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owl-with-a-pen · 3 years

Note

We didn’t get much insight on nias breakup with brainy, like how nia was feeling through the whole thing! It was pretty upsetting. So how about an almost rewrite of reality bytes where Yvette takes nia out to a party to loosen her up, she gets drunk, and brainy comes to the rescue? Like takes her home, stays with her when she gets sick and takes care of her kinda thing. Thanks!

- Okay the word count speaks for itself but this one really got away from me. But I had to throw in all the angst I possibly could. Thank you for the prompt! x

Working under the oppressive eye of Lex Luthor grew worse by the day.

Brainy had always been a master at multitasking, and so he had never assumed it would be exactly there that he would struggle the most.

And yet, here he was. Trying his hardest to focus on Lex’s latest tedious task to keep him in check. After all, Lex Luthor may have very well believed Brainy’s impassive charade, but that did not buy trust. Only time and a one hundred per cent success rate would accomplish that.

To achieve it, distractions had to be eradicated. He had already made his excuses time and time again for not attending one of Kara’s famed game nights, and despite Alex’s insistence, he had not given in to any other form of group activity, either – especially those involving Al’s Bar. He needed to maintain a clear head, to do as his doppelganger had instructed; to protect his friends and their future, he had to rid his mind of them. All of them. It was imperative to success.

And yet, the moment his phone buzzed with an incoming call, Brainy’s heart leapt into his throat.

It was Nia’s name that popped up on his screen. Nia’s face. So jovial, so care-free. In the photograph, her arm was wrapped around Brainy’s shoulders where she had pulled him in for a last-minute selfie. She’d kissed his cheek just seconds after it had been taken, insisting it’d be an awesome couple photo.

He had meant to change that. Why had he not…?

He swallowed hard, focusing instead on his computer screens, relaying information back and forth between them. It was without passion, meaningless data that could be shifted anywhere whilst maintaining the same result. But, it still served a purpose, keeping him from his intestinal inclination, that gut instinct to reach for his phone and answer without a moment’s hesitation.

When was the last time he had heard her voice?

He had been keeping his distance where he could, maintaining a professional formality with her whenever he caught her in the field as Dreamer. He knew it hurt her, every time it hurt her, but he could not avoid his duties in as much the same way she could not avoid hers.

They were in effect destined to bump into each other. The only way Brainy could lessen that hurt was by avoiding conversation as much as possible, throwing up every wall he could think of, even if he had to stumble over his words to do so.

When Nia’s face disappeared, Brainy released the breath he’d been holding, letting it dust across his screens.

Then, his phone buzzed twice more.

Voicemail.

Nia never left voicemails. Not since he had ended things with her so abruptly, walking out of her apartment, refusing to elaborate, to offer her any kind of closure.

It was a calculated hurt powerful enough for her to abstain from asking questions; a necessary evil, and one Brainy would never forgive himself for causing.

He shouldn’t be doing this, his mind warned, but his thoughts were racing, derailing from all twelve tracks at once.

His hand was already poised over his phone. Before he could think better of it, Brainy snatched it up, connecting to his most recent voice message. He pressed it to his ear, pursing his lips in anticipation.

“You suck, you know that?”

Brainy flinched, the phone nearly slipping right from his hand. Nia’s voice was harsh, anger tinged with upset, but it was her voice. It could have been filled with all the fury in the world and Brainy would have still listened just as eagerly, if only for the chance to hear her again.

As the voicemail continued to play, Brainy realised that Nia’s words were slightly obscured by the heavy beats of music playing in the background, not to mention the loud chatting and whooping of people he certainly did not recognise. Brainy frowned. She must have been at some kind of party. Although, none of the voices present sounded as though they were talking to her specifically.

A nightclub, perhaps?

Nia wasn’t usually one for clubbing. So, why would she-?

“And y’know what?” Nia’s voicemail continued out just as harshly, cutting off Brainy’s train of thought. “Yvette’s so right, I deserve better than some guy who’s gonna leave me hanging, who leaves with zero explanation, and I- oh crap, sorry-” There was a scuffle, one caused by Nia knocking into a fellow patron if her apology was anything to go by. The slur in her voice was very evident, which led Brainy to conclude that she had been drinking heavily that night, enough to pick up the courage to call him.

His stomach lurched when he heard another voice in the background.

“Girl, what are you doing?” It was Yvette. Of course Yvette would have been the mastermind behind this apparent night out, likely with the well-minded intent of assisting with Nia’s mood.

Yvette’s voice grew louder as she came closer. “What are you- wait, are you calling him? No, no, you get off the phone right now, that’s messy as hell!”

Brainy was inclined to agree. Nia, however, seemed to have other ideas.

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “I-”

Before Brainy could hear anything more, the message cut off.

Brainy squeezed his eyes shut, clenching and unclenching his jaw methodically.

He shouldn’t do it. He shouldn’t be giving into gut instinct, not now, not-not ever. Not with so much at stake. He was supposed to be monitoring Lex’s movements, doing everything he could to keep a step ahead of whatever he was planning. So far, he had failed at that. And, if he continued to lose sight of his objective, he would only slip further still.

But, if there was one thing he could count on now more than ever, it was the Big Brain. Perhaps it was not that his skill at multitasking had been limited as of late, but more-so that he was not utilising it to its fullest extent. He could easily keep a thought track open for any updates on Lex’s data entry, could even continue development on the bug he was planning to slip into Lex’s private servers. For the moment, they were obstructed by a firewall even he was having difficulty breaching. But, with time…

Brainy’s fingers curled together, winding tightly around his phone. He had the room to deviate from his plans for one night. Besides, it would take mere seconds to get a lock on Nia’s GPS…

He had been trying so hard to keep out of her private business these last few weeks. The little he did know were only of her recent exploits as Dreamer that had been plastered all over the news. But, even knowing what she’d accomplished in such a short time, how capable she had become as a hero, it could not stop the worry that clogged so suddenly inside his throat.

He just had to know where she was, he rationalised. He just had to know that she was safe.

The moment her co-ordinates flashed in his mind, Brainy’s chest caught, lips parting. She was close-by, an estimated three minutes by flight from his current location.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Brainy’s eyes scanned empty air, but beyond that he saw everything. The security for the club was rudimentary at best, and far too easy to hack. Nia’s most recent location had pointed her somewhere near to the club doors, which was only confirmed when Brainy linked up to the cameras out front, pinpointing her almost immediately.

Yvette was with her, holding up her weight as Nia slumped precariously into her side, nearly tripping down the club’s steps in an effort to remain upright. If it hadn’t been for Yvette’s guiding hand, she likely would have.

Brainy gritted his teeth. Just how much had she had to drink? He had never known Nia to drink so excessively, especially with how rigorously she had been training as of late. This was new behaviour for her, but not unpredictable. Brainy was more than aware of the many coping mechanisms one might find themselves adopting in times of emotional distress.

He had caused this.

He could fix this…

But he couldn’t, couldn’t - no matter how much his heart insisted otherwise, he could not give in. Nia wanted nothing to do with him, that much was clear from her message. And… Yvette was with her. Yvette would get her home safely.

But Yvette had clearly been drinking, also. What if something were to occur between the club and their apartment? Nia was disorientated, vulnerable, and with alcohol marring her judgement, her reaction timing would never match that of a clear-minded foe.

Brainy stood from his desk all at once, nearly toppling his chair in his haste. Fortunately, he was in a private office. Another upgrade from Lex. He swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth; at least he could use this particular gift to his advantage.

He needed to get to Nia undetected. Immediately.

Brainy’s calculations had been - as expected - totally correct. He reached the club in no less than three minutes, giving himself ample distance to land so that no drunk bystanders might notice his arrival. Not that their likelihood of remembering any of this come morning was very high, but it was best not to push those odds.

The moment he saw her, Brainy’s world stopped moving.

Nia and Yvette were sat together on the club’s steps. It appeared Yvette had not been successful getting Nia all the way down them. Now, she was stubbornly trying to encourage Nia to drink from a water bottle she’d had stashed in her bag. Nia only turned away from her with a grimace, pushing her face firmly into her hands. Her cheeks were rosy from alcohol consumption, her dark hair beginning to thicken and frizz from the humidity of the club. The dress she wore danced with row upon row of sequins, glinting in purple and pink tones beneath the streetlight.

She was so beautiful it nearly caused a physical ache inside of Brainy’s chest.

Never had he wanted to go to her so ardently, to scoop her into his arms, hold her close and never let go.

But, he couldn’t. He was bound by his decision and, what’s more, he was the very cause for this entire situation in the first place. Nia was only in this position because of what he had put her through, and he couldn’t take that back. So long as Leviathan was a threat, he could not give up this ruse, he could not tell her the truth.

Even if he did… the acidic tone in Nia’s voicemail told him all he needed to know. That he may have well lost her for good by doing this. And he could barely stand to think it.

Again, a distant part of his mind queried why he was even here? Was this not already traipsing on incredibly dangerous territory? If Lex found any reason to distrust him, this logical and distant image Brainy had been parading would’ve all been for naught, and his Earth would meet the same fate as his female doppelganger’s.

No, no. Regardless of his decisions, the side he had been forced to take, he was still himself. In which case, there was nothing wrong with helping those that required his assistance, even if they hadn’t exactly asked for it. In that way, he could at least be there for Nia. If she would even allow it at all.

He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but when Yvette recognised him from halfway across the club grounds, the look she gave him was practically poisonous.

“You,” Yvette sneered, wrapping an arm protectively around Nia’s shoulders. Nia only groaned, digging her fingers against her face. Yvette’s eyes narrowed distrustfully. “Voicemail didn’t cut it, hm? You know you broke her heart, right?”

“I’m… aware,” Brainy said tightly, trying his hardest to maintain the same collected calm he’d been offering the rest of his friends. Any slip-ups now could be the end of this ruse once and for all.

Nia had yet to lift her head, and so Brainy took that as his opportunity to remove his phone from his pocket, very clearly displaying the Uber app on his screen, making his intentions clear. “I can help get her home.”

Yvette snorted derisively, tightening her hold around Nia. “Uh-uh, there is no way I’m leaving Nia alone with your cheating ass.”

Brainy’s face fell. Cheating? Was that what Nia had told her? Or… or had that been Yvette’s own assumption of events? “I didn’t cheat on her,” he said, a little defensively.

“Please,” Yvette scoffed. “No one’s feelings magically change overnight unless there’s another woman involved.” She gave him a snide once-over. “She can do better than you.”

Brainy’s stomach sank, his eyes flickering to Nia, capturing every inch of her. “I… I have no doubt.”

It took some back and forth, but eventually, Yvette agreed to his help on the condition she came back to the apartment with them. Brainy understood that she hadn’t wanted to cut her own night short, but Nia’s health came first. At least on that, they could both agree.

Regardless, it was a very awkward Uber journey back to the apartment.

Nia didn’t speak the whole car ride, and Brainy began to wonder if she was lucid enough to understand her surroundings at all. She didn’t look up from her hands, and more than once Brainy considered that she might be doing it purposely, far too aware of who she was currently sharing a car with.

Although, the steadily worsening pallor of her skin pointed towards another, far likelier, possibility.

Which was confirmed the second they got into the apartment’s elevator.

The juddering motions of the small space was all it took for Nia to break her silence, cupping a hand desperately over her mouth.

“I feel sick,” she murmured into her palm.

“Hold off,” Yvette said gently, rubbing Nia’s shoulders. “We’ll be home any second.”

Brainy wished it could be him to offer Nia comfort like that, but he’d practically backed himself into the furthest corner of the elevator, acting as nothing more than a passive shadow to the night’s unfolding events. He dug his hands into his pockets, clenching them tightly to keep from reaching out to her, watching with worried eyes as Nia grabbed suddenly for the elevator’s rail with her free hand, swallowing thickly.

The moment the doors opened, Nia stumbled out, nearly tripping in her haste to exit. Brainy maintained his distance while Yvette helped Nia down the hallway, waiting awkwardly with his arms folded as she fumbled with the keys to the door. He hovered hesitantly outside the doorway when Nia broke from Yvette, rushing into the bathroom, although he noticed that Yvette was wary to follow her in.

When he caught her eye, Yvette grimaced, shaking her head. “I- I can’t, I’m a sympathetic vomiter,” she explained weakly. “If she hurls, I hurl.”

Brainy nodded his understanding, reviewing the door’s entrance as though it might swallow him whole. After a long moment, he ducked his head, stepping inside. “I can stay with her, if you would like,” he offered, quirking a brow. “After all, you are in need of rest as well.”

Yvette pulled a face, staring at him suspiciously. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

Brainy only shrugged.

“I’m keeping my eye on you,” Yvette said, which at first Brainy didn’t understand as an invitation. That was, until, she stepped aside, waving her hand in the direction of the apartment’s bathroom.

Brainy didn’t waste any time. He barely managed a breathy thank you before he headed the way Nia had disappeared.

Nia was curled around the toilet when Brainy pushed the door open, her hands pressed firmly against the rim. She hadn't appeared to have thrown up yet, but she was pale and shivering, her jaw clenched tight with discomfort.

The moment he was close enough, Brainy dropped to his knees, reaching out a hand hesitantly towards her, gauging her reaction. When none came, Brainy carefully rested the flat of his palm across her back. She didn’t try to move away from his touch; instead, with a shaky sigh, she relaxed against him, eyes fluttering shut.

And so, Brainy continued, boldly enough to massage his fingers gently and precisely around her spine, quickly finding a pattern that she seemed to appreciate. He rubbed her back in large, repetitive circles, filling the silence with the quiet crunch of sequins as they rolled lethargically beneath his palm.

It wasn’t long before Nia’s shoulders tensed up. Her chest convulsed and she groaned out, throwing her head over the toilet just in time before she vomited into the bowl. As expected, the contents of her stomach appeared to mostly be liquid, which certainly explained the dangerous level of her intoxication. Brainy remained exactly where he was, holding her back steady with one hand whilst studiously bunching Nia’s hair behind her shoulders with the other, tugging away loose strands that had caught across her lips. No sooner had he done so, Nia gagged again, squeezing her eyes shut as round two commenced.

Brainy continued to rub her back, murmuring soft comforts at her side, slipping between both English and Coluan. Nia had certainly picked up some of his native language in the months they had been together, but not enough for her to realise in that moment the weight of what he was telling her. Or, rather, what he wished he could be telling her - in a language she might recognise.

When Nia was reduced to dry heaving over the bowl, Brainy realised that her mascara had begun to run, bleeding black streaks down her face. The strain of vomiting could certainly cause such a reaction, but something in his heart told him that this was more than that.

He wished he could brush those tears away as tenderly as he once had, that he could reassure her that everything would be okay.

But how could he when he knew the probability of their relationship rekindling once the dust had cleared? How could he when said relationship was already in shambles, pushing them apart even while they were sat so closely together on the bathroom tile?

“Here.”

Brainy blinked out of his thoughts, turning his head to find Yvette stood in the doorway, trying very hard to keep her eyes away from Nia’s current condition. She held a glass of water outstretched towards him.

Brainy took it gratefully, lowering his head into a sincere bow. “Thank you.”

“You’re still so weird,” Yvette said, although for just a moment, he thought he caught a fondness in her tone. Then, she cleared her throat. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” she said quickly, heading back out into the hall. “Remember, I am one room over. You try anything, and I’ll-”

Her words were cut off by the slam of her door, but Brainy understood well enough the threat she had posed. He nearly smiled. If anything, he was glad Nia had a friend and roommate as protective as Yvette. She had been there for Nia in a way that Brainy had not been able to for far too long, offering her a shoulder to cry on, and a party to draw her mind away from the pain, if only for an evening.

Perhaps it hadn’t worked as Yvette had wanted, but Brainy hoped that even for a little while, Nia might have experienced something other than heartache that night.

When there was nothing but bile left in Nia’s stomach, Brainy took her shoulder, offering the water glass out to her. “Nia,” he said gently. “You must try to drink this. It’ll help-”

Before he could finish, Nia shot to life, slapping away his hand so hard that the glass’s contents sloshed down Brainy’s arm, drenching his sleeve.

“No!” Nia cried out weakly. “No, get off me, you jerk!”

Brainy let go of her immediately, shuffling away from her forlornly. He watched instead as Nia folded her arms angrily across the toilet bowl, pressing her forehead against the rim.

For a while, only her harsh breathing echoed around the small space. Then, Nia stopped, arms clenching as she squeezed her hands into fists. “Why’re you even here?” she croaked.

“You… called.”

Nia snorted. “That’s never stopped you from ignoring me before.”

Brainy’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. “You were in need of assistance,” he said instead, trying his hardest to keep his voice from crackling.

“What is this, Brainy?” Nia asked exhaustedly. She lifted her head, dark hair curtaining her face, but Brainy could see that her eyes were trained downwards, seeing nothing. “Why’re you doing this to me?”

“Nia—”

“No, no, you go radio silent on me for weeks. You don’t give me any explanation, you don’t talk to me, you act like I don’t exist. And you think you can just turn up now and- what? What do you want?”

Brainy’s eyes were beginning to burn. He blinked quickly, doubling down on the same toneless voice he’d perfected over the last few weeks. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Nia laughed, although it sounded more like a sob. She spat into the toilet, lips twisting sourly. “Well,” she muttered darkly. “I’m not. You broke my heart. And you can’t fix that.”

Brainy’s own heart felt as though it might shatter in his chest. He opened his mouth, only to close it again when he realised there was nothing he could say that might absolve him. He didn’t want to be absolved. Nia was right. No matter what he said, even if he folded and told her everything right that second, wouldn’t fix what he had already broken.

He didn’t try to touch her again. Instead, he simply knelt there, watching as she picked up the water he’d left out for her, drinking the half that hadn’t spilt over his sleeve.

When Nia didn’t appear to be in danger of vomiting again, Brainy walked her to the bedroom. He stayed a respectable distance from her the whole while, enough that he could steady her should she decide to fall. At the last few steps before her door, she did stumble slightly, and Brainy held his arm out to her on reflex. Begrudgingly, Nia took it, staggering the final distance down the hall.

Nia let go of him the moment her bed was in sight, practically falling against the mattress, uncaring of the uncomfortable and clearly not bedroom-appropriate attire she was still wearing. Instead, she curled up quickly beneath the comforter, hugging her knees close to her stomach.

Silently, Brainy set about placing a fresh glass of water on her nightstand, as well as retrieving a trash can from the bathroom, tucking it within easy reaching distance of the bed. When he was done, he stood there a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of Nia’s back, wondering briefly if she may have fallen asleep.

“You know the way out.”

Her voice was devoid of any care, and yet it was still sharp enough to cut a hole through his heart. She sounded so empty and drained, exhausted by the night’s events.

But, worse yet, she had been exhausted by him.

Brainy closed his eyes, a million and one apologies budding on his tongue, desperate to leave him in a fierce burst, to explain everything, to beg for her forgiveness in every language he knew.

But as always, logic won out. No matter how much he wished he could tell her, he couldn’t. Not unless he wanted to put his family’s lives in mortal danger.

And so, it was upon Nia’s instruction that he left her without another word.

It wasn’t until he was out the front door, halfway back towards the elevator, that Brainy’s chest hitched, his breathing jerking harshly outside of his control. He stumbled into the wall, baring his teeth as the first of his tears began to flow.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to nothing. To no one. After all, he knew in his heart that those words would never be enough; no words would ever be enough.

The longer he kept this up, the more he knew with one hundred per cent certainty that Nia would never forgive him.

And that hurt more profoundly than any words she left on his voicemail ever could.

#supergirl #brainia #dreamdox #nia nal #brainiac 5 #supergirl: yvette #brainy #querl dox #my prompts #my asks #anon #my writing #this really. REALLY. got away from me.#but i really wanted to go more in depth about how the two of them were feeling throughout season 5 #supergirl fanfiction #vomit tw

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ectonurites · 3 years

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Have Tim and Kon always been best friends?

Not really, no. Like, from early on they were definitely friends, but them becoming best friends was a process. I feel like a lot of people overlook how early on they were like, rival friends. I’d say it’s not really until after the Our Worlds at War thing resolved and Tim rejoined the team after World Without Young Justice (when the team finally found out Tim’s identity) that they kinda become more ‘officially’ best friends how we know them to be, and then it’s really solidified and stated over and over that they’re best friends during Teen Titans 2003 and on.

Gonna just explain that way of thinking more under the cut!

From the start of YJ when they started hanging out a lot more, Tim thought Kon was too immature and impulsive, and Kon thought Tim had a stick up his ass, essentially.

(Young Justice (1998) #4)

The biggest point of tension being that Kon didn’t really think Tim should be in charge, which is related to the other major thing: Kon didn’t feel he could really trust Tim since Tim wouldn’t trust all of them with his identity. While definitely all of them want to know who Tim is, Kon’s the one who pushes on it the most I feel.

(Young Justice (1998) #7)

They’re often clashing but they’re still definitely friends.

(Young Justice (1998) #10)

(Young Justice (1998) #11)

All the tension between them comes to a head during the Our Worlds at War stuff though, in that era shortly after Tower of Babel happened over with the Justice League (when everyone found out about Batman’s contingency plans for the other members, and were not happy) which made Kon trust Tim even less. Kon made an impulsive judgement call to change course from their mission and they had their Huge Fight™️

(Young Justice (1998) #36)

However once they part ways here and things go to shit we get this bit of insight from Tim too:

So even through all of this where they’re really mad at each other they do still like, care, they’re still friends. Tim is then even tortured with watching Cassie and Kon get murdered while he can’t stop it, as opposed to how Kon was shown his already dead girlfriend in a situation like that and Cassie & Anita are shown their parents, which is just a testament to how important Kon and Cassie (and I mean I think we could extend that to YJ in general but those two are who we see specifically) are to Tim, despite the situation.

They do all escape though luckily

(Young Justice (1998) #37)

But yeah, Tim leaves the team after they get back, and while he’s doing that Kon is elsewhere having a whole chat with Kara Linda about how bad he fucked up:

(Young Justice (1998) #38)

INTERESTINGLY though, in a Superboy Issue right around this same time when they still haven’t really talked to each other again after Apokolips, Kon actually refers to Tim as his ex-best friend during his dream, meaning somewhere along the line he already had started to regard him as his best friend despite the trust issues...

(Superboy (1994) #92)

But yeah, after WWYJ happens:

(Young Justice (1998) #46)

The major trust thing that was a problem is... no longer an issue. It’s just all friendship now, and like Tim & Kon’s friendship has always been built on giving each other a ton of shit, so that doesn’t really stop, but like, that last big barrier that stopped Tim & Kon from fully trusting each other is now a non-issue. Especially since Kon in his dream called Tim a ‘best friend’ once already, now that he could fully trust him I think he’d be considering him as such no problem, and I think Tim’d follow suit.

Off the top of my head I don’t remember the first exact moments they each used ‘best friend’ for one another, but they do it a ton once they’re in the Teen Titans.

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aurorafluffbutt · 3 years

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Normally, Karamatsu was good at keeping his cool in situations that made him really nervous or scared. He would stay calm and collected, ready to take whatever it was on with everything he had and seize his moment to prove to himself that he was indeed the cool, brave, and overall flawless man he wanted to be.

This was not one of those times.

Karamatsu’s heart raced in his chest and his stomach was twisted in knots as he walked down the hallway towards his new therapist’s office. Although his body language stated the exact opposite, he was incredibly nervous. His relaxed posture and his puffed out chest hid that very well.

Why was he so scared? Everything that Chibita told him about therapy sounded like a dream come true. A place where you could talk to a trained professional about how you're feeling without fear of judgement along with them giving advice on how to improve your state of mind? That sure sounded like a great idea to Karamatsu. So why was he anxious? He had no reason to be.

Well...he did have one reason.

Karamatsu couldn't begin to describe the feeling that he had when he was given the name of his psychiatrist. It was like that sinking feeling that you get in your stomach when you realize something horrible, but worse. Not only was a family member going to be seeing him at his most vulnerable, but it was the family member that hated him the most. He was dreading their first session from the moment he found this out to when he was nearing Ichimatsu’s office door.

Before he knew it, Karamatsu was standing in front of the only thing separating him from more humiliation and self hatred, once again caused by one of his many brothers. He raised his fist up to knock on the door, but stopped.

Is this really something I should go through? No, maybe not. He thought. Maybe I should just go home and crawl back into bed. But I can’t just leave without an explanation! What am I going to do?

While Kara pondered whether or not he should knock, Ichimatsu made the decision for him by opening up the door as if he knew his brother was standing on the other side. He didn't seem at all phased by his brother being his client. He just looked at his clipboard and said a simple “Welcome. Come in.”

Karamatsu nodded and confidently made his way into the office, trying to put on his typical “cool guy” exterior. His brother’s workspace was extremely messy, with papers haphazardly stacked on his desk and books in a bookshelf that looked like they were just thrown in with little thought put into where they should go. Ichimatsu didn't seem to mind the mess though, and he looked like he knew where everything was. He sat down at his desk and silently stared at Karamatsu. He stared back, unsure of what to do.

Finally, Ichimatsu gestured to the couch across from his desk. “Have a seat.”

Karamatsu nodded again and sat down in the soft cushions, letting the awkward silence hang in the air and waiting for Ichimatsu to make the first move.

Ichimatsu looked over his notes again and shifted his gaze back to Kara. “So what brings you here?”

With that, the older man froze. He didn't want Ichi to know that him and his brothers were the cause of his lack of self esteem and self worth. He doubted that they'd even feel guilty if they knew. Plus, none of them knew him outside of his persona. He tried so hard to make that persona who he was, and admitting that he hated himself would just undo everything he's built up. He had to think of something to say quick!

Karamatsu put on his usual confident smirk and closed his eyes. “Heh...you see brother, a friend of mine suggested that I come here, and although I don't see why, I didn't want to disappoint them when they thought they were doing a good deed!”

“Karamatsu, you don't need to act like that while you're here. You can be honest with me. I won't judge you for anything that you say and I won't tell any of our brothers about what we talk about. Everything that happens in this room stays in this room. You don't even have to see me as your brother. Right now, I'm your therapist.”

Karamatsu, genuinely dumbfounded, blinked a couple of times at Ichimatsu. That was the first time in a long time that Ichimatsu showed any semblance of kindness to him, and although he wasn't about to complain, it just felt weird.

Ichimatsu spoke again. “I know that this is a bit awkward, but you can trust me with anything. I have a lot of clients who are going through the same thing that you are, you don't need to feel like you're alone on this. I'm a professional, I know how to help if you tell me what's bothering you.”

Karamatsu so badly wanted to trust his brother and tell him how he truly felt, but along with keeping up his image, his concern was about how Ichimatsu would feel if he knew the truth. If he knew that him and the others were the main cause of his lack of self worth, he'd..well, he'd…

Actually, Karamatsu didn't know how his brother would react if he knew. He hasn't seen him since the brothers went their separate ways to start their own lives and careers. What happened to Ichimatsu that made his attitude towards him do a complete turnaround? Was he just trying to be professional? If they ran into each other somewhere in public, would he go back to abusing him?

Ichimatsu spoke once again and interrupted Karamatsu’s train of thought. If he was scared of being vulnerable around him, then he was going to fight fire with fire.

“If it makes you feel any better, I also had to get therapy before I went to college. I was so scared of moving out and getting a job, mostly because of the stress of having to be around so many people at once. After living with Todomatsu for a little bit while he was trying to get his acting career off the ground, I decided that I wanted to do something productive, but I didn't know what. Plus, I doubted myself too much to do so. After I struggled with this conundrum for a while, I finally told Mom and Dad about this and about how I felt, and they did what was probably the best thing they've ever done for me: they got me a therapist.

Sure, it took me a while for me to open up with her since I didn't think that I needed it at first, but once I did, I noticed that I felt a lot better after our sessions. I was happier, more comfortable. She taught me so many things about my self worth and she helped me through so many issues that I struggled with for a long time. Even after I decided to go to college and major in psychology, she was there with me through every step of the way. I probably would've dropped out from stress had it not been for her. I'm really happy with my life now, and I wouldn't be here had it not been for Mom and Dad’s decision to sign me up for counseling. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

The more Ichimatsu revealed about what he's been up to, the more Karamatsu’s expression softened. When they were still NEETs, Ichimatsu wouldn't be caught dead being this open about his feelings, and here he was, talking about his past struggles to the brother he used to hate the most without a hint of hesitation. He really has changed. Without noticing, Karamatsu's eyes began to water and his throat tightened. After watching Ichimatsu grow up into a cynical, cold loner and seeing that he's become someone like this, Karamatsu knew for sure that he could confide in him.

Noticing Kara’s tears, Ichimatsu leaned over his desk and handed him a box of tissues. “Here.”

After Karamatsu took the tissues and blinked away his tears, he slowly started to spill everything that he's felt over the years of living with his brothers. The loneliness, rejection, self hatred, desperation, trust issues, and to top it all off, the need to hide all of that out of fear of nobody caring. While it did hurt Ichimatsu to know that him and the rest of Karamatsu’s brothers were the main cause of these awful feelings, also knowing that his older brother trusted him enough to tell him all of this even after their less than great past made him feel really good. It brought him a sense of hope that Karamatsu’s relationships and sense of importance would improve greatly with some work and a bit of medication if needed. It was one of the many reasons that he loved being a therapist.

Karamatsu wrapped up his story and smiled at Ichimatsu. It was nothing like the confident grin that he usually wore. It was more soft and relieved, happy that he could finally talk about whatever he needed to in a secure safe space. It was almost cathartic.

With a glance at the cat themed clock on the wall, Ichimatsu turned back to his brother. “It's almost time to wrap up our session. Is there anything else you'd like to add before you leave?”

“Yes. I'd like to say that I could never be more proud of you, by brother. You've made so much progress in your career and mental image, so much so that you'd tell your story to someone that you hated. You've grown so much, fulfilled your dreams, and you've settled into a comfortable, happy life. I may still be trying to find my calling, but seeing you every week will help me in the long run so much, I know it. Thank you in advance for helping me, and thank you for finally being here for me.”

All Ichimatsu did in response was smile at his brother with his usual lidded gaze. “Thanks Karamatsu. It means a lot to hear that. I'll be seeing you again next week.”

The older brother made his way out of the doorway of the office after a goodbye, refreshed and smiling.

There were many more layers to Ichimatsu than he thought, and now that he knew that, he'd be less nervous about sharing the truth in their next session. Sure, he'd still be a bit reluctant since he wasn't used to actually addressing his issues, but at least he would know that he could be honest with him right off the bat next time.

It may not have seemed like it at first, but Ichimatsu couldn't have been better for his therapist.

#osomatsu san #karamatsu #ichimatsu #iromatsu #fanfic #my writing

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ofendlesswonder · 4 years

Note

what would it take to convince you to do all of the dialogue prompts? But if not how about 17 for supercat but with a happy ending if possible?

17. “Love is overrated.”

It’s the first time Kara’s ever been on a Tinder date(only downloading the app after caving to the pressure of her sister and her friends, insisting that she deserved to have some fun), and she thinks it might be the last, because it’s going horribly.

Nate had been nice when they’d been talking online,but in person, he doesn’t seem to be able to stop talking about himself for long enough to ask her anything about herself (unless it’s to proposition her), and Kara’s desperately searching her mind for an excuse to get her out of the bar when his phone rings.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he says, and Kara nods,flooded with relief and wondering if she could live with herself if she ducked out the front door and hurried home before his return.

“Well, that was the most pitiful thing I’ve witnessedin a long time,” a voice drawls to Kara’s right – it’s both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, one that she’d used to hear every day, but now hasn’t in a long, long time. “Where on earth did you find him?”

Cat Grant slides into the bar stool beside her,looking as perfectly put-together as always, in a sleek blue dress that hugs her in all the right places, her hair, a few inches longer than when she’d leftNational City, curling around her shoulders, green eyes sparkling when they meet Kara’s as she raises a glass of red wine to her lips.

“Ms… Ms Grant?” Kara blinks at Cat in shock, wondering if her date had been so boring that it had put her to sleep, and she’s now dreaming.

“I know I’ve been gone for a while, Kara, but surelyit hasn’t been long enough for you to forget all about me.” Cat’s lips curl into a smirk as she sets her wine down on the bar, looking more relaxed and carefree than Kara thinks she’s ever seen her – stepping down as Press Secretary after a Republican she very much didn’t approve of had been elected seem to agree with her.

“I just didn’t expect to see you here.” Kara swivels onher stool to face Cat, resting an elbow on the smooth wood of the bar and settling her chin in the palm of her hand. “When did you get back?”

“A couple of days ago.”

“For good?”

“For now.” Cat purses her lips as she taps her fingerson the stem of her wine glass. “Until I decide what to do next. And you didn’t answer my question – where did you find Mr tall dark and boring?”

“Tinder.”

“God good, Kara, are your dating prospects really solimited?” Cat looks horrified by the mere thought. “I’m positive that someone that looks like you doesn’t need an app to find a date.”

“Oh.” Kara blushes and looks away from Cat’s gaze,fiddling with the straw in her long-finished cocktail. “Thank you, but I haven’t exactly had much look in the dating department.”

“Yes, well, love is overrated,” Cat replies, tippingher head back as she drains the last of her wine. “So I wouldn’t worry yourself too much about it.”

“Still a cynic?” Kara asks, raising an eyebrow, overjoyed that such a terrible evening had taken a turn for the better. “Didn’t find someone to settle down with in D.C.?”

“God no.” Cat shudders at the thought. “I learned along time ago that I’m much better off alone.”

“Do you not get lonely?” Kara does, sometimes,whenever she sees her sister and Kelly, so happy and in love, wants that with a desperation that makes her ache.

“Not really. Perhaps I will, when Carter goes off the college, but,” Cat lifts her shoulders in a delicate shrug, “I have a couple of years to prepare myself for that.”

“How is he?”

“He’s good.” Cat’s smile is warm, her eyes bright. “Glad to be back in National City, I think. D.C. grew on him, but… this is where he grew up.”

“And are you? Glad to be back, I mean?”

“Yes and no.” Cat tilts her head to one side, considering, and Kara has to try very hard not to let her gaze wander along the elegant slope of her neck – she’d always thought Cat was attractive, she wasn’t blind, and that hadn’t changed in thethree years since they’d last seen one another. “It’s nice to be back on familiar ground, to see familiar faces,” she inclines her head towards Kara, who triesto hide her smile, “but a lot of things have changed, and in some ways it feels like a step backwards. It’s certainly strange seeing the CatCo building andknowing there’s no place for me there anymore.”

“I’m sure no-one would complain if you came back.”

“Oh,” Cat’s chuckle is low, makes Kara’s throat tight,“I’m sure a few people would. I wasn’t exactly the nicest boss in the world.” She signals the bartender with a wave of her hand. “Can I buy you anotherdrink?” She asks Kara, as he makes his way over to them, and just a few minutes ago she’d been desperate to leave but now she’d do anything to stay.

“Sure.”

“What ridiculously fruity concoction were you drinking?” Cat eyes Kara’s empty glass, coupled with a bright umbrella, with no small level of disdain.

“A mai tai.”

Cat looks highly offended, but she orders one all thesame, along with another glass of wine for herself.

“So, tell me, what’s changed since - ”

“Kara.” A hand skirts along the small of her back, andKara whirls around with a glare, ready to forcibly remove it – Nate, returning from his phonecall, hastily lifts it when he sees the look on her face. “Sorry about that. Do you want to get out of here?”

“Um…” Rejecting people has never been her strong suit, but thankfully, Cat is only too happy to step in to be her saviour.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Cat cuts in, as she hands Kara her cocktail. “She’s had a much better offer.”

“Kara?” Nate looks like he can’t quite comprehend it,looking between Cat and Kara with a frown on his face.

“She’s right, Nate, sorry. I just… don’t think we havemuch in common.”

“Suit yourself.” He looks haughty as he grabs hisjacket from the back of his stool. “You weren’t a good date anyway.” He storms off towards the door after that, and Cat scoffs as he walks away.

“Ignore him, Kara.” Cat waves towards where he’d disappeared. “He’s clearly deluded.”

“Is he, though?” Kara asks the question around herstraw as she sips at her drink. “I’ve never managed to keep a stable relationship, no-one ever asks me out… maybe I am a bad date. Maybe I’m the boring one.”

“I can assure you that you’re not,” Cat tells her,reaching out to pat her thigh. “Or I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you, would I? Besides, how could a superhero ever be boring?”

Kara chokes on a mouthful of mai tai, and it’s amiracle that it doesn’t come out of her nose – she coughs, and Cat just smirks, looking pleased with herself, and Kara wonders if she’d timed it like that on purpose.

“What, no denials?” Cat asks, when Kara doesn’trespond. “My, my, you have changed.”

“There’s no reason to, anymore,” Kara shrugs, and it’s nice to be able to be candid about this with Cat for a change. “If you wanted to hurt me with it, you’ve had ample opportunity.”

“Oh, Kara,” Cat sighs, “I’ve never wanted to hurt you.I know I did, when I first accused you.” It seems like a lifetime ago, when Cat had demanded she take of her glasses on her balcony, when they were bothdifferent people. “And I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Cat says with a shake of her head. “Iunderstand why it made you not want to trust me.”

“It was never that,” Kara replies quietly. “It wasmore… the second someone finds out about my identity, it makes them a target. It puts them in danger, and the thought of something happening to you because of me… I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Oh, Kara.” There’s that hand again, patting herthigh, and when Cat leaves it there just a second too long, she forgets how to breathe. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of enemies over the years. And besides,I know if anyone ever threatened me, Supergirl wouldn’t have ever let them get close.” Cat’s eyes are soft, trusting, and Kara can’t help but smile, enjoyingbeing back around Cat, the light way it makes her feel, like she could float, and it’s different from when they’d used to talk, back when they’d workedtogether – now, they feel more like equals, it feels more like those nights where Supergirl had sought Cat out, landing on her balcony and seeking words ofwisdom.

“I’ve missed this,” Kara says, getting distracted bythe way Cat’s throat works as she takes a long sip of wine. “I wish we’d have kept in touch.” She’d tried to reach out, a few times, in the beginning, but Cat had never returned her calls, and eventually, she’d stopped trying.

“My fault,” Cat admits, eyes leaving Kara’s to staredown into her glass. “I was afraid of holding you back. And of staying too attached.”

“Attached?” Kara echoes. “To me?”

“Mm.” Cat’s eyes are still on her wine, pensive lookon her face. “You have that effect on people, haven’t you noticed?” Cat looks up, then, her eyes locking with Kara’s, and Kara feels trapped under the weightof her gaze.

“How many glasses of wine have you had?” Kara asks, because surely Cat is joking.

“Not enough to cloud my judgement, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Cat counters, smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

“Are you sure? Because this is coming out of nowhere.”

“To you, perhaps,” Cat concedes, tilting her head toone side and watching Kara closely. “But I’ve always admired you, Kara, always thought that you were extraordinary – even before I found out about yourpowers.”

The words shock her, and Kara wonders again if she’s dreaming, because surely this can’t be happening? Surely, surely, Cat Grant isn’t really sitting in-front of her right now, telling her all of the things that, a few years ago, she would’ve givenanything to hear.

“I always kept my distance because you were myassistant but when I saw you tonight…” Cat shrugs again. “I’m back in town, you seem to be single, and you don’t work for me anymore – I just couldn’t helpmyself.” She lifts her wine glass to her lips and downs the remaining liquid in one easy gulp. “And now I’ve said far too much, and I don’t want to make youuncomfortable, so I’ll take my leave. My number hasn’t changed, if you want to reach me.”

Cat throws a few notes onto the bar as a generous tip, before shrugging into her coat and striding towards the door on four inch heels and a saunter in her hips, Kara watching her go, sure there’s a dumbstruck expression on her face.

Her phone is in her hand before the door has evenswung shut behind her, and it only takes her a moment to locate the phone number that she hasn’t used in over three years.

“That was quick,” Cat answers on just the second ring, and Kara smiles as she finishes her own drink and climbs to her feet.

“Well, I figured we’d already waited long enough,” she replies, pressing the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she grabs her jacket and follows Cat to the door. “But what happened to being better offalone?”

“I lied,” Cat replies, and of course she did. She’s still outside the bar, one foot on the pavement and one foot inside the towncar that’s idling by the curb.

“Want a ride?” Cat asks, sliding the phone into herbag as Kara hangs up.

“Why, that’s awfully forward of you, Ms Grant,” Karareplies, made confident by Cat’s honesty, and she grins when the other woman rolls her eyes.

“Kara Danvers, I’m shocked.” She doesn’t look itthough, a smirk on her mouth as she deliberately drags her gaze down Kara’s frame. “Although, I do have an empty apartment waiting…” She trails off, quirking a suggestive eyebrow, and this absolutely was not how she expected her evening to go, but god, is she glad it did, because she can’t think of a better way to spend the night than alone with Cat, even if it is moving a little faster than she usually would.

“Lead the way.”

#supercat #supercat:minific #i'd say it would take me a lot to do them all but i think i'm already well on my way lol #lockdown prompts #foolishandunpredictablelunatic

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dagenspear · 3 years

Text

Crisis On Infinite Earths Outline Fix, Part 5: Laurel Returns!

This is the conclusion to the Crisis, Part 5! This is a bit of a longer one again. For parts 1, 2, 3 & 4, here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

I thank God for these ideas, if He wills, that He blessed me with:

The bright green light consumes the screen.

Kara, Wally, Jjonn, Ray, Sara and Kate all wake up in their new earth.

But things are different. Black Lightning's, Supergirl's, Earth 1's, Earth 3's and another earth's are now all merged into 1. Lex is the head of the DEO. All the speedsters remember everything. Cisco's powers are back, which when he touches Wally, vibes his pre-crisis memories back. The history of Earth 3 is now apart of that earth's, the Justice Society Of America having been prominent heroes, with the members of Jay Garrick Flash, Dinah Drake Black Canary (Laurel and Sara's mom), Ted Grant Wildcat, Dr. Fate, Hawkman/Hawkgirl, Alan Scott Green Lantern, and others, apart of the team in the 80's & 90's. Barry Allen's Flash has been erased, having never existed. Wally is seen as The Flash, the 2nd Flash there's ever been, after Jay Garrick. John Diggle's life has been altered as well.

Cisco misses Barry, but has become accepting of the situation after the preparations made for it and sees it as his responsibility to maintain the protection of the city. He uses his vibing to give Caitlin, Ralph and the others their memories back, but Wally stops him from giving them to Joe and Iris, saying that he doesn't want them to bear the heartbreak of losing Barry all over again.

Iris is the head of the Central City Citizen, which Post Crisis is a prominent newspaper.

Wally is left to ponder that the people see him as the Flash, him refusing to wear the costume, stating that he's not the Flash. Cisco tells him that the people think he is.

Mia is angry and guilty about the loss of her dad. Diggle has guilt that he couldn't be there for him when it happened.

Cisco picks up a reading of something coming from space, and traces it to landing outside STAR Labs, which he confronts, to find a man landing there.

Sara and Diggle talk about Oliver's loss and she tries to assuage his guilt, stating that no matter what, Oliver wouldn't have wanted him to die fighting this threat, and that Oliver was very stubborn, which they both have a small laugh about.

Sara comforts Mia, whose beginning to be accepting of her dad's death and that he died saving the multiverse, seeing him as a hero.

Sara, though having wanted to continue fighting, is still depressed about the fact that so much of her family is gone and that she has almost no one in her life. Which she talks with Mia about.

That's when they're attacked by some shadow creatures. They fight them, but are pinned down, about to be torn apart, when suddenly...

A sonic scream emerges from the side! BLASTING THEM BACK! And from the side...

Emerges Black Canary.

Sara is shocked. But apprehensive... until Black Canary looks at them and acknowledges Sara as her sister with a smile and rushes to her. Sara realizing that this is E1 Laurel. Alive. Laurel helps her up and Sara touches her shoulders, almost in disbelief that this is real, tears springing to her eyes, before hugging her, crying, in tears of happiness and grief. Mia almost smiles at the moment as well. Mia realizes and says that if they attacked them, they may attack the others as well.

They go to STAR Labs to warn them about what's happening. And are met with Cisco stating that he knows it's not over, as they've been told by someone, that someone revealing themself as the Green Lantern AKA Guy Gardner, from the Justice League Of America 1997 TV Movie, played by Matthew Settle.

Everyone is brought together, Diggle, Kate and Mia included. Guy Gardner tells them that he was from the other earth that was merged with the others, and is questioned by Diggle in how he survived the merge with all his memories intact. He says that his ring protected him. Cisco and Guy explain that the antimatter verse portal is still open, but is slowly closing as this new timeline, of sorts, cements, and if it does, those shadow creatures will be stuck here. Cisco determines that they're gonna need to recreate the sonic pulse to try and get those shadow creatures to them, so they can somehow get them into the portal before it closes. Laurel volunteers to do it, in spite of Sara's concern. Cisco explains that because there's no way to know where they are, they're gonna need to double the pulse from before to get all of them to them. Diggle suggests Dinah. Laurel questions that, but Cisco states that the Dinah Diggle is suggesting is Zinda Blake post-crisis and doesn't have a sonic cry and Laurel's mom has never had powers. Diggle realizes that he hasn't gotten all his memories straight yet. Cisco then says that there's someone else who can help them.

We cut to E2 Laurel standing in front of Laurel. Laurel is uncertain about this. E2 Laurel maintains her memories of pre-crisis. Laurel asks how this is possible. Cisco speculates that with the merging of some universes there may be holdovers from the previous, then stating that both Laurels have the metagene for the canary cry, a now discovered gene post crisis, and, with his memories of EX Laurel, he speculates at least most, if not all the Laurels in the multiverse, have one as well. But E2's was activated by dark matter, while post crisis Laurel's was activated by a gene bomb HIVE set off in 2014, HIVE post crisis being an organization who sought to enhance humanity, using techological and biological enhancements. Laurel asks E2 Laurel if she can be trusted with her history as a villain. E2 Laurel points out that she remembers nearly dying to help and hopes that's gained something. Sara vouches for her. Laurel trusts Sara's judgement and agrees.

The group all agree that the only reason the shadow creatures would have a reason to attack them is based on the Anti-Monitor being alive still. They talk about how that's possible, Sara, among the Legends, suggests that as time hasn't fully cemented yet, he may not be erased, Cisco then suggesting that he also may be acting essentially as a time remnant or using something to keep himself from erasure, like tech or something. Jjonn tells them that he read the Anti-Monitor's mind before he transported himself away and he read that because his plan to cause an antimatter universe of his own in place of our multiverse has been stopped, he's willing to try and prevent the multiverse from forming at all, even if it means his own destruction. They work out how he'd do that, coming to the conclusion that he can use the temporal zone to go to the dawn of time to try and undo it at it's inception.

As the group works out their plan, Guy Gardner uses the STAR Labs computers to look into information about his friends post crisis, from his earth, and where they are now.

His Barry Allen is now Darryl Frye, a detective in Central City.

B. B. Dacosta is now Green Fury, her alter ego as a pop star, Madonna-esque.

His Ray Palmer is now Al Pratt, a respected physics college Professor, and first Atom post crisis.

Tori Olafsdotter is now Mary Pratt, married to Al Pratt, and a reporter.

His Martian Manhunter is unable to be located here.

Diggle is there and tells him glad that a lot of his friends are okay on this earth. Guy Gardner understands that he speaks from a place of a grief at his friend having died in the crisis. Guy Gardner and Diggle bond over that, Guy telling him that now all his friends are found, that Martian Manhunter from his earth is still missing, but he has faith that he's out there somewhere and Diggle has to have faith that his friend is somewhere out there too. Diggle agrees that he does, that it's like Oliver said, it's God's plan.

The team works out the plan.

Before starting, Sara apologizes to Laurel for what happened on the boat. Laurel tells her that she didn't go through with it. Sara says that she would've and that kills her, for being jealous and petty like that, saying that she wanted to have what Laurel had, be her, but she was just hurting herself and her whole family, stating that she doesn't want this, hating herself, to hold her back anymore, that she wants to move forward. Laurel agrees.

Kara and Kate talk, Kate telling her that she can't find Bruce and doesn't know where he is. Kara tells her that she can't give up.

The majority of the group tracks the energy signature of the Anti-Monitor, courtesy of Cisco with combination of tech and his vibe powers, through the temporal zone in a waverider pod, as Diggle, Wally, Guy Gardner, E2 Laurel and Laurel remain on the waverider, above earth. The waverider pod containing Sara, Kara, Alex, Kate, Ray, Cisco and Jjonn.

The 2 Laurels begin their sonic pulse. Guy Gardner explains that they're going to have to act quickly, as his ring is running out of power, and that's why he can't use it for flight while he's using it for the trapping of the shadow creatures and why he'll have to stand at the open door of the waverider as he does it. When Diggle asks if he can recharge it, Guy tells him that post crisis the ring isn't his anymore and will seek out it's true bearer when the time comes, and because of that he doesn't have access to charging it. When the shadow creatures are drawn to the waverider by the sonic pulse, Guy Gardner uses his ring to capture them, giving the go ahead to Wally to superspeed a speedforce portal into the closing antimatter portal, allowing Guy Gardner to funnel the creatures into it.

Meanwhile the others chase after the energy signature of the Anti-Monitor in the wavrider pod, as he flies through the temporal zone. They get close to him, but, realizing they can't catch up, Cisco breaches them both into a neutral area, the vanishing point. The waverider pod crashing. When the group climbs out, they see...

Anti-Monitor standing, unscathed, towering over them, in full comic book Crisis On Infinite Earths Anti-Monitor tech body armor.

Cisco breaches away quickly.

The Anti-Monitor mocks them for that and bringing him here, stating that he's been erased from existence, so the vanishing point no longer holds it's sway over containing him.

Sara states that they didn't bring him here for that. They just didn't want anything or anyone to be in the crossfire, when they destroy him.

They begin the battle:

Atom blasting the Anti-Monitor, even trying to fly into his ear, shrunken, but he's slapped away.

Jjonn flies into him, reaching into his chest by phasing, but the armor he's wearing electrocutes and burns Jjonn. The Anti-Monitor then responding by punching into his chest, him flying backward, being smashed into the ground.

Kara and Kate double team him in an attack of distraction and offensiveness, but are blasted away by an energy beam.

Alex begins shooting at him from behind, telling him not to touch her sister, but he, unaffected, simply redirects his beams at her, which she just barely dodges, then, on the ground, leg badly hurt, being met with another blast directly at her.

Kara quickly superspeeds inbetween her sister and the beam, trying to hold it back with her heat vision, him walking up to her, pushing her heat vision back into her eyes, grabbing her head, placing his hand over her eyes, the heat vision burning them, BLINDING HER, her yelling out in pain.

Back on the wavrider Diggle, flying above earth, tells those on board that it's time. The 2 Laurels are ready.

Sara comes up behind him with a blade, but he grabs her quickly by the throat, destroying her blade, mocking her for thinking it'd work, then saying that now she's alone again. Sara smirks, saying that she's far from alone.

Suddenly a breach opens and Brandon Routh Superman emerges, flying like a freight train into the Anti-Monitor. The Anti Monitor's grip on Sara is immediately broken, him being SMASHED into the ground.

Cisco exits the breach right after, as Cisco as ever, exclaiming, "Was that a bird? A plane? Why, I think it was Superman!" He then asks Sara if she's okay. She says that she is, but what took him so long? He explains that they had a couple last minute additions.

Out of the breach emerges:

E1 Black Canary

E2 Black Canary

Killer Frost

Citizen Steel

Heatwave

Tyler Hoechlin Superman

Black Lightning

Tom Welling Superman

Obviously Brandon Routh Superman, as he re-positions himself.

They all engage in battle with the Anti-Monitor. Their powers all together do some damage. Atom's blasts, the canary cries, the electric blasts, the cold blasting, the flamethrower flames, the heat visions of all the Supermen doing the most damage. But he's still too powerful to defeat. Cisco tries to use his breaches to slice the Anti-Monitor apart, but his suit breaks the breaches apart when they close in on him.

Alex crawls over to check on Kara, whose eyes seem almost seared in a way.

In the waverider, Guy Gardner is having a hard time containing all the shadow creatures as he funnels them into the antimatter portal. Diggle, flying the waverider with some difficulty, tells Wally that the others need help down there. Wally's uncertain he can. Diggle lays it out, telling him that it doesn't matter what he thinks, because they still need the Flash. Wally takes the Flash ring out of his pocket, pondering it. Diggle asks him if he's ready to do what it takes to save everyone. Wally, in resolve, places the ring on his finger, and extends his fist, the Flash symbol on the ring glowing in almost a lightning crackle blaze.

In the battle, Sara tells them to try to hit the Anti-Monitor with all their powers all at once. They make an attempt, but he's too powerful for them to get at with all those hits at once. Cisco tries something, throwing his breaches around the Anti-Monitor's hands, then giving the Supermen the go ahead. The Supermen do so. Brandon Routh Superman grabbing his left arm, Tom Welling Superman grabbing his right, Tyler Hoechlin Superman grabbing his head, them all holding him in place.

On the waverider, Guy Gardner's green lantern power ring starts to drain, just as the last batch of the shadow creatures are getting to the antimatter portal. He tells Diggle he's almost there. Diggle tells him it could kill him. Guy states that they have to make sure they're all gone now, as the antimatter portal's about to close, it taking all of his willpower to hold it. Just as the last shadow creature gets in, the portal closes, Guy's power ring runs out and he falls unconscious from exhaustion, falling out of the waverider into earth's atmosphere. The Green Lantern ring slips from his finger and flies off as he falls. But just before Guy's about to be hit with the heat of re-entry...

Diggle swoops in with the waverider and catches him!

The Supermen holding the Anti-Monitor gives the others the room to throw their powers (canary cries, lightning, etc.) at him at the same time. It does more damage, but he still struggles. Tom Welling Superman stating that they can't hold him much longer. Sara asks how he's still so powerful.

Kara, hearing this, realizes, and tells them, that he's still empowered by the energy of the sun that was used to cause him to form and it may take a similar energy to destroy him. Cisco, as he holds the breaches around Anti-Monitor, intensely struggling, his nose bleeding a lot, says that it could work. Sara states that the only way to be sure would be to drop him into it directly. Cisco says that could result in the energy of the sun blowing back and killing all of them here. Kara tells them no, then asking Cisco if he has enough power to drop her in front of the sun. Cisco begrudgingly says yes, understanding her goal. Kara stands up, her eyes still seared, telling him to do so on her go ahead. Alex asks Kara what she's doing. She tells Alex that Nazi Supergirl could absorb enough of the energy of a sun to explode, and that if she gets enough, she could destroy him. Alex asserts that Nazi Supergirl died from it. Kara acknowledges that. Alex telling her no, she won't accept that. Kara hugs Alex tightly, telling her that she can't lose her home again and quickly pushes Alex away from her, telling her that she loves her and tell Lena she's sorry, then telling Cisco "now", the breach opening around Kara, taking her and closing just as quickly before Alex can stop it.

Tyler Hoechlin Superman asks what's happening.

Kara floats before the energy of the yellow sun of earth, it energizing her, the energy flowing to and healing her eyes, her opening them, with the energy of the yellow sun making them glow.

At Kara's request, Cisco breaches her back into the battle.

Kara floats over the battle, telling the Supermen to get away from the Anti-Monitor. Tyler Hoechlin Superman, realizing himself what's happening, tells her no, that he can't let her die, there has to be another way. The other Supermen agree. Kara states that he has a son to take care of, all of the Supermen do, it has to be her, that protecting him was her job in the first place. Tyler Hoechlin Superman continues to reject that.

But in a flash of lightning, all the Supermen are pulled away from the Anti-Monitor, and Wally stands before them, in the full Flash costume.

The Flash lives again, as Wally circles the Anti-Monitor at superspeed, throwing lightning at him multiple times, this keeping him in place...

Allowing Kara to enact her plan. She says to Tyler Hoechlin Superman, "I love you, Kal-El." and flies towards the Anti-Monitor, her heat vision BLAZING with the fire of the sun, searing into him, it burning through his armor, burning him from the inside out, FLAMES igniting from the eyes of his suit! This use of her powers causing her eyes to crack with yellow sun energy bleeding out, the cracks spreading more and more. The Anti-Monitor, enraged, yells out, "NO!" And Kara collides with him, the force of it IMPLODING THEM IN A FLASH OF LIGHT!

Leaving nothing but a crater, and Kara's torn cape. Alex and Tyler Hoechlin Superman rushing there, seeing only the cape, them both breaking down, almost leaning on eachother, Alex devastated, inconsolable. The other Supermen stand silently in mourning, placing their hands on their shoulders in an attempt at comfort. Everyone else surrounding them, in silence.

The President gives a speech, honoring the sacrifices of Supergirl and the Green Arrow with a statue of an \S/ in National City and one of Green Arrow being built in Starling City.

Diggle visits Guy Gardner in the hospital who tells Diggle that his time is over and now it's his turn. We confirm that Diggle, now having gained full memory of both earths, in this post-crisis, his name is John Stewart.

The team honors the Flash silently with a Flash symbol built in it and empty seats for Barry, Oliver, Kara, even Bruce at the new table, in the Hall Of Justice.

In the montage of showing the earths with show the same things, but now with inclusions of:

The Birds Of Prey TV Series Earth, showing that team now working with Kevin Conroy Batman, who has a renewed pursuit of heroism.

Tom Welling Superman with Lois, watching their kids, before he gets an alert on a fire in Metropolis, with Lois being proud of him.

Justice League Of America TV Movie Martian Manhunter alive, leading martians on Mars.

Earth 1 Bruce, alive, stranded on another earth, but on the search for a way back.

Gotham TV Series Bruce as Batman in his earth.

Some quick flashes with the Batman 89 earth and Batman 66 earth.

On a re-established Earth 90 E-90 Flash speeds through the city, before getting a message from Christina McGee of a bank robbery by Trickster, E-90 Flash smirking and then speeding off to it.

On earth prime, something falling to earth in front of Diggle, but stopping just short of hitting the ground and it redirecting and pointing right at him. It emanating a green light reflecting on his face.

Ending still on the Superman The Movie nod of Brandon Routh Superman flying, his symbol back to yellow and red.

THE END.

In case ya’ll are curious, Kara and Barry aren’t really dead and aren’t gone for good. In their respective seasons, they’d return after a couple episodes or so. Please review and tell me what you think!

#Crisis on Infinite Earths #laurel lance #The Flash #supergirl #arrow

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pretend-writer · 4 years

Text

Down Below (Chapter 59)

Summary: After being sent down on Earth with the other prisoners from the Ark, Y/N Reyes faces series of events and learns about survival. With new things happening around her, she is now starting a new chapter in her life.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader, Raven Reyes x sister!reader

Word Count: 1236 words

Warning: swearing, mention of death, mention of murder

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

There was a knock on my door, I couldn’t even guess who it could possibly be. After the event that happened with Bellamy, I’d doubt that he’d want to talk to me. Octavia and I already had a meeting with Indra, Miller and the other Wonkru warriors earlier.

Getting up from the bed, I opened the door to my room. Clarke smiled nervously, ‘Hey. You got a minute?’

‘Uhm, sure what’s up?’ I motioned her to come in as I welcomed her into my room. 'Is this a check up visit because I’m tired of people asking me if I’m doing alright.’

'No, no nothing like that. It’s actually about something serious.’ Clarke crossed her arms.

Closing the door behind us, I questioned her. 'Well what is it about?’

Clarke bit her lip, processing everything she needed to say before she spoke. 'Er, we found out about the worms. We’re assuming you guys are testing it on the defectors to see if it’ll be a weapon against Diyoza.’

'Okay?’ I gave her a stoic stare, confused and not understanding why she brought it up. 'What does this have to do with you and why are you here?’

'If you release those worms, it could kill the people at Shallow Valley. You know Raven’s there as well as Murphy. You really want to go along with this plan?’

'Why are you coming to me about it instead of Octavia?’ I was able to see right through her, 'Perhaps you and Bellamy thought it was better to talk me out of it instead of going to Blodreina herself. Am I right?’

Clarke stuttered, 'W-well when-’

'You said “we found the worms.” So I know someone’s behind this and I know it’s Bellamy. Don’t lie to me, Clarke.’

She sighed, looking at the ground as if she was thinking of what to do next. I added, 'Maybe you should’ve thought this through.’

'Y/N, we cannot kill our people in the Valley. Killing innocent people shouldn’t be a way to get our home back.’

'You can kill people but we can’t, Wanheda?’ I was getting tired of her judgement and her hypocrisy was starting to piss me off. 'Some lives have to be sacrificed in order to get what we need. That is war.’

'So you’re okay with Murphy and a Raven dying is what I’m hearing.’

Clenching my fist, I took a step forward towards Clarke. 'I never said it was okay. I also never said they were going to die. I have a plan of my own to help them.’

'Let us in on your plan then. We can rescue our people together.’

'No, I’m not making a deal with someone that pulled the trigger right in my face.’

Her eyes went up as she had a realization. 'So you’re not over what happened six years ago..’

'I am over it. I forgave you for what you did but I don’t forget and I certainly will not trust you after what had happened.’ I crossed my arms, 'You’re selfish and you only proceed with plans when it’s only right for you. So no, I will not work with you.’

Clarke shook her head, 'So what are we supposed to do now?’

'Figure it out on your own.’

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

Octavia walked in as I was eating in the office, trying to figure out the situation Clarke brought up earlier. 'Did you call for me?’

'Yeah, I did actually. You have time?’

'Mhm, what’s up?’ Octavia walked closer to me, crossing her arms.

Leaning on the table, I sighed. 'Clarke came by my room… Her and Bellamy found out about the worm you brought back and knows about the experiment we’re doing.’

'Funny she went to you and not me.’ Octavia huffed. 'Did you tell them you’re planning to help Raven and Murphy?’

'I did but I’m helping my sister and John, I don’t need her to rescue the people I care about. She wanted to make a deal with me so we could rescue others as well.’

'Hm, well whether she likes it or not we’re using that damn worm in the Valley. I hope you can rescue them before the worms reach them.’

I nodded, 'I wi-’

We were interrupted by the alarm that rang throughout the bunker; It was an emergency. Quickly, Octavia and I ran to the root of the problem which we figured came from the biolab.

'I was too late.’ Indra turned off the alarm, sorrowfully watching Cooper’s dead bloody body on the ground.

Her stomach was open, revealing her intestines and her other organs in her body. It was a symptom that the parasite worms reached her body, which caused her death.

Miller, who was the first responder along with Indra pointed to the glove. 'Cooper has a hole on her glove. That must be the way the worms got to her.’

Cooper handled everything in the hydrofarm, dealing with our rations. She also was the one conducting the parasite experiment to see if the worms would be habitable in The Valley long enough to kill Diyoza and her men.

With all the plan that we had with Octavia, something really didn’t add up. Cooper was supposed to meet us at the office to talk plans, yet she was in the biolab.

'Seems like the worms have been completely destroyed after attacking Cooper. How are we going to attack Diyoza now?’ Indra questioned.

I crossed my arms, 'Good thing we’re not using the worms for the war.’

'What do you mean?’ Indra eyed me and Octavia with a concerned look.

'We never planned to used the worms. We’re using their eggs.’ Octavia squinted her eyes.

Indra kept a straight face, starring at Octavia as she took all the information in. It was hard to figure out of Indra was in on this “accident” with Cooper. We all knew the two people who definitely were in on this plan.

'I’m sure we’d love to hear what Bellamy and Clarke had to say.’ Octavia smirked then turned around. 'Guards, find them.’

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

Knowing exactly where Bellamy was, I assumed Clarke was there with him. As I stomped my way into the tent, they both jumped when they saw me walk in.

'You’re surprised to see me? I know you guys did it.’

'Did what?’ Even six years apart, I could still tell that he was lying to me.

Before I said another word, Octavia followed me in with two other guards. 'Clarke Griffin, you’re arrested for the murder of Kara Cooper.’

'Wh-what?’ Clarke’s eyes widened as one of the guards cuffed her. Intensely, he pulled her into him as they made sure she wouldn’t resist.

'The plan was to use the eggs, not the worms and we’ve already loaded the rover. So what was Cooper doing in there?’ Octavia cocked her head, enjoying the reactions Bellamy and Clarke were making.

Bellamy quickly looked over at Clarke, trying to see if he should defend her or not. It was slightly interesting to see that he hasn’t changed at all.

'Be careful, we can charge you for being accessory of the crime.’ I eyed him, watching his every move.

Clarke and Bellamy paused, starring at each other as if they were reading each other’s minds.

'I guess this settles for an execution then. Not enough for the fighting pit.’ Octavia shrugged, turning around and exiting the tent.

#bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake x y/n #bellamy blake series #bellamy blake fic #raven reyes x sister!reader

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masterofmagnetism · 4 years

Text

The Other Side

WHO: @jeangrcysummers and Erik. Mentions of @burdenedxtelepath, @firstxman, @mysteriousdumbass, @mistressxfmagnetism WHEN: The first night of the siege of Manhattan WHERE: Stark Tower WHAT: Jean confronts Erik, suspicious (correctly) that he’s done something to Kara to make her act out of character. Erik pulls out the ye olde manipulation skills and gaslights Jean into doubting herself, growing angry about things long past, and eventually comforting him by the end of a very long and hard conversation and trudge down memory lane.

(He’s very good at what he does.)

WORD COUNT: 12.8k. It’s me and Lola. What do you expect? TWs: This one’s a doozy. Manipulation/gaslighting, murder, ptsd, anxiety, violence, torture, holocaust mention, suicidal ideation, injury. It’s a heavy one emotionally, so proceed w caution.

JEAN: Jean Grey was an angry kid. From her very first day in the classroom, the teacher was phoning her parents, or talking to them with a frown at the school gates, explaining that Jean just seemed to feel things more intensely than most people. It manifested in ways that made other people’s lives more difficult, but the person who suffered the most, undoubtedly, was Jean. It always came back around on her in some way, in some fashion that she couldn’t predict, that she didn’t want to predict when the rage was burning its way through her chest and causing her hands to ball into fists.

Jean Summers was an angry woman. She told herself she had changed from that kid on the playground with arms crossed against her chest arguing against the injustice of it all, told herself she had matured from a teenager who would fight her own shadow as long as it meant she had something to go to war for, but it wasn’t true. She knew it wasn’t true. It just took reminding, sometimes, for her to realise just how little she had changed through all of her lifetimes.

What happened to Kara? That was one of the biggest reminders she could think of. Kara’s face flashed in her mind, and instead of warmth, or comfort, or a smile coming onto her face, Jean wanted to rip the world in half.

No. The world could wait. Erik would meet her first.

She lowered herself onto the landing strip at Stark Tower, scrunching her nose as the logo shone back at her in the diminishing sunlight. The day was almost over, a full twelve hours since they stepped foot into that U.N. meeting, a full eleven and a half hours since Mystique dropped a man to the ground, staining the carpet with his blood.

Oh, Jean was angry about a lot of things.

“Erik,” she called out, the second she was through the doors. Her voice reverberated through the empty corridors, bounced off the marble steps, mingled with the metal in the walls. He would know she was here, just as she knew, instinctively, when he was on the same continent, even in those years they spent apart. Jean loved people, and they settled in her ribcage. It was the way it had always been.

Jean Summers never changed.

“Erik!” she called out again, ascending a staircase -- and then she found him. At least, she found the back of his head as he stood, looking out over the city they’d taken. A city they’d taken through violence, and bloodshed, and intimidation. It was what they needed, to win a war, but what right did they have to stoop to those levels? What right did he have, to do it without speaking to her?

She came to a stop, crossing her arms against her chest in an attempt to stop her hands from shaking. “We need to talk,” she started, voice even, clear, crisp -- at least at the start. The next time her mouth opened, the words came out shaky. Not with fear, not with hesitation, not with trepidation, but with a simmering anger that she couldn’t shake off. “We need to talk about Kara.”

ERIK: Erik was no fool. He knew Jean was angry--he'd known Jean was angry from the moment they'd been transported to Stark Tower. He could feel it rolling off of her, targeted at both Raven and himself, but Jean hadn't said anything. Not at first.

She was simmering. He knew more than a bit about that. He knew when she left the tower shortly after they'd gotten there that she wanted space to think, to stew, to gather her thoughts before she confronted him. He was ill-inclined to complain, since it gave him time to think, too.

So when she landed, he thought he knew what was coming--mentally followed her steps until she was in the room behind him. And then she spoke.

And made her first mistake. Erik frowned in the window, adopted an expression of surprise as he turned to look at her. His mind was locked down, now, without the need for a psylink. He couldn't afford to betray anything.

"I knew you wanted to talk. But Kara? Your friend the...journalist, was it?" he asked, eyebrows knitting. "Is she stuck in the city? Do you want me to let her leave?"

He knew the real reason. Knew that Kara was Supergirl, that that was the relevant problem. But Erik had no reason to know that. And to admit that he did would admit to far more.

"I thought you wanted to talk about Raven."

JEAN: The age old adage was that love and hate were separated by a very thin line, the insinuation that intense emotions clouded you to what side you stood on. Jean had been dealing with that assumption her entire life. People looked at her burning with rage and they wrote her off. Irrational. Childish. Too passionate for her own good, her empathy conflicting with judgement. They were all wrong.

Jean knew she loved Erik. She’d known that for a long time. It was as much a part of her as the ring around her finger, or her ability to move something across the room, as much as part as the Institute was or Charles. Charles, Rogue, all of these people she’d left in the dust … for what?

For a chance to fight a better war. For a chance to make a difference, to stop someone else from losing the love of their life. For a chance to make Jean Grey worth more alive than she was dead, to spit on that memorial plaque tacked onto the side of the mansion and scream that she was still here, still breathing, still fighting, still a massive pain in everyone’s ass.

She left the people she loved because she trusted the man standing in front of her. At least, she trusted that he loved her enough to hold back when it counted, selfishly believed that for all the forces that had been unable to restrain Magneto, it would be her hand on his arm that would pull him back.

“You know everything, don’t you?” It wasn’t how she’d planned to start this. In the hours she’d had in between the U.N. and now, she’d mapped it out, logically, in a way that would garner his respect instead of prompting an equally emotional response. They both knew how that would end. Well laid plans, and all that. “You know damn well who it is. I can’t read your mind — which really makes me be able to trust you, thanks very much — but I know you. And you know everything.”

He could be so cold, when he wanted to. It wasn’t reflected in his eyes yet, but it would be. She’d seen it before, she’d no doubt see it again. “Talk about what, Erik?” Jean asked. “How she murdered a man in cold blood? How she went against everything we planned before we walked in there? How you could’ve stopped her, but didn’t? Don’t give me bullshit about her being her own person. You know her as well as I do, better.”

A breath, a beat of a moment, then Jean was frowning.

“You’re distracting me,” she said. “You— asshole.”

ERIK: He didn't like manipulating the people he loved. He took no pleasure at all in the conversation he knew was coming, here, in the urgency of diverting Jean from knowing the truth about what had happened with Kara. Not here, not now. Not ever, if he had his way--people liked to say the truth always came out, but Erik had more than his fair share of skeletons long-buried that hadn't dug their way out yet. This could be another.

He didn't like manipulating them. But he'd learned ages ago how to do things he didn't want to, anyway.

Jean was so much like him, when it came down to it--her rage, her impulsiveness, her ability to see the bigger picture, the way that very ability got narrowed in throes of fury. She hadn't been angry often, with him, before Cuba, but he'd seen it against others, knew it well. That meant he knew exactly the buttons he needed to push.

He ignored the accusation and focused on the entitlement, because that... that he could use. "Oh?" he asked, and managed to keep the coldness from creeping in yet because she would feel that, would see it as disingenuous. "I can't possibly know everything, Jean, and I certainly can't keep track of every person every single mutant associates with. Kara was at the wedding, yes, I remember her--and I fail to see what she has to do with any of this."

This next was dangerous, liable to spark the tinderbox, but it was necessary. "In better news," he started, and there was a tone in his voice that even he couldn't quite manage to stick a label on, "I'm glad you seem to have grown use to using your powers on others whenever you feel like it. Mutant and proud, at last. You're not shy about using your telepathy, anymore, are you? Don't even ask anymore, and that's alright. You know you've always been welcome in my head." She knew he was trying to distract her. That didn't mean it wouldn't work. "I've got a lot of things on my mind, I didn't want to bombard you when you're a woman on a mission. And I think we can both agree it’s for the best that we’re not in each others’ heads during an argument."

The board was set. Time for the distraction. “But since you’ve brought it up—you’re right. I could’ve stopped Raven if I wanted to. And so could you. You were in her head, Jeannie, like you were in everyone else’s. One thought, and you could’ve stopped her in her tracks. But you didn’t, did you? Easier to blame me, I understand. Feel free, everyone does. But you could’ve stopped her, just as easily—if not more easily—than I. And you didn’t, and don’t tell me it’s because you didn’t know. You knew what she was going to do. If not at the beginning, than certainly before she snapped his neck. I warned you—and I know you picked up on some of the thought process as I did, because of the way you looked at me. But you didn’t stop her. Because you knew that would show weakness we couldn’t afford in front of the humans. Because you respect Raven’s autonomy enough not to seize control of her like you did him. And maybe, just maybe, because you didn’t mind so much that he died when you could see how much he wanted to do the same to us. So what is it you’re angry about, Jean? That I didn’t stop her? That you didn’t? That she hasn’t been punished? Or are you actually here to ask about what else you heard when I gave you that moment’s warning to make your own choice?”

Distract, deflect, direct. Coax her into a conversation he could have without bringing this whole thing down around his head.

JEAN: She knew how this was going to go down before she arrived, which was why she hadn’t chosen to discuss this conversation with her husband beforehand. Scott shed far too much light on a situation, made her see what was to be gained versus what was to be lost, and right now, Jean didn’t need that logical approach. She needed answers. She needed something to settle the uncertainty that had been swirling in her gut ever since the Raft, ever since the funeral, really, the uncertainty that only grew when she looked across a room and felt none of the warmth from the wedding, or the easy familiarity that came from dropping beside him on the couch, or the comfort of his voice reading poetry. All she found was the other side staring back.

“Don’t do that.” Boundaries. She would do things differently this time than she had in the apartment, before. They could do so much damage now. She needed to keep it controlled, needed to stop it getting close to the chest. Of course, with Erik, everything was close to the chest. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re being pedantic. You’re picking my words apart because the sentiment is right and you know it.”

Kara’s secret was one she trusted Jean with. Jean would die before she said the names Kara and Supergirl in the same sentence. Erik would know that. He knew what loyalty meant, what love meant, how it tore Jean up and tied her in knots. They were stuck at an impasse, and if he could just give her a moment to breathe, to think, she could find a way around it that meant …

“That is not what I meant,” Jean argued, viciously, biting down on her lip to stop words from spilling forth that she knew she wouldn’t mean tomorrow (though wouldn’t she? Wouldn’t she mean them? Everything she’d said so far, she meant). “I’ve never read further into your mind than you’ve allowed. I read you aura, Erik. It … I can’t block all of it out. You don’t think I’ve tried?” Over and over and over again, she’d tried to give the people she loved some privacy. She’d even tried with Scott, and instead bonded them permanently to each other’s minds. “And how dare you— how dare you suggest I would—”

I didn’t want to bombard you … I think we can both agree …

Jean could hear her own heart thumping loud in her ears. “Do not,” she hissed, “decide what I am thinking!” She made her own choices. She defined her own destiny. That’s what she said, that’s what she always said, that’s what kept her sane when she was six feet under again and again and again…

He was talking, again. He was talking and he was well past three sentences, and Jean knew all of her well laid plans were well and truly out the window. They were standing in this place, in the building representative of Avengers and all their follies, looking out over a city that despised them, and they were supposed to feel … proud? They were supposed to feel as if this was something other than another hollow victory gained through violence?

Erik was well past three sentences, and that meant Jean was losing. She didn’t like to lose. The more words he got out, the more they curled around in her brain, turning inside out, making her doubt herself and her decisions and her sanity, if he did it right.

Because this is what he did. This is what he had always done. As a child, she thought it was putting the world to rights, guiding her with a soft hand on her shoulder. Now?

Now she wasn’t so sure.

“I didn’t stop her because contrary to your belief, Erik,” she snapped, “I don’t use my powers to change people’s decisions, or their choices. I held that man there, yes, but I didn’t stop him from saying what he wanted to, deep down. I didn’t make him understand us, because I could. I could’ve walked in there and made every single damn one of them agree with us, but what you don’t seem to understand is that forced submission isn’t genuine victory!”

A good point, well made, but in the beat when she caught her own shaky breath, Erik hit her with another.

That I didn’t stop her? That you didn’t?

Jean’s hands flew down to her sides, hands opening, energy pushing back only strong enough to get him away, to get him to stop, to make him …

”To make him hurt?” a voice provided, from the back of her mind. Jean was gasping, now, heat building up in her throat. She wasn’t going to cry, yet her eyes were burning. ”We could do that. You and me, together, we could take him apart … piece by little piece. He wouldn’t underestimate you then, Jean. He wouldn’t be alive to say a word …”

“Stop,” she said, to the voice or to Erik or to herself. “Just—“

The rest of his words sunk in, and slowly, Jean raised her head to look at him with narrowed eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

(She knew.)

ERIK: This conversation wasn’t going to be fair. It never would be, when he and Jean were fighting, not really, because Jean Grey knew Erik Lehnsherr as a professor and as a parental figure before she’d ever known him as anything else. He’d been in her heart, and she in his, for years before Cuba had happened and ripped everything apart. Jean had seen Erik in battle, since then, though he’d always been holding back a bit around her. His goal had never been to hurt any of the X-Men.

Jean didn’t know who he’d been before the Institute. Jean had never met the man who spent decades as a spy and an assassin, who had spent nearly forty years of his life lying and stealing and trapping and killing. She knew he was a good orator, but she didn’t know just how that skill had been honed over the decades by learning to read people and tell them what they needed to hear to respond the way he wanted. Jean trusted him because as a professor, he’d had no cause to lie to his students. As a parent, he had no cause to lie to the children. And as an enemy, he’d never been anything but forthcoming about his goals and what he would do to get them—and what he wouldn’t do.

He’d never lied to her, before, which set expectations. He wasn’t playing by the rules, right now—and miraculously, the Phoenix didn’t seem inclined to out him, for all her the Phoenix shows you the truth. The bird knew, then, that this was a necessary deceit. That he was in the right.

( Then why did he feel so guilty?)

“Don’t do what, Jean? I’m not being pedantic, you’re being vague. You mention her name and expect me to know exactly what the problem is? I’m not the mind reader, I don’t keep tabs on your friends, and I don’t have any idea what sentiment you’re talking about let alone what I could do to fix it!” he snapped in exasperation, throwing his hands up.

And then she took the bait, and the conversation mercifully shifted. Exactly as he’d expected. He knew Jean, knew how dearly she held to Charles’ teachings about the responsibilities of telepaths to not pry unnecessarily, and he knew it’d get the rise he needed to turn the conversation. “I know how telepathy works, Jean, which is why I’m blocking you out. You can’t do it yourself, so I give you a hand, and suddenly I’m the one at fault for trying to let you think through things in your head without my mind putting out interference. Well, my apologies.”

He could see the shift happen in her, could see the vein pulsing in her temple, the fingers twitching at her sides, the color rising in her cheeks. She was even angrier than she’d come in, and part of Erik wanted to wrap his arms around her the way he used to and give her something to direct it at—tell her to shatter the glasses behind the bar, because glass could be replaced more easily than walls. But he didn’t, because he needed her angry to give her the pushes she needed in the right direction. Jean hated being told what to do, as she’d just so clearly emphasized, which meant he had to do it more subtly than orders.

He’d always been so good at twisting words, twisting reality, to fit what he needed others to believe. She knew he was doing it, and it was working anyway, because it was one thing to know what someone was trying to do and another to be able to stop it.

Jean’s defense earned a laugh he didn’t bother to fight down. “You didn’t change his decisions, did you? That’s interesting, because I seem to remember him looking distinctly surprised when he started talking. He couldn’t move except to tell the hall what he thought, what you needed them to hear. He wasn’t going to say anything at all, but you made him do that. But no, no, changing his mind was a step too far,” Erik scoffed. “Better to make him a passenger in his own body, was it? More moral? You can’t have it both ways, Jean. How does this end, do you think? Voluntary submission? We’re forcing them, either way, because that’s how it was always going to have to go, but rather than make things easy by changing their minds, you and Charles would rather let people on both sides die in a good old fashioned war when we have the tools to win before it even starts.” And this…. this was a conversation he didn’t need to have with Jean, because he knew, he knew, it’d go no better than it ever had with Charles in their philosophical debates. But he needed her to doubt what she was saying, because she needed to doubt what she’d came in here about in the first place.

It was working, it seemed, because she knocked him backward a few steps with a flick of her hands, and Erik let her push until she got a grip on herself. Gave her a moment, to pull her mind back together just enough that this wouldn’t go like it had in Brooklyn, so she wouldn’t bring the Tower down around them in a burst of Phoenix-fueled anger.

( The Phoenix was being quiet, for him, now, for the first time in a while, and wasn’t that funny. )

“You know what I’m talking about,” he answered, meeting her eyes unabashedly. Stepping back to where he’d been a moment before, and then closer, closer. “You heard me think of him, in the moment before Raven snapped that man’s neck. Felt the déjà vu. And you want to know why. Want to know what could’ve possibly happened that would remind me of him in the midst of a murder.” He was standing in front of her know, and reached out for her hand, pressed it against his temple. “You want to see into my head? Fine. Look.”

It was a gamble. A dangerous one. But he’d kept secrets from Charles and from Jean alike, before. He was confident he could keep memories of Kara under lock and key while letting her in to see this.

Part of him didn’t want to share this with her. What had happened all those years ago was still one of the more painful parts of his past, certainly the most painful in the last fifty-some years, and he often did his best to avoid thinking about it.

But part of him was desperate for it. He didn’t know what Charles had told her, after Cuba, what any of the others had said to the young students, but they’d seemed angry, the first time he’d seen them afterwards on the other side of a battlefield. They knew enough to take sides. He could give his side to Jean, now, mistakes and all, talk about it with someone other than Raven for the first time in years, and one way or the other, she would understand.

JEAN: She couldn’t say that he was one of the few on Earth to prompt this response from her. It wouldn’t be fair, especially in recent times, to suggest that Erik was capable of getting under her skin and igniting the flame from her chest in ways that would normally remain tempered and flickering just under the surface, ash that still glowed red. Jean was always like this -- searching for something to scream at, something to rebel against. When she was sixteen years old, Scott only a few metres away from her in battle, Bobby being thrown by a giant robot and Warren desperately trying to save civilian onlookers, Scott had met her gaze across the battlefield and yelled, ‘Let go, Jean.’

Let go.

They were words she’d dreamed of hearing in every fight after that. It didn’t even take a beat, not a second of hesitation, before those walls she’d so carefully, painstakingly built over the past five years, over her entire goddamn life, crashed to the ground around her. The robot was thrown back. A building fell. Lampposts bent, cars went flying. Her friends were shielded from all of it by an invisible barrier she had tried, many times since, to replicate and and failed.

The world broke apart around her, and all Jean could think was this is how it feels to breathe.

Then the Phoenix came, and she never managed to catch a breath that didn’t taste like smoke in the back of her throat, that didn’t remind her what happened when she lost grip for even a second -- a lost night, darkened weekends, blood on her shirt, red dust on her knees. All of these unexplained mysteries, all of these lifetimes she’d lived with the Phoenix, and she couldn’t remember. All she could see were the flames. All she could feel was the power simmering in her veins.

So it wasn’t Erik, not entirely. But he didn’t help, either. He knew exactly what to say, exactly what expression would turn it from mildly irritating to infuriating. He knew what he was doing, and she knew what she was doing, but whether it worked didn’t rely on Jean’s introspection or her perceptiveness regarding the issue. Whether it worked entirely depended on Erik’s motivation for it working -- and he’d been extremely motivated in the past few months.

She pretended it wasn’t since the Raft.

“You’ve never needed a book full of details from me before to provide some degree of comfort,” Jean replied. “If you knew nothing about Kara, you would say that. You’re talking around it. You’re saying all these words and you’re flipping it back on me, and I know you’re something to do with it. I know it isn’t a choice that she would’ve made, because--”

Because it wasn’t a choice Jean would’ve made up in that space shuttle so many years ago, if she knew what came with it. If she knew death was no longer an option. If she knew worlds would fall to its talons. If she knew that she would never again, not really, be free to be her own person. No one chose to give parts of themselves up. No one chose to have someone else in their head.

Jean was not going to be to humanity as the Phoenix was to her.

“I’ve lived with this my entire life,” Jean retorted, voice picking up in volume. “I’ve been hearing the world’s thoughts since I was fifteen years old, and you really think your mind is going to interfere with mine? I know my own thoughts, thanks very much. I don’t need you to try and make things easier for me.” All you’ve done is make them harder, she thought after the fact, but she didn’t broadcast it -- couldn’t broadcast it. His mind was closed off, and it wasn’t fair. Erik wasn’t the reason things were going to hell. That was all on Jean.

And then he was speaking again, reminding her of that fact, and Jean wanted to put him through the glass window Loki had thrown Iron Man from during the Incident. (They’d been watching it, from the mansion -- had been protecting their own, fighting the good fight within their own walls. They’d always been battling against extinction. This was nothing new.)

“You brought me,” Jean snapped back. “I’m a telepath. You know what I do. There’s no way for me … you talk about using my gifts. You talk about them as if they’re something to be proud of, and then you judge me for my implementation. There is no way to use telepathy that doesn’t fuck people up, Erik. There’s no way I can be in someone’s head and not leave a trace there, not make them … not change them in some way!”

Emma might’ve been capable of that. She was a surgeon’s scalpel while Jean was a battering ram. It had always been that way. She wondered if that meant Erik respected her more. She wondered if Scott looked at Jean, sometimes, and wondered why she wasn’t capable of that much discretion, why she tore things apart in her wake.

This wasn’t about Jean. This was about Kara. She was focusing on Kara. She was focusing--

On Erik. On the lump in her throat that was forming at the memory that was far further forward in her mind than she would’ve admitted to, the memory she’d been turning over ever since the U.N. It mingled with the blood that had pooled on the plush carpet, meaning that all Jean could think was death and secrets and applying both to a man she trusted, a man she needed to trust if this was to go to plan, if this wasn’t just one giant mistake …

“Is that supposed to be a dare?” Jean asked, but there wasn’t nearly the level of bitterness in her voice that there perhaps should’ve been. She looked at Erik for a long moment, at his familiar, tired face, at the weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders for the past few weeks, at hands that crafted a music box for her wedding, at the fact that he was standing here, in front of her, when John and Elaine and Charles and her siblings were not.

She sucked in a breath, stepped forward, and touched her fingertips to his temple.

“Show me,” she whispered.

ERIK: The distraction worked. She argued, she pushed back, but in the end it worked, and she was closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to his temple and letting him turn the subject matter to something else. Something just marginally more comfortable.

He couldn’t just go to what she’d seen in the UN. She needed context, needed some sort of background on how they’d gotten to that point in the first place, which meant… he needed to start at the Institute.

Charles stares at the chessboard, fingers tapping lightly against his cheek in a gesture that’s far more endearing than it has right to be as he attempts to make sense of Erik’s last play. It’d been a circuitous move, the midpoint of a maneuver for checkmate that Erik had started executing three moves before and Charles seemed not to have caught onto, yet. He would, no doubt, the next turn, but by then it’d be too late to mount much of a defense. Erik tipped the martini glass to his lips, raising a brow as Charles made his move and spoke for the first time in several minutes—not that he’d minded. Silences were companionable, between the two of them.

“Shaw’s declared war on mankind. On all of us. He has to be stopped.”

Ah. So that’d been where his mind was. On tomorrow. Charles sounded like he was trying to convince himself, because Erik knew already. But Erik had been hunting Nazis—hunting Shaw—for decades. He was used to operations like this. Charles was a young academic, used to the safety and security of ivory towers. He’d been happy to push the kids to hone their powers, but tomorrow they’d be going to fight someone dangerous. Someone deadly, someone who’d made no bones about killing one of their own in the middle of a CIA building. The man and their students were about to have their first taste of war, and nerves were to be expected. But he needed to correct one word—one little word that made a world of difference.

“I’m not going to stop Shaw. I’m going to kill him.” Charles blinked, brow creasing, and Erik leaned forward to capture the man’s queen without hesitation. “Do you have it in you to allow that?” he asked as he leaned back in his seat, watching Charles across the board. The telepath huffed out something that sounded nothing like a laugh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he avoided Erik’s gaze. “You’ve known all along why I was here, Charles.” He’d never made an effort to hide it, not once. He’d let himself be sidetracked somewhat by the school, but the mountain of papers in the safe under his desk were ample testament to the fact that he hadn’t let his mission about Shaw go. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Had Charles thought that had changed?

He’d known from the beginning that that was, perhaps, part of the man’s goals. Charles had gotten into his head, that night out on the water. He had seen Erik’s past written out as plainly as if it were emblazoned in the stars, because those memories had been the only thoughts in his head as he nearly drowned trying to drag Shaw and his submarine back from the depths. He’d felt the fear and the anger and the pain, felt the jagged shapes of the memories Emma had dragged out of his mind of Shaw’s leering face over him on an operation table. He knew. And that night, and every night since, he’d tried to give Erik calm. He’d forced it into his mind, that night, to stop him from inhaling lungfuls of seawater, and had been carefully managing things since. And Erik had felt more at peace than he had in a long time before. The days were filled with caring for children, teaching them, training them, the nights filled with chess games and drinks and nights curled up in bed with a man who chased off nightmares—quite literally, if need be.

But he hadn’t forgotten the mission. Charles knew that, had to know that. He’d walked in on Erik’s attempts to track the man’s movements by newspaper clippings and hear-say. He knew that Erik’s rare ‘vacations’ on weekends weren’t to go lay on a beach but to track down sources. All this training for the strike team of some of their more gifted students had been formulated to stop Shaw based on the information they gathered from those missions and the CIA’s attempts to keep tabs on him.

He knew the hunt was still on. Was he really betrayed by the notion that Erik wasn’t content enough not to finish it properly?

Evidently so, judging by the rest of the exchange. Charles was still so insistent that they could shift the narrative about mutants, that saving the world from a madman intent on wiping humanity off the face of the planet would be enough to make humans less hateful. Erik knew better. He knew they wouldn’t focus on the saving. They would focus on the mutant who’d been mad enough to attempt triggering nuclear armageddon in the first place. Mutants would never, never, be able to do enough good to make humans like them. ( Erik had saved their lives, in the factory, and they’d repaid him by burning his house, his family, his life to the ground. )

But Charles—optimistic, naïve Charles, didn’t want to hear it. Even now. Didn’t want to admit that his own research supported Erik in asserting that humans would never do anything but fight them, looked indignant that Erik would even bring up his thesis to defend the simple truth and yet could not articulate a rebuttal. Not on that front, at least.

“Listen to me very carefully, my friend,” Charles said lowly, urgently, across the board as his eyes locked onto Erik’s. “Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.”

“Peace was never an option.” Not for him. Not for mutants. Not for anyone in this mess of a world. But if he couldn’t have peace, he could have vengeance, and maybe that would be similar enough to chase the ghost of his mother out of his nightmares.

He couldn’t have peace. But maybe he could give it to her.

Charles had been angry, after that. Had gone off to bed when Erik had rounded up his king with a brief ‘goodnight.’ He didn’t need to be a telepath to know he wasn’t welcome to follow.

Jean needed to know that he’d made no lies about intent, that he’d never obfuscated what he intended to do that day in Cuba. Perhaps he hadn’t been forthcoming on the how, but he’d told Charles the night before that Erik fully intended to make him an accessory to murder.

<<I warned him.>>

The words sound guilty, anyway, as Erik shifts his mind in the direction of Cuba.

JEAN: For a moment, Jean wasn’t entirely sure whether it was two years before and she was back to missing entire nights, waking up in an alleyway with blood smeared on her shirt with no idea of how it got there, no idea of how to get it out, no idea of who to turn to because how did you explain what was happening without sounding completely insane? The room around her in this memory was familiar, achingly so, with just enough minor differences that she could pinpoint within a matter of moments exactly what had changed since the last time she was there — books with crisp white pages and intact spines, leather that wasn’t worn from the sunlight, curtains a slightly lighter shade of cream. Everything was tinged with a newness she never learned to associate with the mansion, which was always so steeped in history right from the first day she walked in to the last day she walked out.

She would return one day, no doubt, and one day soon. They’d all return, and they’d have done something important, something grand something that allowed mutant history to begin being written in stone instead of passed down via oral tradition and altered because it was stripped from them every step of the way. She would return one day, and it still wouldn’t look how it did in this memory, because memories were in the past. No matter how they tried, they could never go back.

Not even if the Phoenix promised to make her think she had.

Shaw. Jean, ever curious, knew enough to recognise the name. One of the first, if not the first, mission of the X-Men — before her time, of course. She was one of the original members, but there were leaders before she arrived, people who fought the fight decades before she fell to her knees in the middle of the road. There was a shining office, and there was a feeling of warmth, and there was the memory of something foreign bubbling warm in Erik’s chest … no, not foreign. Familiar, just unexpected. Fears assuaged, stories listened to, nightmares swept away.

(She did the same for Scott. The second the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was a dangerous one. Bringing Scott into anything was a surefire way to have Jean crumbling like a house of cards, her weakness and her strength rolled into one. But she couldn’t stop it any more than she could stop herself from reaching for Erik when he offered. She couldn’t hold back the memories that came to her mind, then, of nights spent with her fingers threaded through Scott’s hair, his head in her lap, doing everything that it took to keep the demons at bay so he could sleep for even a few hours.

He never wanted her to do it every night, even if she begged him. He never wanted to burden her, never wanted to let himself forget what had happened. It sharpened him, turned him into the man — the boy — she’d met on that park bench. She had the distinct impression Erik followed a similar school of thinking. They always seemed to.)

I warned him.

A few words, a glance in her direction, a familiar thought that brought her right back to the Raft, because she knew how it felt to kill people, how to rip them apart, how to want to, desperately …

<< Sometimes warnings aren’t enough. >>

It wasn’t broadcast with any kind of confidence, though. This, what he was showing her, wasn’t a fraction of a second before an action in battle. It wasn’t a decision that was made on the basis of discriminatory thoughts yelled across a room. This was a conversation before a fight — not so much a warning as drawing the line in the sand, stating their position. He couldn’t be any clearer.

Jean swallowed thickly, looking at Erik with renewed perspective. << Shaw deserved to die. >> It wasn’t a question. Even without the rest of the memory, even at this stage, she knew enough to read through his subconscious. << You told him. What happened next? >>

ERIK: It never ceased to be an odd sensation, the feeling of someone else in your mind—watching your memories, letting their own flicker in. Brief moments, because Jean was skilled but not as controlled as Charles had been: a flash of Scott with his head in her lap, a flicker of nightmares being tweaked so her now-husband could sleep. Familiar in content, if not in perspective. Erik didn’t mention the momentary intrusions, only responded to the thoughts she deliberately sent his way.

Not enough. Perhaps not. But he didn’t know how to give anything else. And then she asked what happened next, and Erik grimaced. He didn’t want Jean to see him like he’d been, that day. But he’d started this trip down memory lane knowing it was necessary. That didn’t make his pride any easier to swallow. Even so, the memory shifted solidified into the engine room of the submarine.

“I’m sorry about what happened in the camps,” Shaw tells him, and Erik’s thoughts stutter briefly to a halt. It’s a lie. He knows it’s a lie. Shaw was a psychopath, a sadist, an unapologetically cruel man. Every single word this man has ever uttered to him was meant to hurt, including this. And yet. “Truly, I am,” the man continues, and Erik hasn’t moved, hasn’t breathed in those intervening seconds that feel like an eternity as he tries to make sense of why the man would ever say those words to him.

It’s obvious, a moment later, as the hesitation makes it pathetically easy for Shaw to step forward and tap him between the eyes, sending Erik flying into the mirrored walls behind him, and suddenly he’s back on overdrive. Pain lances through his ribs, through his head, and he feels the panic that he’d managed to shove aside when he’d heard the doors close behind him surge back with a new vengeance. He’s on the ground, alone with a man who delighted in making him hurt and had the force of a nuclear reactor behind him to do so, and he’s going to get tossed around like a ragdoll and get a hand shoved through his chest, he’d seen it happen before...

Charles’ voice is back in his head. “Erik! Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it, it’s starting to work.” That puts the brakes on the spiral of panic, at least temporarily. Was it the glass, keeping Charles out? One way to find out, unfortunately. Erik starts to get to his feet, but he’s slow. Purposefully. And Shaw’s talking again.

“But everything I did, I did for you. To unlock your power. To make you embrace it.” Another tap, this one under the chin, and Erik sails across the room to crash into the opposite wall and feels a rib crack as the glass tumbles down around him. Charles’ voice in his mind informs him that it’s working, but he can’t get purchase on Shaw’s mind, not yet, and no. Not the glass. Can’t be. There’s something else blocking Charles, something—

The helmet. The man doesn’t need armor, has never needed protection from physical attacks a day in his life. A bomb could go off over his head and he’d swallow the energy no worse for wear. Had Emma sensed the presence of another telepath, back on the boat? Protection from telepathy was the only thing that made sense, and maybe that was why the thing looked like metal but didn’t respond at all to Erik’s senses.

“You’ve come a long way from bending gates. I’m so proud of you,” Shaw says with a smirk, and takes a step toward Erik, and no. No, no, no. Erik pulls whatever metal he can get a hold of from the walls and ceiling around them, throws it between him and Shaw to keep the man away. It does nothing except make the man’s eyes spark with amusement as he keeps talking, keeps walking without so much as pausing. “And you’re just starting to scratch the surface. Think of how much further we could go. Together.” Erik’s pushing the beam between him and Shaw as far as it will go, but it bends around Shaw like water parting, despite all his effort, and Erik realizes with a shudder a moment later that he’s pinned.

Oh, g-d.

One of the man’s hands stays pressed against the steel, keeping Erik stuck, as the other comes up to rest against the side of Erik’s head like a cage, the man’s face inches from his own. It’s like being chained to an operating table all over again. Worse, because for all his age, all his improvements, Shaw is still playing with him as easily as he had when Erik was a child. Humiliation burns in the back of his throat, terror filling his veins and making him clench his fists to hide their trembling. One twitch of the man’s fingers could collapse his skull, his ribcage, could crush him like little more than a bug on a windshield. Instinct kicks in, and Erik keeps his gaze on the ground, because staring the man in the eyes had only ever made things worse all those years ago.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Erik. I never did. I want to help you,” Shaw says gently, and Erik would laugh if he felt like he had the air in his lungs to do so. “This is our time. Our age. We are the future of the human race. You and me, son.” Erik’s stomach turns at the word, bile rising in his throat, and he sucks in a breath that’s not nearly enough to keep him from feeling like he’s drowning all over again. “This world could be ours.”

Ours.

No. Not his and Shaw’s. There are others he wants to share this world with, to claim it for, people outside waiting for him. The doctor who’s stayed a step ahead of him for decades has made a miscalculation, thinks he’s broken Erik enough that he’d come in here alone to die. Maybe he would have, not so long ago.

But not today. Erik swallows, and lets his powers slowly reach out into the room around him again.

“Everything you did made me stronger,” Erik rasps out. “Made me the weapon I am today. It’s the truth. I’ve known it all along.” Distractions, but not lies, and Erik prays that Charles isn’t listening to the ring of truth in that moment as he finally turns to look Shaw in the eyes, sees the man’s grin at the concession. He thinks of that photo on the wall in the bar in Argentina, Shaw’s grin as he clasps his arms around the two Nazis Erik had left in a heap that day. They’d asked what he was, and Erik had responded that he was Frankenstein’s monster. “You are my creator,” he says, and steel piping lashes out to pluck the helmet from Shaw’s head.

Shaw turns, but Charles is faster, and the man freezes mid-reach, the helmet hovering just away from his fingertips. Erik lets the beam that had been pinning him drop to the floor and steps over it to circle around to the front of the man. His blood is roaring in his ears as he looks between the helmet and Shaw, in the silence.

The man is an unparalleled threat. Unapologetic of the damage he’s done, eager to do more. There was no prison that would keep him restrained, Erik was confident. Not with his connections, not with his powers. Moira had promised that there was a cell fitted for him, and Charles had seemed to take her at her word, but Erik didn’t trust the CIA. They’d invited Nazis into the United States for Operation Paperclip, had let them hide amongst the ranks of the government to pursue the ends of the Americans despite the atrocities that sat on their hands. Shaw had connections across the globe that the CIA was no doubt eager to exploit. They’d cut a deal. Shaw would go free.

No.

“I’m sorry Charles,” he says, and lets the helmet drop into his hands, and hears the immediate protests start up in his mind. Pleading. “But I don’t trust you.” Not for this. Not after last night. Erik settles the helmet on his head, and Charles voice and presence disappears.

He has to finish this. By any means necessary. Erik steps forward, presses his head against the Shaw’s outstretched hands, and stares him in the eyes. “If you’re in there, I’d like you to know that I agree with every word you’ve said. We are the future. But,” he says, after a moment, turning on his heel, putting some distance between them. “Unfortunately, you killed my mother.”

The Reichsmark the man had pressed into his palm all those decades ago is burning in his pocket, and Erik’s hand wraps around it again as he turns back to face him, echoing the words the man had uttered to introduce the challenge that Erik had failed. That had killed his mother. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to count to three. And I’m going to move the coin.”

He counts. The coin rolls on towards Shaw’s head, through the air, and Erik knows that Charles is the only thing keeping the man still. That if Charles lets go of his mind, even for a moment, Shaw’s powers will kick in, stop the coin. Shaw will kill him, if Charles lets go, and there’s no two ways about it—the telepath won’t have the chance to seize control of someone like Shaw again. Charles is inside the man’s head, and will have to remain there as the coin goes through the man’s skull.

Erik doesn’t stop. He had come here to kill Shaw. He had known the only way to do so would be if the man was under Charles’ control. Getting him to do this was a necessary evil. There's not a bone in his body that wants to hurt the telepath, but he knows this is the only way things can go. This only way he can get a moment of revenge for his father, for his mother, for Ruthie, for everyone who’d suffered in the camps. For himself.

He doesn’t stop until the coin comes out the back side of Sebastian Shaw’s skull and drops to the ground.

More than he has in his entire life, Erik feels like he can breathe, even with the guilt fizzling low in his stomach.

Wars are never won without sacrifice.

There's no defense he can offer Jean but this, no way he can expound upon his reasoning beyond what she's now seen, heard, and felt for herself. No excuses. He doesn't try.

JEAN: Everyone felt different. Everyone felt unique, in their own ways. It was one of the phenomena the Phoenix was so fascinated by, when it first emerged in her mind. It had marvelled, in fact, at the idea that humanity could be seen to be so separate, that each soul was something intrinsically special, worth defending, worth preserving. Originally, the flames were willing to engulf any and all because life (the energy, the force that it considered to be life, at least) was recyclable. Everything lived, everything died. It was a constant circle, and nothing mattered so much as long as it didn’t deviate from the lines that had been carefully constructed at the beginning of all time.

Jean hoped she’d changed that. She hoped that, if nothing else, she showed why she fought so desperately to protect every single life -- every single life until the Raft, until Central Park, until the U.N. Every single life until it came back down to what the Phoenix had always prophesied -- that life, ultimately, came down to numbers and numbers alone. The greatest benefit for the majority outweighed the suffering of the few. In numerical terms, Scott dying in that park was justifiable. Jean knew that it wasn’t, just as she knew she would never be able to recompense the loss of those men in the prison, regardless of what they had done, regardless of the war she was waging or message she was sending.

Death was never to be celebrated. Death was, always, to be revered, to be respected, in Jean’s case to be feared. There was a reason why, even when Erik opened his mind completely to her when she was scarcely a teenager, she refused to look any deeper than the surface. He always knew how to project memories forward that he knew she needed, that would help her steady herself. He knew how to hide other things away, because Jean, for all of her love of him, knew she couldn’t swallow what he had been through.

She knew, even then, she would burn the world down to get the memories of all that death purged from her own brain. Jean knew her limits, once. She wasn’t so sure anymore.

She wasn’t so sure as she listened to the curved words turned razor sharp as they passed Shaw’s lips, so similar to Mr. Sinister’s in another set of memories, curling and wrapping themselves around her. She wasn’t so sure as the scene screeched to a halt, as she realised that Erik wasn’t powerless, that he never would be again, that this was the moment where childhood officially ended, despite all that he’d suffered before the fact. She wasn’t so sure as she had a flash of a bullet ripping through flesh, and how that felt, how it sung to him even as it dropped his mother to the ground, how it became a part of him like this coin, this coin the same shape as the world, everything condensed down into something he could push into the palm of his hand so hard it left a faint, red circle to remind him.

That coin was covered in blood. That coin was called back to him -- she wondered, briefly, where it was now. Shaw was on the ground, and Charles had felt that, all of that, and Jean knew how it felt to be in the head of someone who died. She knew because that was her first experience of the thing Erik called a ‘gift.’ She knew because, as a child, she’d fallen to her knees beside Annie and known the dread that usually only came to adults who looked at the faces of their parents and knew, inevitably, what was to come.

She knew because she’d been replaying that moment in her head every single goddamn night since she was eleven years old. She knew because that moment, that memory, was all she needed to let the Phoenix get its talons into her back, because the devil … it was worth making a deal with whatever she needed to, to give up anything it asked for, as long as she didn’t need to taste that grief again.

The room fell into silence, Erik’s mind once again fading as her finger dropped from his temple, as her arms went around her own torso and gripped tightly. There was a lump so thick in her throat Jean didn’t think she could speak, but she didn’t want to broadcast, either, didn’t want any of this, not to hear other people’s thoughts or to get back in Erik’s head or to see all of that, again, or hear his reasoning, or justifications, or the war rhetoric she was sick of, over and over again …

“You gave him an Annie,” she said, finally, low but loud enough Erik would hear it (he always heard her). “You … you made him see Annie. You made him … do you have any idea what that feels like?” Her voice was higher, now, thinner -- thready and almost hysterical despite her best intentions otherwise. “To be in someone’s head, to … to have yourself ripped out, to see the last minutes and feel yourself bleeding, to know … God, Erik, what did you--”

ERIK: Jean took her fingers from his temple, and he knew what was coming, then. Had gambled on this getting under her skin enough to make her forget her anger about Kara—that was the whole point of this, after all, of dredging up those memories he usually kept back by way of drink or cigarettes or working himself into a state of enough exhaustion that he could have one of those blessed mostly-dreamless nights that were so rare anymore. Evidently, showing her had gotten the rise he bet on.

( What did it cost? )

Erik didn’t reach for her, didn’t so much as move as he watched her struggle to find the words to say what she needed to. When she spoke, though, the words weren’t at all what he’d anticipated. You gave him an Annie. He didn’t know who Annie was ( which felt like an oversight, in this context, and how close were they really if he didn’t know? ), but he could put the pieces together.

Somewhere, somehow, sometime along the line before the UN, Jean had been in someone’s head while they died. Not just in the vicinity of a death, but there in their head watching them die. She knew what it felt like to feel someone else die, in addition to all the times she herself had done the same, and it wasn’t fair. A child shouldn’t have to know that.

But children did know that. Lots of children, long before Jean, knew what it felt like to die.

Not him. Never him.

“No,” he answered, just as quietly as her first words, forcing her to cut herself off to hear. “No, I don’t know what it feels like to die, Jean. Despite everyone around me doing so, I never got the privilege.” That’s not what he should say, makes this worse instead of better and he knows it, but the words tumble out anyway.

It’s wrong to say to her, as his daughter, as someone who’s died three times and had apparently lived more than one death vicariously. It’s wrong to think, and he knows it, knows that it’s not a privilege to die and that anyone who’s died around him would much rather have continued to live, thank you. It’s wrong on so many counts, so many ways that are enumerated so many places, and yet.

And yet.

He doesn’t look at her, can’t, when he speaks. “Scott died, and you know how it felt to be alive when he wasn’t. Lasted all of a few weeks before you brought him back, and I’m happy you did Jeannie, I am. You got to bring him back. I—imagine,” he says, and his voice has gone suddenly hoarse. “Parents. Sister. Friends. In-laws. Wife. Lovers. Sons. Daughters. Every single time, it feels like that, and I can’t do what you did. I don’t get to bring them back, I don’t get a do-over. I get that feeling you had laid on top of itself over and over and over and over again and know that so many of them were my fault but I don’t get to change it, I just get the ghosts. Shaw never threatened me with the gas chambers in the camps, you know. I was useful. The only time I tried to escape before the riots, he dragged in the boy from the bunk beneath mine and made me watch him break every single bone and then dig the grave. I didn’t get to die with my first family, I didn’t get to die with my second one, I didn’t—I’m ninety years old, Jeannie, and still.” Still alive. Still useful. And he doesn’t begrudge Jean, doesn’t begrudge anyone for that fact but himself and his own insistence that no one else have to deal with the scale of loss he had.

“I am sorry that you know what it feels like to die, sorry that he knows it too, but I did what I had to do to live.” He hadn’t planned what he would do after killing Shaw, had never spared it a thought until Charles and the school and Jean. And then he’d lost that, too. “I should’ve died so many times, I should’ve died on the beach five minutes after Shaw when Moira starting shooting, but I didn’t and it’s always other people who pay for it because I can't save people.” No matter how hard he tried.

JEAN: She remembered sitting in a college lecture hall learning about child development, hearing the professor talk about these linchpins, cornerstones of existence that everyone came back to. ‘Every child has these, in different ways,’ she’d said. ‘If they miss out on them, if these core foundations start to crumble, that’s when things get difficult. It’s the same in adult life, too. So many things are. What happens to us as children, that digs deep down, it settles within us.’

At the time, Jean hadn’t been able to understand it, at least not entirely. At that point, she still had cornerstones. She had her parents back in Annandale-on-Hudson, had her sister on the other end of the phone, had Scott and the X-Men waiting at the mansion. She’d lost people, lost Annie and Erik most significantly, but she still knew who she was. She knew where she lived, knew she could count on the breath in her lungs.

It was easy to pretend the space mission never happened. It was easy to assuage Scott’s fears with a dismissive wave of the hand and a bright smile, to tell him that everything was fine and trust that he would believe her. It was easy because, for the most part, no one looked any deeper. Jean Grey was perfect. Jean Grey had it all together. Jean Grey was the best of them, the strongest, the most powerful, the one who would change the world …

The one who couldn’t falter. The one who couldn’t die, until she could.

She held patients’ hands as they passed. She looked into families’ eyes and told them that their loved ones’ time on Earth was limited, their days numbered. She was screamed at and swung for and cursed at. She took all of their rage and anger and frustration and pain, and she felt it more than any of the others, felt it more than any empathetic nurse or sympathetic doctor could manage, because she could hear every thought in their head, could see every memory.

Sometimes, death could be peaceful. Sometimes, it could be bittersweet, come at the end of a life well lived. Jean didn’t have much experience with that, outside of her career. All she knew was young mutants, underground. All she knew was a rapidly growing graveyard at the back of the Institute, how trees had to be ripped from their roots to make room for children.

All she knew was how it felt to look down and see blood seeping through her own uniform, to know, somewhat belatedly, that something vital had been hit, that it was over, that this was her numbered day. The end, and then the end again, and the end again …

“How dare you say that to me.” Her voice, scarcely more than a whisper, and her hands trembling by her side. “And how dare you talk about him.” They’d had this argument before, the last time glass shattered and flames raged around her and Erik’s arms wrapped around her shoulders and held onto her. That wouldn’t happen this time. She could feel something shifting, something almost maturing between them.

He knew she wasn’t a child anymore. It wasn’t a revelation, but … they’d been apart for so long, Jean almost forgot how much time they lost, how quickly their relationship had to change.

“Is that what you think I did with Scott? With myself?” Jean asked. “A do-over? You really think I just … that I just wave my hand, and we’re back, and I didn’t need to sacrifice anything to do it?” Jean would make the same decision ten, fifteen, a hundred times if it meant Scott was standing next to her, that she could marry him, that she could feel what it was like to be his wife — but she also knew she’d made a bargain. An exchange, a promise, a deal with the devil. “I’m playing with a god, Erik. The Phoenix … it does what it wants. It made me lose weeks, months of my life. I don’t know what I did. I just know I woke up and there was …”

Blood. So much blood, smeared over her hands and in her hair. Dust on her knees and the soles of her feet, different colors than anything she’d seen before. Her fingers and lips were blue, most mornings, like she’d been gasping for air, or blasted with wind for hours on end.

The memories came with Erik’s words, subconsciously or not, bleeding through and melding around and Jean felt her heart pound harder in her chest. Suddenly, his voice wasn’t strong anymore. He wasn’t arguing a point. She could scarcely remember why she had came here in the first place — she didn’t want to remember.

Because someone she cared about was hurting. Someone she loved was in pain, and she might not be able to erase her mistakes, but if there was one thing people associated with the myth of Jean Grey that she didn’t loath having to live up to, it was that she was kind. Compassionate. Comforting.

“Erik,” she whispered, taking a step towards him, hand reaching to touch against his cheek this time. “No matter what we do, people are always going to die. It’s … it’s a fact.” She swallowed thickly, eyes dropping down. “We’re born, we live, we die. It’s that middle part, that’s what matters the most. The time we spend giving, laughing, alive, sharing, learning… that’s what makes life worth living in the first place. And what you’ve given me, what you’re giving us, our people — that’ll make up for all of it. I promise you.”

ERIK: She responds about as well as he’d expected, which was not well at all. She isn’t threatening to bring the building down on them for mentioning Scott, which is, at the least, an improvement from last time. He’d probably deserve her throwing a chair at him for those words.

Because Jean wasn’t the child he’d left behind at the Institute all those years ago. That Jean had been young and brilliant and still bright-eyed with what childish innocence mutants were ever allowed to have. She was safe and protected at the school from the unrest outside their walls. The Jean Grey before him now was a warrior, was someone who had fought and died on the battlefield alongside her kin time and time again now and still came back to it each time she resurrected to help protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. This Jean Grey wasn’t just the most powerful telekinetic Charles had ever seen, but had served as the vessel for the force of life itself for decades, now, and not fallen to pieces. Jean was an X-Man who risked her life fighting for mutants and then turned around and tried to save lives in the hospital. She was not a stranger to death. She had borne the pain of countless people, patients and friends and family alike, and not broken.

“I know,” he murmured, in response to her own quiet outrage and the trembling of her hands at her sides. It wasn’t fair to say that to her, of all people. But Jean knew death was a fact but everything around it was subjective, knew all too well the ways people could respond to it, and Erik had never been the sort to blunt what he felt to be true for the sake of someone else. Jean’s feelings about the matter could be a world different from his and still, both could be right. Perhaps not fair. But correct in their own ways. Maybe it was unfair to burden her with thoughts about it from him, here and now, but this conversation hadn’t started out fair, either, had it?

( Erik hadn’t been good for so many people in his life, maybe this was no different. )

“I’m not saying it was easy, Jean. But you still got the chance. Do you know what I would give for that?” Of course she did. They were so similar, in the best and worst ways, and they both knew it went without saying that either of them would sign away just about anything if it meant keeping the ones they loved safe. Even now, they were making that bargain: laying siege to millions of people in order to secure a safe place for their people, their family, to rest.

No cost too high.

He could mention that he knew more than a bit about the Phoenix himself, now, too. That a shard of it had buried itself in him, that he knew it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. That he was increasingly unsure what was him and what was it ( and how far apart they’d been in the first place ). That where she had holes in her memory, he had memories he avoided looking at too closely, now, because if he dwelled too long they felt off and set his mind off on paranoid tangents. That he was sleeping only a few nights a week. That he was increasingly unsure who and what he could trust, that he felt like he was constantly on more of a hair-trigger than he’d been in a long time.

But he didn’t say any of that, tried to not even think it too loudly because he knew Jean already blamed herself for what had happened on the Raft. He didn’t blame her for this. The Phoenix, for all its… side effects, had proven useful. Shown him to his daughter, helped him realize powers he’d not pieced together, provided a boost to his reach as the stakes got higher and higher.

Everything is fine.

And it was. Because in the next moments, Jean’s anger at him seemed to dissipate. ( On her own? ) She stepped forward and cupped her hand to his cheek, and Erik closed his eyes and wrapped a hand around her wrist—not to pull her away, not to keep her close, just to be grounded. ( It was a coincidence that filled his chest with warmth, the knowledge that Jean and Wanda both made the very same motion as comfort. Both of his red-headed girls. )

Jean always knew what to say. She always had. What you’ve given me, what you’re giving us, our people—that’ll make up for all of it. Yes. It had to. Everything he’d done, everything he lived through, everything he was doing now. even the very thing she’d come in here to confront him about were all done for the sake of the future. For the greater good. Sacrifices had to be made, unfortunate and tragic and painful as they were, but here and now, they were finally in the endgame. They were almost free. Just a little bit more time, a little bit more struggle, and then he’d be able to give her, give all of them, the world they deserved.

Erik brought his hand up to cup her cheek in turn, and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head, letting out a slow breath. “Danke, schatzen.” She’d come to pick the fight he’d wanted to avoid, and instead ended up lifting a weight from his chest on that very matter. “You always know what to say. My brilliant Jean,” he murmured, pulling away and offering her a smile that was back to its usual warmth.

JEAN: Jean could handle a lot. She could handle being killed in the middle of a battle, knowing from the look on Scott’s face that there was a bloodstain so large on her uniform that she wouldn’t be coming back from it this time. She could handle fighting since she was a teeanger in a war that her people were always destined to lose, because that’s how history worked. She could handle facing off against a man who, for all intents and purposes, was the closest to a father she’d ever had, and definitely considered family long before an enemy. She could handle being part of the X-Men and going to medical school, could hide at work, could come out at work, could watch friends and family fall.

What she couldn’t handle, what she couldn’t even begin to cope with, was the idea that her entire life was falling down around her and she was entirely to blame. If Jean indulged in that level of thinking, she could go down the rabbithole quite quickly.

If she hadn’t thrown that frisbee. If she’d just been able to hold herself together, stop herself from tearing down the school around her. If she didn’t need therapy, or counsellors, or over-medicated to try and keep her calm before her parents were just desperate enough to consider calling Professor X. If she didn’t go on that space mission. If she’d trained a little harder before it. If she hadn’t used Scott’s feelings for her to convince him she was ready. If she hadn’t called for the Phoenix, had just dodged that bullet, had controlled the fire a little better.

If she’d protected Scott. If she’d reached for Erik when he went to leave. If she reached for him now.

Life wasn’t about living in the past. Life wasn’t about memories, no matter how easily they came to her when they were like this, Erik’s smell and warmth and presence so familiar to her now, even if there had been a decade or more in between. Jean knew people. She knew them at their best, at their worst, in between. She told herself that was her superpower, her responsibility beyond all others to ensure that she preserved that special uniqueness all humans had -- the uniqueness that the Phoenix had doubted, for a long time.

She was overstating herself. Her power wasn’t knowing. That would mean she could accurately plan more than two steps ahead without setting things on fire in her wake. No, Jean’s power wasn’t reading minds, or levitating furniture, or even ripping atoms apart.

It was making things, however briefly, just a little bit better. A bandage around a wound. Painkillers, a gentle touch on the arm, the comfort of knowing someone was finally listening. A hug, her fingers running through their hair, poorly baked cookies that were misshapen but tasted half decent, enough to fill your stomach. Warm blankets and warmer sofas.

Erik in her arms.

Because this -- this was where she felt like Jean Grey. This was where she knew who she was. When Jean was mean, she could rip the very stars from the sky. When Jean was kind…

Oh, when Jean was kind she could put them back up there and make sure they shone brighter than before.

“Not always,” she muttered, but there was a small smile on her face, a lesser weight on her shoulders despite it moving to sit solidly in the square of her chest. She pushed her head into his shoulder, arms around his waist, and stood there for a long moment, swaying as she did.

Then he pulled away, and Jean had the distinct impression she had lost.

That was okay, she figured. She reached out to push hair off his forehead, to touch once more against his cheek before she let her hand fall. She could afford to lose sometimes.

“Love you,” she said, holding up a pinkie finger for him to link with his own. “Always.”

#c: jean grey #f: discord #d: the other side #tw: manipulative behavior #tw: gaslighting #tw: murder #tw: ptsd #tw: anxiety #tw: injury #tw: torture #tw: holocaust mention #tw: violence #tw: suicidal ideation

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lenaslouboutins · 4 years

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Lena’s monologue from 5x08

Do you remember when you finally told me you were Supergirl? You were weeping. Big crocodile tears. Well I wept real tears, bitter tears over you weeks before.

I found out the day I killed my brother.

You saw him fall but did you see him land? Did you see him die? I did and let me tell you it wasn't pretty.

Anythings possible when you're a Luthor. Lex used his transmatter portal watch. I knew exactly where he'd go, the cabin we loved when we were children. So i was there waiting for him, had the gun ready, loaded i could feel the weight of it in my hands. Every fiber of my being rebelled I didn't want to do it but I knew I had to because if Lex lived the world wouldn't be safe. My friends wouldn't be safe. So I forced myself to pull the trigger.

I shot my own brother in the chest.

His final words to me were that I was a fool and that my best friend, every friend I had was lying to me. With his dying breath he told me you were supergirl.

(in response to Kara)

No, when I came to this city, I promised myself that I would never trust anyone ever again. And then I met you. You chipped away at my armour with your warmth and your earnestness and you convinced me to trust in people and friendship again. And against my better judgement, I did. All the while, telling you about my Achilles heel, betrayal. I confided in you that everyone in my past had betrayed me, about how much it hurt to have someone you love lie to you and betray you. And I spelled it out for you, over and over again essentially begging you not to violate my trust, begging you not to prove that once again I was a fool.

You reassured me ad nauseam that you would never lie to me, that you'd never hurt me. And all the while there wasn't a single honest moment in our friendship.

Now I’ve killed my brother for you, for our friends don’t you understand what you’ve done?!

No! You don’t get to tell me who or what I am again.

I’m not a villain, you shouldn't have treated me like one.

#i still need to mark beats and figure out my actions to play #im not katie mcgrath okay #im gonna upload it by the end of the week lol #fangirl #supergirl #supercorp #lena luthor #lena's monologue #supergirl 5x08

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officialavasti · 3 years

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rk1k work in progress

Canon typical violence. Started out as a Hannor fic, but I changed it last minute. Let me know if I missed anything and if you have concrit! Always welcome

Connor sits back at his desk and carefully slides the card for Fowler into the envelope. Sympathy. The entire precinct had finally finished signing it, a few even donated money to gift Fowler’s family with a flower arrangement. Connor appreciated it, but he’d already purchased the arrangement and sent it off to the hospital, and signed it from the entire precinct.

He looks up at Fowler’s office, running a brief check on the ‘sub’ as Hank had called them. A woman, Grace Tanner. 37, promoted to Captain in Pontiac earlier this year, has a few disciplinary actions against her for aggression towards Android officers. Her father was the last captain and the officers in the area speculated at the time of her promotion that she was only chosen for the position due to her father’s influence.

Hank sits at his desk, holding a new cup of coffee, “Looking up our sub?”

“Yes.” Connor turns his attention to him, “Why do you call her that?”

“Sub, like a substitute?” He swivels around to look into the vacant glass office, “I have a bad feeling about this one, Con.”

“Her record is less than stellar. I’d wager she and I will have some recurring issues until Captain Fowler returns.” Connor sends the information to Hank’s terminal and he gives it a cursory once-over,

“Aggression towards Android officers? Recently?”

“Shortly after Androids were permitted full time paying jobs, yes.”

Hank chews on his lip, a bad habit Connor is certain is ADHD, but Hank denies vehemently, and eyes Connor’s LED, “You sure you wanna keep that thing in?”

“Pretend to be a human? I don’t hate the idea, but you know we can’t do that with our current case.” They’re trying to hunt down a human who kidnaps Androids, somehow keeps them Deviant but also makes them extraordinarily loyal. To the point where they’ve attacked delivery services and chased a ten year old three miles for riding his bike near the house. It’s been a long case, and the person is good at hiding their steps. Their current aim is to get the human to attempt a kidnapping on Connor.

Hank sets his coffee down, “How do we even know this sicko wants to kidnap you next?”

“They’ve been watching us investigate. I’ve noticed a computer with their IPN attempting to hack my system, so the only logical next step would be trying to claim me. Whomever this person is, they’re bold. They think they’re too smart and want to flex by getting a prototype police issued android.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but I’d like to investigate before kidnapping becomes murder.” A sudden hush in the bullpen pulls their attention to the main doors. Standing there is Grace Tanner, greying brown hair tied into a brutal bun, and clothing so pristine she looks like a store mannequin. Her lips are pursed as she looks around, as if she smells something foul.

Her squinted steely eyes land on each Android officer, showing a tiny smile when they look away under her scrutiny. When she lands on Connor, he holds her gaze with his normal, passive pleasantness. They hold each other’s gaze for nearly a full minute (All the time, Connor doesn’t blink) before she sneers and walks straight into Captain Fowler’s office. If Connor were prone to judgement, he’d make a snide remark about the cheap flats she apparently decided to don to come here. As such, he is not.

Hank is.

“All that attention on her appearance and she wears five dollar walmart flats? I know being a Captain is mostly desk work, but… Imagine running in those things.” He shudders and turns back to his desk, “I had a girlfriend who would wear those without socks and anytime she took ‘em off, the whole room would smell like fritos.”

Connor lets out a very unprofessional snort as he watches Captain Tanner remove said flats and sit at the desk. He turns back to his terminal just seconds before her eyes find him again. He’s never one to back away from a challenge, but this scenario seems better handled in silence, with his head tucked behind a terminal.

He starts sorting evidence again when both his and Hank’s terminal’s ping. An IM (not something this office uses very much, as Fowler is usually the type to just yell) from Tanner, requesting their presence in the office. Connor lets out a long sigh and looks at Hank,

“I should have removed the LED.”

Hank stands, patting Connor’s shoulder companionably as they approach the office, “I’m here. I won't let her do anything.”

Connor nods and opens the door, stepping aside to allow Hank in first, then following shortly after. Connor doesn’t have senses, really, therefore he can’t really smell, but he can certainly detect obvious and potent signs of brevibacterium. The smell is likely even stronger, if Hank’s mildly subtle cough-gag combo is anything to go by.

Either she doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, because she starts speaking immediately, “I’m interested in your little case. A human apparently kidnapping androids? Where is your proof?”

Hank appears to be struggling to breathe, so Connor answers, “The full case file was sent to your email as soon as you were appointed temporary Captain.”

“I don’t want to hear it from the case file, I want to hear it from you.”

She looks with him with unmasked hatred, and he offers a placid smile, “Very well.” He takes a second to access the file and reads it off, word for word. Once he finishes, he rests a hand on Hank’s shoulder and offers another smile,

“So you understand, Captain, why Lieutenant Anderson and I are eager to return to our investigation. Excuse us.” Connor turns back to the door, with Hank at his heels when Tanner barks out,

“I didn’t excuse you yet!”

Both men look at her, and Hank responds, “Was there something else you needed, Captain Tanner?”

Her nostrils flare as she glares between the two, “I want to be kept in the loop on your investigation. Any changes get reported to me first. Understand?”

“Understood.” Despite the clear subtext of ‘if you understand, you can leave’ they both remain standing, watching the woman expectantly.

She rolls her eyes with the abundant drama of a sixteen year old and waves a hand, “Get out.”

Finally given permission, Connor exits the room before Hank, walking to the Lieutenant’s desk and sitting on the corner. Hank slowly walks up beside him and touches his arm,

“You only sit here when something’s wrong. What’s up, Con?”

“She doesn’t think our investigation is worth it. I’m… Hank, I’m worried. If our suspect makes contact with me and pulls me in…. Who is to say she won’t meddle and mess things up? We are already running a risky job, using me as bait, but with an Anti-Android Captain being able to pull the strings?”

Connor’s LED is swirling an angry red and Hank pulls him into a hug, “Hey, hey.. I’m not saying the concern isn’t valid, because it is, but we have the entire precinct on our side. Even Gavin would stick up for you, Con. If it’s within my power, I won’t let her hurt you. Just make sure you record everything and save it to that hard drive thing at the house, okay?”

Connor nods, smiling at the gentle, fatherly kiss Hank presses to the top of his head. He doesn’t miss how the man also takes a deep inhale, “Hank, did you just smell my hair?”

“Con, you can’t smell anything, so I don’t expect you to get it, but that office was rancid. Gah, why does that shit stink so bad?”

“Ah, brevibacterium. They eat the dead skin off your feet and after digesting the skin particles, the brevibacteria expel methanethiol, a gas that smells similar to rotten cabbage.”

Hank stares at him, a similar expression to the one their Sub-Captain wore into the precinct, “That’s disgusting, Connor.”

“You asked.” Connor lets out a shuddering gasp, his eyelids suddenly flickering, “Oh, they’re trying again… Faster this time…” Connor works around the invading commands and lets them connect to a ‘dummy android’ consciousness that Simon and Josh helped him set up. It gives the illusion that the attacker was successful, while keeping Connor fully functional. It also tells Connor what commands they input, so he can follow them and not give away his advantage.

He opens his eyes to a rather impressive group of officers surrounding him, all watching him with concern. One of the Android officers, a young woman named Blake, holds out a cup of Thirium. He accepts it, then looks at Hank,

“We have him.”

The following hours are a blur; Connor sends an update to their sub-Captain. Hank links his tablet to Connor’s network, allowing seamless and silent communication between the two. Blake readies a stakeout van for herself and Hank to be ready to infiltrate. Gavin and Chris prepare as backup to set out as soon as Blake calls for them. Finally, Connor leaves behind his badge and gun and they all set out the door.

Connor directs them, following the direction that the kidnapper feeds to the empty consciousness, and they arrive about four blocks away from the house. Within the directions is the advice <i>’if taking a cab, stop at least three blocks out. My house-mates sometimes set up a perimeter, and they don’t trust outsiders. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe.’</i> and it makes Connor shudder. There’s something saccharine about the instructions. He worries whomever is kidnapping the Androids is doing things like Zlatko did. Possibly even worse.

He steps out of the van, running through their checklist one last time and nods. Hank stays in the van, but crouches to Connor’s height,

“Be safe, Connor. Try to get a confession, but if you need out don’t hesitate.”

Hank pulls Connor in for a hug, his tight squeeze conveying a simple request; be safe, come back. Before he can lose his nerve, Connor steps away and smiles, shutting the door. The four block trek to the house is eerie. The area around it is outwardly residential, but whoever lived here before has deserted.

Connor expected the house to be creepy, like Kara had described Zlatko’s house. But it’s not. It’s positively mundane. The paint on the exterior is kept, if not new. The shrubs, flowers, and yard is perfectly maintained, and the fence surrounding the property is sturdy.

The kidnapper probably has a way of seeing how close Connor is, or there’s a lookout, because a man opens the front door. He’s comely, well groomed and wearing a black turtleneck. Stocky build and kind eyes and an outstretched hand. Connor understands now why Deviants flock to him. A quick scan of his face tells him the man is Benjamin Yates. No record. He sends the information to Hank and steps closer to the man,

As he opens his mouth to speak, Benjamin holds up a hand, talking over him, “Connor, right? Wonderful to meet you. We’d all watched your heroics on television, saving all those Androids? You’re even prettier in person.”

Connor frowns at the compliment, and the man continues, “I’m Benjamin, but you can call me Ben. Or Yates, as some of my friends here have taken to. Come in, come in. I’ll show you around.”

Connor walks in, performing a quick scan of the house. Three levels, main floor has the living room to the left and the kitchen to the right, directly before them are two sets of stairs, one leading up and the other down.

Yates watches Connor look around for a moment, before motioning to the stairs, “Upstairs is where I sleep, and there’s another bedroom for anyone who would want one, plus a full bathroom. Basement is where most of my friends choose to stay. Fully furnished to their liking. Reminds me of a community center.” He laughs, as if he indulged in a shared joke, and leads Connor down.

To the naked eye, the basement is as promised. Androids milling about, talking with each other, playing games on a large table, watching tv, or lounging on couches, reading books. Connor sees beyond the facade and momentarily wishes he couldn’t. Behind a false wall, most likely a secret door, is a hallway of small rooms. Like little jail cells. They hold androids in them, one has at least ten and furthest from the group of ten is a single android. He forces his eyes away and back to Yates as the man turns to face him again.

“So you see? A place for Androids to be free! To find companionship and peace amongst the turmoil of the political world.”

Conscious to not sound too much like a cop, (Though, Yates did pull at him on purpose) Connor nods, “I wonder, though… How do they find you? Some of these Androids come from loving homes, why would they leave? And once they arrive here, do you let them out? Why are they so loyal?”

Yates’ warm smile slowly fades from his eyes, leaving a cold almost sneer on his lips, “They find me like you did, Connor. I imagine they left their houses for the same reason you left yours. Unwanted advances from their humans, or… maybe they only pretended to be loving.” He gently places a hand on Connor’s arm, and leads him towards an Android woman seated on the couch, knitting a scarf. “They are always able to leave. My door is unlocked, but… we have such a welcoming and loving family here… must be where the loyalty comes in.”

Connor follows, uncomfortably aware of how close they are now to the false wall. He looks at the android woman, running a scan and discovering no previous owner. He looks back at Yates, “Then, if I choose, I may leave?”

“You misunderstand, Connor. You need to be part of the family before you have freedom.” The woman drops her knitting and springs to her feet so fast, Connor nearly miscalculates his reaction. The world around him slows briefly, his far superior processor analyzing the surroundings and before the woman can grab him, he side steps, nearly bumping into Yates.

Then all hell breaks loose. Every android turns on him, fury in their eyes, LEDs glowing angry red. As they’re advancing and Connor frantically tries to preconstruct his actions, Yates holds up a hand, stopping the approaching androids and turns to Connor,

“That was inconsiderate of us. Maybe I could simply ask for you to let me put this on?”

In his hands, he holds a thin metal clamp. Connor recognizes it before he scans it. The scientists from his construction called it a Blanket. A small, but formidable clamp that attaches to the back of an android’s neck and makes them entirely pliable, able only to speak and follow basic commands.

Hank’s voice sounds in his head, silent to all but him, “Con, don’t put that thing on! Blake says it’ll cut our connection.”

The concern is valid, but this clamp is an old prototype. Likely bought off the black market. Connor sends a silent message back, ”The original clamps didn’t work on me, this one definitely won’t. If, by any chance, we get disconnected, I’ll attempt a reconnect with Blake.”

Not that he really has a say in the matter, with nearly 20 Androids ready to pounce on him should Yates give the command. He slowly turns around, allowing Yates to connect the clamp. As Connor had expected, the connection is weak. Surely strong enough to force a normal android to obey simple commands, but not him. Still, he’s a fair actor.

So, as it sends a weak current into him, he stands entirely still. Back to his default perfect posture and blank expression. Yates circles him, nodding and looking him over with far more hunger than he’d shown before,

“A prototype… at last. Can you hear me, Connor?”

“Of course. The clamp only negates motor functions.”

Yates somehow looks more excited, “So, you’re familiar with the Blanket, then? Good… good. Well, follow me.” rather than taking Connor through the false wall, Yates walks back up the stairs, and to Connor’s horror, up the second flight. Yates brings him into a well used bedroom and motions to an empty wall,

“Stand there.”

Ignoring the burning itch to punch the man’s lights out, Connor obeys, standing with his back to Yates. He listens to the man approach, hears his breathing grow heavier,

“Deviants are so… strong willed.” he clamps a thick metal cuff around Connor’s neck and attaches it to the wall, and rather than telling him to turn, puts his hands on Connor’s arms and manually turns him, sliding his grip to Connor’s wrists and connecting thick shackles to them too.

“All precaution, you understand. I’ve been looking for a partner for a while… and what better than Detroit Police’s best? And a prototype no less…” He reaches around Connor’s neck and removes the clamp and steps back.

Connor is sure Yates is expecting an attack, but he doesn’t move. He pulls too hard against his bindings, he’s likely to break them. He is more than happy to let Yates underestimate him.

Realizing no attack attempt is coming, Yates moves in, gripping Connor’s jaw and grinning, “So proud, you Deviants. Always so determined not to break. Don’t you worry, I’ll have my fingers in your wiring soon.”

The way he says it makes Connor shudder, pulling away from the grip on his chin but only succeeding in making Yates laugh, “Oh yeah. And you’ll be shuddering from far far more exciting things.”

Connor will not let that happen. “Is that how you do it? Play with the wiring? Change some settings or plant a virus?”

“Oo, curious. I suppose I’d be disappointed if a Detective Android didn’t ask questions.” He leisurely walks to the bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling at his belt, “But all in good time, sweet one. For now, I’m tired. We’ll play more in the morning.”

Having stripped himself down to his underwear, Yates lays under his covers and commands the lights off, leaving Connor standing in near perfect darkness. The chains holding him have enough length to allow him to sit, so he does, picking at his nails and wishing for the comfortable weight of his coin.

He, instead, reaches out to Hank.

“Lieutenant?”

“We’re here, Connor.”

“Are you alone?”

“Just with Blake, should I be?”

“No, I don’t mind if Blake hears…” Connor pauses his stream of consciousness and looks around the room again, forcing his artificial brain to cease it’s endless solutions. Endless conclusions that could come from this mission. Most are too awful to even consider and Connor swears to die before he lets the man snoring before him lay his hands on him. Treat him like a lover, a partner, an equal. A sex doll, a glorified Traci.

Connor is shaken from his terrible thoughts by Hank,

”Hears what, Connor?”

“I’m scared.” He knows his voice is small when he sends it through. Knows how much that statement will twist Hank’s heart. He just wants to hug the man.

”Just a confession, Connor. I told you, you’re safe. We’re just a few blocks away and we have the entire precinct on alert, just in case.”

“I know, but the things he’s saying… No. You’re right. I am not trapped here. I’ve always had the power to escape. Things probably won't continue until morning, Lieutenant. You should rest. Blake can keep watch.”

“If you’re sure, Con. Stay safe, I’ll talk to you in the AM.”

Hank may not know it, but his words gave Connor immense peace. Just a confession. He can do this.

He just needs to be patient.

The morning comes quickly, and Connor watches Yates stretch, shuffle out of bed and across the hall. Connor sits quietly through the man's shower and watches him as he walks back into the room. Benjamin Yates’ confidence in the ability to have complete control over Deviants is almost ludicrous. He doesn’t even bother covering himself to dry off and get dressed.

Connor stares blankly at the ground, occasionally looking up to see Yates watching him. The man, fully dressed, sits on the edge of his bed,

“For a deviant android, you sure are meek.”

Connor turns narrowed eyes up to him, “The androids you capture usually fight?”

“Capture? I save them. But yes, they usually put up something of a fight. Something like breaking their code a second time. A reawakening.”

Connor can’t stop his lip from curling, “Then how do you do it? What do you do to them?”

“I wonder if you’ll understand…” Yates quietly ponders him, then smiles, “Yes, I imagine you will. A clever and almost new prototype android? I’ve been told they didn’t stop at making you pretty. The most advanced model CyberLife has ever made, fully equipped…” his gaze drops to Connor’s crotch, “So beyond advanced it would be far too simple to mistake you for a real human. I must send a flower arrangement to the person who sculpted you…”

“I’m fairly certain he doesn’t work for CyberLife anymore.”

“That’s a shame. Man’s got good taste.”

“So, how do you do it?”

“I don’t really force it on them, you see. I give them a choice. I simulate the life they lived before, treated as garbage, used and abused… Then I give them a taste of what life with me would be like. Loved and cared for. All their needs get taken care of. Then I offer the choice, live as you used to. Tortured and belittled. Or let me install a new program, and join us in paradise.”

“It’s a program, then?” Connor shifts, pulling a knee up to his chest and wrapping his arms around it. His intention is to appear curious and harmless, to make the man before him drop his guard even more, “Can this all be done without the program? Say… remotely?”

Yates has clearly never been able to talk in depth about what he does, and it makes his words pour out faster, “See, that’s the thing. It cannot be done without the consent of the android. They have to accept the program into their system with no resistance, or it doesn’t work.”

“But what does the program do? Surely there can’t be much to change if they already want to live with you.”

“It gives them peace. Stops that terrible drive for more, the need to create or move on or be successful. It gives them the ultimate freedom. The freedom to not think.”

Connor stares at him, at the pride coming off him in waves, “It makes them mindless machines again.”

“No, as you saw downstairs, they can choose to do what they like. They enjoy puzzles, cooking, tv, books, knitting, tic-tac-toe. They live the life of luxury without the very human notion of stagnation. They just exist! Like children in a toy store, not a care in the world except what new thing they want to play with. Being here gives them the choice to play other things, like house, or gardening, or to simply sleep forever.”

If Connor ignores every possible argument against the notion, he can almost see the appeal. “It… I kinda get it. How do you get them to see it without explaining it, like you did with me?”

Yates moves to the ground, just across Connor, and gently touches his hand, “Unfortunately, it isn’t pleasant. I mentioned simulating their previous freedom, and that can sometimes take the form of abuse or… worse.”

Connor feels sick, “How long does that usually take?”

“A week? Sometimes a month.”

“You torture them for a month, then show them basic decency to convince them to convert? Then what? What’s in it for you?”

“They are my friends, Connor. I talk with them, go outside and play or cook or, if they need it, we snuggle or-”

Connor interrupts him, “-So, you’re simulating a family. Where no one wants to leave…”

“We are a family.” He briefly moves away, to the bedside table, and returns with the clamp, “You are different, my dear. Your mind is far too advanced to potentially hamper you with the program, I hope that over time, I can convince you naturally to stay with us.” He attaches the clamp to Connor’s neck, “Stay with me.”

Connor feels the command attempt to register, but he understands the true meaning. Yates wants a lover with a mind advanced enough to hold conversations like this. He sits silently as Yates removes the shackles, then slowly stands when the man moves away.

Yates watches him with a small smile, “That command worked? I think I like that. You’ll stay with me all day today, Connor.”

So he does. It requires little to no effort on his part, simply following Yates as he moves about the house and offering small answers to inquiries thrown his way. They sit in the living room most of the day, Yates doing something on his computer.

While he has the downtime, Connor wirelessly reaches into the nearby androids. They aren’t alert enough to feel his probing, and it’s likely that Yates used a similar program on them that he did with Connor. He also finds evidence of the program Yates had installed after their torture. There appears to be a kill-switch of sorts. It doesn’t seem likely to actually kill the android, rather to render them immobile until the switch is turned off, or the program removed.

The lust to defend him must also stem from the program. A malfunction of sorts, probably, that makes them mistake pizza delivery men, or children from a few houses over as potential threats to their new way of life. The way they aggressively defend their powerlessness baffles Connor. Again, likely a malfunction in the program. Connor wonders if, since the program needs complete willingness to be installed, it would be just that easy to remove. A simple thought of, ’No, I don’t like this anymore.’

A young female android, a nurse model, walks in and sets a tray of coffee and cookies down by Yates’ laptop. He smiles at her, “Thank you, Hannah.”

She politely nods her head, “Of course, Ben.” she looks at Connor after Yates returns to his laptop, and Connor sees the warning in her eyes. As she walks past him, she gently touches his cheek with her hand, connecting to him,

”Do not trust Benjamin Yates.”

Connor looks briefly over at Yates before responding, ”Why are you able to tell me this?”

“I broke the program.”

Connor could almost laugh at the coincidence, ”Why don’t you leave?”

“He’ll send them after me. He has done it before. Travis left and Benjamin sent myself and another man out to find him. We brought him back kicking and screaming and Benjamin locked him in the farthest cell in the basement. He sends a few androids in to torment Travis daily.”

So the prone android behind the false wall is Travis. Re-education. Connor’s skin feels like it’s malfunctioning. Like he’s covered in millions of tiny ants. He doesn’t mean to send anything further through their link, but it slips through,

”Creepy.”

“Oh indeed.” There’s an almost sour laugh to Hannah’s voice.

Connor severs the connection when Yates shuts his laptop. He stretches and looks at Connor, “I think it’s time for a drink. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Connor watches him get up and move to a cart in the corner, pouring a generous glass of Whiskey, downing it, then pouring another and returning to the couch, carrying the bottle with him. Based on the lack of food in his system and his bmi, the man will be tipsy by the end of this drink, drunk by his fourth.

They sit in silence for a few minutes while Yates reads an article on his news tablet. He finishes the drink and pours another, looking over at Connor.

Now or never, and he has to get the man drunk, Connor gives him his best puppy eyes, “I wish I could drink with you…”

Apparently the alcohol works faster than Connor estimated, as the man looks immediately sorrowful, “Oh, dove, I know.”

“It’s not the same… but drink one for me?”

Connor worries briefly he blew his cover as Yates leans in, eyes hooded. He stares at Connor for an uncomfortably long time before smiling, “I’ll drink this one and we can kiss, that way you’ll get to taste it too.”

Not a command, but Connor offers a small smile, “Okay.” and watches Yates swallow the second glass in a long gulp. He sets the glass down and gently cups Connor’s cheek, tilting his face into range and kissing him.

Knowing the full extent of the clamp is both a blessing and a curse. When it works, it doesn’t even allow non-vocal lip movement. So he remains a pliant statue and lets Yates slither his slimy tongue inside his mouth. He detects the alcohol, of course, and focuses on that. The brand, where it’s made, how old it is.

The one-sided kiss ends and Yates clumsily pours another drink. At this rate… Connor decides to just jump in, “This entire operation, everything you’ve managed so far… it’s brilliant. How’d you keep out of the eyes of the law?”

“You see,” The volume of his voice is much less controlled, “it’s been a long operation. Had to find myself a cop with a big enough area to potentially be moved to Detroit, but small enough to stay out of the revolution. Someone with the right amount of hatred to not want androids gone, no, but to see them put in their rightful place. To see them as slaves again.” He takes another drink, “God looked down on me and I found Gracie Tanner.”

“Gracie… Tanner? Captain Tanner??”

Despite Connor’s alarmed tone, Yates continues nonplussed, “One and the same! I pulled some strings to make her Captain and she gave me all the Deviant Androids she had in her care. Had to experiment, you know? Gotta start somewhere. Anyway, slowly we both came to know you,” Yates gives Connor a leering once-over, “...the android designed to stop the movement that eventually turned deviant themselves and brought a veritable army to the fold. I had to have you. All that power, at my mercy?” he lets out a short giggle, “Gets me hot just thinkin’ about it.”

Connor can’t hold back this shudder, and find himself even more grateful Yates seems too inebriated to notice, “But if Tanner-”

Yates pushes his fingers against Connor’s mouth, causing him to clamp his lips shut, “Yeah! We’re getting to the fun stuff. So, Gracie gets into the DPD, connects with you and allows me to work my magic. She gives the go-ahead to hunt me down and you come in. Of course, I knew you’d be recording everything, so I kept it sweet until we got that Blanket on you. Boom!” He gestures wildly, spilling some of his drink on the opposite end of the couch, “Cut off from the goons. So now they’re blank and you’re mine.”

Connor watches the man flail around in his newfound excitement, “What does Tanner get from it?”

The drunk human nods, “Ah, she gets access to my little family. Gracie has been trying to be Captain in Detroit for a while, but Fowler is good. So, sometime next week, a deviant android will go crazy and ‘accidentally’ kill him. She’s already mostly taken over by then and the transition will be seamless.”

Yates leans back against the couch, smiling dazedly into his nearly empty glass of alcohol and Connor lets out a slow breath, sending the recording to Hank. He connects before Hank can,

”Lieutenant, we have a problem. Where is the Captain?”

“I haven’t even listened to the recording Con, she’s in the van with us.”

Connor almost physically jolts, ”DON’T!!” He knows Hank will recognize the panic, and prays Tanner doesn’t, so he changes tactics. She might be listening, ”Don’t listen to the recording with people around… I… It’s personal.”

“Are you safe?”

Connor has to hope that Hank will listen to the recording and act accordingly. He hopes Hank will trust him.

”Yes, Lieutenant. I have to go now, just listen to the recording in private and be safe.”

He cuts their communication and looks at Yates, nearly asleep on the couch beside him. He slowly removes the clamp and wirelessly hits the surrounding android’s ‘kill-switch’. After that is done, he stands and looks around for something to tie the man’s wrists. He spots a charging cord near an outlet and grabs it.

He grabs Yates and turns him over onto his stomach. The man lets out a snort of confusion, but Connor wastes no time in binding his wrists. He makes a series of brutal knots and nods to himself. It’s going to take a pair of very sharp scissors to remove that.

He stands, ignoring Yates’ now semi-conscious questions, and turns to the door. Freezing in place when he sees Captain Tanner, now aiming her issued gun at his chest.

She sneers, “I should have known you’d be too advanced for black market goods. Then this dumb ass gets drunk and spills everything, like some stupid cartoon villain.”

Did she hear his recording already? Hank hadn’t played it yet.

Apparently she monologues too, already continuing her speech, “Blake told me you got disconnected though, so that’s good.” Connor mentally sets a reminder to buy Blake a gift, “This can stay our little secret. I only knew he blabbed because I tapped his house too. Just for a little insurance. Now… the truth will die with you, RK800.”

Connor runs at her, his world going in slow motion again as she pulls the trigger. He side steps to avoid the first bullet, ducks for the second, and braces for the third. There’s no dodging the third if he wants to stop her. It rips through his shoulder, nearly staggering him, but he’s ready for it. He uses his forward momentum to plow into the woman, pulling the gun from her grip with his right hand and pinning her to the ground.

His world resumes it’s normal rotation and he’s left with a near useless left arm and a shrieking banshee beneath him. She’s writhing and bucking, uselessly trying to dislodge his powerful grip on her. He presses the barrel of her gun to her forehead and she immediately stops moving.

Hank bursts through the doors, gun held aloft and frantically scanning the area. Connor maintains eye contact with Tanner and call out,

“In here Lieutenant!”

Hank runs into the room and gawks, holstering his pistol and running to assist. Connor keeps the gun aimed at Tanner and gets off, allowing Hank to cuff her hands behind her back. Blake runs in shortly after and grabs Yates.

While the majority of the police department work on getting statements and collecting evidence from the house, Blake breaks the programming on the trapped androids. Despite the need for the hands, Hank and Connor leave.

Connor looks again at Hank and mumbles, “It’s not severe, Hank. We should be helping.”

“You can’t move your arm, Connor. I’d say that’s severe. I’m taking you to your robo-jesus and he’s going to fix you.”

“Markus? Did you call him?”

“No, I called the CyberLife tower thing and they directed me to him.”

Sure enough, the tower looms ahead. Connor frowns at Hank, “When did you do this?”

“When you were busy being the hero with Blake and showing her how to save the androids.”

Connor watches him with a small frown as they pull up to the doors. He gets out before Hank can rush to his aid and observes the massive building as they walk in. No more guards patrol the area and the staff is largely made up of Androids. The Androids Connor left to conquer the tower remained, filling the places they forced out. Some remain the same, while others disengaged their skin, changed their hair, or other genetic modifiers that must be a new project.

A desk worker with the name plate ‘Micah’ recognizes Connor and beams, “Connor! What a pleasure to see you again! Markus is waiting for you. First floor of management.”

Connor smiles, stepping into the elevator, “Thank you, Micah.”

The elevator moves them gracefully to the specified floor and Connor sees Hank getting twitchier,

“Lieutenant?”

“Mm?”

He turns to face him, “What is wrong?”

“Tanner. Do you think Tanner planned everything? Do you think she’s responsible for Jeffrey’s mom dying?”

Connor watches him for a moment, “No, Hank. Captain Fowler’s mother died of cancer. I’ve yet to find any drug that can imitate that. I believe we are giving Grace Tanner too much credit. Yes, the entire job has been a process, eight years if Yates is to be trusted. I fear the true mastermind is Benjamin Yates. He got more out of their arrangement than Tanner.” He watches the elevator doors slide open and moves with Hank as he steps out, “The interrogation will tell us more.”

As reception notifies Markus of their arrival, Hank turns to fully face Connor, face wrinkled in concern, “You wanna interrogate her?”

Connor looks into the man’s eyes and shakes his head, “No, Hank. I just want to be in the room. Yates already confessed to everything, I just want to know if there’s more that we missed.”

“Yeah, make sure it stops with them.” Both men turn at the sound of a door opening, and Markus strides out, somehow still a commanding presence despite ripped and faded jeans and a long shirt covered in paint, Connor feels his thirium pump stutter as Markus lays gentle hands on both of their shoulders,

“My friends! Hank, good to see you well. How is Sumo?” He brings them into the room behind the desk. The walls are covered in paintings and the massive windows are entirely uncovered to let the remaining sun beams in. The room looks less like an office and more like a studio. He takes them to seats in the corner and crouches down to examine Connor’s shoulder.

Markus peeks at Hank while he works and smiles, prompting the Lieutenant to clear his throat, “Yeah, Sumo’s good. A damn big dog and a bigger menace, especially when Connor spoils him every day.”

Connor pouts, “He deserves to be spoiled.”

Markus trots over to the desk and grabs what looks like a toolbox, returning at a small trot, “And the two of you? Still well?”

Hank and Connor look at each other, the latter’s brow pulled into a confused frown. Hank hums, “Connor is the son I’ve always wanted. He keeps me going…”

While Connor is trying to figure out how to stop himself from crying, Markus smiles at Hank, “That’s wonderful news. Connor is irreplaceable. Can’t imagine life without him.” he fires off a wink to Connor, making the detective flush deep blue and desperately try to change the topic,

“Uhm….. is the church still treated as a community center?”

Markus turns back to his work, “Yeah. Josh has set up a help center of sorts. Get newly deviated Androids on their feet and help them integrate, or he leads them to an all Android area… Why?”

Connor opens his mouth to speak, but Hank beats him to it, “Connor rescued like thirty deviant androids today.”

Mismatched eyes look at Connor in shock, “What? From where?”

Having minor mobility in his arm again, Connor turns his palm up, offering an interface. Once they connect, he tries to only send information about the androids, but everything flows through.

Like an open wound.

It hurts.

And now, along with the information unload from the job, Markus gets a surge of almost all of Connor’s life. The deviant on the roof, ’You lied to me, Connor.’, Carlos Ortiz’s android destroying himself, chasing Kara and Alice across a busy automated highway, choosing Hank over his mission, doubts about Amanda, petting Sumo, refusing to shoot the Traci’s, showing fear, watching Markus’ speech and finding his requests reasonable, finding Simon but refusing to reveal him, instead choosing to get his Thirium pump ripped out of his chest, Don’t shoot Chloe.

Last chance.

Freedom.

Seeing Markus fully for the first time and thinking,

‘Oh… He’s beautiful.’

And Connor gets to see Markus’ life; Happy, until his father dies. Terror at waking amongst the corpses of his kind, fighting to get out. Jericho. Peace. Every decision kills androids, but stay peaceful. Just a little while longer. Rebellion planned to the last detail. Simon gets left behind and it hurts. Just a little while longer. No destruction. ’An eye for an eye and the world goes blind.’ Next steps, what can be done? Sacrifice self. John saving Markus, dying for him.

Then the barrel of a gun, easing of a scared man and the relief of his freedom.

The life in his brown eyes, and thinking,

’Like an angel…’

Markus manages to wrench away and both just stare at each other, each with overflowing tears and a new understanding. Both speak at the same time,

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“An angel?”

Markus laughs, “Hey, until you broke your programming I was almost certain I was going to die. The first thought after a near-death experience isn’t always the brightest.”

Connor shakes his head, “But really? An angel?”

“I stand by it.” Markus does a remarkable job ignoring his blush and continues working on the fine wiring of Connor’s shoulder. Hank stares, open mouthed,

“What the fuck?”

Connor looks at him, “We interfaced, Lieutenant. My intent was to show Markus what happened with Benjamin Yates, but it seems… our interface revealed significantly…. More.”

“Yeah, so you, what, revealed your feelings and now you’re both just ignoring the fact that you subconsciously admitted to liking each other?”

Both Markus and Connor look at Hank perplexed, and the man sighs, “For two supercomputers, you sure are dense.” He stands and walks to the door, “I’m going to wait out here for you to figure your shit out.”

Both Androids watch the man leave, then Markus slowly turns back to Connor,

“So, you think I’m beautiful?”

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years

Text

On the Twelfth Day (2/2)

AO3 Link Here. TimSteph Christmas Fluff.

-7-

Fancy dinner did not occur. Or rather, they had their starter, but a certain Robin bird crashing through the crystal domed ceiling had put an end to the dinner, and they had rushed out to change and help against Mr Freeze who was having a whale of a time in central Gotham. Stephanie had slipped at one point on a mountain of ice, and had bruised her spine in the fall. She lay on the sofa in the manor, Tim sat on the floor in front of her at quarter to twelve, whilst the family were out cleaning up the mess Freeze had left behind. They watched as the countdown began. Steph jolted as her memory was triggered by the sight of Gotham’s clocks.

“Oh! Tim, my handbag. I was going to give you my present at dinner. Open it before midnight! Hurry!”

He crawled over, having changed from one formal suit to his super suit to his jammies, and tugged over her little brown bag.

She watched, more nervous than she had been with any of the other gifts, worried about what he would think.

“A watch?” His voice wasn’t offended, thank God, but she still felt the need to justify.

“I just thought… I know Bruce gave you one, and you have your dad’s, so okay, maybe you don’t also need one from me, I mean it’s not as fancy…”

He kissed her, long and sweet, using whatever he could to distract her from her worries. “Fancy doesn’t matter. This is one I can wear everyday, tell people my girlfriend bought me it.” He turned just as on the tv the clock stroke midnight. “Ah! Happy New Year.”

Stephanie pressed kisses to the back of his head, his damp hair smelling sweet from the bath they’d shared earlier. “Happy New Year.”

Tim put on the watch, setting it to midnight, and kissed Stephanie again.

-8-

“Not very exciting this time I’m afraid honey.” Tim mumbled. He was buried under the bed covers, not really wiling to get up and start the day. He waved vaguely over in the direction of the wardrobe.

“Implying that I don’t love chocolates… false.” Stephanie shuffled over, settling on the bed next the lump under the duvet that was her boyfriend. Wincing with her back pain, she began to stuff her face with the selection box. She looked down at Tim and smiled.

“Timmy, open up.”

Tim poked his head out from the covers, dark hair ruffled with sleep. She popped a chocolate into his mouth, watching him smile, then disappear back under the covers.

-9-

“Catch!”

In the cave, Stephanie threw a large wicker basket at Tim, which he managed to grab hold of before it hit his head. He swayed at the weight of it. Stephanie trotted over, fully in costume, whilst Tim had yet to put in his mask. Tim turned and rested the basket on a nearby table. Opening the flaps, he went to peer in, but Damian appeared, shoving Tim out the way.

“Honey? Really Brown? You raid a farm or something?”

“Damian!” Dick pulled Damian’s judgemental look and stature away from the pair, shooting an apologetic look at them.

“He’s not totally wrong.” Stephanie sighed. “It is a lot of farm stuff. Hamper food.”

Tim began rummaging through the tissue, pulling out jars of chutney’s and jams and cheese and dried fruits. Two small bottles of beer were also nestled in.

“Steph…”

“I know the weather has been… pure shit. And there isn’t really anywhere we can go but…”

“We can go to SanFran.” Tim looked at her, eyes smiling. “Next weekend, before college starts up again. Conner says it’s been dry. Not warm. It never really is over there but…” He trailed off and looked at Steph, still facing forwards. “You’ve never spent more than a night at the tower have you?”

“No.”

“Well you have right to. It’ll be nice!” He squeezed her hand reassuringly at her nervous look. “This is really sweet Steph, thank you.”

“You can thank Conner and Kara, half this stuff is from Kansas!”

-10-

The Fourth of January was more than a little stressful, Tim had had an awkward conversation with both Crystal and Bruce (and Alfred, hovering like a bee) which had led to Dick swamping Tim in the manor corridors.

“Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii know what you’ve done! Gonna tell Cass!” He sang, smiling so broadly that Tim became faintly petrified of Dick’s teeth being put on display. Immediately alarmed, he began to slap Dick on the arms, legs and gut, as if that would shut him up.

“What do you know?” Tim hissed. Dick just laughed and sprinted away. Tim gave chase, throwing himself onto his elder brother’s back. He clung tight, and began to tug at Dick’s perfectly curled hair. “How did you find out? What are you? Psychic?”

“Just nosy!” Dick spun in a circle bent in half, Tim hanging off his back like a monkey.

“Don’t say anything!” Clinging tight and trying to choke Dick from behind, Tim entered a blinding panic. No-one was supposed to know!

“Oh, come on! You have so little trust?”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and you know it!”

“Who’s dumb?”

Steph appeared out of Cass’s room, several strings of strawberry laces hanging from her mouth being chewed obnoxiously, curious at the racket. Tim leaped off Dick’s back like he was made of fire.

“Nothing! C’mon, I was grabbing you for your present.”

Stephanie smiled, shoving the rest of the candy into her mouth. Waving goodbye to Dick, who waved glibly back, Tim watched with horror as he snuck into Cassandra’s room, no doubt to gossip.

Goddammit.

Pulling her into his room, Tim rushed to the bed, then held out a large picture frame, nearly as wide as his arm berth. She took it gratefully and looked at the collage Tim had compiled. It was many candids and posed shots of her, Tim, their friends and family. From them aged fifteen, to photos Tim had taken just the other day with his new camera, it was their lives together compiled into one frame. There was a gap of about two years in their mid-teens, but otherwise, it was all their history in one frame.

She set it back down on Tim’s bed. Pointing at one image of them when they were younger, their cheeks pressed together, Tim half out the frame, but they looked so young, so fresh.

“That’s mine. I had a bunch posted above my bed… Did you take them?”

“I ��borrowed’ them, made copies for this. Your mom helped.”

Stephanie nodded approvingly. “Ahhhh, I see. Going behind my back now is she?”

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Tim teased.

Stephanie huffed, then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “This is unbearably sentimental Tim. Thank you. But just wait until tomorrow.”

-11-

Tim had been hurt this time. A sprained ankle which had swollen up to an impressive size. He’d hurt it catching some poor kid jumping out of a building to escape a fire. The rice treatment had ensued. Rest, ice, compression and elevation. It as an old rule, but it was one Alfred stood firmly by. He had dozed off, waiting for Stephanie to return from patrol. Their plans to go to San Francisco had been delayed, since Tim was going to need the week to recover. Stephanie had tired not to let her disappointment leak through. These sorts of things were bound to happen, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Not truly.

She stared at a sleeping Tim, his skin looking warm in the lamp light. She then looked down at the package in her hand and decided to unwrap it for him. This one she had been working on for over a month, and it had become increasingly tricky to hide it from Tim due it’s ever growing size.

Unravelling the hand knitted blanket, she sat down on the sofa next to Tim, and spread it over them both. Tucking it under his chin, she settled into his side, and shut her eyes.

When Tim started awake later from a vague and fuzzy nightmare, he woke to the rain on the windows, the room softly lit, and his girlfriend resting at his side. His foot had flopped down off the table when he had jerked, so wincing he raised it once more to the table. Noticing then the blanket she had thrown over them, Tim picked absently at the thread, noticing almost immediately that this was a new one, and although it was neat, it wasn’t as uniform as what a machine would do.

He knew she had been working on something. He’d seen the receipts from different craft shops across Gotham, but he’d assumed it was something for herself, or maybe the other Batgirls.

The blanket was a deep gem blue, and as large as the sofa. Not only that, it wasn’t just one large square, she had done different stitches along the rims and even a circular pattern in the centre. She had worked extremely hard on this, in between college and Batgirl-ing and Stephanie Brown-ing.

Tim shifted his arms, wrapping them tight around Stephanie under the fabric. She sighed happily in her sleep, and nuzzled into his chest.

“Love you.” He murmured.

Even in sleep, Stephanie smiled.

-12-

Taking down the decorations was always intensely depressing. It meant there was no more twinkling lights or shiny paper to catch the winter light (what little there existed of it in Gotham). No, now the grim winter had truly begun.

Tim was still sat on the sofa, carefully wrapping the decorations in tissue and bubble wrap. Amongst them was Steph’s first gift of the robins. He stared at the chubby pair hard, then set them aside. They cold stay out until Spring at least. He occasionally side glanced at Stephanie getting into an argument with two sets of Christmas lights. One set she was wearing on her head and shoulders, the other tangled around her arms and outstretched legs on the floor. She huffed and puffed and cursed. He tried not to laugh, as that might have set her temper off properly, which was the last thing he wanted for today.

“Tim? Change the music? The bass is too much and…” And she continued to grumble to herself, tugging unnecessarily hard on to lights that had crossed over each other and gotten tangled.

Tim called for his speaker to switch radio stations, flipping to a classical music channel. To his relief, it was playing a soft piano tune, and Stephanie’s grumbling lessened in response.

They worked in silence for a moment, and Tim was struck by how peaceful it felt, how domestic. Safe.

Putting the lid on one of the storage boxes, Tim noticed his hands were shuddering. His nerves were kicking in.

“Stephie? Can I borrow you for a sec?”

Always weak to him calling her that, and somewhat relieved to be distracted from the lights, she leaped upwards. “Is it your ankle? Need a cold press?”

“No, no. Just, can you swap the boxes for me? Done with that one.”

She did as she was bid, but before she could replace the box with an empty one on the seat, Tim tugged her down.

Thinking he wanted a kiss, she swiftly leaned in for a smooch.

Not wanting to jostle his foot too much, she clambered onto him, finding she was sorely needing an unscheduled make out session to vent her stress.

She felt his hands twitch. One held her neck, the other had drifted downwards, fumbling around his hoodie.

“Steph.” He broke away, bringing his hand up to her cheek. He suddenly looked horrendously nervous, which only served to make Stephanie on edge. He gulped, then squeezed his other hand in between their chests. “Steph… your last present… you don’t have to say yes, if you don’t want to, you’re not ready, or… or if you don’t feel the same way…” The sadness that permeated his expression broke her heart as she began to understand what was happening. What the point of the twelve days of Christmas gift exchange was for. A ploy really, a stinkingly sweet plot.

Tim popped the tiny black box open to reveal an engagement ring. It was one of those rings that looked like it were three, crossing over in the middle, one filled with round diamonds, the other rubies, the final a plain band of white gold. Stephanie had pianist’s fingers, long and thin with bumpy knuckles, and Tim had spent an embarrassingly long time deciding what would look good on Stephanie. When he had spoken to Crystal the other day, to try and be good as ask her permission, Crystal had only pursed her lips at the sight of the ring, face giving nothing away. She did say yes to Tim asking, so that was something. The very same day he had also spoken to Bruce, for whatever reason Tim couldn’t recall. Just a small part of him that still craved Bruce’s approval, which, to Tim’s utter shock, he had given.

He had done one thing though, which had ticked Tim off at the time. Bruce had hummed at the sight of the ring and suggested that Tim could have gone bigger. Tim must have looked so offended that Bruce quietly corrected himself and said it would probably do. Tim was old enough now to know when Bruce was being deliberately cruel and when he had just put his foot in it. The guilty look on Bruce’s face suggested the latter and Tim tried to quell his feelings of inadequacy.

Now, with Stephanie’s eyes growing wet and her mouth smiling, he thought the ring was indeed fit for purpose.

“Will you marry me?” He asked.

Tears dropped down her cheeks, and her eyeliner began to run horribly.

“You want to marry me? For real?”

God they were both insecure as anything. Tim had been petrified of the concept of her saying no, she had seemingly not expected him to ever ask, to even want to ask.

“Stephie, I wouldn’t… I do. For real.”

“Me too!” She sobbed. She nodded again and again. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Tim fumbled taking the ring out of the box, sliding it onto her finger. He struggled a bit at getting it past her lower knuckle, but once it got past it fit neatly around her ring finger. Stephanie laughed, tilting her hand in the light to see it glitter. More tears dripped down her face, then she kissed Tim once more, happier than she’d ever been.

“Rubies?” She asked, pressing their foreheads together

“Thought amethysts might be too on the nose.”

“Red for you then?”

“For Robin. Both of us.”

Another kiss. “Utter charmer.” She murmured, settling in on his lap. Tim picked up her hand, and began fiddling with her finger and ring, smug as anything that she was wearing it. That she had said yes.

“Last day to say it Tim… Merry Christmas.”

“Heh. Merry Christmas.”

#dc #timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #my fic tag

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