they will re-integrate soon. At their house.

In a weird confluence of discussion came to light that is changing everything. What if we sold our house to them? It started as a half-hearted joke but quickly grew legs.

So. The plan is for my daughter and her family to love wholesale in to our basement around Labour Day, fix up their mobile and sell it. The two families in the combined household will split expenses and pound down some debt. Over the winter, they'll buy our house and in the spring, we will buy our new home.

It'll be a stressful 6-9 months. That's for certain. But there's a prize at the end and boy, is it worth it.

A fresh start. The ultimate reset on our marriage. A home we both chose. Hand in hand. Together.

Our home now was purchased out of necessity. We needed the space and I was in solutioneering mode. Didn't (wouldn't) take my own desires in to account. Just solving problems. Like most of our marriage, I externalized all my wants and needs on her and the kids. And in that weird way that sneaks up on a person, I didn't connect with any decision. I didn't put any emotional skin in the game. I think now, upon reflection, that I left room for quiet resebtmebt to grow.

I never acted on it. Quite the opposite. I unplugged from it. Practically torching our marriage in the process.

Disconnected, unplugged and willingly unaware.

Things are different now. Much better.

Yeah, we are still in positive-neutral. But it gets better and stronger every day, bit by bit.

Sex is back on the menu, but I haven't initiated. Playful digs and warmth. It's weird how I let habits and life circumstance dictate opportunity and priority. I can be quite dense and I don't pick up on her hints right away. My tendency to fashion rules is annoying. Back on Valentine's, she said she wasn't ready. I left it at that, waiting for her to initiate. What I missed was what that initiation would look like. And I missed her first few cues, slow to tune in. Paying attention now.

More broadly, our emotional intimacy has considerably improved. I feel more present and connected to things. The prospect of buying a new home genuinely excites me. Our place. Making love in every room. Setting up our lives the way we want it instead of how the kids needed it. It's no small nuance.

I love this woman.

We are without marriage counselling. The doc's mother is in ill-health and had to take a leave of absence. We opted to wait for her return and make a go of it on our own.

So far, so good.

There's probably more. A month has a lot of stuff in it. But that's where I'm at right now.

#chrono

[wayneooverton]

13 ways New Zealand is making the world a better place

A few weeks ago, our country was rocked by violence, hatred, and bigotry.

Making worldwide news, the mass shooting in Christchurch which targets two mosques and claimed 50 lives forced this country to reckon with that fact that we aren’t actually an untouchable little country at the bottom of the world.

It’s so easy to disconnect in New Zealand and be separate from the rest of the world, to see global news and breath a sigh of relief that not only is that NOT happening here, it’s likely NEVER happen here.

We are widely considered to be a peaceful and tolerant country with little crime so when the news broke that we were chosen to be the host of such horrific violence, no one knew what to think.

Anger, outrage, sorrow, confusion.

The country simultaneously mourned the innocent lives lost and mobilized into re-creating our safe bubble safe again for everyone, everywhere.

Christchurch, I’m so sorry.

All eyes have been on New Zealand as we implement changes to policy and move forward and without ever asking or wanting to be a leader in crisis response, New Zealand is setting an example for the world. Not just the government but the entire population arose to the call and vowed to make New Zealand better.

But responding to this crisis isn’t the only thing New Zealand is doing right. No, in fact, New Zealand has been making strides to be a model country for decades and by doing so, it’s consequently making the world a better place. Sure, it’s not perfect and there are plenty of problems and issues here, but overall, New Zealand has been steadily working towards making the world a better place. Here’s how:

1. Our leadership is creating the model for the rest of the world

It’s no secret that the way our Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern, has responded to the mass shooting has been groundbreaking. Sure, most world leaders will show empathy and sorrow but Jacinda showed immense support for the mourning community while also getting to work on how to prevent this in the future AND actually enacting change.

She told the world New Zealand is a country that embraces diversity, kindness, compassion, and is a home for those who share these values and a refuge for those who need it.

She wore the hijab and hugged those in the Muslim community who were hurting. She refused to name the terrorist and instead, talked about the victims who lost their lives. She immediately announced the government would ban the kinds of guns and modifications used in the attack within a week.

Every move she made was to reinforce the idea that inclusivity was a core value of our nation and that hatred would not tear us apart. After the attack, she immediately launched in an investigation on whether government agencies could have prevented this tragedy.

View this post on Instagram

Non-Muslim Kiwi women – including our Prime Minister @jacindaardern – wearing hijabs and standing with our Kiwi Muslim sisters 🖤❤️ In solidarity, in mourning, and in honour of the 50 lives lost in Christchurch last Friday. We are with you.

A post shared by UN Women NC New Zealand (@unwomennz) on Mar 22, 2019 at 5:59pm PDT

Jacinda is setting an example for the world about what response to mass shootings should look like. What the rest of the world, particularly the USA, is doing is normalizing gun violence. Not one person from the USA called me or checked in after the terrorist attack. Why?

Because this happens so frequently in the USA that they have simply detached to that specific violence. Mass shootings have become normalized and unless you are directly affected, almost no one is phased anymore.

New Zealand’s response has been a wake-up call that mass gun violence is not normal and we cannot grow complacent.

2. We take maternal care seriously

Last year, our Prime Minister became the first world leader in history to take maternal leave. She gave birth, took time off work, and then returned as her partner stayed home with the baby.

She’s not the only one in New Zealand who has a progressive take on maternal care and parental leave.

In 2017, Parliament here passed a bill to increase parental leave from 22 weeks to 26 weeks. The government said they are committed to giving the child the best start in life and that starts with longer paid paternal leave.

View this post on Instagram

One of the many special people we have been so grateful for over these past few months, our wonderful midwife Libby. Not only is she incredible at what she does, this morning she made me macaroni and cheese because she heard me mention a wee craving yesterday. Thank you so much for everything Libby!

A post shared by Jacinda Ardern (@jacindaardern) on Jun 21, 2018 at 8:26pm PDT

Almost all women who are pregnant in New Zealand use a midwife. Midwives are the cornerstone of the New Zealand maternity service.

All other services, such as obstetric or pediatric services, fit in around this model so that the woman experiences a seamless maternity service that meets her individual needs.

There are classes before the birth and continued support after the birth including home visits. All of these services are free and available to every resident or citizen and the government also sends you a weekly check to cover your work leave.

3. Minimum wage keeps going up

Starting April 1, 2019, New Zealand is raising the minimum wage to $17.70 an increase of $1.20 per hour with another increase to $20/hour due in 2021.

Sure, it’s not as high as Australia, who has the highest minimum wage in the world, but it’s a pretty good start, and it’s a hell of a lot higher than many other places in the world.

Their reasoning? A fair day’s work should equal a fair day’s wage. For comparison purposes, the national minimum wage in the USA is $7.25 and this amount hasn’t gone up since 2009. Yikes.

View this post on Instagram

We have just announced that the minimum wage will increase to $17.70 per hour on 1 April 2019! It’s all part of our commitment improve the wellbeing and living standards of everyone, while also building a productive, sustainable economy that works for everyone. 👏👏 . #nzpol #newzealand #nz #minimumwage

A post shared by New Zealand Labour Party (@nzlabour) on Dec 18, 2018 at 3:13pm PST

4. We’ve implemented domestic violence leave

I’ve mentioned it before and I’ll say it again. As much as I love New Zealand, it’s not perfect. Our domestic violence rates are abnormally high, an uncomfortable space the country is quickly dealing with.

On April 1, 2019, a new bill will be implemented to help protect victims of domestic violence. Employees who are affected by domestic violence can request up to 10 days of leave and/or a short term flexible work arrangement to assist them in dealing with the effects of domestic violence.

New Zealand is the first country in the world to offer this type of leave as a universal entitlement and will give those seeking to escape domestic violence a pathway to safety.

5. Single-use plastic bags are banned

New Zealand has officially put an end date to the use of single-use plastic grocery bags in the country.

Major national supermarkets have already started to phase out plastic bags with the official ban going into place on July 1, 2019. Instead, they are encouraging reusable bags or repurposed boxes to get your food home.

Major supermarkets across NZ have reported that removing plastic bags from their stores would result in about 350 million bags saved from the landfill. The majority of the country supports the ban with only a few outliers who are slow to change.

For the most part, New Zealand is incredibly conscious of its role in climate change and protecting the environment and most people — from kids to grannies — agree that protecting the environment has to be a top priority.

View this post on Instagram

After a big push from the public, and some huge changes by business and retailers, today we announced that we will be phasing out single use plastic bags in NZ. Big thanks to Minister Eugeine Sage and the @nzgreenparty for all the work on this one, and to every young person who wrote to me about it. Every letter counted!

A post shared by Jacinda Ardern (@jacindaardern) on Aug 9, 2018 at 11:04pm PDT

6. We’ve increased our refugee intake by 33%

As other countries around the world begin to close their borders to refugees, New Zealand has been working on doubling their refugee quota.

The amount of refugees has sat steadily around 750 each year but New Zealand has raised the number to 1,000 and is aiming to increase it again to 1,500. Sure, that number might not seem like a lot when you look at the worldwide number of refugees but it’s a good start for an already small nation.

Jacinda has publicly disapproved Australia’s detention of refugees and asylum-seekers on Manus Island, in Papua New Guinea, and on Nauru.

She has reaffirmed New Zealand’s position on a number of occasions, and also offered to take up to 150 of the refugees. Her reasoning? She said it was more important to do what was right than what was popular.

The government has implemented a community sponsorship program to help resettle refugees and provide services, furnished houses, English language classes and support towards full paid employment and self-sufficiency.

View this post on Instagram

In the first episode of our #IWD2019 video series, here's the story of Elisha and her team @nisawomen! Nisa was launched after Elisha had been volunteering with the refugee community and realised many of the women had fantastic sewing skills but were struggling to find work. So Elisha quit her job as a litigation lawyer and started her own social enterprise – Nisa – which is a lingerie label employing women from refugee backgrounds ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜 #WomenSupportingWomen

A post shared by UN Women NC New Zealand (@unwomennz) on Mar 11, 2019 at 11:49pm PDT

7. We have universal health care

This one doesn’t take a lot of explaining.

Our health care is free for all residents and citizens. Our no-fault scheme covers everyone, including visitors, who are injured in an accident in New Zealand. The plan covers children, beneficiaries, students, if you’re working, unemployed, or retired. In short, this means it doesn’t matter what you were doing when you were injured or who was at fault. New Zealand will cover you for free.

For prescriptions, many medications are subsidized by the government. The prescription charge for each subsidized prescription medicine is usually $5. How great is that?

View this post on Instagram

Last year, more than half a million people didn’t go to their GP because of the cost. That's why, as announced in #Budget18, we're cutting the costs of visiting the doctor for almost 600,000 Kiwis – including free visits for everyone under 14. 👩‍⚕️👨‍⚕️ From 1 December, it will be cheaper for 540,000 more Community Services Card holders to visit the doctor. On top of that, 56,000 13 year olds will become eligible for free primary care. This will mean more people will be able to get the care they need, when they need it. Read more about what we're doing in health – link in profile!

A post shared by New Zealand Labour Party (@nzlabour) on Nov 29, 2018 at 5:18pm PST

8. We’ve put a halt on foreign house buyers

It’s no secret, New Zealand has a housing shortage in too many parts of the country.

Part of the problem is rich foreigners buying up pieces of land and properties as investments or for — and I kid you not — a doomsday safe haven. Foreign buyers who aren’t living in the country drive up housing prices and push local buyers out of the market, and driving up property prices astronomically.

The new rule is if you have the right to live in New Zealand permanently, you have the right to buy here. The government wants to improve the housing situation and allow more kiwi buyers a path to owning a house.

9. We have a long-standing nuclear-free policy

New Zealand has been a nuclear-free country since 1987. Boom!

There is a three-decade-long ban in place that prohibits entry into the internal waters of New Zealand 12 nautical mile radius by any ship whose wholly or partially dependent on nuclear power.

It also bans the dumping of radioactive waste into the ocean within the nuclear-free zone, as well as prohibits anyone in New Zealand from manufacturing, acquiring, possessing or having any control over any nuclear explosive device. This 30-year anti-nuclear campaign is the only successful ban of its type in the world.

10. New Zealand’s political parties compromise and work together

New Zealand’s government is truly mind-blowing when compared to the overly complicated and inefficient government in the USA. Politics here are made of more than two parties (shocking, I know) and agreements between political parties are usually needed before a government can be formed.

To reiterate that, when it’s time for elections, more than two parties are *actually* considered and taken seriously AND the parties usually have to team up and compromise in order to will the election. For the last election the Labour party teamed up with the Greens and New Zealand First.

Also, elections don’t last two years and have far less money put into them. Just saying.

11. We have partially free higher education

For those looking to further their education after high school, the New Zealand government covers all students’ first year of tertiary education or industry training. Adults who have previously studied for less than half full-time year of tertiary education or industry training also will qualify for free education.

This policy is part of the Government’s first 100 days program which also includes a $50 a week to help alleviate student and living costs.

New Zealand is striving to provide a full program of 3 years’ fee-free tertiary education and training for New Zealanders by 2024 and for those who have student loans, don’t expect to pay any interest on the repayments as long as you live and work in New Zealand. For someone who has paid thousands of dollars in interest while trying to pay off my student debt, this is music to my ears.

12. We are working towards free mental health for people aged 18-25

Along with domestic violence, mental health has never historically been our strong suit but we are adamantly working on changing that. Example? New Zealand’s suicide rates are shockingly high.

The government here is running a pilot scheme that supports 18-25-year-olds with mild to moderate mental health needs for free. They are currently testing the program in Porirua with the hopes of rolling out free mental health care for a great portion of the population.

They argue that 3/4 of all lifetime cases of mental illness develop by age 24 so by intervening early and providing adequate support, they can help prevent mental health problems in older adults.

The program helps support people who might otherwise struggle to get help either because they can’t afford it or their needs aren’t recognized.

View this post on Instagram

Our Government is committed to improving mental health services and making sure those who need help can access the support they need. Yesterday, Minister of Health David Clark and Associate Health Minster Julie Anne Genter MP launched the youth mental health pilot Piki in Porirua. This pilot will provide free mental health services for 18-25 year olds. . . #mentalhealth #nz #newzealand

A post shared by New Zealand Labour Party (@nzlabour) on Feb 11, 2019 at 3:40pm PST

13. We’re banning smoking in cars carrying children under the age of 18

Most people recognize the scientific research that supports that smoking is incredibly detrimental to not only the smoker’s health but also those who are exposed to second-hand smoke. It took a while for everyone to get on board with this idea but we’re slowly making progress and New Zealand is trying to lead the change.

New Zealand is banning smoking in cars while children aged 18 and under are present.

This includes vaping and allies to all cars that are stationary or moving. Their primary goal is to protect children but this also helps them work towards their Smokefree 2025 goal.

View this post on Instagram

🚸 It’s Children’s Day – but we know our tamariki need support year round. Making GP visits more affordable for families is just one of the ways we're making NZ the best place in the world to be a child. Read more about our Families Package and what we're doing for our kids through the link in our bio 🚸 . . #childrensday #childrensdaynz #healthcare #newzealand #nz

A post shared by New Zealand Labour Party (@nzlabour) on Mar 2, 2019 at 1:19pm PST

According to 2014 research by ASH, 100,000 children a week are exposed to second-hand smoke and children are especially vulnerable to the harmful effects of second-hand smoke due to their smaller lungs, higher respiratory rate and immature immune systems.

New Zealand certainly isn’t the first country to implement this ban but it’s a great move towards a healthier community.

As you can see NZ is leading the charge in the world on many hot and modern issues, and we feel incredibly privileged to call this country home.

What do you think? Have any other points to share? Seen these choices anywhere else in the world? Spill!

The post 13 ways New Zealand is making the world a better place appeared first on Young Adventuress.

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