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ellewritesathing · 4 years

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(Un)Requited - I.L IV

Summary: Isaac Lahey had gone through many twists and turns in his life, but none of them compared to the whiplash he got when you asked him to tutor you. With a few weeks until the end of the semester and the big dance coming up, he’s hoping to figure out a way to ask you to go with him before it’s too late.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 4

Word-count: 3.4k+

A/N: i’m still working on the last part of this fic so i’ll probably only update again in a week or two!! sorry guys 💕

Things between you and Isaac had been weird ever since he walked away from you that day on the lacrosse field. His jokes were delivered a little more awkwardly, your laughter was a few seconds shorter, and whenever it felt like the tension was starting to dissipate, your phone would light up and Stiles’ name would be on your screen. Isaac hated it.

He hated the anger he carried around in his chest all the time. He hated how jealous he was of Stiles. Most of all, he hated that his relationship with you was fucked because he couldn’t get over a stupid crush. Sure, it was a crush he’d had since he was ten, but it was just a crush. He shouldn’t have let it, for lack of a better word, crush him like this.

Isaac was busy shoving some books into his overpopulated locker when he felt a very familiar tap on his shoulder.

When he turned, you were beaming at him with such warmth and familiarity that Isaac forgot that things were weird between you for a second. “Guess what.” Your voice barely contained your excitement.

“Greenberg walked into a locker again?” Isaac asked, deliberately stalling to keep you around him a bit longer.

You laughed and shoved his arm playfully. “No, silly.” You made the booklet of paper in your hands dance and pressed it into his hands. Your hands were cool to the touch. Probably guessing that he was paying more attention to the physical contact than whatever was on the paper, you pointed to the top corner of the page and said, “Look!”

Isaac repressed a laugh but he still smiled at you before looking down at the paper. It was an algebra test with a B+ in big, red block letters and an extra credit assignment with a perfect score. “No way!” Isaac grinned and pulled you into a hug. “See, I told you that you could do it!”

Your arms wrapped around his waist and you laughed into his chest. Slowly, you looked up at him and tapped his chest lightly. “Yeah, but I never could have done it without you,” you said.

For a moment, it was like the whole world slowed down, leaving you and Isaac alone in the quiet hallway. Isaac almost could have sworn your heart was beating as fast as his was, but that wouldn’t make any sense. There was no reason for your heart to beat faster because of Isaac.

But Stiles showed up before Isaac had a chance to figure out why your heart was beating like that and you pulled away.

“Hey.” He drew the word out in that annoying voice of his. Stiles was unusually easy-going considering that he hated Isaac and he was dating you, and the two of you had been tangled up not even a moment before. “What are we celebrating?”

You'd pulled away from Isaac so that you were only holding onto him with one hand, just barely around his lower back, as you handed Stiles your test. “I’m almost an A student. You know, I’m thinking of changing my career goals from trophy wife to mathematician.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You could totally be a trophy wife and a mathematician,” Stiles said with an aggravating smile. He was so good at saying stuff like that that it drove Isaac up a wall.

You laughed and pretended to be offended as you grabbed your test back. You let go of Isaac to harass Stiles but you soon enough you were laughing and nestling yourself under Stiles’ arm. His fingers interlaced with yours easily as you said something equally charming and witty to him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles rolled his eyes and smiled at you. His thumb grazed yours as he tilted his head down, almost bumping his forehead into your head. “You sure I can’t convince you to grab lunch with me and Scott? We could ditch Scott.”

You let out a self-conscious laugh and ducked your head. “As tempting as that offer is…” you untangled yourself from Stiles and took a step back from him. “Isaac and I have a date with some suits.”

Not that kind of date, Isaac reminded himself as he gave Stiles his best attempt at a friendly smile. Judging by Stiles’ reaction, it came out as more of a grimace.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Stiles scratched the side of his face. “Cutting the dance prep a little short, aren’t you?”

Isaac straightened up and tried to get the venom out of his voice. “Yeah, well, we had some unexpected interruptions. You don’t mind though, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Stiles said, not sounding defensive, exactly, but definitely not as easy-going as before. He looked over at you and squeezed your hand as he said something about catching up with you later.

You took a deep breath and ran your hand through your hair as Stiles disappeared into the sea of hormonal teenagers. “So-” you stepped closer to Isaac and gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Ready to go?”

If Isaac was honest, he’d tell you that the absolute last thing he ever wanted to do was go shopping for a suit that he didn’t want to wear to a dance he didn’t care about, but he couldn’t be honest with you - not about his feelings, and not about this dance - because you were trying.

Isaac wanted to try, too. He really did, but Isaac's problem was that he wasn’t as good as you. Then again no one was as good as you, but still. Isaac had to try or he’d lose you again.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” The closing of Isaac’s locker punctuated his lie better than his smiling grimace ever could.

If you noticed his bad mood - which might have been difficult considering how Isaac was almost always in a bad mood these days - you were nice enough not to mention it as the two of you made your way through the school to the parking lot. Instead, you told him more about your classes and how Greenberg did, in fact, walk into a locker earlier that day.

There was an anxious lilt to your voice as you talked about your English paper that Isaac didn’t recognize. Sure, he’d seen you be nervous before tests and that first day in the hallway, but this was different. That had been unsure while this was second-guessing. That had been butterflies, and this was a sinking feeling.

Isaac couldn’t wrap his head around what could have been making you anxious. You were happy about your grades, you’d been excited about your parents leaving you home alone so they could check on Alex for the weekend, and you had Stiles. With all that, plus the dance coming up, you shouldn’t have been anxious.

And yet there you were, mumbling curse words under your breath when people cut you off on the road and hiding a frown behind a tight smile as you pulled into a parking space.

You killed the engine and sighed as you turned to Isaac. “Hey, so I’ve gotta tell you something about Stiles-”

“Why are we outside a thrift store?” Isaac asked as he peered through the windscreen.

The store was cute. Bright sunflowers painted next to yellow letters that swirled together to spell ‘Anne’s Next to New Clothing and Trinkets.’ A white table with a flower arrangement and some of the aforementioned trinkets. Through the window, Isaac could make out a little girl trying on about a dozen necklaces while her dad apologized to the person behind the counter. Cute, but it didn’t make sense.

Isaac turned to look at you when he realized that he’d interrupted you and you probably thought he was the most self-absorbed idiot in the world. You were staring at him with wide eyes as if to prove his point.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No, don’t be sorry.” Your surprise melted into a nervous laugh and you dropped your gaze for a moment. When you looked back at him, your smile had softened into something smaller, something more genuine. “Since our mall trip ended so badly, I thought we could try something else.”

Isaac gave you a lazy smile and nodded his head to the store. “Something next to new?”

You scrunched up your face and groaned, putting your face in your hands. “Ugh, this was a dumb idea, wasn’t it? We can leave. Give me a sec to pull out-”

“No. No, that’s not what I meant-” Isaac reached over to grab your hands before he realized what he was doing. With one touch, it was like you erased the entire world that existed outside your car. It was just you, Isaac, and a whole bunch of electricity. “I just meant,” he said quietly, “that it was really nice of you to do this for me. I’m not really used to people doing nice things for me.”

“Well, get used to it because I’m not going anywhere,” you told him. Your words were quiet but your smile was playful. “Come on.” You tilted your head to the door and pulled away.

Isaac tried to get his heart to beat normally again as your door clicked open and thumped close behind you. He took two deep, steady breaths, then shook his head and met you at the front of your car.

You rocked back and forth on your heels as you waited for him. With a nervous smile, you led Isaac inside. The bell chimed as you opened the door, ringing in Isaac’s head as you greeted the cashier, and Isaac went on the awkward defensive again. He ran his hands along the swaths of fabric as the two of you made your way through the store. Felt, polyester, cotton, and wool greeted his fingertips until Isaac stopped in the formalwear section.

Old dresses mixed with a bizarre assortment of wedding attire and four suits, two with three pieces and each a different color to the last. Isaac took his eyes off the suits to find you trying to hide your glances at him. Isaac didn’t bother to hide his amusement at your secrecy.

“What?” You laughed when you caught Isaac waiting for you to steal another look at him. You tucked some hair behind your ear without thinking about it.

Isaac smiled, stifling another laugh. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you want to.” You looked at Isaac with an expression he couldn’t place. Friendly, playful, but just as he tried putting a better word to it, you looked away. Turning your attention to a gray suit, you waved Isaac over. “What do you think of this one?”

Isaac sighed as he made his way over and tilted his head to get a better look at the suit. “I mean, it’s not terrible,” Isaac said, running his hands up the lapel.

You laughed and bumped your arm into Isaac’s. “Well, high praise for this one aside,” you teased, “maybe we should find something a notch above ‘not terrible’ for the big night.”

“Whatever you say,” Isaac said with a smile. The one suit was a baby blue, which instantly struck it out of Isaac’s book and left him with two black options. Boring, yes, but that’s what made them safe.

Nevertheless, you ushered Isaac into the changing room with his two boring suits and made him promise to take his time so you could try and pick something out for yourself. The thought of you waiting for him made Isaac’s stomach lurch, but he still promised to give each suit a fair chance.

The first suit was a slightly snug; not awful looking, but not the most comfortable. If Isaac was going to be wearing this thing all night in a crowd full of sweaty teenagers, then he was going to need something with a little more breathing room for his inevitable panic attack.

So, shoving away the thoughts of how ridiculous this whole thing was, Isaac changed into the other suit. The button-up was missing a few buttons but he could sew new ones with minimal effort. It fit better than the other one had and didn’t cut off his air supply. Plus, the waistcoat somehow made him look less like a scrawny kid playing dress-up and more like someone who actually had it together.

Looking at himself in this suit, Isaac could imagine himself as the kind of guy you’d have feelings for. Not a guy like Stiles because that would make him throw up, but someone charming. Maybe even eloquent. The kind of guy that didn’t live in his older brother’s shadow or own three different copies of Persuasion (one was a library book he forgot to return, one had been his mom’s, and the other just had a nicer cover than the rest).

In this suit, Isaac had a nicer cover than he usually did.

Realizing that he’d probably spent like five minutes just staring at himself and twisting one of the broken buttons, Isaac raced to get changed. He threw the suit to the side and jumped into his jeans and pulled on his baggy gray t-shirt. Isaac was in the process of pulling on his hoodie and forcing the suit back onto its hanger when he stepped out of the changing room and almost knocked you off your feet.

Reflexively, Isaac grabbed you to keep you from falling over. He stammered out several apologies as his heart exploded, but all you did was laugh.

“It’s okay, promise,” you said with a smile. You held onto Isaac as you got back to your feet. After several seconds of awkward silence, you asked, “So did either of them come out ‘not terrible?’”

“Uh, yeah.” Isaac held out the crumpled suit to you. “This one’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad,” you echoed, taking the suit from Isaac and smoothing it out. “We’ll take it!”

Isaac couldn’t help but laugh. You were adorable and very, very far out of his league. Still, he hung up the rejected suit and met you at the counter to pay.

He was so preoccupied with thoughts of accidentally injuring you that he didn’t notice that you’d already bought something. When Isaac asked about it over celebratory frozen yogurt, all you said was that you needed something for the dance, too.

---

Isaac had never been someone with high hopes. He’d given up on anticipating the future ever since he was thrown into a grave and turned into a werewolf; but, still, he found himself with some very unrealistic expectations of how the dance would go. Chief of which being that you’d ditch Stiles and confess your undying love to Isaac.

Actually, not ‘undying’ love because the universe might take that as a sign to make you immortal or something, and that kind of information wasn’t something Isaac thought he could recover from.

His other expectations, supernatural dilemma aside, were to get through the night without bleeding and to, maybe, hopefully, get to dance with you before leaving early.

Two very simple hopes that went unfilled.

First, Stiles was an asshole and hung around you the whole night. His presence made it impossible for Isaac to talk to you about anything other than the decorations and, if that wasn’t annoying enough, Stiles barely even looked at you. You didn’t mind and Erica didn’t even seem to notice his staring, but Isaac noticed. Isaac minded.

Seeing as it was unlikely that any declaration of love, undying or not, was going to made with Stiles Fucking Stilinski jumping around like a kid on a sugar high, Isaac excused himself to get something to drink and maybe punch a wall. You seemed disappointed - not at the wall punching, because Isaac didn’t mention that, but at his leaving. Still, you let him go with a smile nonetheless.

Isaac smiled, too. It felt like all he’d been doing the whole night was smiling, even when you gave him your sympathies about Erica not being his date. He was going to explain everything to you right then and there when Stiles had shown up with his stupid hair and frustrating jokes.

The punch had a sharp, bitter taste that wasn’t there at the beginning of the night and Isaac pulled a face. His dislike of alcohol wasn’t because he was worried about getting drunk (his supernatural metabolism made sure that was never a possibility), but because he just didn’t like the taste. Thanks to his dad, he’d been around the stuff long enough for it to lose its appeal.

Dumping his glass in a potted plant, Isaac turned back to survey the gym. He’d just spotted you in the crowd when Erica and Boyd materialized on either side of him. Erica grabbed his now empty cup and threw it to the side.

“Hey!” Isaac whined.

“We have to go,” she said in her black and blue voice. “Derek needs us.”

Of course, he did. Heaven forbid Isaac had one night free from Hale drama. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Boyd repeated. “The hunters are making their move and Derek says there’s another wolf pack. He can’t take them all by himself. Sorry, man.”

Erica put her hands on Isaac’s shoulders and steered him towards the dance floor. “So go tell your sweetheart that there’s a family emergency and meet us outside, okay?” She shoved him into the floor before Isaac had the chance to argue.

Isaac wasn’t sure where you came from, but you caught him before he landed on his ass, at least. Your face was full of concern as you helped Isaac stand back up and asked what was going on.

Casting a look over his shoulder, Isaac couldn’t find Erica or Boyd. They were already on the move and Isaac didn’t have time to explain everything. “I’ve gotta go,” Isaac interrupted you. He let out a breath as he turned back to you. Then, with a painful smile, he added, “Family emergency.”

“Oh,” you said. You blinked hard as you thought of something else to say. “Do you need a ride?”

“No, Erica and Boyd are already outside,” Isaac said. It was hard for him to focus on you over the sound of the music and his beating heart. “I, uh- I’ve had a lot of fun with you these past few weeks. Thanks.”

You nodded, looking down at your intertwined hands for a second. You gave his hands a squeeze. “Me too,” you said. “I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Monday,” Isaac lied with a bittersweet smile. He decided, since he was most likely going to be killed in the woods in seventeen minutes anyway, to do something that he’d never dreamed possible.

Letting go of your hands, Isaac stepped forward and kissed your cheek. He disappeared before you had the chance to say anything.

If the night had ended there, it wouldn’t have mattered much that none of Isaac’s hopes had been met because at least he’d gotten to kiss your cheek. The problem was that, like most nights, it didn’t end when Isaac wanted it to.

The night kept going, and Isaac got shot with arrows and electrocuted with arrows and mauled by some out of control werewolves. He’d lost Erica and Boyd somewhere in the chaos and he’d never even found Derek to begin with. The night kept going, and Isaac was bloody and alone.

He couldn’t go back to the loft, purely because he wasn’t strong enough to make it there. He had no idea where the root cellar was. The night kept going, and Isaac was bleeding out with nowhere to turn.

Still, he ran.

Isaac had survived so much in his short time on this goddamn bitch of an earth, and he wasn’t about to give up because his spleen had ruptured or because he had no idea where he was. No, Isaac ran because - despite everything - he wanted to live.

He ran and ran until he eventually found something familiar. Unluckily, it wasn’t the hospital or the animal clinic but your house. Isaac would have kept running if he thought his leg could make it, but he knew they couldn’t.

So, Isaac made the agonizing journey up to your front door. He rang the bell. You’d just opened the door, and all Isaac managed to get out was: “I didn’t know where else to go.”

And then he collapsed.

Part 5

Tagged: @lettherebelovex @britty443 @ietss @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @chocolate-raspberries @jellybelly-jones @f1nal-g1rl

#i watch teen wolf for the plot #teen wolf #(un)requited #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey fanfiction

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kathrynalicemc · 3 years

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Valhalla || Short Story

With her head resting on her arms placed on the windowsill, ten year old Dafne watched with wonder as the raging storm outside threw snow this way and that. It danced and swirled in the air before hitting the glass in front of her face. Ordinarily, she loved watching the snow but tonight was different. Her parents were out there.

Somewhere out on the ocean they were sailing their ship on a supply run and Dafne was worried. She had heard her grandparents murmur at dinner and knew Dayamanti shared their concerns. Their youngest sister Dielle, however, was only five and played with her dolls in blissful ignorance. Dafne knew it was serious so she had resigned herself to keeping watch out in the snow. She knew that any second she would see the forms of her parents emerge from within the storm. She waited, and waited. For a second she could have sworn she saw something in the dark, and she pressed her nose up against the biting cold glass to get a better look, but just as fast as it appeared, it was gone. So she kept waiting.

“Grandpa will you tell us a story?” The voice of her oldest sister Dayamanti pierced the silence and brought Dafne out of her trance.

“Yea! Story! I want a story!” Agreed Dielle, crying out with excitement.

Their grandpa Alatar chucked deeply as he smiled down upon the kids curled up on the floor in front of the fire. “Alright. Dafne come join us by the fire, dear. It must be freezing over by the window.”

Dafne didn’t mind the cold, though she crossed the room anyway, bare feet cold on the wood floor until they met the soft animal skin rug, and joined her sisters in a pile of blankets and hides, pulling them tight around her.

Their grandmother, Else, came over too and took a seat on the armrest of her husband's chair as he looped his arm around her back and pulled her close.

“Hmmm. Where to begin?” He rambled and stared off into the distance in deep thought, like he always does before telling one of his stories. “Ah yes I know.” He cleared his voice and then began.

“Long ago, there was a fierce Viking wizard. Not only was she a warrior, but she was also a scholar. She created new spells by experimenting with magic. However, she craved more than what traditional wizardry offered so she began a ritual to imbue herself and her bloodline with additional magic that didn’t require a wand. It was dark magic and, being something she had invented herself, quite dangerous. Finally, it was completed, however nothing had changed.

Eventually, she married and had triplet sons. Yet, they too were just regular wizards. Time passed and they too married and had children. However, a strange thing occurred when they had daughters. Each one born to one of these sons had some form of white in their hair. This intrigued the woman. Did her spell work after all? Soon after, the first daughter reached ten years of age and started displaying odd and powerful magic.”

Dafnes eyes shifted over to her sister Dayamanti, who was staring curiously at her. With a shock she realized she was ten years old, just like the story. But she hadn’t done anything that wasn’t normal for a young wizard. Had Dayamanti? She was thirteen. Surely this was all just a story right? Her sister would have told her if she had, wouldn’t she? With a look down, she noticed Dielle was entranced with a big smile on her face, clearly believing in the story with excitement. She turned her eyes back to her grandpa, pulling the blankets up higher and forced herself to put her attention back on the story.

“Yes, she had done it. The woman died satisfied that her bloodline would continue on with powerful gifts. The sons then split off and each one became a different family bloodline. One of these sons became an Arcano.

Centuries passed and a grand wizard city called Valhalla was founded deep under a mountain. This city was a sprawling cavern filled with shops and was bustling with all manner of trade. It even was home to a large scholastic repository full of ancient knowledge and wise powerful wizards.”

“Did they sell any candy?” Dielle exclaimed suddenly.

“Well yes, I assume they must have” replied Alatar assuringly with a smile. “No proper city wouldn’t sell candy.”

“That’s good. I like this city” Dielle murmured with a yawn as she rubbed her eyes.

“Where was I? Oh yes.” He continued with the story.

“There was also a special city guard called the Valkyries who were stationed outside the mountain at the main gates who would inspect and judge incoming travelers for their worthiness to enter the city. The most interesting thing was that only women with the gift born to these three bloodlines could join the Valkyrie Guard. They were deemed the best to protect the city because they were powerful and respected families.

The peace was broken suddenly as a disgruntled man from one of the bloodlines was angry that none of the males could inherit the gift. He had gotten all the research and books he could on the ritual and attempted it himself but it wasn’t enough knowledge because the spell went horribly wrong and exploded in a big radius of energy. Everyone within the city was killed. However, the blast didn’t quite reach the outer gates so only the Valkyrie Guard was spared. They sealed up the city and left, going their separate ways. The city slept, locked away for centuries. But there are rumors spread across time that one day the Valkyries will return to reclaim the city and all the knowledge lost in time.”

Alatar finished the story, wistfully staring into the flames dancing among the coals, now almost burned out. A long silence stretched on for what seemed an eternity before Dayamanti suddenly stood up.

“I’m going to bed now I think. Goodnight Grandma. Goodnight Grandpa.” She kissed both on the cheek, lingering by Alatar. “Thank you for the story.”

He gave a wink as she turned and disappeared into the bedroom.

“I think it’s someone else’s bedtime too.” Chuckled Else as she scooped a now asleep Dielle from the nest of blankets on the floor and cradled her in her arms. “You too Dafne.”

“Can I please stay up longer?” She pleaded, suddenly remembering her parents were still out in the storm. “I want to wait up for mom and dad. Please.”

“I’m sorry but they probably won’t be back for days now with this storm. Come on, to bed with you.”

Reluctantly, Dafne crawled out from the blankets and stood up. “Goodnight grandpa.” She whispered as she gave him a kiss. Hesitating, she added “It was only a story, right grandpa?”

He gave her a wistful stare, his eyes sparkling as the smoke from his pipe drifted lazily into the air. “I guess that is up to you to decide.” Alatar replied softly.

With that, she followed Else into the bedroom and climbed into bed, snuggling deep into the blankets to keep away the chill. “Goodnight grandma.”

“Goodnight, my dear Dafne.” She whispered as she kissed her forehead, moving a stray piece of white hair off her face before blowing out the candle and closing the door.

Dafne shifted in her bed to stare out the window, snow still pounding fiercely against the glass, now frosted with growing ice. Her mind raced with the story still fresh in her head. Sleep began to overtake her but she forced herself awake.

I will lay here and wait for mom and dad to come home, she decided, straining her ears for the sound of the door creaking open. All she would hear that night before sleep finally takes her would be the gentle breathing of her sisters beside her. Her parents would never come home from out of the storm.

Ive always wanted to write this story about Alatar passing his knowledge down the family and also it makes a really good lore drop! Sorry not sorry for the angst 😌 Anyway I never write so I know it’s not very good but I tried. I may do another when Dafne gets her powers and looses her eye later on

#hpma #magic awakened #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hpma mc #dayamanti arcano #dafne arcano #dielle arcano #arcano family #arcano sisters

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mo-nighean-rouge · 4 years

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Gone - Epilogue

Jamie Fraser prepares to send Claire and Faith through the stones. A last-minute interference changes everything.

A/N: This is it, folks. Again, thanks to @ianmuyrray for betaing, and to all of you who have read along, or might just be starting now.

November 20, 1748 | Paris, France

“Seas, a bhailach,” Jamie whispered to the beast as he brushed its shining coat. He’d taken quickly to the horses in Mary Hawkins Randall’s stables, but the black sorrel pony had stolen his heart for its similarity in appearance and character to his own Donas.

The horse was still riled after his afternoon jaunt with Faith. The lass had more confidence than experience on horseback, and had led the horse into mischief with a puddle, even under her father’s close supervision.

Jamie had sent Murtagh upstairs to deliver a squirming and filthy Faith to Claire. In fact, it had been quite a while since, and he hoped the man was not dallying his time flirting with Suzette, who had recently come into the Randall estate’s employ.

Dubh, aptly named by Faith, huffed impatiently as Jamie recalled Grey’s promise to release Donas, Brimstone, Thistle, and Blanc within ten miles of Lallybroch.

A week after their arrival in Paris, Jenny had written of Ian’s surprise to open the front door one morn and find all four beasts grazing in the kailyard.

It warmed Jamie’s heart to imagine the sight, and made him long for home all the more.

He hadn’t long to wait, as their parole was nearly complete and they would soon see the shores of Scotland once again. Much as he was willing to sacrifice the sight to see to his family’s safety, he was looking forward to leaving the confines of the city.

Jamie figured it couldn’t come at a better time. While Mistress Randall had welcomed their company in the lonesome and overwhelming time she had found herself, she had recently made a good match. According to Claire’s account, Robert Isaacs made Mary very happy, and the engaged couple were looking forward to staffing their well-established estate.

So long as the bairn arrived safely within the next few weeks, the Fraser family would stay whole and make it back to their homeland. Jamie couldn’t wait to re-introduce his children to Lallybroch, and most of all, watch the years touch Claire…

Jamie’s thoughts were interrupted by the swift re-entry of Murtagh, balancing Faith on his shoulders. While the lass wore a fresh dress, her face had only been wiped quickly, still smudged with streaks of dirt.

Murtagh grinned. “Ye’re needed upstairs, a charaid. The bairn seems to be comin’ quick, and Claire’s asking fer ye.” He bounced Faith once, and she broke into giggles.

Jamie dropped the brush and let it clatter to the stable floor. He wasn’t sure he could keep his jaw from doing the same. “Ah dhia, she’s laboring now?”

“Aye lad, get tae it. Ye don’ want to miss the birth of your son.”

Jamie nodded, clapping his godfather on the shoulder. He felt his eyes mist over as he studied the man that has served his family since before he was born.

“Ye have the bairns? The others?” he asked, stammering, his mind rushing to catch up.

“O’ course, just fetch us when ye’re ready.”

“Thank you, a ghostidh… for everything.”

“Och,” Murtagh exclaimed. “Dinna get soft on me now. Go see yer lady.”

Jamie raced out of the barn, heart hammering. That she be safe, she and the bairn...

“Da!” Fergus called in the corridor, the lad balancing a stack of clean rags from the kitchen. Jamie stopped short to gasp for breath.

The lad had called him such by a slip of the tongue during their first weeks back in Paris – so used to hearing Faith use the precious word – then had immediately blushed scarlet.

Jamie had simply clasped his shoulder and returned with a simple “Aye, mon fils?” as he had called the boy for more than a year.

Fergus had cautiously tested the word ‘Mama’ out on Claire not long after, bringing her to tears as her heart soared.

“You heard about Mama?” Fergus exclaimed, rocking back on his heels in his excitement.

“Aye,” Jamie cracked a smile. “Gi’ those here, I’ll take them on my way. I’d like ye to bide in the barn with Murtagh.”

The lad’s face fell. “But if Mama needs me –”

“Dinna fash about yer mam. Faith needs ye.”

Fergus brightened. “You can count on me, Da.”

Jamie concentrated on the soft weave of the old towels in his hands as he mounted the stairs two at a time, eager to reach his wife. In his hurry, he tripped over the blonde porcelain doll that had been cast aside and forgotten earlier. He shuddered. Annalise had once gifted the toy to his daughter, and its resemblance to the woman herself was that bit frightening.

He burst through their bedroom door, nearly plowing over Mary, who was setting water to boil as if she were lady’s maid to Claire, rather than the other way around.

“Apologies, Mistress,” he murmured, grasping her elbows to keep her upright.

“Jamie!” she exclaimed, squeezing his arm. “You’re just in time.”

He was careful as he squeezed back, unsure of the strength of his grip, especially as his eyes landed on Claire with her face red and scrunched in pain, breathing rhythmically at the gentle direction of Mother Hildegard. Her eyes popped open to meet his, relief swelling in their whisky depths.

Jamie crossed the room in four steps, his hand finding Claire’s naturally as he knelt to kiss the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Good afternoon to ye, Mother.” Mary had housed the nun in one of her many guestrooms for the past week, well aware that Claire’s time was quickly approaching.

He brought Claire’s warm, sweaty hand to his lips as he kneeled behind her stool, content for her to use him in any way she wished. He’d missed the birth of their first child, and had since sworn she’d never go through the experience alone again.

Just then, Claire braced her back against Jamie as she wailed in pain. Her short fingernails scored Jamie’s palms as the contraction crested and she breathed out deeply.

“That’s a braw lass, a ghraidh,” Jamie whispered, placing a kiss on her shoulder and caressing the swell of her belly.

Several sharp contractions later, Mother Hildegard continued softly coaching at Claire’s knee. “Keep breathing, my child. I can almost see the head.”

“Jamie,” Claire croaked, short of breath. “If anything happens…” she whispered, just as the powerful force overtook her body once again and she screamed.

“I willna hear that talk, Claire,” he answered sternly, massaging her lower back.

“Push, Claire.” Mother Hildegard’s voice rose above the noise of the room.

Jamie felt Claire inhale deeply once more, then gather her strength from him for the task ahead.

________________________________________

Claire smiled through her tears, admiring the little one cradled in her arms. Mary had bathed the baby as Claire delivered the afterbirth, then passed their blessing swiftly to Jamie, who had admired the sight with flooded eyes until tiny lips had begun rooting around for sustenance.

Their newest child had latched on with impressive speed and skill, inspiring jokes about Jamie’s own appetite.

The man himself eased carefully to Claire’s side, placing a steady arm around her and pressing his face into her neck, just watching her sustain the new life.

Little brown eyes popped open as the meal ended, searching for something familiar in their new surroundings.

“Hello, baby boy,” she cooed. While the lad’s red fuzz stood out starkly from the moment he appeared, she was thrilled to find something of herself in him.

Jamie reached over her shoulder to brush the boy’s diminutive cheek with his broad thumb. “He’s a braw lad, Sassenach.” He kissed her hair. “Thank ye for our son.”

Claire grasped the hand he had left on her shoulder, swaying gently with the baby. “He’s just as much a gift from you to me. We’re so lucky to have him, all of them.”

A gentle knock sounded from the door, followed by Mary peering around the corner, her own wee Denys at her heels. “Ready for some introductions?” she asked softly.

Claire sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Please, bring them in.”

“Mama!” Faith scrambled in, dragging Murtagh behind her. She approached the bedside slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of the bundle in Claire’s lap.

Jamie stood to give her a boost upward, settling their daughter between them easily. “What do ye think, a chuisle?”

“So bonny!” Faith whispered, reaching to grasp Claire’s free hand. “Ye did it all by yerself, Mama?”

Jamie chuckled. “She did, lass. Wasn’t that canny of your mam?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Da cheered me on.” She squeezed Faith’s hand. “I’m glad you like him, Lovey.”

Murtagh slapped Jamie’s shoulder before leaning over to pat Claire’s. “A wee lad, then?”

“Mmmph,” Jamie replied, grinning widely.

Fergus appeared in the open doorway. “Look who is up from her nap!” Holding tight to his hand was a toddler with red hair already trailing halfway down her back, rubbing her eye with her free hand.

She perked up at the sight of her parents, dashing to the bedside and slamming into Murtagh’s knees. He scooped her up swiftly, depositing her on the mattress knees first. She scrambled closer to Claire’s knee, looming over little brother.

“It’s the bairn?!” she squealed, bouncing in place.

“Gentle, Bree.” Faith scolded. “He’s still wee, see?”

“Sae wee,” Brianna whispered reverently.

Jamie chuckled. “You were this size once too, a nighean ruaidh.”

“And you were even smaller,” Claire added, tickling Faith’s chin.

The girls exchanged dubious looks.

“Nah.”

“Canna be!”

Fergus stopped next to Claire. “How do you feel, Mama?”

Claire’s heart warmed for the son of her heart. He’d offered to wait on her hand and foot these last few weeks, to the point that she’d laughed and told him to take a rest for himself.

Claire leaned her head against him as his arms folded carefully around her neck. “Just fine, my love. Would you like to hold him?”

Fergus nodded, his eyes wide.

Claire eased the baby into his arms, reminding him to be gentle of his head and neck. She welcomed Bree into her arms not a moment later, smoothing hair out of her blue eyes.

Murtagh cleared his throat, ineffectively covering his emotions. “So who do we have here?

Claire met Jamie’s twinkling eye, nodding her approval.

“This is Robert Franklin Murtagh William Fraser.” He swallowed deeply. “Our second son.”

Murtagh’s bushy eyebrow had creased at the second of the boy’s names, but he stood visibly straighter at the third. “’Tis a fine name.”

“That’s so many,” Bree stage-whispered, to the amusement of everyone else.

Faith rolled her eyes dramatically. “No more than you, Brianna Ellen Claire Jan-dit Fraser,” she taunted.

“Alright,” Claire sighed. “The lot of you all have as many names as the others. It’s certainly not a competition.”

Jamie chuckled. “That’s enough o’ that. Stop bouncing. We should let your mam get some rest.”

The children each kissed their mother’s cheek, then let their father herd them out the door as he cradled wee Rob to his chest.

Claire watched them file out the door one by one, each stopping for one more glimpse of her and the baby. She waved at them fondly, blowing kisses. Before Jamie could follow them into the corridor, she caught his hand.

“Stay?” she asked him.

“Aye.” A smile tickled his lips. “I willna go far.”

Claire patted the empty space next to her. “Here.”

He turned, then folded her into his side carefully.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, watching their son sleep until her own eyes drifted shut, a promise of their life together, and their family’s to come.

April 17, 1967 | Oxford, England

Professor Roger MacKenzie Wakefield shuffled through the ever-growing piles of paper crowding his office desk. Amid his lesson plans, papers still to grade, and disorganized files, he’d be surprised if he set off for home in time for supper.

Even still, his curiosity overwhelmed him as he broke the seal on an envelope of research left for him by his colleague. Ever since he was a boy, fascinated by the solemn disappearance of Claire Randall, he had pieced together clues about her whereabouts with the help of his beloved uncle. Her husband’s death last year had only energized his search. Perhaps if he could find answers at long last, it would bring meaning to the most discouraging period of Frank’s life.

More and more, the evidence had begun to point toward something not of this world, much as Mrs. Graham had insisted over the years. He retrieved the file that he had been accumulating for decades, thumbing through what he already knew. The marriage certificate for one James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp, the Deed of Sassine willing the Lallybroch Estate to a James Murray, and a curious pamphlet of medical advice attributed to a C.E.B.R. Fraser.

Roger dumped the new stack of documents on top of the current chaos. The top sheet caught his eye, heart skipping a beat as he read the photocopied print dated from the 1770s, with only the last digit smudged:

"It is with grief that the news is received of the deaths by fire of JAMES MACKENZIE FRASER and his wife, MISTRESS CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP FRASER, in a conflagaration that destroyed several crofts on the estate of Broch Tuarach. Their five children: FERGUS CLAUDEL, FAITH GLENNA, BRIANNA ELLEN, ROBERT FRANKLIN, AND JULIA ELIZABETH, also perished and now lay at rest with them."

Roger shook his head and blinked. Once. Twice. All the hope and warm imaginings he held for the kind woman that he was almost sure he remembered, all for them to be dashed with one headline bearing tragedy.

If there was something, anything, he could do for her and her family, he would in a heartbeat.

He stilled, skin tingling. Christ, but who was to say there wasn’t…

FIN

*Note: The obit is adapted from a screenshot of the news clipping from Outlander Season 4, all credit due.

#Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Faith Fraser #Brianna Fraser #Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser #Fergus Fraser #Roger MacKenzie #Gone #Canon Divergence au #Outlander #Outlander fanfic #my fic

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punkscowardschampions · 3 years

Text

Joe & Ronnie

Joe: Hey

Joe: my flatmate has some work I reckon your mate might be interested in

Joe: but it’ll sound a bit dodgy coming from me so you wanna pass it along?

Joe: moneys alright for no real work, depending on how you look at it

Ronnie: never done any work as a secretary myself

Ronnie: write your own fucking love notes

Joe: I see that

Joe: your accent down the 📞?

Joe: no cunt here’d understand you, never mind the demeanour

Joe: yeah, well, it’d really seem that way

Joe: but I actually need someone to take her off my hands

Ronnie: racism as foreplays playing to the wrong crowd hes more into homo bashing

Ronnie: errr dunno how you read his demeanor mckenna but he aint taken a her off anyones hands since before any of us had phones

Joe: i’ll keep that in mind

Joe: well homophobic of me to not tell him myself so he’s welcome for the freebie

Joe: not actual escorting

Joe: she does art, her life drawing class needs a model

Joe: I ain’t fucking doing that

Joe: tell me I ain’t 📖 him right on that one

Ronnie: fucks sake if youd said it was cash for cock wed be done talking already

Joe: I just did

Joe: sound, she’ll be made up, she’ll get off my case, and he’ll get £15 an hour, apparently 👌

Ronnie: sexist not to ask me

Ronnie: pass that on to your little gf

Joe: weren’t her idea to ask Charlie

Joe: you’ll have to take up that grievance with me as well

Joe: I’ll just point out it’d be even weirder if I’d have asked you

Ronnie: you wish

Ronnie: how much £ you offering me to bang you

Joe: if I did no point paying you to do it for her and her class and not me

Joe: that’s an interesting take on cucking though, loads that would go for it, I’m sure

Ronnie: ill write it down as youve made me go hunting for a pen in this shithole

Joe: cheers

Joe: take 20% commission or whatever

Joe: or take the IOU I owe him for doing this

Ronnie: you said it hed do this for fuck all ill take the lot and mary wont know it was a paid gig

Joe: if he can fend the flatmate off, undoubtedly a load of art gays he can have his pick of

Ronnie: that what youre telling yourself for why you dont want me to do it yeah

Joe: you wanna do it?

Ronnie: i want you to admit the reason you dont want me to is cause he scrubs up enough for horse girl and her course mates not to stage an intervention

Joe: not what it is so no

Joe: I know I don’t want to get my shit out in front of a load of middle class kids who know fuck all about fuck all, so I assumed as much for you

Ronnie: dont ever assume fuck all for or about me

Joe: why do you wanna do it so bad when like you said, you can pocket the cash and get him to?

Ronnie: i dont wanna fucking do it

Joe: well that’s grand ‘cos I reckon Sophie wants to see dick so

Joe: she’d be really let down

Ronnie: usually what gets you off

Ronnie: but im made up youre in love now like

Joe: please, she either don’t get it’s weird to ask me which means she’s some kind of special

Joe: or this is the start of her 50 shades fantasy and I have to be the let down to end all let downs and i’m already doing my best

Ronnie: rem is right to pay for it when she could just walk in on you taking a piss or having a shower

Joe: when you’re just a creep and not a predator 💔

Joe: not the girl my parents warned me about

Ronnie: if theyd be the type to go down the stables theyd have seen the other side of her

Joe: you’ve got your own daydreams, alright

Joe: put out the feelers, who isn’t a little gay these days, right

Ronnie: go ed and pass on ive got a bigger dick than him and she will have

Ronnie: i dont dream 💔

Joe: shame she isn’t equally inspiring for you

Joe: or anyone, really

Ronnie: cry about it with him when youre done pimping

Joe: what do you dream about then, when you’re awake

Ronnie: what you cant read me

Joe: clearly not

Joe: dashed your modelling dreams

Ronnie: blind and not able to read braille must be dead hard for you

Joe: is that sympathy?

Joe: or you offering me 🖐 to 👩🏼‍🦲 time

Ronnie: again you wish

Ronnie: 💭💉

Ronnie: cant make it any easier to understand soz

Joe: maybe I do

Joe: far as 💭s go

Ronnie: fuck maybe you do or you dont

Joe: well it ain’t why I don’t want to get my arms out for her

Joe: not tried it

Joe: but not a no

Ronnie: give a shit what you do or dont want to do for or to her

Joe: that is a no, tah

Ronnie: tell her not me baby

Joe: that’s not a big sister duty?

Joe: gutted

Ronnie: wouldnt know im the middle kid dorothy does that for us

Joe: i’ll ask him when i’m crying on him then

Joe: make a change for me

Ronnie: hot

Ronnie: rack up the ious like a fat line hes gonna be made up

Joe: oi he’s like family ain’t he

Ronnie: &

Ronnie: you wanna fuck your mam

Ronnie: not oi ing you

Joe: well you get to think about me and him, you gave me her and you, not fair

Ronnie: life aint soft lad

Ronnie: and stopping at thinking about shit is the difference between me and you

Joe: I get it, you’ve gone there

Joe: purely here for the homophobia

Ronnie: your kinks match 💘

Ronnie: purely there so the lads dont kick off before hes got his kicks

Joe: see, you’ve got it in you 💘

Joe: the sisterly thing

Joe: my hate don’t get expressed by putting me in him though so I won’t run my mouth

Ronnie: not what ive got in me but im not giving you the talk just cause your ma didnt

Joe: you want a virgin to defile reckon Soph and her mates are prime, vampira

Ronnie: set it up with her ill show if i get no better offers

Joe: lucky girl

Joe: no more nights in doing doodles of cute girls that look like you

Ronnie: we dont look alike youll have to accept theyre of you

Joe: i fit less than you, by far

Ronnie: fuck off

Joe: sorry

Joe: it’s weird, say the least

Ronnie: i fit nowhere she made sure i dont

Joe: ditto

Joe: so buzzing i can write shit songs about it though

Ronnie: no

Ronnie: weve got fuck all in common

Joe: just the same mother

Joe: who put her shitty genetics and choices on us both at different times

Ronnie: i ain’t got a mother you cant cross out the un from wanted and act like its the same word

Joe: incubator then

Joe: she was 19 and still fucked, don’t think they had a five-year plan down

Joe: worse if she did, the state of

Ronnie: she made 1 choice for me shes still controlling you

Ronnie: were not the fucking same

Joe: you reckon

Ronnie: if you wanna claim it aint her fault youre this big of a pussy try it

Joe: you don’t think it’s my fault?

Joe: woah, just say you love me

Ronnie: i dont think about you when you aint trying to compare us

Joe: hot

Joe: I’ve thought about you plenty

Joe: uni ain’t that interesting

Ronnie: you came looking for me werent the other way round

Ronnie: you ain’t interesting to me mckenna

Joe: you reckon you’re fascinating, yeah?

Joe: fair enough

Ronnie: if your flatmate knows anyone doing doc film making they can wank over me lying in the gutter when youre done

Joe: nah

Joe: you don’t want control of your narrative

Ronnie: i dont want a narrative

Joe: then i’ll be the only wanker

Ronnie: in your dreams

Joe: well you painted such a lovely visual

Ronnie: black screen would get you going can stay in your own fucked head with no interference then like

Joe: Static is my kink

Joe: you know me so well

Ronnie: your fucking kink is not shutting the hell up til i do

Joe: i’m a gentleman

Joe: and i’m taking that review

Ronnie: youll get a lengthy one from my big brother when you are

Joe: you don’t have to settle for hearing it and getting your kicks second-hand

Joe: I’ll have to be somewhere to be unavailable for this life drawing class

Joe: let’s do something

Ronnie: what you paying me to babysit

Joe: you can ask my mammy or you can see what you can get

Ronnie: if i was gonna talk to her it wouldnt be about you

Joe: thank god

Joe: so take the risk

Ronnie: of what

Ronnie: boring me is asking too much of you

Joe: that’s surely a given

Joe: risk anything but

Ronnie: if I need rescuing again ill call you thats the only given Joe: you’re worse than her

Joe: christian grey or superman, like

Joe: gonna be BFFs yous, I can tell

Ronnie: you dont like being compared to cunts youre nothing like either funny that

Joe: touche

Joe: come on, what would convince you

Ronnie: if youre gonna beg then beg and if youre gonna show me something do it

Joe: I know you’d like to hear me beg but I can’t tell what you’d wanna see

Ronnie: then the answers nothing

Joe: nah

Joe: the answers you want to wait or you wanna be disappointed

Ronnie: why the fuck would I want either of those things

Joe: that’s what I’ll give you then

Joe: the opposite of that

Ronnie: thats meant to convince me yeah

Joe: nah, I am

Ronnie: like fuck will you

Joe: see, you want to be disappointed

Ronnie: ill be disappointed want has fuck all to do with it

Joe: if you don’t come and see

Ronnie: come where

Joe: see me

Joe: i’m new in town, I don’t know where to go

Joe: fuck sightseeing

Ronnie: [somewhere she’d hang out]

Ronnie: go there

Joe: now?

Ronnie: whenever you dont know where to go

Joe: okay

Joe: and I’ll see you there when you don’t

Ronnie: when im not fucking either of our flatmates

Joe: when you’re done being disappointed

Ronnie: when you prove yourself as not

Joe: you’ll see

Joe: I can’t show you over the phone

Ronnie: you could

Ronnie: im going nowhere on a bullshit promise cause im not a meff teenager

Joe: and I ain’t young enough to think that’s a good idea either

Joe: pictures not doing no favours

Joe: if you’re there and i’m there

Ronnie: big if

Joe: I never know where to be

Ronnie: newborn i heard you

Joe: something like that

Joe: if you can’t leave soph alone I’ll do my best begging 🥺

Ronnie: she cant leave you alone id be doing you a favour

Joe: true

Joe: wouldn’t wanna be caught doing that though

Ronnie: let you do the clean up after ive killed and ate her id be caught well fast for that instead

Joe: you’d get caught for being three times your size

Joe: she’s a big girl

Joe: you should share, be sworn to secrecy

Ronnie: doing her a favour i shouldve said

Ronnie: fuck all going for her

Joe: way to get in shape

Joe: she’ll appreciate us using her blood for something artsy on the walls

Ronnie: ill ask the basic white bitch i live with to give me a clue

Joe: 🍆 will be appropriate for her

Ronnie: 🐎

Joe: they might reckon she did it with her dying breath

Joe: very artist of her, dying how she lived

Ronnie: hurry the fuck up with your confession song if you want credit

Joe: you wanna hear me confessing so bad

Joe: but I might be able to hand that in so

Joe: hold on

Ronnie: it aint me whos a choir boy

Joe: ugh, I wish

Ronnie: cant chat shit about us having the same fantasies ive been touched by a old bloke wearing a dress and i dont rate it

Ronnie: standard surrounded by homos night out

Joe: yeah, and the nuns are never the hot kind

Joe: if they didn’t self-flagellate they’d be entirely uninteresting

Ronnie: 💔

Joe: yeah, it’s tragic being this bored/boring, say it ‘fore you have to bother

Ronnie: didnt invite you to no pity party and if thats where youre trying to get me to turn up to dont bother is right

Joe: you mean you don’t wanna talk about your feelings?

Joe: like you said, like being left alone with my own fucked up ones too much to try and start a therapy session

Ronnie: what fucking feelings dead above & below the waist like

Joe: dangerously close to sharing there

Joe: you got your 💉 already then?

Ronnie: wouldnt be this chatty if i had

Ronnie: unlucky you

Joe: I’m the one that wants to see you

Joe: so I’ll cope

Ronnie: cant even spell martyrdom proper so youve fucked yourself looking for a pat on the back off me by matching the definition up

Joe: i’ll just ring mum up yeah

Ronnie: your da if not but it wont have the same satisfying end for you like

Joe: 💔

Joe: validations the last thing i need

Joe: had a whole lifetime

Ronnie: you crawling back to me with a boner for the accent your mummys losing is the last thing i need

Ronnie: get on the scouse samaritans

Joe: don’t reckon that’s a job you’ll get any time soon either

Joe: ‘less the purpose is to make sure people go through with it

Ronnie: couldve fooled me if it aint what else is talking a sad cunts ear off about their problems gonna do

Joe: attention seekers anonymous

Ronnie: no need to meet you there i earned all them badges as a kid 🧷🩸

Joe: wouldn’t be caught 💀 obvs

Joe: keeping it secret adds another level of masochism anyway

Ronnie: does it fuck

Ronnie: keeps you feeling like a smug bitch you can still pass

Ronnie: miss me with that pussy shit

Joe: nah, that’s that i’m in control shit

Joe: it’s not that

Joe: the only thing you might be smug about is how oblivious everyone chooses to be

Joe: if it weren’t also depressing as fuck

Ronnie: dont give em the choice

Joe: why?

Ronnie: why the fuck would you want to

Joe: don’t need to be my mother’s next cause celebre

Joe: she can force the therapy and concern on any of the others, I don’t wanna get better or have to fake like I’ll even try

Ronnie: then dont

Ronnie: cut off your umbilical cord and wipe up the blood trail

Ronnie: not like she tries very hard to herd back the black sheep

Joe: maybe they know and don’t give a fuck 🤞

Joe: I know I ain’t going back so whatever

Ronnie: & you reckon weve got anything in common

Joe: just 50% of our DNA

Joe: never said we were twinsies

Ronnie: if youd have said id have spat in your face 1st time we met get it collected and the tests run

Joe: I wish

Joe: has your face healed

Ronnie: wheres the fun in letting it do that

Joe: 😏

Joe: we can pretend that’s inherited if you need

Ronnie: not 5 i dont play pretend

Joe: if you keep digging, reckon the ink will be gone and it’ll be pure scar tissue

Ronnie: calm the fuck down i can hear how turned on you are about it from here

Joe: spoilsport

Joe: just thinking, scar that only vaguely looks like 🍒s might be well more rugged for my transformation from baby to independent real boy

Ronnie: laughing cos i like pain not cause youre funny

Ronnie: when you see or hear it from wherever youre lurking

Joe: you don’t leave room for me to get the wrong idea, you’re alright

Joe: all them fucked ones are mine alone and already there

Ronnie: get your girlfriend to draw you a pin up & dont tell her youve changed the lass horse head to look like your mas

Ronnie: masc for masc in your bio before you know it and 🦋 tramp stamp to follow

Joe: you know my dad already has a tattoo that looks like her, no bullshit

Joe: and another dead girl on the other arm but that’s a whole other boring story

Joe: playing dress up is off the cards too if I’m ever gonna be a big boy

Ronnie: where do you keep his severed arm when youre not using it to fist yourself and how old were you when you cut it off

Ronnie: if we re telling stories

Joe: 😂

Joe: where we keep the horse

Joe: that en-suite is massive

Ronnie: if he finds out it was a paid gig ill know where to crash

Joe: still gutted she don’t wanna see you naked

Ronnie: youre a liar if you dont wanna see her face seeing me

Joe: don’t know if anyone could be bothered to look at her when you’re about but yeah

Joe: the trauma would really fuel me and make her much more bearable to live with

Ronnie: youre welcome like

Joe: gotta stop being nice to me

Joe: you know stalkers, give ‘em an inch

Ronnie: telling me what to do is the fastest way 🖕

Ronnie: and i know you dont have an inch to give me making the best of this shitshow is what an optimist like me has gotta do

Joe: obviously you’re that type

Joe: not having it in common will have you back 👍

Joe: you’re inspiring, like

Ronnie: chop off my arms and legs and get a camera set up in the en-suite

Joe: you’d fit in my cello case then, could take you everywhere

Ronnie: course youve had a measuring tape out

Joe: hate to kill your optimism with 🍆

Joe: have a go at pushing it back in

Ronnie: how longs your tongue reckon that could kill any girls optimism

Joe: 💔 if it was only good for chatting your ear off

Ronnie: [send him a picture of your weird gross split tongue because obviously]

Joe: [how does that not make you lisp, or does it, I always think that]

Joe: that’s why you’ve not had an invite

Joe: 🚫🐍

Ronnie: gutted

Joe: you know you can show up and do whatever you wanna do whenever

Joe: I’ll take you back

Ronnie: this performance art is meant to what just scare her or teach you how to get her to back the fuck off as well as

Ronnie: im not a fucking tour guide mckenna & you can get yourself evicted without my help

Joe: you know I meant to Dublin

Joe: don’t think it’d take much to scare Sophie off, give it a month for us to both get comfortable and she’ll see what I ain’t

Ronnie: fuck you

Joe: I said if you want

Ronnie: dont need your permission to do anything i want

Joe: don’t think any of ‘em are that lax with their socials

Joe: you’d need directions

Ronnie: ive had years to find em & we dont both hang about with horse girls from kent

Joe: can’t say it’s your loss

Ronnie: shut up about it then

Joe: 🤐

Ronnie: 🖕

Joe: got a whole fist here, you can keep it

Ronnie: sizeist

Joe: told her yours is massive like you said, it’s fine

Ronnie: i said bigger than his not a horse shes in for a disappointment

Joe: gotta 🤞 she’s an optimist like you babe

Ronnie: unlike you shes gonna wait to see what i do with it before telling me to shove it

Joe: you just wanna blueball me for the pain

Joe: go on, for your lols

Ronnie: she wont want me at all unless youre gonna watch

Joe: and you need a witness so I get time too

Joe: I’ll do it, torturous as it’d be

Ronnie: the iou is gonna torture me too

Joe: if you’re lucky

Ronnie: not the dna half we share 💔

Joe: damnit

Joe: what’s good about being Scouse?

Ronnie: now the beatles are dead youve got fuck all to live for

Ronnie: noted

Joe: only the good ones

Joe: I dunno, anything good about it never happened, left when I was a kid and we still lived in a shithole with shitheads

Ronnie: get in line she left me in a shithole with shitheads 1st

Joe: where were you

Joe: wonder how close it was

Ronnie: what the fuck does it matter

Joe: it makes her more/less shitty depending

Ronnie: it aint gonna change my opinion and I dont give a shit about yours

Joe: fair enough

Ronnie: get cosy with charlie hed take you down memory lane

Joe: not before he’s got it out for the art class tah

Ronnie: you didnt say when

Joe: [probably an evening class like tomorrow or the next day, then the same time a week later]

Ronnie: too fucking late the pen is in pieces

Joe: sure it isn’t the first time you’ve left him a note in blood

Ronnie: hes only gonna cry about it & take the shine off his modelling debut

Joe: awh

Joe: message him 🧓🏼

Ronnie: fuck off calling me old

Joe: 😏

Ronnie: ill write him a note blaming what a twat you are for what hes gonna walk in on

Joe: what mess have you made

Ronnie: havent killed myself yet

Joe: and you’ve not stopped talking so no OD’ing

Joe: possibilities are endless still

Ronnie: yeah

Joe: come out

Joe: we can get new ink to dig out

Joe: whatever

Ronnie: you gonna suck his dick this time

Joe: I’ll just pay the old-fashioned way

Ronnie: flashy cunt

Joe: what being a student is all about

Ronnie: and youre too special to poison your blood how the rest of em do

Joe: I’m not opposed but I can do it alone, I don’t need to go to a sweaty student bar that plays shit songs and has a load of sad Soph clones giving it 🥺

Ronnie: you can get another tattoo without me holding your hand

Joe: I could

Ronnie: go do it 🦋 baby

Joe: have mentioned its not about the tat, yeah?

Ronnie: nah not that ive heard

Joe: come on

Joe: i want to see you, i’ve said loads

Ronnie: youve said loads of shit yeah

Joe: shit i mean

Ronnie: why

Joe: why wouldn’t I

Ronnie: thats your answer then fuck it

Joe: you don’t need to ask ‘cos you know

Ronnie: i did ask and you said why the fuck not

Ronnie: like its nothing

Ronnie: like you didnt turn up uninvited into my life not long ago

Joe: then tell me to leave

Joe: like it’s that easy

Ronnie: i didnt tell you to fucking appear

Ronnie: just cause youre a kid dont make me the dead fish you won at the fair

Joe: I never had the choice

Joe: she told me about you, talked about you all the fucking time

Joe: you’ve always been in my life

Ronnie: and youve never been in mine

Ronnie: im not gonna carve out a place for you now cos you want it

Joe: Alright

Joe: do it then

Ronnie: dont tell me what to fucking do

Joe: I’m not going unless you say it

Ronnie: no shit this is fun for you

Joe: like fuck it is

Ronnie: im the car wreck youre craning your neck to keep looking at

Ronnie: thats all the fuck this is

Joe: lie better

Ronnie: you dont care about me or what this feels like

Joe: I can’t take it back, you know now

Ronnie: you dont wanna take it back

Joe: I can’t, what’s the point pretending

Joe: I never said I was a good person

Joe: being sorry won’t change anything for you

Ronnie: its all your christmases & birthdays im west as this course youre gonna keep on spinning me out

Joe: Piss off

Ronnie: lie better cunt

Joe: So you’re allowed pity parties, yeah?

Joe: 👌

Ronnie: calling you out on your bullshit is allowed if youre crying thats your problem

Joe: if all you want from me is for me to go away, consider it done

Joe: you can’t hack it, my apologies

Ronnie: tell me why if im so fucking wrong

Joe: I like you

Joe: I want you, to get to know you

Joe: I can’t just stop it, not for myself

Joe: So make me

Ronnie: stop telling me what to fucking do

Ronnie: fucks sake

Joe: you ain’t saying anything

Joe: what do you want

Ronnie: I dont want you to like me

Ronnie: fuck is that

Joe: yeah, it’s obvious you go to great lengths to be unlikeable

Joe: not going to tell no one am I

Ronnie: so hate me soft lad

Joe: I’ll give it a go

Ronnie: ill make you

Joe: give it a go then

Ronnie: where are you then

Joe: [give a location of somewhere near your flat ‘cos don’t need to actually set you on the flatmate rn and that’s likely where you were]

Ronnie: [obviously we’re just gonna show up however long that takes us without another word like !?]

Joe: [just so much eye contact ‘cos what you gonna say what you gonna do]

Ronnie: [definitely gonna take him somewhere sketchy as hell to the level that like Charlie doesn’t know we still go there/we’d never take him ever like you wanna get to know me okay bitch buckle up]

Joe: [can’t let you hook up or shoot up yet ‘cos chronological but go along with this obvs]

Ronnie: [it would make sense if you made out/almost hooked up though because the vibe for the next convo was very much oh fuck what are you doing here we didn’t mean to run each other like this but also v flirty]

Joe: [agreed, and allowed, it’s the obvious vibe but any untold drama can happen to stop you in whatever dodgy place so makes sense]

Ronnie: [literally and just because you can’t shoot up together yet does not mean either of you have to be in any way sober so]

Joe: [hundo, we’re not saying he’s never done a drug lol, he clearly abuses his prescription as is so like, there’s plenty to be done without going there]

Ronnie: [and if we wanted to we could say that you watch her do it here and now before you do it together anyway because you’d both get a weird kick out of that]

Joe: [tea, bet you did not see this coming for your uni experience lmao]

Ronnie: [meanwhile she’s old enough to have left, do you wanna grow up babe? No? okay]

Joe: [the way you’re rolling with this, we know you’re fucked boy but pop off]

Ronnie: [I can’t overstate how much she’d be doing the absolute most to try and scare him away like I dare you to go back on what you said]

Joe: [we know you’re not gonna, soz babe, is very rude how he’s just waltzed in but truly did not say we were a good person lol]

Ronnie: [we know she’s not either and also is here for it more than she will ever express until we’re literally years into this]

Joe: [hi your mother’s daughter, but no, you actually have a reason this is messed up but we’re into it from the off and not pretending, risky af strategy boy]

Ronnie: [is there anything we wanna say happens that has lasting-ish consequences other than the make out/ almost hook up ie a tattoo or a fight with injury potential or an arrest lol]

Joe: [hmm, the possibilities, maybe a fight to show you can, could be about anything, it’s that sort of place]

Ronnie: [that is such a mood I love it and yeah could literally be you’re a new face or could be her fault because of the aforementioned doing the most]

Joe: [totally, and that’ll be an easy way to separate you and not meet until the next convo]

Ronnie: [exactly dr phil]

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rena-rain · 5 years

Text

The Shortcut Home ch. 1

I totally forgot to post this on tumblr! It’s also posted on my AO3 under rainforestgeek.

“Marinette!” Alya wrapped her roommate in her arms as soon as she came through the door. “Are you okay? Are you still feeling sick?”

Marinette nodded. She’d been having dinner at her parents’ house, but was hardly there for fifteen minutes before she vomited in the kitchen sink. The smells emanating from the dining table had sent her stomach into a mutinous upheaval even though she normally loved her parents’ cooking. They’d wanted her to stay to take care of her, but settled for escorting her back to her and Alya’s apartment. “Just a little nauseous. Did you get my text?”

Alya pulled away and handed her a paper bag. “I got you three just in case. You know I have to grill you about this, right?”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Marinette sighed. “Just please get me something to drink first.”

Ten minutes later, Marinette poured herself her second glass of orange juice while Alya sat frozen on the couch.

“You’ve been sleeping. With Adrien.”

“Yes.”

“Adrien Agreste has been having sex with you. And you didn’t tell me?”

“We’re not together, Alya.”

“That’s what I don’t get. I never took that boy to be a fuck buddies type.”

Marinette cringed at the term. Yes, she and Adrien were having sex alongside their platonic relationship. But it sounded too crass. Too casual for their close relationship, lack of romance aside.

She got up. “I need to pee.”

“Don’t forget the tests!”

“Okay, but this one says it’s negative?”

Alya rubbed her back. “False negatives happen, Mari. False positives don’t. These two are positive you’ve got a mini-Agreste in your belly.”

Marinette groaned and left the bathroom. She flopped face-down onto the couch. “How – ”

“If you say ‘how did this happen’ I’ll smack you with this pillow.”

“Alya, how am I going to tell Adrien?”

Alya sat down, Marinette flipping over to rest her head on her best friend’s lap. Alya stroked her silky black hair contemplatively. “Let’s take this one thing at a time. When was the first day of your last period.”

Marinette counted in her head. “Nine weeks and five days ago.”

“Okay. Do you want to have a baby? Because you have two weeks to decide.”

Marinette’s immediate thought was yes. She’d always wanted children and now she had the chance to have Adrien’s child. Her infatuation may have died down over the years, but no matter what, she did love him.

But was she prepared to be a single mother? She and Alya had to share an apartment just to avoid living paycheck to paycheck. Marinette’s savings weren’t impressive, and that’s money she’d been saving to open her own boutique someday. Yes, she wanted kids, but this was risking her dream career. She still had plenty of time to have children.

She peered up at Alya. “I don’t know if I’m ready. Do you think I would make a good mom?”

Alya grinned at her. “Girl, you’d be an amazing mom. Nobody’s ever ready for a baby, that doesn’t mean you’d be a bad parent. But it is your decision and you have no obligation to tell Adrien before you make it.”

“I think I need a few days to think about it. God, I wish I could have some wine.”

“I could drink two glasses tonight if it makes you feel better.”

Marinette laughed. “That actually makes it worse.”

Nino met his girlfriend at their favorite café. The weather was nice, the sun out and only slightly chilly. He greeted her with a kiss and sat down across from her.

“Babe, I just wanna start out with saying I wasn’t doing anything weird. I accidentally kicked the trash can over.”

“Why would I think that’s weird? It was an accident right?”

“Yes, totally, 100%! So I did not mean to look at anything private, I was just cleaning it up, and…”

Alya touched her boyfriend’s cheek. “Nino, what’s going on?”

“Are you pregnant?” he blurted. Both of their eyes went wide. Nino rushed, “I swear I’m not trying to corner you or anything! I saw a couple positive tests when I was cleaning up the trash in your bathroom, and I couldn’t not tell you that I saw them, so…are you pregnant?”

Alya sighed and looked around the café. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “I’m not pregnant. Now I need you to promise me you’ll keep this under your hat. The tests weren’t mine.”

Nino gasped. Alya dove to put both hands over his mouth, accidentally knocking over a glass of water. “Ugh! Dang it. You don’t say a word or make a sound, okay? Marinette’s not ready to tell anybody yet and I don’t even know if she’s keeping it so you’re sworn to silence.”

Nino helped Alya mop up the water with a pile of napkins. “Of course, I’d never betray her like that. Just gotta, like, process for a minute.”

The waiter came out to take their order, effectively ending the conversation.

A knock came from the front door. Adrien told Plagg to hide before opening it to reveal a very anxious-looking Marinette. Her eyes darted to and away from his face rapid-fire, and she fiddled with her purse’s shoulder strap. “Marinette? Are you all right?”

“I – ” Her voice broke. She took a shuddering breath. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or if I wanted to tell you but I haven’t decided anything yet, I really need to talk to somebody and I want to talk to you – this is big, but I need to talk to you as my friend right now.”

Adrien took her hand and coaxed her inside, closing the door behind her. He pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in his neck, clinging to him tight, so he hitched both arms around her back to bring her as close as possible. He felt like he was absorbing her anxiety like a sponge, making his own blood jitter along with her. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. I’m here for you.”

Marinette lifted her lips to his ear. She murmured two soft words to him.

He froze for a moment. They were still hugging, so hopefully she didn’t notice his shock. Adrien gathered himself, gently untangled their limbs, and held her face to look in her eyes. “Why don’t you go sit down, okay? I’ll make us some tea.”

She nodded. He went to the kitchen and filled up the water heater. While he waited for it to boil, he leaned against the fridge, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.

Marinette was pregnant. He’d gotten her pregnant. She was probably here to talk about whether or not to stay pregnant. Oh god, his father was going to kill him.

Hold your horses there, kid, he told himself in a mental voice that sounded alarmingly like Plagg. Gabriel doesn’t have to know if she decides not to keep it.

Adrien pushed the thought aside. His father didn’t matter right now; he’d burn that bridge when he got to it. Right now, his pregnant friend needed his support.

And her tea, he realized when he heard the water heater beeping. Adrien prepared and poured two steaming mugs and reminded himself that while he was culpable in creating this situation, Marinette had a lot more at stake here.

When he came back to the living room, Marinette had a ball of yarn out and was crocheting in the round. He was glad she’d brought something to do with her hands. It seemed to help keep her nerves in check. She set the project aside when he handed her the cup and took a sip. Adrien sat down on the couch next to her.

They drank in silence for a minute, neither sure how to broach the subject.

Finally, Adrien gathered his nerve. “So, how long have you known?”

“Four days. I’m about ten weeks along.”

“Okay. You…you said you wanted to talk about it?”

She puffed out a sigh through her teeth. “I’ve been trying to decide if I should keep it or abort it. I tried talking to Alya about it, but she’s so stuck on not influencing my choice that she just refuses to give any advice. But I need to talk through it.”

Adrien drank a hot sip of tea, letting himself think. “Thank you for trusting me. Let’s start with what you’ve been thinking. Feel free to word vomit.”

And word vomit she did. Marinette babbled about her career, her body changing, not being ready to take care of a kid, the money she didn’t have, the fact she wasn’t married – all in no particular order. Her stream of consciousness sentences ran together, making Adrien focus hard on keeping track of what she said.

Once she’d run out of breath, he asked the question she hadn’t addressed at all.

“Do you have any ethical issues with terminating the pregnancy?”

Marinette furrowed her brows. “Do you?”

“That’s not what I asked.” Adrien didn’t love the idea, but he’d thought a lot about what it’d be like to grow a human inside him and then push it out of his ass, so yeah, he figured it was okay to say no to anything or anyone using your body as a house-slash-IV bag.

(Plagg says he’s too morbidly curious for his own good. Plagg doesn’t get to judge, he’s a cat and once caused a mass extinction.)

Marinette looked him straight in the eye. “No, I don’t.”

Adrien chose his next words carefully. “If money and single parenthood are your main concerns, you’re not alone. I’m here, I have a good job, and a trust fund that’s just gathering dust. Only if you want to. Whichever you decide, I’m all in.”

He took her free hand. “We’re a team. I promise.”

The words rang jarringly in both of their ears with a familiarity that didn’t belong in this context.

She smiled at him. “That was quite a speech.”

“Yeah, that came out cornier than I intended. I meant it, though.”

“What are you trying to say, Adrien?”

“I’m saying it’s not a matter of what we can do. It’s about what you want to do. You don’t have to give up your dreams for this.” He gazed at Marinette’s face, wished he could read her better. “Do you feel ready for a kid?”

“I feel scared,” she said quietly.

“Me, too.”

“But I…I think I want to. But only if you commit to being a dad.”

Adrien’s heart pounded. “Like I said, Marinette, I’m all in.”

She nodded and stood, wrapping up her yarn and putting it in her bag. “I don’t think I should decide tonight. I’ll tell you by the end of the day tomorrow.”

He stood as well to see her out. “Good idea. Sleep on it, take your time. I’ll just be here freaking out where you can’t see me.”

Marinette let out a little laugh. Her eyes crinkled adorably. “Thank you, for talking with me. And for the tea.”

“Do you want to stay over?” Adrien wasn’t sure what possessed him to ask that without thinking. Was that inappropriate? Did their relationship change after she got pregnant? Did she think he meant he wanted to have sex? Was it okay to ask your pregnant friend with benefits to sleep over after an emotionally draining conversation? Okay, come to think of it, that does sound kind of suspect.

“I’m too nauseated to fool around tonight.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t stay over.”

Marinette gave him a long, searching look. He wondered what she was looking for. He wondered if it was there. “I should go back to my apartment. Where my pajamas and toothbrush are. Goodnight, Adrien.”

They both ignored the fact that he kept a toothbrush for her here anyway, and she’d slept in his clothes more than once.

Plagg was being insufferable. “Baker girl’s got a bun in the oven!”

“You’re not funny, Plagg.”

“Screw you, I’m hilarious. It’s not my fault you decided to mix your milk with her eggs.”

Adrien groaned. “You’re really not funny, Plagg.”

Marinette fiddled with a lock of hair while the dial tone sounded in her ear.

“Mari?”

“I’m going to have the baby.” All at once. Ripped off the bandage. Besides, Adrien had to know why she was calling him, and he was surprisingly okay with when she cut past the pleasantries.

There was a pause. “Okay. I should tell my father soon.”

“My parents, too. Maybe we should have those conversations alone, so my mom and dad don’t grill you about not being in a relationship.

“Am I a dead man?”

“I’ll throw my body in front of yours. It’ll be better than a bullet-proof vest.”

“Is it too much to ask you to tell my father with me? I know he’ll stay calm, just…”

“Cold,” Marinette finished. She should’ve known Adrien would want emotional support when he told his dad he was about to become a young, unmarried parent. “Of course I can. Just tell me when.”

“Thanks. Have you gotten a doctor’s appointment yet?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. She was looking at six to seven more months of this fretting.

Chapter 2

Ko-fi

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foxyotomelady · 5 years

Text

It wasn’t supposed to be, Chapter XII (JuminxOC/Reader)

Author’s notes:

This chapter is as dramatic as this gif.

Buy Me A Ko-Fi Have a nice reading!

Those two weeks remaining until the party passed quite quickly. It was a very strange period for Jumin, both pleasant and painful. Riyu said goodbye to him every day before he was leaving for work and greeted him when he returned home. These sweet 'have a nice day at work', these kisses on the cheek to say goodbye or greeting... Never before he experienced something so tender. He didn't want to give it up, but he knew that at some point he would be forced to... And that was the painful part.

Evening movie seances have become their small tradition and they often fell asleep nestled to each other on the sofa, covered with a blanket. There was something so... normal in all this that sometimes he even managed to forget in what complicated situation they were. But only sometimes... Because the awareness came back every time his father called Riyu and she pretended to be very happy about it. Awareness also returned when his father informed them he would be able to come to Korea for the party. Jumin hoped all that time that the old man would be too busy...

The day before the party, they went to visit a vet who agreed to become a temporary home for puppies - they were still small enough that they needed constant and professional care. Jumin couldn't help smiling when he saw Riyu cuddling four little creatures in her arms - she looked so incredibly happy. Small dogs also seemed to adore her. "Animals are so better than humans," She told him then, and he once again realized that he knew very little about her. That Riyu still keeps many secrets from him. Her love for animals and skepticism towards people must have come from somewhere.

Now, on the day of the party, about an hour and a half before it starts, they both sat on the sofa in the saloon. Riyu rested her head on his shoulder, clearly sad. Of course, she was wearing a dress in which his father would like to see her.

"It will be unpleasant for both of us..." She whispered and closed her eyes. "But we should be leaving now. We must be there earlier."

Jumin kissed the top of her head and mumbled into her hair, "I will have to keep a distance from you. Otherwise, I can do something you don't like."

Riyu sighed, "I'm sorry, Jumin. I know you are suffering because of me."

"Don't apologize. I know it's not easy for you either. Anyway, you've always been honest and clearly told me you had to marry my father. Still, I decided to go on with it..." He put his hand on her cheek and turned her face towards himself. She looked at him with glistening, wet eyes.

"How long can we continue this...?" She asked.

"I don't want to think about it. God... The only thing I can think about right now is that I would like to kiss you right in front of his eyes. That he would understand who you really belong to."

Riyu smiled sadly, got up and kissed his forehead, "We have to leave."

Jumin followed her, but before they left he grabbed her gently by the shoulder and turned her around, "I can, however, do something to make sure you don't forget who you belong to."

Riyu blinked, he felt chills on her skin under his fingers. Did he scare her again? But she didn't back away, didn't protest. So he pulled her closer and kissed her fervently. She moaned softly in his mouth as he slid his hand over her thigh, exposed in the cut of the dress.

When they separated for a moment, Riyu's hot breath tickled his face. Then the girl clung to him again, stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Stay away from you..." He whispered, looking into her slightly hazy eyes. "It won't be easy."

The presence of other RFA members at the party helped her to relax. Even V appeared, she was glad that she could finally meet him personally. Most of the time, however, she was forced to spend with Mr. Chairman. Guests approached them, greeted them, complimented her and praised the old man how lucky he is to have such a young and beautiful woman. Riyu was smiling artificially and pretending to be ashamed when in reality she wanted to vomit. She didn't even want to know how Jumin must feel now. Most of the time he did as he promised her - he stayed away. But as avoiding them would also seem too suspicious, he spoke to them from time to time.

Riyu didn't miss how Jumin scanned their joined arms.

"So what do you think of the party, father?" He asked stoically.

"I am delighted and proud of Riyu, as she is partly responsible for organizing it."

"Yes, I'm glad you found time to come."

Jumin was definitely a better liar than her - his expression was hard to read, though she knew him well enough to see his nervousness in how he clenches his jaw and improve his shirt cuffs.

"I have some news for you," Mr. Chairman declared. "I've already dealt with most of the cases abroad. I think that in a week or so I will be able to return to Korea and deal with the matter of divorce with your mother, son."

Riyu felt the blood drain from her face. She didn't hold back to look at Jumin. She saw how his eyes change expression, though his face was still stony.

"Ah, so that means Riyu will be able to come back to your house?"

"Of course. You have been hosting her for so long, Jumin. I am very grateful to you."

Jumin nodded, "It's my pleasure. Will you let me spend some time with Riyu as she will be less present in my life soon?"

Riyu's heart accelerated its beat. Jumin said it all in a very monotonous voice, but his words were so ambiguous that she was afraid of how Mr. Chairman would take it.

"Of course, I don't see the problem," the old man replied, surprisingly cheerful. "Unless my dear promise me it won't take long."

Riyu laughed awkwardly, "Of course, Mr. Han, I'll be back to you soon."

He was still holding her arm, so they were close and she didn't even have time to react, protest or step back when he kissed her on top of her head, just like Jumin used to do. It paralyzed her for a moment, she felt weak. When Mr. Chairman took a step back, she was still standing still. From the state of this daze, she was only torn by Jumin's gesture as he took her hand. It was impossible for his father not to notice, but Jumin apparently did not care and pulled her away from him.

He squeezed her hand so hard that she felt pain, "J-Jumin... Wait."

Jumin stopped abruptly. They were somewhere away from the main room, away from the guests, in one of the corridors that led to the bathrooms and VIP rooms.

Riyu looked at his face with a beating heart. He looked like he was about to explode, his eyes dark. The fingers with which he crushed her hand trembled.

"A-are you alright?" Jumin asked her and looked at her, but he didn't seem to see her truly. He was fighting something inside himself.

"I..." Riyu pursed her lips, felt tears at the corners of her eyes. "I just need to calm down. I don't want to ruin my makeup."

"Don't let him touch you again. Not like that..." He said in a low, deep voice.

Riyu shuddered. He still didn't let go off her hand. The pain increased, "It's not like I wanted it, Jumin..."

Jumin took a deep breath, "I know... I'm sorry." He slowly released her hand.

Riyu blinked to chase away the tears, "It's getting too difficult for both of us, Jumin... We have to... If we continue... We both break our hearts."

"So what do you expect from me? That I will just ignore what I feel? That I will just leave you?"

"I don't want this... But you know it's the only solution."

Jumin took her face in his hands. His dark expression now also bore great sadness. Their lips barely touched at first. Now tears ran down her cheeks. Jumin deepened the kiss, pushed her against the wall.

"No, we can't... Not here..." Riyu muttered, but her words were quickly absorbed by another kiss.

Her heart was pounding like crazy. She knew what they were doing was stupid and dangerous, but she couldn't control herself when Jumin was kissing her so desperately.

When they were both breathless, Jumin moved his lips along the line of her jaw. Riyu suppressed a moan with difficulty, her fingers caught on his back. Then Jumin dipped his face into the bend of her neck. He took a deep breath as if he inhaled her.

"It's amazing how much I can't control my emotions when I'm with you..."

"The threads you once told me about..." Riyu began to stroke the back of his head. "Now they are choking you again, right?"

"Do not think about it..."

How could she not think about it if it was all her fault?

She shivered. The thought that in a week she would have to leave him, hurt him, go to his father's house... It all made her cry like a child. How often has she cried lately? It was humiliating.

"Don't cry ..." Jumin stroked her sides, then gave her a handkerchief.

Riyu laughed through her tears, "Always prepared, huh? Wait a minute please." Wiping her face with a handkerchief, she went to the bathroom. There she stopped at the mirror and looked at her reflection. Her makeup was ruined. She sighed. For the next few minutes, she did everything to fix it. When she finally decided that it couldn't be better and turned to leave... She saw a figure in the doorway.

It was a man, his face was covered with a red headscarf, his hair was white, and his exposed arm had a strange tattoo. Something was terrifying about him. And Riyu could have sworn she had seen such a sign somewhere.

"Who you are?" She asked and straightened up, trying to sound cold. "You shouldn't be here."

The man laughed hoarsely and, with his hands in his pockets, entered the room. Riyu forced herself not to step back, to look boldly on his face.

"You are not one of the guests," She judged, continuing in a cold voice. "How did you get here?"

The man stopped right in front of her, slid the scarf from his mouth and smirked, "Your parents sent me."

Riyu immediately felt all her courage evaporate somewhere. The white-haired man laughed, probably saw the terror rising on her face.

"To being exact, I am sent by my savior regarding your parents as they are her favorite followers and partners."

"What do you want?" She still tried to control her tone, but her voice shook anyway.

The man chuckled louder and leaned toward her. Their faces were so close that she could feel his breath on her. She pursed her lips, didn't back away. She desperately tried not to show her fear.

"Do you think nobody knows what you are doing?"

"What are you talking about?"

The man grasped her arm painfully, "This rich old man has left you long enough that you thought you could run into his son's arms? You're quite a slut, aren't you?"

Riyu hissed in pain, jerked in vain, "I know what I have to do. I will marry this old man as my parents want."

"You'd better do it. You'd better not try anything stupid. Otherwise, something bad could happen to your lover and your sweet friends."

Then he released her, put his hands in his pockets, turned and headed for the bathroom exit. Riyu tried to calm her breath, her legs trembled slightly.

She had no choice anymore... If she did not follow her parents' instructions, she would risk the safety of everyone close to her.

She made sure that fear disappeared from her face and gestures before she went to Jumin. They spent quite a lot of time together, mainly talking and drinking wine, before her return to Mr. Han. All this time she did not see the white-haired man again.

Holding a glass of wine in her hand, she was talking with the guests who approached them, again enduring all the sweet comments and touch of an old man who sometimes held his hand on her back.

"You seem very at ease when you are with my son," Mr. Chairman noted when they were alone.

"Oh? Well, we spent some time together. As I once said, we get along pretty well. I think we've become good friends."

"I'm leaving abroad tomorrow morning," The old man continued. "Would you like to spend this night with me at the hotel?"

Oh God... what should I say? Riyu clenched her hand on the glass so that he didn't see her fingers tremble with nervousness, "I'm not prepared at all, I don't have too many things with me..."

"You don't need much, it's just one night. I have booked a room for one person, but I can change it."

"I... I don't want to bother you, Mr. Han. It will be better if I go back to Jumin's apartment ..."

"Of course, as you wish," Mr. Chairman's voice was cold.

"Don't get it wrong, please," She muttered quickly. "We'll have plenty of time for each other soon, aren't you glad?" She forced the sweetest smile she could afford now.

Mr. Chairman's face brightened. Riyu understood more and more why Jumin was so fed up with his father's approach to women. He was really easy to manipulate, since even she succeeded, with her poor acting skills.

With great relief, she returned to Jumin's apartment, which became the home that she never really had before. She tried not to think that she would have to leave this place in a week. She and Jumin were both not sober - none of them crossed the line, it would be tactless for the organizers of the event, but alcohol began to affect their words and behavior a bit.

It was the middle of the night when they returned. Riyu, tired, slumped on the sofa and groaned, "God, it was so stressful."

Jumin untied his tie, tossed it somewhere aside, "I think you did well. The party was successful, went without any problems."

A thought of an intruder crossed her mind, but she quickly chased it away. She hissed when she remembered how her feet hurt. Her shoes were elegant, beautiful, but... so bloody uncomfortable.

"I don't even have the strength to take off those damn shoes," She moaned. Riyu was looking at the ceiling, so she only learned about Jumin approaching her because she heard his footsteps, "Jumin?"

She blinked as she looked at him. He knelt in front of her on one knee and gently took her foot in his hands.

"Let me help you."

Riyu pursed her lips, "You don't have to..."

"Shh..." He slowly undid the tying of her shoe, but before he took it off, he kissed the top of her foot briefly.

She shuddered and clenched her fingers on the sofa's arm. Jumin massaged her sore foot for a moment, which she accepted with pleasure, then repeated the same with the other. But he didn't stop there. His kisses slowly began to wander up, his lips climbed her calf, reached her knee. Riyu heard her own rapid breathing. When Jumin gently pushed back the material of her dress - which was very easy due to the deep cut - and pressed his lips in a kiss on her thigh, she shuddered and sighed softly.

"Just tell me to stop and I'll stop..." Jumin whispered hoarsely against her skin.

Riyu shook her head.

"You must use your words, otherwise I will not understand you," He said teasingly.

"You don't have to stop..." She whispered shyly, feeling her cheeks burn.

"As you wish," Jumin put his lips back to her thigh while he climbed her other leg with his hand. Chills ran all over her body. When at last Jumin's hand stopped at her waist, and his lips brushed the skin on her hip bone, he raised a little.

She opened her so far closed eyelids and saw something dark in his eyes. She instinctively pressed her back into the back of the sofa. Jumin reached to her face with his hand and kissed her tenderly, which was the complete opposite of the emotion glittering in his eyes. Then, keeping his eyes on hers, he ran his fingers along her neck.

She felt hypnotized. Although his eyes scared her a little, she couldn't look away. She wasn't even sure if she was blinking. Her breasts rose and fell on her quick breathing. Jumin's hand wandered over her shoulder and collarbone and then stopped on her chest. Jumin seemed to be waiting for her reaction, her consent. She was unable to utter words, so she arched her back slightly to show him that she wants his touch. He immediately pressed his lips to her lips in this strong and passionate kiss, and she moaned as his hand began to gently massage her breast.

His other hand rested on her shoulder, "You tremble a lot..." He whispered with a slight concern between kisses.

"I just... I had never..."

Jumin smiled under his breath "Neither do I..."

She giggled softly, nervously. For some reason, she thought that someone like Jumin would already have some experience in these matters. She felt calmer that it wouldn't be just her first time.

They kissed again, slower this time, more sensually. Jumin slid down the shoulder strap of her dress, his lips went down her neck, down to her collarbone. She was getting hotter and pleasure overwhelmed her.

"Can you... Can you stand up for a moment for me?" Jumin asked in a low voice.

Riyu blinked, then took his hand and with his help stood on her bare feet. Both straps of her dress were slid off her shoulders. It was enough now that Jumin just pulled the fabric slightly down and the dress slipped off her body, fell at her feet. The girl felt immediately ashamed, standing in front of him only in the underwear. Instinctively, she covered herself with her arms.

Jumin kissed her forehead tenderly, but his uneven breath betrayed his excitement, "You don't have to be ashamed. I saw you in a nightgown itself many times."

"It's not the same..." She muttered, looking away.

"Just... Relax... I'll be gentle..." Jumin whispered to her ear.

She was weak on her feet when he tenderly grabbed her long hair and moved it aside, at her one shoulder. Then he showered her exposed space between her neck and second arm with hot kisses.

She heard his accelerated breathing, felt his hands on her bare waist. She barely suppressed her whimpering.

"You are beautiful, truly beautiful..." He said, and in his tone, she began to hear the same emotion that she had previously seen in his eyes. The darkness that excited her and frightened her at the same time. A pleasantly frightening shiver ran down her back and made her thighs quiver. Jumin turned her around slowly, she heard him growling. Then she felt his lips at the back of her neck, his arms wrapped her around from behind, his hands stroking her sides, her stomach, lower and lower. She was about to lose her breath in a moment...

Suddenly Jumin stopped, "What is this?"

Riyu blinked, broken from a pleasant trance, "W-what?" She asked confused, her mind was immersed in pleasure and alcohol, so she did not immediately remember something important...

"Your back..." Jumin stepped away from her.

Only then did Riyu realize what he saw and cursed in her mind that she had forgotten about it. How could she forget?! She turned hurriedly and wrapped her arms around herself again.

"I-It's nothing..."

"Nothing?" Jumin's eyes were wide open, fear and concern were visible in them. "It looks like scars... From what?"

"I don't even remember anymore... I fell down the stairs once, that's why..."

Jumin's eyes narrowed, "Do you really expect me to believe in such nonsense? These are not scars from falling."

"It's irrelevant, Jumin. Please, it's..."

"Show me," He demanded abruptly and grabbed her arm, wanting to turn her back on him again.

"No!" She jerked away, reacted more violently than she wanted.

"Tell me who did this to you," Jumin insisted.

"No," She said firmly.

"Why?"

"Because it's not your business."

Jumin looked surprised and hurt by her cold words. She looked away, "I'll go to my room" She whispered, quickly took the dress and shoes off the floor, then turned to go to her room. She heard Jumin's footsteps behind her, she knew he was following her, but she didn't expect what had happened. When she opened the door, Jumin slammed it with his hand, making it shut. He was right behind her.

"You won't go anywhere until you tell me."

She pursed her lips, chills running down her body again, but they were no longer so pleasant.

"Why can't you just trust me?" She heard Jumin's dark, deep voice just behind her.

She clenched her eyes tightly, pressed the dress in her arms to herself, "And why can't you trust me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Trust that I can't tell you anything, not wanting to endanger you or the others. I know you would try to help me if I told you everything that was going on in my life. But you can't help me and I can't risk your life. "

Jumin took a long breath, then put his arms around her, gently, as if he didn't want to frighten her. He put his head on top of her head, "I'm so sorry... I really can't control my emotions when I'm with you..."

"You've always controlled them perfectly before me...?" Riyu asked quietly, just standing in his arms like that.

"I've always found them unnecessary... But now... I'm worried about you, Riyu... I don't know what's happening with you and it drives me crazy..."

Riyu closed her eyes, turned slowly in his embrace, then kissed him briefly on the lips, "I can handle it, Jumin... I have always managed everything somehow. And meeting you will always be the best thing that happened to me in my life..."

Jumin just looked at her without a word, with a miserable expression. Riyu slipped out of his arms and this time he let her disappear into the room...

#fanfiction #mysme fanfic #mystic mesenger #the drama continues #angst #smut #ish #jumin x oc #jumin han x oc #jumin x reader #jumin han x reader #jumin #jumin han

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farcryfuckmeup · 5 years

Text

In Memoriam PT VIII

FAR CRY WEEK DAY 4: SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT

Part I: Joseph Seed x Deputy

Part II: John Seed x Deputy

Part III: Jacob Seed x Deputy

Part IV: Faith Seed x Deputy

Part V: Sharky Boshaw x Deputy

Part VI: Nick Rye x Deputy

Part VII: Kim Rye x Deputy

Part VIII: Earl Whitehorse x Deputy

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

Sheriff Whitehorse returns to the department to gather Rook’s belongings and give notice to her family.

He stood outside the doors of the sheriff's office for a moment with his aviators perched on his nose and his sheriff's hat in hand. He held it against his chest as he tried to think back on how things had been just a few months ago. If he looked hard enough, Whitehorse could see Rook and Pratt dashing in through the front doors, elbowing and shouldering each other to try and get to their desks first. Hudson was either already there or right behind them, but out of his three deputies, Hudson was the early bird.

Finally, he took a deep breath and managed to muster up the courage to go inside. The Hope County Sheriff's Department was small to begin with, but a majority of the staple people that were close to Earl were either arrested, dead, or on paid leave until further notice. The people who had stayed behind at the office had mostly been transferred out temporarily. As a result, only a few people milled about once he got inside the doors, and they only offered him nods of condolences or a pat on the shoulder.

The halls felt empty as Whitehorse made his way back to the bullpen, but he froze in place when he reached Staci's desk. Joey and Staci's things were left untouched and would be until they came to collect them because out of the three of them Joey was the most likely to rejoin the force. The happenings of Hope County had only seemed to fuel her fire for protecting innocent people.

Whitehorse fondly rapped Staci's desk with his knuckles as he wondered when he would go and see his former deputy next. Since the first two weeks Staci was back from Hope County, he'd been admitted into a psychiatric hospital until the doctors could help him deal with the damage Jacob had done.

Pratt's desk was filled with old wrappers, receipts, and post-it notes with phone numbers or the occasional reminder. He even had a big rubber band ball next to a small cup that held his pencils and pens, but Whitehorse could've sworn that it had been on Rook's desk.

Across from Staci's desk was Joey's, and next to Staci's was Rook's desk which had an empty desk across from hers. Earl glanced at Joey's desk, which was the cleanest of the three, then walked around to Rook's desk. Underneath the desk was an empty file box for him to place her belongings into.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned down to pick up the box and rested it on her desk as he looked everything over. Rook didn't have much on her desk other than a few photographs, some post-its stuck to her computer monitor, and a couple of pens strewn about the tabletop.

Very carefully, Whitehorse started to pack up her things, making sure to put the hardier and flatter things on the bottom and the more delicate objects on the top. The last thing he could handle right now was breaking anything she owned as well.

Normally it would've taken Earl about ten minutes to pack and sort her things, but instead, he kept stopping to take a deep breath and regain his composure. He couldn't help it. Everywhere he went that Rook had been, he felt as though he could still feel her wandering around. Sometimes he even saw her, but he didn't dare tell anyone.

"You know Staci stole that off my desk about two weeks before we left for Hope County?" Earl swore under his breath at the sudden break in silence and looked up to see Rook sitting on her desk. Her legs swung back and forth idly and she had a smile on her face.

He looked down at the pen in his hand that was capped with a squishy dog with eyes that popped out when it was squeezed. Earl chuckled under his breath.

"It's quite a pen, Rook. Miracle you ever got it back." He set it in the box carefully, his arm brushing against hers as he dragged the box off of her desk. Whitehorse heard Rook's shoes hit the linoleum as she slid off her desk and started to follow him.

"How's he doing by the way? Staci? What about Joey?" Rook was shorter than Whitehorse so she had to walk faster to keep up with him as she talked. She followed him out of the sheriff's department and out to the parking lot, and Earl noticed her eyes wandering around with a bit of curiosity.

"Pratt's still in the hospital being monitored. Jacob did some major damage to him, but apparently he's making slow progress which is good. Joey's leave ends in a week or two and she'll be back here with me, I think. Who knows anymore?" Earl propped the box upon his knee as he opened the trunk of his car. Rook laughed and Whitehorse had to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Jacob did some major damage to a lot of people. Sometimes I wonder if I was one of the lucky ones...not having to deal with being conditioned for the rest of my life." The car groaned as she leaned against it, her arms folded across her chest as her gaze fell to the street. Before Earl could say anything in response, she was gone in that familiar green cloud of Bliss.

Whitehorse lingered for a moment before closing the trunk of his car and climbing inside. The engine grumbled to life before he kicked the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot.

He had never been to Rook's house before or met her family, but he'd seen pictures of them on her desk. The same pictures that sat in his trunk waiting to be returned home. The Rook's house was quaint and looked like every other house in the areas in and around Hope County.

After unloading her belongings from the trunk, Whitehorse stood on the sidewalk for a moment as his thoughts turned over in his head. He was snapped out of it when a gentle touch landed on his shoulder, and he looked over to see Rook standing next to him with a sad smile on her face.

"Come on, I haven't been home in a while." She ticked her head towards her family home and started to walk up the pathway, her fingers sliding against the fabric of Earl's shirt. He followed her without a second thought, just watching his former junior deputy revel in the fact that she was finally home.

Whitehorse set the box down on the porch and took off his hat to hold it in his hands. He cleared his throat and lifted his hand to knock on the door, his knuckles hitting the wood the same time that Rook's did.

It took a few moments, but when the door swung open he nearly stumbled backward. Standing in front of him was Rook, but if she were about five years younger than she had been.

"Can I help you?" The girl looked Earl up and down, eyed the box on the porch, then back up at Earl. Right next to her was Rook leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on her lips.

"My name is Sheriff-" The girl's expression contorted before she turned her head over her shoulder and hollered for her parents. "-Ma, Pa! It's about Rook!"

Whitehorse's eyes widened a bit as Rook disappeared in another cloud of Bliss and her parents rushing in took her place instead. In the doorway, the family was huddled together with tears already in their eyes. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened to your daughter when you don't hear from her for a few weeks and the first thing you hear of her is a Sheriff on your doorstep with a small box of belongings.

"You can do it." He could hear Rook's voice even though he couldn't see her, and Whitehorse took a shaky breath.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rook, if I may come in I'd like to talk to you about your daughter."

The man and woman nodded as Rook's mother began to quiver, silently making room for Earl to walk between them as he picked up Rook's box again. He carried it inside as though it was her broken body that he'd had to carry to the truck from Joseph's Compound.

The family of three was leading him through the house with distressed whispers, but he could hear footsteps behind him and felt a wave of calm wash over him.

Rook's family led him to a sitting room and gestured for him to sit in the sofa across from two loveseats. Rook's mother sat in one while her father stood behind his wife with his hands on her shoulders, and her sister sat in the chair next to Mrs. Rook. A cushion to the left of him sunk as Rook sat down, her belongings resting to his right.

Her hand was warm as it covered his own that was resting on his knee, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze with a nod towards her family.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rook, on the last assignment that your daughter had, things got out of control very fast. We were cut off from the outside world as The Project of Eden's Gate did their best to eliminate any and all police presence in the area in order to preserve their illegal activities. Your daughter died fighting the cult, and she died a hero. Without her none of my deputies or I would have made it out of Hope County, and she saved countless lives." Whitehorse glanced to his side and saw a dark stain blooming on the front of Rook's shirt, but she didn't seem as though she were in pain. Not like the way it actually happened.

Her mother immediately broke down into tears with her father, but through her own cries Rook's sister leaned over and held out her hand for Whitehorse. Her bottom lip shook and for a moment he imagined it stained red like Rook's.

"Thank you for letting us know. We had figured something terrible had happened but...well it's always better to know, isn't it?" The smile she had was full of sorrow, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"Thank you for bringing me home, Earl." Rook whispered ever so softly as she disappeared into another cloud of dust, and though he didn't know it at the time, it was the last time Earl would ever see Rook in the Bliss for as long as he lived.

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

Text

Chapter Eleven

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

A/N: This chapter is a little different, it’s in Yoongi’s point of view. I was going to make it Chapter 10.5 since it kind of occurs alongside Chapter 10 chronologically, but I didn’t want anyone thinking it wasn’t necessary to the plot, because it definitely is. Let me know what you think!

"Can't you just let me go with you, hyung? I'll be good!"

This kid. Yoongi shakes his head firmly, hurriedly grinding some herbs together for a last-minute clarity charm. "You mess up enough here as it is. I can't leave something like this up to you. Besides, Y/n specifically asked for me to go, didn't she?"

The shaman tries to ignore the way Taehyung fixes his puppy dog eyes on his elder. "But what will I do when you're gone? I'll be all bored and alone."

Tipping the ground herbs into a small vial, Yoongi's voice is flat as he makes sure the vaguely green dust makes its way into the vessel. "Then go back to the palace and keep Y/n company. Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. Alright, I need to leave. Be sure to leave the portal door open, but lock the front door with the hex charm; do you remember it?"

Taehyung seems affronted at the suggestion. "Of course I can do a hex charm, Yoongi. I'm not incompetent, you know..."

Yoongi straightens up and stares at the boy who's pouting in the kitchen. Feeling a sliver of guilt, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Listen," Yoongi says, voice gruff but apologetic, "I'm just making sure. I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Forget about it," Taehyung mutters under his breath, studiously ignoring his elder as he grabs an apple for the road and shrugs on a coat. "I'm going, like you wanted."

Yoongi winces when the heavy wooden door slams behind his assistant, and he stands in silence, listening to the the light scrape of Taehyung’s fingernail against the door, paired with the muttering of an ancient Chinese spell. Most of the magic Yoongi used nowadays were more modern Korean methods, but for the more basic enchantments, it was common to use the original spells.

Finally, all was quiet again. Yoongi cleared his throat to try and break the melancholic gloom he had slipped into, and double-checked the minimal belongings on his person before he left. He was not going to be in the modern world long, would not even have to leave the confines of the house itself, but Yoongi never went anywhere without a small leather pouch of basic ingredients tucked into his belt, the glass vial of a clarity charm dangling on a cord around his neck, and a small blade in his boot. All things proceeding as planned, he wouldn’t need them.

The first thing Min Yoongi noticed about the future was how clean and bright everything was. Gone were his heavy curtains, dark walls and sooty hearth. He emerged out into a hallway (something only palaces were large enough to have in his time, but he was familiar with them nonetheless) with a strange spongy fabric floor and impossibly straight, flat walls that appeared painted uniformly. He couldn’t imagine the finesse it would take a painter to manage to evenly coat this expansive surface without leaving streaks. Perhaps magic was more commonplace in this day.

Yoongi had been here once before, to lure Y/n back to his time, but he had transformed into a cat, then, and it was the middle of the night, rather than the break of day. Unsure which direction to go, he followed the hallway left, until he made it to the very end. “She said the communication device was in her sleeping quarters. Here, she wrote down some instructions for its use.” Yoongi felt for the note again in his pocket, comforted by the crisp edge of the thick paper. He had read that note to the point of rote-memory, but was glad it was there anyway. All Yoongi had to do was locate a bedroom, and then the ‘phone’ would be on a wooden stand beside it. He was actually feeling some excitement unfurl within him to find this device; from Y/n’s description, it sounded like a very complexly enchanted item.

As Yoongi made his way from room to room methodically, ignoring everything that wasn’t a bed (even though he was desperately curious to try out the bath – something he recognised from his time, but seemed far more refined) he thought over his previous encounter with Taehyung.

Was there really such a need for Taehyung to take everything to heart all the time? That boy was too sensitive for his own good. It would get him hurt one day.

When Taehyung and Yoongi met, almost three years ago, the shaman wasn’t looking for anyone. In fact, he had sworn off ever taking an assistant again after… what had happened with the last one, but Taehyung was insistent. His parents didn’t want him working on their farm anymore, he had said, and the King’s Guard wouldn’t take him in. He would have nowhere else to go. Perhaps Yoongi should’ve seen that as a sign that the boy wasn’t a particularly capable worker, but instead he had opened his arms and welcomed him in. He never had been able to say no to a pretty face. Yoongi thought maybe that was his biggest flaw yet.

Behind the fourth or fifth door, past the small door in the wall from whence he came, Yoongi found a bed, wider and more lushly decorated than the modest shelf-and-blanket combination he had. Letting out a gasp of relief at the chance to distract himself from the memories of his assistants, he rushed forward into the room, scanning it for a wooden stand.

Directly to the right of the bed is a short, squarish cabinet. On top is a small metal box with glowing red numbers, a very glossy and crisp book, and a small black device. Yoongi consults with the slip of paper, and tentatively touches the tip of his finger to a protruding button. Gasping with wonder as the surface lights up, Yoongi realizes there are words on the screen, all gathered in small boxes. He takes the time to read some of them, having to re-press that button as the screen keeps going dark after a few moments.

Jimin, 8:21pm: r you still busy at the house? can u please just text me back baby, if ur busy thats okay, im just a little worried out u, thats all… it’s getting late…

Jimin, 10:49am: okay, im heading off to work, flick me a text when u get this xxx

Jimin, yesterday 5:11pm: we dont have to if you don’t want to

Jimin, yesterday 4:28pm: date night tonight? xxx i feel like i havent seen you in ages baby xxx

There are more, but they disappear out the bottom. Yoongi frowns. He thinks he remembers this Jimin; if memory serves, it was the sleeping male curling up to Y/n when he briefly visited her dreamscape. Yoongi had been so caught up in making sure she fulfilled her end of the deal that he had almost forgotten she had a life outside of their time. Those messages were a sobering reminder of how much Yoongi was asking from her. How much she was giving up. He didn’t like that feeling.

Clearing his throat noisily in the early evening silence, he picks up the device delicately and places it on the bed, flattening out the note beside it. Y/n’s instructions make sense as he follows along, although it takes him a while to work out what she means by ‘text bubble icon’.

Once he reaches that screen, and clicks on the name ‘Jimin’, those same messages appear, but in a different format. “I’ve already seen these,” he tells the device. The device does not respond. “I seek to create one of my own.” He sighs. The magic on this glass apparently cannot react to voice, only touch. He reaches out and clicks on the small white box that says ‘iMessage’ in grey. “Yes, I do want to message,” he mumbles distractedly. A large array of small letters appears below. Y/n wrote down to tap each square to write the letter. It seems an awfully impersonal way of writing, and it takes Yoongi quite a long time to tap out what Y/n has asked him to write, as well as pressing a small blue arrow to the right, which pushes the message upwards, resting directly below those from the Jimin.

omg im so sorry i missed these jiminie ㅠ ㅠ i hope ur not too worried.

im ok, just not been feeling great so ive been sleeping a lot! im not sure yet if its contagious so pls dont come out, i know uve got that show coming up and i dont want u to get sick ok!

love you lots baby!

Yoongi sighs once he finishes, resting back on the bed, but soon three bouncing dots appear in a box. He watches them dance, fascinated, wondering what this could mean, until they change into words. Y/n did tell him that Jimin would be likely to reply and had simply written on the bottom of the note, ‘no apostrophes, or capital letters, call him baby or jiminie, and make sure he doesn’t come out to the house!’

Jimin: omg thank god ur safe i was worried!!! i can bring u round some fresh soup and we can have a night in xxx ive already had my flu jab so i wont get sick i promise lol xx

Yoongi swears, trying to speed up his reply, double-checking Y/n’s rules as he goes.

thank you, baby, thats very kind of you. but please dont come out, im just going to go to sleep and hope that this sickness passes in time. i will notify you once

But before he can finish crudely dictating a message, a series of three hard raps echoes through the house. Yoongi stands up ramrod stiff. Surely the Jimin boy hadn’t arrived so soon? Although, Yoongi supposes transport must be more efficient in this time. He bites his lip nervously. Surely, it would be best to go ask him to leave. It was Y/n’s intention that Jimin did not come to the house, since she herself was absent, and Yoongi could not have the boy roaming around and discovering the portal’s entrance.

“Y/n?” a deep voice calls out, muffled through the walls. Yoongi swears under his breath and pockets the small device and the note, getting off the bed to go find the front door. “Are you there?” Hurrying faster, the shaman eventually locates a door with a clouded glass panel revealing a tall shadow. He fumbles with the doorknob, having to twist a key (thank God that technology hasn’t changed) to unlock it, and throws it open with a nervous huff. The man blinks once, furrowing his eyebrows. “Uh…hi?”

“Yes, hello,” Yoongi blurts out hastily, eyes roaming over the tall man. Although he saw Jimin in very dim lighting, it’s easy to tell that this is not the same man. “Who are you?”

The man is wearing rough-looking blue pants with a belt, and a tunic that’s cut at his hips instead of his legs. He holds a hand out to Yoongi. Yoongi stares at it until the man coughs and lowers it. “My name’s Namjoon. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m just here to speak to Y/n.”

“What-” Yoongi’s words catch in his throat when he lifts his gaze from the man’s odd attire to his face. It can’t be. A bolt of deeply-repressed hurt cuts through him. He recognizes those dimples, that smile, even the name is the same as his. It was a face he never thought he’d see again. But, no. It isn’t him. The more Yoongi looks at him closely, the man going a little red in the cheeks under the sudden scrutiny, Yoongi can see the finer details aren’t right. His Namjoon had a narrow nose, more delicate face. His Namjoon wasn’t as tall and was skinnier too. This man in front of him bore shocking resemblance, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his Namjoon. Sensing he had been silent too long, Yoongi blinks away the tears that threaten to well. “What for?”

“Oh, uh, it’s kind of private business, dude. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/n’s sick,” Yoongi says instead, “so I’m afraid you can’t come in. I’m more than happy to pass on a message.”

The man who looks so much like his former assistant furrows his brows. “I’m sorry, who are you? I’d like to speak with her. I’ve been doing some more research for her, you see, really cool stuff on-”

“I’m her doctor,” Yoongi says instead, “I’m concerned she may be contagious, so I’ve advised her not to have guests. If you have the research with you, perhaps I can bring it inside. I’m sure she’d appreciate you coming.”

The guy laughs awkwardly, then digs into a bag at his side for a stack of pieces of paper bound in some floppy, slippery pink material. “I didn’t have time to pick up a ringbinder, so the photocopies are loose, but I managed to dig up quite a bit of the history on the Jeon reign, as well as all the following generations. It’s interesting! Hopefully she’ll get some use out of it.” The man hands the research over, craning his neck to try and glance down the hallway. “Can you tell her hi for me? And that I’m sorry for stopping by without texting ahead.”

Yoongi nods, half in a daze. He doesn’t know this strange feeling in his chest; does he want this Namjoon-not-Namjoon man to leave and never think about him again, or does he wish he would stay so that Yoongi can see just how much similarity there was? The thought comes too late, as the man turns and skips down the gravel path, getting into his car and pulling away without a second look back.

The shaman shuts the door, returning the key to its previous position, and sinks down on the floor. First Taehyung acting up, reminding him of his last assistant, and now this. The fates were being cruel today.

Forgetting about the small device still in his herbs pouch, Yoongi quickly returns to the hallway and crawls through the doorway and back into his own time, trying to ignore the hot tears that gather under his chin.

TAGLIST Message me or send an ask to be added to the taglist for Sovereign, and never miss a new chapter!

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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 5 years

Text

The Murderess of the Grunewald (24): Secret Whitsun Holiday on Rügen (13): Sharing Joy and Suffering (6f) - Jamie’s Story (IV)

“Tür” by Pexels

Previously

Monday night, Whitsun weekend 2020, three days after Claire's release from prison

"And? Was the lady a 'rock solid Scot'?"

"Well, her ancestors, like our ancestors, fled through Sweden to Danzig after the Battle of Culloden and later moved westward. After World War I, they settled in Berlin. And later, just before the wall was built, they also fled to the western part of the city. There she was born and went to school."

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, Claire! Of course, Jenny had already learned all that, and of course, that was the topic at lunch the day I met her."

Jamie was silent for a moment.

"She studied ecotrophology and then met her husband Ronald at the annual meeting of a traditional Scottish History Association. Later, they opened a restaurant, which made good profits. He took care of the business and the bar, she took care of the kitchen and the guests. But the success made him careless. He got engaged, well, let's say it this way, with people in the wrong circles. Then he also started to drink and became violent to her and their son. Nevertheless, she stayed with him, probably because of the child. Ronald died in a fire when his restaurant burned down. It is not clear what caused the fire. But the police suspected that he had troubles with several people. Perhaps Russians, protection racketeering. It seems he had upset someone, very much - and someone literally lit the house over his head. On the evening of the fire, he was drunk and had gone to sleep in the back room of the restaurant. He died of smoke poisoning before the house collapsed on top of him. Luckily, she and the child were in the family home a few blocks away. Thank God, nothing happened to them.

“Bier” by viganhajdari

"Uh!"

Claire looked at Jamie in concern.

Both reached for their teacups at the same time. Was it genuine thirst or a gesture of embarrassment? Neither of them would have been able to give an exact answer. When Claire set her cup down again, she asked:

"And? Was the woman, now a widow, looking for a father for her child?"

"I can’t tell you," Jamie replied, still holding his cup in both hands.

"We didn’t talk about that at all. As far as I know, there was insurance for the fire damage and she was probably also paid the life insurance of her husband. She and her son seemed to be well provided for."

Still, he rotated his teacup back and forth in both hands. Claire knew he had a hard time talking about the matter, so she tried not to pressure Jamie. It took a few moments, then he put his cup on the coffee table. His breathing was heavy, it seemed as if he wanted to suck all the oxygen that surrounded him into his lungs. Then he clapped his hands over his face, took another deep breath and gave himself a jerk.

"It's so embarrassing, Claire! So embarrassing!"

Claire put her right arm around his shoulders and hugged him tightly as if she felt the need to hold Jamie's body together.

"Actually, it was a nice day ... I arrived at the estate for half an hour before lunch ... The kids loved it, they had been looking forward to this day ... and, of course, to the presents, I brought with me ... When it was time for lunch, Jenny introduced me to this rock solid Scottish woman. Of course, I knew right away that this was once again one of Jenny's coupling attempts."

"Why ... why didn’t you leave immediately?"

"Oh, Claire," he replied, looking at her with eyes that begged for understanding.

"I was looking forward to this day. I was happy to see my nieces and nephews. I was happy to escape the hot and humid Berlin, which was suffering from the summer heat. For several weeks, I had represented a client in a case before the District Court, which was subject-specific but also emotionally very difficult. All I wanted was to be with my family, enjoy nature, drink some beer with Ian, have a good conversation, I just wanted to relax. Besides, I thought that Jenny had learned her lesson after her last misunderstanding ... after all, the whole thing had ended in court."

Again he clapped his hands over his face and breathed audibly in and out. "Please do not believe that it was easy for me to separate myself from my family. I ... I love them ... everyone ... including my sister ... You can not ... dis-sibling yourself ... even ... if you sometimes would love to do that." One more time he went silent for a moment. Claire could not see if he was just searching for the right words or if he needed time to gather his strength for the next step. "No longer seeing my nieces and nephews ... to no longer seeing Jenny and Ian ... not going to Potsdam anymore ... where we spent so many happy years with my parents ... in the house, whose rooms are full of all the wonderful memories ... No, Claire ... even today it feels as if I had ripped out a part of my heart ... Potsdam, Claire, that was my home too!" Claire's grip tightened on Jamie's shoulders. With her left hand, she pulled his face down to her and kissed him. Deep inside, his words had touched an area she had almost forgotten. Home.

“Saint Peter & Saint Paul, Wantage” * Picture by Andrew Mathewson via WikiMediaCommons

She too had had a home - once. The big house that lay on the unnamed branch of Loks Lane, just beyond the Ford River, amid old, tall trees. Whenever she had walked this way to their home, alone or together with her parents, she had felt like she was in a fairyland. Built from the large, gray stones that were characteristic of this region of the country, in her childish imagination it looked more like a medieval castle than the residential house her parents had inherited from Papa’s parents. Looking back, the phrase ‘My home is my castle’ meant more than words to her. From their home, it took only a few minutes to get to Betjeman Millennium Park. And from there one reached the Church of St. Peter & St. Paul in just some more minutes. The massive 13th-century building, with its bright interior and stained-glass windows, had impressed Claire since she'd first consciously noticed it. Her earliest memories went back to a Christmas celebration in this church. She could still see it right up to the present: the big lights left and right next to the altar, the adults seated in their pews. And she could see herself sitting on the floor in front of the pews, busy playing with some toys. The choir sang the wonderful hymn of Gustav Holst In the bleak midwinter, which she had never forgotten and which she should forever associate with that feeling of home.

Home, that was back then - back when her parents were still alive. But this home was lost. Like the memory of her parents, the memory of home was fading over the years. Today, Oxfordshire, Junction Loks Lane was just an address like any other.

The globetrotting life that she had led for so many years with her uncle Lambert had been exciting and interesting. But as much as her uncle loved her, Lambert Quentin Beauchamp could not really give her a home.

Then, years later, when she met Frank Randall, a certain hope sprang up in her heart: Together, they would start a family and create a home for themselves and their children. At last, she would get back what she had lost many years ago. And she had sworn herself, that she would do anything to make this new home for Frank and the children a place full of love, joy, and liveliness. They would be happy and enjoy life together. The joy she would see on her family's faces when they would be together in their home - this joy would give her the strength to do all the work that was required to run a large household. The love of her husband and the love of her children would compensate her for every sacrifice. She was convinced of that. But her hope had not been fulfilled. Worse, her hopes had turned exactly the opposite. Her dream had become a nightmare. Instead of living in a home filled with children's laughter, shared joy, and mutual love, she found herself in a cage. It was a golden cage, indeed. But it was tight and it cut her off from everything that makes a life worth living. And towards the end of her life with Frank, she had given up any hope that she would ever be happy again, that she would ever find a home. During the days she took pills to stay happy and awake and in the evenings she tried to fall asleep with the help of alcohol. Her life felt like a spiral that went only one way - down.

And when she was arrested the second time, her life seemed to have reached its endpoint. The only home she could expect until the end of her life was a 9-square-meter cell in a Berlin jail.

But then Jamie had entered the meeting room of the police department - and her life. And again there was a hope growing in her heart. But to this day, Claire had not allowed that hope to really take root in her heart. The fear of hoping for a home and then losing it before it had even become reality kept her firmly under control.

“Wohnzimmer” by JamesDeMers

Jamie stood up suddenly and his movement tore Claire from her thoughts. He took a few steps to the fireplace, propping his arms against the mantelpiece. Then, all of a sudden, he pushed himself away and turned around jerkily. "He takes a warm-up."

The thought hit her hard, and inwardly she braced herself for the confession that would follow. His behavior had not escaped Bismarck. The dog had raised his head and was watching Jamie's movements attentively, while Adso was sleeping well-fed (and at peace with himself and the world) on one of the chairs at the dining table.

"The day went well and the party was nice. There were also some old friends from Jenny’s and my school days. After lunch, I joined some of them and avoided being alone with that woman. After coffee, Ian and I went for a ride with the older kids and after dinner, the whole company split up into groups. I joined Ian and the other men. They had made themselves comfortable in the garden with good cigars and old whiskey, while the women brought the children to bed and then sat together on the terrace with a glass of wine. Shortly after 10 pm I said goodbye and went to my room to sleep. I didn’t drink that much, but I didn’t want to drive that Sunday night. The next morning I had to be in Berlin. There were appointments scheduled with clients. So I said goodbye and everything seemed to be o.k."

Jamie had walked around the room without looking at her. Now he was back in front of the couch. Claire looked at him. Then she held out her right hand. He took it and she gently pulled him down.

"And what happened then?"

The words came softly out of her mouth, almost hesitantly. Claire herself was astonished when she heard them.

"I was in my room for maybe ten or fifteen minutes when there was a knock on the door. I thought it was Jenny - or Ian. So I called 'Come in!' And suddenly the rock-solid Scottish woman in her nightgown stood in front of my bed and started to undress! I told her to stop it. But she refused and said something about loneliness and that she was sorry for me. We could comfort each other in our loneliness."

Jamie shuddered, then fell silent for a moment.

"Can you imagine that?"

He took a deep breath, but only to relieve more of his anger.

“How should I call that? Mercy sex?!”

Claire was startled by the sudden volume he spoke with. It seemed as if he wanted to jump up every moment. The vein, that run from his hairline to the root of his nose and which only became visible when he was trying hard, thinking hard, or when he was angry (and the latter was probably the case right now), was noticeably swollen. But Claire held his hands tight.

"What did you do?" she asked in a whisper.

"I opened the door and asked her to leave. But she didn’t want to, she tried to argue. I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her over the threshold. Then I closed the door and locked it. I started to dress and packed my travel bag. She stood in front of my door for a few minutes. Then she probably realized that I wouldn’t take her offer and she went to her room. Sometime later, I sneaked out of the room and down the stairs. In the hall, I met Jenny. She had gotten a glass of water from the kitchen ... "

“Eingang” by Tama66

Jamie paused. Claire held her breath.

"Jenny asked what I was doing with my travel bag in the hall and I told her that I would leave and never come back. She looked at me as if she did not know what had happened. She ... she played the ignorance in person! As if this woman had dared to come to my room if Jenny hadn’t encouraged her! I ... I was so angry, Claire! So angry!"

"I understand you, Jamie," she whispered.

Once again she put her arm around his shoulders.

"I dropped the bag to the ground, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. It broke out of me like lava from Mount Etna. I shouted at her and told her that she had made a brothel out of our parents' house and that I would never forgive her for that. I took my bag and slammed the door behind me ... Then ... I drove to ... Kartzow Palace."

“Schloss Kartzow” by Axel Hindemith [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)] via WikiMediaCommons

Jamie took a deep breath and Claire began stroking his back reassuringly with her right hand.

"Katzow Palace was once a Prussian manor house. Today it is a hotel. The drive home would have taken only about 45 minutes, but I was so upset ... so upset ... I didn’t want to risk an accident. I knew that at Kartzow they have a 24-hour reception ... so ... I got a room and then stayed there."

He lowered his head and said nothing.

"And since then there's been silence between you and Jenny," Clair noted in a tone so calm she was once more surprised. Looking at Jamie now, she noticed that his eyes were filling with tears.

"Yes, since then I have not seen Jenny or the kids. Only with Ian do I meet every now and then when he's in Berlin for business. We stay in contact via email and he provides me with pictures of my nephews and nieces ... Oh, Claire! They've grown so much these four years, I don’t even know if they would recognize me at all ... "

Claire wished she could say something that would be a real comfort to Jamie right now. But everything she could think of seemed trivial, superficial, meaningless. She knew what it felt like to lose one's family. She knew what it felt to be torn away from home. And she knew that nothing could be a substitute for this singular place called home. Except maybe - a new home. Could she give him this new home? She didn’t know, and if she was honest, she had to admit that there was this little space in her heart that was hosting a big doubt.

They sat in silence for a while. Jamie had his head against her shoulder and Claire had begun to gently run her hands through his hair, massaging his head. When she looked at her watch, she saw that it was nearly one o'clock at night.

"Jamie?" she asked softly.

"Hmm?"

"I am very grateful that you have told me these things."

He looked at her and nodded.

"Let's go to bed now."

Once again he only nodded. Then they got up, extinguished the light and went up, followed by Bismarck and Adso.

That night, Claire was laying awake a long time. Jamie had fallen asleep relatively quickly and, as so often, lay on his back with hands folded over his chest. As she looked at Jamie's face, lit by the moonlight, she wondered if this man who had suffered so much did not deserve a better wife than the one she could ever be.

Thank you for reading. Next time, read: “The Murderess from the Grunewald (25): Secret Whitsun Holiday on Rügen (14): Sharing Joy and Sorrow (6g) - Jamie’s Story (V)”

#Outlander #Outlander Fan Fiction #TheMuderessoftheGrunewald #Claire Beauchamp #Claire Randall #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Adso the cat #Bismarck the dachshund #Grunewald #Berlin #Island of Rügen #Germany #Crime AU #Modern AU #Jenny Murray #Ian Murray

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ghostbustermelanieking · 5 years

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phantom weights chapter five

one, two, three, four

season 11, post my struggle iv. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: In the wake of their second encounter, Mulder, Scully, and Jackson reconnect (both by accident and on purpose.)

note: warning up front for some angst, references to jackson and scully’s past, and the clusterfuck of a motherhood arc they gave scully. i’m also sorry to post this on mother’s day.

---

It hurt like hell to wake up and find their son gone that morning in July. Scully would be lying if she said it didn't. He'd had the courtesy to leave a note, at least, but it was brief and left little comfort. They'd both been shocked by the abruptness of it; when he'd seen the note, Mulder had recoiled from it like he'd been hit.

Scully tried not to let it bother her. Tried to tell herself she should expect things like this. Of course he was distant, she told herself; he had every right to be, considering what she had done. He needed space, and she was determined to give it to him. (They waited a week and a half to call him, nervous and shooting each other questioning looks. He didn't answer. They left a brief message, trying to sound cheerful and nonchalant. Mulder reached for her hand when they hung up, squeezing it reassuringly. She couldn't look him in the eye.)

She tried to distract herself. She checked more books out of the library. She researched a scientific article she'd wanted to write ever since her research into the so-called Spartan Virus that hopefully would never make an appearance. She read over the scraps of novel Mulder had written, scribbled notes in the margins. She took Daggoo for walks around the property, Mulder joining her as often as he could. They fell asleep on top of the comforter, Mulder holding her close. (He liked to whisper about the baby in her ear, his hand tangled in her hair. He thought the baby would look like her, just like you, Scully. He was going to love her so much.)

The days grew longer and hotter. They only called Jackson once every two weeks. They told each other that they could limit themselves to that.

Finally, somewhere in the middle of August, Mulder had the idea to take a vacation. Drive to the coast for a few days. "I think we could both use some time to relax," he said gently, coaxing.

"Isn't that what we've been doing?" Scully snapped. She was irritable and disliked that she was irritable, hating the mood swings of the third trimester. "Relaxing? Or trying to?"

"A change of scenery might help with that," said Mulder. "We won't be rattling around this house with reminders of Jackson, and the baby…"

"What if the baby comes while we're gone? What if I go into early labor? What then?" She was eight months along, and terrified of the baby coming prematurely. She didn't know what her chances were if she came this early.

"We could get a place near a hospital. And besides that, your due date is still several weeks out."

She was quiet. She could feel the baby turning over, moving restlessly, and she let her eyes slide shut. She'd been so worried the whole time, ever since she took those pregnancy tests—she was still worried. She worried nearly every day. She knew at the beginning of this all that it'd be hard to lose another baby, but she didn't realize how hard until she got to know her child. Felt her moving inside of her, and realized that it was all real.

(Not that she thought she was going to lose the baby. But it was a possibility that loomed over her like a black cloud, a possibility that frightened her more than anything. Losing Mulder or Jackson or her baby.)

But she realized as Mulder slipped his arms around her that she did want to go. It was impractical, but not necessarily dangerous, and she wanted to go. She hadn't taken a vacation with Mulder in so long. She thought of him by the ocean, on the island where they'd gone after he'd been exonerated. She thought of a few days away from home, not surrounded by reminders, as Mulder had said, that their son was a sporadic and reluctant presence in their life, and they were about to be new parents again at the age of retirement. She kept her eyes shut as Mulder kissed the back of her head. "Honey… if you don't want to…" he whispered into her hair. "It was just a thought, but I completely understand if it's too much…"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. He pushed her hair, growing gradually longer, away from her face with gentle fingers. She sniffled a little, giving him a stern look. "I want to be cautious," she said. "I want to plan things out, and be ready if there's an emergency."

"Of course, of course." He put a reassuring hand to her cheek. "Are you sure?" he said softly. "We don't have to go…"

"I want to go," she whispered. She leaned into him, her back aching, her eyes shutting again. "We need to be careful, but I want to go. I think you're right. I need this."

"What was that, Scully?" he teased in a soft voice. "I was what?"

She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Mulder," she said, pulling back to look him in the eye. "You did promise me a vacation back in March, remember?" And he had, right around the time she'd moved back in.

"I did," he said, remembering. He cupped the side of her head, fingers in her hair, smoothing her cheek. "You'll be okay," he whispered. "The both of you. I promise you that."

---

Within the week, they were driving into Delaware. Mulder had found a little house on the coast that was miraculously for rent, which was within a couple hours of home and not far from a hospital. The best possible scenario. It was a nice house, a nice view, a sprawling screened-in porch that looked out over the ocean. Scully loved it on first sight. "Be nice to the owner," she told him sternly that first night, tucked into his side on the porch swing, listening to the crash of the waves. "If he likes us, he might let us come back in the future."

"Hmm," Mulder said, half asleep. "I'll bring you here every year if you want."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she whispered. She was imagining their baby (their daughter) on that beach, running in and out of the water, and halfway thinking it was a bad idea, but fully not wanting to stop. She watched the churning waves meld with the blackening sky.

The house had a huge bathtub, which may have been Scully's favorite part of the house. She and Mulder climbed in together, him behind her, lathering her hair with gentle fingers. He pressed his face into her wet neck and held her tight. She nearly fell asleep in his arms, the baby turning and flipping as if going for a swim. They left the window open so they could hear the ocean, feel the night breeze. It was perhaps the most relaxed she had felt in months. "This was a nice idea," she whispered, hoping desperately that nothing would go long, hoping that they could just stay here for a week and relax and that nothing would go wrong.

---

In the morning, Scully woke long before Mulder—the baby's restless movements kept her up more often than she liked. As the sun rose over the ocean, she slipped downstairs and took Daggoo out into the yard. He puttered around the square of grass, sniffing before peeing on a tree. Scully placed a hand over her stomach and gazed out towards the ocean. There was a nice breeze, cool for the middle of August, nudging at her hair, her face. She couldn't wait for Mulder to get up. She thought that she never wanted to leave here.

The waves crashed, the sound dim because of her distance from them. Behind her, Daggoo burst into frantic, excited barks. She heard a car engine, and turned around just time to see a car rolling up the gravelly driveway. Jackson's car. She knew before she saw him; she could feel him.

Daggoo whimpered, pawing at her leg. When the car door opened, he went running to meet him.

Scully smiled before she even realized she was doing it. Even though she and Mulder had come up to spend some time alone, she was incredibly happy to see him. Her son. "Hi, Jackson," she said.

Jackson cleared his throat, leaning down to greet Daggoo, scratch the top of his head. "Hi, Dana." Daggoo licked his hand, and he grinned a little. He scooped up the wriggling dog and cradled him like a baby. He met Scully's eyes skittishly, like a stray cat. "I, uh," he said, "was wondering if I could stay a couple days."

Scully didn't need to ask how he had found them. She already knew. She still had a hand on her stomach; she took it away in order to motion towards the door. "Come on in," she said.

---

Jackson hadn't intended to go back. He'd intended for the weekend at their house to be the last time, at least for a while. If not forever. He hadn't meant to come back, for their sakes as much as his own. He wanted the night they watched movies together to be the end of it. And he thought it probably would've been, if he hadn't run out of money.

The warehouse job had fired him. About a week ago, they'd fired him. He didn't really know why. Maybe it was his shitty attitude, maybe it was the weed he had in his car. Maybe they'd figured out that his name and age were fake. Who knew at this point. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know. But he'd lost one of his two jobs, and he was running out of money at a rapid pace. Spending recklessly. He was going to have to cut off some of the streaming services, and maybe the WiFi, if he didn't get smart. He was worried about food, worried about making rent and car insurance and all of it. (The warehouse paid substantially more than Burger King.) He didn't know what the hell he was going to do. Even after he'd had the insane idea to go on fucking vacation with them.

He'd sworn he wasn't going to do this anymore. But he was running out of money, and he knew they'd give it. And a few days at the beach was a few days he didn't have to pay for food, even with the heightened gas costs. (And besides that, he kind of wanted to stay somewhere besides his crummy apartment. Kind of wanted to spend a few goddamn days at the beach. He missed the coast. He wanted a break.)

He'd just stay a little while. Charm them out of some money. Give them one last good memory, and maybe not sneak out in the middle of the damn night this time. That was the idea. That was what drove him to Delaware, windows rolled down, following the road map he could see in Ginger's mind.

At least the dog was happy to see him, if nothing else. At least he had that.

(Not that he necessarily thought Dana wasn't happy to see him. But. He knew that she and Mulder had both been hurt when he'd run off in the middle of the night. He'd felt it, and he didn't like thinking about it. It made him feel small and tangled-up inside. It made him not want to come back.)

Inside the beach house, Scully immediately went to the kitchen, offering food. "Mulder's still asleep, but I can make you some breakfast…" she started.

"You don't need to cook," said Jackson. (He was feeling small and embarrassed and he didn't feel like he could ask for that. He could ask for a few hundred dollars, but he wouldn't ask her to make breakfast.) "I can feed myself."

"I don't mind," she said, scooping coffee grounds into the coffeemaker.

"Seriously, let me do it," he insisted, pushing past her towards the refrigerator. "I've already intruded on your vacation. Might as well make my own breakfast." He pulled a packet of bacon out of the fridge and slapped them on a paper towel, and then on a paper plate. He usually made bacon in the microwave because it was quick, and because he hated bending over the crackling pan and risking a grease burn.

"Help yourself to anything," Dana said gently, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "Coffee should be ready soon."

"Thank you." He stuck the bacon in the microwave with another slab of paper towel over top before going for the loaf of bread to make toast. He was still avoiding Scully's eyes as he popped slices of bread into the toaster.

Past the kitchen, he heard stairs creaking with footsteps. Daggoo yipped excitedly, prancing out of the kitchen to go and who was presumably Mulder. "Hello, mutt," Jackson heard Mulder say with a dry sort of affection. Scully gave a small chuckle. Jackson didn't turn around, his neck flushed and hot.

More footsteps, and then an abrupt stop in the doorway. A few awkward seconds passed before Mulder said, "Hey, Jackson. Wh-when did you get here?"

He cleared his throat, turning around and offering a sheepish smile. "Just a few minutes ago," he said. "Sorry to intrude." The microwave beeped loudly.

"It's not an intrusion," said Mulder, although he was shooting Scully a questioning look and trying to look like he wasn't. He offered Jackson a broad grin. "You're welcome any time."

"Of course you are," Dana added warmly, and Jackson could practically feel the combination of hope and nerves radiating off of both of them. Hoping that he'd come because he wanted to, and that he'd stay, nervous that he'd run off again. This was why he hadn't wanted to come. He gave a thankful nod, turned towards the microwave and pulled out his plate of bacon. It had nearly burned.

"There's an extra bedroom upstairs. You make yourself at home," Mulder said.

"Thank you, I will," Jackson said. And he would. He would try his best, partially because he wouldn't ask for money right away, unprecedented, but also because he owed them that, at least. Owed them a few nice days where he wasn't being a total ass, especially if this was the last time he'd see them. (And he did intend that, for their sake and for the kid's. He honestly wasn't sure if the danger still existed—all the quiet over the past few months had halfway convinced him it didn't exist—but he didn't want to risk it. Even staying for these few days was stressing him out. Only the fact that he hadn't seen any danger in the past couple months had convinced him that these few days would be okay. This had to be the end.)

Jackson sat down at the table, adjacent to Scully. She and Mulder were discussing breakfast, but he wasn't really listening. He bit off a corner of a slice of toast and looked absently out the window. He saw the house next door, saw the overgrown yard. Saw the two people in sunglasses, standing close together, looking at the beach house and whispering.

---

Jackson stayed quiet. The moody, brooding quiet Mulder recognized from his own teenage years. (Thinking about it, he supposed that he and his son were a lot alike at this stage of their lives. They'd lost a family member, or members, they'd both faded into themselves and the depth of their grief. They'd both had a bad attitude and a martyr complex.) They didn't push him. They wanted to give him space.

(Mulder wasn't upset that Jackson had shown up. He wasn't. He would've loved for him to come along in the first place. The family vacations he'd always wanted to take. But he'd had the idea as a solution to Scully's stress. To give her a chance to relax, take some time for the two of them to rest before their lives were thrown into upheaval. And he was overjoyed to see their son, but he didn't want things to go like last time. It had crushed Scully to find him gone, crushed them both, and he didn't want them to go through that again. He wanted his son to come home and come home for good, wanted the assurance that he would be there every morning.)

They ended up on the beach, the three of them, Jackson sprawled out on a towel with a book on black holes that they'd both smiled a little at. He had sunglasses pushed up on his forehead, and he squinted at the book in the bright sunlight. He didn't look away from the book when he said, "So, how's the kid?"

"Fine," Scully replied. "Restless. I think we'll both be relieved when she gets here."

Jackson was still looking at the book when he said, "It's a girl?" But there was a hint of curiosity in his voice, a hint enough that Mulder caught.

"We think so," he said. "We're not sure yet."

"That's cool." Jackson flipped a page, still not looking at them.

Scully offered, "So, how are your jobs going?"

This made Jackson snap the book closed; he set it on the towel next to him. "Um," he said. "Okay, I guess. I got fired at one."

"Really?" Scully asked, and he nodded, as best as he could nod while lying on the ground. "Oh my god. What happened?"

He shrugged. "Don't think they liked me. Or I wasn't a good employee. Some shit like that."

"Are… are you okay?" Mulder asked, his voice husky with guilt over his initial reaction to Jackson showing up. Of course he'd come; he'd just lost a job, he probably needed help. "Do you need money?"

Jackson bit his lip. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, if it's not too much trouble, I think so."

They didn't even have to look at each other; they both knew they were going to agree before they opened their mouths. "Yes, of course," Scully said quietly, her voice full of a melancholy affection. (They'd both been devastated when he left.) "Whatever you need, sweetie," she said, and he could hear the sincerity. There wasn't a hint of condescension; she meant every word.

"Thank you," Jackson mumbled. He sounded embarrassed. He picked up his book off of the towel and opened it again.

Scully reached for Mulder's hand blindly, found it on the arm of his chair and squeezed it. He squeezed wordlessly back.

After a few moments, the waves pounding the sand and Scully and Jackson turning pages, Jackson asked in the most casual voice possible, "So, you ever had a case about a black hole?"

Mulder grinned. "Not really," he said. "But we met this guy once who thought the secret to alien contact was black holes. He thought it served as some kind of teleportation created by the aliens so that the two cultures could meet without extensive, unrealistic travel times."

Jackson snorted, sitting up on the towel so fast that his sunglasses slipped down and hit the bridge of his nose, his book tumbling into his lap. "Well, that doesn't seem very plausible."

"Thank you," Scully said with a relieved, amused sigh. She was suddenly animated, pushing back the Knicks cap she'd stolen from Mulder and leaning forward to talk to Jackson. "You should've heard the explanations he came up with. It was ridiculous…"

Mulder leaned back, content not to argue very hard. He'd let them gang up on him every day if it meant they could have this.

---

They went inside, later, Jackson and Mulder shouldering the equipment without a word. As they tramped up the path to the beach, Jackson saw the same people from before in the yard next door, leaning together, whispering and pointing. Maybe it was a coincidence, he told himself. He wondered why the goddamn FBI agents hadn't noticed yet, that their neighbors might be watching them.

He tried not to let it phase him. It was probably a coincidence.

After a sparse lunch, Scully promptly fell asleep stretched out on the couch, one arm over her stomach and the other over her eyes. Mulder covered her up with an afghan, tucking it around her. Jackson tried not to watch. He felt awkward around them, like he was intruding.

Mulder smoothed hair off of Dana's forehead and turned to Jackson. "Make yourself at home, kiddo," he said. "Seriously. You want to watch a movie or something?"

"Uh, sure," he said. "Sure, sure. What did you have in mind?"

Mulder shrugged. "I found Back to the Future on the shelf over there. Want to do that?"

Jackson nodded. He used to love those movies; he used to watch them at sleepovers.

When he was little, he used to think that maybe he didn't have a dad, because he never saw him, and because his mom said that single moms were more likely to give up children. He figured he was just gone, that he had left and maybe that was why Ginger had given him up. He'd thought about Ginger more, because he'd been able to feel her, guess that maybe she used to love him, but he used to wonder about his dad. He used to imagine him as a sort of dark romantic hero, someone who loved his mother and him dearly, but had to leave because he had to do something more important. Or maybe to protect them. And he missed them both desperately, but could not risk coming home to find them. But he never knew why he couldn't see him.

Later, he would get visions of that other man, the one who had been manipulating him, and he'd wanted to forget about the idea of a father. He held onto the idea of Ginger right up until the end, but he'd wanted to forget about a birth father.

And then he'd learned the truth. He'd met Mulder. And as much as he didn't want to think of Mulder and Scully as his parents, he was glad that Mulder was his birth father instead of that smoking fucker.

The funniest part of it all seemed to be that the stupid little childhood fantasy seemed to be true, as far as he could tell. He didn't know if Mulder was necessarily a romantic hero or any of that bullshit, but it was clear he'd loved them both, him and Ginger. And he'd left to protect them. Fucking ironic.

Mulder sat at the end of the couch, Scully's feet in his lap. Jackson sprawled out on the floor. The movie was as good as he remembered, but he found it hard to concentrate. He kept thinking about time travel, what he wouldn't give for a DeLorean time machine. He wouldn't go back in time for anything other than saving his parents. And he would give anything for that opportunity. Anything at all.

Midway through the movie, Mulder got up to make popcorn. "Butter?" he asked, and Jackson nodded. He chuckled, pouring kernels into a pot. "You know, your mom believes in time travel," he said.

It took Jackson a minute to make the connection, but when he did, he was genuinely shocked. From what he'd seen about the two of them, he'd figured Dana was usually the skeptical one. "Really?" he said in response.

"Yeah. Well. The theoretical possibility of it." He grinned absently. "She wrote about it in her senior thesis."

"Wow." Jackson propped himself up on the couch, eyes back on the TV. "Didn't know Dana had it in her."

"She believes in more than you'd expect," he said. "Or that she herself would admit."

"Hmm." Jackson flopped back against the carpet, watching Marty McFly skateboarding through the streets. He could hear Dana breathing sleepily behind him, and it was still strange, strange as hell: to hear her there when she'd only existed in his head for so long.

Mulder walked back over to the couch, his feet squeaking on the floorboards. "She really loves you, you know," he said quietly. "Dana. She loves you so much."

Jackson swallowed hard. Part of him was a little relieved to know these things, that they cared about him, but part of him wished they wouldn't say these things every single time. Part of him wished they didn't have to. "I know," he whispered, though he didn't. He hadn't been sure for a long time.

He couldn't remember the first time he'd seen her, it'd been happening so long. He usually saw her when he was scared or in pain. When he seized. After nightmares. When he was in the hospital, hooked up to machines or choking on gas, curled up in a ball behind a couch in the main room; he'd see her helping children, being the type of doctor that he never ever had, a good doctor instead of an evil one. It had been comforting. He'd held onto that image for so long: Ginger's a good doctor, Ginger would never do this to me. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly imaginative and hopeless: Ginger will come and save me. Ginger will take me home. And she never did. But it was an emotion that he held onto for so long that when he saw her when he was seizing, almost two years ago—when he saw the future, the pandemic and everyone dying and Ginger saying that she needed to find him—he'd thought that maybe it was true. Maybe she could save him, and his parents. That was why he'd sent her dreams after what happened with Bri and Sarah; he'd been hoping that she could help him. Be the Ginger he always saw in his dreams.

She'd let him down in that regard; she hadn't been able to save him or his parents. It had taken ages for him to forgive her for that. But she wasn't necessarily different from the woman he had seen all his life. Not really.

He remembered seeing her once when he was about three or four, asleep, curled into a protective sort of ball around a small, ratty stuffed animal. At the time, he'd thought it was strange for an adult to sleep with a toy the way that he did, but now he understood why. It was his, that rabbit they'd shown him the last time. She had been missing him, so she'd held onto his rabbit to create some kind of connection with him. She'd missed him, the way he'd always hoped she had.

That was how he knew that Mulder was telling the truth. He thought a part of him might've always known. He just wasn't sure whether or not to believe it.

He lay flat on the carpet, eating the popcorn Mulder made and watching Marty McFly manipulate his parents together, trying not to imagine a universe where his entire life went differently.

---

After Scully woke up, she and Mulder played several games of Scrabble at the table while Jackson read his book on the couch, Daggoo's head resting on his thigh. He was tense for reasons he couldn't exactly explain, jumping at sharp noises, eyes darting over to the window or door constantly. He thought it might've had something to do with the people he'd spotted watching them twice today, but he told himself he was being ridiculous. They were probably just nosy neighbors. Mulder and Scully didn't seem worried at all; they were teasing each other, and bickering over what qualified as a word or not, and they didn't seem to be on edge.

Jackson was probably just imagining it. He told himself again and again that he was just imagining it.

Later that afternoon, Mulder offered to go and pick up some food for dinner. "So neither of us have to cook and you don't have to bother with going out," he said to Scully, smoothing hair away from her face.

"You're sweet," she said in a dry voice that landed somewhere between authenticity and sarcasm. "But you don't have to go pick something up, Mulder…"

"Don't be ridiculous. I know you've been craving crab since before we got here." He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, and she made a face at him. "You sit tight, I'll be back in a little bit," he said, before turning to Jackson, who'd been trying very hard to ignore them on the other side of the room. It was even more uncomfortable than usual to be around them when they were being like this. His parents had loved each other and everything, but they'd never been so overtly fucking affectionate.

"Jack? You want to ride along?" Mulder asked, his face a mask of casualness.

He weighed his options—going with Mulder or staying back with Dana—and decided that Mulder was actively the better choice. "Sure," he said, getting to his feet and grabbing his phone.

"Make sure to get some calamari," said Dana, unphased, picking her book up off the couch. "Drive safe."

"Says the horrible driver," Mulder said, kissing the top of her head. "Be back in a few."

Jackson, already halfway towards the door, felt as if he should say something, at least. He turned around and offered an awkward little wave. "Bye, Dana."

She gave him a huge smile over the top of his book that made him feel guilty and like a five-year-old all over again. Trying not to squirm, he gave her a trembly smile back. He wasn't sure how sincere it was; he felt like he owed it for her, but he also felt a little bit like he meant it.

---

The drive was mostly uneventful. Jackson looked up the menu of the restaurant on his phone so he could pick out his order. Mulder asked him questions about sports teams, basketball and baseball, and this was an easy topic; Jackson could talk about meaningless things like sports for hours. It was easy to fall into these kinds of conversations, as long as it didn't get too emotional.

It wasn't until they got home that the feeling of unease settled back into Jackson's gut. He saw the neighbors again, huddled at the fence between the two houses, their phones raised like they were taking photos of the house.

His heart was beating too fast, a lump in his throat, and he clutched the bags of takeout so hard they left red imprints on his palm. He stared at the neighbors, a man and a woman, until one of them turned towards him. The distance and the dark lenses of the sunglasses they were wearing made it difficult to discern their expression, but Jackson knew he was looking at him.

"Mulder," he said quietly, not wanting to break eye contact, but when Mulder didn't respond, he turned towards the car and said, "Mulder," more pointedly.

Mulder, who'd been rummaging through the glove compartment, stood up straight. "Sorry, I just realized I forgot napkins, and I wanted to see if we had any stashed in here," he said. "What's up?"

"D-do you see those people over there?" Jackson said in a rush, turning in that direction. "The people in the next ya—" But when he turned, he only saw an empty fence. They were gone.

Mulder squinted in that direction, his hand shielding his eyes. "I don't see anyone," he said. "Why?"

Jackson gritted his teeth together. He was scared, and he didn't know what to do, and he didn't want to go, and he was afraid that these people were exactly what he thought. And he needed the money, and he didn't want to leave, didn't want to hurt them unnecessarily, but he had seen these people all day. They were watching the house. They weren't dressed like assassins, like the people who had killed his parents or came after him, but maybe they'd improved in covertness. Maybe they were trying to lull the goddamn FBI agents into a false sense of security. They were after him, and he was putting them in danger, and he didn't think they'd gone after Scully yet, if they were only taking pictures of the house, but Jesus Christ, what if they had? What if they were going to come later? What the hell could he do? He couldn't let this happen again.

"Jackson?" Mulder asked. His hand landed gently on Jackson's shoulder, probably meant to comfort or to get his attention, but Jackson still jumped a mile. Mulder snatched his hand away, but he didn't move away; his eyes were still full of worry. "Are you okay?"

He bit down on his lip so hard it bled. "Fine," he said, nearly spitting. "Fine, fine. I…" He put the takeout bags down on the seat abruptly. "I'm going for a run." Let them come after me, he thought. Fucking chase me if they want. But not them. Not the kid.

"R-right now?" Mulder said with a nervous little laugh. "What about your food?"

"Whatever, I'll eat later." His heart was thumping too fast; he felt like he was going to vomit.

Mulder's eyes were wide and full of worry; he reached out to touch his shoulder, but drew back immediately. "Buddy, why don't you come inside?" he said softly. "If something's wrong… we can talk about it."

"No," he snapped. Couldn't go in, couldn't lead the assassins there, couldn't find out whether or not Ginger was already hurt or dead… He had to believe she was fine, that they wouldn't have made a move when he wasn't there. "I gotta go, I gotta go," he said, and then he turned and took off running. Went towards the beach, even though he knew it'd be a pain in the ass to run on, because he figured that if they were going to try to kill him, he should try to fight them off somewhere semi-private. So that nobody else would get hurt, not the people who were uninvolved and didn't deserve to get tangled up in the middle.

Mulder called his name, his voice full of concern, but Jackson didn't look back.

---

He ran for nearly half an hour before he figured out they weren't pursuing him. He fell to the sand with exhaustion, blood pulsing through him, panting and gasping for air. It took forever for him to catch his breath. He lay on the cool sand, eyes shut, the waves crashing behind him.

He might question why the assassins hadn't come after him already, but then again, he might think of the fact that the assassins could have gone in the house, that they could have Mulder and Scully and were holding them captive to lure him back. Maybe he shouldn't have left so hastily. Maybe that wouldn't help a damn thing.

The thing was that he had to protect him. They weren't his parents, but they were his parents, and he couldn't let anything happen to them. Them or the baby, which might be a girl, and he'd already lost a sister that he'd never known he had. Dana had already lost two children, even if one was of her own doing. He couldn't let anything happen to them. Not for money, not for selfish reasons, not for anything.

The thing was that he'd made a promise, once, to protect his parents. As a child, he'd wanted to be protected, but he wanted to protect his family, too. When his mom and dad had gotten him out of the hospital, before they moved to Norfolk, they'd slept all in one bed because Jackson hated being alone then, he was so, so scared. They didn't think the doctors would come and get him back—"If they did," his dad had growled under his breath, "I'd sue the fucking pants off that place"—but Jackson had been afraid they would. He'd lain in the middle of his parents' bed, one of his favorite places in the whole wide world, and he'd curled into his mom and was so relieved not to be back in that place, where they'd hurt him, and he said in a small voice, "Thanks for saving me."

His mom kissed the top of his head. "Of course, honey. Of course," she whispered. "I never ever ever would've left you in there. Never. We're family, and we look out for each other."

"You protect me, I protect you?" he asked meekly.

His dad laughed a little, tousling his hair. "Sure, buddy. Sure. Although we don't want you to worry about protecting us just yet. That's our job."

But despite his father's words, Jackson had taken it seriously. He'd made a silent promise to protect his parents, all those years ago, and he'd included Ginger, the small, comforting presence at the back of his skull, in that promise. As a child, he really thought he could do it; he wanted to believe he could do it. And he'd forgotten about that promise, even though as he grew stronger and more in control,, it really was something he could do.

But he'd failed. He'd failed his parents, he'd broken his promise, even if it had been a childhood promise, and now they were dead. He could've prevented it if he'd seen the assassins coming, if he'd been ready, but he hadn't. He hadn't. And now they were gone. He couldn't break that promise again.

The longer he lay on the beach, thinking of that promise and of his parents, dead in an ambulance beside him, and of Mulder and Dana and his little sister, who deserved to have a life, the more he knew he had to go back. Not permanently. Not permanently. Only to make sure that they were okay, that they weren't being held captive. And then he had to end it, end it for good this time. Had to make sure he couldn't go back for money, or for nostalgia, or because they missed him. It was too dangerous, too risky. He couldn't have that option there because he would use it, and he would put them in danger all over again. He had to burn his bridges, had to make sure they wouldn't come after him. Had to break their hearts.

---

Scully hadn't touched her food yet. She'd been hungry all day, but she'd found herself unable to eat when Mulder had come in alone, his face split with worry. When he explained that Jackson was upset for some reason, and that he'd run off.

She had insisted on trying to go after him, but Mulder had talked her down. We have no idea where he's gone or how far ahead of us he is, he'd said. And he left because he wants time to himself. I know how scary it is to have him gone, but he doesn't need us to be there every second. He'll probably come back because his car is here, he can't get far without his car or wallet or… She could hear the worry in his voice, and knew that he was trying to reassure himself just as much as her. And she knew it probably wasn't a good idea to run around out there at eight months pregnant, and she knew Mulder wouldn't leave her. Knew that he was right about Jackson needing space. And so they waited, shoulder to shoulder together on the couch like parents waiting for a child who skipped curfew. Mulder held her hand in his, and the food went untouched where it sat on the counter.

The sky was streaked with purple darkness when Jackson finally came back, after what seemed like hours had passed. He burst through the door in an angry sort of way, hunched down and not meeting their eyes. His hair was mussed and he was covered in sand. His entire posture betrayed his emotions: strong, dark, upset.

"Jackson?" Mulder asked, his voice hopeful. He got no answer. Jackson headed straight to the counter, passing the food piled up and heading for the keys he'd left on the counter this morning.

"Jackson, sweetie?" Scully asked, her voice breaking. "Are you… is everything okay?"

"Yeah." His voice was rough, furious. "Yeah, sure, fine."

Scully swallowed hard, and felt Mulder squeeze her hand. "We… we were so worried—"

She was cut off by her son's harsh, mocking laughter. "Really?" he said, throwing his hands out in disbelief, his keys jangling. He grabbed his wallet and shoved it in his pocket. "You were worried? Worried about the son you threw away? Well, that's fucking rich."

If he'd intended to leave her speechless, it had worked. Scully was frozen on the couch, her fingers tangled limply in Mulder's. She had no idea what to say to that; it wasn't exactly untrue. "Jackson… we didn't…" Mulder started uncertainly.

"Oh, you didn't? I'm not sure about that. The way I see it, it seems like you kept me around for about nine months before you got tired of me and gave me up for adoption. And then, you never came looking for me, not once, until it was convenient for you. Until you needed me to make some fucking antidote."

This time, Mulder seemed to be rendered speechless. Scully still couldn't speak; her throat was thick with the onslaught of incoming tears. She had so many things to apologize for, but she couldn't jar the words loose.

Jackson laughed, his voice breaking. "I-I spent six goddamn months in a hospital being poked and prodded and treated like a lab rat… I got saddled with powers I never asked for or understood for some fucked up reason… they murdered my parents, and they tried to kill me for months, and it all fucking started from the moment you gave me up. You wanna pretend we can play house, and be some happy goddamn family? Bullshit. You're only keeping me around in case the world ends, and you need a little lab rat to make your life easier."

That wasn't true. Scully felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, a sudden need to make things right. "That's not true," she said, and began to sit up, thinking that she would get to her feet and go to her baby and tell him she was sorry and that she loved him and she'd do anything in the world for him, thinking it would all be okay…

But Jackson was still talking. "And I'd hate to see what you're going to do to this new kid. I wonder how long you'll keep her around before disaster strikes. You gonna throw her away, too, when things get tough? What do you think will happen when somebody comes to make her a lab rat?" Mulder made a hurt, defensive sound, and Scully fell back against the couch, weak. All the fight beat out of her. She muffled a sob behind her palm as Jackson finished: "You should just give the kid to me, because as fucked up as I am, I'd probably do a better fucking job at raising it than you two."

Scully shut her eyes. Every single word was one that she deserved, but it still hurt so badly to hear it. It was all of her fears, her guilt, spilled out onto the floor. She should've known that he would say these things eventually, but it still gutted her to the core.

She heard a whimper next to her, and knew that Mulder was crying. She opened her eyes, wiping them with her thumb, just as Jackson said, "I've got to go. I'm leaving now." He had his keys in his hand, and that was when Scully realized he hadn't actually brought in anything from his car. He'd been here less than twenty-four hours; it was like he hadn't even wanted to stay.

He'd turned towards the door, his movements those of an unstoppable freight train, but it didn't stop Scully from trying to stop him. "Jackson..." she whispered, just before the door slammed shut, and she realized then that she didn't know what she would say. She could say I'm sorry, but she'd already said that so many times.

She heard a sniffle from beside her, and then Mulder was wrapping his arms around her, his head leaning on her shoulder. She could feel his tears soaking into her shirt. She bit back tears of her own and wrapped her hands around his, their arms aligned. She held on tight. They sat there for a long time.

---

"It's not going to go that way," he told her later, his arms around her. They were in bed now, him wrapped around her, his chin on her shoulder. She sniffled and said nothing. He kissed her hair. "It's not," he murmured. "We… we're going to do better this time. We're going to be good parents for her."

She didn't have the strength to reply, so she just nodded. She could feel the baby moving under her hand.

"And all those things he said…" he started hesitantly. "You know they're not—"

"No, I know that they are," she whispered. "All of it. All of it was true except the intent."

He didn't seem to know what to say to that. He squeezed her tight, his face buried in her shoulder blade. She could feel his heartbeat against her back. They lay still.

"He told me something," she said after a while, "before… before Spender died. He told me that he knew I love him. And I… I thought he was you. I asked how he could know that. And tonight…" She bit back a shudder. "It just makes me wonder if he really knows, if he'll ever really know. Or understand. If… if any of my children will ever know." She was thinking about Emily, as she often had over the course of this pregnancy, and about William, and about her baby, and she didn't know if she could do this again. She loved them all so much but she didn't know how to do this. How to not fuck it up again.

"You know," Mulder whispered in her ear, "he told me the same thing. Today. While you were napping. I told him you loved him, and he said he knew."

She flinched a little at that; she was wondering what had changed. She'd been thinking that a lot, all day: they'd been having what seemed like a pleasant time, if not a little awkward, he had come to spend time at a beach house with them, and then something had changed in him, and then this. And then the horribleness of this.

"I hope that he knows," she said, because that seemed to be all there was to say. If she had nothing else with him, she could hopefully have that. Even if he resented her, she wanted him to know how much she loved him, and how terribly, terribly sorry she was. "I want him to—" she began, and her voice broke. She couldn't finish.

She could feel the tests welling up, and she pressed her face into Mulder's forearm. "Shhhh," he whispered, nose in her hair, hugging her tight. "It's okay. It's okay. He knows that you love him. And so will she. I… I don't see how they couldn't."

---

The next morning, Scully woke up long before Mulder again, even though she'd fallen asleep very late last night to the gentle sound of Mulder's reassurances. She had to pee, and so she got up to do that, repeating to herself the reassurances Mulder had given her last night. They'd stay the rest of the week, provided she felt well. They deserved some time to themselves. The baby would come in a few weeks, and she would be perfect. They already had the room ready, and everything else ready, and they loved her so much. And maybe someday Jackson would come back. Maybe.

It was cold comfort, all things considered, and she wanted to get her mind off of it. Think about something else. She could hear Daggoo's toenails at the front door, and so she went down to let him out, standing on the front step while he puttered around the yard. Shielding her eyes from the sunrise, she scanned the horizon until her eyes fell on two people standing on the sidewalk behind their house. People she recognized from yesterday; she'd seen them in the yard next door when they were coming back in from the beach. They were looking at her expectantly, like they wanted her to do something, sunglasses pushed up on their heads.

Unsettled, she crossed her arms over herself and called out, "Can I help you?" They didn't seem particularly dangerous, but she didn't want to risk it.

Something like excitement passed over their faces. The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled back, "Are you Dana Scully? From Tad O'Malley's show?"

Annoyance prickled at Scully's spine. She could be grateful to Tad O'Malley for getting her back on the X-Files, or for spreading the rumor of the pandemic, but she sure as hell wasn't grateful for the multiple times he'd referred to her by name. Even if he'd left her out of it the last time, though she probably should've been cited there over Mulder. Despite the favors O'Malley had done for her, she was still a bit disgusted at his ridiculous show. She wasn't sure the last time she'd been mentioned on the show, but she figured it had been a long time ago, and she had no idea why these people remembered it. Nor did she particularly want to spend time in their company.

"Your husband is Fox Mulder?" the man was yelling. "He knows about conspiracies? A global conta—"

"I'm not who you think I am," Scully shouted back irritably, not in the mood for any of this. "Now please get off my property."

Daggoo clambered up on the doorstep beside her and she shooed him inside, shutting the door firmly behind her.