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#in my head she acts and sounds exactly like fran fine
emmyblues · 3 days
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passenger princess
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summary - justin cant drive up to eugene on his own during the off season, so his girlfriend takes the wheel
pairing - justin herbert x fem!reader
wordcount - 2.4k
A/N: honestly, he could probably drive by himself in february, but for the sake of this he couldnt
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“I hate this,” Justin mumbled indignantly as he stared out of the window of his black Porsche, a pout on his sun kissed face.
“No, you don’t, stop whining, babe,” Y/N quickly shot back, laughing at her boyfriend’s slightly jutted out bottom lip in a more childlike way than she could've ever imagined. 
“No, I really do hate this. I should be driving,” he grumbled, finally looking back at her, only to find her eyes glued to the road ahead of them – a gray highway, luckily surrounded by the dried yellowish-green of a national park in California, the first of many on the I-5. 
“Stop being a baby, you can’t drive, you know that,” she sighed, reaching a hand over to rub comfortingly up and down his thigh before returning it to the wheel. Justin only dejectedly looked down at his wrapped hand, a bitter reminder of his unexpectedly short season. 
“Still, I always drive,” he whined. “Plus, what kind of boyfriend lets his girlfriend drive for 13 hours.”
“One with a broken hand,” she deadpanned. “Just let me drive for once, I like you being my passenger princess.”
“Your what?”
“Passenger princess,” Y/N giggled, which escalated into full on laughter at the look on Justin’s face. “Y’know, like, pillow princess, but with driving. You’re my passenger princess today.”
Justin only groaned, hitting the back of his head against the headrest in exasperation. “Stop. This is why I want to drive.”
“C’mon let me pamper you, just this once. You’re always doing everything for me, so just let me help you.”
“No.” His response was immediate. 
“Whatever,” she laughed, turning up the music a little, letting the sound of Fleetwood Mac float through the air. “You’re still not gonna be driving so you better just get comfortable.”
“I won’t,” he denied, not even really knowing what exactly he was objecting to, anymore. Everything was just not what he’d had in mind when he asked if she’d drive up to Oregon with him.
Justin kept mostly quiet for the next hour, even nodding off once to the lull of the motor and Stevie Nicks' voice. He just kept sulking and sulking, even as Y/N placed her hand on his bare thigh – only covered by his athletic shorts – just like he always did with her when he drove. He rolled his eyes at the action, but Y/N did catch the slight tug at the corner of his mouth from her peripheral vision. Even annoyed he couldn't help the blush that rose to his cheeks at her touch.
“Are you ready to not be a baby now?” she asked him once he seemed to have fully come to from his power nap, eyes no more tired than they usually seemed.
“I wasn’t being a baby,” he protested, only to falter at the look on his girlfriend's face – one he knew better than to mess with. “Okay, I might have been acting a little childish, sorry.”
“It’s fine, honey,” Y/N grabbed his hand, interlacing their fingers, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “This is what I get for waking you up so early.”
“Y’know I would’ve been fine with spending the night in San Fran before continuing. I still think we should,” he shook his head, bringing her hand up to his lips to press a simple kiss to the back of it. 
“I’m fine with driving the whole way. I actually kind of like it. It’s calming.”
“Well, don’t get used to it,” Justin chuckled, a grin creeping up on his lips. “I’m driving us everywhere once my hand’s okay again, I can promise you that.”
“Just go back to sleep,” she laughed, loosening her hand from his just to push his chest lightly in jest before returning it to its earlier position. “I’ll wake you when we get to our first stop, I promise.”
True to Y/N’s suggestion, he kissed her hand again before closing his eyes and pushing his Nike baseball cap over his eyes so the California late-morning sun wouldn’t blind him in his sleep. He felt much better going to sleep when he could be his normal soft and loved-up self with her. Even if it wasn’t a fight they’d had an hour into their trip, he still hated having any sort of friction between them – and with it solved now, he slept like a baby. Something he so desperately needed, nowadays.
He had been overwhelmingly tired ever since December, trying his best to recover and keep his leadership top notch without being able to physically contribute. It was difficult. And the pain didn’t help either. 
He’d had a hard time falling asleep the first two weeks, and even if he’d convinced those around him – and even himself sometimes – that his pain tolerance was high enough to endure nearly anything, sometimes it was a little overwhelming. Even if it was a mere blip on the radar compared to those horrible weeks of bruised ribs.
So, now that the pain was lessening with time and over the counter pain-meds were enough to help, he slept like a log given the chance. Especially since he could do it so close to Y/N, her hand in his, a physical reminder that she was by his side. 
────────────
Being such a meticulous, type-A person, Justin had mapped out their entire route. That included an entire itinerary of when and where they would be stopping – which he had of course gotten her opinion on. Despite his control issues, he would never use them to deprive Y/N of her control. 
So, thanks to his planning, she knew exactly which exit to take to get to the roadside diner Justin stopped at each and every time he drove the 13 hour drive. Pulling into a space in the nearly empty sandy parking lot, she shut the engine off and unbuckled her seatbelt before turning to her snoring – and even slightly drooling – boyfriend.
“Justin, baby,” she whispered, leaning over the console to place her free hand on his cheek, the other still firmly grasped in his hand from when he’d grabbed it a little over an hour ago. “We’re at the diner, you’ve gotta wake up. Honey?”
He finally stirred, clutching her hand harder, as his face burrowed further into her hand. His eyes slowly opened, dusty green, puffy and sparkling in the sunlight. “Hi,” he croaked out, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s palm. “How long was I out?”
“Look outside,” she told him, nodding to the window through which he’d be able to see the diner.
“Oh god, sorry,” he immediately apologized, wide eyed trying to blink away the sleep. “We’ve been in the car for like three hours and I was asleep for two of them. I’m so sorry. I'm being a shit roadtrip-partner.”
“It’s okay, you needed the sleep,” she chuckled, matting down his sleep tousled hair – or maybe it was just how his hair naturally behaved?
Justin immediately stretched, getting out of the car to open Y/N’s car door. He even held out a hand for her as she climbed out, holding it all the way into the diner, where they sat down on worn down maroon leather seats. 
Justin got the same thing as he did every time he stopped there – a burger and vanilla milkshake – and since it was Y/N's first time, too, she copied him, upon his recommendation. Before leaving, they got two more milkshakes for the rest of the drive, giggling as they walked out of the semi-deserted diner together, hand in hand.
Not even a half hour after stopping, they were on the road again, this time with an awake Justin in a much better mood than before. He seemed so relaxed he let himself talk Y/N’s ear off, telling her all about Oregon and biology and whatever else they drove by, completely ignoring the fact that he’d already taken Y/N up to Eugene twice during their relationship. Although, both times had been by plane, given it had taken place during the season or right before, and he hadn't had the time to drive then.
Hours later, including a few stops for both them and for Nova to stretch their limbs and for the cat to get to play a while after being confined to her carrier for so long.
Justin and Y/N quickly realized that after tasting the freedom of the spacious car, there was now way she was getting back into her carrier, so they just let her roam the car – as long as she didn't bother Y/N's driving.
Soon enough, with the bengal cat now sleeping soundly in the backseat, they were steadily driving ahead as the sun started setting. Purples and oranges painted the sky over the road as they neared the Oregon border.
With national parks surrounding the highway in Northern California, speed blindness sadly set in a bit too harshly for Y/N, and right in the middle of an animated debate about the best albums of all time, red and blue lights flashed over Y/N’s face through the rearview mirror.
“Oh fuck,” she muttered, immediately pulling over to the shoulder. 
“Jesus, how fast were you driving for us to be pulled over?” Justin exasperatedly asked, nearly in disbelief. He had never been pulled over. Ever. The thought of even doing something that warranted it almost gave him hives, and it didn't help that Y/N seemed a little too calm for his liking. 
“I don't know, I'm sorry. In my defense, I’ve been driving for a little over nine hours. And I haven’t so much as swerved,” Y/N shrugged, nonchalantly pulling down the visor to look at her reflection in the mirror. She fixed her hair, and checked her makeup, before pulling the collar of her shirt down a little, exposing significantly more cleavage than before – but not so much that it would be inappropriate.
“What are you doing?” Justin asked with furrowed brows, looking over his shoulder at the cop approaching – mid forties, lanky, dark eyes. 
“Making sure I don’t get a ticket.”
Before Justin could protest further, the cop was knocking on Y/N’s window, and she was lowering it with an apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry officer, I completely lost track of how fast I was going,” she leaned closer to the window, puffing out her chest and pouting as her voice rose. She sounded nothing like herself. Justin was sure she’d done this before, at least once. This was way too rehearsed. 
“That’s alright ma’am, do you have your license and registration with you?” he smiled back as he looked over the car, nodding at Justin as they made eye contact. 
Y/N nodded, before reaching for her papers and ID, proudly showing them to the cop, officer Jones. Justin couldn’t help but scowl. 
“What are you two doing driving around this late?” the cop asked, as if it wasn’t only 7 pm with plenty of daylight left.
“We’re on our way to Oregon to see some family. We drove from LA, and I’ve just been driving for so long, I must’ve just accidentally sped up a little.” Justin was rolling his eyes in the background, but he couldn’t help but admit that it seemed to be working. He doubted they’d get sent on their way with anything other than a quick ‘be safe and slow down’ by the officer. 
“Alright then, a warning should be enough then. And you promise you’ll slow down? Maybe take a break and let your friend drive for a while,” he nodded over to Justin, who quietly scoffed in response. 
“Will do, officer. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,” Y/N pouted, wide eyes staring up at him through her lashes. 
“Have a good day ma’am,” he grinned right back, completely ignoring Justin as he walked back to his car to continue the rest of his shift.
Justin stayed completely silent as Y/N fixed her shirt back to its original position, and pushed her hair out of her face. She was just about to disengage the handbrake when she caught sight of Justin’s flushed and pouting face, his eyes nearly impossible to see through his frown. 
“Baby, you okay?” she asked him with a laugh, reaching her hand over to his. She gripped his scratchy palm, but he remained still, looking ahead and not making eye-contact. “Are you mad? You know I only did that to get out of a ticket, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” he forced out, swallowing thickly.
“Are you jealous?” she smiled, her tone teasing as she leaned closer to him, trying to get a glimpse of his face.
“No,” he denied. “I just would’ve rather paid the ticket than watch you flirt with some guy right in front of me.”
“You know that was nothing like how I am with you? I don’t talk or act around you like that for a reason. I only want you.”
“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled, finally holding her hand back, making her smile widen.
“Don’t pout,” she soothed, kissing his cheek, then his lips – once, then twice – before pulling away and leaning back into the driver's seat. “It’s really not a big deal, I promise. And if you’re that uncomfortable with it, I won’t do it again, I promise.”
Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed toward the end of her sentence. Despite being comfortable in her feelings for Justin and her want for a future with him – which is why she was so fine with doing what she did – the last thing she wanted to do was dismiss his feelings. She wanted to be a good partner, and part of that was listening to him and his opinions. 
“It won’t need to happen again, ‘cause I’m driving from now on.”
“After we get to Eugene,” Y/N corrected him as she laughed, kissing him once more, giving him just enough time to reciprocate and grab her jaw to deepen the kiss before pulling away. Biting her lip and with a glint in her eye, she put the car back in drive and pulled into traffic.
She was definitely going to have some fun with that later on.
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leanrexisfin · 9 months
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His dad made me uncomfortable with his statement 
I said he acts nice when other people are around 
He said what do you do 
He said woman are hell 
I said right 
He said men are normal were just animals 
Justin made ape sounds 
It grossed me out 
You guys are to emotional and that we could conquer the world in two days if we get our shit together 
I felt like he was trying to tell me fall in line 
I  felt insecure in my current setting 
I felt like he was comparing me to his wife (she’s 45) 
I felt like Justin didn’t stick up for me or tell him to stop 
I felt like Justin talks about me to him (I have been emotional ) that makes me uncomfortable
 I don’t like being compared to them because theyre old and the world is new and bright ( im 25)
I know that I am fine I feel like im just going through a difficult time right now and people are judging me for that. I wish I wasn’t having hard time but don’t have control over the current circumstance 
  Its a shame to me that I can’t have a weak moment. At least to the public in any sense male/female 
   I hate the patriarchy and how it makes women out to be this emotionally unstable raging bitch. 
 Women are not allowed to be women. Men are tyrants and just pass it off as being animalistic.
 I have a right to feel. and men do as well
 They get on high and always think they’re above the rest of the humans.
They forget when they feel 
  Justin was the most miserable person in my life who he had no money and life wasn’t going the way he wanted 
  I felt bad for him I empathize with what he may have been going through and I actually started to see things better. In this moment I began to grow 
  Goerge was miserable his job laid him off and he was in between jobs I witnessed it Fran spoke on it multiple times as well. 
 just the same I felt bad about Jorge and I couldn’t even imagine the pressure on his back to keep up the house and also the stress on Fran too have ahold up her end for her husbands sake I can’t imagine how that felt for george as well. 
 Justin is following behind his dad as he should but I am afraid that his father will contaminate his head with his nasty. Thoughts on women. I saw good in George until this conversation. Although Ive always noticed he goes on many power trips I never judged because I liked his character and maybe I still do but I completely disgree with his views on women and I don’t need someone who plans to be my husband having the same thought patterns. seeing woman as “emotional” instead of all knowing is delusional  . To think men call us such a stupid word is exactly that , delusional. Women are so Devine 
What’s the quote again ? Behind every great man is a greater woman.
So tell me how a great man is led by a emotional raging delusional bitch. 
Go figure 
And to the men that don’t respect woman as people. As humans. how about you take your dick and Continue to use womans bodies to jerk off. Because you deserve just that pathetic life you wish for. Filled with nothing 
And I feel sorry for Fran as much as I don’t like her either 
  How complicated of a life to live behind a man 
I don’t even think she likes to swing 
She just doing what he wants 
She so caught up in keeping her man and being a wife she can’t even see it anymore 
I don’t want to be like that 
Not ever 
I don’t wanna lose me in a man 
She works everyday
She cooks for him 
Cleans behind him 
Organize his life 
Probably take behind him
She has to stay happy stay horny and also be prepared to lick pussy when he feels frisky 
She’s VERY jealous and pretends to play its off and it kills her insides that (this is my assumption) she puts in all that work for a man who never kept his dick for her. Not even his eye balls 
She is constantly comparing herself to other woman she talks down on the girls she feels threatened by 
  and after feeling all that rage she plays it cool and washes the dishes the makes him a drink while trying to cook up a new way to suck him 
She’s not emotional she’s exhausted 
She’s pretending she’s not 
My mother does the same thing 
Women carry this burden and its so stupid and meaningless I wonder if it is even worth is to try to keep a man 
Do I get white man ? 
Do I settle so a rich mana nd cry in a rolls royce ?
Do I manipulate my man for years on end to stay on top ?
Do I find a stupid man who offers no mental elavation because he’s easy ?
Do I waste my years “waiting it out”?
Or do I die alone. 
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appeypie · 3 years
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cool mom
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whump-town · 2 years
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A Favor
Feeling very Hotch and Hank these days (feel free to send me asks about them because I fucking love them and I will write more about them if given the chance)
No warnings
No Pairings
It begins about mid-April in the height of the whole “April showers bring May flowers” thing. Hotch is sitting on the porch when Derek pulls into his driveway. The day is chilly, the perfect sort where the weather never gets the chance to get humid because the rain doesn’t stop falling and the sun stays tucked behind thick, billowing clouds. Windshield wipers darting quickly, never fast enough to fight the rapid downpour. Sitting out in a rocking chair, sweater pulled over his white-shirt to fight the chill, Hotch cocks his head to the side as Derek throws his door open, jogging - head down- to the porch. The car is still on.
“I need a favor,” he shouts as he nears the porch. He runs on up, ignoring Hotch’s raised eyebrow of confusion. Derek follows his eyes to the car and lets out a breathless sigh. “Listen, man, Hank’s got the croup or something. The nursery won’t take him when he’s got a fever and the plumbing just blew sky high at that house I’m renovating on Sixth Street. Savannah -”
Hotch stands, all Derek needed to say was that he needed Hotch to watch Hank for a little bit. The rest is rather unnecessary. How many times did Derek spend an hour or the day watching Jack so Hotch could do his job? Hanging around a park or the office instead of out doing what he wanted. Even if he hadn’t watched Jack, Hotch loves Hank. He cares about Derek and he also likes Savannah. Besides, his day isn’t exactly looking too busy at the moment. “He’s in the car?” Hotch asks, reaching down and grabs the raincoat he’d laid over the chair beside him.
Derek nods. He winces, “he’s moody but I think he’s excited to see you.”
Hotch hums. As they near the car, Hotch’s jacket is thrown over his arm as he walks into the rain, he smirks as they get closer and Hank’s crying gets louder. He looks at Derek, a twinkle in his eye, and betrays his amusement. Hank doesn’t exactly sound excited to be here.
Derek opens the door, immediately placing a hand on Hank’s heaving chest, shushing him gently. “Hank,” he calls, rubbing Hank’s chest with his thumb. “Baby look who it is.” Hank whines, kicking out and still making softer crying sounds as he rubs his eyes and finds Hotch. “See?” Derek offers, stepping to the side to let Hotch step closer. “I promised I’d take you to see Hops.” Hank still cries, softer now but big pitiful tears that make both men’s heartache. It makes Derek feel awful that he has to leave him.
Derek steps back, sighing as he moves to the other side of the car for the diaper bag. “Everything should be in here,” Derek shouts, as he leans around and drags the heavy bag out. He hadn’t looked in it, he realizes, before leaving but he’s certain diapers are good but he’s not so sure about a spare change of clothes. If it’s that big of a deal, Hotch will just drive him to Derek’s. Besides, Savannah should be off by five and Derek should be done by lunchtime. They’ll be fine. Hotch has done the baby thing before.
Hotch unbuckles the straps holding Hank in, frowning when Hank immediately starts fighting to get the rest of the way out. His fingers have lost the dexterity he had in his youth - too many years of abusing them for all they were worth in fights, countless hours of paperwork, and... Foyet. Wiggling baby and tiny little mechanics do not help. He’s managing slowly when Derek comes back around, his grey t-shirt now soaked, and he steps back to let Derek in.
“Alright, alright -” Derek gets him out in a second. Working through the straps and buttons with no issue. “Look,” Derek turns and gives Hank to Hotch. Smiling when Hotch wraps his raincoat around the baby, rocking his body to try and soothe Hank back down. The baby takes to Hotch, wrapping his arms around his neck, and presses his wet face into Hotch’s shirt. Derek can faintly hear him hiccuping, still crying but softer now. Whining more than sobbing.
At that moment, Derek has no idea the impact of the domino that he has knocked over.
When Hank was born, before Hank was born, Reid went through this phase of reading every parenting book he perceived worth it. If they were really good, if Reid found them intellectually stimulating and correct statistically, he’d turn them over to Morgan. Annotated. They would be covered in sticky notes, full of notes and commentary. Lots of directions about orders to read the books in and how to skip around so ensure he got the best read according to Reid.
Having nothing to do with what Reid thought was best or even important, Derek found himself reading through the guides about grandparents. About the ways that people change. Adapting to being a parent and then how parents handle being grandparents.
His father would never meet Hank.
Chicago is so far away. Fran is here when she can be, she’s a fantastic grandmother. He’s called her for everything under the sun and even though Hank has had a thousand colds and upper-respiratory infections come and go, he still calls her for every single one. Just to make sure. Just for someone to tell him he’s doing all this right.
Savannah hasn’t talked to her parents in years. Things are too complicated.
Hank will have a grandmother. One.
It’s so unfair.
It eats Derek up. Grandparents had been so important to him as a child. His grandmother was one of the only people he felt safe with, always. She was just calm in the storm of pain in his life. Who could be that person for Hank? He never wants Hank to need someone but it’s better to have a net to fall on, something to brace against when the floor gives way than to come crashing through the floor. To be met with concrete where it doesn’t have to be.
Then Derek goes and spills all those dominos.
The first time that it happens he’s a mess. He dropped Hank off at daycare at seven, like he does every morning. So, reasonably, that’s where Hank should be at two when Derek goes to pick him up.
An hour later, shaking and on the verge of tears, Derek finds him in Hotch’s backyard. The two calmly swaying in the hammock, Hank drowsily listening to Hotch read “The Lorax”. Even intently listening, head tilted up so he can see Hotch, to the older man’s boring, if not entirely too complicated, commentary about capitalism and Karl Marx. The alienation of labor and lack of class consciousness, it’s no wonder the kid is falling asleep.
Putting Hotch on the emergency list had been more of a precaution for the possibility that Morgan is on a job and Savannah has work. He hadn’t really considered Hotch would need to go get Hank. Morgan hadn’t even wanted to list him, didn’t want to bother him like that.
By about the hundredth time, it’s no longer jarring to walk into the daycare and find his son is already gone. Even the workers know to warn him now.
Derek has a key to Hotch’s, he’s more than earned that right but especially these days. He lets himself into the front door and through the house, knows exactly where to find his son. The kid spends more days out of daycare than he spends in it.
“What are you two going to do when he goes to Kindergarten next year?”
They’re in the backyard, as they typically are. As annoying as he finds paying for a program that Hank doesn’t honestly attend most days, he can’t complain that much. Hank is reading exceptionally well, having two adults’ undivided attention for long periods of time helps. There are side effects. He can read books on his own but he does occasionally do old people things.
Like grunt when he sits down.
And asks to drink everything out of a mug.
Derek can see the face Emily makes, knows how this conversation goes by default of how it’s gone a hundred times before. “No,” Derek says, flatly. “You can not pull him out of Kindergarten.”
Hotch looks down at Hank, the toddler curled up into his side with a picture book. “He doesn’t have to go to Kindergarten.”
Derek had made himself sick thinking about Hank’s perceived lack of support. He hadn’t anticipated this. The giant hammock Hotch put up in his backyard. Met for fall days just like this, large enough for Emily and Hotch lay on two separate ends. Hank in the middle of them, feet kicked up on Emily’s thighs like a little king. The bookshelf in Hotch’s old office lowest shelf full of children’s books. The car seat in his old pick-up truck. The go-gurts, applesauce squeeze drinks, and gummies in his kitchen cabinets.
“There are proven benefits to homeschooling,” Emily offers, eyes peeking up above her own book.
Morgan rolls his eyes, “and there are too Kindergarten as well.”
Hotch says nothing but the blank look, the slight glare, speaks for itself.
“I don’t want my four-year-old to act like an old person,” Morgan defends. Is it not bad enough he grunts when he bends down to get things? That he’s told Savannah his back hurts and he needs a heating pad? He’s four. He doesn’t need any of those things. “No offense,” he adds, very delayed. The worst part is that he was going to have to bring Hank here this afternoon anyways. He’s expecting a new roofer at his property on the other side of town and Hank gets too antsy to watch. Besides, Hank would much rather be here.
“Look!” Hank sits up, twisting and turning around so that he can show Hotch his book. Derek moves forward, about to fuss and warn him to gentle but Hank knows what to do. He spends every day with two old people, neither as limber as they once were. Covered in scars and trauma that have stolen mobility. He knows how to be excited and bouncy with them. So he’s careful even as he looks like a monkey climbing up the side of Hotch’s legs and hip to half sit on his stomach and turn his book around. “See?”
Hotch nods, smiling encouragingly. Hank’s new thing is spiders. Bugs are very age-appropriate but Emily and Hotch struggle to maintain a blind amount of interest. Especially when Hank brings them bugs, he’s so excited too. It’s adorable but Hotch is going to lose his mind if he has to let Hank crawl into his lap with one more spider.
“I’ll be back by six,” Morgan says. He kisses the top of Hank’s head, nodding his head when Hank shows him the enlarged picture of the spider in his book. “If not--”
“He’s fine here, no reason to rush around.”
Morgan nods, "love you, buddy."
Hank ignores him, just falls over onto his side. Squirming around until he's tucked against Hotch's side, smirking up at his father.
"Behave."
But the truth is, Hank always acts on his best behavior for Hotch.
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lesbianlotties · 3 years
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the only touchstone of truth
Chapters: 3/? Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives
Chapter 3:
“Nice place,” Fran said, following Marla inside the restaurant.
It was the first time they saw each other outside the perimeters of the moribund vape shop. For a change, Fran was comfortably and even gloriously, in Marla’s inner monologue, wearing her casual clothes, which included wearing her hair down, tight dark jeans, and a sleeveless t-shirt. The blonde still dressed with impeccable style, but at least she had left the heels at home.
Once they were sitting at a table for two she couldn’t help but ask, “Can you afford this?”
Marla sent a very particular look her way. The blonde had to point out that, in most circumstances, that would be far from a polite thing to say to someone. But she couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t charmed by the brunette’s blunt manner of handling the truth. So, finally, she settled for speaking her own version of the truth. “I will be,” Marla nodded.
“I could get used to this,” Fran mumbled, perusing the menu and doing an almost inhumane effort to remain strong and not yield to the impulse of looking up to meet the magnetic blue eyes that were staring at her.
“Help me win the case,” Marla replied in a soft and slow tone that was entirely too casual for her next words, “and I will take you to even more pleasurable places.”
Emboldened by having an appropriate comeback at the right time, Fran leaned forward in her seat, dared to meet Marla’s hunter-like gaze, and said, “If I help you win, then I expect my part of the money will be enough so I can afford these luxuries by myself.”
The two women were just one small step away from Marla blatantly saying out loud how restaurants weren’t what she had in mind when she talked about pleasure and Fran knew that. But, not yet. Marla relaxed into the chair. “Where’s the fun in that?” she laughed. She had to make an effort to keep her expression in check, because actually, that laughter carried with it a bit of a surprise to Marla. She was sort of lying, as usual. She was decidedly not the kind that believed a person needed any sort of company to enjoy the good things about life. She had never included seconds or thirds in her plans of success, and she certainly wouldn’t recommend, even less advertize, doing that. She was only mildly surprised about the sudden but most likely manageable urge to share dinner again with the particular woman currently sitting in front of her.
Fran, on the other hand, after the blonde leaned back on her chair, realized they both had been strongly leaning into the table, subconsciously being close to throwing it aside to get closer to one another. Slowly, Fran mimicked Marla’s actions and, without avoiding the feeling of getting caught, also leaned back on her chair. “So, we should probably start talking now, right? About the reason we’re here, and maybe set some rules,” Fran suggested.
“Rules,” Marla rolled her eyes while a waiter served them each a glass of wine, “Makes it sound like we’re playing a game.”
“Fine,” Fran agreed, without giving up the firm belief that they were absolutely playing a game. “What are the terms of our deal, then?”
“You help me win this case, teach me every trick you can. I’ll give you five percent of the money I make.”
Despite the recognition that nothing in Marla’s tone suggested she was asking instead of ordering, Fran found it impossible not to negotiate, partially just for the fun of it. “I make you win the case,” she said, “teach you the tricks, introduce you to my favorite gullible judge… And you give me twenty percent.”
Again, Marla laughed. She trained her smile to look simply amused instead of thoroughly pleased at having someone boldly fighting back to her. “Make me win, give me the dirty tricks, and the judge. I might give you ten percent.”
Slowly, Fran shook her head. “The tricks, the judge, training, and preparation. I’ll make you win twice as much as whatever number you have in your head. You’ll give me twenty percent.”
“You were supposed to say fifteen, you know? Terrible negotiator.”
“I’m not negotiating, I’m telling you my price.”
For the first time, Marla looked away. She was prepared for giving ten percent to Fran, she wasn’t prepared for Fran actually disconcerting her. Exciting, sure. But, instinctually, Marla’s defenses flared up, her emotional walls threatened to rise up and push Fran out and away from this sweet and previously unexplored territory of Marla’s comfort zone. Mostly, Marla was analytical rather than impulsive, and dealt with her problems effectively and methodically after thoroughly thinking them through. However, if there was ever a moment for some fight or flight response to activate in her, it was the moment Fran started looking at her like she was worth more than the money they were discussing.
“We’ll discuss your ten percent later,” Marla grinned, “why don’t you tell me about that infamous training and preparation you mentioned before.”
Temporarily, Fran relented. Perhaps she could tell they’d reached a wall, but she’d certainly continue to push, and eventually, Marla would have to give in on the money. “To win your case, you’ll have to put in a lot of work,” Fran explained, “you have to study previous cases, your adversary, the law, the judge… the whole system.”
“And you know those things?”
“I can teach you everything I know.”
Again, they were both leaning on the table toward each other. “Where, exactly, would this teaching take place?”
“I can do outstanding work anywhere you want,” Fran smiled.
It was at that moment, with that one smile, that Marla was forced to face the reality of the situation of her game: Fran knew how to play. And Fran wasn’t going to play by the rules. In fact, if Marla’s shark-like grin was her weapon of choice that dazzled innocent prey into her lap, then Fran utilized that discreet smirk of hers in pretty much the same way. Marla was almost angry at the fact that she had battled so much to win Fran’s smile just to have her own sword pointed back at her. She was almost angry, save for the growing desire to leap into that trap. But… there was the money, the court, the case…
“After we win, we’ll celebrate,” Marla finally stated. She was thoughtful, and her fingers were mindlessly playing with the bottle of wine they were quickly consuming.
Fran nodded, catching the complicated but promising agreement they were making. “We will,” she said, raising her glass for a toast.
--
In her car, the only thing Marla was thinking about was the image of a judge ruling that the absurdly large vape company that put her out of business had to pay her an unnecessarily large sum of money to pay for the damages that they technically didn’t do. Marla would give a small but still undecided percentage of the money to Fran, they’d celebrate and say goodbye, then she’d finally sell her hopeless shop and start all over again. She wasn’t looking forward to starting a business from the ground up again, but it was the only thing she could do now. 
Fran was waiting for her at the public library.
“I didn’t take you for a bookworm, Fran,” Marla greeted her.
“You’d be surprised,” Fran threw a dazzling smile over her shoulder as she led them to a table. “Get comfortable,” she said with a smirk, pulling a chair out for Marla, “I’ll be back in a minute with your homework.”
Taking a seat, Marla chuckled. In that brief moment of solitude, she studied the layers of Fran’s playfulness. Mocking chivalry by pulling out a chair for her, for example. Laughing at the traditionally manly attitude but still carrying out the gesture. It exposed and ridiculed the expectations, but Fran’s nonchalance, the innate part of it and the most likely carefully prepared part, it left no room for anything but dangerous sincerity. Does that mean these little acts were just kindness, just flirting, just part of Fran as a person? Most importantly, why did Marla care so much about little details as these?
“Alright,” Fran said as she returned and placed a heavy book on the table, “Previous cases,” she added, taking a seat beside Marla.
“This explains why a police officer gave me a business card that said ‘private investigator’, right?” Marla guessed, taking a look at Fran and how comfortable and excited the woman looked to be doing this kind of job.
“Right,” Fran nodded, and wearing a slightly proud grin she added, “occasional work with bounty hunters too.” Upon seeing the cautiously impressed look on the blonde’s face, she continued, “I use the police’s resources and get jobs that are far more exciting and lucrative. Sounds fair to me.”
“How dishonest,” Marla commented with an appreciative tone, “you’ve never got caught in trouble for it?”
The amused look Fran sent her way was answer enough. She had a talent for this. “The worst that’s happened is ruining a relationship or two,” she shrugged, “things tend to go south if your partner is incapable of matching your ambition.”
“I see,” Marla mumbled. Part of her wanted to be upset about finding a woman beyond intriguing and attractive in every possible way only years after she had personally decided she would never be able to accept a relationship. Marla couldn’t fathom being the kind of stupid person to break herself and her life into pieces to fit someone else that would take so much time and effort and money and dignity…
“Are you ready?” Fran asked, interrupting Marla’s thoughts.
Marla nodded, confident enough that her expression wouldn’t reveal how simply staring at Fran made her feel more like that kind of stupid person than she’d felt in years.
---
The days Marla and Fran spent at the library were surprisingly exciting. Since they first met, Marla was under the impression that the brunette’s presence could make any time and place interesting enough. However, the businesswoman found herself unexpectedly captivated by the work they were doing.
Law had never attracted Marla beyond the necessary procedures to legally exist in a society. She was only now starting to see how far and how thin it was possible to stretch that concept. And people did it, every day, often without any repercussions. It was only a matter of having the guts and intelligence to go for it, plus a convenient amount of knowledge and connections on the right side of the law didn’t hurt. Whenever Marla and Fran exchanged a look over the books they were studying, they couldn’t deny that together they both had everything they could need to succeed at this endeavor.
Inevitably, as it happens naturally when two people spend a lot of time together, they got to know more about each other. It wasn’t easy, considering the kind of people they both were. It was a little like walking through a dark maze together, each one armed with a flashlight, and only occasionally their beams of light met in one spot to reveal breadcrumbs of their past lives. Within a week it was discovered that Fran was born in Mexico, Marla had attended and dropped out of college, Fran drank too much coffee, and Marla, somehow, was coaxed into confessing the real nature of her relationship with Curtis.
“No, we never dated,” Marla scoffed loud enough to hide the delight she felt about Fran feeling like she had to inquire about that, “I suppose you could say he was my stepbrother. Eldest son of my mother’s third husband, I think. We get along well, he’s hardworking, doesn’t ask questions, we all need a loyal ally in life, don’t we?”
Fran tilted her head. “That’s sweet,” she cooed, getting a kick out of getting Marla to roll her eyes at her. “I’ll be back in a moment, we’re almost done here,” she added then, getting out of her seat to go look for one last book for the day.
She didn’t expect to feel Marla follow her into the long and quiet alley of the library. Fran stood close to the shelves, reading the books, looking for a specific title. A moment later, Marla was standing close behind her, so close, and reaching out with a hand to leisurely run her finger over the spine of the books, more or less trapping Fran right there and there with Marla’s breath on the back of her head. 
“Why are you doing this?” Marla asked, her voice low and serious, leaving behind the amiable tone they had gotten used to back at the table.
Fran thought about it for an extra moment. This was unexpected and unprompted, she thought they’d already had this conversation before. Why was Marla suddenly asking questions? What out of character spark of insecurity had inspired her to demand an answer from Fran? What worry was she trying to soothe? And why was Fran hoping the blonde felt troubled by the exact same feeling she was experiencing? They were both in it just for the money, but…
The thing is, Fran could tell neither of them was the kind of person to ask for more from someone. Conveniently, they also weren’t the type that would ever give away more than the strictly necessary for free. If they wouldn’t yield, if they refused to give, if they wouldn’t admit they wanted more… why were they even standing there so close together without touching at all? Their only hope was the other one was experiencing that unexpected and inarticulate feeling of, for the first time, wanting just a little more from someone else.
“Me?” Fran whispered, as her hand moved confidently and slowly toward Marla’s, “I’m here for my twenty percent of the money,” she said, shoving down whatever additional desires were thrumming on her insides. Her hand found Marla’s hand, and her fingers curled over the other’s, delicately urging that courageous hand that had set out to trap her there to move. Fran guided Marla’s hand, still skimming over the spine of the books, until they reached the one she needed. Coincidentally, the journey required for Marla’s arm to move lower, to curl closer around Fran, their arms touching, so close she almost lost her balance.
When Fran finally let go of Marla’s hand and pulled out the book she wanted, she felt beyond satisfied to hear the sharp intake of breath from the woman behind her. Then, Fran turned around, at the same moment Marla was pulling back her arm, resulting in Marla’s fingers briefly brushing Fran’s hips. Her fingers didn’t grip and pull closer as she wished they would, but that fleeting touch had to be enough, for now, Marla told herself. And, “Ten percent,” she told Fran.
The brunette sighed. Now that their tortuous little dance was over and they were looking each other in the eyes again, she could face Marla’s question. “I told you, Marla, I need the money,” Fran stated confidently, leaning her back on the bookshelf behind her.
“Why me though,” Marla wondered, her eyes and voice here icy enough to fool almost everyone into thinking there was no vulnerability in her question and only curiosity, “why my money?”
So, Fran was right. Maybe Marla wanted, as much Fran, some kind of confirmation that the other one just might be wanting a little more than money. The problem now was about who would have to admit it first.
“The amount of money I want,” Fran explained, her hand discreetly moving up to toy with the hem of the jacket Marla was wearing that day, only lightly pulling on it, “it’s impossible to earn in rightful ways, Marla. And you are… honestly?”
“Honestly,” Marla echoed the terrifying word.
Fran smiled and, with the bare amount of honesty necessary, replied, “You’re the only devil I’ve come across genuinely willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want… and do it in style.”
That earned her a beautiful and genuine laugh from Marla. The first laugh of unbridled joy of many more to come. It wasn’t completely erased by the deeply thoughtful look on Marla’s face as she continued to stare at Fran after the two of them finished laughing. 
“You look worried,” Fran commented, and failed to sound teasing, it was closer to sincere worry. Plus, she was struggling hard not to tuck an unruly strand of soft blond hair behind Marla’s ear. But that tender gesture might be too much for them at the moment. Their chemistry was a delicate but dangerous thing. The wrong move might send the other one flying away in an instant. They were pulled close like magnets, but to actually touch each other, that had to be a much careful and deliberate thing.
Luckily, Marla wasn’t good at denying herself going for the things she wanted. Without breaking eye contact with Fran, her hand found the one that had been maddeningly playing with her jacket. Holding hands with Fran for the first time, Marla was shocked to feel in equal measures complete contentment, and a desperate need to touch even more.
“I have one goal, Fran,” the blonde said, “The one thing I want right now is to win that case and take the money. But, well,” she playfully shrugged, “I might have been accused, once or twice, of being susceptible to greed, so… What if I suddenly want to take more than just the money?”
Slowly, Fran nodded, absorbing this information. It was worth noticing just how Marla still avoided being completely explicit in her desires, but she was still a woman unafraid of taking what she wanted. And those words, well, they highly suggested she wanted Fran.
“Are you asking me if I have plans after your scandalous case is over?” Fran smiled.
Marla chuckled. She was torn between maybe… and what about today? and in the meantime she was leaning in closer and closer… until a cough, a stranger coughing interrupted them.
“I hate the library,” Marla groaned, immediately dropping Fran’s hand and walking with her head held high back to their table.
Fran chuckled, and looked down at her hands, somewhat surprised to discover that with Marla standing so close she had managed to hold on to the book. “Really?” she asked out loud, “I’m loving it more than ever.”
---
“Oh my God, Fran, this is the most tedious thing in the world.”
“Marla, we’ve barely been here an hour.”
“An hour!” Marla exhaled, dramatically letting her head hit the headrest of Fran’s car.
As it turned out, Marla wasn’t cut out for stake-out jobs. Fran had insisted that it was important to study the enemy, to find out every detail, no matter how small, that they could possibly use in court to support the idea that they were responsible for the attack on Marla’s shop.
“How do you do it?” Marla asked. She no longer sounded like she was going out of her mind. Now her voice was a combination of sincere curiosity and a desperate attempt at finding a distraction.
“Patience,” Fran replied, her eyes still fixed on the window of the offices they had marked as a target.
Scoffing, Marla continued to protest, “This is madness. I could just as easily go in, pretend to be somebody else, and get the information we need.”
“Of course you would do something like that,” Fran laughed, not displeased at finding out they had different strategies that could perfectly complement each other, “Maybe next time.” She didn’t have to turn her head around to know Marla was staring at her with that specific look of delicate surprise she got when Fran said something unexpected. In fact, “You’re staring,” Fran added, enjoying calling her out for it. Her face was still turned to the window, but she raised her right hand between them to point at Marla, who scoffed and pushed the accusatory finger away. But, additionally, she continued to hold on to Fran’s hand now in the space between them.
“Well, forgive me for being bored out of my mind,” Marla replied, still putting on a playfully exaggerated tone of annoyance, even if her hand was sweetly holding Fran’s, and not letting go.
“I told you,” Fran finally turned around to look at Marla, not reacting to their joined hands, not pulling away either, “I could have done this part by myself.”
“Maybe next time,” Marla threw Fran’s words back at her with a smirk that left the brunette speechless for a moment.”
This part of the job, besides the exasperating boredom caused to Marla, proved to be fascinating. Not exactly for what they learned about the company they were trying to incriminate. But for what they learned about each other. The way Fran worked, the way Marla got easily bored. The silence between them that was more comfortable than it had any right to be yet. The conversations happened even easier, Marla talking about the mother she despised, Fran talking about a dozen awful jobs, things they loved, things they were hated for, a little bit everything. And, at the end of the day, after Fran dropped Marla at her apartment, neither of them could really think of a good teasing comment for the other, and settled for Goodnight and See you soon that sounded a little too hopeful. That moment they had to admit to themselves that it was too late to ask, or even hope for a night spent together. They were already far deeper than they could have realized. It was only a matter of how much longer could they hold back before falling, knowing it was unlikely that they would be able to get back up without the other one. No, just one night wouldn’t do. It was only a matter of time.
---
Finally, Fran took Marla to court. Not for Marla’s big day against her sworn enemy, no. This was just part of the plan, part of their deal. 
“Listen, I’m actually not that good with, you know, people,” Fran said as they walked up the steps of the building, “but, well, one way or another, I know enough people to just introduce you to everyone you need to know here, okay?”
“Okay,” Marla nodded easily keeping up with the brunette’s pace, “also, you can just admit you have an ex-girlfriend in every significant office of this city, Fran.”
With a chuckle, Fran turned to look at her, sunglasses in place and her smile nearly blinding. “People owe me favors, that’s all,” she shrugged.
From the moment they stepped into the building, it was almost as if Fran became a different person. For someone that benefited from going unnoticed as part of her job, Fran surely had important contacts all around. And she wasn’t only Fran. She was Frances, Frankie, Miss Masters, Mrs. Masters even, and she only shook her head whenever Marla tried to inquire about the names. 
“You have to meet my friend, Miss Grayson”, “She’s the most hardworking woman I know”, “Have you two met?”, “Oh, you’re going to love Marla”, “Is it okay if I leave you two alone for a second?”, “I knew you two would get along!”, “Isn’t Marla so charming?”
One sentence and a convenient excuse and then Fran left Marla alone with secretaries, judges, and everyone in between that had some influence in the way things worked around there. Then it was Marla’s turn, and Marla was good with people. She was great with people. Did she like them? Far from it. But did she know every trick to steal their trust in a matter of seconds? She absolutely did. By the time they said goodbye to a judge that had greeted Fran with the kindness of a close relative that even asked about her mother, Marla had a feeling she wouldn’t mind visiting that place again soon, maybe even often if it proved to be lucrative enough.
“I’m actually impressed right now,” Marla whispered as the two of them hurried down a nearly deserted hallway, filled with adrenaline after knowing she successfully fooled about a dozen people in one afternoon. Her hand now instinctively moved towards Fran, this time her fingers curled around the other woman’s wrist, tugged her closer.
“You are incredible,” Fran whispered right back, “people just fall to their knees for you.”
“I wonder why it doesn’t work with the one person I want though.”
Having Marla whisper those words so close to her ear was almost enough to quite literally bring Fran to her knees. “Fuck,” she sighed, “Come here.” She firmly took Marla’s hand in hers and quickly guided her to a small hallway that she knew well and was confident could be private enough for a stolen moment. “You said,'' Fran said, her voice breathy as if she’d been running all the way there, “that we would wait until after we win your case.”
“What do I know?” Marla didn’t miss a beat to reply, her eyes going crazy between Fran’s lips and eyes, “You’ve made me stupid, Fran, I don’t trust what I said before I just,” she couldn’t say more, she didn’t have to.
In a single motion, Marla’s hands on Fran’s hips pushed her against her wall behind her, and Fran’s hands on the lapels of Marla’s jacket pushed her closer. Then it was just the two of them, breaths ragged and hearts wild, blue and brown eyes going darker, suspended in a moment when time stood still. Their hands were unstoppable, grazing, pulling, tugging. At Marla’s neck. Fran’s back. Marla’s wait. Fran’s jaw. When Fran tilted her chin up, Marla pulled away, and when Marla turned her head the right way, Fran avoided her. It was maddening, to hold back this way, but they’d become addicted to the push and pull they’d started, and couldn’t let go. Not even with their bodies pressed together, their breaths mingling, their noses brushing, just a feather-light touch of their lips, in contrast to the death grip of their hands on each other’s clothes. A moment longer and they could have fainted right there in each other’s arms. Until finally, the games were over, the dance came to an end, their barriers crashed and burned with the first feverish kiss they shared. Burning and desperate to kiss each other since the first night they met. Sighs and moans that shouldn’t have been allowed in such a place, but couldn’t be restrained. Their teeth came out to play too quickly, biting and tugging at each other’s lips. Tongues that didn’t know a thing beyond a desperate need to explore, to taste the other’s mouths.
One last bite, one last kiss, and they simply had to pull away, before risking the chance of someone finding them.
“No,” Marla said, her voice still half a moan and her lips still stealing kisses. “Not like this,” she mumbled.
“Okay,” Fran followed Marla to steal a final kiss, but then she too had to pull away. “After we win,” she added, her words curling into a question at the end.
“After we win,” Marla agreed more convinced than ever before of the fact that they would conquer this challenge. They were both trying to slow down their breathing before moving away from their hiding place. Marla took the opportunity to further break the spell of caution they had held over each other. She gently brushed Fran’s hair off her face, her hand then resting softly on the other woman’s cheek, while her thumb just brushed the gloriously swollen lips. “You deserve better,” Marla whispered, her voice was so soft then that the brunette didn’t think she’d ever heard her speak like that. It brought chills all over her body.
“That’s arguable,” Fran smiled. It wasn’t a moment of humility, even less so a matter of self-recrimination. She was simply stating the fact. She was aware of the kind of things she’d done in her life, and the kind of things they were both willing to do to get what they wanted. But did they deserve it? The good things they wanted out of life? 
“Wouldn’t you say,” Marla matched her smile, “that just because we’re brave enough to want it, we deserve everything we desire?”
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randomwordprompts · 3 years
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If It's Magic | Chapter 11
Summary: Let's meet some new characters!
Taglist: @wakandan-flowerz @bakarilennox @yaachtynoboat711 @wakandas-vibranium @brwnsugababe @storibambino @thadelightfulone @reaperdeldrunk
A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing regularly, so feedback is always great.
The sounds of a big band playing old standards was the background music to the idle chatter that floated around the Manhattan ballroom. With various doctors, lawyers, and city officials scattered throughout, one might think that the Lector children stood out like a sore thumb. But, thanks to Hannibal's published studies being known globally they didn't get a second thought for being there in his place. All of that aside, the siblings were on a mission. Francois met up with their information source on the inside, who took them to meet the mark in question.
"Dr. Black, there are some people that would like to meet you."
Pausing the conversation with his wife, he turned to face the group with a smile that was so practiced it was believable if you didn't know any better. Jacob Black was a handsome man that had clearly aged well, his salt and pepper hair styled to perfection.
Dr., this is Francois, Jonathan, and Amira Lector. They’re here on the behalf of their father, Dr. Hannibal Lector?”
“Ah yes, Dr. Lector! I’ve read many of his studies and am a bit of a fan of his work. It’s nice to meet you three. I trust you’re enjoying yourselves?”
Francois spoke to the doctor of how happy they were to be attending in their father’s stead and the usual spiel of small talk that came about at events such as these. As everyone was talking and getting to know each other a bit more they were joined by another person. A young man who looked to be about the same age as Jonathan, slim and blonde with Jacob’s jawline and Mrs. Black’s eyes approached. He smiled at the small group before speaking.
“Hello mother, father. Who are your new friends?”
Before Jacob could introduce them Amira spoke up, her hand extended towards him with a warm smile.
“I’m Amira Lector and these are my siblings, Francois and Jonathan. We’re here on behalf of our father, Dr. Hannibal Lector. You must be Joseph, your parents were just talking about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” he replied as he took her hand and kissed the back of it.
She smirked coyly before going, “Anything bad you can prove wrong...or right.”
Jacob and his wife exchanged a knowing look behind their son’s back, recognizing the blatant flirting he was doing. Before Joseph could go any further Jacob decided to speak once more.
“Son, this is Amira’s first time here. Why don’t you show her around?”
“I’d be more than happy to if that’s what the lady would like.”
Amira stepped closer with their hands still connected.
“The lady would love to. Let’s start with a dance?”
Joseph’s brows rose at her forwardness but happily led her to the dance floor as the band began to play Frank Sinatra’s “Witchcraft”. He pulled her into his arms with ease and a smile that has probably charmed the panties off many of the daughters in that very room, but Amira found herself amused at how open his aura was. She knew he’d be easy to get info from once she got him to drop his “just a nice rich boy” act. With that in mind, she decided to take the direct approach.
“So, I think we’re far enough for your parents not to hear us. I go to the New School and heard there was this guy selling goods that looks a lot like you. What’s up with that?”
Joseph almost stumbled while they danced but caught himself before smiling at her forwardness.
“What’s up with what exactly, doll face? I have friends that go there, but I need to know what kind of goods you think I’m peddling.”
Amira leaned in so that their lips almost touched, her front pressed tightly against his before whispering, “I heard you have access to the best coke, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t give for a taste.”
Joseph audibly swallowed as her scent invaded his nose in the most delicious way, that combined with the softness of her body and voice casting a bit of a spell over him. His body immediately reacted and she noticed, subtly stroking her thigh along his crotch as they danced. Before he lost his mind she pulled away a bit, an innocent smile on her red lips as they continued to dance.
“When you put it that way, I think I just might have something for you. Meet me in the coat check in about 10 minutes and I’ll have something sweet just for you, beautiful.”
As the song ended they parted ways and she returned to her siblings to catch them up. She found them chatting up Dr. Black and some of his colleagues, the thought of how proud Hannibal would be to see his children rubbing elbows with these prestigious people brought a genuine smile to her face as she approached.
“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt you all,” she started before turning to her siblings, “I have some writing to finish for my psych class so I’m gonna grab a drink, freshen up a bit, and my siblings can escort me back to my dorm?”
Francois and Jonathan understood what she meant and let her know they’d have the car brought around. Amira left the group to meet up with Joseph while her siblings continued to converse for a bit longer.
Once at the door of the coat check room she gave two soft knocks to the door and was quickly greeted by the young man, who invited her in with that same charming smile.
"You know, I wouldn't have expected such a beauty to be into this stuff. But how much are you looking to buy?"
Amira shrugged, "We all have our vices, Mr. Black. But I think an eighth is enough to start. How much?"
"Only 100 for an eighth, but I've got other things as well. You ever tried heroin with the coke?"
"You mean speedballing? Heard of it, never tried it."
Joseph grinned with a devilish glint in his eyes, clearly having either tried it or seen its effects before.
"It's pretty damn good from what I've been told. Since I like you, I'll give you some heroin on top for an extra 50 just so you can try it out."
Amira hummed thoughtfully before reaching into her clutch and pulling out 200 dollars without batting an eye, Joseph holding a bag he kept stashed in the room in case he got any high-end "customers". He pulled out the pre-packaged and measured drugs, handing them to her as she handed him the money. She placed the drugs into her purse and thanked him before leaving the coat check room, looking around to make sure no one saw her. A vibration from her phone alerted her to a call from Jonathan.
“Hey, you good?”
“Yeah, I just got the candy. You brought the car around?”
“Yeah, me and Fran are in the car now. We’ll see you in a few.”
“Alright, on my way.”
With that, she slipped down the stairs towards the lobby as Joseph came out of the room behind her, heading back towards the party. Once Amira reached the lobby, she gave the doorman a smile and another to the driver that opened the door of the town car in which her siblings awaited her. As she got comfy and settled, the driver began to take them to their next destination.
“So what did you get?” Francois asked, lighting up a pipe filled with weed.
Amira pulled the drugs from her clutch and handed them to Jonathan, who inspected the packaging carefully.
“Coke and heroin? What the fuck did you do to get him to give you both?”
“He offered it for an extra 50 bucks and wanted me to try a speedball.”
Francois sat up, “What is a damn speedball?”
“It’s when you inject coke and heroin together. Very dangerous since they do the opposite shit to the body, but the high is said to be unreal.”
Jonathan shook his head after hearing her explain it, “Well, either way, he put what's gotta be his burner number on here so I think that part is for you, short stack.”
Amira pulled out her phone and put the number into it, saving it while reading some texts she missed while at the party. During this time they ended up back at the dorms as the car came to a stop. Jonathan sat back and slipped the drugs into his pocket before speaking again.
“Okay, so we’re gonna take these to the lab for some testing to see how pure it really is. We’ll get back to you in like a day or two with the results, you just see what other info you can get from Joey in the meantime.”
Amira nodded, “For sure, I’ll keep y’all updated if I learn anything. I’m sure he’ll be happy to get a call from me, given that he was imagining what was under my dress the whole night.”
“Of course he did, I made the dress.” Francois snorted.
After exchanging a bit more information and some goodnights, the three Lectors parted ways. Amira got out of the car and walked into her building, a smile spreading across her face as she spotted a familiar figure waiting for her in the lobby.
“I see you got my text,” she said.
“Of course, and looking at you now I’m so glad that I did. You look good enough to eat, Mira.”
Xavier walked up to her and looped an arm around her waist, pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers in a slow kiss. Amira slipped her arms over his shoulders and returned the kiss eagerly, pressing herself even tighter against him. When they finally broke the kiss she giggled seeing traces of her lipstick on his lips.
“You look pretty edible yourself, but I’m kinda tired tonight. Let’s go up to my dorm and just chill tonight?”
“I’d love that, mon petit. Want me to order some food from Night Owls while you change?”
Amira grinned, “You know me too well. Make sure you order some drinks too.”
“I know you well enough to know not to order food without drinks. Now let’s go so you can change before I try to wake your fine ass up.”
She snorted out a laugh before turning to lead him towards the elevator, looking forward to spending some time with the towering demon.
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swearwolf-writes · 4 years
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The Paradox - Previously...
991 AD
"Jemima get back here!" The young mother yelled at her second youngest to get back in line. "Come on love, be a lady-" "But I'm only 10; why do I have to-" Short hair obscured her vision, green eyes glaring moodily at the ground in front of her boots. "Because she said so. Listen to your mum Jemmie." Her father ruffled her chestnut hair, smiling kindly. "We've got to show these people that we can live with them and cause no problems, eh?" He leaned down with a twinkle in his eyes, "after they let us in we can be annoying, hmm?" He winked, making his children giggle and his wife lightly cuff him on the arm. "Erik-" The young lady glared playfully at her husband, shaking her head a little. "Mary." He smiles cheekily in return.
"Are we there yet?" A soft voice spoke up from behind the married couple. "Not yet Alley Cat," Edmund Erikson, the eldest of the four children, replied, "but we should be there soon", he added with a soft smile at the youngest of his siblings. Alice Erikson shuffled alongside her parents, the seven year old being the apple of everyone's eye, as she hummed a tune in boredom.
The group arrived abruptly, the site of the town not fifty paces from them seeming daunting. "Here already? We should be another ten minutes or so to my reckoning." Edmund rolled his eyes at his sister. If he continues at the rate he rolls his eyes, they'll fall out of his head. "Don't try to act so smart Jemima Alexandra. Mother and Father took a short cut and we all just followed along." "He's right. This is definitely the place." He looked at her, gratified that one of his sisters wasn't arguing with him. "Thank you Fran," he said, pointedly staring at the youngest twin. "Oh! So she's Fran and I'm Jemima Alexandra?" she huffs, hands on her hips, "and you Francesca Elizabeth Erikson, what happened to twin solidarity?" She pouted. The eldest of the arguing three simply sighed and looked up to the skies and heavens as if asking God 'What did I do to deserve this?'. "Fine Jemima." "I think you mean Jem." "Fine Jem." He rolled his eyes once more, making the younger giggle and run next to her sister, linking their arms. "Honestly that was betrayal." "Was not." "Was too." "Was n-"
"They're funny.", a small voice whispered, a smile slipping on the little girl's face.
Unbeknownst to the new family who were absorbed in each other's conversations, they were being watched from within the town borders, now not twenty paces from them.
A man stood there: tall with cruel eyes and a harsh smile. He scoffed, "yes. Very amusing: children squabbling." "Mikael,", a woman's voice sounded, "they're just children and new to this environment. They were simply arguing as children do. It does not do to scold them in such a manner when we know not their names nor their reason for being here."
The Eriksons looked in the direction of the voices and saw them all standing there, listening to the woman's words.
She was a pretty lady, dressed in the traditional pale green of heretics of England. A witch. Like them.
The couple were surrounded by five children, four boys and a girl.
The eldest was maybe a year older than the eldest Erikson child with the pale eyes of his father and dark hair like the bark of an old tree.
Next to him was a boy roughly the same age as Edmund, a friendly smile on his face as brown eyes welcomed the family from behind a curtain of dark untamed hair. His hand rested on a blond boy's shoulder, a shy smile on his lips as he fiddled with a small lump of what appeared to be wood. His pale eyes glanced over the new people's faces before moving back down to study that which was in hands.
The youngest boy smiled brightly, a mischievous grin spread across his face as dark eyes twinkled at them, a short nod in greeting sent in their direction, brown hair bobbing in the mild breeze of early autumn. He appeared to be around the twins' age.
The youngest, the girl who spoke up earlier, brushed her pale hair from her eyes, a sweet smile dressing her face, her age almost aligning with Alice's.
"Apologies." He spoke up, this time directing himself towards the new family. "How about we start again, hmm?", Mikael spoke. "I am Mikael. This is my wife Esther." He gestured to the witch by his side. "And these are my children: Finn," the eldest, "Elijah," the boy the same age as Ed, "Niklaus," the fair haired boy, "Kol," the child the same age as Jem and Fran, "and Rebekah.", the girl of roughly Alice's age.
The children smiled curiously at each other while further greetings were exchanged between the adults.
Upon realising who the family were, Esther smiled sympathetically. "The travel over from the Angles must not have been easy." Esther said, hugging Mary loosely, "welcome to Mystic Falls."
The children looked at one another and waved hello, Elijah amiably striking up a conversation with Finn and Edmund as Rebekah introduced the girls to herself, Kol and Niklaus. They had a feeling they were going to be fast friends.
1001 AD
They were right. From that day on they were thick as thieves, together through thick and thin for a decade. When anyone received any beatings (more often than not Niklaus) they would comfort each other. When the youngest Mikaelson, Henrik, was born, they all helped to looked after him. When they left their childhoods behind, they all celebrated together. It was how they were and how they wished always to be.
----------
On this particular night, the Erikson twins were sound asleep in their homes, when a scream tore away the silence. They woke with a start, worried beyond compare as they left the hut and set off towards were the noise had come from.
There was already a small crowd gathered, their whispers muffling the loud sobbing coming the centre. They pushed their way through the people and stopped abruptly, the sight knocking the breath from their lungs. Niklaus. He cradled a small body that hung in his arms, still and unmoving. Henrik. A sob escaped them as they held on to each other, stumbling back and bumping into Edmund who was on patrol. The two were covered in crimson, the flames of the torches illumating the true colour of the liquid as the rest laid black on the ground in the moonlight. The Mikaelsons ran past the siblings, mere seconds after their own arrival. Their lips moved and formed words, cries for their fallen one, but Jemima could hear nothing. Silent tears streamed down her face as she held her sobbing sister, for Henrik, the sweetest little boy in all of Mystic Falls, was gone.
----------
Over the next year, Esther had become withdrawn from the loss her child, frequently working till the early hours on a mysterious project the other witches knew only mere elements of, the whole picture becoming no clearer as the days went by. Except one day, everything was perfectly clear. Who were witches to say no such an proposition? If Esther was right, and her equations made perfect sense, they could grant eternal youth along with endowments of strength and speed to whomever they wished. Esther laid down her terms: the spell would be tested on the Erikson children first to ensure it was safe (without the concent of their mother who was to be kept naive about the situation) and then it would be bestowed upon her children and husband. If things went wrong with the Eriksons then her children would remain unscathed and it could all be written off as a tragic accident - if all went well, her family would have an eternity to spend together with those they love.
Things however don't always go exactly to plan.
The spell worked and it was a success - to a degree.
All that was expected occurred and more. All magic comes with a cost and apparently theirs was to be the loss of true humanity. They could no longer walk in the sun or bask in its warmth; some herbs burnt them; a weapon made of the wood from a white oak tree could kill them - immortality it seemed did not also include invulnerability. Worst of all was that in order to survive they would have to feed of the blood of the living. The hunger they felt was indescribable. As if that was not enough, they also looked different should their inhuman tendencies get the better of them. If their blood lust overcame then for even a moment, their eyes because dark, red veins surrounding the eye, with sharp, fang-like canines protruding from their gums. Even that which they were born with they lost - Finn, Kol, Francesca, Jemima and Alice all appeared to lose their ability to do magic.
The town feared them.
They were known as abominations.
Esther turned them into monsters. She turned them into vampires.
----------
Jemima was sat on her bed, avoiding both the sun, upon Rebekah's advise, and the other villagers when a loud knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. Kol's voice rang though the door, "Jemma, I have a gift for you which you will only get once you open this door." She said nothing, only rolled her eyes at his words, thinking back to the last time he had a 'gift'. He bribed her with a sugar sweet only to sling her over his shoulder and throw her in the lake. "Look," he sighed. "You and I both know I can come in whenever I want but, being the benevolent person I am, I will not. Please just open the door." She had kept quiet for long enough. "Why should I? Because you have a gift? The last gift I was given took my humanity from me - from us. We can no longer do magic or have children or walk in the sun or-" He walked in, cutting her off by hugging her tight."Some things are easier to fix than others." They broke from their embrace. "Now," he said, wiping away her tears, "I wasn't lying when I said I had a gift." He produced a ring, set with a sparkling blue stone engraved with the Erikson family crest. "Our rivalry to the sun was fixed by a simple daylight ring - a ring fit with an enchanted stone, the enchantment an adaptation of werewolves' moonlight ring spells." He explained, gently lifting her right hand and slipping the ring onto her finger. "There we go. Fits like a glove." He smiled and pat her hand. "As for the magic - I can't change much on that but maybe you can; you always were different." "You mean wrong." "I mean different." "All I could do was steal magic - I never had any of my own, not truly." A fact she was bitterly reminded of every time she attended her magic classes. "Well therefore you can't lost what you never had and your siphoning is a skill so try it on me. We were reborn by magic so it should work-" Kol babbled on about the details as he did when I came to magic, not noticing her other hand resting upon his. She closed her eyes and took a short breath, the two of them gasping in shock as she slowly siphoned off some of his magic. She lifted her hand into the air and breathed out a quiet spell. All of a sudden a small spark linked at her palm, growing in size and brightness till a ball of fire hovered in the air, its flames dancing in the air before slowly blinking out.
They sat in silence for a moment, in shock of everything. "My brilliant paradox." He smiled but his expression quickly became grave and fearful. "Look we don't have much time now. Father found out Mother had an affair with a werewolf and forced Mother to curse Nik with a suppression of his werewolf side before he killed her. We believe Mikael wishes to kill us too so we are running away from here; to where? - even we don't know. Nik has gone to give Fran her ring and Rebekah to Ed and Elijah to Alice. After saying our goodbyes we are to find Finn and leave for good." "You're all leaving us?" Kol looked at her as if she was insane. "My mother is dead, my father murdered her and is now trying to kill us and that was all that you got? That we're leaving? Woman you need to get your priorities sorted out." he stated, shaking his head at her. Tears sprung to her eyes as she wrung her wrists. "You're my best friend you numbskull, even closer to me than Rebekah believe it or not and I will always be upset when you leave us.", she explained, pulling the boy into a hug, "will you ever return?" "Maybe one day we will however I must leave soon my dear paradox but remember that we'll find you all again someday."
They sat in silence in each other's embrace, tense as they listened for the other Mikaelsons, stealing as much time as they could before the friends would be torn apart.
"Are they really doing a bloody sibling pact without two of their siblings-?" Kol muttered humorously, his eyes however tired and hurt. "Is that Eli?" Jem mumbled back, trying to discern whose voice it was. "With Niklaus and Rebekah," he confirmed sitting up properly. "I can hear them calling for me: I've got to go now. Goodbye Jemmie." he said, kissing her forehead before leaving her home and Mystic Fall with the rest of her family for around a millennium.
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Fran Drescher, Millennial Whisperer – The New York Times
Fran Drescher’s voice, if you ever have the chance to hear it deployed in very close vicinity over shrimp tempura and spicy tuna sushi, is actually quite soothing.
When Drescher played Fran Fine on “The Nanny,” the 1990s sitcom she created with her then-husband Peter Marc Jacobson, she was pitching her voice higher, squeezing it up her nose, acting. Back then, The New York Times compared Drescher to “the sound of a Buick with an empty gas tank cold-cranking on a winter morning.” But here in her living room above Central Park, sitting among crystals, fresh lemons, fine sculpture and photographs of herself meeting establishment Democrats, she sounds more like a Mercedes purring out of the Long Island Expressway. For those who grew up with “The Nanny” as our nanny, her voice is so embedded in the subconscious that hearing the softened version is almost therapeutic. Imagine if Nanny Fine had an ASMR setting.
“I’ve heard it’s like a foghorn, a cackle,” Drescher said carefully, balancing her plate in the lap of her little black dress. “I always just describe myself as having a unique voice.” When she left Queens for Hollywood in the late 1970s, her manager told her, “If you want to play other parts, besides hookers, you’re going to have to learn to speak differently,” she recalled. Instead Drescher leaned into her natural gifts. In 1992, she pitched herself as a sitcom star to the president of CBS: “Because of the voice, they think I’m the seasoning in the show,” she told him. “That’s wrong. I’m a main course.”
America has not heard from Drescher much lately — she has not appeared regularly on television since her TV Land sitcom “Happily Divorced” ended in 2013, and “The Nanny” is sadly hard to stream — but this week, at 62, she returns to TV with NBC’s “Indebted.” As in the pilot of “The Nanny,” Drescher appears unexpectedly on a doorstep, except this time, it belongs to her adult son (Adam Pally). She and Steven Weber play Debbie and Stew Klein, a couple of boomer dilettantes who crash their kid’s married life with the news that they’re in debt. The role of Debbie, a boundaryless hugger who swans around her son’s suburban home as if it’s her own personal retirement community, inverts the “Nanny” dynamic: Now the kids have to take care of her.
When Drescher weighed whether to take on the show, a family sitcom that draws on generational conflict, she thought of her own family. “My parents, who are still alive, thank God, were so excited about me being on network television again,” she said. “You know, not everybody could find TV Land,” she added, “but everybody could find NBC.”
The role was not written for Drescher, exactly. The pilot script had called for a “Fran Drescher type,” and when the real Fran Drescher signed on, she required a few adjustments. “People are used to seeing an annoying mother-in-law in a sitcom, but that’s not what I signed up for,” Drescher said. “When you have somebody whose persona is bigger than the part, you got to make it right for me. Or why have me?”
That meant giving Debbie Klein some passions of her own. “I had to bring myself into it,” she said. “I really infused the sex appeal, the sensuality, the vivaciousness of the character.”
“Indebted” creator Dan Levy, a comedian and producer for “The Goldbergs,” said that he originally modeled Debbie and Stew after his own parents, but that the steaminess was all Drescher. “My mom was like, ‘That’s not based on us,’” Levy said. “She elevated that to a whole level that I was not expecting.”
In the decades since Drescher first opened her mouth onscreen, the Fran Drescher type has achieved a quiet dominance over popular culture. “The Nanny” has been syndicated around the world and remade in a dozen countries, including Turkey (where it was called “Dadi”), Poland (“Niania”) and Argentina (“La Niñera”). In “The Nanny,” for anyone who doesn’t have the chatty theme song implanted in her brain, Drescher plays a Jewish woman from Queens hired to tend to the three precocious children of a wealthy English widower, Maxwell Sheffield, who is also Broadway’s second-most-successful producer (after his nemesis, Andrew Lloyd Webber). In foreign versions, the ethnicities are recalibrated — in the Russian one, the nanny is Ukrainian — but the Fran Drescher type is otherwise preserved. Wherever she goes, the ethnic striver is transplanted into a posh setting as the help, and her appealing culture and individual charm pull off the ultimate makeover — reinventing the strait-laced insiders in her own brash image.
Across the internet, Fran Fine is helping to perform similar tricks. With her pile of hair, power-clashing wardrobe and cartoon proportions, she has been fashioned into an avatar of stylish self-respect. In GIFs spirited around social media, she can be seen in a cheetah-print skirt suit, sipping from a cheetah-print teacup; inhaling a plate of spaghetti with no hands; and descending the Sheffields’ ivory staircase as if entering New York’s hottest club.
“I send this when I’m excited,” Drescher said, summoning her phone from her assistant Jordan and thumbing to a GIF of Fine twirling across the mansion in a fuchsia dress and a self-satisfied look. “How many people can send their own GIF?”
The Fran Drescher type is a kind of advisory role. First she was the world’s nanny, showing kids how to mix prints and be themselves, and now she has matured into a cool-aunt persona, modeling a fabulous adulthood. (“Broad City” made this transformation literal, squeezing Drescher into a low cut rainbow and cheetah-print dress and casting her as Ilana’s Aunt Bev, and by extension the spirit guide for a new generation of Jewish comediennes.) “I’ve never had kids, so I’m not really parental,” Drescher said. “I’m a mom to my dogs.”
“I’m kind of an influencer,” she added. Drescher has led an unconventional life, and “I share it,” she said. “It gives my life purpose.” In two memoirs, she has discussed being raped at gunpoint in her 20s, surviving uterine cancer in her 40s, and divorcing Jacobson only to acquire a new gay best friend when he subsequently came out. Recently she thrilled the internet when she revealed that she has secured a “friend with benefits” whom she meets twice a month for television viewing and sex. “I don’t think it’s that shocking a thing,” Drescher said. “I’m not in love with him.”
The kids who grew up watching “The Nanny” are now Nanny Fine’s age, old enough to properly covet her closet and cultivate a newfound respect for her persona. On Instagram, the @whatfranwore account catalogs classic “Nanny” outfits, and @thenannyart pairs them with contemporary art pieces. Cardi B once captioned a photo of herself in head-to-toe cat prints: “Fran Drescher in @dolceandgabbana.” The actor Isabelle Owens will mount a one-woman song-and-dance show dedicated to Drescher in New York this month, called “Fran Drescher, Please Adopt Me!” “As everything from the ’90s comes back, people are rediscovering her,” Owens said, noting Drescher’s fashion, her confidence, and her voice; Owens is still working to perfect her impersonation. “There are so many layers to it,” she said. “It’s so delicate and lyrical.”
The Fran Drescher type, no matter how big it gets, still risks reducing the woman behind it. “All of her is in me, but not all of me is in her,” Drescher said. “I don’t think any of my characters could have ever created and executive-produced ‘The Nanny.’” Fran Fine might have been able to wrap the boss around her red-lacquered little finger, but Drescher is the boss. When she secured her own New York apartment, in 2004, it was here, just across the park from the house that stood in for the Sheffield mansion on “The Nanny.” Soon her transformation into Mr. Sheffield will be complete: She is developing a Broadway show of her own, a musical adaptation of “The Nanny” that she will co-write with Jacobson.
“The Nanny” is a timely bid for Broadway. Drescher takes the stage’s most classic feminine archetype and gives her a modern upgrade: She is Eliza Doolittle if she refused to take her voice lessons.
That’s perhaps the biggest misconception about the Fran Drescher type — that the voice is an unfortunate obstacle, rather than a cultivated asset. Once, a fan asked Drescher about the classic “Nanny” scene where Fran Fine goes for sushi, naïvely swallows a wad of wasabi, and says, in an eerily neutral broadcaster’s voice, “Gee, you know, that mustard really clears out the nasal passages.” The fan wanted to know how Drescher had managed to pull that voice off. Sitting in her parkside apartment, perched in her producer’s chair, confidently apportioning her wasabi, Drescher revealed her secret: “I’m very talented.”
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Step On It - II
Alrighty friends, I have finally emerged from my hole of spotty-Wifi summer jobs to deliver the very, very overdue second part of Step On It! Once again, this was based on an idea from @mendeshoney​ and I’m so grateful for the chance to get to bring it to life. Please reblog and let me know what you think! 
Baby wasn’t exactly sure where it started, but somewhere along the line he had become not only the getaway driver for whatever crew Flint had put together, but was put in charge of getting everyone’s coffees before strategy sessions. And that term was used loosely; more often than not, it just consisted of everyone in folding chairs around some dusty table listening to Flint talk about whose jobs were what. Questions were almost nonexistent— Flint wouldn’t have hired someone who didn’t have the business down to a science. And he’d be damned if anyone had ever been able to get away with suggesting things should go in a different direction. You didn’t mess with the boss, and you absolutely did not mess with his plans. Nobody knew exactly how long Flint had been in the game for, and everyone was always a little scared to ask. Longer than Baby had been alive, definitely, but it wasn’t what he had always done. One of the few pieces of personal information anybody knew about him was that, before he had started the whole ‘freelance crime boss’ life, he had been in real estate. Commercial. 
So, needless to say, Saturday morning found him walking into Rooster Coffee House, popping one earbud out when his place in line reached the front. There was one morning, when he was running late, that he had forgone the usual small hipster shops he tended to try out and stopped at a Timmie’s. It was a mistake. When he had gotten back to the meeting house, Needles, one of Flint’s more volatile agents, had taken one look at the cup, grabbed it, and thrown it straight into the garbage can. Baby thought it was a little harsh; sure, the drinks wouldn’t win any awards, but he didn’t see an issue. Being fond of his own life and well-being, however, he had never brought that particular brand again, saving it for himself. 
“What can I get you?” The barista asked, not unkindly, but clearly a little caught up in the morning rush. 
“Uh, four,” Baby paused a moment, remembering himself, “five medium coffees with room?” He wasn’t sure why he worded it like a question. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. He was ordering five coffees, not asking what artisanal roaster the beans were sourced from. 
The barista nodded once. “Name?” 
“Baby.”
He got a strange look, but he was used to getting strange looks. “8.75.”
Baby pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, fishing out a ten dollar bill and handing it over, dropping the leftover change into the tip jar. Two or three minutes later— Baby wasn’t paying particularly close attention— the coffees were up, nestled into a cardboard carrying case that he hefted into his hand before walking the four blocks to the warehouse. One hand holding the case, the other was tapping along to the rhythm of the new John Mayer album. Unlocking the door and swinging past the half-draped painter’s canvas still left hanging from the ceiling beams, Baby slipped into the main room. He slid a cup in front of each of the four other crew members present, taking the last for himself and settling in his seat towards the back—  Flint wasn’t a coffee guy. 
Baby didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be writing a new song, putting together another mixtape, back at the diner finally getting that waitress’ name, anywhere apart from the cold, dark, uninviting warehouse Flint had adopted as crew headquarters. And he really didn’t want to be sitting in the room while Flint described his newest heist plans, this one involving some kind of shipping or office supply store. It would have been more than a little out of the ordinary; these types of stores weren’t typically rolling in cash, but the manager of this particular place seemed to dabble more than a little bit in money laundering and fencing, and Flint wanted in. He always wanted in. Baby thought that he must have fancied himself a sort of Robin Hood, what with the whole ‘stealing from the rich’ act, but while nobody knew exactly what anyone did with their share of the money, Baby knew Flint wasn’t exactly known for his charitable spirit. It wasn’t like his duties ever really varied much. Get the crew there, stay where he was needed, and get them the hell out of there. Not much to it. The way Baby saw it, every job he worked was one closer to freedom, one closer to the day he’d never have to do anything for that man ever again. So he listened. He listened while Flint described how they’d pull up on LeTorneau, the crew— who this time consisted of Checkers, Wilson, Moose, and Angel (whose name was deceptive, she can and would go toe-to-toe with any of the guys on the crew) would go in through the side door, two would stand guard at the hallway, and the others would break into the vault in the manager’s office. Baby’s job was to loop around the block twice— exactly twice, no more, no less— and pick them up once it was all finished. If everything went to plan, it would take exactly five minutes and twenty seconds. And Flint’s jobs always went to plan. 
It was a day later, and Baby was slumped over in his car, head in his hands, having just returned from the warehouse and the job at the shipping store. A few stacks of bills were haphazardly stuffed under the passenger’s side seat, his share of the spoils from the day’s activities. With a weighty sigh, he glanced out of the window and recalled what Flint had told him as he handed over the cash. 
“This is the last of it,” he had said, still keeping half a hand on the stack of hundreds. 
Baby’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Flint withdrew his hand. “What I mean,” he said, somewhat exasperated, “is that this is it. You’ve paid it back. You’re all squared up.” And just like that, he walked away, leaving Baby with a million questions and exactly zero answers. 
So needless to say, it was all more than a little overwhelming. It was the first time in over five years that he was truly free from Flint’s grasp, that he was no longer under his thumb. It was incredible, it was liberating, and it was a feeling that Baby never wanted to forget. But it left him with a strange sense of emptiness. It wasn’t a life that he had ever wanted, and certainly not one that he would have chosen for himself, so in truth he was just overcome with a pervasive sense of confusion. What was he going to do now? What was he supposed to do now? It’s not like he really had any relevant job experience, and he was pretty sure that “Getaway Driver— did lots of illegal and ethically questionable stuff” wasn’t a good resumé builder. But he could finally work on his music, finally try to get some demos done and songs written without the looming threat of Flint’s next call hanging over his head. Baby clicked in his seatbelt, shoved the car into gear, and got the hell out of whatever parking lot he had pulled into. 
On the elevator ride up to his and James’ apartment, Baby commenced with his semi-regular rationalization of his behaviors. It obviously wasn’t a shocker that he didn’t want to be doing what, until recently, had essentially been his job. Every time he was sent out with whatever motley-crue cast of characters Flint had rustled up, he had to remind himself that he wasn’t doing this because he wanted to. He was doing it to survive. Baby had become something of an expert at compartmentalizing, somehow able to shut off the part of his life that was filled with making James sandwiches and writing music and getting lunch from pretty waitresses from the one consisting of guns and breaking dozens of laws and secret meetings in dark warehouses. It wasn’t something he was proud of— one of the most poignant memories he had of his mother was when she drilled into him the importance of always being himself and always being truthful to others— but it was something he had to do, or he wasn’t sure how he could function. As he closed the front door behind him, James turned his head towards him. Must have seen my shadow, Baby thought. 
Aren’t you early? James asked. 
Baby sighed, leaning down to the loose floorboard and throwing the last of the money under. They said I’m done. 
Done as in?
Done. Baby said, nodding his head for emphasis. I don’t have to work for them anymore. 
What are you going to do now?
He shrugged, noticing an empty cup for Rooster in the recycling can. Music. Try to get a job. Try to be normal. 
                                                        ---------
The next day, Baby woke up bright and early, walking to the library to print out a few copies of his resumé. It now said “Private Driver” and emphasized his people skills (which were, in actuality, pretty minimal). He figured that was probably a good move. After dropping it off at a few different places, he stopped back by Fran’s. Now that he was off of the crew, maybe he could finally get her name. 
Baby slid into a booth, grimacing when he realized that he didn’t even know if she was working that day. And he didn’t even have her name to ask. He fiddled with his phone for a moment before a voice interrupted him. 
“Back again?” It was her. Baby nervously sat up in his chair, running his hand through his hair. His eyes immediately flitted to her breast pocket, where a bright, shiny silver nametag was pinned. Rhiannon. 
“Yep, you know me. Baby. Not like I expect you to remember me, you’ve probably got dozens of customers every shift, I just thought—”
She cut him off with a laugh, a sound that Baby was pretty sure had just become his favorite thing in the world. “Hey, hey, Baby. You’re fine. Don’t sweat it, okay? I remember you, and not just because of your name.” He blushed, dipping his head and pretending to be looking at the menu. “So are you off from work?”
He tilted his hand from side-to-side. In a manner of speaking. “You could say that. I don’t work for the same people anymore, found out that the career,” he paused for a moment, “wasn’t for me.”
She scrunched her nose. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be. Seriously. It wasn’t a great place to work, moreso one of those places where it just seems impossible to quit, you know?” 
“Only too well, tell me about it,” she said, huffing slightly. “So what can I get you this time?”
“What’s best?” 
She cocked a gentle smile. “Why don’t I show you?”
Rhiannon wasn’t sure if it was party of Baby’s strategy, but he always managed to come in right after the lunch rush had left and before the dinner crowd made their way in. Not like she was complaining, she had been borderline enamored with the gorgeous boy with the strange name since he wandered in a week or so ago. It was a stroke of luck that they had met in the first place, and let alone run into each other twice; Rhi only picked up a few shifts a week, the rest of her time was generally taken up with her studies. She was a psychology student at University of Toronto, with far-fetched dreams of becoming a trauma therapist. Far-fetched because success didn’t come to girls like her. She was from a small town in Saskatchewan, about thirty minutes outside of Regina, and she hadn’t even been out of her province until high school. Far-fetched because she had been raised by a single mother after her father had died in a construction accident when she was seven. Her mother did her best, balancing a full-time job at the only bank in town with raising her daughter, but there were things that slipped through the cracks. Far-fetched because out of her graduating class of 96, less than half went to college, and only a handful left the province to do so. Two to University of British Columbia, one to a college in California, one to McGill, and two to Toronto. Noel and Rhiannon has been close enough in high school— having a total school population of under 500 necessitated that— but had held onto each other as a sort of lifeline since leaving the lackluster and snowy confines of Lumsden, Saskatchewan. The two were thick as thieves since arriving in Toronto, living together their second year and into the third. Far-fetched because while her mother paid for what fees she was able and she received some financial aid from the school, there was still a gap that she had to make up. So she worked, she found a job that would give her a change, she came with a plastered smile three shifts a week and remained pleasant and apologetic to customers who couldn’t be ruder if they tried. Baby’s presence was a more-than-welcome distraction from the usual sorts of folks she’d get in the afternoon. Fifteen minutes later, she slid a toasted sandwich in front of him, piled high with Swiss cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, mixed greens, and what she was pretty sure was three separate types of meats. “People seem to like this one,” she said with a smile. 
“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Baby said. 
As much as she hated to leave him, Rhi still had other customers to keep an eye on, though in between trips to and from the kitchen window she checked her watch, praying that Baby would stick around for the thirty minutes until the end of her shift. Which he did. What she hadn’t caught was the fact that he had finished his sandwich ten minutes ago, but decided to wait for her, banking on the fact that her shift would finish at the top of the hour. He finally finished the last crumbs, leaving a twenty on the table, and catching her just as she emerged from the back after changing into her street clothes. “Hey, uh, Rhiannon?” He asked. 
“Mm?” 
“I was just wondering, if you, you know, have plans for the rest of the day? Totally get it if you do, just thought I’d ask.”
Rhiannon cut him off quickly. Too quickly, maybe? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to be rude. “I don’t have anything planned, really. Have to do some grocery shopping, but that’s pretty much it. Do you want to maybe come along?” She asked hesitantly. Why would someone want to come along for her errands? She certainly wasn’t an expert on human behavior, but was nevertheless pretty confident that putting flour into a bag at a Metro was nobody’s idea of a great weekend. 
“That actually sounds great,” Shawn responded. 
An hour and a half and five bags of groceries later, Baby and Rhiannon sat in the front of her eight-year-old Honda, breaking into the carton of blueberries that they bought. They hadn’t moved in twenty minutes, and for exactly nineteen of those minutes, all Shawn had been thinking of was how much he wanted to kiss her, but there was no way she could catch on, there was no way he’d let her. Frank Sinatra played softly in the background — Rhiannon was a big oldies fan, he had learned — and the mischievous grin she had while trying to throw a blueberry into his mouth wasn’t helping the situation. 
She stopped a minute later, closing the container and reaching around to place it back in one of the many bags. She was looking at him, and Shawn couldn’t quite place her expression. “What’s on your mind, Rhi?” He asked, reaching out and tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. 
“Tell me something about you that I don’t know. Something you wish I did. I know that you live with your foster dad, I know your folks aren’t around anymore, I know you’re a ‘driver,’” she said, adding air quotes, “but I know there’s something else. Something more.”
Shawn swallowed hard, leaning forward almost imperceptibly. “You want to know something, Rhiannon?”
“Tell me.”
“There’s nothing I want more in this moment than to kiss you.”
Her breath hitched. “Then what’s stopping you?”
10 notes · View notes
ficdirectory · 6 years
Text
Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 43
(To listen, click here) - 12:52
When Cleo starts barking, Pearl pays attention.  Cleo isn’t a big barker, except conversationally.  So when she barks out of the blue, it means something.  
It reminds Pearl of years ago, when Gracie was acting out of character, whining and barking at the back door, and Pearl eventually noticed Jesus stranded outside.  
She gets up and goes to the window.  
“What?” Mariana asks.
Pearl squints, seeing the black car in her driveway next door.  “Where’s Levi?” she asks, her heartbeat picking up.
“In the living room with Jesus.  Why?” Mariana’s definitely picked up that something’s not right, but not being at the window right this minute and having never been around Pearl’s mom or her vehicle, means that she wouldn’t necessarily pick up on how bad this is.  (Not to mention, as far as Pearl knows?  Mariana doesn’t have any of the new information regarding what a terrible person Pearl’s mom is.)
“My mother,” Pearl answers shortly.
Pearl opens a text and tries to type, but it’s no use.  Her hands are too shaky.  So she risks going to the bedroom door and sticking her head out.
“Levi,” she calls.
“Yeah?”  she can hear his voice but he doesn’t come any closer.  
“Stay in, okay?  Tell Jesus, too.”  Pearl wills her voice to stay calm.
In seconds, he’s connecting to her via Facebook video.  “Why?  What’s up?”
Mariana edges into the frame.  “Peanut Butter Cookie,” she says, serious.  “She’s next door.  So you and Jesus stay in.”
Pearl watches as Levi glances out the window.  “I gotta give Dominique and Francesca a heads up.  Bye.”
--
Levi’s hanging up with Pearl and calling Dominique as fast as he can, hoping she picks up a video call from him.
Thankfully, she does.
“Hey.  What’s up?” Dominique asks.  
“You guys gotta come inside.  Now.  It’s a safety thing, okay?  Pearl’s mom is next door and I don’t want her to try talking to you guys.”
Dominique hangs up, and in seconds they are inside.
“Lock the door,” Jesus calls, and Francesca does.  He still sounds out of it, but having Levi hanging out with him seems to be helping.  Levi hopes, at least.
--
Pearl’s still at the window in the bedroom.  She can still see her mother clearly.  Knocking.  Reaching in her pocket.  Unlocking the door.  Going in.
“She had a key made.  Of course, she had a key made!” Pearl moans.
“Did she get in?” Mariana questions.
“Oh yeah.”  Pearl nods.
“Seriously, didn’t she just bother you the other day?” Mariana’s irritated and Pearl’s glad she’s not the only one.
“Wasn’t enough apparently…” she mutters under her breath.  “She likes to touch base on this weekend.  My anniversary’s significant because of what it means for her.  So she likes to talk about that.  What she was doing.  And wonder why I didn’t tell her for a week, and instead went to school like everything was fine?  I never have sufficient answers for her…” Pearl comments bitterly.
“I wish you could call the cops on her,” Mariana insists.  “She’s breaking in.  I mean, basically.”
“She has a key,” Pearl points out.  “Which is my mistake, for not realizing.  But how do you get a key away from someone you never wanna see again?  You have to see them in order to do that.”
“Change the locks,” Mariana decides.  “Or you guys could just...move out to California with us.  Jesus and Dominique live in these great apartments.  Cleo would be welcome.”
“Don’t tempt me…” Pearl blows out a breath.  “You don’t wanna know how much I’d love to be able to pick up and move.  But it’s a big commitment.  A big change.  A lot of stress.  And I’m maxed out right about now.”
“Right,” Mariana nods.  “Well, I didn’t mean to stress you out more.”
“Will you please make sure all of The Avoiders know not to open the door to anyone?” Pearl asks.
“Sure.  Will you be okay here?” Mariana asks.
Pearl nods.
But when Mariana opens the door, Francesca’s there, asking if she can come in and talk to Pearl.
“Yeah.  Come on in,” Pearl invites.
“So,” Francesca says flopping on the bed.  “I was spying out the window in the living room, and I saw your mom going into your cabin.  Is that why you had us come inside?  Because you were afraid she might come and yell at us?”
“I had you come inside because I’ve realized my mom isn’t a safe person and I want all of you to be safe.”
“What about you?  She went inside your cabin.  What if she looks at all your stuff or what if she just waits there for you and Levi to come back and never leaves?”
“Francesca.  I know you’re trying to help, but I’m worried about all of that stuff right now already.  And more,” Pearl tells her, attempting to be calm.
“Sorry,” Fran apologizes, looking contrite.  
“It’s okay.  It’s just...a hard day for me.  So I need to think calm thoughts,” Pearl tells her.
“‘Cause this is your hard weekend because of trauma, right?” Francesca asks.
“Right,” Pearl nods.
“How...I mean...like…  How is your trauma?” Francesca tries.
“I’m sorry?” Pearl asks, confused.
“Sorry,” Francesa laughs, nervous.  “I’m trying to check in with you, like how you said to?  But I forgot exactly how.  I just know don’t ask what happened.”
“Well, I appreciate that.  My trauma is...making me nervous...to be around everybody at once.  So that’s why I’m staying in here with you or Mariana or Dominique.”
“‘Cause you’d rather just be with us girls?” Francesca asks.
“That’s right.”
“Kinda like Jesus and Levi want it to just be them right now,” Francesca says seriously.  “Levi said sometimes trauma can make people have to give each other space.”
“Mm-hmm,” Pearl nods.
“But we still all like each other?” Francesca checks.  “Like, it’s not forever that Jesus will need space from me and you’ll need space from Jesus and Levi?”
“We still all like each other,” Pearl nods.  “But I need my own space.  For now, at least. And maybe when I feel more okay, I can come and hang out with you guys.”
“Like for Feelings Time?” Francesca asks.
“I almost forgot about Feelings Time…” Pearl muses.  “I don’t think Feelings Time is ready for all of my feelings…”
“Mine either,” Francesca confesses.
“What’s one of your feelings?” Pearl asks.
“Mmm,” Francesca thinks.  “Like...I’m not sure of the name of it…”
“Okay,” Pearl says.  “That’s okay.  What’s the first word that comes to your mind?”
“Bad.  Bad sister,” Francesca bites her lip, tracing the pattern on the comforter.
“Why bad sister?” Pearl wonders.
“You know how Levi’s with Jesus right now?” Francesca asks.
“I got a text that Jesus is triggered,” Pearl offers.
“I feel like a bad sister, because I did it,” Francesca insists.  
“Ah…” Pearl nods.  “Well, you know what?”
Francesca glances up.  Curious.
“You are talking to the right person about that feeling.  I know it well.” Pearl admits.
“Because you triggered Levi before with the cookies?” Francesca asks.
“Yes.”  Pearl nods.
“Was that on accident?” Francesca checks.
“It was an accident, yes.” Pearl confirms.  “I would never hurt my brother on purpose.  And now that I know those cookies are scary for him?  I’ll never make them around him again.”
“And I’ll never whine about Facebook to Jesus again…” Francesca admits.  “I just didn’t know.”
“It’s okay that we didn’t know,” Pearl shares, inviting Francesca closer.  She stays where she is.  “The important thing is taking it seriously when we do know.  Listening.  Backing off.  Saying we’re sorry.”
“I did all that, but I still feel bad…” Francesca admits.
“You wanna know something?” Pearl asks.  “I still feel bad, too.  But I think that’s because we love our brothers.  If we didn’t love them, or care about them, we wouldn’t care about scaring them, would we?”
“I don’t know…” Francesca hesitates.
“Feeling bad when you do something wrong, even by mistake, is a good thing.  It means you have a conscience,” Pearl explains.  She’s thinking of Jared.  Of her mom.  Neither of whom seem to possess a single conscience between them.
“What’s a conscious?” Francesca wonders.
“A conscience,” Pearl puts a little extra emphasis on the word “is a little inner voice people have that lets us know when something is right or wrong.  Developing a strong one takes time.”
“What happens if you don’t grow one?” Francesca asks.
“Well...people who don’t have a conscience can hurt people very badly...and not feel bad about what they did.  They don’t say they’re sorry because they don’t ever think they’re wrong.”
“Like the bad guy that stole my brother one time?” Francesca asks.
Pearl can feel her heart break a little.
“Yes.  Like that.” Pearl nods sadly.
“So, it’s okay I feel like a bad sister, because it means I’m growing a conscious…” Francesca reviews slowly.
“It’s okay you feel badly that you accidentally hurt Jesus.  Because you care about him.  You love him.  And you don’t want to hurt other people or make them sad, even accidentally.  But...accidentally triggering our brothers?  Doesn’t make us bad sisters.  Because we can make a choice to act in better ways next time.  Ways that protect them from feeling scared.  It’s what family does for each other, right?  Does Jesus protect you?”
Francesca nods.  “Does Levi protect you?”
Pearl thinks of Levi offering to do the grocery shopping for her.  Getting a job at SuperOne, even while knowing Pearl’s mom regularly shopped there and came through his lane.  Even before Pearl had known about the secret Levi was carrying, he was making sure to protect her from the place where everything changed.
“Yeah.  He does.” Pearl nods.
“So little brothers and sisters can protect big ones, too?” she asks.
“I think...in families...we all do our best to protect each other.” Pearl nods.
--
Dominique and Mariana look out the living room window together.  
“She still in there?” Dominique asks, her voice an incredulous whisper.
Mariana nods, her jaw tight.
They’ve taken the job of keeping an eye on Pearl’s cabin, so Jesus and Levi don’t have to worry extra.  They’re seated on another couch besides the one Dominique and Mariana are on.
“Guys, I don’t know....” Levi offers in a shaky voice.  “I don’t feel like I should be here.  Maybe I should go…”
“Stay,” Jesus manages.  
“I just...feel like...there’s too much energy.  And my brain’s like, running worst case scenarios like crazy…”
Dominique turns from the window.  “You need another code?” she asks.
“Wait.  What’s a code?” Jesus and Mariana ask in unison.
Levi nods.  He doesn’t have time to talk Jesus and Mariana through his and Dominique’s strategy to stop each other from exploding things in their minds.
“Okay, I’m gonna go upstairs and grab the Post-Its off the little table and come back,” Dominique says.
Levi notices something on Jesus’s face.  How he looks a little like he wants to say something.  Or like he’s a little calmer.
“My therapist did that…” he shares softly.
“Did what?” Levi wonders.
“Wrote to me on Post-Its when my panic was too epic and I couldn’t hear her…” Jesus shares.
“Did it help?” Levi wonders.
“Yeah, it did,” Jesus nods.
“It helps when Dominique writes stuff down for me, too.” Levi nods.
Just about then, Dominique comes back down, green Post-Its and a pen in her hand.  “So, I’m just writing some true stuff down for Levi, so he can have it to refer to,” she says.
Levi figures she’s being that specific for Jesus, but Dominique’s actually looking at all of them.  He knows for a fact his own mind is still spinning.  In a very back corner of it, Levi’s mind is imagining Carla just waiting inside Pearl’s cabin forever, for Pearl to come back.
It’s beyond hard to just stay here.  To not rush out to his car.  Drive away.  Pull over somewhere and just scream his lungs out.  But if he goes outside, Carla might see.  And if she sees and tries to confront him again?  Well, Levi doesn’t know what he’ll do.
Dominique puts a Post-It on the coffee table.  Nods at Levi.  He picks it up.  Reads:
We will never leave you alone with her around.  The Avoiders are with you.  You are not alone.  We want you to stay.  You can have feelings.  You’re safe with us.  We are protecting you.
Levi glances up at Dominique.  Nods.  Then reads the paper again.  
Again.
Again.
It’s the only thing keeping Levi together.
5 notes · View notes
agentelmo · 6 years
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The X-Files MSR Analysis Series: Season 1 Episode 11
“Eve”
Previous episode analysis - 1x10 Fallen Angel.
Eve is a nice episode in terms of MSR because it is littered with cute little moments between Mulder and Scully.  Mostly characterised by their silently eyeballing each other.  Sometimes when the other isn’t even looking.  
Sorry, lets be real here - sometimes when Scully isn’t even looking. 
There’s a great scene in Mulder’s motel room which shows they’re still feeling each other out on a personal level - despite Scully’s dismissal of Mulder as a potential love interest in Jersey Devil, she clearly hasn’t 100% given up on it because she’s definitely putting the feelers out in that scene - testing the waters of Mulder’s personal life. 
On a non-MSR front, we also get our first whiff of a mention of the super soldiers that become so prominent in season 9.  Which is interesting, right?  Right?
So the episode begins with Mulder and Scully in Basement HQ talking about the latest spooky goings on.  Professor Mulder must have got in late this morning, as he’s still putting together his slide show for this mornings class.
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Mulder’s characteristic gallows humour makes an appearance, and what I really like is that he looks up to see her reaction to his joke - is he gonna get a flash of her dazzling smile?
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No.
He gets nothing - nada, zip.  Scully isn’t rewarding that mediocre attempt.
You know why this stood out to me now?  After seeing season 11′s This, it reminded me of the skanky bar scene where Mulder makes a joke about Scully looking “adorbs”.  Mulder stares at her for a long ass moment afterwards, waiting for a response.  
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From the very beginning, he always got a kick out of getting a rise out of her - cracking her cool exterior.  I just like that the same gesture is seen here, right at the very beginning of their relationship.  He makes a joke to enjoy her response - and I think, a little bit, just to see her smile, because holy shit, Scully has a million watt smile.  
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Who wouldn’t want to be the cause of that?
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How quaint.  Remember a time before you knew anything about cattle mutilation, Scully?
What I love about this is what I love about all Mulder’s slide show scenes, which is that he enjoys the song and dance of presenting his ideas to Scully.  He likes playing teacher.  Look at his face when she gives him her “say what now?” look.
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Close enough, Mulder?  He’s looming over her, being an utter space invader - as usual.  It’s their classic physical flirtation, but where the real foreplay lies between them is in the meeting of two sharply intelligent minds. 
He already knew that she wasn’t familiar with the fine art of cattle sucking, and that this would be how their conversation would go.  He had it all planned out.
This is why he was queuing up the slide show before he even asked the question -  he was just waiting to explain it to her.  He sports the smile of smug success, because it’s all gone to plan.  He’s hit his mark and now he’s ready to go - Professor Mulder is in the house, people!
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He does this for her validation, which in turn allows him to present otherwise fantastic ideas in a way that fits the conventions of a regular FBI investigation - she brings order to his chaos and I think he actually desires that - at this point he’s come to see the value in it.  
In Basement HQ with Dana Scully in attendance, Professor Mulder’s theories and ideas are not dismissed as nonsense, they’re treated as potentially valid.  This is a place of safety and mental freedom for him.  His relaxed demeanour, as he regales the grim details of the case, suggest this is the portrait of a man freed from the limitations of self-doubt and judgement. 
This is in sharp contrast to how Mulder has been know to behave around his peers.  He has a tendency to be very reticent with his fellow FBI colleagues. He’s been burned one too many times by talking about his ideas, and so tends to keeps his cards close to his chest. 
It just goes to show how her validation is like catnip for him - there is no holding back in these show and tells.  He fully expects Scully to hear him out and throw out her usual challenges, to which is he more than happy to rise because he knows they come from a place of scientific rigour not condescension and mockery - he revels in the acknowledgement and the challenge.  
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As the series progresses he refines his beliefs - he too needs proof.  But at this stage he really does believe in almost anything, and is happy to go along with any bat shit theory.  Seeing is believing for Mulder in season 1.
Not so with Scully, of course.  He’s so overtly open and unabashed with his beliefs that sometimes - when you actually listen to exactly what it is he’s saying - you do have to wonder if he is, in fact, crazy.
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See what I mean?  He’s pretty bald-faced about it.  Unflinchingly eccentric.   It’s actually kind of touching to watch him spout this nonsensical stuff about aliens coming thousands of light years to exsanguinate some poor moo cows.  Seriously, the guy sounds like he’s been smoking the good stuff.
Most normal people would tell him he’s a fucking mental case and report him to FBI human resources - this guy needs a psych evaluation - stat!
But Scully?  Nope, she’s there to do a job - put his bat shit craziness to the test, so she swallows her disbelief and instinctive need to object... literally...
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...and off we go!
So Mulder and Scully go off to investigate the man who had been blood suckered and have a chat with his daughter - the only witness to his death.  
And oh God this series can be tough to watch at times with hindsight... more Scully being totes adorbs and sweetly softly spoken with kids.  
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Any time Mulder and Scully are in scenes with kids I can’t deal.  It hurts man.
Even if the kid in question is creepy AF.
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Seriously what is it with the kids being freaky mofos in this show?
Creepiness aside, I love that this little bunny-clutching satan spawn totally plays Mulder.  
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She tells him what he wants to hear; the implication is that this girl has some kind of mind reading capability to pull “men from the clouds” and the word “exsanguinate” from out her arse.
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Uh yeah...
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Mulder, this is important... and not the time to be staring at your partner’s lips again.  Geez, man. FOCUS.
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Scully gets a call that there’s been another murder, so off they jet to San Fran baby!  Check it out - that’s a sunny establishing shot!
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Although when they get to the murder victim’s residence the weather is grey and overcast as fuck.
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You tried, Vancouver.  You tried.
What I admire about this scene here with Mulder and Scully is the fact that she doesn’t let Mulder intimidate her.
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When Scully was assigned to Mulder, she was green, untested.  He’s literally her first ever partner since she’s never been a field agent before, and he has quite the reputation as an incredibly savvy profiler and successful investigator.  Not to mention the fact he’s a man, and she’s a woman.
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Yet she doesn’t let that stop her questioning his every step.
That’s pretty fucking impressive, isn’t it?
Scully’s self-confidence is crazy admirable.  She truly is a phenomenal role model for young girls.  I know she was for me.
What’s even more brilliant about her challenge here, is that she is more right than he is.  Mulder is, in fact, super wrong.  As we discover much later, these two deaths actually are the work of two killers working in tandem like Scully says and Mulder, the career profiler, dismissed this out of hand.  1 - 0 to Scully.  Keep score in this episode, because Scully does well to prove she’s more than a match for Mulder.
So they head off to speak with the daughter of the second murder victim, and Mulder exhibits his terrible parking skills.  How far away from the kerb do you wanna be, Mulder?
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Look at Scully with her little season 1 briefcase... D’awwwwwwww.
Mulder is clearly in a good mood this morning, he’s quite playful with Scully all throughout this scene.
Case in point, when they’re discussing the fact that Teena Simmons has been abducted....
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Let’s pause for effect.  Look at him looking at her.
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Oh Mulder... are you GAZING by any chance?
Scully says the roadblocks turned up nothing... again Mulder, in his chipper mood quips back...
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He’s doing it again.  Looking for her to react.  Both times.  He really does like to  enjoy her reaction, and I think she knows it because she refuses to give him one.  Perhaps it’s to loosen her up; relax.  My theory is that he just enjoys breaking down her professional exterior and so he make it his low key eternal mission to make her crack.  Like the proper little wind-up merchant that he is.
Also, whoa... Mulder are you blatantly checking Scully out?  She conveniently looks away... and down go those eyes.  You bad, bad man.
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“I do not GAZE at Scully.”  Again, pause that.
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Sure you don’t.
Then the door opens and we see that the second murder victim’s daughter - Cindy Reardon - looks exactly like the first murder victim’s daughter - Teena Simmons.
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Spooky.
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Mulder... focus.
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I like the little silent conversation that goes on here.
Scully:  Mulder, are you seeing this? Mulder:  Yeah, what do you think is going on here? Scully:  No fucking clue.
Scully starts to question the mother about Cindy, and when Mulder chimes in to cut to the chase, he unintentionally upsets the mother.  Scully realises instantly he’s in trouble as Mulder stumbles over his words and Scully touches his hand, silently communicating – I’ve got this.
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He instantly takes a step back and lets Scully handle it.  I fucking love these two.
It’s such a simple gesture, utterly meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but for some reason little things like this make me think these two were made for each other.  I know, that’s a melodramatic thing to say, but this little exchange just thrilled me.  The simple act is trivial but also beautiful at the same time.
Am I weird?  I’m probably just weird.
Muldo and Scullbag head back out to their car and whoa... that is some heady bright red velour interior in their car - yikes.  
Holy crapsicle even the steering wheel is red!  The 90′s man...  Yeesh.
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The banter… ah the banter.  This is what makes these two so deliciously fun. It’s not the Joss Whedon style of hyper-lighting-fast, sarcastic barbs or witty, self-deprecating one liners that permeate pretty much every TV show going these days.  It’s two clearly distinct personalities interacting and sparking off of each other in distinct, individual ways.
Mulder’s sense of humour bubbles along the surface of many of the duo’s scenes together, and it’s Scully’s reaction to his humour, rather than sharp-shooting back, that makes their to and fro banter feel genuine and real.  Her reactions tends towards the incredulous or playfully disapproving, but every now and then, he will be rewarded for his efforts with a dazzling smile of genuine amusement.
That feels more real to me because we’re not all witty zing-miesters ready and waiting with the best come back of our lives.  Although Mulder does land a few good ones, that’s defined as part of his personality, not just the collective state of all human beings that exist in the world like we seem to get in a lot of TV these days.
That’s not to say that Scully isn’t funny too.  She also gets her occasional zingers, but the infrequency of them makes them all the sweeter.
So Scully goes to check at the IVF treatment centre to find out how these two girls look so alike, and asks the Doc a question that is kinda scary in hindsight.
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Especially given season 11′s recent revelations regarding how Scully became pregnant.  Yeah... this scene made my insides wiggly.
Scully discovers that a doctor called Sally Kendrick was experimenting with eugenics - tampering with the ova before fertilisation.  Again, all very troubling to hear in hindsight for us as viewers in the midst of season 11.  We as fans felt this question had been laid to rest about how William came to be, but season 11 has busted it wide open again.  Scully may have had this same tampering done to her ova before being implanted - if she even was implanted, we have no idea anymore!  Fuck CSM, man...
But lets wash the ickiness away with a stunning profile shot.  Naw... Looks how beautifully 90′s Scully is...
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Now the next scene takes place back in Mulder’s motel room... hey now guys, you do know this goes against bureau’s policy on male and female agents consorting in the same motel room while on assignment, right?
Want to see another creepy connection to William?  Mulder and Scully are watching Sally Kendrick’s video monologue, which signs off on this oddly prophetic note...
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Uhmmm....
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Yeeeeeeeeeeah.
I realise that babies are described as miracles all the time, so it’s unlikely to be an intentional connection, but I got chills.  Did you get chills?
Scully doesn’t miss a chance to point out that Mulder’s cattle guzzling alien theory is looking less and less likely by the minute...
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WHERE HAVE I SEEN DAT FACE?
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Scully is the one rewarded with the smile this time, oh man keep ‘em coming Scully... Mulder in his glasses with his sleeves rolled up and his tie undone is my kink, my aesthetic, my everything, the sweetest song that I could sing...
OH BABY.
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It’s like watching the air go out of a balloon.  Scully kicking dejected puppy!Mulder.... 
But wait! Ring ring... answer the phone, Scully.
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New phone, who dis?
MULDER!   IT’S THE DEEP THROAT SIGNAL!
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Yeah Mulder, how far does a girl have to go to untangle her tingle?  
SEVEN YEARS, THAT’S HOW FAR.
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You’ve not yet qualified Scully, so get the fuck outta here.  No girls with tangled tingles allowed that haven’t gone through the 7 year Mulder vetting process.
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He’s not kidding, he doesn’t have a clue what a girl is because thus far no one has made it through the 7 year Mulder vetting process.  
Who is up to the task, I wonder...
ANYWAY!
Mulder, are you seriously asking “what’s a girl?” when you have one of the most beautiful specimens right in front of you?  Go die in a fire now please. Thank you.
Poor disappointed Scully, too.  She wasn’t ready to leave and who can blame her with him flouncing around in those fucking glasses?  STOP IT.
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Ughhhh... this whole fucking scene is just lady porn.
Also, isn’t it sweet that Scully’s automatic assumption is that he has a girl coming over?  She must think his little bit on the side was the one who hung up on the phone.  
Notice how Scully executes a classic fishing expedition, here.  She is curious about his personal life and because of his frankly highly suspicious behaviour - seriously Mulder, guy has zero chill, you could have done this a bit more convincingly - has handed her a prime opportunity to jokingly ask an otherwise overtly personal question. 
Don’t think I can’t see what you’re up to, Ms. Scully.
So Mulder goes to meet his girlfriend, Deep Throat and they take a romantic stroll along the jetty, casually bumping shoulders, talk about catching a Warriors game together.  So sweet.
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I like that Deep Throat is concerned that Scully has followed Mulder.  Look at this muppet.  He’s a powerful man at the centre of an international consortium of men embroiled in all manner of nefarious government conspiracies and he’s hiding in a bush, afraid of a 5ft nothing red head in a pantsuit.
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To be fair to him, Scully is a bad ass, I’d be afraid of her too.  Don’t be messing with her boo, or she’ll be having words.
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I had a discussion recently about how Deep Throat seems to take on a fatherly role for Mulder in season 1.  A friendly, compassionate guide who supports Mulder at great risk to himself, his ideal father figure.
These little moments where Deep Throat (Or Ronald Pakula as we know now him, cheers season 11) seems to have more than a professional interest in Mulder.  It’s not simply that he is using Mulder, he appears to genuinely care about him too - this is merely one of several occasions where he suggests they might have enjoyed spending time together outside of their clandestine meetings.  
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I’d say we will never know if this care is genuine, as there are certainly times when Deep Throat is shady as fuck - and later will even lie to Mulder - but then we see Deep Throat speak to Mulder from beyond the grave in his The Blessing Way fever dream in season 3.
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Where he encourages Mulder to go back to the living world and not to look into the abyss.  Suggesting he truly did care about him.
So moving on, Deep Throat tells Mulder about a secret government eugenics project called The Litchfield Experiment.  Deep Throat says the purpose of this project is to create a “superior solider”.  Yep, that’s right... the notion that the Syndicate were involved in creating super soldiers were seeded back in season 1.  
He directs Mulder to an insane asylum where a subject of this shady experiment is being held named Eve 6.
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So I am confused, how did Mulder explain to Scully how he knew about Eve 6 and the Litchfield experiments?  He still hasn’t told her about Deep Throat, and won’t tell her about him until E.B.E.  So how exactly did he explain to Scully why they were going there?  “I dreamt it, Scully!  I totally do not have an informant that basically lets me cheat every paranormal investigation I get stuck on.  It err... yeah, came to me in a vision!  Honest!”
Seriously, I’d forgotten just how often Mulder cheats by getting help from Deep Throat. 
So off they trot to meet Eve 6, and Mulder takes another opportunity to side eye his hot new girlfriend partner when she’s not looking.
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The eye sexing in this episode is off the chart by the way.  They’re silently communicating a lot.  A LOT, A LOT.
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Eve 6 explains that she and many others were part of an experiment which gave them heightened strength, intelligence but also psychosis.  They’re failed early attempts at creating super soldiers as they are uncontrollable.  They all have a tendency to go bat crap crazy.
And shocker, the two girls Cindy and Teena are part of that same experiment.
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Its interesting to watch Mulder and Scully’s differing reactions to Eve 6.  The horror of what she is, a human monster but through no fault of her own.  They both have a very visceral reaction to Eve 6′s Hannibal Lecter moment as she talks about trying to get a bit of lovin’ from a guard.
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Scully is clearly uncomfortable; disturbed by Eve 6; her mental state; her living conditions, and the claims of what has been done to her.
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Whereas Mulder looks at Eve 6 with morbid fascination.  Like watching a car crash - you just can’t seem to look away from the horror of it.  He’s reviled by her, but also strangely transfixed.  Probably the profiler in him.
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Now remember I said to keep score on how many times Scully gets it right and Mulder gets it wrong in this episode.  Well, here’s another doozey.
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So that’s Mulder acknowledging that the murders could have indeed happened at the same time by two different people working together, which earlier he summarily dismissed when Scully suggested it.
Have you noticed yet that I like to make a point of highlighting when Scully was actually right and Mulder was wrong?  Why do I do it?  Honestly, it’s because I still haven’t forgiven Mulder for his “who turns out to be right 98.9% of the time?” comment in season 6′s Field Trip.
Arrogant little bishop basher.
But wait, it gets better!
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*whispers*  Scully is too good for you.
Mulder suggests the two remaining Eves, Eve 7 and Eve 8, are killing the parents in order to take the girls back into the Litchfield fold.
But there’s some big holes in that hypothesis.  First, if that was their goal all along, why not take the girls when they killed the fathers?  Both kids were alone with their father’s at the time of their murders, so why kill the fathers and return later when the girls would be more protected, not less.
C’mon Mulder, there is obviously more going on here... you’re really off your game on this episode.  
Maybe if you weren’t so distracted by all the eye sexing?
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Cindy Reardon is kidnapped by Sally Kendrick a.k.a. Eve 7, and Mulder and Scully are left in the dirt.  Mulder gets to do a bit of sexy running though.  Damn, that boy can run!
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Thankfully, through some spiffing police work, they locate the girls again, and it’s like someone has dressed them up in red as a warning - DANGER FOX MULDO, DANGER!  They may as well have a neon sign above their heads blinking out the words “SATAN SPAWN!”
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Someone has to take custody of the girls temporarily and, unexpectedly, Mulder volunteers himself and Scully for the job.
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Wow, admit it, you just want to play dad.
Seriously, it’s almost like he planned it after watching Scully play Mum, talking about how “we” will take care of you... you’re safe with “us”.
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You think I’m reaching?  What is this “reaching” you speak of?  This is a serious analysis series, with serious analysis only.  
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This is such a dad thing to say, Mulder.  The translation is:  SHUT UP AND JUST GET IN THE DAMN CAR.
I can just see Mulder and William now...
“Dad, what’s a momomyth?” “Not now, son.  Just put your shoes on.  We’re going to grandma Maggie’s” “But Dad, is it the sum of all human knowledge or first contact with an alien ra--” “WE’LL TALK ABOUT IT IN THE CAR, OKAY?!”
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I see you Muldo, checking Scullywag out.  Shouldn’t you keep your eyes on the road?  Look, even the creepy murder baby has noticed your wandering eye.
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Hmm, asking a kid if they can hold their pee.  Yeah, Mulder has definitely never had kids before.  Heck, I’ve never had kids before and I know that’s a dumb question.  Kids seem to like waiting until their bladder is about to explode before asking to stop.
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SCULLBAG!  YOU TRAITOR.  WHATEVER HAPPENED TO PARENTAL SOLIDARITY - SHOWING A UNITED FRONT?!
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Ah the domesticity of the coke saga… the adults watching their waistlines get diet.  The kiddiewinks in need of recharging their murder batteries go for some of that high fructose goodness.
I love the look Scully has on her face in the background, a look that seems to be saying ‘don’t mind our precocious little brats’.
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It kind of tickles me that this serving wench believes Mulder and Scully are married with kids.  Don’t worry, the rest of the world will catch up with this statement of fact in 25 years.
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Mulder and Scully even do the eye sex communication before they’re about to go do their business.  Pee you on the other side, Scully!
Mulder even tells jokes silently.  It’s all there in the eyes.
Then the more sinister of the two satan spawn, which I think is Teena, comes out to poison Mulder and Scully’s drinks.
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YOUR DAD?!
LOOK BACK THE HELL UP KID, DON’T BE FUCKING WITH MY FEELINGS RIGHT NOW I AM VERY SENSITIVE ABOUT THIS SUBJECT.
It’s all right for me to joke about it, but when kids in the actual show start calling Mulder “dad”, I am gonna probably hyperventilate to death.
So of course, Mulder goes and acts all fatherly again.  AHHHH THE PAAAIN!
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He would have been such a sweet dad, guys… seriously.  FFS CHRIS CARTER.  MOVING ON...
TOUCH MAH HAND MULDERRRR!
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It’s hypnotic, actually, watching their hands meet on a perpetual loop - you start to notice weird details, like how her finger slides over his.  
Look at what this show reduces us to.  Slavering weirdos who get excited at the merest brush of a hand.   Just, fuck this show... sometimes, really, it can just fuck off?
Then in a touch of writing genius, they drop the “oops I forgot my keys” trope.  
Mulder runs back into the cafe to find DUN DUN DUN... the poison conveniently left a partial mug ring on the table.  
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Which makes no sense either, because if Teena had got it on the cup, wouldn’t Mulder and Scully have seen it already?  It’s bright green after all.  But whatevs... Mulder goes and sticks his fingers in an unknown substances then true to form, puts it straight into his mouth.  
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I know, I felt thoroughly ashamed of taking this screen cap of Mulder licking his finger.  But it’s not like I stopped and looked at it for a long time or anything.  *whistles*
Realising the girls have poisoned his and Scully’s drink, Mulder runs back outside to rescue bae.
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Again, Mulder has zero chill when it comes to feigning ignorance.  Was the earlier kerfuffle getting Scully out of his motel room in such an obvious way put there just to demonstrate that Mulder has the acting ability of a wacky, flailing, inflatable, tube man?
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How chivalrous.
Before we move on, lets rewind back a second...
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MULDER’S FLOPPY HAIR FLOOFING IN THE WIND OMG.
FLOOFING!
Okay, okay... so the girls know Mulder is onto them, obviously... I guess Mulder forgot that the Eves have heightened intelligence as well as heightened psychosis.  
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Arghhh.. they’re so young!  Mah baby agents!
The girls vanish but Mulder and Scully outsmart the fuck out of these little shits.
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Side note... baby!Scully... such a badass.
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baby!Mulder... eeeh not so much.
Mulder and Scully go back into the cafe to see if the girls went to hide in there, and Scully ruins my dream - of a single human being existing in the world who thinks Mulder and Scully are married with kids - by flashing her FBI badge at the serving wench.
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I know she’s a waitress.  Shhh... If I was a waitress, I’d much prefer to be called serving wench.
Wenchy McWenchface says a school bus just left with a ton a kids, so Mulder and Scully, quite cleverly I might add, trick the girls by splitting up.
Just to show us once again, these two are a pair of smart cookies, and are clearly meant for each other, as work partners as well as being the loves of each others lives.  Yeppers.
So Scully follows the bus in the car, and Mulder stays at the cafe.
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Come out, come out, wherever you areeeee....
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Mulder bullying children.  It’s a side hobby.
That’s all for Mulder and Scully, but there is an interesting scene at the end with the Eves.  It seems Sally Kendrick was, in fact, Eve 8 not Eve 7 (or maybe they were both her?) as she arrives to rescue the girls.
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I wonder if perhaps, after they escape, these three are involved in the super soldier project that spawns the super soldiers we come to know later in season 9?  Who knows... but it would have been a cool little twist if they’d have brought back the Eves in season 9.  
Shame.  
It would have been a brilliant little bit of continuity.  But we know this show is continuity averse at the best of times, so it doesn’t really surprise me that the never took the opportunity to tie that thread.  
Next up... Ooh it’s the one you’ve all been waiting for, I can tell.  1x12 - Fire.
242 notes · View notes
kassandra-lorelei · 6 years
Note
Can you at least pretend to be romantic for once? : n-cc
Here we are, my friend! I do apologise for how long all of these requests are taking, I’m helping to run my university’s summer film festival and it’s taking up a lot of my time, in between doing things to try and get myself a job. At any rate, I hope you enjoy this, and I’ll be getting on the rest of these requests as soon as I can!
@missbabcocks1 @holomoriarty
“Sir? Is it alright if I come in?”
The voice at the door didn’t particularly surprise Niles, itjust vaguely irritated something in his mind. It had been that way ever sinceJonah Sheffield had started dating Charity-Charlotte, his and C.C.’s eldestdaughter. It didn’t seem to matter how polite the boy was to them (he’d startedcalling Niles “sir” as soon as it even looked like the two might date), or how nicehe was to Charity. She was still their little girl, and the thought of herrunning off to be with some man filled Niles’ heart with an inexplicable dread.
C.C. hadn’t been on his side at all, of course. She remindedhim that they’d all known Jonah his entire life, and that there wasn’t a finer youngman anywhere. He was their godson, for Pete’s sakes, and not trusting him wasin turn not trusting Charity’s decision, as well as insulting how Fran and Maxwellhad raised their son for the past almost-nineteen years.
It was this fact alone that meant he was still polite to theboy. It was just difficult for him to be openly welcoming when he thought abouthow Charity was involved…
He shook the image out of his mind in repulsion, looked upat where Jonah was stood in the doorway to the den wrenching his hands, andclosed his newspaper, folding it over.
“I suppose it is,” he said, putting the paper down on the coffeetable. “Though you do know that Charity isn’t here right now?”
Jonah took an unsure step into the room, still wringing hishands like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“No, I know…she’s, uh, actually the reason I came overhere,” he replied, before swallowing and gesturing to a nearby chair. “May I?”
The boy looked…nervous. Like he had something particularlyserious he wanted to discuss.
What could it possibly…
He couldn’t want to…
He wasn’t asking for…
Niles felt his chest start to tighten, and tried to remember if it was the same feeling as just before he’d had his heart attack.
He just about choked out an answer, “Please do.”
“Thank you,” Jonah seated himself, pausing to apparently tryand think. Then he huffed out a breath, and ran a hand through his dark hair.“Wow…now that I’m here, I don’t really know how to start…!”
“Why not try at the beginning?” Niles suggested, his mind racingas he felt his mouth go dry – what was he going to do?
“Oh, well, yeah,” Jonah nodded, and then gulped. “It’s just…hardto explain. You see, Charity and I have been having some…issues.”
That sent some relief to Niles in some ways, but it also createda lot of tension in others.
“Issues?”
Jonah shrugged, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “She’salways going on about us being closer as a couple – going on long walks on thebeach, having fancy dinners in nice restaurants, that kind of thing.”
Niles felt his mouth form a line.
“I see,” he said, now visibly unimpressed. “And you considerthis a problem?”
“Not a problem, exactly…it’s just that I don’t know how toact in those kind of situations,” Jonah explained. “She’s always asking thingslike “Can you at least pretend to be romantic for once?” and I wanna try, but Iknow the answer is no, I can’t! It feels forced and stupid!”
Well, that certainly hadn’t been the answer he’d beenexpecting. He expected most young men – particularly ones that came calling forhis daughters – to just write the entire situation off as stupid and not worthyof their time or effort.
But there was something which still didn’t entirely makesense.
“If I might ask, why did you come to me about this?” heasked. “Why not your own parents?”
“You know how Mom and Dad are; he won’t know what to say,and she’ll set something up which’ll end up being enormously over the topthat’ll all go wrong anyway,” Jonah sighed, rubbing his forehead. “And you and AuntC.C. have such a great marriage, I thought that maybe you’d know how to help.”
That had not only been an answer Niles wasn’t expecting – itgenuinely threw him. Most people noted how unconventional he and C.C. were, butnone of them had ever really talked about how good their marriage was, apartfrom Fran and Maxwell. It had just been a fact that they knew, and were happywith.
And a similarly happy voice answered Jonah’s plea from thedoorway.
“We can certainly try.”
Niles looked up, and once he’d spotted his wife’s grinningface, he presented her with an unimpressed look of his own.
“How long have you been listening in over there?”
“Long enough,” she replied, coming in at last and seatingherself on the arm of his chair so that his arm would be curled around herwaist if he reached up. “But don’t worry, Hazel – it wasn’t long enough todethrone you as this family’s resident yenta.”
She gave him a teasing kiss on the cheek, and turned tosmile at their godson.
“How do you want us to help, Jonah?”
“I’d really like some pointers on how to be romantic,” theboy answered. “Without it being all weird.”
Niles cocked his head to one side a little, “What do youmean, “all weird”?”
“Well…I mean like you,” there was a pause as Jonah thenrealised how that sounded and threw his hands up to his face in agitation as hetried to backtrack. “Oh, no, no, no! I mean that I don’t want it to be weird, Iwant it to be like the two of you have it! You just…fit together so naturally,and the romance is obvious without it being over the top, you know?”
He let out another sigh, and ran his hands through his hairagain. He was clearly in some distress over it.
“I want things to be like that, with me and Charity. I wantto go on adventures with her, and laugh, and have fun. Without any of itlooking like those stupid couples you see on Lifetime or something…”
If he was in distress over wanting to do things right, justnot knowing how, Niles thought he could feel his respect for Jonah going backup. Only a little, but enough to want to help.
After all, if it was Charity’s future happiness as well asJonah’s, he wanted to do everything possible to make sure the boy did thingscorrectly. And he had to start by learning that sometimes, occasional over-the-topromance wasn’t the worst thing for a relationship.
“Why is it so bad if it’s like that?” he asked, sounding moreserious but less angry.
Jonah gestured as if it was obvious, “It…well, it all looksso fake!”
Niles fixed him with a hard stare, “Are your feelings forour daughter fake?”
The very question looked like it horrified Jonah, “No! Ofcourse not!”
“Then why would any romantic gesture be fake?” Niles leaned forward,making sure he looked the boy in the eyes.
Jonah thought about it, a look of realisation slowly comingover his face.
“It…wouldn’t be,” he said. “It would all be from me.”
His answer satisfied Niles some, but then the boy appearedto realise something else and shook his head again, ducking his head awaytowards the floor.
“But I don’t know how I could possibly go from this to big,grand romantic gestures!”
Niles felt C.C. shift next to him. He could already tellthat she’d had an idea.
“Why don’t you try starting with something small?” she proposed.“Like a practice?”
Jonah blinked up at her, “A practice?”
“Yeah – something small but romantic, to ease you into theprocess?” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “I know a man who startedoff by wearing his best suit, and bringing a gift of flowers.”
Niles held back his smirk at that. He had to watch for Jonah’sreaction.
“Suit. Flowers,” the boy began to smile, and nodded confidently.“Yeah…I can do that!”
“You might try writing a little apology note on it, too,” Nilespiped up. “For not realising all of this before.”
“Niles!” his wifehissed, clearly displeased by his implication.
But Jonah held out a hand to stop her.
“No, Aunt C.C., he’s right…!” he lowered his arm again. “He’sright. I do owe Charity an apology for how I’ve been behaving, and for nottrying. I’ll…I’ll come over tonight, bring the flowers and my apology. And,maybe if it isn’t too much…I’ll offer to take her to dinner, too.”
That seemed to placate the television producer, and shestarted to smile.
“That sounds just fine by us, doesn’t it Niles?” she turnedto her husband, slipping her arm around his shoulders.
After everything that had just happened, there was only onething that Niles could reply. He might not have liked the boy, but he wasmaking an actual effort to respect Charity, and to treat her the way that shedeserved.
He had to be alright with that.
So, he nodded, “Yes…it’s just fine by us.”
Jonah’s eyes shone, and he practically leapt to his feet.
“Thank you both so much for this,” he walked towards them,offering them both a hand to shake. “I won’t let you down – Charity will be thehappiest woman on the planet!”
C.C. took it first.
“Atta boy,” she grinned. “Now you go get those flowers.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” Jonah nodded, and firmly shookNiles’ offered hand as well. “Thank you, sir. I-I’ll see you both later!”
He then quickly dashed from the room, and the older coupleheard the front door open and close before they were left alone again.
Now it was time for Niles to let C.C. know that he’d caughther little anecdote.
He smirked up at her, “You know a man who started off with hisbest suit, and some flowers?”
His wife replied by rolling her eyes, “You honestly thoughtI that bought that whole Lynn Redgrave story?”
“You seemed to,” Niles said playfully, walking two of hisfingers up her side. “At the time.”
“I kept what I really thought to myself, because I couldn’tbelieve you’d try anything on me in a brown corduroy suit,” C.C. folded herarms over, clearly pretending to not be affected.
But Niles knew her better than that. He knew her better thananyone.
He nodded slowly, “Mm hm, I’m sure that was it…”
C.C. looked unimpressed, “At least Jonah will come to seeCharity acceptably dressed.”
“He’d better,” only then did the grin fade from Niles’ face.“If he knows what’s good for him.”
“He will,” his wife slipped herself into his lap, resting ahand over his heart. “He took your advice very seriously, I could tell. It waslike a grandson listening to the wisdom of his grandfather.”
Niles openly scowled at that, “Hm. If he makes me agrandfather within the next four years, he’s a dead man walking…”
“They’ll be careful, relax!” C.C. very nearly cried, reachingher hand up and cupping his cheek. “If they’re anything like us, they’ll taketheir time.”
He pulled a face in return, “We didn’t exactly wait to haveCharity.”
“No, but we waited twenty years to do what it took to makeCharity,” his wife said pointedly, adding emphasis by bringing her hand awayfrom his face to poke him in the chest. “Granted, I’m not suggesting they’llwait until they’re nearly forty, but I have faith in them to be sensible.”
Niles raised an eyebrow, “Sensible like we were, you mean?”
“More sensible, Dust Buster,” C.C. murmured, pecking him onthe lips. “More romantic right from the start, too.”
That set something off in Niles, and he started to grinagain as he pulled her flush against him, muttering against the skin of herneck.
“I’ll give you romantic…!”
C.C. gave a yelp of delight in return, and before he stoppedthinking about it entirely, he had one last thought.
The thought that when it came to real happiness, Charity andJonah had far worse people to emulate than him and his beloved wife.
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andwinterfell · 4 years
Text
"le raison d'être“ characters: Cher Michaels, Darla (Michaels) Matthews, The McCormick Family warnings: implications of parental neglect / emotional abuse / family issues
1981 words originally written 5/26/2017, no edits currently
The small bed and breakfast of Seaside Cove isn't a place most people would find at first glance. It's somewhat off to the side, located on a cliff, it's driveway shielded by trees. One driving through, especially in poor weather, is likely to miss the blue sign that points it's way down that road, or they're more likely to see the yellow diamond that says No Outlet and pass it up completely.
This is what Cher Michaels deals with every time he makes his way into this town. Leaning over the back seat of his Ubers pointing no, no, there it's there… and often sitting back grumbling when they drive past. The small bed and breakfast of Seaside Cove is larger than most houses still. It's old, a tall and skinny Victorian home with with red shutters and a door also painted red. The mailbox is shaped like a large blue whale, and when he steps out of his Uber often his first act is to run his fingers over the details of the metal. Handmade he knows, by the owner's father before he disappeared and became the sort of person who kidnapped rich kids for money. Cher heard he was in jail again last time he talked to his sister. Neither of them knew how to feel about that, all things considered.
There have been a few additions over the years, newly applied paint and a repair of certain parts of the house, a wheelchair ramp and several colorful picnic tables overlooking the sea. The newest thing Cher finds this time is the binoculars sitting at the very edge of the cliff, just before the fence to keep people from falling over. Twenty five cents for a minute, fifty for two. He doesn't know how they keep all this up with prices like that. It's a cheap place to stay too, five open rooms with two beds each at the most and a fee that was far less than most in the area and a house that was hard to find. They get more business in tourist season, but not by much. They have benefactors of sorts, himself semi-included when he can get away with it, but he still can't say if it would be enough. *** Cher Michaels arrives on an off season, bundled up for the cold Friday afternoon after cutting his last class to get here. Accounting, he'd told his sister when she tried to chide him, a class he both hates and excels at so don't sound like such a mother, Darla. “Well, I'm a mother now aren't I?” “You're not mine.” (That phone conversation led to awkward silence, both of them remembering their own mother. Darla makes a sound, probably to ask how Angelique is doing if she's well if she's healthy, but Cher cuts her off before she can. “I'll be there in a bit.”) Now, standing in front of the house, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and shifts awkwardly. He wonders if she's working right now, because he hadn't called her when he got out of class and into the Uber. He wonders if he should have let her ask. *** The small bed and breakfast of Seaside Cove is run by a couple in their late thirties. Junior McCormick and his wife Norelle, their children Andrew and Mia, and Junior's grandfather Reginald. Aside from his sister, they're the only ones who run the house. It's a family business, Norelle had told him, you and your sister are family too. He tries not to think about that. He fails often, it's hard when Norelle McCormick spots you from the window and is suddenly ushering you in, cooing over you like an Aunt you haven't seen in a while even though Cher reminds her it's barely been a month. Darla's not there yet, but his niece and nephew are. Tristan, getting bigger and learning how to walk, chases after Norelle son, a teenager who has the whole angst thing down to a T. Amèlie, nearly five, lays on her stomach at the foot of Reggie's wheelchair, quietly coloring while the old man sleeps. It's hectic as always, and Cher has to thank God that only the bare amount of family is here right now. Thanksgiving had seen this as well as the Winters twins, Junior's half brother with his mother and their childhood friend, and even Junior's father who'd stopped in at the end of the day to cause a commotion and leave again only to be arrested the following month​ for breaking and entering. “No one else is coming, right?” “Well…” “Other than Darla and Jere.” *** He's playing with Mia and Tristan when Darla finally shows up. It's nearly evening when she comes in with her husband, both of them carrying groceries. She's surprised when she sees him there. “I didn't think you were serious about missing class, Cher.” “When do I lie about that?” “Fine, I hoped you weren't serious.” He shrugs. “I'll make up what I missed over the weekend while you're working.” They both know this isn't true. More likely: Tristan will demand his attention, Norelle will need someone to watch Mia, Amèlie will want him to play her favorite slow piano song a hundred times in an hour, Andrew will need help with math. Cher never considered himself to be good with kids until he found himself with his sister's and Norelle’s crawling all over him. He thinks he likes them now, maybe, sometimes. He thinks he's a decent tutor too, he thinks he's getting better at patience. At least, with children. Wouldn't​ want one of his own but... well, it's been pointed out he indulges and humors them more than adults, at least. Before that, though, he pulls a few things from his bag. Wrapped in brown paper and again inside a plastic bag. He gives these to Darla. “Fran sent that envelope of money, Jolie sent the champagne God only knows where she got it, the coloring books too. I found that necklace here, in America, it was cheaper than I expected.” (She cries, of course she does. She wraps her arms around his shoulders. She doesn’t ask what about Father and Maman. Cher leans into it.) *** It's Saturday before he sits down with his sister. She's made iced tea, put it in two skinny glasses that she sits between them in the sitting room. He has Mia on his lap, reading some story to her while she points at brightly colored pictures that follow. Darla sweeps her away, depositing her into her great grandfather’s lap before taking a seat next to her brother. “You haven’t even looked at what you missed yet, have you?” Cher slumps back, looking away from her. “I don’t really need to, Darla.” She reaches out, fingers twitching on his sleeve as she tugs his hand closer so she can set her own in it. He lets her, glances at her, tries not to smile. “Have you decided what you’re going to do when you finish school?” she asks, and any semblance of a smile drops from his face completely. She notices, adjusts the question, it’s no better in his mind but at least it’s something he can answer: “How was Tours?” “Same as always.” “Is Maman doing okay?” “... no, I don’t think so.” “... Jolie?” “I can’t tell. She seems happy. I don’t know.” “Francine?” “She and father fought a lot this time, more than usual,” he leans back. “She’s smarter than him. I don’t think he likes that.” Darla can’t hold back a laugh and covers her mouth after, embarrassed. A little shamed. (He knows why, her laughs aren’t very modest anymore. Aren’t pristine, ladylike little giggles. They’re loud, she snorts now. He thinks it’s his fault, because he’s here she laughs just fine when she’s with Jere, when she doesn’t seem to care he’s watching.) “What does she think of everything going on? Have you told her anything you’ve told me?” Cher shrugs. “No, not as much. I think she can tell something’s up, though. I mean, clearly she knows I’m talking to you. I’m sure everyone does, at this point. I haven’t been exactly subtle, but Father--” “Tell me more about Christmas,” she says, cutting him off. When he looks over she has one of those forced smiles on again, pretty and polite, and he wants to sink into the earth when he sees it. It gets easier the more they talk about it, she even laughs a few times at the way Jolie dragged him out at night, hearing he was going out more. He tells her about his classes, his new ones, what he likes and what he doesn’t. He makes her tell him about her Christmas, after he left, the whole motley crew showing up to fill the house, leaving little room for business. “You’re a Scrooge,” she says when he points this out. “I’m practical.” “That’s what a Scrooge would say, Cherie.” “I haven’t been haunted yet.” “Give it time,” she teases, leaning in to pinch his cheek before Norelle calls her away. One couple had found the place, shivering with snow in their hair and grateful for the warmth of a fire. “The fuck do they think they’re trying to do?” Reggie asks Cher when he comes to pick Mia back up. Cher shrugs. “Sounds like they’re sightseeing.” “It’s fucking winter.” “They want to see the natural beauty, not the tourist traps.” “Fucking stupid of them.” Cher laughs, the only sign of his agreement before he leaves the old man to sleep again. *** Sunday evening, just before dinner, Darla sweeps into Cher’s room with her hands on her hips. “You have class tomorrow, don’t you?” He sets down his book, shrugs. “I sent in the homework when I had the free time. I don’t need to be back for anything urgent before one.” “Cher…” “What if I stayed here? What if I didn’t go back?” (And, it always comes down to this. He always backs up the second he sees the look on her face, the worry, the is this my fault the you don’t have to follow my example the we’re still family no matter what he says. It happens again:) “I’m joking,” he lies, and goes back to his book. He only looks up when he feels the mattress shift, sees Darla sitting next to him, leaning over his shoulder. “What’s this one for?” “Accounting, I told you I’d look over it when I had the time.” But, he closes the book and sets it aside when she leans her head on his shoulder. They stay like that until Andrew peeks his head in, rolls his eyes and says, “Hey, dinner’s almost ready and I still need help with this Calc stuff so…” *** What if I stayed here? What if I didn’t go back? He’d be miserable, he thinks. This was his sister’s life, what she chose to do with herself, and he knows very well he’d be unhappy doing this all the time. They’re different, the two of them. She likes to bake and garden and is excited over how rough her hands have gotten over the years, how much less they hurt the more she uses them. He likes the softness of his hands, likes staying inside cool rooms and playing or reading. He doesn’t know how he would survive with no money and a job that barely paid minimum wage, no matter how much he loved the McCormicks. No matter how much he loved his weekends and holidays here. Monday morning, when she’s hugging him goodbye, she says what she always does. “What if you tried something else? What if you found something else you loved to do?” He never tells her that’s impossible he really wants to believe it’s true.
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